Chasing Darien ~ J.M. Stoneback

by J. M Stoneback

  “What about my vodka?”

  “I’ll buy some at the corner store,” I lie.

  I call an Uber driver, and five minutes later we are in the car. She rests her head on my shoulder and I loop my arms around her. She smells like heaven, strawberry or something fruity. And I like that she is trusting me. Her little purple dress rises up her legs, exposing bare thigh. She snuggles against my shirt, holding tighter.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” My tone is harsh. “Why would you pick up a guy from the bar?” I grind my teeth. If I hadn’t been there to protect her, I don’t know where she would be.

  “I wasn’t picking up a guy, asswipe.”

  The liquor is strong with this one. I run my hand through my hair and pull in frustration. Red pulls away, sighing.

  “I want to bend you over my knee and spank the shit out of you, then fuck you until you can’t walk.”

  Her jaw drops at my words, but I meant it. My dick swells at the thought. Definitely have to take a cold shower when I get home. What if something happened to her?

  “I’m s-sorry.” She sobs harder, and I pull her onto my lap and cradle her.

  “Shh,” I say in her hair, and she pulls away.

  “I feel like shit. Can you tell the driver to pull over?”

  I do what she says, and she opens the door, pukes on the concrete, shuts the door, and the driver takes off in the city.

  With drunken eyes, she says, “You think I’m stupid, don’t you?”

  “Never.”

  She smiles at my words.

  We pull up to our building, and I throw a twenty at the driver. I scoop Alana up in my arms like a bride, carrying her to her condo. She lays her head on my chest. When I put her down, she leans against the wall as I grab her keys from her purse and put her key in the keyhole, unlocking the door. As I glance around, the living room is spotless—you can eat off the floor. It’s nothing I imagined. I thought the place would be decorated with floral shit, but it looks like I’ve stepped into Goodwill. Where did she get her furniture? On the side of the street?

  “Where is your room?”

  “Down the hall, on the right.”

  I kick the door open. Do I have the wrong room? Her room looks like a teenage boy’s, one who is obsessed with comic books, video games, and anime. Video game posters hang on the wall. And if the room weren’t painted pink with panties sticking out of the drawer, I would have never guessed this was a girl’s room.

  I knock over a stack of comic books as I lay her down on the queen-size bed. She vomits on her dress, so I unzip her silk fabric and pull it over her head, resting it on her computer chair. My eyes sweep over her body—her light-brown nipples are hard through the pale-pink lace bra, and her matching thong fits on her hips. Her body is sinful, a sin that I want to commit. I get a good look at her ass as she crawls into bed. She’s athletic thin but has wide hips and a butt shaped like an apple I feel the urge to bite. My dick strains against my pants and I adjust myself.

  She undoes her bra, waving it like a flag, and tosses it on the white carpet. And like a sick fuck, I stare at her perky breasts. She’s got a birthmark shaped like a heart above her nipple on her left tit. Not into fucking women while they are drunk. She is shit-faced. She might not remember what happened.

  “Stay the night wit—” Before the words are out her mouth, she jumps up, rushes to the bathroom with her hand over her mouth, and moments later I hear the toilet flush. I follow her to the bathroom and she hugs the toilet bowl. I hold her hair as vomit spills from her mouth. She hits a side button and the toilet flushes.

  “I’m going to be sick in the morning.” She lies down with her breasts touching the white tiles. “I’ll sleep here tonight,” she says, dozing off.

  Grabbing her pink blanket from the bed, I place it over her body.

  As I sit at my home office and pay my dad’s medical bills, my doorbell rings. I rush to the door and look out the peephole. Alana holds a fruit basket in her hand. Slowly, I turn the knob on the door and swing it open. Her cheeks are flushed, and her front teeth catch her pouty bottom lip.

  We stare at each other for a few seconds, and she says, “This is for you,” and shoves it in my hand. “Don’t know your favorite fruit, so I picked out everything I could think of.”

  I hate eating fruit, but I’ll keep it and make Logan and Gunner eat this shit. “Thanks.” I set the basket on the breakfast nook. “How’s your headache?”

