“Well, hello to you too,” I said, eyeing him up and down. I went to lean against the doorjamb, only to miss it entirely and almost fell over. Alexander grabbed my arm to steady me. He gave me a quick once over, a frown forming on his beautiful face.
“You’re trashed,” he said with obvious annoyance.
“Maybe a little. How’d ya get here so fast anyways?”
“If you had paid any attention earlier, you’d know that I don’t live far from here.”
“Well, isn’t that just handy? Wanna grab a quickie?” I asked suggestively.
“No,” he said firmly, brushing past me to enter my apartment. He walked around the apartment, opening doors and peering into rooms. “Why the fuck are you drunk, Krystina?” he snapped over his shoulder.
“Did you just come here to yell at me, Stone?”
“I came to make sure that you were okay and to put you to bed,” he said.
His tone was so stern and it was a total turn on. I wanted to pounce on him and have my way with his body, just like he did to me in the penthouse.
He had changed his cloths from earlier and was no longer wearing jeans and a button down. Now he was in running pants and a t-shirt. I looked at the elastic waistband around his hips and thought about how easy it would be to slide the pants right down past his knees.
“Oh, you can put me to bed alright. But only if you’re going to join me,” I offered seductively when he came back over to where I was standing.
“Where’s your roommate?” he asked, ignoring my insinuation.
“She’s not home. She’s probably off having some hot and steamy makeup sex with her boyfriend.” I brought my hands to his hips and tried to slip them inside the stretchy material around his waist.
“Is that so?” He gently removed my hands and turned me around towards the hallway that led to the bedrooms.
I just want to touch him. Why is he being so difficult?
“Yeppers. But apparently she’s the only one,” I said in frustration. “My vagina just collects cobwebs. Except for earlier tonight. You managed to remove some of them for me. Want to remove a few more?” I asked him, trying to flash the best come-hither look that I could muster as he ushered me into my bedroom.
“I hear you’re listening to the music that I loaded on to your phone. That was probably not a very good idea tonight,” he said, moving to the stereo to turn it off.
“Why not?”
“Apparently, my ‘Persuasion’ list worked. Along with a bottle of wine,” he added, pointing to the empty bottle on my nightstand. His expression was amused as he turned down the blankets of my bed.
“You know…I think you’re right. That’s a dirty trick you pulled on me, Stone. Using music to persuade me…”
“Climb into bed, angel. You need to sleep.”
“You didn’t answer me before. Are you coming to bed with me?”
“No, Krystina. I’m not coming to bed with you.”
“Why not? Don’t you like drunk sex?” I pouted. The room was starting to tilt a little bit.
Maybe it would be better if I did go to bed.
I climbed into bed, not very gracefully, and waited for him to pull up the covers.
“I don’t want to be with you like this. Not today anyways.” He leaned down and brushed the gentlest of kisses on my forehead. “Don’t worry. I’ll have you tomorrow night. I promise.”
He tucked the blankets around me and moved away to shut off the bedroom light. I didn’t want him to go. He promised that he would have me tomorrow, but oh how I wanted him right at that moment. I closed my eyes, wishing he would crawl into bed next to me.
Maybe when I open them, he’ll be here with me.
That was my last thought as the darkness pulled me into a dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER 19
Within seconds, Krystina was passed out cold. I stood there for a while, just watching her sleep. Her breathing was already soft and regular, the lush mounds of her breasts rising and falling beneath the thin cotton t-shirt that she wore. Moonlight flooded through the slats of the blinds on the window, casting a subtle halo around her head, giving her an angelic look.
Her picturesque appearance caused a restless sort of feeling to settle into my gut. It was unfamiliar and unwanted.
What the fuck is wrong with me lately?
I sharply exhaled and shook my head in aggravation. To say that the entire evening was troubling me would be a complete understatement. Krystina’s limited experience with sex was a concern, but her naivety was an issue that would easily resolve itself given some time. It was more than just that. I was more bothered by the fact that I was in her apartment, unsure of what possessed me to come here in the first place.
I had immediately known that something was wrong when I called her. It was the not knowing what it was that made me feel powerless, compelling me to go to her. I had been consumed with worry over her welfare, and I simply reacted.
Drunk text. That’s all it was. How was I supposed to know that she would demolish a bottle of wine all on her own?
But my effort to shake off the uneasiness was in vain. The apprehension that crawled over my skin was not just because I had left the comforts of my bed out of concern for a drunken woman. I was troubled because every response that Krystina emitted from me was foreign. I am always in control of the situation, not matter what the circumstance is. My wants and needs are always the endgame. Yet, over the course of the evening, I had found myself reconsidering those needs more often than not.
When I eventually turned to leave, an extensive CD collection under the bedroom window caught my attention. Knowing that Krystina was easily influenced by music, my interest piqued and I went over to the long lines of shelving to get a closer look. I squatted down so that I could see the selection better through the slant of light that came in through the bedroom door.
