by Amy Daws
“Great, I’ll get them packaged up to ship to you,” she tuts, her voice distracted.
“They can’t just sit in a closet or something? They’re pretty valuable. Shipping them is risky.”
“No, Zander, that’s not what my therapist told me to do.”
My jaw clenches as I silently scream to myself before replying stiffly, “Fine, Mom. Mail them over the ocean.”
“Okay. Thank you, buddy.”
“No problem.”
“And hey, I’m proud of how well you’re doing out there. Keep it up, okay?”
“Yep, sure.”
We hang up, and it takes everything in me not to throw my phone into the damn street. I’d hoped the fact that she was watching my games meant that she was doing better, but she’s clearly not. She’s no better than when I left.
It’s no wonder I haven’t cried over the death of my dad. There’s no damn time to. I had to plan the funeral, pick out her funeral dress, pick out the urn. Buy burial plots. Did you know a family plot is a wise investment because they appreciate in value over time? I sure as fuck didn’t. So, I bought three plots next to my grandparents. One for my dad, my mom, and me whenever I kick the fucking bucket. Which better not be before my mom because she’s clearly incapable of burying me, and I’d rather not rot in some morgue somewhere.
And why wouldn’t I want to store valuable memorabilia in my tiny apartment in London? I’m only a professional soccer player with a brand-new team who has no idea if I’ll still be with this club next year. But sure, Mom, send me all the things from my dead dad, who, oh by the way, might not even be my dad. He might just be a fucking liar, like you.
I glance down at my feet and wonder when I started running? I have no memory of deciding to run. But the burning in my lungs indicates I’ve been running for a while.
There’s only one thing I can think of to make this ache inside me go away. At least for a little while.
Daphney
“Alright, let’s lay out some rules,” Zander states as he walks into my flat without knocking. He drops his backpack on the floor and hunches over with his hands on his knees, clearly out of breath.
“Did you run here?” I ask, removing my guitar from around my neck and setting it in its stand.
“Yes.”
I stand and walk over to him with a frown. “Well, rule number one. Knock.”
He huffs out a laugh and stands to his full height, hitting me with those eyes of his that smolder, especially right now. He cocks his head to the side, a clear look of annoyance marring his boyish features. “Really? I can eat your pussy, but I can’t enter without knocking?”
“Zander!” I snap and cross my arms over my chest. “Why are you being vile?”
He exhales heavily and turns his baseball cap backward. “Fuck, I’m sorry. That wasn’t directed at you.”
“Pretty sure I’m the only other one standing in the room.” I take three steps backward to give him and his mood some much-needed space.
His face bends with sympathy. “I’m sorry. I’ve just had a bad phone call with my mom, and I’m…on edge.” He walks over to me and grabs my hand in his. “I’ll knock from now on, I promise. We can even come up with a secret code if you want. Knock once for oral. Twice for sex. Three times for…”
I press my hand over his mouth. “Don’t finish that thought if you ever want me to open the door.”
His breath is hot on my palm as he laughs and pulls my hand off his face. He kisses the top of it sweetly. “Okay, knocking is rule number one. What’s rule number two?”
I pull out of his embrace and walk toward my kitchen, surprised at his sudden urgency for rules. But honestly, I’m a bit grateful for it. Since this is my first casual relationship, I think I’m better with boundaries, especially after our deep feelings talk on the bus yesterday.
Reaching into my refrigerator, I grab two bottles of water and offer one to Zander. We both need to stay cool as we figure this out. “I don’t think we should spend the night with each other,” I state, flinching as I await his reaction.
“Okay.” His eyes flare in surprise as he untwists his cap. “That’s probably a smart rule. Plus, you picked out a really nice bed in my flat, so I’m good with that.”
I can’t help but smile. “You said flat, not apartment. Well done you.”
“I’m British as fuck now.” He waggles his eyebrows.
I cringe and shake my head. “A lot less British after that last remark.”
