by T Gephart
“Yeah, that kind of slipped out.” She shrugged. “I got caught up in the moment.”
Her body shivered as I moved my hand up her side. “You cold?” I kissed her neck wrapping my arms around her. My A/C had kicked in at some point and was blowing cold air through the room.
“A little.” She shuffled back against my chest. I liked it. A lot.
My dick slowly slid out of her and I pulled off the condom. The used latex reunited with the foil wrapper in the wastepaper basket beside my bed. More of their friends would probably be joining them later.
The comforter that had been kicked off the bed—courtesy of either her foot or mine— was quickly snagged by my hand and wrapped around us. My plans for not moving changed as my hands rubbed over her body. Goosebumps covered her damp skin. “You want to join me in the shower? Warm up a little?”
She turned to me and smiled. “Is this your attempt to fuck me in the shower?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. It hadn’t been my game plan but I liked her thinking. “Megs, I think we’ve got a good ten-fifteen minutes before I’ll be operational again. No fucking. Just a shower.”
“Sure, I’d like that.”
****
The shower had been as promised— just a shower. We’d stood under the spray of the warm water, my cock stirring the minute my hand started soaping her. Up her body, down her body, other side, repeat. It was mechanical but necessary if I wanted to keep my word. Lathered up and shut up, I even washed and conditioned her hair, which had been a first.
Girls in the shower were usually a precursor to shower sex, so the experience had been a new one for me. Megs sure as hell wasn’t making things easy either, the little noises she made while I massaged her head were putting my resolve to the test. Got me wondering if I couldn’t make her come purely from washing her hair. It seemed she’d gotten almost as much pleasure when she’d washed my ’hawk, her fingers twisting through my hair while her wet, slippery body pressed against me. It was driving me insane and while the plan had been to get clean, all I could think about was getting dirty.
Done fantasizing about screwing her against the tiled wall of the shower, I cut the water and put myself out of my misery. The only rub she received was courtesy of a couple of over-sized towels. Her hands, not mine.
When it came to blow-drying her hair, I opted out. Sure, I would have loved to stay and watch a re-enactment of a Whitesnake video play out in my bathroom. Tits and hair flying wildly sounded like a good time, but my dick was having serious problems with the look but don’t touch scenario I had us locked into.
So while she took care of that, I ripped the sheets from my mattress and freshened it up with a pair that weren’t sporting our DNA. Managed to get in between them as well, leaving the dirty sheets I’d stripped piled in a corner. A run to the laundry wasn’t on the cards. Not if it meant I’d risk missing the view. And what a view it was.
Megs stepped out of the bathroom, her hair doing that floaty thing around her shoulders, and the best part —she was naked. She didn’t even do that lame-ass hand-wrap manoeuver to cover her tits or her pussy that some girls do. Thank Christ for that. She just strolled out with her head high and a smile on her face, crawling back into bed beside me. Oh, she also shot me a look that clued me in that the hands off thing I had going on was no longer working for her. This was not a problem for me and I was more than happy to continue playtime. Her lips tightly wrapped around my cock was a very nice start.
I wasn’t sure how many times we’d fucked. It was irrelevant, but I do know I spent more of the night/morning inside of her than out. Not one of those times did the thought I shouldn’t be doing this cross my mind. The sunlight cracked through the drapes, flooding the room, before we finally admitted defeat. Exhausted, I wrapped my arms around her and we both fell asleep.
I’m an idiot. The plan had been— I have sex with Troy, I get him out of my system and I move on. Simple. It’s what I had convinced myself would cure this borderline obsession. It was basic psychology, like craving chocolate the minute you go on a diet purely because now you can’t have it. My initial approach hadn’t been affective. My taste of Troy had only stimulated the craving, not diminished it, which is why I decided on another approach. Binging. Getting my fill of Troy Harris so I would be sick of the sight of him. Literally screwing him out of my system. Sounds like a reasonable theory. Turned off by saturation. So binge I did. All. Night. Long.
It didn’t take.
