When I Fall

by J. Daniels

  I start walking us toward the truck, and Reed moves willingly now that the show is over. “Wow. That was totally worth the awful feeling I had listening in on them.”

  “I don’t feel awful. I feel fucking great.” He tilts his head down and presses his lips to the top of my head. The smell of liquor clings to my nose. “She can’t work a dick. You know who can work a dick?”

  Oh Lord.

  I reach into the back pocket of his pants and slip the truck keys out. “Do you need a boost getting in?” I tease, walking him around to the passenger side of the truck.

  He breathes a laugh and throws open the door. “Please tell me you know how to drive a stick.”

  “Yeah, sure. Can’t be too hard, right?”

  He slowly turns his head, pinning me with alarmed eyes.

  I slap his back playfully and urge him to climb in. “I learned how to drive on a stick. Relax, Reed.”

  He mumbles something I decide to ignore, like the work a dick comment. After getting a running start, I jump up into the truck and secure my harness. The truck rumbles to life, vibrating against my legs. I shift to first gear and stall out on my first try.

  “Awesome,” Reed utters, slamming his head back against the seat.

  Determination surges in my blood. Yes, it’s been six years since I’ve driven a manual, but it’s like riding a bike. You never forget. Right?

  I give it another go, and the truck launches forward, faster than I intend. I squeal as I barely avoid the vehicle parked across from us.

  Reed makes a sound of discomfort next to me.

  I wait until I get out of the parking lot and onto the main road before I speak my confidence. “See?” I look over at Reed, frowning at his rigid frame against the seat. “We’re good. I got this.”

  “Mm.” He slowly turns his head to look at me. “Are you driving to my house?”

  “Yeah. I figured I can take a cab home. Or,” I smile, looking back at the road. “I can drive this bad boy home and bring it back tomorrow.”

  Reed groans, and I think I see him stroking the dashboard through my peripheral vision. “Cab it is.”

  I TURN THE TRUCK OFF and hop out, meeting Reed at the front of the vehicle where he’s holding my purse.

  “Here.” We exchange items, keys for clutch. “Do you need help getting inside?” I ask, half-teasing, half-serious.

  Reed tilts his head, staring down at me without saying a word. I watch his eyes roam over my face. Slowly moving about my features as if he’s studying them. The scrutiny has me locking my knees and pinching my legs together. When Reed looks at me, I can’t help but feel it. My skin warms at the thought of what we did earlier.

  What he said to me.

  The sounds he made when he came.

  A rushed breath pushes past my lips when his hand finds mine in the dark. He squeezes it, just like he did earlier tonight. Showing me what he needs.

  “Reed.”

  He pulls me against him, running his other hand through my hair. Then his lips are on mine and his hold on me tightens.

  One hand on my neck, the other squeezing my ass.

  I melt into him, moaning as the bitterness of the Jim Beam coats my mouth. It’s dizzying. The alcohol, or maybe just the kiss. I don’t realize he’s moved us until I hear the sound of a door being pushed open.

  We separate, and Reed steps back into the house. He jerks his chin, motioning for me to follow. When I hesitate, not because I don’t want to, because I’m too busy running my fingers over my swollen lips, Reed grabs my hand again and urges me inside.

  “Don’t call a cab.”

  I drop my clutch in the foyer, seconds before I’m being pinned against the wall.

  Reed

  MY HEAD POUNDS ME AWAKE, throbbing with an intensity that has my eyes refusing to open. Timed with the rate of my pulse, the pain burns along my scalp in an unforgiving rhythm.

  It feels like my brain is swelling and slowly cracking my skull.

  Rolling to my side, I swing my legs out of bed and sit up, face in my hands. My head isn’t the only thing hurting. My back is stiff. The muscles in my shoulders ache as I hunch forward. I drop a hand to my cock. Goddamn. Even that feels like it’s been put through the ringer. Since when does your entire body suffer from a hangover? Not that I’ve had many. I’ll drink a few beers, some whiskey occasionally, but I don’t think I’ve felt this shitty since I turned twenty-one.

  Fuck. How much did I drink?

