After You

by Sam Mariano

  Reaching up and prying his hand off my mouth, I tell him, “We are not doing this.”

  “I’m not here to try to convince you not to leave. I’m not here to beg you to come back. I’m not here to ask anything of you, Nikki.”

  I blink, ignoring the sinking of my stomach. Lifting my chin a little higher, I ask, “Then, why are you here?”

  “To fuck you,” he states.

  My heart sinks, but I manage to hold onto enough composure to tell him, “We aren’t fuck buddies anymore, Derek.”

  “I know that,” he replies.

  “We’re done,” I say, watching his face.

  His jaw locks, but he nods once. “I know that, too.”

  That hurts more than I expect it to, but I nod, trying to keep my feelings off my face. “So, what is this? Break-up sex?”

  “Call it whatever you want,” he says, reaching for the hem of his white T-shirt and drawing it off over his head.

  My gaze drops to his muscular torso, my eyes drawn to the ink again. I never asked him about that. It seems like there was never time, but I guess there was. I almost ask now, but before I can, Derek’s arm is around my waist. He hauls me up against his body, and I brace a steadying hand on his chest. As soon as my palm touches the hot, firm surface, my insides start melting like butter.

  Licking my lips, I let my eyes catch on his nipples. I want to kiss every inch of his chest. I want to flick my tongue over those nipples and hear him hiss above me, feel his fingers tighten in my hair.

  Ah, fuck it. I’m not going to say no to one last hurrah.

  Without another word of protest, I loop an arm around his neck, drawing my body even closer to his, and kiss him. My eyes snap shut and his hand goes to my hair, fisting, pulling. Tingles dance down my spine and I sigh against his mouth.

  He only kisses me for a minute, then he releases my hair, grabs my shirt, and yanks it up over my head. I get caught up for a minute and stumble back. He takes advantage of my imbalance, reaching his big hand out and giving me a little shove. I drop back on the edge of the bed, catching myself on my hands. I scoot my ass back so I’m more comfortably seated and watch Derek to see what he’ll do.

  I expect him to pounce on me, since that’s what he normally does, but he does something I don’t expect. He drops to his knees. My heart seems to flip over in my ribcage, then he grasps the fabric of my black yoga pants and drags them down.

  I try to move back on the bed some more, but once he has my pants off, Derek grabs my hips and drags me back toward the edge of the bed. He yanks my panties off next, tossing them behind him without care.

  I’m already breathing a little more heavily, anticipation racing through my veins. Derek wastes no time. He grabs my thighs, wrenches them apart, and plants his face between them. I cry out immediately at the foreign presence, then his mouth latches onto me, his tongue moves inside me, and he feasts on me like a starving man, long deprived of such nourishment.

  “Oh, God,” I whimper, reaching my hands out and desperately grabbing fistfuls of bedding.

  As Derek’s tongue wrings more pleasure than I can bear out of my body, everything disappears. The whole world around us floats away until there’s nothing but us in this bedroom, and it doesn’t matter why we’re here, it only matters that we are.

  My breath comes in sporadic bursts, moans and gasps ringing out as he licks me. My eyes roll back in my head and I rise and fall against the mattress, needing the pleasure his mouth is giving me, but wanting more. I want more than his mouth. I want his dick inside me, filling me up, making me his, if only for tonight.

  I don’t want to be lonely tonight, but I need him to be gone by morning.

  I need to tell him that.

  That valiant thought tries so hard to make it through, but then Derek’s tongue runs over my clit, circles it, makes love to it. My legs shake and I scarcely remember to breathe, let alone run through the one-night-stand rules to make sure he obeys them this time.

  He’s bolder now, his tongue stroking me with familiarity. As if he can sense my need to be filled up, he pushes one finger deep inside me, draws it out, then pushes two fingers inside me. I moan his name and he nips my clit, nearly sending me flying off the bed.

