Tom buries his hands in his pockets. We’re bumped and jostled through the stadium exit. “Now what?” he asks, the moonlight catching his eyes.
I’m a bundle of energy I can’t control and am practically jumping up and down after witnessing Shade win. “I’m gonna head back to the hotel and try to get into his room.”
Tom nods, tossing the empty plastic cup in his hand in the trash can. “I’ll give you a ride.”
Tom’s car smells like gas and vanilla air-fresheners. There’s one hanging from his rearview mirror in his late 90s Mustang.
I lean my head back against the headrest as we make our way through the city, my arm on the window sill.
Tom reaches forward and adjusts the volume on the stereo, the low bass thumping against my back. It reminds me of the music in the stadium tonight, and my thoughts return to Shade and his performance.
A waft of fuel hits my senses, and I realize it’s me. I smell like the dirt bikes and I fucking love it. Closing my eyes, I take a fist full of my hair and smell it, warmth spreading through me.
I hope Shade still smells like this when I see him later.
Look at me, utterly convinced I have a chance at seeing him. At least I’m optimistic, right?
My lips tug into a smile, knocked around when Tom pulls into the valet drive of Wellington Suites and shifts the car into park.
He doesn’t say anything, his stare strangely focused on his phone in his hand.
I glance at him. “Who you texting?”
“No one.” And then he raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
Jesus. He’s kind of being a brat now. “Yeah, thanks for the ride.”
He snorts, tossing his phone into the cup holders next to his seat. “Hope it’s everything you want.”
“Are you mad?”
He shakes his head. “No. I’m late for meeting up with someone.”
Someone means a girl.
“Okay, well I won’t keep you.”
He stares straight ahead, nods, and then his tires squeal as he leaves the drive. I don’t have time to contemplate his bizarre behavior tonight. I have to prepare myself for the best night ever.
WHAT HAPPENS WHEN you’ve been waiting on something for so long, and it’s finally happening? Or rather the anticipation of the possibility of it happening.
Overdose on emotions. And it’s the same as a drug overdose. I’m sure of it.
Do you see the girl with the crazy curly hair nervously pacing the penthouse suite?
Do you know why she’s nervous?
Hello! I’m in his room. A room I’ve been trying to get inside of for over a year. And then it hits me, this dude’s famous and I’m a hotel employee about to get naked on his bed.
One. I could get fired over this.
Two. Mila wouldn’t let that happen.
My mind scrambles all over the place. I think about weird things. Like hoping my vagina is clean. I did sweat a lot so I make sure to spray some perfume down there.
And then I think about how I should present myself to him. Or how long I’m going to be waiting for him to get back to the hotel. What if he brings a girl up here? Then what?
Fuck. I didn’t think of that. Would I hide in the closet and cry as he fucked her?
No. Knowing me, I’d burst through it and scream, “Choose me!” and then rip her hair out.
I take a deep breath to keep from hyperventilating. I’m not usually this nervous when it comes to sex but then again, how many times have I slept with someone famous?
Tom’s about as close to famous as I’ve come.
Eventually, after an hour of waiting in his room and brushing my teeth with his toothbrush, I take my clothes off and fold them, setting them on the chair near the window. Now I’m buck-ass naked in his room.
You’re still focused on me using his toothbrush, aren’t you? I’m not. I’m just hoping it was actually his and not the last guest who stayed here. I saw that guy. I do not want to use his.
The thought makes me a tad nauseous, so I focus on what to do next. Like how to present myself for Shade.
Where do I stand? Or do I lie on the bed?
Should I bend over the edge of the bed or the couch in the living room and wait for him? Should I sprawl out?
No. . . bending over would make me seem like I’m trying too hard. Don’t want to appear too easy. And sprawling out spread eagle is never an attractive position. It just looks like you’re preparing for a Pap smear.
But then again, naked in his room kinda screams easy, doesn’t it?
Don’t answer that.
As I’m standing there in the suite, contemplating how to present myself to him, I notice a reflection in the window.
You wanna take a guess as to who’s standing behind me?
His name rhymes with laid.
Well shit. Why didn’t you warn me? How long has he been standing there?
Wait. . . did I say that out loud?
By the look of amusement on his face, I did. How fucking long has he been standing there? He’s a quiet motherfucker. Let’s hope he’s not quiet in bed.
I don’t know where my confidence suddenly comes from, but it emerges, and I sit on the edge of the bed, winking at him.
