by K. I. Lynn
Most of the injuries were reserved for the left side of my body, though my right leg had been dislocated at the hip.
My father told me about the car and how the driver’s side was so smashed in they were surprised I survived. But I knew he was hiding something. Inside, I knew I had died, but he didn’t want to tell me. It was a fact that still haunted me, stared at me every time I looked in a mirror.
My heart should not have been restarted.
Touted as a miracle by the medical profession. They said it had to be my will to live, but the problem was, I had no will to live. I wanted to die, to join my wife, and instead I was stuck between the living and the dead. A purgatory of my own making.
It was all my fault, and no matter how many times someone tried to tell me differently, it would never change the fact that I was responsible. My actions brought down the anger of a very powerful, very dangerous man.
After a few minutes I was able to sit up on the edge of the bed, my vision clearing while I tried to calm the pounding of my heart. That was when I noticed the overwhelming suffocation of the silence.
The sun had barely crested the horizon, so I doubted there was much activity on the streets below. The condo had also recently been updated with energy-efficient, dual-pane windows, leaving the only sound being the blood that pumped through my veins.
I got up and left my room, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water or maybe some vodka. It was Saturday. Nobody could fault me for wanting to get shit-faced at seven in the morning. The vodka could help drown out the nightmare that still had a hold on me.
In the kitchen, I popped open one of the many prescription bottles lying around, this one for Vicodin, and spilled a couple onto the counter. I pulled open the refrigerator and wrapped my fingers around the vodka. I was more than aware that I shouldn’t mix the two, but I didn’t give a shit. I wasn’t driving or operating heavy machinery. The most I’d do is order takeout maybe and push buttons on the TV remote.
I headed to the living room, bottle in one hand and pills in the other. After unscrewing the lid, I slipped the pills between my lips and bottoms up.
The alcohol burned as it slid down my throat. I was thankful for the feeling as I needed it to cover the oppressive numbness that consumed me. After I screwed the cap back on, I set the bottle on the floor and pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around me.
It was going to be a long fucking weekend that I just wanted to silence it all. Drown out the misery, drown out the attraction to Delilah, and drown out the world.
Maybe later I’d go to the club and see if I couldn’t find a girl to help me get off. I needed a pussy. Hopefully that would calm down the craving to bend Delilah over her desk.
The combo of pain pills and vodka did the job, sending me back into a blissful, dreamless state. I awoke around noon and ordered some food. One day I would find the grocery store and maybe make my own food, but ordering it to be delivered to my door was so much more appealing.
I didn’t leave the couch and spent hours just staring up at the ceiling. With nothing else to do and nowhere else to go, I sat in the emptiness. In the silence, the numbing minutes and hours, the loneliness sunk in.
I’d been able to keep it at bay for years, but for some reason the craving for the soft caress of physical contact was almost suffocating. That itch was the only thing that drove me to get my ass up. That, and the sun had gone down, the only light that filtered in coming from the streetlights way below.
Somehow, I managed to get in the shower. As the water rained down on me, I wondered if every weekend was going to be filled with the same nothingness. The answer was yes. It’d been the same for years, the only difference being that I was working again. I had a schedule, a routine.
That difference, though, was what created the stark contrast of my day-to-day. Constantly surrounded by people, women, talking, wore me down, but it also enhanced the nothingness that was my life outside the office.
By the time I was dressed, the club would just be picking up. I needed a fuck. A hot, rough, get-all-the-fucking-aggression-out-of-my-system type of fuck. A cleansing, mind-wiping orgasm.
The music was loud, the lights low, and the bar packed. As I looked around, there were lots of beautiful women, some even with their eyes on me as they sucked down whatever their fruity alcohol of choice was.
I ordered a beer and leaned against the bar, surveying the place.
“Hi,” a female voice rang out next to my ear.
I turned to find a pretty, petite blonde next to me. She had overdone makeup, over-bleached hair, but her full, dark pink lips were enticing. With a short skirt, a lot of cleavage, and on the curvy side, she was just what the doctor ordered.
All I had to do was smile at her, show some sort of interest, and I could have my dick between her thighs in less than an hour.
“Hey.” No smile, no look of interest. She wasn’t right. The beast was dispassionate, not even responding when someone pushed her from behind and her hand bumped right into my crotch.
Nothing.
“S-sorry,” she stuttered as a blush began to cover her cheeks.
Normally, I would have said something like “Trust me, baby, you’re all good. You can touch my cock however you want.”
Some bullshit to seduce her, to get her thinking about my dick, so it would be easier to get it in. But instead, all that came out was, “It’s okay.”
She backed away, returning to her pack of friends, and I looked back out at the crowd.
Fuck.
Something was off. Maybe it was me, maybe not. The drinks weren’t doing it, the women weren’t catching my attention even when they threw themselves at me, and I couldn’t understand why.
When the fuck did it become impossible to pick up a woman?
You know when. You’ve only had one fuck since you first saw her.
