We ate our lasagna and drank our wine in general good humor after that, telling jokes and discussing anything and everything. I even laughed at a few of Hank’s jokes. I noted how happy Mel was in her life, with her husband and her baby, and I started to resent this life of hers more and more. She had never truly told me she was unhappy; maybe this was what she wanted, after all?
After several hours, Drew and I decided to take our departure. I kissed Mel on both cheeks, and we exchanged knowing looks. She knew how much I cared about this person—this person I had more or less called a sex god before I knew that Mel had actually grown up with him (and probably didn’t want to know about his sexual prowess).
Drew wrapped his arms around both Mel and Hank, thanking them joyously for having us to their home. “Molly and I appreciate it so much,” he said. He spoke of us like we were a couple, like we were together. My heart burned with the joy of it.
“And tell little Jackson good night for us,” Drew whispered before we left, as the door opened and sent us into the exterior foyer. “He’s more beautiful than I can say.”
CHAPTER SIX
Drew and I scurried down to the Porsche, laughing about everything that had just occurred. I was giggling so zealously in the elevator that I lost my breath. “What the hell kind of coincidence is that?” I asked him, shaking my head. “I met you in a coffee shop. And now—turns out you grew up with my best friend?”
“She’s my aunt,” Drew said, laughing along with me. He shook his head. “I mean. I didn’t know anything about your dancing background. Maybe I would have sensed something—some connection when you spoke about her. But I have to say. That was one of the bigger shocks of my life. And I’ve been shocked before.” He winked at me, then, and took my hand in the elevator, planting a great, extravagant kiss atop my lips. I felt the earnest pull in my pussy. I wanted him.
Drew pushed me up against the elevator wall and pushed the small bit of dark green lace down over my breasts, bringing them out bouncing into the world. I sighed, as he wrapped his thumb and forefinger over my nipple. He looked at me with intense eyes. “I’m going to make you come so hard later,” he murmured.
I nearly churned with passion, with drive to make love to him.
We grabbed hands and started rushing toward the Porsche in the garage. He pulled the car door open for me, and I flung myself in the driver’s side, just waiting for him. “Come. Come,” I whispered as he rushed around to the driver’s seat.
Finally, we were rushing south on Lake Shore Drive, past the spewing lake and the whizzing cars. I wanted him so bad. He was such a gentleman, using his money for the good of the world, supporting Mel and I in our dance career. My head was spinning. He was a good person; a good guy.
I reached across the seats and began unbuckling his belt.
“Oh, baby,” he whispered to me.
I unbuckled and then unzipped his pants, revealing his enormous, pulsing dick. I wondered how long he had had a hard on—if we had been sitting there, horny for each other in the dining room of Mel’s house for hours. I knew I had been.
“I want you so bad,” I whispered. I felt my eyes grow hot. I wanted him inside me; I wanted to feel his dick in me. I started rubbing his dick with my hand. He moaned, trying to keep his eyes on the road.
“Yeah, baby,” I called to him. “Yeah.” He reached over his seat and grabbed at my wet, dripping pussy with his full hand. I gasped, nearly coming all at once in that moment.
We were nearing our apartments. His dick was so hard in my hand. He parked the car swiftly, just outside of the apartment building, and hurriedly put himself back in his pants. He rushed around to my side of the car to pull me out onto the sidewalk and kiss me passionately, grabbing my ass with his strong fingers in the September darkness. “God. You make me want to fuck you,” he said, his eyes wet, looking only at me.
Finally, we turned toward our apartment building and rushed up the steps on a mission. We pounded down the hallway toward his apartment. “Marty’s not home,” he whispered and shoved the door open, allowing me to enter.
His apartment was dark, smelling vaguely of beer and whiskey. After he closed the door, he grabbed me and picked me up, taking me directly to the table in the kitchen. He placed me there and reached beneath my dress, tugging my panties down my long, slim legs. I felt my pussy come free; it was wet and hot between my legs.
