One New Message (A Dark Romance Novel)

by Vivian Ward

  Leaving the dealership, I feel like a million bucks. I’ve got my man back, we’re finally over things, I’ve got a new, nice car and don’t have to borrow my dad’s anymore, but somehow, there’s still a nagging feeling that’s tugging at me.

  I know what it is, or rather, who it is.

  Zack.

  I kind of miss him and things ended badly between us, and I don’t like it. I never meant for things to happen and spiral out of control as they did, and I want to make things right between us.

  If I can do it with Trent, then why can’t I do it with Zack?

  I might be making the biggest mistake of my life, but I’ve got to do it.

  I send him a text.

  I miss you. ☹️

  Two days go by, and I don’t hear anything back from him. I guess I really hurt him, and all I want to do is make things better between us.

  Trent and I have put it all behind us; now I just need Zack to get on board, too.

  He changed my life so much after we reunited. If it weren’t for him, I would have my fancy, new car and I sure as hell wouldn’t have been able to pay anything off.

  On the other hand, I also would have searched much harder for a job and put myself out there in the real world.

  And then there’s Trent. Who knows how our relationship would be now if it weren’t for the snag that tore us apart, even if it was temporary.

  I guess I should be grateful for the little bit of time that we had together. We were high rollers together, making a great team, and we had a lot of fun doing it.

  It’s just that I never thought I’d miss his smile so much, or holding his hand when we walked through dark alleys on our way to the next underground casino, or the way he could make me laugh.

  The third night after sending him the text message, I receive a text from his phone, but it doesn’t sound anything like him at all.

  Drunk at Mack’s. Get down here now.

  What the hell is that supposed to mean?

  I call him, but there’s so much background noise that it’s hard to understand anything, but I swear another woman answers the phone.

  “Hello?” I say, sounding a little more defensive than I mean to. “Who is this?”

  There’s inaudible noise that I can’t make out, and then I hear her again.

  “No, stop him.”

  Without any hesitation, I hang up the phone and rush down the stairs, determined to head to Mack’s. It’s a small corner bar on the South Side near the brewery where they have karaoke. It’s usually a pretty chill place, so I can’t imagine him being in too much trouble, but then again, this is Zack, so anything’s possible.

  When I get there, he’s walking up on the stage with a microphone in one hand and a drink in the other. How he’s standing, much less walking, is beyond me, but he sees me as I stand in the back of the crowd who is booing him, telling him to get down off the stage.

  Our eyes meet, and his cold stare causes me to freeze in place.

  He puts the mic up to his mouth and begins slurring his words.

  “No, no,” he says to the DJ. “Scratch my request. I’ve got a different song I think I want to sing.” He looks dead at me. “Play, uh, Love Hurts by Nazareth. Yeah, pull that shit up.”

  The song begins to play, and he doesn’t take his eyes off of me, not even for a second. Most of the people quiet down to let him have his five minutes in the spotlight, and when they do, a woman approaches me.

  “Are you Joline?”

  Surprised that she knows who I am, I’m almost afraid to admit it, but I end up giving myself away by not answering.

  “You’ve got to do something about him,” she says. “He’s been here rambling on and on about you all night. I tried to send him home in a cab, but he refuses to leave. Can you take him home before he gets his ass kicked?”

  “I’m sorry. Who are you?”

  She puts her hand out to shake mine.

  “Becka, I work here.”

  I look over at the bar to see who’s tending it and see a short, skinny guy behind the counter wiping things down.

  “He’s my co-worker.”

  Looking back at her, I’m confused as to how she knows who I am.

  “How did you know I’m Joline?”

  “Your picture. It’s set in his contacts on his cell phone,” she shouts over the loud music and Zack’s drunkenness.

  On the stage, he’s slurring his words, and he’s on the verse that talks about some fools fool themselves and he’s pounding on his chest as he sings it.

  While the song plays on, he begins pouring his heart out on the stage and is dangerously close to stepping off the edge of it if he doesn’t watch it.

  Everyone in the crowd can tell that his eyes are fixated on one person—me—and they begin looking to the back of the bar to see who it is. My cheeks heat up and I feel so embarrassed. I just want the song to end so I can get him off that stage and get him home.

  When the song is over, he drops the purposely drops the mic on the stage and the crowd cheers as he walks down the steps on the edge of the platform.

  “Come on, Zack. It’s time to get you home,” I say to him as he walks up to me.

  “Get me home? Are you coming home with me?” he smiles, wavering his finger in front of me.

  The overpowering smell of alcohol on his breath is almost enough to knock me back a step, but I stay firmly planted near the door.

  “I’m not playing games. It’s time to leave. I’ll drive you.”

  “Good luck with that,” he says. “They took my keys.”

  “It’s fine. I bought a car; I’ll take you home.”

  What should have been an easy task of getting him in my car is anything but that. It’s like arguing with a toddler and trying to strap in a tired, cranky two-year-old. He’s laughing and flailing his whole body everywhere, making it almost impossible to buckle him up, but eventually I accomplish it and drive him home.

  Inside his apartment, things take on a life of their own.

