by Mj Fields
Unsatisfied and questioning why I bothered getting naked for maybe ten minutes, if I was lucky, to race to the finish, a race I always lost. That was sex … until twenty minutes ago.
As I begin to squat down to grab my haphazardly discarded clothing, a hand on my hip stops me. I begin to look back when I feel a warm cloth between my legs. I didn’t even hear the water run.
“I’d offer you a shower, but …” He leaves it hanging as he wipes up one thigh then the next before beginning to wipe my center.
“I can manage.” I reach down and attempt to take the cloth, but he doesn’t let go. I look back to see his eyes are softer now.
“Take your time.”
“Take my time?” I ask.
“Getting your shit straight.” He holds back a smirk.
“I assure you, my shit’s straight.” My shit is so not straight.
“If we had more time, I would have fucked that up, too.” He steps back and looks me over.
The source of raw emptiness pulses again.
He makes no attempt to put clothes on; he simply watches me with irritating amusement.
“You do know I just fucked your face, so …” I give him a smug look and shrug.
When he laughs, I arch a brow while pulling my underpants up.
He holds his hands up as if to mockingly concede, I turn my back to him as I put on my bra, trying to hide my own smile.
I just fucked your face? Really? I scold myself.
When I feel my tank top being placed over my head, I softly thank him and push my arms through the holes.
“How much do I owe you?”
“For fucking my face? That was my pleasure. No charge.”
My elbow jerks back and hits the wall of muscles behind me lightly. He chuckles.
“The art.”
“How about, when you come back in, we’ll discuss it?”
I turn around and look up at him, careful to avert my eyes from the body of a god who is holding my skirt. “This was a hookup.” I roll my eyes, trying to play it off that the thought of seeing him naked doesn’t entice the swarm of butterflies in my belly that have begun to dance again, and grab my skirt hanging off fingers that were inside me minutes ago.
He quirks an eyebrow. “Six to nine months later doesn’t exactly constitute a serious relationship.”
“If I can squeeze you into the rotation, I’ll let you know.”
He bends down and grabs my sweater before I have a chance and holds it up. “Must be a small rotation, since I barely squeezed into you, sweets.”
I push my arms into the sweater. “I’ve had”—I pause as he turns me around and steps back, pointing down with a very self-assured look on his face—“bigger.”
“Hard or soft plastic?” he asks.
Both of us try not to laugh but fail.
I turn my back to him then grab my purse from the chair. “I’m paying for the service, not the fuck. How much?”
“I’m not taking your money.” He turns his back to grab his clothes.
“I—”
“Sixty-nine dollars.” He pulls his jeans up. He’s smirking when he turns and looks at me as he pulls his shirt over his head.
I walk out of the room, shaking my head and biting back a laugh, but I unleash a grin. I reach into my purse and grab the envelope out of it from the money I pulled from the bank so Dad wouldn’t see my purchase. Then I drop it onto the counter and walk to the door, where I unlock it, open it and leave.
OH MY FREAKING GOD! I silently scream as I hurry up the sidewalk, hoping to find a cab to take me back to The Empire so I can spill all the tea to my girls.
Artistic Expressions
Tags
What the fuck am I doing? I ask myself as I run barefoot down the street after the sweet treat whose ass and sass I will not soon forget, holding the envelope she tossed on the counter.
She turns the corner, and I start to slow, knowing I’ve probably lost her, but then I decide, fuck that.
When I turn the corner, I spot her and try my best to slow down. She’s got her nose in her phone and doesn’t see me as I attempt to stop myself from running her over. Unable to stop completely, I grab her to make sure she doesn’t fall.
She gasps and looks up at me. “Are you freaking insane?”
My back hits the trash can and stops my fall. “Undecided on a few occasions.”
“What the hell are you doing?” She tries not to laugh then decides against holding it back.
She’s so fucking beautiful that I decide not to hold back either, and I kiss her.
“Oh my freaking God,” she mumbles against my lips.
I pull back, taking her bottom lip with me. When I release it, she shakes her head.
“You’re insane.”
“I told you not to pay until—”
She gasps and begins looking around. “My purse, my phone.”
I hurry over to her purse and see a cab pulling over. With my back still to her, I shove the envelope inside then hurry back to her.
“I have friends waiting for me,” she says, looking at me like she’s confused. It’s cute as fuck.
“I do, too,” I say, opening the cab door for her. “Catch up in six to nine.”
She laughs like I’m joking. I’m not.
“What’s your name, sweets?”
She giggles. “Why?”
“Because I want to know the name of the girl I’ll be beating off to until we meet again.”
“Bella,” she answers as she laughs at me.
I feel like I just got a knee to the gut. The breathlessness, not the pain. Same way I felt when she turned toward me the first time.
“Yours?”
“Miss, do you still need a ride?” the cab driver asks.
“Go. I’ll see you around.”
She slides in and looks out at me.
Fuck.
I shake my head.
She looks disappointed but shrugs then gives me a peace sign before grabbing the door and shutting it.
Fuck.
I take a step back as I watch the cab begin to pull away.
