by K. Webster
“God, Opal, that moan was so sexy. Stay with me. Please,” he murmurs against my lips before kissing me again.
His hands find their way to my hips and he hauls me over into his lap. My legs automatically straddle him. His full-on erection pressing into me is a true indication that he’s turned on. Does he finally want me after all these years? I get my answer when he shoves my tight dress up over my hips so I can sit on him more comfortably. His kiss becomes more urgent, but my thoughts drift off and I close my eyes.
Emerald eyes glare at me.
I’m sorry.
I blink my eyes back open to get his image out of my head and try to focus on the one in front of me. With each moment that we kiss, he grinds himself harder into me. He definitely wants me. I think I just want to go home.
“Come on. I need to fuck you, Opal,” he growls and abruptly stands with me, my legs wrapped around him.
Shit!
I want this.
I want this.
I fucking want this!
“Okay?” It comes out as a question between kisses—a question he answers with more kisses.
With my legs hooked around his hips and his hands on my ass, he awkwardly stumbles as he carries me to his room. Once inside, he breaks our kiss and drops me unceremoniously onto the bed. I snap my eyes shut momentarily. I want this.
“There is something there and you goddamn know it. And you’ll realize it when you’re with Trent but thinking about me.”
My eyes fly back open and I watch Trent as he begins undoing the buttons on his dress shirt. When he slides it away from his perfectly sculpted body, I see that he’s free of ink. Thad’s contoured chest boasts beautifully colored artistic stories.
I want to know those stories.
Trent unfastens his pants and drops them to his ankles. He winks at me, but all I offer back is a small smile. A forced smile. I observe him nearly fall on his ass as he tries to remove his socks. Eventually, he gives up and leaves them on. When shoves his boxers down, his cock proudly bounces out. I quickly look away from it and down at my legs, which are dangling off his giant bed.
What am I doing?
His dick comes back into view as he stands unsteadily before me. I shudder when he reaches behind me and begins to unzip the back of my dress.
I want this!
Tears sting my eyes when he hauls me to my feet. The dress slides off my body and hits the floor in a crumpled mess at my ankles. My arms hang at my sides, and I choke back a sob as he unfastens my bra. Once it drops beside my dress, I’m in nothing but my panties. Then I wait for the desire to rush through me, the pattering of my heart—anything! Again, nothing. He begins to push down my panties and I step out of them automatically. Maybe my body will suddenly catch fire from his touch.
What the fuck am I doing?
When he gestures to the bed with a smile on his face, I sigh raggedly. Moment of truth. Now or never. So I crawl up onto the bed and lie down on my back.
“You’ll realize it when you’re with Trent but thinking about me.”
Trent retrieves a condom from the bedside table, and I watch as he attempts to sheath himself several times before finally managing to do so properly.
I want this.
I think.
I squeeze my eyes shut and ignore the glaring, green eyes in my head as I feel the bed sink down with Trent’s weight. This is finally happening. Trent. He spreads my legs apart and nearly smashes me with his body as he collapses onto me. My breath is knocked from me, but I quickly recover. I still can’t open my eyes though.
Can’t or won’t?
I’m not sure what to expect, but what I don’t expect is for Trent to grab his dick and push himself inside me. Fuck! The burn of him stretching me without my being aroused takes a few seconds to adjust to. Either he’s not too into foreplay or he’s just really drunk. Whichever it is, I’m not a fan.
Thad got me off before we had sex and it was amazing.
Ah-maz-ing.
“You’ll realize it when you’re with Trent but thinking about me.”
I force myself back into the present and wrench my eyes open. Trent’s eyes are closed as his mouth parts open. With a groan, I feel his cock throb within me as he releases his orgasm.
That was it?!
He collapses onto me again and I nearly suffocate from his weight. I’m three seconds from pushing his sweaty body from mine.
“That was so fucking good, baby,” he mumbles, his chest still panting.
Good for who?
