by Penny Wylder
Peeking my head out of his room, I realize he's not here. Tossing the blanket back on to the bed, I quickly get my clothes on and tuck my shoes under my arm. I notice my guitar laying on his couch with a note stuck to the front.
Had to work early. I would have woken you up to take you home, but I figured the walk was safe enough.
—Ian
Under his name, he left his number. I smile to myself as I peel it off my guitar and read it again.
“Meow.” I jump in surprise as a cat is suddenly rubbing its face against my leg. I didn't know he had a cat, at least I don't remember seeing it last night. I never would have pegged him as a cat owner.
Dropping down, I scratch its head. “Hey, buddy.” He meows again, then starts to walk into the kitchen. Stopping at his bowl, he looks back up at me. “You hungry?”
Walking into the kitchen, I open a couple cupboards in search of the cat's food. It's easy to tell a bachelor lives here. Ian's place isn't really super dirty, or overly messy. It just lacks organization, and maybe a little more direction. And some dusting.
Petting the cat one last time, I grab my guitar, and stare at the note. Holding it over the garbage, I'm about to drop it in, but instead I tuck it in my back pocket. Pulling open his door, I take one last look into his apartment, and close the door behind me.
Crossing the hall, I'm in my place within seconds. Breathing a sigh of relief, I rest my guitar on its stand and drop onto the couch. I'm in shock at what I did the night before. I'm not really the type of girl who goes home with random guys.
But it happened, and Ian actually isn't so bad. He's a pretty nice guy. Nicer than I originally thought.
Pulling his note out of my pocket, I flick the corner back and forth. I can still smell him on me. He's all around me. I can't stop the smile from spreading as I read his note a third, and a fourth time.
It's cute, and I feel a light flutter in my chest each time I read it.
Running my fingers through my hair, they get stuck on several knots and tangles. I'm sure I look like a fucking mess.
I need a shower.
Heading to my bathroom, I stick the note to my fridge on my way by. Turning on the water, I let it run over my wrist until it feels warm. That's another thing with this place. Not only does it feel like the apartment is falling apart around me, the water can go from cold to scalding hot, and then back to freezing in a matter of seconds.
Taking a look in the mirror, I have black smudges around my eyes, and lipstick streaks around my mouth. As I pull my clothes off, I can still see the marks he made on my body. The sex was hot. It was really fucking hot. A little rougher than I'm used to, but surprisingly I enjoyed it.
Touching my neck, I run the pads of my fingers across the red marks where he held me. Moving my fingers to my lips, it's like I can still feel the weight of his kisses on my skin. My lips are little puffier than usual, most likely from the intensity of his mouth on mine.
Even my pussy is tender, my lips swollen from how hard he fucked me. Smirking, I grip the sink and look down at my thighs. There are small bruises on my inner thighs, bruises that are about the size of his fingertips.
Just seeing these sex wounds make my heart skip inside my chest. His cologne fills my senses again, making my clit pulse and my belly tingle.
Steam fogs the mirror, quickly blurring my face. Pushing the curtain aside, I step into the shower. Water rolls down my shoulders, over my breasts, making my nipples hard. Dropping my head back, I let the water soak my hair.
Closing my eyes, the water rushes down my face, and all I can think about is Ian. The way his hands took control of me. The way his lips were warm and wet, bruising my mouth with passionate kisses.
His blue eyes, his jet-black hair, his hard chest and thick arms, I melted the second he touched me. His jawline is sharp, and when he smiles the sexiest little dimples pop on his cheeks.
I didn't get to see those dimples the first time I met him, and I'm glad, because I probably would have been rendered speechless.
Tall, dark, and handsome is the only definition that fits him.
My hands slip over my head and down my neck, moving to my chest. Finding my nipples, I pinch them softly. I'm so turned on just thinking about our night together.
It's been a long time since I've been with someone. Ian wasn't exactly sweet, he was dirty, and told me exactly what he wanted.
I loved it.
Touching myself, I play with my tits. I'm so tender, hot and bothered as this man infiltrates my mind. Twisting my nipples harder, I move one hand over my belly and to my pussy.
Pressing my fingers against my clit, I rub myself gently. Velvety smooth juice slicks my fingers as I move between the folds and dip inside with one finger. My body excites as images of Ian fucking me fill my head.
Turning one finger into two, I fuck my pussy, rubbing my clit against my palm. My body is buzzing, electricity is flowing through my veins as I work my pussy. It's not his cock, my fingers aren't nearly as thick, but I can't shut this off. I have to finish this. I need to end the ache in my core that the thought of him is creating.
My fingers move faster and faster, my clit swelling and pulsing as the orgasm builds inside. Working my body, I bite my bottom lip, moaning quietly. My muscles tense up as I come hard, the sensation so intense I have to catch myself against the wall.
Water spills over my face, my breathing intense and labored as I try to gather my thoughts. I'm not sure where this is coming from. I've never been so attracted to someone that I had to go home after a one night stand and get myself off.
Finishing my shower, I dry off and pull on my robe. Inhaling a deep breath, I can still smell Ian, sending another shiver up my spine. Smirking to myself, I feel light and giddy as I search my fridge for a snack.