  I stand from the bed and walk into the bathroom directly across from me. My hands feel for the faucet blindly, or partially blind as I keep my eyes squinted. Cool water hits the back of my hand as last night materializes behind my eye lids. I remember . . . most of it. I think.

  Beth. Fuck, I remember Beth.

  Her greedy little hand on my cock. Her mouth, sweet and hungry for my tongue, giving me those filthy noises I wanted to drown in. How she soaked my fingers while I fucked her against the wall.

  Bare. God, I love a bare pussy.

  I was seconds from dropping to my knees and finishing her with my mouth. But I wanted her spread out when I did that. On a bed, my kitchen table, the hood of my truck. Then we were coming. Her first, drenching my hand as she clung to me. My name falling from her lips, her hand fisting my cock. I came so hard I forgot how to breathe.

  Perfect.

  She was so fucking perfect.

  There was no awkward moment after. We fell right back into us, the us I’m becoming very comfortable with. Maybe a little too comfortable.

  Then the bar, Jim Beam, and Beth talking about . . . blank. That’s where I lose it. I know we sat there for a while. I think she drove my truck?

  Fuck! How did she get home? How did she . . .

  A noise coming from outside the bathroom jerks me away from the sink. Not just any noise. A sleepy little moan a woman would make as she stretches against my sheets.

  I shut the water off and turn my head to look out into the bedroom.

  My eyes widen, my dick jumps against my hand. The headache I was battling is quickly forgotten as I take in the figure in my bed.

  Dark hair lays messy against my pillow. Her back is to me, pale, flawless skin, revealed from the sheets bunched just below the soft curve of her hip.

  Holy shit. Beth is in my bed. Naked. Why is she in my bed naked?

  I bring my wet hands to my head, raking through my hair, pinching my eyes shut as I scramble for a memory.

  Beth at the bar. Asshat pouring me another drink. Then . . . fuck! What the fuck happened after that?

  She moans again and shifts on the bed, rolling to her back. Her nipples harden against the assault of the cool air. I look down at my dick, now fully hard, the head already dripping with precum.

  What did you do?

  I move quietly into the bedroom and open the drawer of my nightstand. My new purchase from a few days ago is still sealed. I know for a fact I didn’t have any stray condoms lying around in there. Maybe we didn’t have sex?

  Beth stretches her arms above her, and it’s then I notice the faint marks on her wrists, a light dusting of pink against her pale skin.

  Fuck. Fuck! I tied her up. I wouldn’t tie her up unless I was fucking her.

  All at once, the other imperfections on her skin begin to glow, drawing my attention all over her body. Bite marks on her breasts. Red blotches decorating the line of her neck.

  Holy shit. I’m all over her.

  “Hey.”

  My eyes dart up her body, locking onto hers. I swallow, then struggle through a nervous “heyyyy, you.”

  She looks down, eyes widening and a flush blooming across her face.

  Shit. I’m hard.

  I grab my boxers off the floor and quickly slip them on. “Uh . . . Beth, I need to ask you something.”

  She gives me a sleepy smile. Her tongue wets her lips. “If you’re going to ask me if my ass is sore, the answer is yes, but in a very good way.”

  Oh, sweet fuck.

  “O
-Okay, now I have several other questions on top of the one I need to ask.” I start to pace, then force myself to stand still when my heartbeat returns to my head and resumes beating against my skull. “Are you on birth control?” I ask, staring down at her, wincing through the pain.

  Her eyebrows pull together. She’s confused by my question. “Yes. We went over that already. I told you I have an IUD. I’ve had it for years.” Her hands pull the covers up around her, and she shifts up higher on the bed so her back is against the headboard. A mild discomfort washes over her face as her one hand tames her hair.

  I give her a curt nod, rubbing a hand along my jaw. “Right. So, last night, did I . . . I’m guessing I didn’t pull out.”

  She stares long and hard at me, dragging out the silence. “Why are you asking me this? You were there. You know what all we did.” Her mouth falls open with a sharp intake of breath. Slowly, she sits up and pulls the sheet tighter around her, keeping her body hidden from me. “Reed, please tell me you remember last night. You weren’t drunk. You said you weren’t drunk.”