He flung my panties across the room before beginning to unbutton my dress, revealing my supple breasts and tight stomach. I sat before him, gleaming and naked on the table, my breasts bouncing a bit with each heaving breath. “Baby. Fuck me,” I said.
But he wasn’t ready, and I was nearly gasping for breath. He knelt before me and placed his lips between my legs, beginning to play with my clit, my pussy with his tongue. He knew what he was doing, and I began to feel so hot, so steamy on my chest, on my thighs as he fucked me with his tongue.
“Oh, god,” I heaved. I felt like I was being too loud, but I didn’t care. I wanted to scream my lust into the night.
Finally, he made me come, his tongue strapped between my legs in my hot, steaming pussy. I grabbed his head and brought him up to my lips, and we kissed deeply. He grabbed my breasts and twisted at the nipples. I unbuckled his belt once more, tossing his pants to the ground. He removed his boxers, his shirt, and stood before me; a tall, naked, stunning man. He pushed my head back and pulsed his enormous dick inside of me. I could feel it deep in my body, and I screamed into the night. He grabbed at my breasts as he pushed himself into me; pumping over and over again. I wrapped my legs around his body, forcing him closer, deeper inside of me. His eyes were dipping back inside his head; his pleasure was enormous.
After a few moments, I pushed him back and lifted myself up, bringing him with me toward the living room. I knelt over a chair looking out over the churning city before me as he pushed inside my pussy from behind. He reached around and began playing with my pussy, bringing me pleasure from both areas. He sighed over me, and I could feel the heat of his body as he pushed into me. “God,” I murmured, feeling him so heavy. I looked out over the great city, imagining who else was fucking, who else had such great passion—such brilliant manners in the bedroom.
After several more minutes, Drew gave out a large, long cry, jerking violently with the pleasure. He pulled back, removing his dick from my pussy, and I spun toward him, kissing him passionately. I wasn’t done. I couldn’t be done. I led him into the shower and turned on the heat. I stepped in as he eyed me in the water, playing with my hair, with my breasts. He sat on the toilet, breathing heavily, resting, until my body became too much for him.
He stepped into the shower, shocked at the warmth of the water. He pushed me up against the side of the shower and began kissing me, wrapping his tongue around mine. “Yeah, baby. I can’t resist your body. You have a perfect body,” he kept saying, over and over. “Come on. Let’s fuck again. Please, baby.”
And finally, I wrapped my legs around him and allowed his dick back in my dripping pussy. I felt him deep inside me once more, and my scream echoed throughout the bathroom as the water rushed over us.
Sometime around three in the morning, after multiple orgasms, multiple positions, Drew and I collapsed in each other’s arms in his bedroom, completely naked. I loved the way his body felt as we drifted off to sleep. I loved the way he grasped my back, my body, as if I belonged to him; as if I were truly his. I felt in those moments like we were a pair, like nothing could come between us.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next morning, I woke up early—around eight. Beside me, Drew slept on in dream world. His eyes fluttered. I wanted to kiss him, to wake him with my naked body, to fuck him once more. But I knew that I needed to get back to real life, that I couldn’t let the events of the previous evening change the day. I couldn’t simply get wrapped up in something when I wasn’t sure of the stakes. Did Drew actually care about me? Or did it just seem that way when we had been at dinner, when we had been in the shower,
calling out our attraction for one another.
I crept up from his bed, looking around the room. The light shone in from the window, falling over the aged bedspread. It was clearly something he had had for a long time—perhaps since childhood. I imagined that whatever he had picked out for his “real” apartment—opening next month—was much nicer. I wondered if I would ever see the new apartment, if this sex was just part-time in the wake of him simply living down the hall.
And yet, he hadn’t known he had been living down the hall during all those days of text messages, of missed calls.
I crept out of the bedroom, not before seeing a framed picture of him and who I assumed was Marty, the roommate. I guessed they were about fifteen years old and they had their arms wrapped around each other. They were wearing adorable baseball jerseys. I chuckled to myself, knowing that Mel had known and loved Drew, all these years ago. Mel, herself, would have only been about ten years old when the photo was taken! And she was Drew’s aunt!
