Shatter

by Lola Taylor

  And that grin. He was always smiling in her memories, as if he found torturing her funny.

  It took five more minutes for her to decide to go next door. Taking the kitty and his things with her, she grabbed her purse and padded over to Scott’s place. After a quick buzz of the doorbell, she waited. No answer.

  It was nearly one in the morning. Wincing, she buzzed again, feeling guilty.

  There was no sound from the apartment.

  She bit her lip and glanced at her door. Every muscle in her body tensed, and her stomach twisted into knots.

  Maybe I’ll knock. She hadn’t heard a noise when she’d buzzed.

  Lifting her fist, she knocked softly; after all, it was so quiet in the hallway and she was trying to be considerate.

  A door opened downstairs.

  Amy’s breath caught. It sounded like the front door to the building. She could hear the lonely, eerie screech of the rusty hinges as the door closed and footsteps started up the stairs.

  Screw this politeness bullshit. She hammered on the door.

  Please be there, please be there, please, please, please…

  Praying maybe it was a neighbor coming up the stairs and they would turn away onto another floor, she tried to calm herself down. She had to be freaking out over nothing.

  Except, the person never turned off the stairwell.

  They were still coming, climbing up the stairs, closer and closer.

  Please, Scott, please…

  He wasn’t home, or he would have answered the door by now.

  Trembling, she scurried back over to her apartment. The keys slipped out of her hands as soon as she grabbed them.

  “Shit!” she hissed under her breath. The cat carrier banged against the door as she stooped to pick them up.

  About that time, she heard the bolt next door click, and a few seconds later, Scott stood in the doorway.

  His eyes were heavy lidded, and his hair was all over the place. He was also shirtless. The zipper to his blue jeans was only pulled halfway up, exposing indigo boxers. Two lines near his groin curved down past the loose waistline of his pants and disappeared into a shadowed area she’d very much like to explore.

  He slowly grinned, his voice groggy from sleep. “Let me guess, you were dreaming about me, but dream me couldn’t compare to real me, right?”

  The words tumbled out; the last word stuck in her throat, making her voice squeak. “I don’t have anywhere else to go, and I don’t know anyone else here.”

  “Of course.” His brows furrowed in concern as he opened the door at once. “What happened?”

  She stepped inside, kitten in tow, and he shut the door.

  His place was…nice. A mess, but nice. It had a lived-in feeling Michael’s place often lacked.

  The layout was the same as hers. Sure enough, his walls were a drab beige. Posters of rock bands hung all over the place. The biggest stereo she’d ever seen sat against one wall and dominated most of the entertainment center. The stereo was by far the nicest item in the room. All the furniture was hand-me-down; that much was clear from the ramshackle fifties upholstery and chipped wooden frames. Windows took up most of the living-room wall. The drapes were pulled open, showing the dilapidated, abandoned building next door. At least one of her bedroom windows faced the street. Being on the corner of the building had some perks.

  Stars twinkled in the night sky above, and moonlight shone onto the large fur rug that covered most of the floor space in the living room.

  A kingdom of beer bottles and cans lay scattered across his coffee table. Bottle caps littered his carpet. She hoped he wore socks or slippers inside his apartment; that stuff couldn’t be comfortable to walk on.

  He noticed her staring. “I haven’t touched another beer since we got back from the bar.” He gestured. “And I didn’t drink all of those at once. They just kind of accumulate because I’m rarely home, and as you’ve noticed, I’m kind of sloppy.”

  She attempted a smile. “I think your place is nice.”

  His shoulders relaxed. “You, however, look like you could use a beer.”

  Could she ever. “Yes, please.”

  He went to the kitchen and grabbed two cold Bud Lights before they sat together on the couch. The cushions smelled faintly of dust, probably because they were so old, and cigarette smoke, probably from the impressive triple stack of cigarette butts in his glass ashtray.

  “Do you mind if I let Braveheart out?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Not at all.”

  The latch clicked open as she pressed the levers and opened the metal door to the carrier. Tentatively, the little guy emerged to explore his new surroundings.

  They sipped on their beers for a while as the cat ran around and played.

  “Does your doorbell work?” she finally asked. It was a lame question, but she needed an icebreaker. Despite the fact they’d practically had sex through their clothing earlier, she suddenly felt shy around him. Sitting alone together in his apartment felt way more intimate.

  “Nah,” he said. “I keep forgetting to call the electrician, since it’s more than our resident handyman—aka me—can fix. Besides, it’s not that big a deal to me.” He cast her a sheepish look. “Sorry it took me so long to come to the door. I was in a coma. I pulled a double last night, so I didn’t get much sleep.”

  She stared. “And you still wanted to go out with me?”

  “That I wouldn’t miss for the world.”

  It was the beer warming her belly. Nothing. Else. “The police came by earlier, but I think you might have been sleeping,” she finally said.

  He sat up. “The police?” His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

  The tremble started back in her hands almost immediately. “No,” she whispered. “No, I’m not okay, and I haven’t been for a very long time. Sometimes, I don’t think I ever will be.”

  His expression softened. “What happened?”

  She pressed her lips together.

  Could she tell him about that night, about what happened to Michael and who she really was?