As I began to read the artists, I quickly saw that the CD’s were in alphabetical order. Her organization was unexpected, and I laughed quietly to myself. Justine used to say that I was neurotic for doing similar sorts of things when we were growing up. I made a mental note to tell her that I wasn’t a minority.
I glanced over my shoulder at the rest of the room, looking to see if Krystina had anything else in order like the CD’s. There were a few books on the antique white wooden desk in the corner, but other than those, there wasn’t anything that needed to be catalogued quite so precisely. However, everything about the room was neatly arranged.
The furnishings were older in style, giving the room a vintage appeal that was tasteful done. There were no cloths strewn about, showing that Krystina had an appreciation for tidiness. Quotations written in black calligraphy were framed and hung cleverly around the room.
I stood and moved closer to the wall to read what some of the quotations said. Krystina appeared to have a fondness for Maya Angelou. Every frame was filled with words by the poet, most of them being about strength, perseverance, and determination.
That’s an interesting piece of info that I’ll have to remember for later.
Closing the door behind me with a quiet click, I left the bedroom and made my way into the kitchen. I knew that Krystina would feel like garbage when she woke, so I began searching her kitchen cabinets with the hope of finding some ingredients to ease her morning pain.
I was pleased to find that the kitchen was fully stocked, showing me that at least one of the women in the apartment liked to cook. The cupboards were well organized, with all the food labels facing front. I smiled to myself when I saw it, and was curious about which roommate was so meticulous. But then I recalled Krystina’s CD collection, and immediately knew that anyone who would go through the painstaking task of alphabetizing hundreds of CD’s would surely strive for an efficient kitchen.
After collecting everything that I needed, I filled the teakettle and set it on the stovetop. While I was waiting for the water to boil, I wandered around the apartment. I needed to learn more about the many layers
that made up Krystina, and an individual’s personal space told a story. Her bedroom had only been the prologue.
The apartment was big in comparison to New York standards. And like her room, it was stylishly done, in an eclectic sort of way. Overstuffed furniture filled the main living space, the sort that a person could just sink into and fall asleep. There was no formal dining room, but rather a spacious breakfast nook in the kitchen and a large island with four bar stools on one side. The windows throughout the apartment bore no curtains, but it wasn’t necessary. The bamboo roman blinds would give all the privacy that was needed when they were fully closed.
Overall, the two women maintained a tidy space, with feminine touches throughout that gave the apartment a cheerful, lived-in look. The only things lying about were a few magazines and a book that were stacked neatly on the coffee table. Curious, I went over to the table to retrieve the book.
Hmm…James Patterson.
Crime and mystery was a far cry from inspirational poems, and I wondered if the book belonged to Krystina or her roommate. I glanced down at the magazines that had been underneath the novel. The top one looked like a woman’s gossip rag, the cover advertising the hottest male celebrities of the year and an article on how to get your man to commit. I pinched my face in disgust.
If I were a betting man, I’d wager that the magazines did not belong to Krystina.
I placed the book back down just as the kettle began to whistle. I hurried back into the kitchen before the noise could wake the sleeping beauty. I finished preparing the hangover remedy in no time, collected the remaining things that she would need, and went back into her room to leave it where she would see it in the morning. The drink would be cold by the time she got to drink it, but it would still do the trick.
After placing the steaming mug on the nightstand, I glanced down at Krystina. She was still sleeping soundly under the lily-white comforter. I took a step closer and reached down to brush away a thin lock of hair that had fallen over her face. She hummed at my touch and her dark lashes fluttered, but she didn’t fully stir. I slowly pulled my hand away, not wanting to wake her, and took a step back.
“Goodnight, Krystina. My angel,” I whispered.
****
I had driven the Tesla over to Krystina’s place, but I decided to leave it on the street and retrieve it in the morning. I needed to walk, and I could only pray that the crisp night air would help me to clear my head.
The light at the corner of Thompson and Bleecker Street changed, signaling that it wasn’t safe to cross. There was little traffic on the road, and I crossed despite the flashing red hand. Following pedestrian rules just seemed moot at this time of night. Not to mention that I was too tired to really give a damn.
As I crossed over to the street that would take me into Manhattan, I thought about the past week. I analyzed every minute spent with Krystina, carefully going through it all like I was deciphering a playbook. There were too many uncertainties, and I had to put it all in order. Where it belonged.
Krystina had been throwing curve balls at me since day one. And while I may have struck out on a few, I was able to grasp my mistakes and change tactics accordingly.
At least until tonight.
It was no longer Krystina that was taking me by surprise, but myself. The rules in my own game had become blurred lines.
It didn’t seem possible that just a few hours earlier, I had Krystina’s ass in the air, beautiful and rosy pink from my hand. She had been arching and gasping, ready to lose her mind at the slightest touch. But I didn’t take her. Normally, my rationale would have been that every Sub has to start somewhere. I’ve been with new Subs before. Some of them work out well, but some only like the idea of being dominated and fail miserably when trying to get their feet wet.