The world was strange.
I walked out into the living room, making sure to close his bedroom door behind me. The kitchen and the dining room was a mess. Things had been pushed to the floor for our raucous sexual activity. I chuckled to myself, thinking that I should clean it all up—especially if his roommate came home. But a small part of me wanted Drew to see the mess, as well; to understand the true damage we had gotten up to last night. It was beautiful, really; the passion behind the tossed books, the ripped pages.
I grabbed my clothes as I walked, feeling so very naked in the light of his apartment. My green dress, my underwear. I held them in front of my breasts as I walked toward the door, opened it, and rushed down the hall. I felt an infinite level of adrenaline, of joy as I burst into the place I’d called my home for the past two years, completely naked and completely happy.
On the table sat Boomer, his yellow eyes looking up at me with such confusion. I dropped my clothes to the ground and put my hands on my hips, trying to give him a similar level of sass. “What’s up, Boom?” I asked him. I leaned forward and scratched his ear over and over. Soon, he closed his eyes, giving way to the sense of pleasure.
“I know. It’s easy to get distracted with pleasure,” I murmured to him. I rushed to my room to find my robe and a book. I wanted an entire day of lazy—an entire day during which I could daydream and imagine a whole life before me with Drew by my side. It didn’t have to happen; it didn’t have to be real. It just had been so long since I had given myself the chance to hope for something, that I couldn’t handle it. I needed some time to think.
The next day, I went down to the lake and went for a long run along the beach, feeling the way the sand allowed my shoes to bounce up from the ground. I didn’t know that I was grinning the entire time, that people were looking at me strangely in the whirring of the Chicago wind off the lake. I tried to replay the events of the previous night in my head, but I grew far too horny to even keep up with myself.
On the train back to my apartment, I called Mel. I couldn’t take it any longer.
“Mel. Hi,” I whispered, noting that several people surrounded me on the subway.
“Molly, darling. Hank and I—and Jackson!—were just talking about you,” Mel spewed. “We can’t believe you found such a catch in Drew. We always thought he—you know—went and got a little bit snooty in New York City. New York just breeds a different kind of person, as you know.”
“I thought the same thing, at first. I thought he was a little—I don’t know. Ultra confident.” I laughed on the train, trying to control myself. “But he’s so, so sweet. Taking care of people with his money; being so kind and understanding about the dance studio.”
“You didn’t tell him we’re closing, did you?” Mel asked me. I could tell she wanted me to ask him for the money.
I lost a sense of joy for a moment. “You know. I didn’t. I—It’s too fresh, you know?”
“Sure. Sure. He’s family, to me, but I understand why you wouldn’t tell him. I kept things a secret from Hank for years. No secrets now, I don’t think. But that’s just because nothing is sacred anymore when you have a kid together. Everything just sort of—goes off the wayside.”
“Sure. It’s just. Last night—” I gushed into the phone. “I feel like I want to get really serious with him. Do you think this is a bad idea?”
Mel paused for a moment. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Andrew become serious with anyone. But everyone gets serious, eventually. Why wouldn’t it be with you?”
“No, you’re totally right,” I said, my heart pounding. But the doubts started to creep in. “You’re totally right. Hey. I have to go.”
I hung up the phone before telling her I loved her, like I normally did. I decided to exit the train early in order to walk past the dance studio. I hadn’t been thinking about it since yesterday’s dinner, since I had been taken on the wildest sex adventure of my life. But slowly, surely, I was descending back into real life.
I walked down the weary street toward my beautiful dance studio. I remembered how happy I had been when I had started renting it. During the first two months of owning it, I had actually LIVED in it, in the back room. I hadn’t been able to afford an apartment yet, and I had made do. Perhaps, in hindsight, this was what I should have been doing all along. Living in my dance studio; devoting my life eternally to dance.
I reached the corner as the sun set along Le Moyne Avenue. I realized that the next day was the first day of October, and it felt strange, like the month had passed me by too quickly. On the side of the brilliant brick building was a sign that said; “SOLD.” The letters were big, red, and stark. I wanted to tear the poster down. I wanted to do something—something loud, something zealous. But I didn’t know how.
