Broken Beast
Page 10
“Harder,” I demand, even though I definitely need to slow down. I haven’t had sex in a while and here I am, asking him to basically break me in half.
“Easy, now.” He smiles, and it makes my already rapidly beating heart flip-flop. “How about this instead?”
He reaches in between us and gently presses his thumb to my clit, making a circle. I claw at his shoulders, arching into his touch. His eyes burn into mine as he keeps playing with my clit and fucking me. My eyes close and I feel myself tensing again for another climax.
“Come for me again. I want to see your face,” he whispers, pressing on my clit just a little bit harder.
I can’t stop myself and I go over the edge again, my eyes squeezing shut even more and a moan spilling out of my mouth. I open my eyes again and holy shit, I’ve never seen him look so intense before. So intense, but clearly elated, like I’ve given him the best gift in the world.
Then the tables turn, and I see him get closer to the edge. He’s gorgeous all over, but the way the muscles of his shoulders and neck tense, flushed red, and the tension in his face make my view of him even better. He comes with a guttural groan, thrusting a few more times before slowing. His chest is heaving, and a light sheen of sweat is on his skin. He pulls out, and I feel his seed drip out of me. It’s a weird sensation, since I’ve only had sex without a condom a handful of times, but this time, I like it.
“Shit, let me get a cloth or something.” He hops off the bed, his legs wobbling a little as his feet hit the floor. He returns a few moments later with a damp washcloth and cleans me off. I’m thankful he does, because I’m literally a pile of goo right now. This must be what people are chasing when they do drugs.
“Thanks,” I finally manage.
“I should have asked before I came in you. I’m sorry,” he says. His weight makes the bed dip when he sits back down. “We can go to the drug store to get the morning after pill.”
“Mm, don’t worry about it. I’m on birth control.” I close my eyes, feeling the post-fuck, post-drinking sleepiness catch up with me. Man, his bed is cozy. His sheets are smooth and soft, fancier than the ones in my little guest house. A flicker of anxiety pops up in my head. Am I okay? Why did I just let him fling me around and fuck me like I’m a doll? I’m usually not so submissive, and I’m not sure how to feel about myself. But I do know I’m feeling those tingly, butterfly-in-the-stomach vibes against despite every effort to not feel anything. Yet again, my hormones have driven me into a ditch and left me there.
Just like a computer entering safe mode, I fall asleep before I can think too much about what we’ve just done. I don’t wake until morning.
Chapter Eight
Jay
I sleep like the dead, and so does Simone. She’s still passed out when I wake up big spooned up to her back on one side of my massive king-sized bed. I’m somehow hard as fuck, even though I thought I’d exhausted my ability to get a boner after last night’s intense orgasm.
I sigh into her hair, but she doesn’t even move. My arm is acting as her pillow, and my other hand is cupping one of her breasts. Based on the light in the room, it’s probably around eight. She must feel me stirring because she stirs as well, sighing softly. I don’t want this moment to end, so I pull her a little closer. Her hair smells good. All of her smells good, really. All those bottles in my shower are worth it.
I run my hand up and down her stomach a bit. She wakes up a little more, I think, and immediately starts pressing her bare ass back onto my cock.
“Good morning,” she murmurs, her voice raw from sleep.
“Good morning.” I gently kiss her shoulder.
She takes my hand from its resting spot on her stomach and pushes it downward until it’s cupping her sex. My cock twitches. A nice morning fuck is just what I need. I slide a finger up her slit, which is already soaking, and rub myself against her in time with my rubbing on her clit.
“How are you already so wet and ready for me?” I ask into her hair.
“How are you already so hard and ready for me?” she shoots back, giggling. Her voice is already sexy when she’s wide awake, so this husky, sleepy, unguarded version of her is like electricity through my body.
“You want this cock?” I lift her thigh and pull it back so it’s resting on mine.
She nods, pressing her face into the pillow. “In my pussy.”