  As soon as we’re in his apartment, he shuts the door and pins me down on the couch in his living room.

  “What? What are you doing? Let me up,” I protest, struggling to break free.

  “No, you’re not going anywhere. Not this time.”

  “What do you mean? Come on! Get off of me, you’re drunk and don’t know what you’re doing.”

  Trying to wiggle out from under him is almost impossible. He must be a good 220 pounds of solid muscle and he feels incredibly heavy on top of me.

  “Admit it, Joline. You want me just as much as you want my brother. I know you do.”

  “Zack, don’t say that.”

  “It’s true, isn’t it? I bet when you’re riding his dick, you think about me. You probably dream about me, too. Don’t you?”

  “No, I think—,” he cuts me off.

  “Don’t think I can’t see it in your eyes. I can feel it when we’re together.”

  His breathing is hard and fast. I can feel the bulge growing in his pants, and I don’t know what it is, but it’s turning me on. Just like it did at the wedding reception when the two of them were arguing over me.

  Just like it has every night we’ve spent together at the underground casinos, and when we’ve hung out at his apartment, and when we do…well, anything.

  I find myself thinking about what his rising dick would feel like inside of me. I already know what his brother’s feels like, but what about his?

  “You can’t deny it, not even if you wanted to.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I say.

  “Don’t you think your actions spoke volumes when my brother found us at the bar together? How long did it take him to forgive you anyway? One night? Two nights? Till the next time you put his dick between those sweet lips of yours?”

  “Zackary! Stop it!”

  Before I can say another word, his mouth comes crashing down on mine, completely covering it as his tongue invades my mouth. Hot, fast lashes of his
tongue flick against mine and his hips thrust forward, pushing his hard on deep against my stomach.

  He wants me to feel it.

  “I can smell it. You’re practically getting wet for me,” he says, breaking our kiss.

  I’m pissed off and embarrassed. He’s right, and I’m ashamed that he knows it.

  My panties are wet. Soaking wet.

  If I’m being honest, I’d have to admit that I’ve missed his touch, his smell, and everything about him.

  For a second, I wonder what he would do if I freed my hand and used it to grab his cock. I know he’d like it.

  “I don’t want you,” I shake my head for emphasis.

  But I’m lying.

  Lying, lying, lying.

  “Let me go, Zack. I’m with your brother, and you know it.”

  “What if I told you that I don’t care if you’re with my brother? I don’t mind sharing.” He leans down and kisses me tenderly. “At least, not for a while. I’d like to fuck you once. Just one time to have you for myself.”

  “Please,” I beg.

  I want him too, but it can’t happen. It mustn’t happen.

  What the hell is wrong with me? He just insulted my relationship with his brother and told me that he wants me for himself. I should be angry, but all it does is make my panties more wet.

  “And if you’re a good girl like you always are, I might even give it to you a couple of times before you go back to my brother. I’ll make you so fucking sore that you won’t be able to close your legs for a few days.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re drunk.”

  My body tries to squirm away from him, but there’s a lack of will behind it.

  “Look at you,” he says pinning me in place. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. He’s such a lucky bastard to have you, but I still want you for myself.”

  He lets go of my wrist and slides his hands down the front of my pants, making a path inside of my panties. His fingertips slowly circle my clit before he strokes my wetness and pulls his finger to his mouth, sucking my juices off of himself.

  “And you taste so fucking good. You’re so fucking perfect,” he says.

  “That’s it! I’ve had enough,” I buck my hips. This time there’s some will and determination behind it. “Good night, Zack.”

  Chapter 17

  When I get home, I can’t help but feel dirty and slimy. I can’t seem to get him out of my mind and the guilt is eating me up.

  I know that I didn’t ask for him to say any of those things to me, but the worst part is that I wanted all of them to happen.

  For one night, I wanted to be his, let him fuck me and have his way with me. I wanted to believe that he thinks I’m gorgeous and perfect. I wanted all of it to be true.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket and I’m almost afraid to see who it is.

  It’s Trent. Glancing at the corner of my phone, I see that it’s nearly midnight.

  He wants me to come over.

  During the drive over to his place, all I can think about is Zack and how hard he was, and how turned on I was by him.

  My panties are still damp with my wetness, reminding me of all the dirty thoughts that were racing through my head as he pressed himself against me on his couch.

  Damn it, Joline. Pull yourself together.

  When I get to Trent’s house, I find him waiting for me on the porch—something he has never done. Ever.

  Shit. Does he know what happened earlier?

  I’m almost too scared to get out of my SUV, but I don’t want to raise any suspicions he might have so I go ahead and get out.

  Making my way up the steps, I start talking to him. Probably from guilt.

  “Hey, baby,” I say. “I was thinking about you and—,” before I can finish my sentence, he swoops me off of my feet and carries me inside the house, taking care not to knock my feet or head into the threshold.

  “What is this?” I ask.

  He kicks the door shut behind him, with me still in his arms, and makes his way to the bedroom, never uttering a single word.

  Tossing me down on the bed, he begins to remove my shoes and goes to work on my zipper.

  “Whoa, slow down,” I giggle. “Mind telling me what’s going on here?”

