Crashing Hearts- The Complete Series

by Zane Menzy

  Zoe stirred, laying on her side. She craned her neck, tilting her chin to smile up at Damon. Her hazel eyes simmered with a spark of adoration.

  “Morning, babe,” Damon said, smiling at his girlfriend.

  “Morning to you both,” Zoe replied, looking down at his erection grinding against her hip.

  Damon buried his face into Zoe’s neck, emitting a low growl as he snaked a hand up the side of her body, placing his palm on her rising mounds. He shifted his body up the mattress, manoeuvring his stiff prick from tickling her hip, to prodding her buttocks.

  Zoe giggled. “Someone’s in a good mood.”

  “He’s always in a good mood when he’s around you,” Damon said in a husky whisper. He kept prodding her from behind, hoping to accidentally stab between her cheeks, and explore somewhere new.

  Zoe seemed oblivious at first, continuing to giggle ‘till Damon managed to squeeze close to her rear’s point of entry. Her body froze and she rolled over to face him, a shocked look hacked her face. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Damon grinned like a naughty kid. “Ummm…” The glint in his eyes gave away his fiendish intention.

  Zoe scowled. “Eww, Damon! Why would you want to do something as disgusting as that?”

  “It’s not disgusting, babe. It’s just something different.” He bowed his head down kissing her neck, greasing to appease her. “Wouldn’t it be fun to try something new?” He pulled his face back, hitching his eyebrows.

  Zoe didn’t drop her look of disgust. “I am most definitely not up for doing that!”

  Damon bit his lip. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. We are NEVER doing anal sex, Damon,” Zoe snapped. “I am not letting you put anything up there. If you want to be gay, then go be gay with someone else.”

  Damon grunted, annoyed at the comment. “I’m not a fag, I just want to try it. What’s wrong with that?”

  Zoe didn’t say anything.

  Damon gripped hold of his dick, rescuing it from softening thanks to the denial. He pouted his lips and put on his most charming voice, “Would you suck me off at least?”

  “Uh, no.” Zoe blinked furiously at even being asked. “Why are you wanting to do this sort of stuff all of a sudden?”

  “I just wanna spice things up a bit,” Damon insisted. He hoisted himself up with his elbows, sitting up on his knees in front of her, stroking his hungry erection. “Please? Just a little lick even?” He shuffled forward ‘till his dick was inches away from her face.

  Zoe, clearly annoyed, swatted his cock away then rolled away. “Get that thing out of my face, Damon. I am not putting something you pee out of in my mouth.”

  What the fuck is wrong with you, Damon thought. He flopped back down on the bed in a huff. “It’s hardly an unreasonable request,” he grumbled. “It’s not like it’s going to fucking bite you.”

  “No, but if you put it near my mouth again, I might bite it off.” Zoe let out a gentle laugh, knowing she had control of the situation and the vanilla purity of their sex life.

  Damon’s ex-girlfriend, Lucy Kerr, wasn’t the wildest either, but she at least attempted sucking him off. The only problem was, she couldn’t seem to stop her teeth tearing at his knob like a cheese grater.

  When he dumped Lucy for the hotter Zoe, he felt like he had scored a stunning dream—but now with the frigid reality beside him, he wasn’t so sure.

  Zoe placed a hand on Damon’s chiselled chest, circling her fingers around one of his nipples. “Cheer up, moody pants,” her voice poured out silkily.

  Damon kept his eyes firmly focused on the ceiling, not in the mood to let his ego wound go.

  “Oh, come on. Cheer up. I’m gonna be gone for a whole week. Let’s not fight.” Zoe shuffled back across, tucking her nakedness in beside him. She kissed his broad shoulder and lowered her hand down, curling her fingers around his shaft. The firm squeeze she gave him, pulsed his instincts.

  Damon turned his head, letting his lips find hers. They kissed hard and deep, as Zoe’s hand went at a frantic pace up and down, burning his foreskin.

  Zoe retrieved her tongue, taking in a breath. “Shall we go have a shower?” She squinted slightly, a seductive gloss misting her eyes.