He doesn’t ask me what I’m doing in here. He knows. Girl in his room, naked, yeah, he’s encountered this before. I don’t want to imagine how many have done this before me.
I’m not sure why, but I feel the need to say something to him. “Um, so, yeah. . . .” Goddamn you, brain. Work! “Probably not the first time you’ve had a girl naked in your bed.”
That’s what you chose to say? Superstar in front of you and you point out the obvious? Nice one.
He says nothing, his eyes distant, unseeing, blinking one, twice. . . .
The air stills, and so does my heart. Am I expecting him to say anything? I’m not entirely sure.
Shirtless, he drops what looks to be his phone and sunglasses on a table, his chest expands with a heavy breath, and then he runs a hand through his hair and kicks off his shoes, his eyes making an unapologetic sweep of my body, and I think he likes what he sees.
I certainly enjoy seeing him without a shirt on this close. . . damn. My heart implodes with a thousand tiny, yet ridiculously controlling emotions. I’m in absolute awe of the intricate designs in his ink from the photorealistic portraits of influential icons to swirling geometric patterns and the memento mori wearing shades across his back. He’s perfect in every way.
Stepping further into the room, his jaw clenches, his mind elsewhere. He rubs his hand along his stubbly jaw, focusing his weary gaze on the window overlooking the city.
I pull my eyes from his body and return to his face, seeing the set of his jaw, the intensity of his eyes. Holy crap. He’s right in front of me!
Lick him.
No. Don’t. That’d be creepy.
Cling to him like a spider monkey?
No. Also creepy. Get your shit together, Scar.
He steps closer to the bed, in front of me now. He looks different. He’s clearly been in a fight tonight too, and though I want to ask, his disposition tells me not to pry.
There’s a clanking, his buckle freed, and then I hear the yank of his zipper, and my eyes can’t help but drop when his jeans do.
Wouldn’t yours?
Shade Sawyer drops his pants, you fucking look!
So I do. I want to burn the image into my brain forever.
Jesus Christ. Just. . . . Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
He is magnificent, every line and muscle defined leading down to the V of his hips that make me drool. He steps out of his jeans and kicks them aside standing before me naked.
You gasped at the sight of him, too, didn’t you? Is your heart pounding like mine?
Do you see me there on the bed? I’m the one who just gulped. Actually fucking gulp as Shade steps closer, his eyes drifting over my naked body. His eyes remain low, his calloused fingers tracking my collarbone. With him closer, I can smell his manly scent. He smells like gas and maybe a little bit like tequila. Not sure.
Judging by the bloodshot eyes, he’s certainly been drinking a lot tonight. Maybe even drunk and hasn’t said a motherfucking word to me yet.
Why isn’t he talking?
His hand reaches out and makes contact with my chest when he gives me a gentle shove, laying me flat against the mattress before him.
Tingles. All. Over.
Hastily, his hands touch my legs, lifting and tugging them outward, opening me wide before him. He bends, his palms on my knees and wrapping around the backs of them bringing me to the edge of the bed.
Yes! He’s not running away or kicking me out!
Removing his hand from my body, he strokes his cock once, twice. . . fuck me. It’s the most carnal thing I’ve ever seen, and I wish it was appropriate to snap a picture of him doing that and make it into one of those clever Gifs.
His semi-erect cock is hard with a few strokes. Guess what? His nipples and tongue aren’t the only things pierced. I love a man with a pierced dick, and to my great surprise, Shade’s cock is sporting bling. On the underside of his shaft, he has a frenum barbell, one very similar to my clit barbell. At least we share the same taste in piercings.
I want his cock in my mouth. Badly. And you know, I doubt he will have any complaints about it. Most guys don’t once you put them in your mouth.
I lick my lips, salivating.
Shade leans forward, his mouth at my neck but I push back, my hands on his chest, smiling at him and then sitting up with my feet touching the floor. My head is at his waist, and I look up at him through my lashes. “Can I?”
Why are you asking?
His hands rise up over my shoulders and cup my face, his thumbs dragging over my lips, parting them, blazing with lust and tenacity as his bloodshot eyes make a leisurely pass down my body, but never land on anything in particular.
He doesn’t say anything to me. Still.
Not a word. Won’t even make eye contact with me.
Okay, so no talking and no eye contact. Got it.
I don’t waste time. My hands eagerly stroke his cock, so hard, smooth and perfect. My lips stretch around his thick length, his cock flexing against my tongue.