  He sucks lightly, then goes back to teasing me with his tongue. Now his fingers move deep inside me while his mouth devours the most sensitive spots, and oh, God, it feels so good I could die. He keeps pushing me higher and higher, hitting that sensitive spot until I can’t take it anymore. My body goes rigid, I let out a tremulous whimper, then I scream as pleasure rocks me, shooting me to the stars, then letting me free fall back down.

  I fall back against the soft surface of my mattress, sighing, my whole body going limp.

  “Oh, God,” I murmur.

  “No, it’s Derek,” he says, just to be an ass.

  I sigh, but I can’t move. “Fine, I’ll allow your ego. But only because you did really good work just now.”

  Derek chuckles lowly, then climbs on the bed with me. “My turn,” he states.

  I have just enough presence of mind to open my eyes and meet his. “Did you bring a condom?”

  He nods his head.

  I nod right back. “Okay. When I wake up in the morning, I need you not to be here,” I inform him.

  “I’ll be gone,” he assures me.

  It’s exactly what I asked for, but it leaves me feeling empty all the same.

  I don’t have to feel empty for long though. Derek grabs my hips, puts me on all fours, and unzips his pants. He doesn’t even fully undress, just takes his cock out, rolls a condom on, and buries himself between my legs. I cry out at the force, grabbing onto the headboard. This may be a goodbye fuck, but the way he thrusts, it’s like he’s trying to bring down the house. His thrusts are so hard, so unforgiving, I swear he’s trying to break it so no one else can ever fuck me again once he’s gone.

  He probably is, the fucking asshole.

  I want to yell at him, but I love it rough, so with every brutal drive of his cock into me, I become a little less tethered to any rational place. More and more mindless as he fucks me, as he reaches up and caresses my breasts, playing with my nipples, whispering filthy things, his voice low and gravelly like he hates me. It shouldn’t send a thrill through me, but it does. He feeds a deep, dark place inside me that no one else can even find.

  And then he sends me flying again, impossibly high, the walls of my body quaking, squeezing him, begging him to come with me. He obliges, grabbing a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back, and coming with a low groan.

  I try to catch my breath, melting against the mattress. I’m limp and boneless, my mind hazy, my body supremely satisfied. Oh, God, I can’t move.

  I hear Derek fall on the bed behind me, feel the weight of his arm around my waist. He doesn’t pull me close this time, just stays on his own side with his arm thrown over me.

  I close my eyes, too satiated to even think. I don’t need to think. I am exhausted and more relaxed than I’ve been in… since last time I saw Derek.

  I need to sleep.

  We have nothing to talk about anyway.

  Since I don’t have any relationship drama to deal with, I sigh, pull my pillow closer, and let myself drift off to sleep.

  Chapter Thirty One

  He may as well have been a dirty dream. Hell, if not for my nakedness and the mild soreness between my legs when I wake up, I might think he was.

  He is gone when I wake up though, just like he promised he would be.

  I’m tempted to lie in bed and think about last night, so I force myself to get moving. That was a nice reprieve, and I actually got a good night’s sleep for the first time in a while, but it’s a new day; time to get back to work.

  I still feel foggy as I move through my morning routine, making myself some coffee and cracking open a banana. I might as well eat something since Derek came over before I could schedule my food delivery. I’ll tackle my to-do list and get to it later. First I need to ma
ke up the work I still intended to do last night before Derek showed up.

  When I sit down at my desk with coffee, I grab my to-do list. The first thing I notice is Derek’s chicken scratch. At first I think he ruined my to-do list with a note, but then I read it. On the line where I wrote about looking for a roof estimate, he gave me a ballpark range. Depressingly, it’s double what I expected a new roof to cost. Then after that estimate, he wrote, “Or you could just ask me to do it.”

  “Hmph,” I murmur, taking a sip of my coffee. No way in hell am I going to ask him to fix my roof. Now I have images of him shirtless and sweaty out in the hot sun, doing hot construction worker things. Dammit, Derek.

  Ugh, I never even got to see him at work. My mental images of him at work are probably hotter than reality.

