One Week Girlfriend

by Monica Murphy

  She climbed into my bed and I pulled her close. Held her to me, her back to my front as we fell asleep to the sound of the rain falling outside. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so content, having this warm, beautiful girl so close in my arms, skin on skin, our breathing in sync, my hands resting on her soft belly.

  Waking up flat on my back with her sprawled all over me, her fragrant, still-damp hair in my face, I thought I was dreaming, she felt that good. But then I realized it’s all too real and I didn’t move for fear of disturbing her and causing her to leave me.

  At this very moment, I don’t want her away from me ever.

  Carefully I run my fingers through her hair, smoothing it out, holding my breath. She snuggles closer, her face pressed against my chest, her lips brushing my skin, making me instantly hard. The rain is still falling outside, the room’s completely shrouded in darkness and I can see nothing. Only feel.

  I haven’t felt anything in years.

  She wakes slowly, I knew the moment it happened, how her breathing changes, the way she starts to withdraw from me. I clamp my arms around her and hold her close, not saying a word for fear I’d fuck up and blurt out something stupid.

  Instead of trying to pull away, she lifts her head and nuzzles closer, her mouth against my neck. She kisses me there, slowly, softly and tingles wash over my entire body at the sensation, making me shiver. I swore I feel her smile and I clamp my arm tight around her waist, splaying my fingers wide so I can touch as much bare skin as possible.

  I don’t know exactly what I’m doing or what I’m trying to accomplish, but I know that I can handle this. In the dark, with Fable. No memories haunting me, completely in this moment. Fable in my arms, her long hair brushing against my skin, her warm breath in my ear. She sinks her teeth into the tender flesh of my earlobe and I flinch, a huff of breath escaping me that sounds suspiciously like laughter.

  “Ticklish?” she whispers and I nod, still scared to say anything, savoring the sound of her sweet, sweet voice washing over me. I’ve never laughed during sex before. It’s never something I considered particularly funny. More like a means to an end…

  Or a shameful, guilt-ridden secret.

  “You have the most beautiful body I’ve ever seen,” she whispers as she slides over so she’s completely on top of me. The thick comforter is still covering our bodies and her warmth seeps into mine, cocooning us in our own little private haven.

  “You can’t even see me.” I’m surprised at how good her compliment makes me feel.

  “Oh, I saw you. And I can feel you.” Her hands are everywhere, searching me. Arousing me. “You’re all muscle, Drew Callahan. There’s not an ounce of fat on you.” I can hear the amusement in her voice and I know she’s enjoying teasing me.

  “That’s probably not true.” I choke on the last word when she slides her naked body down, then off me so she’s lying on her side right next to me. She trails her hand down my chest, along my abs, her fingers gently gliding over my stomach, making it tremble. I am rock hard and aching with it and I refuse to ask her for anything more than she’s willing to give.

  I’m scared. Fucking scared to have sex for fear I’ll ruin everything and flip out again. Or worse, have all those memories come tumbling down on me and I won’t be able to deal.

  What’s happened to me in my past has shaded my entire life. Ruined it. I’m tired of letting it rule me.

  So. Fucking. Tired.

  Her hand skitters away from my cock and I breathe a sigh of relief—and agony. I’d give anything to have her hands on me. Feeling the overwhelming need to connect with her, I cup her cheek with my palm and tilt her head up, kissing her fiercely. No gentle, sweet kisses this time. I devour her, drink from her lips, suck on her tongue and she does the same. Our hands are everywhere, mapping each other’s bodies, moving into more intimate territory with every stroke of our fingers and then I feel her tentative grip on me. Her hand is shaking and my entire body is shaking.

  I groan at the sensation of her touching me like this for the first time and it emboldens her. She squeezes my dick and starts to stroke, those little fingers working me quickly into a frenzied mass of need. I kiss her again, losing myself in her taste, in her hand and already I can feel sensations barreling down on me.

  She whispers my name against my lips, her busy hand getting busier and I groan, arching my hips into her touch. The war begins within me as I near my orgasm and I fight against it.