When my mouth takes him deep inside, letting him and his piercing hit the back of my throat, Shade’s hands fist in my hair. He releases a guttural groan, his body sagging. As he shudders, I smile around his cock, that me—Scarlet the “not maid” anymore—has enticed this reaction from Shade Sawyer.
He’s big, my lips sliding over rock-hard thickness. He groans and I place my hands on his thighs, working my mouth up and down his shaft, taking him as deep as I can. I suck him in deeper, each downward pump hitting his balls.
Minutes pass, his hand tightens in my hair.
“Stop,” he tells me, his thighs flexing under my palms, and he shoves me back.
Stop is the first word he says to me. One simple demand I listen to.
I scoot to the center of the bed watching him reach for a condom on the nightstand, one I put there. The moonlight catches his eyes, and I get a glimpse of the lust in them and the way he has his head bent, concentrating on the wrapper of the condom.
When he has the condom on, I lie back, and he crawls above me, the thick length of him heavy against my thigh. I part my legs wider, and he settles between them, his mouth brushing across my pierced nipples, soft kisses alternating with rough nips, his tongue teasing and torturing all at the same time. He sucks one ring into his mouth, lips closing around the metal and a jolt of electricity claws through me straight to my clit. He hasn’t noticed that fun-factory accessory yet, but whatever. He will and it will be glorious.
He swirls his tongue around the sensitive pink flesh until I’m sure I’m soaking wet for him. That’s when he releases my nipples and pants out, “You really want this?” His lazy tone slips to my lower belly and stills my heart. I can’t tell if he’s nervous or annoyed.
Is that really a question? I broke into his hotel room. What else would I want?
I nod just as his arm comes around my waist, pulling me into him. He slides the other hand up my stomach and takes a firm hold of one of my breasts. His right hand lets go of my waist and feathers my shoulder as he moves the hair away from my neck and then fists it in his hand, tugging just enough to have my attention.
Leaning in, he murmurs into my ear, “I’m fucked up. You know I’m not going to remember this, right?” I can feel his breath catch as he mutters something inaudible and I really want to know what the fuck he said after that but asking might piss him off.
He’s giving me an out. A way to run if I want to.
What do you think I’m going to do here?
Wrapped in his steel embrace, my whole body shivers. Though I knew it’d be this way, and knowing I’ll only have him this one night makes me kind of sad. But. . . Shade lives a fast life and fucks just the same. I don’t think it matters to me at this point if he remembers or not, does it?
I exhale, my lungs wheezing out a breath, reminding me I need air before my heart stops. “That’s okay.”
Is it? Is this how I pictured it would be?
I can’t say it is, but in truth, I didn’t know how it would be because the man I became obsessed with, that crazy adrenaline junky who smiled at me in the hall, wasn’t the same man as the one hovering over me now.
There’s a moment I can’t shake. I’ll remember it the rest of my life. I’m sure of it. It’s when he enters me and my body curves around his. His left hand reaches between us, his right planted on the bed when he slides inside me.
His lips part, drawing in a ragged breath against the hollow part of my neck. His body trembles, as does mine, but he doesn’t kiss me. I want to kiss him, but I’m waiting, for him I guess.
Though nothing’s said, I can tell he definitely wants this. It’s confirmed when a shudder rips through him.
“Goddamn it,” he growls out, and I don’t know if I’ve upset him, or what’s happening. His hand flies from my hips to my neck, and he pushes my head down into the pillow, his jaw hard, teeth clamped together.
His body wants more than his mind can deliver. But I’ll say this, his mouth, his movements, it’s as if he takes fucking as seriously as he takes his performance on the track, despite the alcohol flooding his veins.
Let me tell you this much. Shade Sawyer knows how to fuck. Why do you think I wanted to sleep with him so badly? He’s a god on a dirt bike and fucks just as good.
But you know, it’s more than that. There’s something about Shade that no man will compare to now. It’s his arrogance.
Where does the arrogance come from? It comes from him knowing he’s good at this, and the reason I’m in his room is because he gives women what they’re looking for.
And it’s like he has a fucking bible on how to fuck, one he’s read cover to cover. He knows every move he makes and he knows what my reaction to it will be.
Nipping at my neck, his teeth drag over my heated skin and then bite down on the spot above my collarbone. I love biters.
“You’re so hot. . . .” I shiver at the feeling of his mouth on my skin, his teeth delivering pain yet pleasure.
Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that. Makes me sound like every other girl he’s probably fucked.
Damn it.
Quick, do something incredibly sexy and unpredictable.
My problem is I can’t because I’m too fucking nervous!