  She shrugs and says, “Good. Thank you for having my back at the club. I’d probably be raped or dead.” She plays with her ponytail.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Don’t tell Gunner. I don’t want to hear his mouth.”

  I make my way to the breakfast nook and lean against it. Why the fuck is she scared to tell him that?

  “Nice place you have here.” She walks to the wide window in my living room and looks at the city. “I can see my job from here.” She taps the window, leaving fingerprints on the glass, and moves to the sleek black piano. “You play?” she asks as she strokes the keys.

  “A little bit.” I love it that she is here in my place, invading my personal space. Love the fact that she isn’t dodging me every chance she gets. I sit on the black bench and play “Hotline Bling.” She sings off-key, but I don’t mind listening. She flops next to me, and we finish the song.

  “You have a lovely voice,” she murmurs.

  I want to sit her on that piano, fuck her and fill her with my come. Wonder what kind of woman she is in bed? Does she moan loud? Does she like her hair pulled while I fuck her from the back? Does she like her ass slapped? She gets up from the bench and peeks in the hallway. I nod for her to look around. She scrunches up her nose, inhales and exhales.

  “There are no pictures of families on your wall, it’s lifeless here.”

  “I’m not much of a picture person.” I shrug my shoulders. Haven’t had much time to decorate ever since I moved out of my mansion. I still have stacks of boxes in the hallway. Alana opens a brown box filled with albums near the kitchen, picks up Michael Jackson’s Bad album and waves it in my face.

  “Michael Jackson is my favorite artist.”

  “You’re big on eighties music?”

  “I like all kinds of music,” I say as Alana puts the album back.

  “Your place is so big and nice—better than mine anyway, even if it’s empty.”

  “Why were you celebrating your birthday with some loser at the bar?” I fold my arms across my chest. Thinking about it pisses me off.

  Face flushed with embarrassment, she says, “Everyone was unavailable. Crystal is out of town. Tate and Gunner had to work, so I decided to celebrate by myself.”

  I want to tell her to get rid of Tate, but he is not the issue right now. “You coulda asked me.”

  She sits on the couch and says, “You’re too busy trying to stick your dick in me.”

  “You act like that’s a bad thing.” I sit next to her, and she slowly scoots to the edge of the couch. Love watching her squirm when she is around me. Glad I make her flush. “I’m taking you out for your birthday, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  She straightens her spine and asks, “What do you have in mind?”

  You wrapped around my cock as I fuck you really good. “I have a lot on my mind.”

  “Like what?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “I don’t like surprises.”

  “Trust me, you will like mine.”

  “Okay,” she says, “if it involves sex or anything of that nature, I will never go out with you again.”

  Alana

  I HAVE NO idea where Darien is taking me for my birthday. Have to admit, it was nice of him to help me while I was drunk off my ass and that guy was going to take advantage of me.

  Darien pulls up to a Wawa. “Do you need anything?” He kills the engine. I shake my head. He gets out of the car and disappears into the store.

  What the hell am I doing? I’
m sitting here in a nice-ass car that is as expensive as my college tuition with a smoking-hot man. I do like him, a ton. Darien gives off the vibe that he doesn’t give a crap what anyone says or thinks. When he walks in a room, he reeks of intimidation. But I don’t need any distractions, especially not from a pretty boy who will break my heart.

  He strolls back to the car, turns on the ignition and drives off. We listen to Breaking Benjamin on the way to wherever the hell we are heading. An hour and a half later, it is three in the afternoon and we arrive at a white two-story house in Ocean City. The house is breathtaking, a traditional home with a chestnut wood porch wrapped around the house. Two rocking chairs sit by the screen door, there’s black roofing, and a black metal star sculpture sits in the middle of the house.

  “Where are we?” I ask as we get out of the car.

  “One of my homes.”

  Instead of going inside of the beautiful home, I follow him to a white yacht that is attached to a dock. I stop in mid-step, and he turns to look at me. Light yellow sand covers my shoes. The cool breeze from the ocean tickles my cheeks.

  “Thought we could sail for your birthday,” he murmurs.

  “You own this boat too?”