  Damon nodded. He followed her into the ensuite where their kiss and naked cuddle continued. The sex may not have been hot but at least the water was.

  ∞

  After the shower and a light breakfast, Damon took Zoe home so she could get ready for school. It was only a five-minute drive to the Benton homestead—a gentrified Victorian villa on the edge of town, surrounded by picturesque leafy paddocks.

  He had been careful not to drop her off right outside her home, parking a hundred metres down the road under a large oak tree. They both knew that if her parents spotted him dropping her off, then Zoe’s father would storm out and have a major fit, knowing what she would have been up to. As far as they were aware, their angelic daughter was still a virgin.

  Damon knew Zoe’s parents hated him and didn’t trust him with their darling daughter. Damon didn’t blame them; he wouldn’t trust a guy like him either. Still, Zoe’s parents were polite to his face, mostly a necessity from being part of the same haughty clique as Damon’s parents. A fake air of politeness between the two families who both thought the other’s child was not good enough for their own.

  Damon’s mum especially felt this way. No girl was good enough for him in her eyes. His first girlfriend had been deemed too plain, Lucy too stupid, and now Zoe too bossy. He could have dated a saintly princess and his mother would no doubt find some fault.

  Zoe leant across the passenger seat, kissing Damon goodbye before running through the morning drizzle towards her fancy home, its front yard framed with a green trellis fence covered with a vine sprouting pink and white flowers. Damon watched his girlfriend running away with a mix of pride and resentment. Proud to be dating such a beautiful person, resentful for her not giving in to his desires. He grabbed his crotch, groping his dick through his jeans, letting it know it would be a long week ahead.

  When Damon got back home, he found his parents sitting together at the breakfast table, appearing worlds apart. His mother was still in her dressing gown, nursing a hot cup of coffee in her hands as she moaned the same thing she did every morning, “Colin, could you please not feed that animal at the table.”

  “You’re not an animal are you, Binky?” Damon’s father sat dressed in his business attire, stroking his pride and joy sitting on his lap—Binky the high maintenance Persian cat. Damon’s father ignored his wife’s complaint and fed his whiskered friend another piece of his toast.

  “For goodness sake,” Jenna sighed, giving up reasoning with her husband.

  Binky was a regal creature who walked about with an air of disdain for Damon and his mother but the fancy feline adored Damon’s father and the feeling was mutual. Each morning the cat would sit on the man’s lap and be hand fed, purring it’s nut off.

  Damon pulled up a seat at the table, joining his parents. “Morning.”

  “Have you just dropped Zoe off home have you?” Jenna asked. She pointed to the food on the table, motioning for Damon to eat.

  Damon grabbed a piece of toast, buttering it with thick yellow smears before smothering it with jam.

  Damon’s father took a break from feeding the cat his undivided attention. “I hope she had a good sleep. I know the bed in that guest room isn’t the best. We really should go buy a new one this weekend.”

  “I think Zoe slept perfectly fine, Colin,” Jenna said, sounding sarcastic.

  “Oh, that’s good.” Damon’s father smile, clueless to the sarcasm. “She is such a nice girl. You’re very lucky to have her.”

  Damon’s mother coughed for show. “He’s lucky? More like she is the lucky one.”

  Damon’s father smiled at Damon. “They’re both lucky.” He broke off another piece of his toast feeding it to Binky who swatted his greedy paw wanting more. “Gosh, I wish g
irls looked like that when I was your age.”

  “Girls back then didn’t show their ankles, of course they looked different,” Jenna said, taking a cheap shot at her husband’s age.

  “I’m sixty, Jenna, not one hundred,” he replied coolly, running a hand through his short, grey hair. A tall, gangly specimen, Damon’s father looked quite mismatched to his dark-haired, youthful-looking wife. He smiled at Damon and said, “Even if they did look like Zoe back then, I doubt I would have been able to catch one like Damon here seems to with ease.”

  “You should have run after them faster, Dad.” Damon grinned.

  Jenna got up from the table, making her way to the kitchen bench to pour herself another coffee. “Now, before I forget. Damon, can you please give Matthew a ride home from school today.”