Do you see the way I’m shaking? It’s like the time I went to Ocean Shores in January and couldn’t feel my feet for two hours. That’s what he does to me. Freezes me.
Shade’s body trembles, every muscle in his body tenses, and I imagine it’s from competing tonight. He’s worn out. And really drunk. This close to him, I can literally smell the alcohol emitting from him.
His legs shift, his knees spreading slightly bracing himself and gaining some leverage to move easier. When he does, his mouth moves from my skin to the pillow.
I throw my head back, reveling in the idea I’ve aroused him, and close my eyes, letting him take me. His hands stay on my hips, fingers digging into my flesh with each thrust.
His left hand moves to my neck when he lifts up slightly, watching my body but never granting me the privilege of his eyes. His thumb on one side, his fingers on the other with just the slightest pressure on just the right artery. It’s enough that I feel the blood flow leave, but not enough that I can’t breathe. For now, at least. But I have to say, if I die fucking Shade Sawyer. . . totally fucking worth it.
My nails dig into his shoulders, desperate to keep our bodies in contact with one another in any way I can. I think he knows it but this is me begging him to fuck me harder, give me everything he has to give.
He knows.
He provides.
He’s rough.
So rough it actually hurts, and I think his dick is driving into my gallbladder or some other organ that’s painful, but I certainly won’t complain.
Releasing his hand from around my neck, he braces both hands on the bed and unleashes the full force of his cock in quick, fast thrusts. He rocks into me with rhythm, and I grab at him, sliding my fingers along his perspiring skin and the contours of slick, hard muscles.
Cautiously, I lift my eyes to the god above me, his body framed by city lights streaming into the suite, his face determined and intense, the muscles of his chest and arms emphasized by the position, the overall visual of this amazing man is too much.
My orgasm explodes through me, my body tensing underneath him, my heels gripping him tightly and my arms tightening around his neck. In the midst of my earth-moving, never-before-this-good orgasm, I pull him closer, the movement doing nothing to slow him down, my orgasm drawn out with every pump of his muscular hips.
With a grunt, he drives into me, unrelenting, unapologetic as his right hand pushes the top of my head a little harder. Everything about Shade screams domination. I saw that tonight at the X-Fighters competition, but now, his touches, hard and aggressive, each one sending a jolt of arousal through me confirms it.
I’ve never been a girl who yearns for submission. I’ve also never been so eager to be dominated. If Shade wanted to control me, by all means, tie a chain around my neck because I’m your servant. It’s that good.
I know what you’re thinking. Scarlet, you’re exaggerating due to lack of blood flow to your brain.
No. I’m not.
My body clings to his, contracts around his girth, and moans for his stroke to continue. Thank God for the female body and the ability to have multiple orgasms.
Growling out a breath, Shade moves both hands and then curls them over the tops of my shoulders, the leverage he needs and slams me into his thrusts. Still on my back, with my feet flat against the mattress, I push up, arching into him, working together.
Eager hands claw at his shoulders, nails digging into his muscles, needing him closer and for a moment, it’s slow motion.
He withdraws.
Thrusts.
Withdraws.
Thrust again? Damn it. Nope. He stops.
With a frustrated grunt, Shade stops suddenly and then rolls to the side bringing me with him so I’m on top of him now. I melt against his chest, his heart thudding against mine.
There’s a slow drag of his fingers across my back and I sigh. “Turn around,” he mumbles, a slight break to his words, a catch in his tone but no eye contact.
I straddle him reverse cowgirl. It’s a position I usually enjoy, but just like his performance tonight at the track, he knows when to give a little extra.
Taking a handful of my hair, he yanks me back so my back is against his chest. I exhale noisily, twisting my head to moan into his ear. That provokes him, and he groans again, and then finds my mouth for the first time.
Breathe, Scar.
Well, not into his mouth just yet, just keep your shit together.
Maybe it’s his talented fucking tongue I wish wasn’t in my mouth, but on my pussy.
Maybe it’s the passion he displays in his actions, but not his eyes or words.
Maybe it’s just. . . him because holy fucking shit, I’m kissing Shade! It’s almost as good as having his cock in my mouth. Not quite, but pretty fucking good.
At first, the kiss is sweet, a gentle touch of lips brushing against one another. I capture another groan that slips past his lips while his hand fists in my hair, his tongue dipping inside my mouth.
I respond eagerly, my body taking over when a wave of desire hits me. I swirl my tongue with his, toying with his tongue ring and I know he feels mine too, and his kiss turns erotic and downright needy. Like suddenly he cannot get enough of me.
