Paranormal After Dark

by Rebecca Hamilton

  “I hate to think of you dissing on yourself. Do you still do that?”

  “A little. Sometimes. It’s become my fallback plan when I’m stressed.”

  “You’re a tough woman, Vienna. That’s one of the things I admire about you. Always have. You were dealt an extremely bad hand in life but you never felt sorry for yourself or whined about it. I admire that, too. I’d love to show you how lovable you are. You’re more than a fighter.”

  He reaches for my hands. I stiffen at first but then relax. He isn’t feeling sorry for me—yet.

  And then it happens. Here he is, the guy I’ve longed for, for years. My friend. My confidant. The guy who just told me he’s been preparing for me. We’re hot, we’re horny, its go time. Until…that annoying thought bursts to the surface like a breeching whale. I realize I’m not prepared for him. I’m still a broken mess inside.

  Dark rage and feelings of inadequacy boil inside. I can’t do this. Not won’t or doesn’t feel right, can’t. Tears flow in a torrent from my eyes.

  “Vienna?” Jonas looks at me, bewildered.

  “I can’t do this, Jonas. I know you’ve done all this prep work to be with me, but I can’t do it. I can’t let you see what I really am.”

  “Vienna, I’m ready. I’m more than ready. Please.” His voice comes out in a husky, anguished whisper.

  I shake my head and push his chest. “Go,” I say through heartbreak. “Go.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” He looks like he’s going to strangle me. He looks like he might actually cry. He looks like he can’t believe what I said to him.

  I can’t either.

  If I didn’t like the way Jonas entered my house earlier, I like it even less when he leaves.

  He slams the door so hard I thought it might break.

  My heart is shattered. I can only imagine how he feels. But I can’t let him love me right now. Because, to tell the truth, I don’t love myself, not one little bit.

  Chapter 19

  IT’S BEEN A couple months since I kicked Jonas out of my house. Christmas and New Year’s have come and gone. So, I missed my promised birthday gift of an orgasm. Apparently, I wasn’t ready. At first, it was difficult. I cried myself to sleep every night and resumed my pizza nibbling, Chunky Monkey ice cream consumption ways again. I wanted to pulse-com him every ten minutes, desperate to tell him I changed my mind. He never messaged me or called, making it easy to be angry with him, to tell myself he didn’t really want me after all.

  Nigel gave up on me during those sorry days. As long as he was fed, though, he kept to himself. But he didn’t look any happier than I felt.

  After a couple weeks of wallowing, I decide to make it my mission to learn how to orgasm. I don’t want some guy to be my knight in shining armor and give me that oh so longed for pleasure. Nuh huh. If anyone is going to give me pleasure, it’s me.

  I decide to take a long break from work, maybe forever. Giving pleasure to men when I can’t allow it or find it in myself, no longer holds any appeal. All it’s been is a freaky power game I played to not let anyone get too close. And I’m rich enough to not have to work.

  I order vid-feeds and sex toys galore. Talk to women at the women owned pleasure store down on 1st Avenue. Even take a workshop or two. Take long bubble baths, as if wooing myself, romancing myself. And little by little, bit by bit, I learn what feels good, what doesn’t, and how to give myself a really good orgasm or two. While it would be nice to share the experience with someone, at least I can give it to myself.

  I manage to stay in touch with Grammy. She notices my sadness but says nothing. Says she also notices something strong emerging in me. Says she sees me settling into my skin in a way she’s never seen before. I tell her, her eyesight is growing dim, but secretly, I’m pleased. I feel it, too. I’m beginning to grow content with myself. I might even like who I am. So I’ve got a few freakish skills? Doesn’t mean I need to announce it to the world and risk rejection. I don’t have to use them. I can let them remain unused inside and maybe they’ll wither and fall away.

  On a whim, I call Magicka and ask him out for a drink.

  “I can only meet you for thirty minutes, honey, and then I have a very hot date.”

  “Who is it today?” I ask.

  “Someone new,” he says, conspiratorially. “And hot.”

