by Megyn Ward
“Yup.” More tools clatter, one being exchanged for the other. “Let me see if I got this straight,” she says, her words punctuated by the rasp of a socket wrench. “You’ve been spending the past six months whipping Patrick Gilroy into a sexual frenzy and when he finally snaps, you leave him and his raging hard-on to go on a date with Trevor?” Tools clang again, this time metal on metal. Finished with whatever she’s doing, she’s tossing them into her toolbox. “Is that what you did?”
“Yes.” Hearing Tess say it makes me sound as horrible and stupid as I feel. Tucking the phone between my shoulder and my ear, I wash my hands. “What should I do?”
“That depends,” Tess says, blowing out a heavy sigh. “Do you still want to fuck him?”
That’s Tess. As delicate as ever.
I think about this morning, my ear pressed against the bathroom door. Listening to him while he touched himself. The way he said my name, right before he came.
“Yes.”
“So, order an Uber and get your ass back home.” The Chevy’s heavy hood slams shut. “And hope like hell he’s still there.”
I take Tess’s advice. As soon as I hang up with her, I use the app on my cell to order a car. I wash my hands again. I’m stalling. I have fifteen minutes before the Uber arrives. About fourteen more than I needed to tell Trevor it’s over.
Someone knocks on the bathroom door, the impatient rap telling me I’ve stalled long enough. I turn off the tap and dry my hands before tucking my clutch under my arm.
Time to face the music.
I visualize marching across the restaurant. Stopping in front of Trevor and telling him the truth. That while he’s a nice enough guy, I don’t have feelings for him. At least not the sort of feelings I’d need to take the next step.
As ready as I’ll ever be, I pull the bathroom door open, apology poised for the person I kept waiting. “I’m so sorr—”
It’s Trevor. As soon as I open the door he pushes me back and slips inside, closing the door behind us both, His hands grab at the hem of dress, trying to pull it up, mouth plastered to mine, tongue shoving past my lips and teeth. I jerk away and slap him, hard across the face. He stumbles back a few steps, looking confused. The confusion doesn’t last. Now he looks angry.
“Jesus, Trevor,” I say, scrubbing at my mouth with my knuckles. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I got tired of waiting,” he says, touching the corner of his mouth with his fingertips before pulling them away, checking for blood. There isn’t any but that doesn’t seem to matter. “Thought maybe you did too.” His voice is soft, seductive but he’s glaring at me like he wants to hit me back.
“You thought wrong,” I say, inching for the door. Concern flows into panic when he matches my movements. He’s not going to let me leave. Not without a fight. “I called an Uber. I’m going home and I don’t want to see you anymore.”
I take another sidestep for the door and he follows suit, close enough to reach out and grab me if he wants to. And he wants to. I can see it in his eyes.
“It was just a misunderstanding, baby,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. No need to overreact.”
Overreact my ass. “I’m leaving, Trevor.” I put as much force into my tone as I can muster while my hands curl themselves into fists. “And just so you know, I hate it when you call me baby.”
He smiles at me again. “Okay, Cari. If that’s what you want.” His face goes soft, the smile does too. “At least let me drive you home.”
Fuck. No.
Before I can put my refusal into words, there’s another knock. “Is everything okay in there?” A female voice, unsure yet determined.
I dart toward the door and yank it open to find a waitress on the other side, her gaze bouncing between my face and Trevor’s before settling on mine. “Are you okay?” She sounds concerned.
“I’m fine,” I say nudging her out of the doorway so I can slip into the hall. “I’ve called an Uber. Can you wait with me until it gets here?”
She looks over my shoulder at Trevor, her eyes narrow slightly. “Absolutely.”
“James says hi, by the way,” Trevor sneers at me and my shoulders stiffen. Trevor knows James. Six months later and I can still see his face, angry and cold because I finally, after nearly a year of being his doormat, told him no. It makes me wonder what would’ve happened if I’d let Trevor take me somewhere private.
