“What?” I ask, turning to look at him.
“Remember the first time we had an argument?”
“Oh, don’t even go there. That was your fault!”
“You told me to do it.”
“You were older; you should have known better.”
His laugh deepens, and he tosses his head back against the couch cushion, dragging his hands down his face. “You wanted a bonfire.”
“Yeah, because you freaked me out with all those ghost stories and you said the only way to keep Frankenstein away was with fire. It made sense.” I fight a laugh because it sounds so ridiculous.
“So, I did what any best friend would do, and I made you a fire.”
“You set the entire yard on fire, Tyler. The tree house, the fence, the doghouse—all up in flames.”
Now we’re both laughing.
“My Dad was so pissed at me,” he says. “They took my Nintendo away for three months.”
“Yeah, which is why you cut my pigtail off, huh?
He smiles. “I did that because Tommy Fisher had a crush on you.” He reaches over and flicks my hair. “I thought if you weren’t as cute he’d leave you alone.”
That makes my heart hurt. I stare at him, and it’s hard, it’s really hard. Twelve years of my life revolved around Tyler. I hate him because I felt abandoned, but more than anything I hate him because no matter what, deep down inside, I never was able to really stop loving him. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I call bullshit on that. His absence over the past four years has let me deny everything, it’s allowed me to forget the way his dimples pop out when he smiles, the sound of his voice, the way he makes me feel safe. I liked it when I’d forgotten those things because you don’t miss things you’ve forgotten you lost.
My heart’s sitting in the back of my throat, my skin flushing with a nervous heat. And for a moment, I think I should kiss him just because I’ve forgotten what his lips feel like. Tyler’s gaze flicks from my eyes to my lips as he slowly leans in toward me. Panicking, I hop up and walk to the window. I watch his reflection in the glass. He stares at me for a brief moment then drops his head and leans over his knees. Who would have thought four years later this could still feel so raw? Honestly, I believed he’d just gone on with his life, never regretting a thing, but it’s obvious right now that’s not the case. When I lost him I didn’t just lose a boyfriend, I lost my best friend. I lost my everything.
The emotions are eating away at me, confusing me. I fight it for a few minutes. I fight it hard, but the alcohol hates me and I blurt out, “Come here.” As soon as those words fly out of my mouth, I regret them, and I rest my forehead against the cool pane of glass in front of me.
Not a second later, he’s behind me, standing too close, his long, agile fingers skimming over my arm. “I miss you, titch.” He grips my arm and spins me around.
“Tyler—” I say because he’s so damn close, but before I can utter another word, his warm lips are over mine. Now I’m weak. So fucking weak.
Taking me by the shoulders, he pins me against the window. I give in. I shouldn’t, but you tell me the guy who was your everything, that broke your heart—you tell me that he has you pinned against a wall years later and you would say no.
His tongue parts my lips, dipping into my mouth in that slow, seductive way I’ve yet to find since him and I moan. My hands slip over his biceps, over the bulges and defined ridges. His hands cup my face, tilting my head so he can tongue me deeper and harder. Fuck my life, this kiss is sex—this is what sex is supposed to be, and I still have all my clothes on. Every part of my body is heated, every last inch of me tingling. I’m wet and I hate him for it.
He pulls away with his palms still gripping my face. “I can’t help it,” he says.
I hesitate because if I kiss him again, it’s over.
“I shouldn’t…” His lips are on mine again. “Tell me no,” he says in a groan against my mouth before tearing me from the wall and backing me toward the hall.
“Why…” I breathe between deep kisses, slipping my hands beneath his shirt to feel over his hard, hot stomach.
“Because…”
“Shhh.”
“There’s…” We bang into the wall— “something I need to tell you.”
“Shhhh. Fuck, just shut up already, Tyler. I don’t care.”
And I don’t. I don’t care what his reasons are. I don’t care what he regrets or doesn’t regret. I just want to fuck him.
“Fuck, Jemma.”