  “I have no doubt,” I say, chuckling into the pulse-com. “Tell you what. Let’s meet at a nearby bar. There’s a new one in my neighborhood. I’ll pulse-text you the address. I’ll walk. I can be there in ten minutes.”

  “Deal,” he says, and disconnects.

  I dress in something casual and fun, with knee high stiletto boots for effect. You never know what the night may bring. Say good-bye to Nigel.

  See you, he says. Glad to see you’re feeling better. You were making me sick for a while. Hairballs galore.

  Poor, kitty. Sorry. I pick him up and kiss the tip of his cold, wet nose.

  Put me down.

  Right. You love being loved, kitty. I pause, my thoughts stirring an old familiar sensation in my heart. I loved being loved by Jonas. Loved it. He made me feel worthwhile until I could find something worthwhile in myself to love. He was like a mirror of truth…a truth I didn’t know until now. “I hope he’s doing well,” I say out loud, before heading out the door. “I hope he’s met someone…” Can’t finish that thought. I hope he never meets anyone who connects with him the way I did. I know, it’s selfish, but I don’t care.

  At the bar, I slide into a white booth and wait for Magicka. This place is white, white and whiter. I’ll bet they pay a fortune in bleach. A few minutes later, I see him swish and swirl into the building, ever the flamboyant queen. I can’t even describe what he’s wearing, it’s so over the top. Some flame-red sparkly top thing, flowing down to skin tight silvery leggings and black, high heeled boots. It’s a crazy contrast to this absent of color interior. I laugh. “You never cease to amaze me, Magicka.”

  “What, this old thing?” he says, twirling in a circle. He says it like it’s some dusty rag he pulled from the back of his closet, but I know he’s pleased.

  He leans over, kisses my cheek and settles into the seat opposite me in a puff of manly cologne and eye-shadowed flair. “You look fantastic. What have you been doing?”

  “Not much. Keeping to myself a lot. Doing some personal healing, I guess.”

  “Well, whatever it is, keep it up, girl.”

  We order drinks and chat aimlessly for our allotted time. He doesn’t ask me about Jonas, knowing it’s a sore subject, and I don’t offer anything.

  Finally, he says, “Girl, I wish I could stay but pleasure awaits me.”

  “Go!” I shoo him from the booth. “I’m going to sit here for a minute. Drinks are on me. Have fun.”

  He pecks me on the cheek and leaves.

  I pour the last droplet of my martini down my throat, finish the payment transaction using my pulse-credit, and am about to get up when the door opens. And Jonas enters the bar.

  He strides in looking more serious than ever before, dressed in his usual jeans and tech-T. His hair is shorter. His expression somber. He scans the room as if looking for someone, and spies me. He flinches and looks away, making me wither inside.

  “I get it. I really hurt you,” I whisper. Tears prick my eyes. This time, I don’t care. I no longer feel like emotion is a curse. It’s nothing to be ashamed of or fight. I’ve learned I get through the moments when I allow them. I stare at the spot where Magicka sat, giving Jonas permission to do his business without the intrusion of my gaze.

  A few minutes later, he stands next to me, making me flinch this time. “Waiting for someone?”

  I jerk, as if struck. “No, he just left. You?”

  He shrugs. “Casual date. It’s nothing. She’s new to me. Never met her. I’ve been using one of those dating services.”

  He says it like he’s letting me know he’s over me. Like he’s moved on. A small stab of pain, like an old brui
se, begins to ache in my chest, congealing where I thought I’d healed. “I see.” I force a smile. “Maybe she’ll be the one.”

  “Not looking for the one, Vienna. Only trying to stay active in the dating world, get out and meet people. You know.”

  I laugh. “Actually, I don’t. I’ve been staying in for weeks.”

  He seems to like hearing that and sits in the booth. “What have you been doing with yourself? You look great.” His eyes sweep my face, my body, cautiously interested but without the old hunger and longing he used to exhibit.

  “Thanks.” I gaze about the room. “Shouldn’t you get up? Your date might be here looking for you. I doubt she’d be pleased seeing you sitting with me.”

  “True. I should get to it.”

  He stands and the dull, aching bruise turns into a very active, bleeding, heart wrenching wound.