  This isn’t right. You should be ashamed. Sick to your stomach at what you’re doing. You’re disgusting.

  I push the nagging voice in my head aside and remind myself this is Fable. Beautiful, sweet, strong Fable. That what we’re doing, what we’re sharing isn’t full of shame. There’s nothing wrong with two people wanting to bring themselves closer together by giving each other pleasure.

  It’s hard though, for me to believe it fully.

  Her hand pauses and she breaks away from our kiss “Are you okay?”

  That she would even ask blows my mind. And also makes me feel like a damn wimp. I start to pull away and her grip tightens on my dick, freaking me out a little. I’m not going anywhere with that death grip on my most private parts.

  “Drew. I just…I have a feeling this isn’t easy for you. Being intimate.” She sounds hesitant, unsure and she relaxes her hold, her thumb drawing circles on the very tip of me, over and over again.

  I’m going to explode. Quick. I reach for her, cupping her head with my hands as I kiss her gently. Reverently.

  I don’t want this moment to end. And I don’t to let her in close. She’s already so deep in with me, I’m afraid if she knew what I keep hidden inside, I wouldn’t be what she wanted. That I wouldn’t be the man she’s looking for.

  “I want this,” I tell her when I finally break the kiss. Her hand has dropped away from my erection but I still feel her. Want her. Need her to take me to the next level, where I can completely forget, if only for a little while. “I want this with you, Fable.”

  I say her name to ground me. To remind me this is happening with Fable. The girl who’s become my life source in a laughingly short amount of time. The girl I’m falling for.

  Fable

  Drew is so huge and hard he must be in pain. That’s part of the reason I touched him. I couldn’t resist. Well, that and I had to know what would happen if I did. Would he push me away this time? I want to bring him pleasure because his joy is slowly becoming mine and if I can help him push out of whatever horrible thing sex makes him feel, then it’s worth it.

  I wish the lights were on though, so I can see him, but I have a feeling he’s not ready for that yet.

  I ache so much between my legs I feel like I could almost die from wanting him. I wish I could take him inside me but…I don’t want to push. That I’m the aggressor here is sort of blowing me away but he has awful secrets I hope I can coax out of him someday, no matter how much the idea terrifies me.

  And the idea really, really terrifies me.

  Drew whispers my name and I kiss him. Stroke him, grip him harder, move my hand faster. If I only give him a hand job tonight, then so be it. I sort of like the idea of us doing something so…juvenile. We’re two adults, naked in a bed all alone in a giant house and we could fuck each other wherever we want. He could have me in every single room in this house, out on the deck, wherever, and I’d let him, I want him that badly.

  Yet here we are like we’re in the backseat of a car parked in the back of the lot at the movie theater, trying to get each other off before our midnight curfew.

  A low groan escapes him and he stiffens, his entire body tense for that one hanging moment before he completely falls apart. He’s coming, all over my fingers as I keep my hand on him, his body convulsing, his hips jerking. A potent wave of satisfaction washes over me and I lean up and kiss him, tangle our tongues together, smiling when he breaks the kiss to release a shuddery little moan.

  Pulling away from him, I climb out of bed withou
t a word and head for the bathroom across the hall. I flick on the lights, my image in the mirror startling me and I stop and stare for a moment.

  My eyes sparkle, my cheeks are flushed and my lips are swollen from his crushing kisses. My entire body is covered in a rosy blush and my nipples are hard.

  I wish Drew could see me. That we didn’t have to be so covered in darkness. Does the darkness make it easier for him?

  Pushing the gloomy thoughts from my head, I wash my hands, turn off the faucet and try my damnedest to smooth out my hair. It’s a tangled mess, wild waves all around my face and I blame the rain.

  I also blame the man who buried his hands in my hair so he could hold me still and kiss me senseless.

  He’s still lying where I left him. I catch his silhouette when I slip into the bedroom, though at least his breathing has evened out. I go to him, crawling on top of the bed, where I kneel beside him.

  “Fable…” he starts but I shush him, leaning over his face so I can place a finger to his lips.