  My mind is not my friend, so it grows an even more detailed scene in my head. Derek is up there fixing my roof, it’s a warm, sunny day, birds are chirping, my neatly trimmed grass is almost as green as the grass at Simon’s house somehow, and there’s a blanket spread out on the front lawn. I’m sitting on it with my legs curled behind me, Cassidy on the blanket in front of me, and a picnic basket open beside us. I shield my eyes from the sun and look up at Derek. “Are you almost done up there?”

  “It’s lunch time, Daddy!” Cassidy calls.

  Oof, ouch. God. Why is my brain so vengeful?

  Rubbing my suddenly tight chest, I try to shake off Derek’s influence and all the hopes and dreams he brings with him. You can’t have that, Nikki. Focus on what you can have—what you do have.

  I take a sip of coffee and refocus. Derek shouldn’t have even written on my to-do list, because he shouldn’t have been reading it, the damn snoop. At least he was a helpful snoop, but a snoop all the same.

  The first thing I do is check my emails, like always. This time I have to check an additional email—my author email. One of the blogs posting teasers for Dreamcatcher wants to do an author interview to share on the blog this week. I open the attachment to check out the questions. It’s one less thing I’ll have to do later, so I go ahead and start responding.

  When you’re not writing, what do you like to do? What are your other hobbies?

  Other hobbies? I don’t have time for other hobbies. My fingers hover above the keys, my brow furrowing as I try to figure out how to respond to this. Of course since Nikki Reid hasn’t published a book in over a year, she would have time for hobbies.

  I skip the question and go on to the next until my brain block goes away and I can come up with an answer, but it’s another hard one.

  I absolutely fell in love with Janie and Eric in your Forever trilogy. What inspired you to write their story?

  Skip.

  I answer the next question, but when I get to the last one, it’s the hardest.

  Any hints as to what we can expect from you after Dreamcatcher?

  Maybe nothing? Can’t say that, since I have no idea whether or not I’ll write anything else. In case I’m randomly hit by another crush of inspiration a year from now, don’t want to close that door.

  Damn, woman, can’t you give me easier questions? I know it wouldn’t be hard for a career author, but it’s too difficult for me. Instead of answering, I save the document and close the email. I’ll do this later. This interview wasn’t even on my to-do list today.

  The woman handling my PR needs my next nine Instagram posts for Nikki Reid so she can take care of posting them for me. I throw those together and send them to her.

  It’s nearly noon by the time I get to my publishing work. It’s some house between late night and early morning when I finally finish. The very last item on today’s docket is to clean off my desk. It’s been a while, and to say it’s a mess would an understatement.

  As I get to the bottom of the disaster station, I pick up a stray sheet of notebook paper. The top of it reads “What makes a life worth living?” I remember this—it’s from that TED talk I made Henry watch with me. My eyes travel down the page. The lecture was focused on creative works, aimed at creative types. When I look at these notes, I have all the standard components of a well-lived life. I’m never bored or apathetic. I’m intellectually stimulated by my work. On paper, I have everything important. My business is successful, I get in the zone and write books that further stimulate me when I need a creative outlet. I own my own home, and while my social life may not be booming, that’s by choice. I’m not a people person, and I conquered loneliness a long time ago.

  Then I let Derek back in, though. He infiltrated my isolation and if I’m being honest, now that he’s gone, in the quiet moments, I feel it again. As long as I keep myself busy, I can outrun it, though.

  A thought occurs to me that strangely never occurred to me before. Maybe I was always only outrunning the loneliness. Maybe I thought I had conquered it, but only because I kept myself too busy to ever experience my own feelings.

  My gaze drifts to my cell phone. I grab it, press the home button to open it, then hit my little green message icon. I stare at Derek’s name for a minute, then tap the message There are no new messages, but I scroll up, rereading him begging me not to do what I’m doing, not to push him away. Even though I read it already, my heart seizes and my eyes tear up on the message I’ll never be able to erase from my memory, even if someday I erase it from my phone.

