“Fuck. So do I,” I say, losing my mind to his blissful intrusion. He pumps his hips back and forth as my orgasm builds and builds, and I moan, louder and louder.
“Jesus, Paige,” he yells, slamming his length into me. “You’re so tight.”
Every guy seems to say that.
Giving him more of what he wants, I clench my muscles around him, the pressure inside me building along with his thrusts until it bursts out, sending my hips jolting and my mind soaring. “Fuck,” I yell, my nails digging into his arms.
His thrusts become firmer, pushing his length in as far as it can go. With one last pump, he shudders against me before dropping his weight and kissing me again.
With slow purpose, our mouths move together. Gentle fingers explore each other’s bodies, touching lightly. The urgency of our passion draining away as our heartbeats and breathing calm.
Eventually, our kisses become smaller, slower. Until we stop and lock eyes, the gravity of what we’ve just done sinking in.
“Shit.” Sliding out of me, Matthew rolls onto his back and looks up at the ceiling. Without his body heat, I’m cold. Cold and incredibly guilty.
“We can’t do this again,” I whisper, a tear sliding from my eye.
“And we can’t tell Ed,” he returns, his voice husky.
“Never.” I roll my head to the side on the pillow and find him looking right at me.
The moment our eyes re-connect, something passes between us. It only takes a beat before we roll into each other, wrapping our bodies together as we lock our lips, moving as one, touching each other, devouring each other. Uncontrollable.
After another round of mind-blowing sex, we lay together, still wrapped in each other’s arms, catching our breath.
“This needs to stop,” I whisper between kisses.
“It will.” He pulls back and looks into my eyes. “Tell me who you are, Paige. I want to know everything about you,” he whispers, brushing his fingers through my hair as I rest my head on the pillow beside him.
Without hesitation, I relay my entire story to him—from the time I got kicked out, until the night I met them in the club—I didn’t bother hiding any of it. I had a feeling he’d see through any lie I told him. So, I was honest, and it felt good to say it all, to let it out after hiding for months behind a fake name, a fake personality.
It’s kind of like reclaiming the girl from the mirror and making her me again. My name is Paige.
“You’re only seventeen?”
I nod “Does that change anything for you?”
“No. I don’t see your age as a problem. I just want you.” He hooks his finger under my chin and pulls my mouth up to his. Slowly, our mouths move together, and I’m lost in his arms. Again. I'm lost in his mouth. Again. I’m lost in him. Again, and again, and again….
For the rest of the day, we explore each other’s bodies, forgetting the world, forgetting about consequences. We lose track of time. We get greedy—or we just don’t care—but, when Ed appears in the doorway and clears his throat, I almost die.
“Ed,” I gasp, my eyes locked with his.
Matthew pauses mid-pump. “Fuck,” he mutters, the colour draining from his face.
We scramble to separate and cover ourselves with the bed clothes, but it makes no difference.
It’s too late.
Ed knows. Ed’s seen. I’m supposed to be his girl and I’m in here fucking his best friend. Oh god.
Ed’s jaw clenches, his body shaking with barely controlled rage. I don’t know what to do. I’ve just hurt the kindest, most gentle man I’ve ever known. He took me off the street, gave me a home, and took care of me. I can never fix this. I really am a bad person.
Twenty-One
Zero days since my last fuck up
It would have been better if Ed had gone crazy and yelled, but he didn’t. He just picked up my backpack and all the clothing and shoes that led him to us and dropped them on the floor of Matthew’s bedroom as we babbled nonsense, trying to explain ourselves.
“Be gone by the time I get back,” he said, cold eyes turned on me.
“Ed. Mate. I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over us,” Matthew pleaded.
“Fuck you,” he bellowed. The eruption of his voice reverberating in my ears, causing me to jump.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
He didn’t even look at me. He just walked away, leaving us with the aftermath of our lust induced and monumentally stupid decision. Fuck.
We didn’t speak as we got dressed. We didn’t make eye contact. We knew it was wrong when we started. But we did it anyway.
As I lifted my bag onto my shoulder, Matthew finally spoke. “I’m so sorry, Paige.”
I gave him a vacant smile. “Aren’t we all?”
“If it wasn’t for Ed. You and I could—”
“Please… just… don’t. Don’t talk like this was ever more than it was.” I shook my head. “It makes no difference now.”
“At least take this,” he said, pulling some money out of his bedside table and holding it out to me.
“So, now I’m a hooker?” Tears burned but I took it anyway, necessity being bigger than my pride.
“No. You’re amazing. And I hate myself right now.”
“Easy to say when you’re the one with a roof over your head,” I said, shoving the money in my pocket as I left. Matthew didn’t even try to stop me or do anything to save me. He simply sat on the end of his bed with his head in his hands, knowing our moment was a brief burst of fire, intense and destructive.
Now I’m on the bus, heading to yet another budget motel to spend some of my limited funds on a room for the night. At least I have an ID now. I won’t be charged double this time.
As I hug my bag to my chest, I curse myself for fucking up the first normal relationship I’ve ever had. Sex with Matthew was amazing. But it wasn’t worth the hurt I saw in Ed’s face when he caught us.