  “Don’t say a word. You might ruin it,” I murmur and I feel his faint smile against my finger.

  Satisfied he’s not going to say something that’ll spoil the moment, I lie down beside him and pull the covers back over us. Despite my vibrating, on edge body, I’m exhausted and the idea of falling back asleep cradled in Drew’s strong arms is just too hard to resist. I snuggle in close, resting my cheek against his rock hard chest, where I can feel his wildly beating heart.

  His fingers are back in my hair and his mouth brushes against my forehead. Contentedness washes over me, heady and potent and I close my eyes, letting my fingers drift across his skin.

  “I know tomorrow’s Thanksgiving and all, so I should probably save this confession for then. But there’s no way in hell I’m going to say this in front of my parents so I’ll tell you now what I’m most thankful for,” he whispers against my hair, his low, deep voice soothing me, lulling me into a false hope I’m too tired to fight.

  I open my eyes, staring unseeingly into the dark. “What are you most thankful for?” I ask, my breath lodged in my throat. I both want to know and dread knowing what he’s about to say.

  He’s silent for a moment, as if gathering up the courage and my heart constricts for him. “You. Being here, spending time with you, how you take care of me no matter how hard I try to push you away.” His voice hitches and he clears his throat. “I’m thankful for you.”

  I say nothing and thankfully, neither does he for long, too-quiet minutes. My throat is clogged with some unknown emotion I can’t quite but my finger on and I try to swallow past it, but it’s no use. His muscular arms are tight around me, I feel like I can’t move, I can’t breathe and with a little cry I slide down and slip out of his embrace, falling out of the bed when I do so.

  I scramble to my feet, hear him sit up, the blankets rustling with his movements. “Fable, what’s wrong?”

  Now I’m the one who’s panicking and I hate it. I feel terrible. He didn’t ask for this sort of crappy treatment. He’s just laid his heart out and said he’s thankful for me and here I go trying to escape. Scared of what he’s saying and how wonderfully real it feels.

  But it’s not real. He’s caught up, just like I’m caught up and I can’t differentiate what’s real and what’s fake anymore. I know he’s in the same place. He wants us to be real and it’s easy to think we’ll work together when we’re all alone, pretending to be something we’re not.

  When we return to the real world, we’ll see how different we are. How we could never be a couple.

  I’m not good enough for the likes of Andrew D. Callahan.

  “I—I need to take a shower.” I suddenly do. The idea of scalding hot water washing away all of my tumultuous emotions has massive appeal and I need to get out of here.

  “All right.” He clears his throat, and I wonder if he realizes how uncomfortable I am. He must. “Will you…will you come back to bed with me when you’re done?”

  It took everything out of him to say that, I could tell, just by the tone of his voice. “Sure,” I lie, feeling terrible. I am the worst sort of person, lying to him. I hate liars. But I should hate me because I’m only lying to myself, thinking Drew can somehow, some way, feel something for me.

  I escape his room and hide away in the bathroom, taking the hottest shower I can stand. I scrub at my skin until its red and raw, the steam billowing within the small room and the hot air making me dizzy. Tears are streaming down my face as I cry ugly, soundless sobs that wrack my body. I don’t understand why I’m so sad or why I need to get away from Drew. I don’t regret what I did for him, how I touched him and brought him relief. Release. If my touching him helped him erase even a little bit of what haunts him, I’m happy I could do that. It’s the least he deserves.

  But my reaction to all of this is off the charts ridiculous. I’m falling apart. I don’t want to become dependent on Drew, yet it’s too late. I am. Slowly but surely I am and if I don’t stop it soon, my heart will become so entwined with his, I know I will literally bleed if we’re ever separated.

  A shuddering breath escapes me as I step out of the shower and hurriedly dry myself off. I sneak back into my bedroom and slip on an old pair of sweats and a T-shirt, then dive beneath my cold as ice sheets and pull the covers over me, my still hot body shivering from the difference in temperature compared to the chilled in the room.

  I’m totally exhausted and emotionally drained, but I don’t sleep well for the rest of the night, tossing and turning, thinking of Drew all alone in the next room. I abandoned him. I let him down.