I hated that he was right. The weekend after I first saw her was the last time I had a one-night stand. After that, I was working so hard to change my life that the times I did try to go out, I wasn’t in the mood or no women enticed me. I was in the mood to fuck, but I did not feel like putting in the effort to charm my way into a pussy.
Seven months of nothing but my hand, and it looked like that streak would continue.
If my sex life had been reduced to my dick pining for Delilah, the next few months would make the first few weeks a fucking cakewalk. Delilah intrigued me more and more each day, which only served to piss me off. I didn’t want the pull to her, the attraction that had me waking up with a hard cock every morning.
“Fucking cock-blocking bitch,” I grumbled to myself as I headed out to the parking lot.
My fucking dick went from zero to hard in less than two minutes just thinking about her. As soon as I was in my car, I had my dick out. It was so hard, I contemplated going back in and finding that little blonde, but I had a feeling that I wouldn’t be hard anymore.
“Fucking Delilah.” I slammed my head back against the headrest and ran my fingers down the underside of my shaft.
I was thankful for the dark tint of my windows along with the low light of the alley as I fisted my cock.
Want her lips.
Yes.
Laid out on the desk, her pussy open for the taking.
The tempo of my strokes picked up.
Spear her, spread that tiny pussy. Watch the shine on our dick grow with each thrust. Make her cream all over it.
The fantasy took on a life of its own as I frantically worked my dick. I wanted to hear her moan, scream my name, fucking come all over my cock, forcing my come to explode out and into her.
“Fuuuccckkkk,” I hissed as my muscles tensed, my balls drawn up as a spray of white covered my dark shirt.
My chest expanded with hard, deep breaths as my dick softened and the droplets began to soak into my shirt.
I glanced at the clock and blinked in shock. Thinking of her was so powerful it only took two fucking minutes to come.
CHAPTER 6
Fucking, fuck, fuck, fucking fuck.
I clicked the pen in my hand in time with the fucks I was spouting in my head. All attempts to ignore her and turn her against me were failing, thanks to the beast.
Fucking drooling, pent-up hunger mixed with rage. That part of me wanted to fucking find out where she lived and decimate her body, just to get it over with.
Yeeessssssss.
“Do you have to do that?” Delilah asked from beside me. The vein on her forehead was almost twitching, and it was the anger and hatred I needed from her, so I continued on.
“It’s my thinking tool.”
She glared at me. “Well, your thinking tool has me thinking about all the ways I could harm you with it.”
I turned toward her and clicked it again, right in her face. “That time of the month, Palmer?”
“You’re an asshole. Get back to work.” She huffed and looked back down at the stack in front of her.
Asshole. I was on the right track, now to continue to push the issue. “Which leads me to the question: what have you been doing for the past four months?”
She had one of the best death glares I’d ever seen. It excited me more than it should have. God, how I wanted to fuck it off her. Watch it morph into a perfect O as she clamped down on my—
“Hi, guys!”
Fuck.
My insides rolled with the voice—Kelly. It was bad enough the barrage of women throwing themselves at me every day, but the necklines seemed to drop as each day went by. Not that I was complaining about the view of cleavage. No, the problem was that any time I even glanced in that direction, they took it as a sign of interest.
“Nathan, I was wondering if you could help me with something.”
Smile on, mask in place—time to act. “What can I do for you?” I asked. It made me sick. I didn’t want anyone close to me, least of all the whore parade.
If I offered, I was sure any one of them would sit on my dick with Delilah next to us and the door open. The idea of Delilah being the one riding me flashed in my mind, and the beast growled in approval.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Delilah’s fingers flex on her stapler. The reaction was just what I needed—annoyance.
Whatever I had to do to push her away. Even if it meant being overly nice to the intruders. It only took a minute of Kelly’s tits in my face for Delilah to let out a sigh, snatch up her coffee cup, and stomp out the door. I couldn’t make out what she mumbled as she went, but I was fairly certain she was cussing me out.
“What’s her problem?” Kelly asked. “She is so weird.”
“Is she?”
“You haven’t noticed? Such a frigid bitch.” Kelly’s lips turned down in disgust. “I always hated having a question because I hated dealing with her.” She reached out and stroked her finger up my arm. “It’s so nice to have you here now.”
Her touch was like acid, and I cleared my throat, directing us back down to the contract and her question. Luckily, she didn’t seem put off by my change of topic. As much as I hated it, their attention and being nice to them was better than the alternative.
Once I had Kelly straight, she reluctantly left but made sure to sashay her hips on her way out. Getting back into the contract in front of me was hard. Due to the interruption, I’d lost my place. The second I found it, Delilah returned with a fresh cup of coffee in hand. She glanced around, her frown softening but her scowl of annoyance still firmly in place.
“Which girl do you have your sights set on?” she asked as she sat back down.
“Excuse me?” I asked, both for clarification and because for some reason, I couldn’t keep my fucking eyes off her ass.
“Which one? They’ve all been vying for your attention,” she said, obvious disdain or disgust written all over her face. I couldn’t tell which emotion it was. “Each wondering which one of them you’ll pick to screw first. I’m amazed they’re throwing themselves at you, not even caring about their jobs.”