What the hell was wrong with me? Not only had I not cured my addiction slash infatuation, but I’d also reinforced how much I was attracted to him. It hadn’t helped that he had been so freaking awesome, and funny, and sexy. Not to mention his amazing, long, hard co… Damn it! I was supposed to not be thinking about it and now all I can do is think about it. I wonder if I asked nicely if he’d let me take a mold for a dildo? Everyone is so DYI these days. That wouldn’t be creepy at all. Yep. I was a self-diagnosed deviant nymphomaniac with addiction disorder. Glad all those years at Georgetown paid off, my parents must be so proud.
Reality check. It was not going to be so easy to just move on. I had even started to look for reasons why we weren’t compatible. Surely that’s the way to get over this silly crush. My investigation had been fruitful.
Troy Harris was a closet Star Wars fanatic. You heard right. Star. Wars. He had one tattoo dedicated to the Dark Side as well as one to the Rebel Alliance and they reflected each other on opposite parts of his arm. A representation of his inner light and dark. Kind of like a nerdy yin and yang. I should have been weirded out by this sci-fi, cult classic revelation; instead… I found it adorable.
The life-sized R2D2 in his kitchen, that was not cute. In fact, it had scared this shit of me. Who has movie memorabilia in their kitchen? See, there was something I could work with. Robot in the kitchen kicked off my mental tally of “cons.”
And another thing, the man had no coffee in his apartment. None. Who doesn’t have, at the very least, a rogue tin of Folger’s hiding behind a prehistoric box of crackers? What if the Zombie apocalypse hit? I can tell you that the people without coffee would be the first suckers turned. Have you seen people in the morning before their cup of Joe? The caffeine would be the only thing that would distinguish us from the Walkers. Apparently Troy is not a coffee drinker. Gasp. I didn’t know these people existed. Who doesn’t drink coffee? I’m still trying to get a handle on that.
So two— flimsy at best— excuses as to why I shouldn’t sleep with him again. And when was the last time I had achieved that many orgasms in one night? Never. My argument as to why we shouldn’t be back in the saddle again was very quickly negated. He had even very sweetly offered to take me to breakfast, apologizing for his lack of coffee. I had to decline of course. Showing up to a coffee shop in last night’s dress and heels? No. Just No.
My morning-after coffee was when I did my post mortem. A break down of the night that was, and I had a system. Go home, shower, change and then you go get coffee. The side order of a muffin was standard— the heart-to-heart with Ash, was an added bonus.
Yeah, that would NOT be happening. How would I even start that conversation? So Ash, remember how I’ve wanted to sleep with Troy in like forever? Remember how we decided it’s probably for the best if I don’t because let’s face it, other than hot sex, nothing good will come of it? Well, funny thing. You’re going to love this. I disregarded all that common sense nonsense and threw myself at him… with my vagina. Yep. That’s right. While you and Dan were busily planning your happily-ever-after, I was getting some sexual healing in the back of the Suburban.
Yep. Some things really are best left unsaid.
So after kissing Troy goodbye —I lingered, sue me — I hailed a cab back to my Greenwich Village apartment. I quickly showered, changed into my favorite sundress and took the short walk to my favorite coffee house.
Jilly Beans was always bustling with activity, the recycled wooden tables and chairs crammed in between cotton
candy pink walls and the checkerboard linoleum floor. It was in the tiny corner café where I sat with a half-full latte trying to stop myself from going back to Troy’s apartment and tying him to the headboard. Or he could tie me. We could take turns. That would be fun.
“Hey!” Ash pulled out a chair and sat down at my table. Fresh-faced with her red hair pulled back into a ponytail, she looked gorgeous without even a hint of makeup, casually dressed in jeans and cotton tee. “Why did you run off? I went over to Troy’s this morning and he said you’d already left. I would have thought you would have been trying to steal his bath towels or rub yourself on his bed sheets.” Ash laughed, reminding me of previous conversations where I had threatened to do just that.
She had no idea.
“Yeah, I didn’t want to over stay my welcome.” I picked up my cup and took a swallow of my now lukewarm coffee. “Besides, the man had no coffee in his place. Did you know he doesn’t drink coffee? He must be some kind of freak.” I contorted my face in mock horror trying to steer the conversation away from me being alone with Troy.