  I’m no better than my mother.

  With that realization, I cry.

  ~* Chapter Eleven *~

  Day 5 (Thanksgiving), 12:55 p.m.

  The more I push you away, the more I want you to push back. – Drew Callahan

  Fable

  “Mom’s not making Thanksgiving dinner?” I ask incredulously, fighting the urge to rush outside and inhale a cigarette. My nerves are frazzled and my hands are literally shaking, but I only have two cigs left in my secret pack. The one that was full when I arrived here. I need to save them.

  “Nope. She told me there was a frozen turkey dinner in the freezer from Marie Callender’s if I wanted that. Otherwise, I’m on my own.” Owen sounds disgusted and I don’t blame him. “I guess she went out of town with Larry. He has a daughter or something and they were going to have turkey dinner there.”

  Unbelievable, that Mom wouldn’t bother taking Owen with her. He’s her son. Guilt eats at me for not being with Owen, but what else is new? I’m starting to think all the money in the world isn’t worth this turmoil. My heart is in tatters, my brain is sluggish and my brother has been virtually abandoned on a holiday that our mother usually loves and goes overboard in celebrating.

  Even though it’s only been the three of us for so long, since my grandparents died within months of each other when I was eleven, my mom always makes a huge Thanksgiving dinner and invites everyone she can think of. Sometimes she’ll have her current boyfriend in attendance. Other times, friends from the bar where she likes to hang out, the lonely stragglers who have no family to spend the day with.

  My mom may have her faults—and she has a shit ton of them—but she always brings in the strays for the holidays. Doesn’t like to see someone hurt and lonely.

  Frowning, I shake my head. Yet she’ll abandon her son. Never contact her daughter. Sometimes I think she cares more about the people she drinks with than the people she created.

  “I wish I was there.” I lower my voice since I’m in the main house and who knew if there are spies lurking about. I wouldn’t doubt it if there are. “You shouldn’t have to spend the holiday alone.”

  “I’ll be all right.” His false bravado kills me. Owen tries to act so tough all the time. I wonder if it’s as exhausting for him as it is for me. “Wade’s mom invited me over. I think I’ll go to their house in an hour or so. Wade said they like to eat around
three. Supposedly his mom makes a fucking awesome pumpkin pie.”

  “Don’t curse.” My heart lightens and I plan on sending a thank you card, gift, whatever I can muster to Wade’s mom when I get back home. “I’m so glad you have somewhere to go.”

  “Same here.” He pauses for a moment before he says in a small voice, “I miss you.”

  I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I miss you, too. But I’ll be home Saturday night, I promise. Let’s do something Sunday, okay? Maybe we could go to the movies.” We never go, it’s too damn expensive, even the matinee, but screw it. We need to infuse some fun in our lives. It’s too damn dreary in the Maguire household and we’ll both need the escape by the time I get home.

  “I’d like that, Fabes. I love you. Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “I love you, too. Happy Thanksgiving, sweetie.” I hit end on my phone and turn to find Adele standing not five feet away from me, her perfectly arched eyebrows lifted so high I’m afraid they’ll fly right off her too-pretty, too-smug face.

  “Well. Don’t you sound cozy, chirping into your phone how much you miss and love him?” She takes a step toward me and I back away, fear shivering down my spine, though I don’t know exactly why. I shouldn’t be scared of this woman, despite her menacing expression and those cold, calculating eyes. She means nothing to me.

  But I don’t want to make waves. It’s Thanksgiving for the love of God. Getting in some sort of stupid argument with his stepmom will only hurt and humiliate Drew and I don’t want to be that type of girlfriend, fake or not.

  “Isn’t it rude to spy on other people’s conversations?” I ask, because I can’t help myself. I’m pissed she’s listening in, even more so that she believes I’m talking to another boyfriend, lover, whatever. I shouldn’t have to explain myself. It’s none of her damn business.

  “Not when the conversations are happening inside my house, in my study. And when you just so happen to be the little tramp who’s fucking my Andrew.”