He laughs and takes a large swig of water, his Adam’s apple sliding down his thick neck in a way that makes me really…aware of his body. He wipes the liquid that dribbled down his chin. “Rule number three…no getting offended for late-night booty calls. We both know what this is, so why bother letting our pride feel smited over a last-minute decision to bone.”
“How you managed to use the word smited and bone in the same sentence is either a true mark of genius or an offense on all mankind.”
“I’m gonna go with the former.” He winks at me. “Your rule next.”
I lick my lips and nod as I lean against my kitchen counter. “I’d like to keep this a secret. I know Phoebe already knows, but I don’t want anyone else to know. My brother would not like me sleeping with a tenant, and I’m pretty sure the Harris Brothers would not like me sleeping with one of their teammates. Especially casually.”
Zander cracks his neck, a look of annoyance marring his features. “Fine.” The muscle in his jaw tics.
“We can still go out together if we want. Just maybe avoid the usual hangouts,” I offer because he seems agitated.
“Got it,” he replies, his nostrils flaring. “And I think this should be exclusive.”
“Really?”
Zander avoids eye contact with me as he adds, “I don’t really like the idea of sharing.”
“Are you talking about me?” I can’t help but laugh. It’s a rather possessive statement from someone who seems to be well acquainted with the idea of random hookups.
“Yes, I’m talking about you,” he responds firmly, and our eyes lock for a tense moment of silence. It’s the kind of silence that feels like the calm before the storm. It’s…really hot.
“Very well then,” I reply because if I’m being honest, I don’t like the idea of him with other women either. Not that his ego needs to hear me say that out loud.
“Good.” He nods briskly.
“Good,” I repeat, crossing my arms over my chest and feeling strangely naked right now.
“We’re settled then.”
“It appears we are.”
“We have work to do anyway,” Zander says and begins stalking toward me.
“What do you mean?” I ask like a moron because I have no idea where he’s going with this.
Zander stops in front of me and brings his fingers up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “We have to figure out what revs Daphney Clarke’s engine.” I roll my eyes and move to push him away, but he uses my momentum to pull me in close to his chest. “The last couple of times we’ve slept together, you’ve been very quiet.”
“I have?” I balk because I’m pretty sure I’ve never been more vocal with any man in my life.
“Not in all ways.” He tilts his head, and his eyes lower to my lips. “But you haven’t been telling me what you like. And that was sort of the whole point of this neighbors-with-benefits arrangement, wasn’t it?”
I bite my lip, and my voice is quiet when I reply, “Well, you haven’t needed much direction.”
“That’s because I’m a professional.” His chest vibrates with laughter, and as much as I’d love to wipe that smug look off his face, he’s not wrong.
“Your ego isn’t going to fit in my flat if you keep that up.”
He smirks down at me, his eyes hooded with arousal. “What do you say we go take a shower and get to know your body?”
His proposal has my heart lurching into my throat. A shower is so intimate, so exposed. I wouldn’t say I’
m self-conscious about my body, but I’ve never showered with a professional footballer before either. Then again, Zander has seen pretty much every part of me, so what difference does it make if we’re standing in a brightly lit shower?
Zander’s lips descend onto mine, and my mind is a flutter of arousal as he walks me backward toward my tiny loo. I just have a small glass-walled shower, nothing like his. But swapping flats might ruin the moment, and I’m quite enjoying what’s happening right now.
When we step onto the cool tile, Zander pulls back and begins removing my shirt when his puzzled eyes look past me to the countertop. “What is that?”
My eyes practically bulge out of my head as I turn around and yank my shirt off my arms and use it to conceal the gift Phoebe left on my doorstep this morning. I was looking it over earlier, and I completely forgot that I didn’t put it away.
“It’s nothing,” I exclaim, cramming all the packaging under my thin shirt as Zander’s warm body presses up behind me.