  “I might’ve been a little drunk.”

  I was really fucking drunk.

  Beth drops her head. “Oh my God.” She keeps the sheet wrapped around her as she scrambles out of bed and searches the floor for her clothes. “Oh my God, I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you don’t remember. What we did . . . shit. I’m . . . God, this is so embarrassing. I’ve never done . . . oh my God, Reed!”

  I move to the edge of the bed as she drops the sheet. She keeps her back to me, stepping into her panties, then her dress.

  “I’m sorry! I obviously didn’t think I was drunk at the time. I normally don’t drink like that.” My steps to get closer to her are halted when she glares at me over her shoulder.

  “Don’t apologize. I should’ve realized how wasted you were. This is on me.” She bends down and grabs her boots. “God, do you remember any of it?”

  I don’t answer her until she peeks up at me. A shake of my head is all I give her, and I regret it immediately.

  Her eyes fill with tears, her lip trembles.

  God, I’m an asshole.

  “Beth.”

  “Please don’t,” she begs, brushing her hand over her cheek as she straightens. She looks so fragile right now, so different from the version of her I remember last night. The woman who held me together when I was slowly unraveling.

  She faces away from me, reaching back to secure the hair off her neck.

  A current runs through my veins as a burst of images flash in front of my eyes.

  Beth on her knees. My hand fisting her hair. Her eyes, wild and willing, holding me over her shoulder.

  Holy shit.

  Her movement snaps me alert.

  “Whoawhoawhoa, wait.” I reach for her to stop her from leaving, grabbing her wrist before she gets away.

  She keeps her head turned toward the wall, but I can see the tears falling freely down her cheek.

  I hate this. She shouldn’t be crying.

  “Wait, I . . .” My next words get stuck in my throat as a wave of nausea rolls through me. My other hand flattens against my stomach. Oh, fuck. “Shit, I’m going to be sick.” I release her arm and dart for the bathroom, launching myself at the toilet. Bile rises in my throat as my knees hit the tile. I barely lean over before the contents of my stomach are ejected into the bowl. My head throbs. My throat burns.

  “Beth! Don’t leave!” I yell, seconds before another bout hits me, then another. It’s never ending. Sweat pools at the base of my neck, soaking my hair. My forearms burn as I support my weight. I try and stand, but a roll of my stomach hunches me forward again.

  Fuck! I need to talk to Beth.

  We had sex last night. Unfuckingbelievable sex, if her marked body and that tease of a glimpse I just had are any indication. And that’s all I remember?

  Are you fucking kidding me, universe?

  The woman I’ve been obsessing over gave herself to me, I have no idea what all we did together, and now she’s crying, and my head is stuck in a toilet?

  Molly. That stupid bitch is responsible for all of this.

  I push off from the floor when the cramp in my gut seems to settle. After rinsing my mouth out in the bathroom sink, I walk back out into the bedroom, expecting to see Beth waiting for me where I left her. The room is empty.

  “Beth!”

  I check the second floor and then take to the stairs. Pausing at the entrance into the living room, I look around and question whether or not I was too drunk to feel an earthquake last night. Lamps are turned over. Pictures are hanging crooked on the walls. My couch seems to be at a different angle to my TV.

  Holy shit. We had sex all over this room. And we really utilized the entire floor plan.

  I move in the direction of the kitchen, stepping over my clothes from last night that are scattered about.

  “Beth?”

  I turn the corner and freeze in the entryway.

  The chairs are pushed back away from the table, with one specifically placed in front of the large, antique wall mirror I have hanging. I don’t need two guesses as to why it’s there. Forcing Beth to watch herself ride me has been a recurring fantasy of mine. I’m sure it was amazing seeing her like that. I imagine it was, since I don’t fucking remember it.

  I step further into the room and shove the chair aside. Items from the fridge and cabinets litter the counter, and some of the floor. Lids have been left off the honey and chocolate sauce. The whipped cream is warm when I wrap my hand around the tube. My cock hardens at the thought of eating any one of these off Beth. I look down at the lucky bastard, tenting my boxers.