He slides his dick out of me and rolls off me and onto his back. One more roll and he’s on his side, facing away from me. Within seconds, his shoulders rise and fall in a rhythmic pattern. I’m still blinking in shock when he begins to softly snore.
That was it.
Four years, I waited.
And what do I feel?
Regret.
I bite my lip as I realize he is completely passed out. My throat burns as a sob builds in my throat. Tears well in my eyes and silently run down my cheeks.
This was a mistake.
This was supposed to be perfect. It was far from it.
Thad was perfect.
I lie there for who knows how long as I quietly bawl my eyes out. Eventually, the crying begins to make me feel queasy.
I’m sorry.
Stumbling naked from the bed, I barrel into the bathroom and barely make it the toilet before I start puking my guts up. I’ll never eat steak again. I’ll never drink vodka again. And I sure as hell will never even be able to look at Trent again. I heave until my stomach is empty and all I’m doing is sobbing.
This was all a mistake.
Something in my hysterical state possesses me to stagger naked through the loft until I find my purse. Then I fish it out and dial Thad In My Pants.
“You’ll realize it when you’re with Trent but thinking about me.”
“Hello?” Thad answers sleepily.
“I’m sorry.” My voice is a whisper—barely audible.
“What?”
“All I do is make fucking mistakes,” I slur into the phone.
“Shit, O. What the fuck is going on?” Thad demands. His voice reminds me of thunder, all sleep now gone from it, but it comforts me.
“I’m at Trent’s loft and I’m a whore. A stupid woman who does nothing but make one stupid fucking decision after another.” Then I start crying again.
“O, stop. You’re not a whore.” His voice is soft.
I want to believe him. But when I flash back through the evening, I feel sick again. He says something else, but I drop the phone and fly back into the bathroom. Then I puke some more but eventually pass out hugging the commode.
What.
The.
Fuck.
I’m so pissed right now that I’m seeing red. How could that asshole fuck her when he doesn’t even like her? She didn’t come out and say it, but with all the self-loathing and calling herself a whore, I drew my own conclusions.
Tonight, when I saw her leave with him, it was the first time since rehab that I considered calling my friend Kurt and asking him for some Xanax. Instead, I went home and used my dad’s weights to deal with my frustrations. I had just fallen asleep when Opal called me crying from my brother’s place.
Unfuckingreal.
After swiping Dad’s keys to his Lexus, I slip out of the quiet house and head toward Trent’s. I can’t believe I’m about to go pick up the woman I like from my brother’s house.
What a fucking joke.
Fifteen minutes later, I pull into his parking garage and make my way up to the top floor. The front door is locked, but luckily, since I have Dad’s keys, I easily let myself in.
It’s eerily quiet, but all the lights are on. Once I storm to my brother’s room, I find him passed out on his back, a fucking condom still hanging off his dick.
Motherfucker.
It sickens me, but the need to find Opal overwhelms me. The way her voice sounded on the phone
—hollow and empty—I recognized it. I recognized myself in it. Her head is fucked up, and I know fucked up because I am fucked up. And so is she. I’ll help her.
When I storm past the bed and into the bathroom, my heart drops into my stomach. Seeing her dark, naked form curled into a fetal position on the bathroom floor is gut wrenching. If the asshole in the other room weren’t passed out, I would string him up by his balls and beat the shit out of him.
Why did she have to come here tonight?
Kneeling down in front of her, I softly stroke her cheek with my pinkie finger. She startles and turns her head to look up at me.
Her chocolate eyes are so fucking sad.
“I’m sorry, Thad.” Her words are cut off as she chokes out a loud sob.
“Come here, O,” I instruct gently. Then I drag her limp body into my lap and embrace her while she cries. With one arm, I hold her to me. My other hand strokes her bare back in a soothing, circular motion.
One of her hands wraps around my middle and squeezes me as if I might suddenly vanish.
“We need to get some clothes on you, and I’ll take you home.” I want her out of his apartment. It’s infuriating as hell trying to soothe the woman you want after she just fucked your brother. I need out of this apartment just as much as she does.