She turns and looks out the back window. I shoot her a peace sign, and she smirks. Then I realize I didn’t lock the shop, so I sprint back to make sure I do.
Bell, peace, freedom … Bella. Paula is going to have a field day with this.
Which is why I will never fucking tell her.
When I walk into the twenty-four-hour fitness center, Sisco is at the counter, chatting it up with one of the girls.
“You’re late as hell, man. I’ve already had a drink, eaten, and worked out.” He laughs, giving me a bro hug. Stepping back, he then looks me up and down. “You dirty dog.”
“I’m just gonna shower off before I go home so the old lady doesn’t flip the fuck out on me.”
“You got a ride?”
“Taking the Nike express home.” I wink.
“You sure, man? I can wait.”
“No. Great last day of freedom ended with one hell of a piece of art.”
“I don’t like that look, Tags.”
“It’s all good.”
Asshole(s)
Bella
Of course, the greatest sexual experience of my life, with a man—well, I thought he was a man—who warmed me up and made me pop quicker than microwave popcorn, turned out to be a grade-A asshole.
When I found the money in my purse, I got all sorts of stupid.
I don’t do stupid.
I also don’t chase boys; I make them chase me. If they tire at all, take so much as a water break, they’re out.
But this envelope, the one I am carrying, the one he gave me back on the sly, further heating my already hot and bothered self, is now going to be spent on drinks with my girls.
Why? Because I followed him from the shop to a twenty-four-hour fitness center, looking for the perfect time to slip the envelope in his bag, when I heard him tell his buddy, “I’m just gonna shower off before I go home so the old lady doesn’t flip the
fuck out on me.”
I, Isabella Steel, not only fucked a hot tattoo artist, which was never on my list of things to do during college, and it literally makes me feel like I may throw up now, but I fucked a married one.
Walking from the bar out to the rooftop, I spot Victoria sucking face with Brian, her douchebag ex’s roommate. Alice sitting on one of the many couches, and Lily is passed out with her head on Alice’s lap.
Alice looks up and waves to me as I walk over.
“Let me see.” She smiles broadly.
I pull my phone from my bag. “Take a picture for me?”
“Of course.”
When I turn around and lift my shirt, she breathes in an exaggerated breath. “Beautiful.”
I look over my shoulder. “Can you see it through the wrap?”
“Yes, it’s so much bigger than I expected. And the flowers … wow.”
“Pic?” I remind her.
“Of course.”
When she hands me back the phone, I walk over and sit on the couch beside Lily’s ass.
“So, did it hurt?” she asks as I look at the picture and zoom in as far as I can.
I nod. “Yeah, it sure did.”
I know beautiful body art, and even though its dark I can tell this is beautiful work.
“What was the artist like?” she asks.
Shaking my head, I flop back against the cushion. “Hot as hell. Hung, too.”
“You … you …” She pauses then realization hits. “You …”
I stop her from continuing. “I had a one-night stand.”
“You mean”—she pauses and looks at her own phone—“five-hour stand.”
I cringe at the thought. Then I cringe again at the thought that I was with a married man. My night was double cringeworthy.
“Which is much more daring than a full night.” She is so sweet.
“Yeah.” I smile and nod. “Well, I did it. I destroyed Dad’s list of don’ts.”
She waves over a waitress. “We need two glasses of your best champagne.”
The waitress nods.
I pull out the envelope and hand it to her. “We’ll take a whole bottle. Keep the change.”
When the waitress leaves, Alice whispers, “You know I can’t drink more than a glass or I get kind of crazy.” Her bright blue eyes are sparkling under the red neon sign.
Alice’s version of crazy is falling asleep.
I smile. “Then let’s make our last night together really crazy.”
Really crazy ends up with Alice drinking two glasses of wine and me polishing off the rest of the bottle.
Graduation day, we woke to my entire family—all of them—coming to our apartment, and all of us, except Alice, dragging ass while getting ready.
Dad was not impressed, but Carly kept him in check and he eventually chilled out.
We had dinner with Alice, Victoria, and Lily’s families immediately after the ceremony and then, in true Steel family style, we were on a plane within an hour, heading to Savannah, Georgia to attend a wedding.
Never a dull moment.
Standing on my second cousin, Dominic’s yacht, I have admittedly drank too much champagne … again. But it helps as I try not to think about … What’s his name?
No, really, what is his name? I don’t even remember.
I look at my phone and the picture of my tattoo, the one Alice took. Hell, I haven’t even had enough private time in the bathroom by myself to get a good look at it.
My siblings, Kiki and Max, have been square up my ass. My roommates weren’t ones to give much privacy, but they gave a hell of a lot more than my siblings and my cousins do. Besides, I wouldn’t have to hide it from them.
I’m a freaking adult, dammit, and stuck in the middle of actually being treated like one and a child.
The kids, they missed me. I get it. I missed them, too. But Kiki is even in the bathroom when I shower. It’s a freaking miracle she hasn’t seen my art. My art that … a married freaking man put on my skin then fucked me so hard I’m still feeling it.
A married man.