  “I’m surprised you don’t need a fucking cast.”

  A car horn sounds, pulling my attention up.

  Beth.

  It’s like a minefield getting down the hallway to the front door. I step between pillows, books, my phone, which I palm as I move past it. The door is pulled open just as a cab pulls away from the house.

  “Beth!” I yell, stepping off the porch and onto the small pathway. The car continues down the street.

  “Fuck!”

  My free hand grips my hair, still slick with sweat and the water from the tap. I take a look around to make sure none of my neighbors are out. I’m usually not chasing women out of my house wearing only a pair of boxers. They’re normally getting shoved out the door, and I’m fully clothed.

  I head back inside and slam the door. Kicking shit out of the way this time instead of bothering to step over it, I clear a path for the couch and sit down. My shoulders roll forward as I pull up the contact list on my phone. I place it to my ear, while my other hand cradles my head.

  “Come on. Pick up.”

  Two rings, then the call goes to voicemail. That means she forced it to voicemail. I call again, this time it doesn’t ring at all. Her soft voice hums against my ear, asking me to leave her a message. I drop my head back against the couch.

  “Will you call me, please, so we can talk about this? I don’t like that you left here upset.”

  I disconnect the call and toss the phone.

  Keeping my head back, I let my eyes fall closed as I try and put together more pieces of last night. Nothing new appears, and I try harder, squeezing my eyes so damn tight I swear I strain a muscle in my neck. The same images circle in my head. Nothing past Jim Beam, and Beth sitting and talking next to me at the bar. I can’t hear anything she’s saying to me. I have no idea what we talked about, but in those flashes she’s smiling. Always smiling at me, like I’m giving her something amazing just by listening. My eyes open and I stare up at the ceiling.

  This is fucking infuriating.

  I’ve had her. My hands know what her body feels like, all that softness underneath my palm.

  My mouth has tasted every inch of her skin, that I’m fucking sure of.

  My cock has been buried inside a woman bare for the first time in my life, but it’s as if it never happened.

 
None of it, except for what I was lucid for at the party. I could’ve done shit with Beth I’ve never done before, and I wouldn’t know. I might not ever know it if she refuses to call me back.

  I reach for the phone again, but stop myself mid-way.

  Shit. I’m losing it. Losing. It.

  Maybe not talking to her is a good thing. Maybe not having all of these images in my head of every way I’ve experienced her is a good thing. I’ve already jacked off more in the past week than I have in my entire life. Thinking about Beth’s mouth was already an obsession. Now I have that wicked little hand of hers to throw into the mix. Adding anything else and I might have a serious problem.

  Right. ‘Cause right now, what I have already isn’t a serious problem.

  Distractions. That’s what I need. Distractions and distance.

  I push off the couch and grab my phone before heading for the stairs. The call connects as I’m pulling a pair of jeans out of my dresser.

  “Hey, man,” Ben greets me over the sound of a kid crying in the background. It’s too young to be Nolan.

  I pinch the phone between my shoulder and ear. “Hey. Is Chase okay?”

  “Yeah, he’s just hungry and getting impatient waiting for Mia.” Ben chuckles. “Can’t say I blame him.”

  I realize Ben’s just insinuated he also gets impatient waiting for Mia’s tits. Any other day and I might throw that back at him, but I’m too fucked up thinking about my own problems to come back with something clever. I choose to ignore his remark and fasten the button of my jeans.

  “Is it a good time to head over and get to work on the deck? I need to stay busy for the rest of my life.”

  “Yeah, it’s a good time. I’m off today. I can give you a hand.”

  I straighten and take hold of the phone. “All right, cool. I’ll be over in ten.”

  Something on the top of my shoulder catches my eye before I disconnect the call. “Hang on.” I reach back to run my fingers over it, and the sticky consistency clings to my skin.

  The jar of honey on the counter.

  Nice. I’m probably coated it in.

  My hands drop to the front of my jeans after securing the phone against my ear again. I lower my zipper. “Give me an hour. I need to take a shower first.”