She nods against my neck.
Releasing her, I set her back down on her butt and stand to locate something for her to wear. I stalk back into his room and clench my fists at my sides. He’s still fucking snoring in the same position he was a while ago. What a stupid fuck.
I tear my attention from him and start hunting through his dresser drawer, careful not to slam them. If he wakes up, he’s getting his ass kicked. So for the sake of his face and my sanity, I need to be quiet. When I finally locate a T-shirt and pair of boxers, I grab them and then stride back into the bathroom. She’s still sitting up, but her shoulders are hunched forward and her head hangs shamefully. With a sigh, I kneel back down and push the opening of the shirt over her head. She helps me tuck her arms through the holes. Once her shirt is on, I pull her to her feet, and she holds my shoulders while I assist her in stepping into the boxers. She’s shaking like a fucking leaf.
“Hold on,” I instruct as I scoop her into my arms.
She hugs herself closer to me as I exit the bathroom. The scent of lavender, of her, floods my nostrils. How can someone so flawless like her be as fucked up as I am?
“Where’s your stuff, O?” My voice is but a whisper into her hair as I walk past the asshole on the bed and into the living room.
“I just want my purse and phone. I don’t care about my clothes,” she says quietly as she points to the table where her purse sits.
I place her on the arm of the sofa while I tuck her phone into her purse and then hand it to her. She takes it with quivering hands, so I know she’ll never make the walk downstairs. Sliding my arm under her legs, I pick her up again and carry her out the front door, making sure to lock up behind me.
After I get her settled in Dad’s car, she immediately curls up in the passenger’s seat and falls asleep. I start the engine and begin driving out of the parking garage. While I drive to her place, I can’t help but wonder if I’m strong enough to attempt a relationship with this woman. I’m already in a strange place with my own self, but now, I’m throwing everything I have at trying to help her.
Am I making a mistake?
It’s already dragging me down mentally and I’ve only known her two days. What happens if I invest more time in her? Could she be harmful to my recovery?
Twenty minutes later, I’m carrying her sleeping body into her apartment. After shutting the door behind me, I carry her straight into her bathroom and set her on the toilet.
“You should take a bath before you go to bed.” My voice is soft but firm. There’s no way I’m letting her go to sleep with him all over and inside her. No fucking way.
She nods her agreement but refuses to meet my eyes. While she slowly undresses, I start a hot bath for her. Before it’s even done filling, she steps into the tub and sits down. Bringing her knees to her chest, she buries her face in them.
“I’m sorry, Thad,” she says again into her legs. “I’m sorry that I always make terrible decisions that impact those around me, you included.”
I sit down on the toilet and lean over to stroke her back. “One mistake, Opal.”
She shakes her head vehemently. “No, just one more to add to my growing list!”
I don’t say anything as I begin pulling the pins from her hair. Eventually, the bun falls and long, wavy locks cascade down her back. She’s so fucking attractive—even when she’s a blubbering mess.
Finally, I speak again. “O, you’re talking to the king of mistakes. My life has been one huge fuckup. It’s never too late to change. Trust me. I know. I’m two days out of rehab and trying hard not to revert to my old ways. Nobody’s perfect, including you. I’ll be here for you if you ever want to talk.”
She nods her head in agreement. “I’d like that.”
I kneel down in front of the bath, pick up the loofa, and fill it with body wash. The floral smell of it causes a half grin to tug at my lips as I realize that it’s her body wash that makes her smell so fucking amazing.
“Thad?”
“Hmm?”
“Why’d you go to rehab?”
I sigh from just thinking about the many reasons. “Because I fucked up. I drank like a fish and popped pills like candy. I was nothing but a loser going nowhere. I’d had enough.”
She flinches when I begin washing her back but eventually relaxes.
“I’m better now though. I think.”