“Definitely a freak if he doesn’t drink coffee,” she mused sarcastically, rolling her eyes. Unlike me, she didn’t need to play the pick-Troys-flaws-so-I-don’t-sleep-with-him-again game. It was quite a mouthful.
A lot like Troy.
I needed to stop.
Ash’s smile lit up her green eyes. “I guessed this is where you’d be after I checked your apartment and no one answered. So predictable.” She was right; this is where I could be found most mornings.
Whether it was a quick stop for a takeaway or a more relaxed sit-and-sip, my day didn’t start until I’d stopped at Jilly Beans. God knows if for some reason I happened to miss a couple of days in a row, the staff would probably file a missing person’s report. They understood my caffeine addiction and happily enabled me. “I like it here, they know my order and the baristas are cute. I’m thinking of asking the dark-haired one out on a date. Good looking and knows how to make good coffee. That’s husband material right there. I could potentially beat you to the altar.”
I wasn’t seriously thinking of dating him, it was a throw away line. Our witty little banter just made my day more interesting. I’d flirted with him for the last few months, but he wasn’t my type. My type was rockin’ hot drummers who inspired scorching hot drive-by sex. Clearly I had a specific palette. I was in so much trouble.
Ash looked over at the tall, lanky, and shaggy-haired man standing behind the counter. His smile was barely visible beneath a neatly manicured beard. The attention we were suddenly throwing his way caused him to adjust his large, thick-rimmed glasses.
Ash laughed. “I think he noticed us staring.”
“Good.” My lips twitched into a flirty smile as I gave him a friendly wave. He waved back discreetly before he turned his attention back to the important task of working a milk jug and a steam wand. A man making coffee was sexy.
Maybe I should ask him out. It wouldn’t hurt. He seemed to be good with his hands, expertly having made a smiley face in my coffee foam. Perhaps I was looking at this all wrong? Maybe Troy actually wasn’t that good.
It had been a while since my last sexual encounter. It’s not like I had accumulated tumbleweeds in my girlie bits, but in recent times I had been spending a lot more time with my vibrator than with a living, breathing penis. Seeing other people would prove that it had been the break in my man-drought that had made last night so toe curling. It probably didn’t even matter that it was Troy. I could have had sex with Jimmy, the creepy emo/goth EMT guy, and today I’d be sitting here fantasizing about white skin and eyeliner. Ugh. I shuddered. I dodged a bullet with that one. I mentally made a note to avoid the ER for a while, at least until I was able to scrub that image from my mind.
Ash disregarded the conversation of my dating future with the wave of her hand. “Well, you’re a big girl so you can date who you like but I need you to put off your rendezvous with nameless-coffee-dude for one night. Please come over for dinner tonight. Dan has rehearsal; we can eat ice cream and talk wedding stuff.”
“Tonight? I guess I can postpone my date with destiny for one night.” I squeezed her hand. It was hard to believe my friend, who had seen marriage more as an amicable merger not twelve months ago, was happily living her own fairytale.
“Thanks, Megs.” A slight blush crept up her face. “You’re not only my maid of honor, but with my mom and my sisters being back in Boston, I don’t really have anyone else to get excited with me. Unfortunately you’ve drawn the short straw. Besides, who else can I trust to kick my ass if I turn into Bridezilla?”
“Aw, sweetie, I love that you’ve chosen me to share this with, and you couldn’t be a Bridezilla if you tried. Although I think this is a good time to tell you, if you make me look a pink marshmallow, I will kill you.” I laughed. Not that there was any real danger of that, Ash hated pink but I figured it was best to put our cards on the table. I was still haunted by the nightmare that had been my senior prom. I really wish I could go back in time and tell my seventeen-year-old self that Barbie was not the fashion icon I’d believed her to be. God help me if those pictures ever got out.
Ash grinned, fully aware of my aversion to large bouffant-ed ball gowns. “Damn, I had the pink tulle tutu already picked out.”
“Ha. Ha. Very funny. Just remember karma’s a bitch and I’ll be the one planning your bachelorette party.” I threatened, only half kidding. “Have you told your folks yet?”