  Damon looked over at her, puzzled by the name. “Who’s Matthew?” he said through a mouthful of food.

  “Matthew Andrews, Lydia’s son.” Damon’s mother glided back to the table, sitting down.

  “Not Fatty Matty,” Damon groaned.

  . “So mature, Damon.” She tilted her head, condescendingly. “Matthew said he would be here by 4 o’clock but I don’t think he drives and it would be nice to give him a lift so he doesn’t have to clean after walking for miles.”

  “The walk will do his fat arse good,” Damon answered.

  “Don’t be a brat.” She gave him a scornful stare. “I don’t think there’s an ounce of fat on that boy anymore.”

  “How can you tell under all his wannabe, cheapshit gothic shirts.” Damon tugged at his t-shirt, emphasising his point.

  Jenna sighed. “People are free to dress how they like, Damon. Not everyone has rich parents to buy them the fanciest clothes, you know.”

  “Yeah, and I’m free to say he looks like a bloody weirdo.”

  “A bit like your face.” She smiled cheekily.

  Damon turned away, rolled his eyes, and mumbled under his breath, “Gee, who’s the mature one now, Jenna?”

  “Whatever, Damon. Just make sure you pick him up and be nice to the boy. It must be rough with the way his mum left.”

  “I dunno about rough, but it is pretty fucking funny.”

  Matthew Andrew’s mother, Lydia, had cleaned for Damon’s family for years. She was a friendly, hardworking woman who turned up without fail and kept the house to its clean standard—something Jenna would not have lowered herself to do. When Lydia told Jenna—on her last day—she was quitting, she bravely told the truth behind her abrupt departure. Jenna, of course, had passed on the gossip to Damon’s father and Damon had overheard. Damon had laughed, finding it hilarious. He still did.

  Damon missed Lydia though. She was funny, chatty and quite normal; unlike her oddball son. After Lydia left they hired a new cleaner. But after several months, Jenna insisted the woman wasn’t up to the task and fired her.

  In a moment of charitable reflex, Jenna had taken a gamble in calling Mr Andrews to ask if Matthew would like the job. Damon hadn’t been pleased to hear this news. It wasn’t that he had a personal problem with “Fatty Matty,” he just didn’t like the idea of the strange boy inside their house.

  Jenna drummed her fingers on the table. “Funny, is it? How would you feel if I decided to come home one day and tell you I am in love with a woman and just up and leave?”

  Damon’s father choked on a laugh. “My goodness.” He looked like he was going to blush.

  “Whatever floats your boat, Jenna.” Damon smirked.

  “Well, what will float my boat is if you give Matthew a ride here from school.” She sipped on her coffee, eyeing him up, waiting for him to agree.

  Damon lurched his head forward, meeting his mother’s eyes. “Don’t worry, I will bring it home with me.”

  “Good.” She looked at her husband, his face screwed up with concentration. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re having a stroke.”

  “Nothing, dear. Just imagining what this woman looks like you plan on leaving me for.”

  Damon burst out laughing at his father who he assumed triggered a funny moment without even meaning to.

  His mother whacked her husband’s shoulder playfully. “Keep dreaming, Colin. Keep dreaming.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN:

  Dreams are Free

  The screeching of the school bell reverberated through the classroom, alerting the nattering students to the end of the school day. A rush of limbs fired towards the door, all in an excited frenzy to escape their institution of learning as if it were a prison.

  Matt sat patiently, waiting for everyone else to get up and leave, before quietly joining the tail end of the line to make his way out to the fresh afternoon air.

  The lesson had been a drawn out and dull one. Accounting. Normally his favourite subject—and his intended major for university—but their teacher, Mr Grange, had rambled on at length about cash flow statements, constantly repeating how, “Cash is king.”

  Mr Grange didn’t have to tell Matt twice. Anybody who grew up in poverty peak was more than aware the value of a dollar. Or at least they should be, Matt thought. It was one thing to be poor in a poor area, but to be poor at the doorstep of the privileged—like peakers were in Port Jackson—then you became more aware than most.