  “Well. Nice to see you,” he says, like we’re casual acquaintances.

  “Likewise.”

  When he turns to walk away, my heart lurches. “Jonas,” I plea. “Don’t go.”

  He spins around, a look of anger on his face. “Why shouldn’t I? I’m not enough for you. I’m not what you want.”

  The words spear me, making me blink. “Is that what you think?”

  “What was I supposed to think? I bared my heart to you, and you turned me down.”

  “I…I needed time to sort myself. I…I’ve hated who I am for a long, long time.”

  His eyes soften and he lets out a long, deep breath. “I’m sorry, Vienna. You crushed me. I came over with all these expectations and you told me to leave and I had just gone through a horrific breakup with a nasty woman and…well…I decided I wasn’t worth much after all.”

  I blink at him for a few minutes, stunned by his revelation. Did he hold issues too? Maybe I’m not the only person who suffered from low self-esteem. “Would you stop it,” I say, feeling remnants of our old connection. “I didn’t spend the last two months working my ass off to find something redeemable in myself so I could run into you and have to convince you you’re worth something.”

  “Is that what you’ve been up to? You haven’t moved on?”

  “Sit down,” I say.

  He sits, his jaw set, his eyes cold.

  “I wanted you more than anything when I pushed you away,” I say.

  “You have a funny way of showing it,” he says.

  “Well, friend, I realized I didn’t love myself, not one little bit. I figured it wasn’t fair to you to let you love me in ‘new ways’…” I make air quotes. “If I didn’t have a clue how to love myself—I’d always be looking to you for validation of my worth.”

  Suddenly, it seems the walls he erected between him and me begin to dissolve. “I had enough love for both of us.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t want to come to you broken and needy.”

  “Are you still broken?” he asks. His face looks cautiously eager.

  “A little. But way better than before.” I lower my voice to a whisper. “I also taught myself how to come.”

  A curious expression covers his face, both pleased and disappointed.

  “Come on, I know it’s every guy’s fantasy to be the one to finally give the girl the orgasm she’s never been able to attain. Believe me, I’ve acted out that fantasy for more men than I could count.”

  “So who did you do it with?” His eyes look dead again.

  “I didn’t do it with anyone, Jonas. Me and my trusty dildo.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “No. It still feels risky to let anyone in. I did, perhaps, maybe, think of you once or twice.”

  A shift takes place in his mood. His lips curve in a small, mischievous smile. “I wouldn’t let a stranger in, if I were you,” he said, leaning on his forearms. “I’d want to try someone, like, I don’t know…” He strokes his stubble covered chin as if considering. “A trusted friend.”

  “Sounds like a wise choice,” I say, warming to the idea. “Got anyone in mind?”

  “I might know someone,” he says, nodding his head decisively. “He’s got a mind full of ideas to try.”

  I realize we’ve dropped back into the friendship zone, but something’s different—something bold and exciting. Something fresh and new and full of possibilities. “What about your date?” I ask, spying a slender young woman walking through the door, scanning the room.

  Jonas looks to where my gaze is pointed. “Not my type. It wouldn’t have worked out. She’ll be better off if I’m a no show, than a no, thanks. It’ll hurt less, believe me. I’ve had a few dates since we last saw one another.” He winces, as if they all didn’t end up in mad couplings between the sheets.

  “Good point,” I say, reaching for his hand. “Are you ready?”

  “Hell, yes, I’m ready. I’ve been waiting for a long time. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 20

  JONAS AND I haven’t stopped kissing since we exited the bar. “Hold up,” I say, gently extracting myself from his all-consuming lip lock. “I’ve got to tell you something.”

  “What?” he says, breathless. He drops another kiss onto my mouth.

  “I’ve got this crazy skillset.” Oh, shit, this is intense. My body roars with need.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know, mind altering skills and psychic know all tendencies. I don’t care. I want you as you are.” He bites my neck and runs his teeth up and down, from jaw to shoulder.

  “That’s not it,” I gasp. I shiver, letting out a low moan. “Damn, J. Where’ve you stored his stuff?”

