Chapter 8
Harlow
I made my way up to my apartment and looked over the balcony. There he was, with his broad shoulders and his mysterious little grin. His body looked good in that leather, but it looked even better straddling his bike. It didn’t matter that the bike was some rust bucket or that it needed some work. Somehow, it suited him and the man he was.
I enjoyed it. All of it. The feel of the rumble underneath my hips and the wind as the air whipped through my hair. There was something freeing about it. Something I never thought to experience, but now craved. The freedom I had in renting my first apartment was nothing compared to clinging to him on the back of his bike. The way his muscles rippled underneath my fingertips and the way his hands pulled me into his lap. Like a rag doll. Like I weighed nothing in the palms of his hands.
It left me wanting more.
He waved at me, and I smiled, hoping he would make another move. Hoping he would ignore the phone call he’d gotten, rush upstairs, and take me into his body again. The way his tongue moved against mine left me breathless, and the way my body was so open to the idea of him was intoxicating. I had never been so needy for something before. I had never been so turned on by the feel of a man growing underneath me.
But all he did was watch me as I pushed into my apartment.
I rushed to my window, dropping my things as I rolled up the blinds. I watched him back out of the parking space and ride off into the night time. I could see the taillights of his bike as he turned onto the main road, his bike roaring off into the distance as I closed my eyes. I stood there, listening to the sounds of his bike were nothing but distant echoes filling the nighttime air.
I wished he was still here with me, and I hoped he would call.
Cursing myself at not getting his number, I sat down on the sill. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes as shivers cascaded around my body. I could still feel the way his hands pressed into my hips. I could still feel the way his lips connected with him. Even though they were thin and wispy underneath his cheeky little grin, they held a passion that ignited a spark in my gut. My nipples were still raised behind my bra, reminding me of the immediate attraction I’d had with this stranger.
This darkened stranger of the night.
I loved riding his bike, but more than that… I loved clinging to him. It felt desperate and necessary. Survivalistic and primal. Feeling his muscles twitching against my fingertips as we rode on his bike sent shivers down my spine. My night had been a night of multiple firsts. Of many moments that would never have taken place had I still been living with my father.
And I craved so many more of them.
On that bike.
In that bar.
In his arms.
I slid from the chair and made my way into my bedroom. I still had to make my bed with sheets I hadn’t even begun to find. I started ripping open boxes, trying to find what I needed. But instead, all I found were a few pillows and my comforter. I grabbed a pillow and dragged the comforter behind me, then threw everything onto the couch. I grabbed the remote and turned my television on, allowing the light of the screen to fill the apartment.
There was some sort of infomercial going on in the background. Something about a blender or a smoothie or whatever. I walked into the kitchen and smiled at the bottle of wine my father had left behind. There was a little note leaning up against it, and I sighed as I picked it up. I opened the top of the envelope and slid it out, my eyes dancing along the note my father had left me.
This wine pairs nicely with the steaks in your fridge. I figured I could treat you to your first dinner in your new place. If you need help unpacking, I’m only a phone call away.
Love, Dad
I giggled and shook my head, allowing the note to be laid on the counter. I reached for the refrigerator door and ripped it open, eyeing the food my father had managed to slip into it without my knowledge. A perfectly preserved filet mignon along with fresh vegetables and some potatoes sat at the forefront, beckoning to me to be eaten. I shook my head and closed the door, relieved that I would have something to make for lunch tomorrow.
Then, I started rummaging around for my wine opener.
Working the cork from the bottle and pouring myself a glass, I leaned against the counter. My apartment was dark and empty. Spacious with beautiful hardwood floors. The appliances were stainless steel, and the windows were insulated well. I had my own private balcony with wrought iron sitting places to watch the sunset rise over the town of Henderson.
But it was lonely. And it was the first time in my life I’d ever felt that way.
As I sipped on my wine, I digested the feeling. It was an interesting one, but one that weighed heavily on my shoulders. The sips of my wine became gulps, and the gulps became chugs. Soon, I was pouring myself another glass, trying to rid my mind of him.
Fox.
The man who had shown me so many firsts tonight.
I wondered what my Dad would think of him. Would my father accept someone like that in my life? Or would it anger him that he was there? My father defended men that looked like him in court on a daily basis. Which meant my father knew what they were capable of if the stereotype fit. My father was a good man, defending people who needed it the most. But there were times where I listened to him talk about his cases, and I wondered if they were really innocent. Sometimes I would turn on the news and catch a story about someone he was defending, and I couldn’t fully find myself on my father’s side of things.