  Matt’s parents had moved to the snobby harbour village when he was nine-years-old. Leaving their extended family and the South Island city of Christchurch behind. Matt’s father’s work was laying off their staff, closing the factory down. Staff were given a choice; redundancy or transfer to the Auckland plant. Matt’s father chose the latter.

  On a trip up in advance, looking for a home to rent, Matt’s father had stumbled upon Port Jackson by accident after a drive north, sightseeing. He fell in love with the small seaside village the moment he saw it. It was just close enough to his new work in the city and only an hour’s drive away from the “winterless north.” A huge change to the bitter frosts and dustings of winter snow Christchurch endured.

  As much as the family would have loved to live in one of the harbour front properties that was never going to happen. However, as fate would have it, Port Jackson did have a well-hidden nest of affordability at the southern end of the peninsular. Poverty Peak.

  A small cluster of homes—mostly state houses that were run down to buggery—on the type of streets that if they were on a monopoly board, you would beg to roll the dice again. Of course, it wasn’t like the families were down at the beach washing their clothes, beating them clean with sticks. But in supposedly egalitarian New Zealand, it was about as big a divide as you could find.

  Matt raced through the maze of buildings ‘till he could see the school perimeter, his eyes set firmly on the exit gate and freedom. When he made it onto the street; he charged towards home, the wind blowing warm kisses in his face.

  As soon as he was a safe distance from the school, Matt stood still and slunk his bag off his shoulder, digging inside to fetch out his tobacco pouch.

  Someone yelled out, “Matt!” But it was such a common name, he assumed the hollering must have been meant for someone else, someone with friends. He kept his head down as he rifled around to find his smokes. Heavy footfalls came to a stop right behind him; a voice spitting out, “Andrews!”

  Matt whirled around and saw Damon Harris standing in front of him, his hands on his hips, looking at ease.

  Damon smiled at him. “Jenna asked me to give you a ride back to our place.” He hitched his eyebrows, waiting for a response.

  Matt said nothing. In shock that Damon Harris was giving him the time of day, and surprised to hear him call his mother by her first name.

  “She said you’re meant to be coming around to clean today,” Damon said, striking a questioning look.

  Matt nodded.

  “Cool. Come with me then, and I’ll give you a lift.”

  “It… it’s okay.” Matt stammered. “I can walk.”

  Damon shook his head. “Come on, man. Just get a lift. It’s fucking miles back to my place.
” He shot Matt a disarming smile, one that showed off perfect teeth.

  “Only if it’s no trouble,” Matt said, not really wanting the ride.

  Damon laughed. “If it was any trouble, I wouldn’t be offering, would I?” He tapped Matt on the shoulder, motioning for Matt to follow him.

  Matt hooked his bag back over his shoulder and walked behind, following like an obedient dog.

  “Just over here,” Damon said, his hand slicing the air with a pointed finger.

  Matt looked over and spotted a white Nissan Bluebird. Probably not the type of car Damon Harris would have asked for, but it did appear to look brand new. The perks of being a Harris, he thought.

  Damon clicked his keys, unlocking the doors with a flash of taillights. Matt felt beyond nervous at the prospect of driving alone with the school’s most popular guy. Don’t say anything stupid, just be cool, Matt told himself.

  He hated to admit it, but Matt felt a rush of what could only be described as special. It was crazy to think he was about to get a lift with someone at the top of the school’s social pecking order. Random thoughts blitzed his brain. Matt tried to think of something to talk about, something as cool as the feeling he was experiencing. A topic as cool as Damon Harris.

  Just before Matt could even get around the other side of the car to jump in the passenger’s seat, he was frozen in place by another voice calling out, “Damon!” Matt twisted his neck ‘round and spotted Todd Jenkins rushing over to join them.

  Todd ran and stood beside Damon, slapping him on the shoulder. “Hey, Damo.” He shot Matt a quick, dismissive look. “What are you doing?”

  “On my way home. What does it look like?” Damon said, light-heartedly.

  “Duh. I know that. How come you got old, Matt, here with you?”

  Todd knows my name too. Wow. Matt was impressed.