  He nods.

  Inside the yacht is beautiful. He gives me a tour. A wet bar. Baby-blue walls in the bedroom, a bedroom suite made out of chestnut wood. Up-to-date kitchen and spacious living room. It looks like a well-furnished apartment, not a boat. As we make our way outside, a Jacuzzi and a mini-grill are on the deck. I lean over the rail, admiring the beauty of the teal ocean. The waves crash against the hull and seagulls screech as they hover over the water.

  “Beautiful,” I murmur.

  “Yeah, she is.” He smirks. My cheeks heat up. I turn to face him and his chest rises and falls. He stands so close to me that the heat radiates from his body. “You want to learn how to sail?”

  “Really?” I squeal.

  “Yeah, come on.” He grabs my hand and leads me to a little deck with two beige seats overlooking the sea. There are three screens above the steering wheel. Darien sets the seat back and sits in front of the steering wheel. He explains to me what each screen is. One screen is for navigation, another one picks up sea animals, and the other contacts the Coast Guard just in case we get stranded. He straddles me on his lap. I stiffen as he clasps my hand on the steering wheel, resting his chin on my shoulder. Goose bumps sprout on my skin and my heart beats loud in my ears.

  “The ocean is like a relationship,” he whispers, his breath tickling my ear. “It has waves that crash, but when it is calm and peaceful, it’s the most beautiful thing to admire.”

  As I turn to glance at him, our faces are inches away. My breath hitches and I swallow hard. My gaze lingers on his plump red lips. The smell of his cologne isn’t helping—he smells intoxicating.

  “Wow. Didn’t know you were a poet, Edgar Allen Poe,” I tease.

  I turn my torso, and my breasts are pressed against his hard chest. My nipples are so hard, they could cut through the cotton fabric.

  Darien grabs my hair, pulling gently, tilting my chin back. His lips cover mine and he slides his tongue into my mouth. We kiss each other like two hungry animals ready to tear each other apart. Mint flavors his tongue and his expensive cologne smells divine. My pussy salivates. The kiss is rough but passionate, demanding. Everything I thought it would be and more. Tate doesn’t kiss me like that, and for the first time since my divorce, my soul feels alive.

  As I pull away, my hair stands up on the back of my neck and I slide into the seat next to his. The tension between us is making it hard to breathe. I know he can feel it too, the want and need crawling between us, ready to explode. And dammit, butterflies dances in my stomach. Yep, I’m feeling the guy.

  He rubs his hands on my thighs and squeezes gently. Darien is going to ruin me. He is the type of asshole who’s going to set fire to my heart, and if I’m not careful, I will have to sweep up the ashes. After Charles broke my heart, I had to repair it, sew it back together, love it and take back ownership of it. I will never let another man break me the way Charles did.

  “How did you learn to sail?” I ask, propping my feet on his lap. He hits a button on the control panel and unlaces my pink Converse, tossing them to the lime-green linoleum with a thud. He slides my Wonder Woman sock off and places it on the back of the seat.

  “You really are a nerd,” he murmurs as he places both of his thumbs on the ball of my foot and massages. I moan as he works his way to my heel.

  “Answer my question, Darien Casey,” I manage to say.

  “My father taught me. He used to take me on his boat when I w—”

  “Aww, yeah, right there,” I draw out. He presses harder on the top of my foot below my toes.

  “—was a kid. My father was a fisherman, and he sold fish to the locals. He owns a fish market.” He places my foot on the cold floor and picks up my other foot, repeating the same motion.

  “Are you and your dad close?” I ask as he plays with my toes. I giggle a little. Glad I got a pedicure and got them painted black.

  He nods and continues to massage my foot.

  “I like you a ton,” I blurt out and place my hand over my mouth. When I look out at the sea, it’s calm and quiet, and the sun sets on the ocean, creating a pale-purple and orange sky. I gaze at the control panel, focusing on the blue blinky light. I like him more than I want to. I have feelings for the wrong guy.

  He tilts my chin, and I look into his eyes and my breath hitches.

  “I like you, too.”

  D: I have a proposition for you.