“I don’t think waking up to anal will ever be in the cards,” I say with a laugh.
I take that moment to slide down low enough for my cock to touch her entrance, pausing. She lets out a tiny whimper, like she’s begging, and I give it to her. She gasps.
She feels like heaven. Her tight slickness is real and not a dream. Since it’s early and I’m half awake (despite my very awake dick), I fuck her slowly, like we have all the time in the world. She’s not loud this morning, but her little mewls into the sheets are almost as sexy.
I put one hand on her hip to steady her, and she takes over on her clit. She works herself fast, trying to rock back against my movements, but I hold her still. Despite having let loose last night, my self-control is still limited. I thrust faster, feeling her tighten around me in three quick squeezes before going over the edge. She’s too tight, wonderfully tight, and I follow suit with a moan. She sighs, sated, and so do I.
She sits there for a few moments, my come leaking onto her inner thighs, before she hops up to go to the bathroom. I stare at her ass as it sways from side to side on her walk over, grinning. She has great hips, with those little indentations that are like nature’s hand holds, just wide enough to provide the perfect contrast to her little waist.
Once she’s out of my sight, I flop backward in the bed, smiling. Simone’s set a new record for best sex I’ve ever had. It’s funny — I always imagined what sex with her would be like (since I was a horny teenager who thought about that shit all the time), but what happened last night blew past my wildest dreams.
I hope she comes back to bed, so we can blow off our responsibilities and fuck all day long.
I slam my hammer down a little harder than necessary. It’s been a few weeks since Simone and I hooked up, and despite living within shouting distance of each other, we’ve hardly spoken three sentences to each other. It’s not my fault, though. Simone went from a sexy, warm, maybe fuck buddy or maybe even pre-girlfriend, to practically a stranger.
After she went to the bathroom the morning after, she disappeared into the kitchen and made some terrible coffee. She turned shy, as if we hadn’t broken through some kind of wall and told me she had work to do. She took some cold pizza and her coffee, then disappeared. That was the last time I spoke to her for a little while, and when I did, she acted like nothing had really happened.
It’s pissing me off.
Understatement — I’m pretty fucking furious. There’s no way she didn’t feel the intense chemistry during each of our hookups, or even our regular conversations. I get that she had a bad breakup, but it’s not like I’m a stranger. She doesn’t trust me as far as she can throw me for reasons I can’t figure out.
I wish she would tell me more about this ex-boyfriend so I can understand her more, but that’s definitely a sore spot. Even with the drinks that I’d hoped would lower her guard a tiny bit so she’d let me in, I had to drag it out of her. Maybe she’s afraid of being judged. No matter how much I tell her that I won’t judge her, she won't believe me. But again, I don’t think I’ve given her a reason to not trust me.
What could have made her heart like a fortress? I can see something in the cracks of her façade, but she’s not going to let me in.
And yet, despite my irritation, I still find myself wanting to talk to her or do something for her about a hundred times a day. I have a fucking crush, don’t I? I’ve gone years and years with two friends and zero family without any problem. And suddenly, my first girlfriend strolls back into my life and I feel fucking lonely.
Maybe I should get a dog. I kind of liked having Curtis around
for a day, even though he’s pretty useless beyond being a cuddle buddy. It would be nice to have a dog that could protect my property and sleep on the couch with me.
I examine my work with a heavy sigh. It’s not bad, but it could be better with a few adjustments.
The only upside to this situation is that I really want to have something to focus on, so I don’t think about her or about sex. The latter is harder to cope with, because Simone’s the best fuck I’ve ever had in my life, hands down. I have to take a long, deep breath to stop myself from getting a boner. I’d come inside her so hard that my ears rang for a solid fifteen minutes. I think the force of it took minutes off my life. I’m glad I turned her over and made her come one last time, because I’ve been using that mental image to get off since then. But still, it’s like going from Disney World to a shitty county fair. I don’t think I could jack it enough to make up for how nice and tight she felt.