Fucking yes!
His touch turns harder, his mouth more demanding and his kiss grows deeper and deeper until I can’t breathe and the only air I have is his.
With my arms up above my head, I grasp at his hair, securing his face into mine, desperate to make the connection between us more than it will ever be.
Just when I think it can’t get any better, his hand moves from my hair down my body, over my ribs, and between my legs, circling my clit.
Oh, wait, looky here, Shade found my barbell of pleasure.
Fuck. Yeah. He groans, the sexiest rumble from deep in his throat and positions himself inside me again, his upward thrusts inside me just as delicious as when he entered me the first time. Only now, his fingers are sliding through slippery folds, and he knows exactly how to get a woman with a clit ring off. Taking his index and middle finger, he rocks the barbell back and forth.
With my feet flat on the mattress, I arch my pelvis into his touch, all while he moves in and out of me, never releasing my clit from between his fingers.
Panting, groaning, skin slapping. . . our all-consuming fucking is fueled by our pace and the desperate yet exhilarating need for this to continue. I can’t get enough of him.
Closing my eyes, I lose myself in his quick, hard thrusts and the painful, yet sexy way his teeth find every inch of exposed skin on my shoulders. Our moans fill the room, or maybe they’re just mine. I’m not sure.
I can’t take much more, the furious pace building an animalistic need inside of me, a need only to be fulfilled by his touch. It’s close, my core pulsing around his cock, our kiss interrupted by my gasp, and I whimper as my entire body tenses above his.
“Don’t stop,” I beg, bucking against his hand, my head lulling back into his shoulder as the buildup reaches an overflow point, my orgasm on the edge of explosion.
Just a little more. . . . Right there, yes. . . yes. . . !
I release a low moan, the building pleasure too intense not to cry out. I arch my back, lifting slightly off his chest as his fingers dance lightly over my clit.
I cling. I move. I grip fistfuls of sheets and then hair. I dig my nails into his skin while he pins me with his pace. He curses against my skin and groans even deeper, but it only makes him move and slide with more determination.
My pussy begins to respond, wetness dripping from me and onto his fingers. I can feel my clit taking the attention, hardening beneath his gentle swipes, each circle moving a little closer.
Fuck, he’s gifted.
I’m coming down from another high when his fingers stop, pulling away from my clit and I feel the wide girth of his head as he pushes inside me, hard, my wet hot center contracting around him.
Our mouths connect, again, only his softens, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth, his tongue dancing along it. “Put your legs up,” he bites against my lips, moving his hands to the swell of my hips gripping them tightly. His breath is hard, his eyes closed. Goddamn, he’s practically panting. “Now.”
“What?” I’m still disoriented, trying to come back down to earth after that high.
Shade’s body stiffens underneath me and he shakes his head, hands moving to the backs of my thighs when I have my legs straight up in the air, the bottoms of my feet facing the ceiling.
I’m basically put in a full nelson. Let’s be clear, I’m not complaining.
Do you see us there on the bed? Looks complicated, doesn’t it?
Do you know what a full nelson is or are you looking at us with a look of complete confusion?
With my legs up around my ears, he has me in a headlock. I’ve only done this position one other time, and it was when I had a slumber party in the eighth grade with Danica Larson. It was by accident while we were wrestling over the last beer we stole from her dad’s fridge, but I’m also 99 percent sure she was attempting more than a wrestling move on me. She’s a women’s basketball star at UW now.
Anyway, I’ll tell you this. It’s much better with a man. And a dick inside of me. It provides Shade with the most control. I’m at his complete mercy.
Complete.
I can’t move unless he tells me to. And he doesn’t allow me too. I’m forced to stare at my vagina being jack hammered by a cock and you know, I still have absolutely no complaints. You know what I do have a good view of?
His balls. By the way. . . they’re shaved. Nice and clean.
This position is not only complicated, but it’s also good for me. In fact, I come. Twice. I don’t know where those orgasms originate from because there’s no stimulation against my clit. I can only assume this has something to do with his piercing.
Shade takes complete control, losing himself in me, his breathing ragged, his cock setting a firm rhythm, his intensity catching me by surprise. With his feet flat on the mattress, legs bent, lifting his hips up and down, his hard thrusts let me feel exactly how much he wanted this.
I’m afraid to make any noises because I want to hear what he’s saying, if anything. He doesn’t though. But you know what he does do?
Moans.
Downright fucking moans.
You heard it, too, didn’t you?
