The Stars Landing Deviant

by Jessica Gadziala

  No, I was not thinking about that at all.

  Then the pounding got harder, faster, making me genuinely worry they were going to plow through the wall and land right on top of my damn bed.

  "Augh," I growled, walking toward my door and throwing it open. I walked over toward his door, lifting my arm and pausing. It wasn't too late. I could still go back... slip back into my room and put the television on, put some music on, pretend he wasn't being incredibly loud and inconsiderate.

  But then inside his room, the girl started screeching, the kind of sound that makes you pull your shoulders up by your ears and squint your eyes. The kind of sound that was painful to hear. Like nails on a chalkboard. Like a fork scraping across a plate.

  My hand went to the door and started pounding loud and insistent. Inside the slamming and groaning continued for a long time before he finally let out a frustrated growl. "I swear to fucking god, Red, I am going to kill you," he warned. There was shuffling around inside as he, I assumed, tried to throw something on. "Jesus Christ. Stop banging," he growled, pulling the door roughly open.

  I didn't stare. I swear I really didn't. It totally escaped my notice that he was just wearing a pair of jeans that he hadn't even bothered to fasten, hanging low on his hips, a dark happy trail disappearing into the denim. The muscles of his chest and stomach were glistening with sweat and he was still breathing heavily.

  "Funny," I said, swallowing past the lump in my throat as I titled my head up to look him in the eye. "I was going to say the exact same thing."

  "What the..." he said, shaking his head as he looked down at me. "You?"

  "Yes," I said, taking a steadying breath, making a conscious effort to not pay any attention to the woman lying stark naked on the bed behind him. Another blond this time and as young as the girl the first night. "Me. You know me, right? The person you currently share a wall with."

  "What the hell are you talking about, Cordelia?" he asked, his voice a frustrated whisper.

  "Your bed and my bed share the same wall, Dane," I spat like I was saying "douchebag" instead of his name. "I haven't been able to sleep in five nights because of all of the... noise... on your side of the wall."

  He rested his arm up above his head on the door jamb, leaning slightly and sending me a small smile. "What kind of noise?"

  Oh, the bastard. Well, he wasn't going to get a reaction out of me. Nope. "Look, if you're going to keep having sex at three in the morning, can you at least move your bed away from the wall?"

  "Aw, princess," he said, smiling a little wider, leaning his head slightly down toward me. "Are you jealous?"

  "Oh for god's sake," I grumbled, running a hand through my hair.

  "You know... you're welcome to join us," he said, gesturing toward the bed where the woman had wrapped herself up in a sheet and was watching our interaction with a sort of detachment. I almost felt bad for her. Partly because I had probably just cost her her orgasm and partly because she was in bed with such an asshole.

  "Gee, no thanks," I said

  "You could be screaming too instead of lying over there all surly and frustrated."

  "I'm not surly," I corrected, knowing darn well I was. "And the only frustration I am feeling is because I haven't gotten a full night of sleep in five days."

  "When was the last time you got a full night of fucking?" Never. That would be never. "You're wound like a freaking clock."

  "Whether I am wound up or not is absolutely none of your concern. And you're the absolute last person I would go to about it if I wanted to have an... all night fucking. So just..."

  "You won't be having any luck getting laid if you keep wearing fucking business suits to bed," he said, chuckling at my pajamas.

  "You're such an asshole," I said, knowing full well that my pajamas were definitely not the type to arouse an erection. But that wasn't my intention to begin with anyway.

  "Hey, I'm just trying to help, princess."

  I hated him. Right then and there I hated the man. "I don't need your help. I need you to pipe the fuck down in the pre-dawn hours."

  "Hey baby," he called, turning his head slightly over his shoulder toward the woman inside.

  "Yeah?" she asked, sounding tired.

  "We're not allowed to fuck on the bed anymore."

  "That's not..." I tried to break in.

  "Whatever," the girl said. "but I have work in... five hours so..."

  "You heard the lady," he said, looking back at me. "If you'll excuse us, I only have five hours left with this one," he said, stepping back and closing the door in my face.

  I stood there dumbly for a long time starting at his door. How had that conversation gotten so far away from me? It was supposed to be a simple "you're being rude, please be quiet" kind of interaction. How had sex and my pajamas become a part of it?

  Because he was a total dick, that's why, I decided as I walked back to my room and quietly closed my door.

  There was no noise from the other side of the wall for a long time. Then there was some whispering, the distinct sound of a woman giggling, then nothing. I sat down at the edge of my bed, looking out the open window toward the sky. It would be lightening soon and then I wouldn't be able to sleep at all. Another day feeling like I was in the world but removed from it, skin buzzing from too much coffee but my brain still in a sleep deprived fog.