Maybe I could fuck someone else. Alice, my ex, comes to mind immediately, even though it’s a terrible idea to even think about texting her. Yeah, I dumped her, but I know she’d be open to a quick hookup. When we fucked one last time before we officially split up, she started crying, saying I’d ruined her for all other men. It’s awkward to even remember it, despite the ego-boosting knowledge that I blew her mind. If she’s as sex-starved as I am, she’d leap into bed with me if I asked.
Even though I’m about to go insane from this dry spell, the thought makes me a little uneasy. Simone’s not my girlfriend, so I’m not sure why I feel weird. I wouldn’t be cheating on her if I ended up sleeping with Alice. But still. I can’t let go of that little nugget of something there.
I pick up my hammer again and try to beat frustration out without destroying what I’m making. Why should I bother taking her feelings into account if she won’t even speak to me? If she wants to pretend she’s a cyborg with no feelings, despite the overwhelming evidence that she’s not, that’s her problem.
The irony burns. Alice had told me I was too walled off when we broke up, and now I’m bitching about how Simone won’t open up to me as much as I’ve opened up to her. Fucking karma.
I get to a good stopping place on my project and pull out my phone. Before I can stop myself, I text Alice a simple hey.
Seconds later, she responds with a hey. Plus her favorite salsa dancer lady emoji, so she’s probably not mad at me anymore.
Want to grab a drink or something tonight? I ask.
This time, her response bubbles pop up and disappear a couple times.
Sure, when? pops up on my screen. I tell her to meet me at the Tavern at seven thirty, and she agrees. I put my phone back in my pocket, feeling just as uneasy as I did before. The feeling doesn’t go away through the rest of the afternoon, or even as I get dressed for going out. I wear what I almost always wear, but spray on a tiny bit of cologne from a sample I had lying around. I can’t even bring myself to listen to music on the way over, because it all reminds me of Simone. What level of asshole would I be if I mentally prepared for a possible hookup with the memories of a woman I’m trying to forget?
I spot Alice outside, smoking, and when she sees me, she puts it out. I guess she started after we broke up, because I wouldn’t have dreamed of her smoking before. It’s a little worrying. The narcissist in me wonders if she started because she was torn up over me. I doubt it, though. Everyone knows smoking’s bad, but up here, it’s still pretty common.
“Hey,” she says, smiling. She has a great smile, perfectly straight, even teeth. A great face and body in general. She’s tall, probably around six feet, and athletic in a sturdy way. She’s nice and curvy too, with a great set of legs. She grew up in Gray’s Point and lettered in just about every sport she played in. Now she’s the volleyball coach and English teacher at the high school she graduated from.
I can’t tell if she’s dressing up or not. Alice has a vaguely tomboyish vibe — lots of jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers. Today she’s wearing a T-shirt and some denim shorts that show off her long, muscular legs. Her hair’s down and straightened, which she would do when we were going somewhere fancy. My gut clenches a little in anxiety. I hope she doesn’t think this is a date. But then again, I didn’t just text her a hey, you up? at three in the morning. Maybe I should have just booty-called her so there wouldn’t be any confusion. But I’m not even sure if that’s what I want. I just texted her because… I’m a dick who needs distractions. Whatever, it’s too late now.
“Hey.” I give her a polite hug, then hold the door for her. The sight of her walking into the tavern is like deja vu. We met here, over a year ago. We were both tipsy, she started flirting with me, and I went home with her. From there, we stumbled into a relationship.
It’s weird to think about, in retrospect. I hadn’t had a serious girlfriend for a long time before I met her, and somehow, she pulled me in. She’s very friendly in a gentle way, like Andrew and Holly. Maybe that’s what I needed a year ago. I always knew we were a bit of a mismatched pair from the outside — she’s a teacher and I’m a former criminal — so I assumed that our attraction to each other was to balance our personalities out. Am I that different today than I am now?
“What do you want to drink?” I ask. “Your usual?”