“Doesn’t look like nothing.” He laughs and kisses my shoulder blade, reaching around me. “Come on, hand it over.”
I groan in humiliation as I realize there’s no way Zander will let this go. He’s like a dog with a bone. Therefore, I muster up a bit of confidence, grab the small, pale pink device, and turn on my heel to face the music. “It’s a vibrator that Phoebe gave me after I told her I’d never had an orgasm before you.”
Zander fights back a smile and looks dreadfully adorable as he does it. “I thought we weren’t telling people about our situation?”
“Phoebe isn’t people. She’s framily. And apparently an influencer for…” I turn around to find the box the vibrator came in. “Lelo Sona.” I exhale heavily. “I really hate her sometimes.”
Zander reaches out and grabs the device from me, turning the button on and filling the loo with a faint buzzing sound. His brows furrow as he looks up at me. “Have you never masturbated before, Ducky?”
My nostrils flare with annoyance. “I’ve tried…but never properly. And never with a toy.”
The corners of Zander’s lips turn down as he processes that information. “This thing waterproof?”
“Yes, why?”
“Oh, I’m sure you can guess,” he responds and reaches over his head to pull his shirt off.
I watch in rapt fascination as he discards the rest of his clothes and reaches into the shower to turn the water on. He helps me out of my clothes, and the next thing I know, we’re inside my tiny shower, and he’s still playing with the stupid vibrator.
“Do you mind?” he asks, his eyes slowly drifting down my body.
I swallow slowly and glance down to see he is fully erect. “Help yourself.”
His abs bulge with his silent laughter as he pulls me close to him under the stream of water. He bites his lip and turns the device on, lowering it to the area between my legs.
I jerk away, the vibrating shocking me for a brief second.
“Just relax,” Zander murmurs before lowering his lips to mine and kissing me softly.
It has the desired effect as my body sags into his, my hands running up his firm pecs and folding around his neck as we stand in my shower and make out like a couple of teenagers. He feels hard and slippery, and I find myself wishing for more.
“What do you want, Daphney?” Zander asks between kisses, his lips moving down my neck and drifting along my shoulder.
“I want you to use that thing,” I say with a sigh, my head leaning back against the glass.
He nibbles on my neck, and this time when the device touches my center, I don’t flinch away from it. My body is ready and wanting. Zander stops kissing me as he stares downward and watches as he operates the toy with ease, playing with the different settings. Occasionally, he hits the perfect spot, a spot that has my hands gripping harshly onto his shoulders as my climax builds.
And then, just as I prepare to let go, he moves the device, leaving behind a wake of sad, wanting flesh. I bite my lip, my patience struggling as he continues to do this over and over. He finds a spot, I feel a build, and then he moves. It’s maddening honestly.
Finally, my temper snaps, and I reach down and grab the device out of his hand.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his eyes gazing down at me in confusion as steam billows all around us.
“You keep moving,” I state firmly, shocked at how confident my voice is at this moment.
“That’s kind of the idea,” he argues, his head tilting curiously at me.
I shake my head and wipe the water off my face. “No, I don’t think it is. It feels like this.” I glance around, trying to find a prop to demonstrate my point. My shampoo bottle has a large teal lid, so I untwist it and hold it upside down, so it’s like a tiny shot glass.
Zander hits me with his crooked smile as I hold the vibrator between us. “Imagine this is a bottle of really expensive alcohol, okay?”
He huffs out a laugh. “Okay…”
“And you’re the one pouring me a shot.” I hold up the vibrator like I’m pouring liquid out of its tip and put the cap underneath. “The cap is my clit.”
“Got it.” Zander doesn’t sound amused anymore, but he also doesn’t sound irritated. He appears intrigued.
I pretend to pour out of my vibrator, moving it all over the place while my cap desperately chases after the wild stream of liquid that isn’t holding still. The point I’m showing Zander is that every time he starts to hit my cap, he moves, and I miss out on valuable alcohol.