Tonight, Krystina had been willing. I saw it in her eyes. Definitely submissive, despite the way she held her guard and fought tooth and nail over every little thing. It had taken every ounce of willpower I possessed to push her away. My opportunity to teach her had been there, but it seemed wrong. Somewhere along the line, I realized that I didn’t want Krystina to just test the waters. I wanted her all in. Completely, without any regrets. And not just for a one or two night fling – I wanted it to be a regular thing.
However, after seeing the meticulous organization of her apartment tonight, my reservations about whether or not we could be a feasible match grew even more. It appeared that Krystina liked order and control almost as much as I did. I may succeed in uncovering the submissive side to her, but I wasn’t confident that she could surrender full control. This was a major concern, and I wondered if she could trust me enough to let go.
She has to.
There could be no debate about it. For the longer I knew her, the more I found myself compromising my ideals to accommodate her, and there was very little left for me to give. I was capable of a compromise now and then, but I wasn’t able to relinquish total control. Doing so could be disastrous.
Maintaining restraint was an absolute necessity, as I could not allow myself that sort of vulnerability. The blood that ran through my veins didn’t leave me any other option.
Because, even in her drunken stupor, Krystina didn’t know how right she was.
She truly is an angel, and I am the devil.
CHAPTER 20
There was a stabbing pain that pierced through my right eye. I tried to blink to rid myself of it, only to find myself blinded by the bright sunlight coming through the blinds of my bedroom window. I brought my hands up to my head and squeezed my temples. I moved to sit up and felt my stomach pitch. I felt like I had been run over by a bus. I slowly opened my eyes and allowed them to adjust to the light.
When my vision finally came into focus, I remembered the amount of wine that I had consumed the night before.
I’m such an idiot – why did I drink so much?
I glanced over at my nightstand clock to check the time and saw a bottle of aspirin and a note propped up by a mug. I groaned out loud as the rest of the memories from the previous night came flooding back.
Please, let it be just a dream.
A nightmare was probably more accurate. But I knew that was it neither as I reached over for the note on the nightstand.
Take two aspirin and drink this.
There is more in your refrigerator if you need it.
Dry toast will help you, too. No coffee – it will make you feel worse and I want you better for later. Looking forward to tonight.
Affectionately,
The Devil on Your Shoulder
“Oh, no!” I said to myself, and threw myself back onto the pillows. The action didn’t exactly help the rolling in my stomach, but nothing could be more terrible than the mortification I felt at that moment. I could only imagine what he thought of me.
Did I have to tell him about that? The angel and the devil? The stupid, childlike subconscious that had been ruling me lately?
I couldn’t think of a time when I’ve ever felt more foolish in my life.
I looked over at the mug on the nightstand and peered inside at its contents. It was an amber colored liquid with a lemon floating in it. I picked up the mug and took a whiff of the concoction. It smelled like herbal tea. I slowly took a hesitant sip and had to force back a gag at the sickly sweet taste.
What the hell is this stuff?
It certainly wasn’t anything that I kept in the house.
However, after a moment, my parched taste buds recognized that it was in fact something from my kitchen. It was brewed chamomile tea with a ridiculous amount of honey. The lemon was probably to help me detox. Having finally realized what I was drinking, I greedily threw back the entire mug, my mouth and body desperately screaming to be hydrated.
Surprisingly, my rolling stomach settled after only a few moments, allowing me the strength to climb out of bed. I grabbed the bottle of aspirin and went to the kitchen to get more of Alexander’s miracle elixir.
When I entered the kitchen
, I found a loaf of bread waiting for me on the counter.
Dry toast.
Alexander must have left the bread out for me. And, as promised, there was more tea waiting for me in the refrigerator. I smiled at his thoughtfulness, but his actions made me feel even more ridiculous.
I thought about how to handle the events of last night, as I put two pieces of bread in the toaster. My brain felt fuzzy and putting my thoughts in order was a struggle.
I owe him an apology for sure, but I definitely don’t want to call him.
There was no way I would be able to have an actual conversation with Alexander after my irresponsible drunken behavior. After the way that I had acted last night, I was sure that he’d want to cancel our plans for this evening, however tentative they may have been. I had to come up with a way to give him an out, as he was probably just trying to be nice in his note.
I needed to be realistic.
Why would the sophisticated Alexander Stone want anything to do with a boozing twit like me?
I wanted to just send him a text, but that seemed too impersonal for some reason. Then I remembered that he had programmed his email address into my phone.
Maybe an email would be better.
In an email, I could say a bit more, and maybe even make a joke about my embarrassing angel and devil revelation. Then I could give him the opportunity to bow out gracefully.
The bread popped from the toaster, and the smell of it provoked a hungry growl from my stomach. Skipping the butter as Alexander had suggested, I placed the dry toast on a plate and went back to my room. Once there, I sat at my desk and fired up the laptop. On the screen was the agreement that I had written up the night before.
Probably no need for that now.
But I saved the document just in case. Once it was saved, I archived the document into a folder and exited out of the screen to open my inbox.
Heart of Stone Page 19