Within seconds, my shirt is over my head, my bra undone and he’s palming my breasts. My back hits another wall before a door swings open. His hands work my skirt over my hips then, I’m falling, and he’s coming with me. My shoulders hit the soft mattress. He’s over me, kissing me, his lips trailing down my neck, his hands on my breasts, sliding down my stomach. My fingers skim under his shirt and yank it over his head. He unzips his fly and I help him push his jeans and boxers over his ass.
“So fucking hot,” he breathes over my stomach as he works my thong down my thighs. I glance down to find him staring up at me, his light brown eyes shredding into parts of me I don’t let anyone else get to. “There’s something—” his lips press over my hipbone and my back involuntarily lifts. Tyler pulls my thong from my ankles and tosses them to the side. “Something…”
“Don’t,” I say threading my fingers through his hair. “Just,” I swallow. “Just don’t.”
And with that his warm mouth covers me, his tongue fucking me so deep, so soft, so—fucking God, I can’t find the word. All that feeling does is make me want to melt, fucking forget there is anything in this world aside from his mouth on me. My thighs fall apart, my hips thrust upwards and my fists ball in his soft sheets.
“Goddamn, you are so gorgeous,” he says in a groan, his fingers digging into my thighs. “God—” he licks over me— “fucking—” a hot breath blows across me—“damn.” I swear he’s about to break skin with his death grip on my thighs
One deep thrust of his tongue, one rake of his teeth over my clit, and my muscles are already tensing. He pushes my legs farther apart and slowly traces one hand between my thighs. His finger brushes over me. There’s a warm breath, and now his finger is sinking deep inside of me, curling and flexing in just the right spots as he continues to flick his tongue over me. I breathe in on a moan, writhing on his bed from how damn good he feels.
“Tyler,” I whisper. “Stop.” I want him to stop because if he doesn’t I’m going to come and I’m not ready. I want this to last as long as possible.
A soft breath blows over my sensitive skin. “Fuck no.” Groaning, his mouth covers me again, the slight rumble causing my back to arch away from the mattress.
“Just fuck me already,” I say.
“No.”
He keeps at me, sucking, licking, nipping, and just when I am about to lose it, the second that heat begins to drown my entire body, Tyler hops up.
I hear a drawer open then slam. Foil tears.
A few moments later and he’s hovering over me. “You’re okay with this?”
“Yes,” I say in one single breath as I pull his face back to mine. As soon as our lips meet, he slowly pushes into me. I shift, adjusting my hips to let him sink in deeper. This feels so familiar. So right yet so wrong. This is not where I belong and is all at the same time.
His arms brace beside me, and as soon as he’s all the way inside me, he stills, his chest resting against mine. I can feel his heart thumping. I hate this because this should be a one-night stand, but the thing I am realizing is no matter how many years later it is, when you love someone the way I loved Tyler, well, when you say you’re over it, you’re lying. Fucking someone your heart wants is not a one-night stand.
“Shit,” he says, a slight growl in his voice as he pushes himself so deep inside me it hurts. That pain that makes you want to say stop but go deeper—that is the threshold he’s at right now. My nails slice into his skin as they tr
ail down his taught back to his ass. His hands reach under my ass, and he scoots to the edge of the bed, dragging me with him. Groaning, he lifts me from the mattress. I wrap my legs around his waist. He thrusts and I ride, and the next thing I know, I’m against the wall with my hands pinned above my head as he drives into me. A few minutes later, I’m straddling his hips, riding him on the floor. And somehow, I end up back on the bed, my head hanging off the edge while he relentlessly fucks me, pinching my clit between his fingers.
“I can’t even tell you how good your pussy feels,” he manages to say through his clenched jaw. “Shit, Jemma.” He furiously circles my clit, thrusting so hard and deep that my head is nearly touching the floor. Everything in me tightens. My vision goes white, and all inhibitions flee. I moan. I cry. I swat at his sweat soaked skin as my entire body loses control under his touch.
Seconds later, he goes rigid, his fingers digging into my hips when he collapses on top of me. His hard, heavy breaths blowing over my neck cause my body to tense because it can take no more stimulation.