Ed was a good guy. He wanted to take care of me, and he didn’t ask for much in return. To repay him, I just fucked his best mate. Maybe I do have the hang of this bad guy thing after all.
Twenty-Two
Relationships aren’t for me. I failed with Jeff, and failed miserably again with Ed. I’m not made to be someone’s girl. Maybe Matthew was closer to the mark by offering me money. I’m made to be everyone’s whore.
Less emotions that way.
You know, that’s actually being disrespectful to whores. Really, I’m worse. I give it away for free, and I steal my money.
I go out to clubs and go home with guys, then I refuse to make plans to see them again. I hop from club to club, bed to bed, and I don’t care who it is, as long as I have somewhere to go, preferably somewhere with drugs.
Inhaling deeply, I snort a line of coke off the top of a toilet roll dispenser in the bathroom of a nightclub in Darling Harbour. When I exit the stall, I walk towards the mirror to fix my appearance. While I look at myself, the effects of the drug take hold. But not before I notice that the girl in my reflection is changed. She used to struggle to pass for twenty-two. But she looks even older now.
Her name keeps changing. I've taken to stealing handbags to get by. I’m good at it too. The initial remorse I felt is a distant memory now. I do whatever I have to do to survive.
Tonight, my name is Peyton. I like that name. It makes me feel like I’m a character of some sort. Although, I have to admit I’m having trouble keeping track of who I am on any given day. That moment with Matt, when I was finally me, was so fleeting. I haven’t been me for a long time. Somewhere inside, I guess I’m still there, but I’m having trouble finding myself.
I push my way out of the bathroom and stumble a little as my heel catches the floor. I’m flying now as I head towards some guy, my supplier and hopeful bedfellow for the night.
“Whoa there.” He laughs as he reaches out to catch me from my misstep. We cling to each other, laughing as we go to the dance floor and move to the beat. I slide my arms ove
r his shoulders and swing my body against his, engaging in the usual, pulsing foreplay that comes with hooking up at clubs.
It’s all the same. Every day is the same. Only the drugs are slightly different.
Depending on how I feel each night is how I choose my men. I pick them based on what they’re using because I want to use as well. It makes this life I’m now leading more bearable.
Ecstasy users dance all night in fluid movements and want nothing more than to feel you pressed up against them, to touch and share their experience. As long as I’m right there, high with them, then sex is great that way. It doesn’t even matter what they’re doing to me. It all feels fantastic.
Tweakers dance in jerky movements and drink heavily while speaking a mile a minute. I try to avoid them at all costs because they fuck all night long and have trouble coming. The next morning leaves me with an overused feeling between my legs, and I end up springing for a hotel room to recover.
My drug of choice is coke. So when I find a man on a coke high, I aim straight for him. They generally have more on them to keep the high going. I long for the euphoria that coke gives me, it makes life seem worth living. Even though it really isn’t anymore.
Still riding my high, I continue to dance with this guy whose name I forgot the moment he told me. I’m feeling like the sexiest woman in the world as I sway my hips and shoulders along with him.
Eventually, he leads me outside. I cling to his hand, trotting along beside him in my ridiculously high heels until we make it to a parking garage.
“Where’s your car?” I ask, leaning against his chest and tilting my head up to look into his face. He brings his mouth down to mine, taking hold of my face on either side as he explores my mouth with his tongue.
It feels OK. But it’s all starting to feel the same now. Each kiss takes another piece of my self-respect with it. Without the drugs, I don’t think I could keep doing this.
“This one will do,” he says, taking me by the shoulders and spinning me around, so I’m pressed up against the back of the nearest car.
With quick hands, he lifts my dress and pushes me forward, working my panties to the side as he inserts himself inside me. Pumping and panting as he drives back and forth. I only hope he’s wearing a condom, because I didn’t notice him putting one on.
Unfeeling, I study the paint work of the car I’m lying on top of. It’s red, like a fire engine. Small lights reflect off it, and I wonder what the owner would think if they knew what was happening to their car right now. The only thing I can really care about, is the fact that it’s now unlikely I’ll get that free bed tonight.
Oh well, at least he gave me coke.
He grunts as he finishes and pulls out of me. Standing, I turn around, readjusting my clothing so I’m decent, feeling relieved as I watch him remove a condom and flick it on the concrete ground with a splat.
It’s then I notice the wedding ring. Inwardly, I roll my eyes, annoyed at my own stupidity. He was never going to take me home.
“Thanks for that. It was just what I needed,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a few notes. “I’ll see you around.” He leans in and kisses me on the cheek, pressing the money in my hand before he wanders off whistling. At least I have money for a motel room now too.
Twenty-Three
Three months into the ho life
The city is a big place. And I’ve travelled around, trying not to pick up at the same club too close together. But I’m running out of decent places to go. Eventually, I head right back where I started. I’m at Planetary, the club where I met Ed.
I think about him a lot. I think about Matthew even more. When I'm sober, the guilt over what I did to Ed consumes me. When I’m high—and especially when I’m fucking—the memory of my connection with Matthew is at the forefront of my mind. My God. The sex with him was amazing.