  I read Darien’s text a few times and set my phone face down on the desk. Wonder what kind of proposition he has for me? I haven’t spoken to him since Saturday night when we went to Ocean City. We spent the night at his boat. He slept on the couch, and I slept in the bedroom. Sunday, back at home, I stayed in and watched Shameless and ate chocolate ice cream. It’s Monday. I’m sitting at my desk, reading Gunner’s e-mail, sorting out what is junk and what is important, and squeezing in meetings with shareholders.

  Gunner knocks on my door and tells me to book him a flight to Los Angeles. I grab my phone from my dark brown L-shaped desk and text Darien.

  Me: How did u get my number?

  D: I used your phone to call mine.

  Me: Smh. Did you upload any dick pics to my phone? What kind of proposition?

  D: Lol. Why upload pics when you can have the real thing? Come over and find out.

  Me: Will you feed me?

  D: I’ll feed you all the come you want.

  Me: I meant food. Ho.

  D: Yeah. LOL. Come by my place at seven, we’ll have dinner.

  Me: C U then.

  Crystal stands in the doorway, and I tell her to close the door behind her. She looks like shit. Her eyes are red and swollen, her pale cheeks are red, and there are stress lines around her big black eyes. She flops in the gray chair in front of my desk.

  “I’m sorry for missing your birthday. Had a shitty week. My mom’s MS got so bad that she was admitted to the hospital.” She crosses her legs, pulling her floral sweater over her knees. Mrs. Ruby has been in and out of the hospital ever since high school. “She wears diapers now because she can’t use the bathroom.” Tears wet her eyes, and they fall down her cheeks. I stand up and wrap my arms around her shoulders. “Clarence and I broke up.” Her voice is weak. “I told him that I’m pregnant and he said he doesn’t want a child.”

  Shock can’t even describe how I’m feeling. If Clarence were here, I would strangle him to death. “What are you going to do about the baby?”

  I know her pain all too well. You feel afraid and your world feels like it’s about to fall apart.

  “I don’t know. I want to keep it but I’m not ready to be a mom.”

  I dig in the drawer and hand her a napkin. She wipes her cheeks and nose.

  “We’re not making shit at the strip joint. I can get my father to help, but he is too
busy taking care of my mom.”

  “We will figure this out somehow. Whatever you want to do, I’ll stick by you one hundred percent. I promise.”

  “Really?” Her eyes light up, and she tosses the used napkin in the wastebasket.

  “Why wouldn’t I? You were there for me when I had Cole,” I say. “Just promise me one thing.”

  “What?” She raises her eyebrow.

  “If you decide to keep it, just don’t name the baby some weird shit that today’s parents are naming their kids.”

  She laughs at my joke. “I won’t.” She straightens her spine. “Enough about me. I want to hear something good. How was your week?”

  “I think I found my Joker.” I exhale and bite my lower lip, smiling.

  “You found a guy to verbally abuse you and treat you like shit? Gotcha.”

  I roll my eyes at her answer and sigh. “That’s not what I meant, asswipe.” I tap my nails against the desk. “I spent the night with Darien. He took me to his boat in Ocean City. He has a beach home there.”

  Crystal’s eyes grow the size of saucers and she says, “Shut up! Did y’all fuck?” She rests her elbow on the desk, tucking her knuckles under her chin.

  “Lower your voice. I don’t want Gunner to hear.” I glance through the glass double doors, and he speaks on the phone, looking like he is ready to beat the living shit out of someone. If Gunner knew I want his friend, he would try to beat him up. My brother is too overprotective. When he found out what Charles did to me, he beat the shit out of him. Charles showed up to court with a broken arm, black eye, and stitches at the crown of his head. Even though I asked Gunner about it, he avoided the question like a plague, but I knew he did it because he had a broken nose and two black eyes.

  Shaking my head, I say, “He wants me to come over for dinner to talk. If you want me to cancel so we ca—”

  “Hell no, go have fun. I’ll be fine by myself. I’ll catch up on Attack on Titan and eat popcorn.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely. Besides, I want to wallow in my own self-pity.” She stands up, gives me a hug and says her goodbyes.