“Fuck…” he says with a post-sex blissful laugh.
And all I can do is try to catch my breath and stop the room from spinning. I did not leave my apartment expecting this tonight, and how I’m going to deal with this—I have no idea.
So I do the only thing I can right now, I flop back on the pillow, and I fall asleep next to the boy that used to mean the world to me.
The sun pours in from the half opened blinds, and I shift in the bed. When I pull in a breath, all I smell is Dolce and Gabbana, which reminds me that I’m not in my apartment. My eyes fly open, and I sit up so fast my head spins. Tyler’s sprawled out on the bed, one arm over his head, the other resting on his defined stomach. The sheets lay right below the deep guidelines cut into his hips. The way the sun glistens off his tanned skin is all but sickening.
“Jemma,” I hear Heather whisper my name from behind the door. “Jemma!” That time it sounded more like a hiss.
I look around the room for my clothes, grab my thong and bra from the floor, my skirt from the foot of the bed, and quickly pull them on as I scour the room for my shirt. Shit, that came off in the hall. I tiptoe to the door. The hinges barely creak when I slip out of the bedroom.
Heather’s slumped against the wall with one arm held out, my shirt dangling from her finger. “Need this?”
I snatch it from her and pull it over my head. When she looks up, I can’t help but laugh. Her hair is disheveled, the remaining makeup she has on is smeared all over on her face, and she has hickeys on her neck.
“Hickeys?” I say. “Really, Heather?”
She swats her hand through the air and grumbles. “It’s one o’clock. We gotta go. I called a cab already.”
“Yeah, okay…um, just… just let me, uh…” I feel like I should tell him bye or something—but then again, maybe a little rejection would serve him right?
“That good, huh?”
I shake my head as we make our way down the hall to the front door. “I can’t even begin to tell you how fucked up this is.”
“Oh, shit, did he have a little dick? I hate when that happens. All hot and fucking stacked and then they drop their drawers and it’s like, really? What a fucking waste.” She opens the door.
“No, Heather. Jesus, you are such a perv.”
The front door bangs shut behind me as I step onto the porch. The patio pavers burn my bare feet on the way down to the curb.
“Okay, so what was the deal?”
“That guy, that’s my ex.”
“Wait, what? No. Tyler? The ex.”
I see the cab pulling onto the street. “Yep.”
“Oh…wow. That’s some messed up shit. Why didn’t you say something?”
I shrug. “You were so drunk you wouldn’t have remembered anyway.”
“Yeah,” she snorts out a laugh, “black out Heather came out to play last night.”
The brakes on the cab screech as it comes to a halt. As soon as the door shuts, she looks over at me. “So, basically, I’m the whore then because you recycled a fuck and I just added one to my list. That’s cheating, Jemma, cheating.”
The noise of the front door slamming shut startles me awake. I have that throbbing sensation behind my eyes from the alcohol, and—shit. I open my eyes to crumpled sheets and an empty bed. She left? What the hell?
I stumble out of bed, take a piss, and walk down the hall to the living room. Jake’s sprawled out on the couch with a box of Cheerios in his lap.
“Dude,” he says before cramming a handful of cereal inside his mouth. “Those chicks were banging.”
“They left?”
“Yeah, guess so.” He chuckles to himself. “Fuck and run.”
“Shit,” I mumble as I drag my hands down my face.
“What?”
“I didn’t get her number.”
“Her what?” He laughs. “Her number? Since when do you get chick’s numbers?”
“She’s not some chick.”
Jake’s eyes narrow on me. “You do know if you get syphilis, that shit can go to your brain. Either you have syphilis, or you are losing your touch man. A one-night stand is supposed to be a one-night stand. You don’t do call backs on those kinda girls.”
“Shut up.” I flop back on the couch then snatch the box of cereal from him. “I dated her in high school.” I arch both brows at him. “Elsa…”
“That was Elsa? Her hair…”
“She dyed it.”
“That’s fucking weird man.”
“It’s fucked up is what it is.”