I paused and looked at her. “You’re talking about the non-fraternization policy.”
She nodded. “Holloway is very strict on it now, ever since the Antonio and Karen incident. Lots of drama and problems there as a result. So, now they get rid of one or both parties. That’s why it surprises me so many of them are willing to give up their jobs for your junk.”
My junk? I thought as my lips drew into a smirk. “I do have pretty impressive junk.”
That we want to show you.
Shut up. I’m not going there.
A snorting sound left her, and she rolled her eyes. “Please.”
Sounds like a challenge to me.
“Do I need to prove it to you?” I stood up and pulled at the loop of my belt.
Instead of staring, watching, and waiting, she hid her eyes behind her fingers. “Keep it in your pants, Casanova.”
Good girl.
“I’m surprised you care about them,” I said as I sat back down.
“I don’t.”
“Then don’t worry. One of the reasons I agreed to come here was because of their strict enforcement of no office fraternization.” But it hadn’t fucking worked. They didn’t seem to care. “I thought it would keep them away, but it doesn’t seem to be enough.” I let out a low sigh and stared at my computer screen. Why couldn’t they just leave me alone? All they did was exhaust me in a situation I was already having enough trouble conquering.
“Do you want me to throw you a pity party because women are throwing themselves at you?”
The energy dropped from me—I couldn’t keep the act up anymore. I knew my expression was empty by the time I turned toward her.
It was bad. By the simple way her lips parted, I knew there was no hiding the darkness that took over with each breath.
“They should all stay away from me,” I managed to hiss out.
I was up and out of my chair, walking through the door without a word. There was no destination. I just had to get away. From them, from her, from every living, breathing person.
Everything was coming undone. With each step, I crumbled.
Grace.
No!
Her smile, her touch.
The stairwell came into view, and I slammed through the door before racing down the steps.
9 flashed by, then 8. Around and around, my leg protesting. 7, then 6. I couldn’t stop. Not until I reached the bottom.
When I broke through the door and out into the cold air, I ran around the side of the building, away from anyone who could see. My lungs burned, arm tucked against me and around my stomach. Everything was on fire, a tearing pain. Flashes of the accident, of waking up, of the reality of my loss.
A scream let loose, unable to be contained as I fell against the side of the building.
Pain. Nothing but screaming, searing pain consumed me.
My slip intrigued Delilah more than I wanted, more than I needed. Her attention, as sly as it was, didn’t go unnoticed. It forced me to work harder at containing my inner turmoil.
The problem was her. When I did catch her staring and our eyes connected, it was almost like looking into a mirror. Her eyes were blank, empty of emotion and devoid of light.
No. No. No.
Yes. She’s just like us. Broken. Empty. Want her.
Stop it.
I’d arrived earlier than normal, the office even more empty than I was used to. Delilah’s side was vacant, which was odd as she usually made it in before me.
Standing in the doorway, I stared at her desk, at her chair.
What the hell am I going to do?
Take her.
I can’t.
Take her!
“Stop!” I yelled out, slamming my fist against the doorjamb, my chest expanding with labored breaths.
I walked around my desk and grabbed my coffee cup. Calling up all my strength, I took a deep, steadying breath to right myself, an action that almost faltered when I
glanced out the window and saw Delilah climb out of her car. I knew it was her simply because she always parked in the same spot, which was right next to my car.
I can’t do this.
You know how to make things easier.
You are no fucking help.
If I was helping, you would LET ME OUT!
Banging of metal bars clanged in my mind, making me cringe.
Talking to myself, envisioning a stalking, deranged version of myself locked in a cage in my own mind probably wasn’t considered sane, but I’d long ago given up on any notion of sanity.
The beast was a part of me, but was too uncontrollable to be let loose. With tight chains, I bound him. With bars of steel, I contained him. With sheer will, I silenced him.
Two cups of coffee retrieved, and I was able to get back and set them down before she made it up.
“Morning,” she said with a yawn. It was obvious the long hours had gotten to her. With Friday, our work week totaled over fifty hours apiece.
I held one of the cups up. “Coffee?”
She quirked her brow and looked from it to me. “Is it poisonous?” she asked.
Poisonous?
Poisonous?
What the fuck? Where the fuck did that come from? Had I done too good of a job of pushing her away?
I chuckled, stunned. “No, Delilah. Fresh brewed.”
She cautiously reached for the cup. “Are you buttering me up for something?”
“No.” I let out a sigh and shook my head. “I saw you walking in when I was heading to get a cup of my own. With as much as you drink, I figured you’d need one.”
“Oh.” She took hold of the cup and held it up to her lips. “Sorry… Thank you.”
She smiled at me. It was almost real, or at least part of it was. Enough so that I found my lips pulling up in response before clearing my throat and returning to as neutral of an expression as I could muster.
“Don’t mention it,” I said as I returned my attention back to the never-ending stack of papers on my desk.