I scrub her shoulders and arms first and then wash around to the front of her legs. Once she stretches them out, I clean the tops of them. Finally, I wash her belly and breasts before rinsing the loofa and hanging it back on the hook. My cock thickens at the sight of her perky tits, but tonight is definitely not the time. Hell, there may never be another time.
“I’ll let you finish up in here,” I groan as I exit the bathroom, leaving her alone. Then I stride into her room and dig around in her drawers until I find a nightgown and some panties. By the time I return, she has already drained the water and is standing in a towel. “Here are some clothes. I’m going to go grab you some water and ibuprofen. Where do you keep it?”
Her eyes are trained on the floor as she stretches out her hand to take the clothes. “In the cabinet above the refrigerator,” she answers. She still won’t make eye contact with me and my heart fucking aches.
A girl I’ve known for only two days is gutting me because she won’t even spare me a glance. I rescued her like a knight in fucking shining armor and she can’t even look at me. This shit sucks—I’m in fucking deep already.
“I’ll be right back,” I say gruffly.
When I get to her refrigerator and pull the cabinet above it open, I refrain from yanking it right off its hinges. Inside, beside some pill bottles, a few prescription and a few over-the-counter, are a several bottles of liquor. The combination of it all burrows right inside my head. What kind of pills are they? Vicodin? Xanax? Oxy? With shaky hands, I reach past them and grab the large container of ibuprofen. My fingers brush against a bottle of tequila and I feel burned, causing me to jerk my hand away. I need to get her into bed and then get the fuck out of here before I lose my shit.
I slam the cabinet door shut and locate a bottle of water from the fridge. After I dump some ibuprofen into my hand, I leave the bottle and practically run back to her room. Away from the prescriptions that are begging me to read them—out of curiosity, of course. Once in her room, I find her crawling under her sheets. She settles in before I hand her the water and medicine. After she swallows it down and sets the water on the bedside table, she finally looks at me.
Do I look guilty as fuck? I wasn’t going to take any of her pills.
“Listen,” she says softly, jerking me from my jittery thoughts, “I don’t really
have the right to ask you this, but I am going to blame it on my inability to think clearly due to the alcohol. Since it’s late, do you just want to stay here tonight? As friends? I just want to be with someone right now. I’m a selfish woman and will be okay if you say no.”
Her beautiful, sad, brown eyes are my undoing. But at the same time, they’re calming. I go from panic mode about the pills to just wanting to hold her. I would probably give her the entire world if she asked for it.
“Of course,” I answer in a rush and raggedly run my hands through my hair. When she smiles, I know I’d give her the world if she asked for it. The sexy-ass woman before me is every bit as alluring as the pills to a former junkie. “Let me turn off the lights first.”
She nods and curls up under the covers while I run through the apartment shutting off all the lights. When I pass by the kitchen, I stop dead in my tracks. Once again, my eyes flit up to the cabinet above the refrigerator.
I will not look in that cabinet again.
My feet have other plans, though, as they carry me over to it. Reluctantly, I creak the door open. The pill bottles beg me to read them and feed my curiosity. I huff in frustration at my lack of willpower and grab all three pill containers. One is a high-dosage anti-inflammatory. Another is a muscle relaxer. But the last one kills me.
The last one is a painkiller.
Lortabs.
I slowly turn the bottle upside down and then right again. Out of thirty pills, only a few seem to be missing. I look at the date and furrow my eyes at the date. Four years old?
Suddenly, she calls out to me from the other room and I nearly drop the bottle. I quickly push them all back into the cabinet and quietly close it. Striding toward her room, I fish my phone from my pocket and set my alarm clock along the way.
When she sees me appear in her doorway, she smiles in relief.
“What happened four years ago?” I demand a little more harshly than I intended.
Her eyes widen in surprise, but she doesn’t answer my question.
“When I was getting your ibuprofen, I noticed some pill bottles dated four years ago. Were you hurt?”
Fear flashes over her features for a moment and my protective instinct flares to life. Something fucking happened.