Does it affect you the same way it did to me? Does it send your heart rate sailing like mine?
Folded like a pretzel, my muscles screaming at me, Shade finally releases his mouth from my shoulder about the time his body begins to shake.
Had he bit me again?
I hadn’t noticed. Probably from the lack of blood to my brain. His hands unclamp from around my neck, then legs, and my limbs fall around him like a pile of noodles dropped on the floor. I know one thing. I need to do more yoga. I think I pinched a nerve.
He pants against my shoulder, his entire frame shaking as he stops, mid-slide and moans into my skin. Fucking moans. “Move,” he says.
I twist my head to look back at him, still completely sheathed inside me. “What?”
“Get off me,” he demands, need blatant in his taut, strong face.
I try to catch his eyes, but he doesn’t allow it and pushes me off him, his message clear. He’s constantly pushing and shoving and demanding and is exactly what I expected.
I’m somehow flat on my back again and he’s on his knees on the mattress, stroking himself with the condom still on, his hair falling in his face disrupting my view of his eyes, though he’s yet to let me see them.
Why’d he pull out?
His entire body stiffens, his strokes frantic and determined as a grunt emerges, pushed past his gently parted lips, and he thrusts upward with his hips into his hand once more. His stomach tightens, and his shoulders tremble along with the rest of his body twitching and moving all the while, his pace frantic on his cock.
Damp, matted hair frames the right side of his face, but his eyes are closed in pleasure. Pleasure I’m not giving him.
What. The. Fuck.
I don’t know what to do. I panic a little, blinking rapidly at what he’s doing.
What is he doing? Getting himself off? This isn’t how it’s done, damn it!
He throws his head back and then he comes, hard, cursing lowly, hot bursts of cum filling a fucking condom, his entire body jerking forward as a grunt emerges from deep within his throat, an upward twitch of his hips into his hand.
I don’t know whether to bite the end of the condom and suck like I’m extracting poison from a wound, or watch his face, head thrown back in pleasure when he comes because um. . . hello! Shade Sawyer just fucking had an orgasm in front of me.
Without my help.
What the fuck just happened?
With alarming abruptness, he scoots away from me and swings his legs over the side of the bed, propping his forearms on his knees, breathing heavily.
The hunch of his back indicates reality has set in and maybe he doesn’t want me here any longer. There’s only silence, uncomfortable and uneasy.
I fix my mouth into an easy smile, remaining stubborn and naïve. “You could have finished inside me,” I point out, unsure and on the verge of tears. I won’t cry though. No fucking way. “You didn’t have to pull out.”
He ignores my remark, but even in the dim lighting, I can see the flicker in his eyes, the tightening of his jaw, a subtle shift in the tension holding his shoulders tight.
“Leave your number,” he says, scrubbing his palms over his despondent eyes when he pulls away, his troubled face drowning. “I’ll call you the next time I’m in town.”
Will he? Would he ever want to see me again?
My heart lurches at his words, each one laced with exhaustion and loneliness, two things I did nothing to suffice. I smile, not sure what else to say as he pushes away from me completely and sits on the edge of the bed. He looks over at me. He smiles, just barely, still no eye contact and then wards it off, but I catch it, as brief as it might have been.
He smiled at me. Well, smiled in my direction. For all I know he’s smiling at the damn wall.
My heart pounds as he stands and walks away, his silhouette retreating to the bathroom. He keeps his head down, and the soft click of the door tells me it’s my time to go. The whole experience feels cold. I mean, I enjoyed it. I don’t regret it, but uneasiness sweeps through me.
I thought we’d have a spark, a connection. I thought his kiss and the grip of his hands on me, the way his breath panted in my ear, I thought it all meant something.
Didn’t you?
I’m saving myself the embarrassment and leaving now before he kicks me out.
Silence envelopes me. No sounds of the air conditioner, just dead silence.
Do you see me there, on the bed? What do I do?
Do I follow him? Should I clean myself up? Roll over and go to sleep?
I should leave.
You know those guys who are fucked-up and vulnerable, and you want to fix them? Shade’s that guy. I don’t think he was before his friend killed herself; actually, I know he wasn’t. But he is now. Part of me feels a bit cheated here too.
Unfortunately, for Shade, the death of his friend has not only contributed to his behavior now, it’s fueling his unsettling darkness rather than freeing him from it.
If anyone knows that feeling, it’s me. And though I doubted I provided him much of anything, I know what he gave me tonight. Along with a few orgasms, an understanding that there’s way more to Shade Sawyer than what meets the eye.