“Yeah, this morning. Mom cried and Dad got quiet. I could tell he was emotional. Can you believe Dan asked for my dad’s blessing? Apparently while we were home for Christmas he told Dad that he wanted to make me his wife and would ask me when the time was right. I know he can be an ass sometimes, but God I love him.” The smile on her face reinforcing how happy she was.
I couldn’t help myself. Dan was entirely too easy a target. “That’s beautiful, Ash. By the way, you should totally call him an ass like that in your vows. I think everyone would love that.”
“Are you kidding me? Troy already suggested I work in douchebag and numbnuts. If I didn’t know them better, I’d swear they hated each other.”
Just hearing Troy’s name sent a shiver down my spine. For five minutes I had successfully not thought about him and yet, as soon as he was mentioned, I was back imagining bad, bad things. Good bad, bad things. Things we had done and things I would love to attempt.
Not helping. Think of something else. I drained the last of my cold coffee from my cup as I realigned my thoughts with Manolo Blahnik’s new season’s sandals.
Black, strappy patent leather. They would complement that Marc Jacob dress I loved so much but rarely wore. This was good. Positive reinforcement. Shoes. Shoes would be my savior.
“So what time do you want me tonight?” The smile fixed firmly on my face as thoughts of those strappy Blahniks resting on Troy’s shoulders while he fucked me, now dominated my mind.
I was in. So. Much. Trouble.
****
I had returned to the scene of the crime. Well, close enough to it anyway. Criminals not being able to resist the urge? It was all true. A weird sense of curiosity taunted me. Compelling me to walk out of Dan and Ash’s apartment where I sat, surrounded by Bridal publications, and revisit the location of one of the most erotic nights of my life.
I didn’t.
That’s why murderers always got caught on CSI shows. It wasn’t the killing that did them in; it was the poking around after the fact. The compulsion to relive the act. I understood it now. Morons. Both me, and them.
My limbs stretched out in front of me as I made myself comfortable on the floor, rolling onto my stomach. The plush area rug underneath me was soft as I propped myself up onto my elbows, oblivious to my surroundings. I heard the faint sound of murmuring in the distance, probably Dan saying goodbye to Ash before he left to go be a rock star. Best left ignored. Spoiler alert, they were probably making out.
My head lowered into
the glossy pages of whatever bride magazine I had been flicking through as I pushed a spoonful of Chubby Hubby into my mouth, and tried not to think about fact that Troy was only a few feet away. Just through the doorway and down the hall. The ghost of him haunting me, I could almost feel his presence and smell the sex.
“Megs,” Troy’s husky voice startled me, almost making me choke on the spoon still in my mouth.
There he was. Like a conjured-up dirty dream. Except he wasn’t an apparition, instead he’d walked in, crouched beside me and rested his hand on my bare leg, all while I was blissfully unaware in my self-imposed oblivion.
The spoon was hastily removed from my mouth as I yanked it out. If I was going for seductive, I’d failed. “Oh. Hey, Troy Harris.” Quickly swallowing as I scrambled to my knees. Sure, that wasn’t a more compromising position.
He grinned as he wordlessly took the spoon from my hand and dug it into the pint of ice cream that sat on the coffee table. His hand brought the ice cream loaded spoon to his mouth and his lips closed around it. Hot. Oh hell.
He pulled the spoon from his mouth, with the seduction I hadn’t managed. The surface licked clean before scooping more ice cream. “You want some?” His smile widened as he held the spoon inches away from my lips and waited for my response.
“Yes.” It was almost moaned, the word clearly too difficult for me to speak. My mouth opened wide like a freak-show clown at a carnival, and he lowered the spoon inside. The ice cream spilled across my tongue that played against the cold metal. Delicious.
It had nothing to do with the ice cream. Just so we’re clear.
He slowly pulled the spoon from between my lips, my resistance making him grin.
He raised an eyebrow, “More?” Whatever he was offering, I most definitely wanted more of it. Every. Last. Drop.
“Dude, you ready to go?” Dan called from off in the distance, shattering my iced confectionary erotica. I could have wept at the loss.