  “I’ve fantasized about you for a long, long time. So what do you want to tell me?” He grabs my hand and tugs me up the street, toward my house.

  Once we’re on the landing, I fiddle with the security code, while Jonas fingers my breasts through the soft fabric and flimsy bra I put on. Shit, shit, shit, this is so incredible I wonder if I’ll come without contact.

  The door bursts open, causing Nigel to jump.

  Here we go, he says dismissively. It had to happen sooner or later.

  We fall into the house, landing in a heap on the floor. “Are you okay,” I ask him. I’ve landed on top.

  “Better than okay. Fantastic. Get these fabric barriers off.” He plucks at my shirt.

  I unfasten and fling. “I’ve got these mutant…” I pause, deciding not to criticize my abilities. “I’ve got these unusual skills. I’ve never used them in person with anyone I like, let alone love.”

  “Are you saying you still love me?” He grins.

  “With all my heart. Never stopped.”

  “Me, neither. What about the unusual skills? I’m so hard I can barely stop to listen. All traces of audible ability are rapidly fading as systems accelerate toward my crotch. You’d better make your explanation fast.”

  “Okay,” I breathe. “Let’s say simply…sex can be more than merely touching the parts together. It can be something deep and communal. Something mind-blowing.”

  “Uh huh. Got it. Deep blowing. I like that.” He pulls me toward him, drawing my nipple into his waiting mouth. He lets out a low hum of approval.

  Oh, God. I can’t believe how good this feels. Can’t fucking believe it. “You might get addicted to it…to me,” I gasp.

  “Been addicted to you since I met you. Whatever you’re talking about won’t change a thing.” He grinds his cock into my pussy. “Sweet Jesus, V. I want in. Whatever you need from me is yours.”

  Thinking actions might be far more valuable than words, I straddle Jonas’s lap. “Here goes.” I place my hands on either side of his face and drop my forehead to his. Reaching out to him, mind to mind, I feel the two of us become one, in the exotic union I’ve only dabbled with, never experienced like this. We begin to soar, energetically, physically.

  “Holy, fuck, V. What are you doing?” Jonas pulls away and gives me a wild-eyed gaze, blinking his beautiful blue eyes.

  I look at him kind of crazed myself. This is intense. “Wow, J. I’ve never experienced it quite like this
. I wonder if it’s because you and I…you know…” I bite my lip. “We love each other.”

  “I don’t know but whatever it is, let’s keep exploring.”

  I drop my lips to his, and we commune, mind to mind, and mouth to mouth. It’s a sweet, beautiful sensation. I hum into his mouth, my hands molded to his face.

  His hands drop to my backside, grinding his cock against my pussy.

  The feeling is shiver delicious, out of this world fantastic. I release his mouth and whisper into his lips. “Oh, God, I want you, Jonas.”

  “Same here. There’s too much clothing between us. Let me into your mind and body. Let me into your headspace.”

  My pussy pulses with need and longing.

  “Himeros had a pretty large cock, I recall.” I say, unzipping Jonas’s pants.

  He’s peeled off his shirt and his chest is bare, revealing broad shoulders, chiseled abs and pecs, a slim waist. There’s the trail of hair that leads my eyes down to his…mmm. A whole lot of skin and eye candy from the waist up. A whole lot of anticipation from the waist down. Mercy me, this man is fine. I’m giddy with excitement. “Damn, Jonas. You’re beautiful.”

  “That’s my line.” Jonas runs his teeth lightly up and down the side of my neck, making little whirls of sensation course up and down my spine.

  “I like to share roles, you know,” I tease.

  “I see,” he says, sweeping his warm palms up and down my back and sides. “And you probably need proof I am what I am.” His hands glide around to my breasts and cup them both, massaging around and around, fingering my nipples into tight rosebuds of need. “Got any massage oil?”

  I roll away from him and open a drawer, retrieving lavender scented oil.

  He glances at the ingredients. “All natural,” he said, grinning mischievously. “Lay on your tummy.”

  When I comply, he tugs free my panties, leaving my knee high leather-tech stiletto boots on. He pours a generous amount of oil in his hand, and says, “Watch me love you, V.”