We leave Trevor in the bathroom, the two of us weaving ourselves between tables and booths, moving toward the exit as fast as possible. “So, your boyfriend is kind of a dick,” the waitress says behind me and I can’t help but laugh.
“He is not my boyfriend.”
I’m settled into the back of the Uber and halfway home when my cell phone rings. Thinking it’s Trevor, I dig it out of my clutch to tell him to fuck off but it’s not Trevor. It’s Conner.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Legs, sorry to interrupt your date but our boy’s in pretty bad shape.” Connor’s usual lazy drawl sounded strange. Almost urgent.
“Patrick? What happened?” I sit up, pressing my shoulders forward. I can hear Gilroy’s Friday night crowd, a dull roar in the background. It can get pretty crazy sometimes, especially when Connor is there to lead the charge. “Is he okay?”
“Depends on your definition of okay,” he says. “He’s pretty wasted. My dad cut him off and sent him home. He took a tumble down the stairs.” There’s a pause, the sound cut off like Conner’s covered the mouth piece with his hand.
“Conner?”
And then there’s sound again. “Think you can come home?”
“I’m on my way.”
Twenty
Patrick
“Hey, roomie… you’re home early.”
As soon as I say it, Lisa pulls her mouth off my cock and looks over her shoulder.
When she sees Cari, she scrambles to her feet out the door before I can say, thanks for the blowjob.
I take another swig from the bottle, grinning around its rim before letting it fall away from my mouth. The bottom clunks against the wall I’m leaning on and the booze inside it makes a sloshing noise. It’s the only sound I hear aside from the cacophony of noise that drifts up from the bar downstairs. Cari’s got her eyes nailed to the spot on the wall just left of my face. Her cheeks are stained red and for some reason I look at her shoes. That’s when I remember that my pants are yanked down around my hips and my johnson is still on full display. “Well... this is awkward.” Looking down, I see candy-pink lipstick smeared all over my cock. I know I should be embarrassed. Probably even ashamed but I’m neither. I just keep grinning.
She doesn’t say anything, she just shifts herself out of the doorway and shuts it softly before turning the lock. She clicks on a lamp while I stay where I am, shoulders pressed against wall the only thing holding me upright while I watch her move across the room, tossing her purse on the coffee table before disappearing into the bathroom. I hear the hinges on our linen cabinet squeak a second before the quiet rush of water. She’s back in less than a minute, wet washcloth in her hand.
“Are you okay?” She sounds half-pissed, half-concerned, an odd combination that has me laughing. She’s looking at me like she’s taking inventory. Like she thought something was wrong.
“Well, if you’d waited another five minutes before storming the castle,” I say, pulling that cocky grin on like a mask. “I’d be a damn sight better.”
She scoffs and nods, glaring at me like she’s trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with me. “I’ll have my things out by the end of the week,” she finally says, tossing the washcloth at me, hitting me square in the chest. It sticks there for a moment before it falls, hooking itself around the semi I’ve still got going. She doesn’t wait to see if I use it, she just turns away and leaves me standing there.
Her words are like a bucket of ice water tossed in my face. One second, I’m half-plowed and feeling pretty full of myself. The next I’m stone
sober and I’ve got a cold, wet towel hanging off the end of my dick.
The bottle of Jameson slips through my fingers and I barely take the time to clean up before I’m pushing myself back into my pants. I see myself going downstairs. Getting drunk with Conner while he talks some wasted co-ed into letting us do body shots off her tits on one of the pool table. Maybe I can even talk Lisa into finishing what she started. The night is salvageable. She wants to move out—let her. Like I give a fuck.
But I don’t. Because I do.
About two seconds after I wrangle my cock back into my pants, I storm after her. She’s in her bedroom and this time her door is shut.
Like throwing gasoline on a fire, I pound on the door with the side of my fist. “So, now you close the goddamn door,” I say on a laugh, my voice slightly raised. “Too little too late, sweetheart.”