  "Shh," I heard out on the balcony and felt my back straighten. Big city suspicion could rear its ugly head even in the safest of small towns as I reached out for the paperweight on my nightstand and held it in my lap... just in case. Who the hell would be on the balcony at three in the morning? I got my answer a second later, when the female voice gasped and let out a loud "Ohhh."

  He wasn't allowed to fuck on his bed... so he was going to fuck her right outside my window.

  I almost wanted to laugh. I really did. It was pretty funny. Inventive. I had to hand that to him. It would have totally been hilarious if it was happening to literally anyone else. But damn if it didn't sound like a declaration of war to me.

  "Oh my god," the girl cried out, somehow sounding airy and desperate. There wasn't the unmistakable sound of flesh slamming against flesh that sex was famous for. So that left one other option and an image of him on his knees going down on her flashed unwanted in my mind. I closed my eyes against it, feeling a little more than grossed out. I was never a fan of oral. Of giving or receiving. I don't know why. What fun was there gagging on something shoved into your throat? And I could just never get into it when a guy went down on me. It felt awkward and strange. My clit would end up feeling raw and painful after just a few minutes. It was a pointless waste of time for me.

  But this girl was obviously having the time of her life. Which, you know... good for her and everything. Every woman deserved a good selfish orgasm every now and then. But, really, she should aim a little higher than Dane freaking Broderick. Especially since she was just a pair of spread legs on his conveyor belt of women.

  There was a loud slamming sound that made my eyes shoot open, looking out the window. And there they were right outside. He had her pushed up against one of the pillars of the deck. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck, her face buried against him. I had the full, glorious view of him from the back, turned just ever so slightly to the side. His back and ass were as toned as the rest of him, strong and tense. His hands slid up

  the bottom of her thighs, landing underneath her ass and holding her slightly up and thrusting himself inside her.

  Her head fell back against the pillar as she cried out and he let out a low, deep groan, his hands digging into her ass. Then his hands slipped to her hips, pushing her harder against the pillar as he started thrusting wildly into her: hard, punishing.

  I should have looked away. I mean... really. I had never been a voyeur. Even if they were fucking literally five feet from me... sex was a private act. They deserved their privacy. But even as I was thinking that,
I couldn't peel my eyes away. I watched as his muscles tensed as he thrust: his biceps bulging as he grabbed her hips, his shoulders jumping backward as he slammed forward, his ass clenching as he buried inside her.

  I was not, was totally not, thinking about what it would be like to be the girl out there naked on the balcony, moaning with wild abandon, completely unconcerned with being seen or heard. I was not jealous of her utter lack of self-consciousness.

  I felt my desire, long buried... something I hadn't felt even the twinge of in ages, settle deep in my belly and slowly work its way downward, outward. I crossed my legs to calm the raging need I was feeling between my thighs, begging for something I hadn't allowed myself to want in far too long.

  But I didn't want him. No. It wasn't at all about the godly looking Dane Broderick bare ass naked a few feet away from me. It wasn't him. It was just the act. It was the groaning, the flesh slamming, the smell of sex in the air. It was the act itself that had me suddenly all hot and bothered. I pulled at the collar of my pajamas, feeling suddenly like it was choking me. I unbuttoned the top two buttons, taking a deep breath but feeling it get stuck in my throat as he

  grabbed the girl and turned, walking toward the inn, toward me, and shoving her up against the wall just an inch away from the side of my window.

  The girls legs fell from around his waist and hit the ground. One of Dane's hands grabbed her knee, lifting it and pinning it against the window, giving himself more access. His other hand grabbed her wrists, pinning them against the wall of the inn above her head. There was a long pause, Dane looking down at the girl before finally thrusting into her, a fast, frantic pace that had the girls groans coming out as throaty whimpers.

  My hands went down on the bed, grabbing the edge of the mattress as I felt my chest get tighter. Her whole body jumped with each thrust, his hands digging into the skin on her leg. I could hear his breathing getting more ragged, coming out in harsh huffs. He was close. And judging by the complete lack of sound she was suddenly not making... she was too. As if proving my suspicion, a strangled cry ripped from her lips.

  Dane kept his furious pace for a long minute then his hand slammed down on my window as he let out a loud hiss as he came.

  I stared at his hand for a long minute, pressed up against the cool glass and I had the sudden urge to feel that hand all over me: my neck, my breasts, my thighs...