  No. Not yet. Some monsters could never be tamed; they could only be caged.

  Slowly, she opened up about the message on her bed and what the police said about not finding a point of entry. She left out the part about the stalker and her real identity. Well, more like the lump that formed in her throat prevented her from talking about it.

  The kitten was at their feet, batting the bottle caps around with his little bandaged paws.

  “Jesus.” Scott ran his hands over his face. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come to the door.” He slammed his fist against the table. “Goddammit, if I could just stop drinking!”

  She tensed. “It’s okay, Scott. Nothing happened.”

  “Doesn’t change the fact it could have. And I would have been too passed out to do anything about it.”

  Amy rested a hand on his forearm. His skin was hot, the hairs along the back of his arm coarse. A shiver of desire to keep trailing her hand along his arm, toward that deliciously lick-able chest, rolled through her. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she said quietly, before she tried to pull her hand back.

  He caught her hand and clasped it as he twined his fingers with hers. Her heart stuttered, and her breath caught.

  “I promise I’ll get the locks changed tomorrow. And I’ll reinforce the windows however I can.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled. Her heart beat faster when he didn’t let go.

  “You can stay here tonight, if you like.” His deep voice had gotten quieter, huskier.

  She found herself leaning in without really meaning to. “Thanks,” she whispered.

  Though she felt anxious, it wasn’t from fear, not when she was with Scott. That comforting feeling of safeness settled over her like a blanket. Before she knew what she was doing, she leaned in and planted her mouth on his, reacting more to her body’s instincts than what her brain
was screaming at her.

  He blinked, caught by surprise, and then wrapped his arms around her with a groan. He fell backward and she on top of him; her breasts rubbed against his bare chest. She pressed her tongue against his, moaning when he answered with a lick of his own. His hands squeezed her ass, and she mewled, arching her back.

  His touch was like a drug.

  The hard grind of his cock, sheltered from her sex by a thin layer of cotton boxers, had her fumbling to undo the rest of the zipper.

  She couldn’t stop herself, though distantly in her mind a little voice kept saying, “No, no, no.”

  There wasn’t time for regret. She needed to finish what they’d started in the hallway. As she ran her hands over the hard muscle of his bare chest, all she could think about was how much she wanted him.

  “Amy,” he murmured, kissing her neck and cupping her cheek.

  She stared up into his eyes. They were dark with lust, but there was a sparkle of something else there.

  Need.

  In that moment, she forgot how to breathe. It had been ages since she had needed someone and they had needed her, too.

  And that alone scared the hell out of her.

  SHE SHOOK HER head, placed a finger to his lips.

  He hesitated, a question in his eyes.

  Adrenaline hummed in her veins as she rasped, “I don’t want to think right now. I just want to forget.” Forget about Michael, forget about the fact I’ll probably never be truly safe, forget about the past. Just help me forget.

  It was about more than that, though. She needed to feel human again, to feel normal. For the past few years, her life had been a circus. The rumors, the gossip, the looks of surprise on people’s faces when they recognized her on the streets, despite her best attempt at hiding her identity. Even worse were the too personal, invasive questions that spewed out of their mouths once they recovered from their shock.

  Oh my God, did you really walk in on them having sex?

  Why the hell did you call off the wedding? He was a fricking rock star! You could have been famous and rich! Who cares whom he screws on the side, so long as you get your diamond and your mansion, girl!

  Was his throat really slashed wide open?

  Did you actually slip and fall in the blood before you saw it, or was that something the media cooked up?

  Yes. She needed this, needed Scott. She wasn’t living in the past anymore, and she desperately didn’t want to be haunted by it.

  And yes, she may or may not still have been a little intoxicated. She’d had to have been to be so bold, a dangerous combination of beer buzz and desperation.

  Scott held her so gently; she wondered how he’d be inside her. Would he be a gentle lover? Or the kind who liked to let his passion blaze?

  Pulling back, he looked her in the eyes as he studied her. “Are you sure?”

  She barely hesitated. “Yes.”

  That was all the answer he seemed to need. With a quick tug, he had her breasts pressed against him once more, his hands already reaching for the hem of her shirt.

  She stopped thinking and just went with what her body told her to do. Lifting her hands above her head, she let him tug the shirt free and toss it on the floor. Her breasts felt too full, as though they were about to explode out of the lacy number she had on for a bra. Scott’s eyes immediately dropped to her breasts and widened slightly. Leaning forward, he teased a nipple through the lace. She moaned and threw her head back, pressing her breast against his mouth as he worked her nipple to a hardened point. When he was satisfied with his work, he started on the other, sucking and licking and teasing. His mouth was so hot. She wondered what it would feel like on her sex.

  Breathing hard, he reached back and unhooked her bra with practiced ease. That probably should have been a warning sign, but hell if she cared.

  Impatient, they tugged the bra off together, and he immediately seized her breasts. He scooped them together, pressing and kneading the soft mounds as he kissed her nipples with as much passion as he had kissed her mouth. The whole time, she kept her eyes closed, wanting to feel everything without the help of her eyes to ruin it. Tension drained out of her body, making her languid in his arms. Scooping her up, he got her pants loose, and before long, those were on the floor with her bra—as was she.