I walked up to the window and peered in, noting that everything—the desk, the back bookcase—had been removed. I wondered what they were going to do with this old building? Convert it to a frozen yogurt shop? Another coffee shop? God. Around me, things were becoming so similar. I wanted everything to be unique, individualized. But Chicago was going the way of the dogs.
I walked back toward my apartment, pausing at a Chicago dog stand to grab a snack. I watched as the man administered all the ingredients, spreading the mustard far across the meat. I thanked him and paid him. I walked down the street with the steaming dinner in my hands, looking forward to getting back to my bed, to my daydreams. At least in bed away from the cruel world, I could pretend that everything was going to work out—that everything was fine. At least there, tucked away with my cat, I could forget about my nagging mother and my failing business. I could just be.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Several days went by, and for some reason, I didn’t hear from Drew. I watched my phone for the entire next day, remembering that every other time he had been a consistent texter, a consistent caller. He had wanted a second and then a third date so badly. And now, after we’d fucked so supremely in the apartment just down the hall, he didn’t want to contact me.
Was I supposed to contact him? I wondered. I felt like I had messed up somewhere down the line, but I couldn’t be sure. I wanted to think that he was simply too busy taking care of homeless people, taking care of Chicago’s many children. He was, after all, both building a new bookstore and trying to be a philanthropist all at once. Maybe he didn’t have time for a girlfriend?
After a few days, I knew I had to get back out into the world to try to make it again. I knew that if I didn’t get moving soon, I would lose the last drabs of money I still had in my account. I knew I would have to retreat back to Indianapolis, to my nagging mother, and probably work at some dumb bar, pouring drinks for other sad losers who didn’t make it either.
I wrapped myself in warmer layers, because October swept over Chicago like a cloud. Everyone around me was shivering, wrapping their scarves around their faces. I walked semi-confidently down the street, writing down addresses and wondering—wondering—if I should just get a random job in Chicago and k
eep trying, keep working. I could do anything, as long as it was in Chicago. I rushed into a random restaurant and filled out a resume; I filled out another to be a bartender at a brewery. I smiled at everyone, acting ever-chipper, ever confident. The entire time, however, I had a shadow over my eyes; I was certain of failure.
I walked back to my apartment and decided to send Drew a text message. Maybe he was too busy to remember to text, but certainly he would text back. I toyed with the wording for a long time before sending a final, edited message;
“Hey, Drew. What’s up?”
Clearly, it had taken a good deal of work to come up with this.
But perhaps the message lacked personality; perhaps it was no good. I waited by my phone for hours, casually watching television with my cat, and I received nothing but a silly picture from Mel about what Jackson had done after dinner that evening. I rolled my eyes, tossing my phone to the end of the couch. I had been stupid, I knew, to ever think a guy like Drew would be into me.
I sighed and decided to call my mother. After all, she was always on my mind; I was constantly afraid of her, certainly. And plus I hadn’t seen her since before summer. She hardly drove out of Indiana, despite the fact that Chicago was only three hours away.
I listened to the phone as it rang and rang over the many miles between us.
“Darling, how are you?” This was how my mother always answered the phone, no matter where she was, no matter who it was on the other end of the line.
I swallowed, already hating the drab way my mother spoke. “Hi, mom. I just wanted to say hi.”
“Molly. It’s been a long time. I was just talking about you with my hairdresser. She thinks it’s fascinating that you’re a dance instructor now. She wondered if it was upsetting, not performing anymore?”
My heart sank. I already understood the type of conversation this would be. So much more like dick measuring than the conversation I had heard between Marty and Drew. My mother simply wanted to show me off to the world. This had been why she had signed me up for dance. She wanted to hold that little ballerina’s hand; she wanted to tell people her daughter was a dancer. And now all she could tell them was that I was a dance instructor. And even that wasn’t true.
Hooked #2 (The Hooked Romance Series - Book 2) Page 5