Still, I have zero interest in running into either of them again, and hope to the heavens they aren’t here as I line up to check my bag.
“I remember you,” the guy says as he takes my bag. "You were here a few months back.” He taps his name tag. “Braden”
He was the guy here when I picked my bag up the next morning. "Oh yeah. How've you been?"
"'Great." He grins, the lone earring he wears shines in the pink and blue lighting. "I've seen you around. You like to party.”
That piques my interest. “Do you know who could help me with that?”
He leans closer. "That all depends on how you like to pay. With your body or your wallet?”
I laugh. He has been watching me. "What ever gets the job done.”
“I dig it, sweetheart. No judgment here. What’s your poison?”
I touch my finger to my nose and sniff. "But I'm not picky when it’s free.”
He laughs. “A girl after my own heart.” He gestures for me to come closer, so I do. “Keep an eye out for a guy with spiky hair and a floral shirt. His packing, and he's generous.”
“What’s he got?”
“Molly, I think.”
“Want some?”
“If you can get a spare.”
We grin at each other and bump fists before he hands over my coat check token, waiving the charge.
Heading inside, I find the guy I’m looking for. He’s dancing holding a drink of water. A sure tell he’s on something. I slide in near him and whisper in his ear. He grins and pulls me toward him, then drives his tongue halfway down my throat.
This one doesn’t waste any time.
“What are you on?” I ask when he gives me my mouth back.
“Open your mouth.”
I do as he says, swallowing when he drops a pill in my mouth. We dance for a while as I wait for the familiar feeling of bliss to take over me.
Then it hits me. And it’s not an E.
My eyes grow wide as the guy I’m dancing with grows before my eyes, looming above me. His facial features fall into his face and when he speaks, strange animalistic sounds come out. Fuck. I think I dropped acid.
As I look around, the room looks totally fucked up, nothing is as it was before. The music sounds distorted in my ears and dark shadowy creatures are hiding between the strobing lights. They’re roaring and clawing at me, trying to take me somewhere.
Panic takes hold and I push my way through the crowd. I don’t know which way is out, but I need to try and find it. I can’t breathe in here. It’s angry and I’m scared. Something is after me. Hands grab at me and my body shakes. I hear screaming.
It’s coming from me.
* * *
When I open my eyes, I’m on a couch and Braden is peering down at me. “Guess he wasn’t giving out molly?”
“I don’t know what the hell that was,” I croak, as I try to sit up.
“Lucky I was there to watch your back. And speaking of backs, I have your gross backpack here too. It’s heavy. Have you got nowhere to go?”
I lie back and roll my eyes, sighing. “If I had somewhere to go, do you think I’d fuck half the guys I go home with?”
“No. No I don’t. Although, if I had your gift for attracting men, I wouldn’t be here looking after you. I’d be off with a man of my own.”
“Congratulations. You’re gay,” I state, my voice an emotional void.
“Officially I’m bi, but I do tend to lean a little closer to the gay side, which is why I’ve noticed you. You have gone home with some very fine men lately.”
I sit up properly and clutch at my head as pain throbs behind my eyes. “Thanks, I guess,” I wince.
“Here,” he says, handing me two Nurofen and a glass of water. “I’m curious. Why do you keep going home with different drug-fucked meatheads? Why don’t you choose one of those geeky-looking guys who drool all over you and would do anything you asked just to be seen in your presence? You’re a fucking goddess.”
“Been there, done that. I can’t do relationships. I can’t stand the hurt look on their face when I screw it up. I go with the guys I do because the
y’re jerks. Hot guys are always jerks. They don’t give a fuck about me. They don’t ask questions. They just give me what I want, while taking what they want. It’s an easy trade.”
He takes the glass of water off me and places it on the coffee table. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a wad of cards and starts flipping through them.
“So which one of these are you? Linda? Erica? Peyton?... there’s more. What did you do? Rob every girl who looks remotely like to you take her ID?”
I reach out to snatch them back, but he pulls the cards out of my reach. “Give them back.”
“Maybe I should. I can write these girls a nice letter and tell them I found the girl who stole from them. I’m guessing she’s this girl right here,” he says waiving my own ID at me. “Paige Larsen. A seventeen-year-old runaway from where? Jamisontown? Where’s that?”
“I’m not from Jamisontown. It’s just where I was living when I got my learners permit,” I tell him, reaching out again to try to take my ID.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts, moving them away from me again.
“What do you want from me? I don’t have any money, and I’m too sober to sleep with you.”
“Well, I did have something else in mind for you. But after seeing your skills, I think you can help us both out.”
“What kind of skills are you talking about?”
“The ones that help you survive my dear, Paige.”
“That’s not a skill. It’s called a pussy.”
He laughs. “Not your pussy, sweetheart. I’m talking about how you got your hands on all these IDs. There’s a lot of money in selling them because they’re too hard to counterfeit without the right machine.”
“So you want me to bag snatch for you?”
“I prefer to call it ‘acquiring stock’, but yes.”
Beautiful Boxset: Beautiful Series, books 1-4 Page 79