“So,” he laughs, “what does she think about you being a porn star?”
I groan. “I didn’t tell her.”
“Dude¸ you fucked her and didn’t tell her you’re a porn star?”
“Man, not like she could say anything.”
“You do porn…she made a video with a famous guy that got hacked. There’s a difference.”
I glare at him.
“And she’s your ex, and, did I mention, you’re a fucking porn star?” Jake throws his hands up like he’s praising a god. “Amazing. You are my fucking role model.”
And now I feel like an asshole. I tried to tell her, even though I didn’t want to, but she kept telling me to shut up. As fucking amazing as it sounds when you tell random strangers you’re a porn star, it doesn’t sound so great when you’re telling it to a girl you thought you were going to marry.
“Well,” Jake says. “Be glad you didn’t get her number because she would slit your throat if she found that shit out.”
“Jesus…” I toss my head back against the couch and drag in a deep breath. “Doesn’t look so good¸ does it?”
“I mean, I’m fucking jealous of you, but I’m a guy. Girls—what girl wants to date a porn star, well, maybe some of them want to, but basically, you are not relationship material, my friend. It’s your job to fuck girls. Girls get all dildo happy over you. You can never be in a monogamous relationship again.”
This is the first time since I started porn three months ago that I realize how fucked up it actually is.
As soon as I get inside the apartment, I drop my purse on the couch and go to the sink to get a glass of water. I turn the tap, but nothing more than a trickle comes out. “Damn it.”
“What,” Heather asks as she flings herself on the sofa and closes her eyes.
“The water, did we pay the bill?”
“Hell if I know. Probably not.”
“I thought I paid that the other day,” I say. “I can’t keep up with this crap.” I walk away from the sink, grabbing my laptop from the counter before I plop down on the sofa next to her.
“What are you doing?” Heather asks, peering at me through one halfway opened eye.
“Looking for another job.”
“No…”
“That kid’s show was my only shot. I got turned down for a hemorrhoid commercial the other day, Heather. How many people want to be the spokeswoman
for rectal itching, huh? Evidently a lot.”
“Just get another waitressing job.”
“Fuck no.” I pull up the classifieds.
Heather groans. “Didn’t you just go on some audition for another commercial or something?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Vagisil.”
This is what I have been degraded to, hoping to be the face America associates with a dry vagina. Fuck my life right now. “I have to get a job,” I say.
“Who are you? I don’t even know who you are right now. I want my carefree friend back, the one who tells Kristen Stewart to go fuck herself because she would have played a much better Bella Swan.”
“I need to figure out what I’m actually gonna do with my life.”
“Well, didn’t you say a few people had called David about porn.”
I snap my head to the side and glare at her. “Really?” I say.
“Yeah, I mean, I watched the whole video of you and Stone, and all I have to say is damn—you are flexible!”
Rolling my eyes and huffing, I swat at her. “The fact that you watched that is so fucked up.”
“Nah, it’s not,” she says. “Morbid curiosity. Stone Steele if fucking banging. My vagina is jealous.”
“Yeah, banging but not worth the shit I’m dealing with right now.”
“Well, he tweeted he was sorry.”
I glare at her.
“Look,” she says. “All things happen for a reason, right?”
“Uh, no.”
She pats me on the head like a child. “Sure they do.”
“Heather…”
“You make a porn video on the phone with a rock star—I mean, who does that…”
“Heather…”
“And then somehow it gets on the internet…”
“Heather…” My glare hardens.
“And then you do porn!”
“Again, no!”
“Look, that’s your golden ticket.”
She has lost her fucking mind.
“Seriously, Jenna Jameson, she ended up in movies.”
“What movies?”
“There was that Zombie Strippers or something like that. I mean, it may have tanked, but still, she was in a movie. You were destined to suck his cock. Sucking that cock will lead you to fame. If you suck it, they will come.” She giggles. “Oh, shit, I didn’t mean like come as in jizz…” she laughs so hard she snorts. “I think I have a hidden talent with sexual innuendos.”
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