  “Tell me what you need from me, Nikki. You need me to move there? I will sell my house and move there. You need me to show you I’m committed to you? I would marry you tomorrow. I’m sorry I answered your fucking question wrong, Nikki, but my priority is you. I want a family with you, I want to make a life with YOU. No one else. You and Cassidy are all that matters, and she comes with me, so I just need you on board. Whatever I have to do to make that happen, I will. I just… I’m out of ideas. Please tell me what you need this time, and I will make it happen.”

  I understand that desperation to make it work at all costs all too well. I used to feel that way about him, once upon a time.

  Is it crazy that I miss that? I wish I could still be so reckless with my heart. I wish I still lived in a world where I could believe maybe Derek wouldn’t rip my heart to shreds if I let him have it again, but I can’t. I literally can’t give it to him, even if I want to. There’s a failsafe inside me now and he tripped the alarm. Every wall I’ve ever built, every wall he busted down, they erected themselves all over again, thicker and higher than ever, as soon as he couldn’t tell me he wouldn’t let Kayla beat me again. Even if I could have found the courage to let myself have him again, I can’t now. Not knowing that.

  Maybe in another life I can catch him before he makes the mistake that destroys any chance we have of happiness together.

  Maybe in another life he’ll be faster, and I won’t be able to outrun him.

  Not this life, though.

  Not this one.

  ---

  Even without Derek a part of it, life goes on.

  He doesn’t text, or call, or show up on my doorstep again. It’s probably wrong of me to feel vindicated since he tried so hard this time, but a little voice inside my head tells me, “You were right to protect yourself. He swore he would never give up on you, but look—he did.”

  It’s not something I’m proud of, but my brain can be a real bitch sometimes.

  It doesn’t matter, I’m used to my brain’s bitchiness and there’s no one else around that has to put up with me.

  Release day for Dreamcatcher finally comes, and my expectations are blown right out of the water. I thought for sure that my author persona’s radio silence since the last book’s release would mean a modest release for this standalone, but I make quadruple what I projected.

  I decide to take Nadia and Louise out for a celebratory drink since I don’t have anyone else. They don’t know what we’re celebrating since Nikki Reid is just one of our company’s authors to them, but they don’t ask questions, they just take their free drinks.

  I’m on my second drink and Nadia is in the bathr
oom when someone sits down in her seat. I look over, starting to tell the person they can’t sit there, my friend just went to the bathroom, but I lose all my words at the sight of Henry on the stool next to me.

  Smiling faintly, he says, “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Hi.” I offer a muted smile, unsure how to proceed.

  Ignoring my awkwardness, he nods at my pink drink. “What’s the occasion?”

  “Uh… successful book release. Really successful. More successful than I expected. I figured I should celebrate with someone.”

  Nodding his head, he glances past me at Louise. “No Derek?”

  Grasping the stem of my glass, I take a long drink, then shake my head. “No Derek.”

  He nods again, then says calmly, and with an admirable show of courtesy, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Smiling faintly, I steal a sideways glance at him. “You are not. You’re probably dancing on the inside.”

  “No,” he says, his eyes moving to the drink I’m still holding onto. “I wouldn’t cheer for your pain, Nicole. I’m not that petty.”

  God, he is so fucking comfortable. Just that reassurance makes me feel safe. I want to curl up in his arms and take the protection I used to have with him. Insulated from loneliness, but still safe, because Henry never demanded more from me than I felt comfortable giving. Derek ignored the boundaries of my comfort zone and plodded right past them like they were lines drawn in the sand, but Henry always respected them. To the point of annihilating my romantic interest in him, frankly.

  Man, I am fucked up.

  Tears suddenly burn behind my eyes. “Shit,” I mutter to myself, tipping my head back and blinking until the tears of stupidity have subsided.

  “We can talk about something else,” Henry says, noting my discomfort. “Tell me about this book. Which author? What’s it about?”