Making a small plate of crackers and cheese, I pour a cup of juice and walk to my couch. The note from Ian catches my eye, so I snag it off the fridge and sit down. Popping a cracker and piece of cheese into my mouth, I read his note again.
I don't know what it is, but this little note makes me warm all over. It's a simple note, nothing really special about it. But I can hear him saying it, I can hear his tone, and feel his words.
Glancing over at my guitar, open mic night flashes through my head. I fucking bombed. It was terrible. My cheeks heat at the thought of singing at the top of my lungs to a room that didn't care, and being pushed off the stage by half-naked women.
Ian said I sounded great. My eyes fall back to the note in my hand. He sounded truthful, like he actually meant what he was saying.
Eyeing the guitar, I'm suddenly struck with a new song. The first few words are there instantly, flowing through my head over and over.
What if you were told no one cared?
What if you were told no one wanted you?
What if you thought you weren't good enough?
Would you just live with all the consequences?
It's so clear, screaming inside my head, forcing me to pay attention.
Snatching the guitar off the couch, I head to the small metal platform of the fire escape. The weather is perfect, the sky clear, and the air warm.
Strumming the strings, I feel a new excitement for being here. I was hoping to be inspired with all the musical history of Memphis.
I never expected to be inspired by a man who yelled at me the first time we met, and then fucked me four days later.
As I sit on the tiny platform, singing and playing, I'm happy.
This is why I'm here. I'm not giving up just yet, I can't.
And I have Ian to thank for helping me lift my head back up.
There's a light shining on my soul.
6
Ian
She's beautiful.
Gently running my fingers down her naked shoulder as she sleeps, I can't take my eyes off of her. Her skin is soft, warm, and all I want to do is touch her all over.
I should get up and get to work, because Grey wants to start on another j
ob already just to stay ahead. But I can't pull myself away from her.
Her nose twitches and her eyes flutter behind her lids. Her lips part slightly as she exhales and turns onto her back. Loose strands of hair frame her face, covering her cheek. Her messy mane is spread across my pillow, spilling around her head like gold water.
Goddamn, she's stunning.
Brushing the hair away from her face, I kiss her lightly on her forehead. I could do this all day. I could lay here under the blankets, and just stare at her. Fuck working when I have this gorgeous woman in my bed.
Running my fingers all over her bare skin, I move across her stomach, up her ribs, across her neck, and follow her jawline into her hair. I can't stop the smile that spreads across my face as I notice bites I left on her last night.
She's marked for now.
Anyone who sees her is going to see the marks I made. Those aren't the only ones either; she gave me some of her own. Reaching over my shoulder, the pads of my fingers trace the raised skin of scratches from her nails.
The clock on the nightstand catches my attention, and I can't put it off any longer. I have to get up. Dragging myself away from her and out of bed, I throw on some clothes and brush my teeth. The sun is just coming up, and it's starting to stream through the blinds.
Writing her a quick note, I take one last look at her in my bed. She rolls again, causing the blanket to slip down and expose her tits. I'm so damn tempted to tear my clothes off and jump back in bed with her.
My fingers are on my belt, about to work the buckle free when my phone vibrates in my pocket.
Checking the message, it's my brother. This is your wake up call fucker. No more being late.
I'm staring at the most gorgeous girl I've ever seen naked in my bed, and being forced to abandon her when I really don't want to. The sun is hitting her body just right. Her porcelain skin looks light pink, soft and delicate. Biting my bottom lip, I smile.
The things I could do to you if I had the time.
Chuckling to myself, I send him back the only thing I can think of. Cock blocker.
Grabbing my keys off the table, I hold the doorknob and stand in the doorway for a long second, before leaving my apartment.
I've never felt this way before. The entire drive to work, all I think about is her. The flowery scent of her shampoo, the softness of her skin, the way she wriggled in my hands when I sucked her tits and trembled when I made her come.
All of it, every last detail, is flashing through my head. I can't explain the way she's infiltrated every part of my brain. She's so deep I'll have to cut her out if I want my sanity back.
Arriving at work, my head is pounding slightly, so I pour a cup of coffee. Bringing it to my lips, the steam rolls across my face. Taking a small sip, the caffeine explodes through my veins.
“Hey, look who actually showed up on time,” Grey says as he steps into the room.
“Well, I guess I should at least try once or twice a year. Maybe my boss will finally give me that raise I deserve.” Flashing him a teasing smile, I arch my brows.
Grey grins, his eyes drifting from my face to my hands. “It must have been a long night if you're actually drinking the coffee that Ben made.”
Looking into the cup, I see little flecks of coffee grounds sticking to the side of the foam cup. “What can I say, you got me.” Shrugging, I take a long sip.
“Yeah, I know. I saw you leave with that girl. What was her name again? Holly. . . Hanna—”
“Heather,” I correct him.
“Right, Heather. Heather your hot ass neighbor with big tits and a juicy ass.” He bites his knuckles and grins.
“What are you, fucking sixteen?”
My brother laughs, laying his hand on my shoulder and giving me a firm squeeze. “Dude, what the hell's gotten into you?”