  “I fucking want you,” he says. “I had a dream about you, and I want you right now.”

  “You had a dream—,” he rips my pants and underwear off in one swift motion, causing me to stop mid-sentence. “About what?” I manage once I’m partially nude before him.

  “I dreamt that you were out fucking my brother, and that you were so fucking turned on. When I woke up, I was pissed off at first, but now I just want to fuck the shit out of you and show you what I can do.”

  Guilt takes over and sex with Trent has never felt so dirty.

  His raging dick is the hardest I’ve ever seen it, and the fact is, I want him to fuck me. I want him to pretend that he’s his brother or that he’s got to prove something to me. I’m ready for him.

  All of him.

  Helping him along, I quickly pull my shirt over my head and begin unfastening my bra. I want it hot, dirty, raw, and gritty. I want him to fuck me harder than I’ve ever been fucked before.

  I want him to hurt me.

  Because I deserve it. I deserve to take everything he’s going to give to me because I’ve been bad. Not only have I wanted another man, but I’ve been lusting after his brother.

  Spreading my legs for him, he steps between them and yanks them apart how he wants them. Spread eagle on the edge of his bed, he lines himself up to me and pushes himself inside of me in one quick thrust.

  No foreplay, no nothing. He doesn’t even care if I’m wet or ready for him, but I am. I’m so sinfully fucking wet.

  His hands are firmly planted around my ankles as he begins jackhammering into me, and I can feel his tight muscles constricting as he takes what is rightfully his.

  My hands cup my C-cup breasts to keep them from bouncing around and I squeeze my nipples between my fingers, pinching them into perfectly pebbled cones for him to look at.

  “Fuck me harder,” I beg.

  Plowing into me harder, he goes as deep in me as he can, bottoming out. Pressed snuggly against my cervix, he keeps the head of his cock planted there and continues thrusting into me over and over, sending waves of pleasure through me that I didn’t know existed.

  “You feel so fucking good. So wet,” he says, wrapping his forearms around my upper thighs to gain some traction and leverage.

  Working his rigid cock in and out of me, I can feel how he slides with ease because of how turned on I am. Cupping my breasts, I clamp down on my nipples even harder as he continues pressing against my G-spot until I can’t take it any longer and begin cumming.

  “That’s it, baby. Let me give it to you,” he says.

  It doesn’t take much longer when I feel him quickening his pace. His balls are slapping against my skin and I can feel the muscles in his arms tense when he squeezes my legs, filling me up with his seed.

  With a final grunt, he collapses on top of me, sweaty and out of breath.

  After a long, exhausting day of searching for jobs, I’m glad when Trent invites me to his house for a quiet dinner and a cozy evening alone.

  The two of us share a deluxe pizza while watching movies, and before bed we make some deep fried Twinkies® as a late night snack. Curling together in bed, I’m glad to have moments like this.

  In the middle of the night, my phone dings, alerting me to the fact that I have a new text message. I’m so tired and don’t want to check it, but I know if I don’t the annoying ping will keep me up all night.

  It’s a text message from Zack.

  Call me. I need to talk to you.

  Ignoring his message, I put my phone back on the nightstand and roll over, facing Trent who’s out like a baby.

  His face is smashed against the pillow and a small pile of drool is forming at the corner of his mouth as his eyes dart bac
k and forth beneath the lids.

  He must be in REM sleep, probably far away in dreamland; I wish I was.

  My phone starts ringing and I don’t have to look at the caller ID to know who it is. Grabbing my phone, I dart to the hallway, never missing a single step and quietly answer the phone as I make my way to the kitchen, hoping Trent doesn’t wake up.

  Trent can never find out about this. He’d go mad if he knew that I answer his brother’s calls in the middle of the night, especially when I left his bed to do so.

  He’d probably end everything. No questions asked.

  “Zack? Do you have any idea—,” I hear his pained voice cutting my words like a knife.

  “I need you in my life. You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about you.”

  “Zack. We can always be friends and—,” he cuts me off again.

  “Fuck that. I meant what I said the other night. I might have been drunk, but I remember every word. Every. Single. Word. I thought we could be friends too, but we can’t. I’ve tried so hard to get you out of my mind, but it hasn’t worked.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m with your brother and I’ve chosen him.”

  “Bullshit. If you chose him—really wanted him—you wouldn’t be answering your phone at 2 in the morning for me. You would’ve sent me to voicemail or blocked my number. Face it, you want me as much as I want you.”

  “No, I don’t. You’re wrong,” I say.

  Lies. All lies.

  “Meet with me tomorrow. You name the place and the time.”

  “I can’t meet with you tomorrow, Zack. I’m going to be putting in job applications.”

  “If you can’t do it, I understand but you also need to know that I can’t be part of your life. It’s just too hard. I’m sorry.”

  I hear a soft click just before the line goes dead. He didn’t even give me a chance to respond.

  All I can do for now is go back to bed with the man that I chose.

  The darkness of the room covers me like a blanket and I’m left alone with my thoughts, and let me tell you. They’re consuming me right now.

  Part of me feels sad and guilty, and even though I thought I had it all figured out, I don’t. I never did.