  He delicately laid her against the rug. It had some kind of gold-and-black striped pattern, like a tiger.

  She reached for his zipper, but he caught her hand. “Soon.” He smiled. Snagging her underwear with his teeth, he pulled them past her hips and down her legs but kept his eyes locked on hers the whole time.

  This was definitely a man’s apartment; she could tell from the temperature drop the moment she walked inside. The cold was even more pronounced without any clothes on. Goose bumps broke out along her skin, and her wetness tingled from the chill in the air. She was thankful for that chill a few seconds later when his hot breath blowing across her sex made her sigh. The contrast was nice, sexy even.

  He lowered his chin so it brushed the girlish, dark curls above her sex. She knew what was coming next, and she arched her hips in anticipation.

  In a ghost of a kiss, his lips whispered against her most sensitive spot. She moaned out loud and writhed against his mouth. A growl of satisfaction came up from his throat.

  He ducked his head and kissed her, lavished her with his tongue. “God, you taste so good.”

  She could tell he was holding back. Whimpering with need, she rasped, “Take me.”

  He paused for only a second. Clamping hold of both her legs, he opened her wide and claimed her with his mouth.

  She practically screamed; she would have if she hadn’t had enough brain function left to clamp down on her bottom lip.

  His hot tongue raked her, lapping at her in quick, searching strokes. They quickly built up a rhythm, rocking her hips against his mouth. His fingertips dug into her thighs, turning her on even more, but she didn’t think it possible to be any wetter than she already was.

  Then he sat up, jerked his zipper down so harshly she heard denim rip, and stepped out of both boxers and jeans.

  Holy. Shit. Her imagination had been right on the money. He was big; the moonlight shone against his proud sex, highlighting a vein that ran along its side. She licked her lips as he slowly put on a condom and lowered himself over her. She tensed and bit her lip in deliberation.

  When he had one knee on the floor, she sprang up, wrapped her arms around him, and rolled him so his back was on the floor. His eyes were wide with surprise. “Amy, what are you…”

  She poised herself above him, smiling like a queen. “Returning the favor.”

  She sat straight down, her legs open wide to receive him. She took it slowly, as her walls stretched, adapting to the extra girth. Bit by bit, she took him in, releasing her held breath as she did.

  A cry of pleasure rang free from Scott’s mouth, driving her wild. She rocked; the rest of him slid inside her as she relaxed. God, it felt good to have sex again.

  He was hard and hot. She bucked, squeezing her aching breasts to keep them from bouncing against her chest, reveling in the power of her sexuality. She’d never felt bolder, never this much in control.

  And deep down, she knew that’s what this was about—being in control.

  She saw something she wanted—aka him—and she took it without doubting herself.

  That’s when it hit her. From the beginning, being with Scott had never been about a choice.

  She’d already made the decision to sleep with him the moment she’d laid eyes on him. Her body had wanted him.

  So did the woman, whose heart was perhaps more mended than she’d dreamed.

  He slid inside her easily now, gliding in and out from tip to base. He brought his hips up to meet hers, grunting every now and then.

  She could feel the explosion coming, that sweet release of ecstasy. She touched herself, frantically rubbed her thumb along her now-throbbing sex. She moaned.

  “Com
e for me. Come for me, Amy.”

  A scream exploded from her mouth, and she desperately rocked herself along his shaft as she orgasmed.

  She’d come since the incident, but not like this. Not with a man inside her. It was as if the past two years’ worth of tension and anxiety washed away from her in a deluge of release. Her insides turned to goo, and she would have collapsed on top of him had he not caught her and rolled her onto her back.

  “What are you doing?” she breathed, delirious with the liquid pleasure that coursed through her veins.

  He smiled before he placed a gentle kiss on her lips. “Showing you how I feel.”

  He slowly lowered himself onto her again, still rock hard. With care, he pushed himself inside of her, inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed. She sighed in contentment as he began rocking gently. Where her lovemaking had been wild and passionate, his was tender and sweet.

  It didn’t drive her any less wild; the heat slowly built deep in her belly. She whimpered as his thrusts became harder, more urgent. Tendrils of fire curled out from between her legs, making her toes curl. “Yes, Scott…just like that,” she breathed against his ear.

  “Come for me, baby,” he said. “I want to hear you moan again, feel you writhe around me.”

  That did it. The second orgasm slammed into her with twice the power of the first. Her back arched, her breath left as she screamed, and a moment later, Scott grunted deep in his throat, thrusting a few more times before at last he went still.

  He propped himself up on his elbows, which straddled her neck. Their breaths mingled, and sweat shone across their bodies, shining gold with the streetlamp light that had kicked on sometime while they were preoccupied.

  At last, Scott reached up and pulled at some of the wisps of golden hair plastered to her face. He kissed her forehead. “How do you feel? Are you all right?”

  She thought about it. After two years, she’d finally had sex with a man.

  She never thought this day would come, where she’d open up to someone again.

  Yet, here she was, tangled up in the arms of a warm, loving man, who was everything she’d ever dreamed of.

  Please, don’t let it be too good to be true.