“Nothing,” I snap, jerking my arm out of his grip. “Just don't talk about her like that.”
Grey arches a single brow, his voice dropping. “Since when do you give a shit about how I talk about some girl you brought home?”
“Since now, so enough already, Grey.” My tone is sharp. My eyes fix on his, and his mouth pulls taut.
“Sounds to me like someone has a hard-on for perky tits.” Taking a step back, he wags a finger at me. “Don't go fucking soft on me bro, not for some random chick. You remember what happened to our parents, what we went through with all that garbage. It was a fucking shit show.”
“I'm not going soft, Grey.” Throwing the coffee cup into the trash, I grab my bag. Glaring at him over my shoulder, I growl, “And I'm not wrapped up in some girl. It was one night. You just don't always have to act like a dick.”
Storming out the door, I let it slam shut behind me. Driving to the work site, my hands clench the steering wheel tight.
Is Grey right? Am I hooked on this girl?
My chest tightens with anger. I'm not hung up on her. I don't even know her. It was one night, one night of good, hot, amazing sex. Period.
There's nothing else there. One night of sex doesn't mean shit. I don't have feelings for her. It's impossible, and it'll never happen. I know better than to let emotions take charge. I've seen the damage it can do.
I want no part of it. The feelings that go along with loving someone will only destroy you. They hurt, they leave scars, and nothing can fix them. Those memories stay, they stay and live inside you. Fester.
It's not worth it.
The rest of the day I spend driving nails into two by four boards. I don't even use my nail gun, just a hammer. I'm so tight and tense over what my brother said that I have to put that anger somewhere.
He's wrong. I know he's wrong.
Then why can't I get her voice out of my head?
It was incredible, her voice angelic, adding a layer of brightness to the dark. She was stunning, taking my breath away the second she opened her mouth and that music came out of her.
I spend the day working until my palms are raw and bleeding, and every inch of my body aches. Packing up my shit, I drive right home, not even bothering to stop by the office first. Grey is just someone I don't want to see anymore today.
Pulling into the driveway of the apartment building, my window is down, and I can hear the faint sound of a guitar.
Climbing out, I glance up at the building. The music grows louder the closer I get to the building. Walking down the side of the building, I come around the corner and see Heather sitting on the fire escape of her apartment.
She's singing to herself, her voice just as stunning as it was last night. I'm watching her for a few seconds, then she spots me. Stopping what she's doing, she waves at me.
“Hey,” she says with a smile.
My heart thuds in my chest, faster and louder than ever before.
Fuck, what the hell is wrong with me?
She adjusts herself on the small platform, and it sways side to side making me nervous as hell.
“You shouldn't be on there! It's a piece of shit and could crumble any second. You could break your neck!”
Her brows dip in hard, smile flattening. I sound like an asshole. I didn't need to be so harsh. I suddenly feel protective of her. The thought of anything happening to her makes me sick to my stomach, like I want to throw up.
Forcing a smile, I squint as I look up at her. “It's been a long day.”
“I get it.” Heather's mouth instantly rolls up into another smile. “Then you must be hungry. Let me make you dinner,” she calls down to me as she starts to climb back inside her apartment.
“Sorry, I don't do dinner.” Quickly shutting her down, I slice the air with my hand. “It can make things messy, and blur lines that don't need to be crossed.”
Dinner is a big no-fucking-way in my book. I don't do dinner and I don't date. I fuck and have a good time. It's simpler that way, easier to keep fun where it belongs, and my life straight and narrow.
“That's too bad, I make some pretty mean spaghetti,” she says, lowering herself into the win
dow. Reaching out to grab her guitar, she gives me one last smile, then disappears inside.
I'm such an asshole.
I'm not trying to be rude to her, but I need to shut this down before it turns into something I can't control. Right now, her pull is weak, it's brand new, it hasn't had the chance to really dig its talons in yet.
These feelings I have, they just don't belong. And I can't let them in. No matter how badly I might want to. She's a good girl. She doesn't deserve to see what I have to offer. Because she'll be sadly disappointed.
I'm not boyfriend material.
Except, I fucked her and I want more. . . Doesn't that mean something?
No. It means nothing.
Sure, it was great, it felt really fucking good in the moment, and I'll remember it forever. But that's all it can ever be. One good fuck.
Heather is a memory, one of many.
Good girls don't really want bad boys. Not in real life. In books and movies it might work out. But not here, and not with a guy like me. I'm damaged, unwilling to allow anything mildly resembling an actual relationship to take shape.
She came here to be a singer, and that's what she needs to do.
7
Heather
He's not a dinner date kind of guy. . .
Pursing my lips, I sit on my couch. The front door creaks open and slams shut, and I hear his feet as they stomp up the stairs.
Looking over at my front door, I tap my fingertips against the top of my thighs.
He's almost at the top. The walls in this building are paper thin, making it easy to hear what's going on outside your own apartment. I can hear the old lady downstairs talking to her cats during the day, and even the guy under Ian when he's arguing with his roommate.
Ian's heavy boots create an echo in the hallway. My eyes are on the door, and I have this urge to see him. Standing up, I move to the door and rest my palms against it as I press my eye to the peephole.