I can hear her on the other side and for a second, I think she’s going to ignore me. Or maybe call the cops. Instead, she throws the door open, cutting me down with an ice blue glare.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she says, her cheeks flushed. She’s wearing that fucking robe again. And pretty much nothing else.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Cari,” I say, barging into her room. I turn on her and she takes a step back, pressing her shoulders against the doorframe. She’s looking me in the eye and I realize she’s still wearing the heels.
“You don’t close your bedroom door—not ever.” I take a half step, throwing up a hand, bracing it against the frame, hemming her in so she can’t run away. “Do you know I can see you? That every time you change your clothes, every time you get out of the shower, I sit on the couch and watch you in the living room mirror?”
“I—” She starts to deny it but then the flush blooming across her chest spreads, the heat of it collecting under her collarbone before inching lower, into the soft valley between her breasts. “Of course I know, Patrick—” She says it softly, the tip of her tongue licking at her lips like her mouth has suddenly gone dry. “Why do you think I hung it there in the first place?”
There it is. Confirmation that she’s been playing me since the day she moved in and it’s all I need to hear.
Keeping her hemmed in, gaze locked on hers, I use my free hand to tug at the hastily knotted belt keeping her robe closed.
She doesn’t try to stop me.
“Did you fuck him?” I say, finally managing to pull it loose. The slinky length of it slips through my fingers and lands on the floor between us.
She’s looking at me, eyes wide and blue enough to drown me. “Who?” The word skates across my bare chest on a warm breath that shoots down my spine. My cock is rock hard again in the space of about five seconds and all she had to do was breathe.
I slide a hand into the open space between the silk of her robe and the silk of her skin. My fingertips glide over trembling flesh and it’s hard to tell which is softer. “Tim/Travis,” I say it easy, like I couldn’t care less. The truth is, the thought of that asshole putting hands on her makes me want to kill something. “You know, Mr. 5th date.” I finally drop my other arm to circle her waist with my hands, popping her hips off the wall, feathering my thumbs across her bellybutton. “Did you fuck him?”
She furrows her brow for a moment, her blue eyes glazed and cloudy. “His name is Trevor.”
Her breathing has gone ragged. Each pump of her chest pushes her breasts against the robe. Her nipples are stiff and swollen. Begging for relief. Begging for me.
I can feel the corner of my mouth lift in that trademark Gilroy grin again. It’s new to me but fits perfectly. “Answer the question, Cari.” I lower my head to her breast, drawing the hard, swollen tip of it into my mouth, sucking her hard through the silk, grazing her nipple with my teeth.
“I didn’t,” she shutters out on a broken sigh, her fingers threading through my hair. “I didn’t.” she arches into me, pushing her breast against my mouth. “I wouldn’t... not after...”
I wouldn’t... not after...
I don’t want that to matter. Not now. Not after she’s all but admitted to turning me inside out, on a daily basis, for nothing more than sport. Instead of answering her, confessing to her that I love her, that I’ve loved her for as long as I’ve known her, I don’t say anything at all. The time for pretty words and true confessions is long gone.
I wrap a hand around her hip, the long fingers of my hand gripping her while my thumb slides up the middle of her. “So, when you asked me to zip you into your dress...” The scrap of lace between her legs is wet. I crook my thumb, jerking it to the side to give myself access to the slippery warmth beneath it. “That was just more of you driving me crazy.” I whisper it, finding her center with the pad of my thumb while my other hand cups one of her breasts, its tight peak pressed against my palm. It’s not a question and I don’t phrase it like one.
I start to move my thumb in slow, lazy circles against her clit and she whimpered, eyes closed. “Patrick, I didn’t—”
“Shhh...” I dip my head to the breast I’m cupping, grazing her nipple with my teeth before drawing it into my mouth for a slow, hard suck. I keep at it—teasing and sucking until I can feel her thighs start to shake under my hands and her chest heave beneath my mouth.
When I have her on the brink of coming, I stop. “I want the truth, Cari. Not excuses.” Take a step back. “Turn around,” I say, putting some weight into my command.