“Yes, please.”
She likes daiquiris, so I get her one and get a beer for myself, then head over to the table she chose. It’s the exact same one where I sat with Simone the night we fucked. Why, universe? I pick a seat that’s not the same one that I sat in before.
“It’s so nice to see you,” Alice says, eyeing me over the rim of her drink. She’s wearing makeup today, lots of eyeshadow and mascara. It’s not subtle, but it looks nice. That’s another thing that’s new — she would wear makeup, but not a ton. That’s why I was so shocked by Simone’s small suitcase filled with stuff. Alice had maybe a quarter, not even, of what Simone has. I’m not sure who’s closer to the norm.
“Yeah, same.” I sip my beer.
“What made you reach out to me? We haven’t spoken in a long time.” She finally takes a drink.
Oh, y’know, just trying to get over someone else.
“Just missed you. Talking to you, I mean. I think I saw you a couple weeks back.”
“Really? Where?” She blinks, which she always does when she’s pretending she doesn’t know something. She must have seen me and Simone. She’s terrible at lying, which is somewhat comforting, because she can’t hide shit from me. At least that hasn’t changed.
“In here,” I say.
“Oh, yeah. I came here with my sister and my friend for a few drinks.” She shrugs. “I got an award at work.”
“Congrats.”
“Thanks.” She plays with her hair. Is it just me, or does she look extra blonde? She’s one of the handful of blondes I’ve ever been with. I’m not sure why it’s standing out to me a lot today, but it is. “What’s up with you? How’s business?”
“It’s good. I’ve been working on a lot of more artsy projects,” I reply. “Like some fences, some decorative swords.”
“That’s cool.” She nods. “Remember that time you made that decorative axe and your client accidentally threw it through the wall of your warehouse when he was testing it out?”
“Yep.” That guy’s an idiot. “That was pretty crazy.”
“Yeah.” She’s still giving me that look, that one of hopeful nostalgia. It feels like she’s looking at the past me, the strong and silent type who was just dangerous enough. The guy who would listen to her, not the guy who dumped her out of boredom.
“Oh, that reminds me! Remember that guy who started teaching social studies? The weird one?”
“Yeah.”
“He got fired.” Her eyes twinkle. She loves gossip, but thankfully isn’t the type to bring drama everywhere.
“Wow.”
“Yeah. He got caught with a student.”
“Jeez. That’s terrible.”
“I know, right?” She sighs heavily, then launches i
nto another story about the guy.
I resist the urge to look around. Why did I do this? But also, why do I feel so terrible? It’s not like she’s yelling at me or anything. But I’m also not doing much, just nodding my head along with her story. I might as well be a wall, for fuck’s sake. A sinking feeling in my gut tells me that this was how our whole relationship was. I’d say a few things, then she would launch into some stories. I’d listen, and chime in with, “Damn, that sucks,” or “I’m sorry, babe” at the right times. I was friendly throughout our relationship, but that’s not something that makes an actual connection.
How am I just realizing that I was the boring one? The boring one who’s also an asshole? Trying to engage in a conversation where both of us are talking about things beyond friendly chit-chat shouldn’t be this hard. It isn’t that hard to talk to people. At least, not with Andrew or Holly.
Or Simone.
Having been with Simone somewhat recently, the contrast between how I feel with her and Alice is stark. I feel more comfortable around Alice than most people, but I don’t feel that same ability to let myself just be, no pretenses or expectations. There isn’t that chemistry, both physical and non-physical. I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but I can sense it’s not here.
I shouldn’t have texted Alice. It isn’t fair to her to string her along. A rare wash of self-loathing comes over me. There’s a lot of shit I’ve fucked-up in life, but I never realized that I was a cardboard cut-out of a boyfriend. She could have literally gotten a cardboard cut-out, cut a hole in the dick area, and put a dildo through it, and gotten a similar experience.
“Are you okay?” she asks, cocking her head to the side.