My father would wholly disapprove of Fox if he ever found out.
There was a part of me that was scared of that notion, but a part of me found it invigorating. My father had created this bubble for me to live in, and for a while I brushed it off as me being his only child. And his princess, to boot. I wanted to make him happy. Make him proud. Have his approval in everything I did. But there were moments where I wanted another life. Where I wanted to defy him and make my own mistakes and experience things he thought were too dangerous.
Like Spring Break with my friends or the trip to Paris my best friend took last year that I couldn’t go on.
There were places in town my father told me never to seek out. Places I had grown curious about over the years. I had gone to one of them tonight. To the bar with the wings and the mysterious man sitting next to me. Was that the reason my father didn’t want me there? Because people he defended in court hung out in these types of places? The mental dichotomy was tearing me apart as I downed my second glass of wine.
If these men were as innocent as my father proclaimed, why would he want me to stay away from them so badly?
I poured myself one last glass of wine before I headed back to the couch. I sat down, drawing the comforter over my lap and leaning back into the plush cushions. The infomercial about the smoothie whatever had given way to some sort of exercise machine, and I giggled as people showed me all the ways it could work for my benefit. Only five easy payments of some exorbitant price and it could be all mine.
I tipped my wine up to my lips as I grabbed the remote.
I didn’t care what my father thought. This was my life, and I was on my own, and it was time for me to make my own decisions. If I wanted to go to a bar and get some wings, I could do that. If I wanted to find a random stranger and bring him home with me, then I could do that. If I wanted to move my bedroom across the apartment to have a better view of something, then I could do that. He wasn’t here to dictate my moves or to keep me in his precious little bubble anymore.
It was time I started experiencing the world.
And I started by imagining what Fox would’ve looked like naked in the middle of my living room.
I set my glass of wine down and allowed my fingertips to caress my skin. I could see his chiseled abs as I closed my eyes, coated in baby oil and glistening to capture my attention. My eyes grazed along his broad shoulders. Those muscles that tugged at his leather jacket and threatened to split it open. I squeezed my breast, my legs spreading as my hand traveled down my body. I could feel his lips on my neck, nibbling at my skin as his tongue raked along my pulse point.
I slid my pants down my legs, feeling my clit pulsing with wanton need. I slid my hand deep into my panties, cupping my pussy as I yearned for him. His muscles and his hands. How they lifted me perfectly into his lap. I could see his throbbing dick, leaking for me as it slid between my lips. I could taste him. I could taste his saltiness as my fingertips found my clit. I swirled them around and bucked my hips, rolling into my hand as I imagined rolling into his.
I imagined his fingers sliding into my entrance, filling me to the brim as I bucked into the palm of my hand.
His memory was intoxicating as my whimpers grew to moans. I imagined him thrusting into me, rolling slowly before he took me mercilessly. I thought about what his sounds might sound like. Was he a groaner? Or a grunter? Would he say my name or let the headboard make all the sounds? I filled my pussy with my fingers as I slid my other hand down my panties, working my clit quickly as my chest heaved with pants.
“Fox. Fox. Oh, shit. Your body. Oh, that dick. Yes. I love it. More. More.”
My heels planted into the hardwood floor as I raised my hips into the air. I could feel my pussy contracting around my fingers, my body trembling as his name tumbled from my lips. The wine was dizzying my head, and my body felt lighter than air. I could feel his hand palming my breast as our tongues collided, my hips bucking into his cock.
His hands.
My hands.
Alone.
I fell back to the couch, panting as my eyes watered. My apartment was lonely. Filled only with the sounds and smells of a body I was just now discovering. I opened my eyes, allowing a small tear to cascade down my cheek. There was no one here. No one to hold me close or keep me company or help me finish that bottle of wine.
There was only one.
Like the lonely filet mignon in the fridge.
I slid my hands from my underwear and fell over onto my pillow. I pulled my comforter up to my chin, trying to erase the confusing emotions welling up inside of me. It was the alcohol. I knew it was. I would wake up in the morning after sleeping in my own apartment, and I would feel refreshed and ready to take on the day.
I would feel normal again. Back to my old self.
But there was a part of me that wasn’t satisfied with that. A part of me that wasn’t satisfied with my ‘normal self.’
And that part of me haunted my dreams all night with memories of him.
Memories of a man that gave me so many firsts.