The sudden absence of sensation opens her eyes. She’s looking at me like she has no idea who I am. That make two of us. She levers herself off the wall and does what I tell her, Arms folded and pressed into the wall, she pillows her face against them while I position her hips, angling them off the wall so that her tight, round ass is pressed firmly against my cock. “Spread your legs.” I lean into her, whispering it against her ear, while I trail my fingertips along the inside of her thigh. Again, she does what I tell her.
A guy could get used to this.
“Earlier, when you bent over to put on your shoes.” I say it calmly, each word brushing my lips against her ear. “That cock massage you gave me with this...” I grip her ass with both hands, thumbs feathering against the thin strip of cherry red lace nestled between her cheeks. “That was on purpose.”
Her spine goes stiff. “Patrick—”
I deepen the pressure of my thumbs, pushing just enough to loosen her knees. “That was on purpose,” I say again, making it clear I’m not interested in apologies.
“Yes...” She moans the word, the sound jerking my cock like it’s on a leash. “I—”
“To play with me.” If she has an explanation, I don’t want to hear it. We’re past that now. “To push me.”
“Yes.” She whispers the word but I’m only half listening, too busy to care.
“Is that what you were doing, Cari?” I hook that strip of cherry-red lace with my finger and pull it to the side even farther. “Were you trying to push me?”
“Yes...”
“What did you think would happen?” I cup her wet, throbbing pussy in the palm of my hand, the tip of my middle finger pressing against her clit, giving her slow, lazy circles. “That once I figured it out, I’d just keep my hands to myself. Let you keep twisting me in knots.” She starts to rock against the pressure of my hand, the motion grinding her ass against me.
She moans softly, fucking herself with my hand. “No—”
The feel of her. The sound she makes when I touch her is enough to push me over the edge if I let it. I fight for control, hiding behind the calm, cool exterior I use to conceal the way I really feel. What I really want. “This whole time…” I slip two fingers between the soft folds of her, barely breeching her entrance, nothing more than a promise of relief. “It was just a game. A joke.” Their way eased by her arousal, I fuck my fingers into her, fast and deep. “Is that what I am to you, a joke?”
She’s shaking her head, whimpering, her hips moving against my hand. “No…”
Pulling halfway out, I give her short, shallow strokes, each one grazing her clit, while I use my free hand to gather her hair and pull it away from her face. Her eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted slightly, panting with need.
Pulling my fingers free, I can feel the hot, tight walls of her pussy tightening, trying stop my withdrawal. “Open your eyes, Cari.” I say, raising my glossy fingers to my mouth. She does as I say and opens her eyes, lids heavy with arousal. She watches as I put my fingers into my mouth and suck them clean. She tastes just like I imagined she would. Warm and wet. Dark and sweet.
I want more.
I drop to my knees behind her to cup her ass in my hands, dipping my thumbs under her cheeks to spread and lift her toward my mouth to drag my tongue up the center of her. She cries out again, moving against my hands, seeking the pressure of my mouth. I pull my face away and she whimpers. “I want you to come all over my face, Cari,” I say, hooking my fingers around the lace at her hips and jerk her panties down around her knees. “Tell me that’s what you want.”
“Yes…” The word trails off into a shuttering gasp when I bury my face in her, licking and sucking at her pussy lips, the taste of her almost enough to pull me apart. Pushing my tongue deep, I find her clit. Tongue pressed against it, I start to suck her off—hard, relentless pulls against tender flesh. She bucks against the mouth, pushing herself against my face, her hips rocking against the suction created by my lips and tongue. “Patrick... oh, god...” Each breath a gasping sob. “Patrick, please. I can’t—”
She starts to quiver against my mouth, her swollen clit throbbing on my tongue, begging me incoherently. I don’t stop, fingers digging into her ass to hold her against the unyielding pressure of my mouth. She lets out a shuttering moan that sounds like my name as a sudden shot of honey coats my throat. I keep sucking, wringing out every drop of sweetness she has to give me, until she’s limp and still.