I guess it’s good that I’m stuck floating on the Atlantic Ocean or I may want to go find that big beautiful bastard and de-nut him with my freshly manicured claws. But, as Carly told me in middle school, after the biggest emotional pain I ever experienced as a teen, “We have two days to grieve, then we celebrate the lesson we learned from that person.”
The biggest emotional pain was a breakup with my best friend. Yes, it was a breakup, worse than any breakup I’ve ever had. I found out she was talking behind my back and sharing pictures that she had no right even taking while at my house when she slept over.
The picture was of Dad cooking pancakes in his pajama bottoms. It circulated all over my Catholic school. My real best friend, Laura, is the one who showed me. Then she showed me Danielle’s finsta—fake Instagram account—called Hot Daddies. It was a year’s worth of pictures that she had sneakily taken of my father and uncles while she was allowed to be part of my family.
It hurt. It hurt bad. The lesson I learned was something insurmountable: Loyalty isn’t a given. Very few actually give it, and even fewer deserve it. She wasn’t one of those people.
The bigger lesson? There aren’t many who know what loyalty truly means. It’s another way in which my family is so different. But this difference isn’t one that annoys me. It’s one I will always treasure.
It’s been two days, and I am done slut-shaming myself. He’s the married one, not me.
Now, I celebrate the lesson I learned: Look for a ring, ask if they’re married, and don’t just assume.
I shake two imaginary middle fingers and scream in my head, Fuck you … what’s-your-name.
The best way to get over him is to get under someone else, says my mix of badass and booze.
Luckily for me, I’m aboard the SS Hotness. Seriously, though, the waitstaff is pretty much a buffet of non-family members who look like they’d be a great place to start. Maybe not mount one, but a heavy make-out session would do the body good.
Turning away from the waiters and back to those still on the party deck, I realize this isn’t going to be an easy task. I’m surrounded by my family, who I love, but already crave a moment away from, from time to time. Times like now, when the newlyweds, close family friends, Paige and Vincent, are on their own yacht far enough away from the one the rest of us are on, yet close enough to be a reminder of what is going on—consummation of vows—to remind one’s drunken self that she has needs, too. Needs met two days ago … that need to be washed away with the tide.
My two days grieving period will be over, and I will have already chalked it up to … one hell of a night that I hope to soon forget.
God, that sounds so weak, and I’m not weak. But really? Why does the only man who ever got me have to be a married one? And why does semi-sober me ignore six to nine months? Really? He is probably going to freaking jail!
No matter. It’s over and I have needs. Needs that I must ignore because of the fact that I’m stuck in Steel purgatory, somewhere between the adults and Steel generation next.
With my younger siblings and cousins fast asleep in the dining hall, cleared out for our “family sleepover” on the yacht, the same damn room they expect me, an independent, young college graduate to sleep in, I should feel free to act my age. Times like now when my dad, Momma Carly, all my aunts, uncles, and family friends—all couples—are out of their wedding attire and in casual clothes or swimwear, dancing, drinking, and you know damn well they will all be fucking soon. Hell, even Momma Joe and Thomas aren’t making room for Jesus as they grind against each other to the beat of the music.
Times like now, when across the deck, leaning against the railings, stands a man who is sexy as hell and, most importantly, unrelated. He’s got to be one of the waitstaff, and he’s probably thinking I’m some spoiled, rich brat who would never give him the time of day.
He’s wrong.
I would not only giv
e him the time of day; I’d let him have some of my night.
Now, to figure out how to avoid Dad. Clearly, I’m no virgin, but he has it in his head that I am. He doesn’t have any clue that I had a boyfriend in college, who I hid from my family for obvious reasons. He’d be dead, and they’d be in jail. And by they, I mean Dad.
I’ve had my rebound fuck … and he’s not allowed in my head anymore. But I can’t make it stop. There is no way he could have been that good. I’m sure it was the fact that I’d had Danny for so long that taking in some strange, and the way in which it all went down, was what really got me off.
No matter. He doesn’t deserve me, and now I’m going to find something to take the taste of him … out of my mouth.
I drink the rest of the champagne in my glass, watching the man watching me. Then I reach behind me and pat the itch on my back caused by the tattoo I’m hiding.
She is beauty … She is wisdom … She is strength … She is love … She is me.
My idea. Mine, not his.
Beauty represents my mother, who died while giving birth to me. In the pictures, she is younger than I am now, and she is stunning. Everyone tells me I look just like her, except for the fact that I have my father’s coloring, and she was … is blonde.
Wisdom is my maternal grandmother, who raised me from the day I was born until she died when I was eight. Everything she taught me is still remembered, and as I get older, I realize that each “lesson” was something that was relevant then and has continued to be.
Strength represents Momma Joe, who doesn’t let anything hold her back or hold her down. She pushes forward no matter what this harsh, cruel world has done to hold her. She pushes forward, and not just for her but for all of us.
Love, love is Momma Carly. From everything I have seen or heard, or been a part of, she is the epitome of love.
I can’t wait until things aren’t crazy, meaning I can’t wait to move into my own place so I can be alone in the bathroom, or my own room, for that matter, without Kiki or Max busting in.
“Soon,” I say on a sigh. “Very soon.”