Zander closes his hand over my shampoo lid. “Ducky, are you saying you want to drive?”
“Yes, I believe I am,” I reply, my body on edge from being teased mercilessly for the past few moments.
He laughs and shakes his head, moving to the opposite wall of the shower. His erection is throbbing between us as he glances down at my breasts covered in water. He grips his shaft in his hands and slowly begins to stroke himself as a heated look darkens his face. “Then just let me watch you, sweetheart.”
I inhale sharply at the surprising term of endearment when his Boston accent, that I don’t normally notice, becomes more prominent. The sight of him standing there stroking himself as he gazes at me is so erotic, I’m not sure I even need the vibrator anymore.
Then again, I hate to waste a nice present.
Eyes locked on Zander’s cock, I flatten myself against the glass and prop one foot up on the small ledge in the shower. I press the vibrator to my clit and work my way through a couple of settings until I find the one I like. I move it around for a moment, searching the place that Zander passed over and over.
When I hit it, I gasp and hold it firmly in place, my eyes struggling to stay open to watch Zander as he begins pumping faster and faster in front of me.
“Oh, my God,” I exclaim, my voice echoing loudly off the glass walls.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” Zander growls, his voice gruff. “Let yourself go. Show me how you come for yourself.”
His empowering words tip me over the edge, and I feel like I’m free-falling as a tingling warmth erupts from my center, fanning out through my pelvis and into my limbs, all the way to the tips of my fingers and toes. I don’t realize I’m groaning a loud, long note until I open my eyes and see Zander staring at me. His hand is still on his dick, his eyes hooded as he watches me with rapt fascination.
“You’re incredible,” he husks, his voice strained along with his awestruck face.
I struggle to catch my breath, my eyes blinking in shock at his bizarre choice of compliment. He could have said anything else. He could have called me sexy or cracked a joke and teased me for coming so fast. But he didn’t. He chose to describe me in a way that has very little to do with my appearance.
It’s…unexpected.
Without pause, I drop to my knees in front of him and take his wet cock deep into my mouth.
“Daphney,” he grunts, surprise evident in his tone as his hand touches the back of my head. “You don’t have to.”
/>
But I want to. That’s the thing. I want to harness this confidence, this power, this sexual awakening I’m feeling and never ever let it go. I grab Zander’s hips and pump my lips over him, dragging my tongue firmly along the base of his shaft. The noises I’m eliciting from his body are exhilarating.
Never having an orgasm seems a little thing to fret about missing out on my entire life. But it’s not just the orgasm that shifted something inside me these past couple of weeks. It’s the orgasm and the jingle and living on my own and having a casual affair with someone.
All of this feels like I’m finally done overthinking everything. I’m taking my bloody life back at last. And I’m not letting anyone mess with it ever again.
Zander
“Your dad called you Buddy Boy, didn’t he?” Daphney asks, her finger lazily tracing the edges of the tattoo on the inside of my bicep.
We’re both in a postcoital fog, me naked and staring up at the twinkle lights on her walls. She, also naked and draped over the top of me as my hands sift gently through her blonde strands.
After the surprising bus confession a few days ago and our crazy shower the next day, I’ve used the remainder of this week to remind myself exactly what I’m doing with Daphney. She isn’t my therapist. She isn’t my teammate. She isn’t someone I need to confess my innermost thoughts to help me through all the shit I’m dealing with in my fucked-up head.
She’s my hot neighbor who lets me fuck her.
Yes, her moment in the shower was somewhat mind-boggling. I’m not even sure why exactly. It was like I watched her come out of her shell before my very eyes. I’ve watched many women come, but watching her make herself come was somehow sexier and more stunning than any other woman I’ve been with. And mostly because I know it’s new for her. It was impressive to see her take charge like that.
But Daphney and I are just sex. We have rules in place to confirm that decision. So, after a few late-night booty calls the past couple of days that were very much two-sided, I thought we were back on track.