  I shook my head, trying to clear it of the fantasy. Which, I'm sure, was due to the fact that I hadn't even acknowledged my sex drive in months... and also from my utter exhaustion.

  I didn't want to actually have sex with my obnoxious neighbor. His little show was essentially just porn to my underused imagination. I didn't want to experience whatever it was that made so many women scream their heads off with him. I wasn't capable anyway.

  Outside, he used the window to push himself away from the wall. He turned, his ass and back blocking my entire window. I could hear the unmistakable sound of kissing then his hand slapping her ass hard.

  "Go get dressed so you can go home and get some sleep before work."

  "But I thought I could stay..."

  "No," he said, firm but patient. Like it was a talk he had all the time. "I told you... no sleepovers. No flowers or candy or phone calls..."

  "Wasn't I good?" she asked and I felt myself cringe at the insecurity in her tone.

  "You were great," he said and I heard the tiredness in his voice. So he was human after all. "But I don't eat the same meal every night, kid."

  "You're an asshole," she said, and I heard her feet slam against the floor as she walked back toward their window. I could hear her in the room, rummaging around I assumed, for her clothes, then slamming the hall door and stalking downstairs.

  Outside my window, Dane moved forward toward the railing, looking down at the street. He rolled his neck around, resting his hands on the rail watching, I assumed, the random girl do her angry walk of shame.

  I quietly moved myself up on my bed, curling up on my side away from him in case by any chance, he turned and looked in my window. Better he thought I slept through it than actually sat there and watched like a total creep. Which was exactly what I was. Even if his intention was to have me watch. Actually doing the watching made me a perv. And better he had no idea of my pervy-ness. The last thing I needed was to have him have something like that

  on me. I would never hear the end of it.

  A few minutes later, I heard him moving quietly into his room, the bed squeaking as he lay down. There were two knocks on his headboard. "Goodnight, princess," he said, his voice sounding sleepy.

  I lay there completely still for the next half hour, praying he thought that my silence meant I was asleep, but somehow knowing that he knew the truth.

  It was going to be a long week of trying to completely avoid him.

  Five

  Cordelia

  I woke up feeling frazzled and grumbled my way through a rushed bath, cursing the inn for not having showers in each guest room. I took the time to style my hair and put on some makeup, hoping that looking good might help me feel more human. I slipped into a pair of dark blue jeans and a coral colored button up cardigan. If I had learned anything about the inn in the past week, it was that the employees took the idea of business casual very, well, casually. I could skip the scratchy blazers and just wear pretty much whatever I wanted. I slid into a pair of high, nude heels and made my way down to the dining room with a notebook and a few designing magazines and a major need for coffee.

  In an IV if at all possible.

  The noise hit me as soon as I stepped off the bottom stair. I looked over toward the front desk, seeing Devon there with one earbud stuck in his ear, tapping on the desk. "Hey Cordelia," he said, not looking up.

  "What's all that noise?" I asked, looking into the empty sitting room, one wall painted with four different color samples. None of which Emily liked.

  "Yesterday was the wedding. So they're having a sort of wedding breakfast this morning."

  "Didn't the bride and groom go on a honeymoon?"

  "No. They're farmers. They cant leave this season. It's too important. So they have to stay put."

  "Is the dining room off limits?" I asked, making a mental note to suggest adding a small banquet room in addition to the new guest rooms.

  "No of course not. Just packed."

  "Thank god. I need an entire pot of coffee to get through today."

  "Rough night?"

  "Neighbor from hell," I grumbled, making my way down the hall.

  He was right. It was packed. Every table was bursting with more people than they were meant to handle, talking loudly across the room. Everyone, literally everyone, still in their pajamas.

  All except for one person. And of course that person was at the only table that had an open chair.

  And damn if he didn't somehow manage to look fully rested after his late night activities.

  He looked freshly showered, his dark hair still wet. He was dressed in a clean gray t-shirt and blue jeans. His tattoos looked brighter, in higher contrast in the sharp morning sun. He sat looking down at some kind of magazine open on the surface of the table in front of his steaming coffee cup.

  As if sensing my presence, he looked up and over at me, eyes sinking down in an inspection before slowly making their way up to my face. I quickly looked away to hide my grimace, praying for an open space anywhere else and in lieu of that, I was going to walk my ass down to the diner and get a table there. He looked over his shoulder then back at me, a brow raised, then slowly patted the empty space across from him.

  I shook my head, taking a step back into the hallway when his voice, low but unmistakable, somehow managed to reach me across the raucous room. "Chicken shit."

  And he was right. He was absolutely spot-on. I wanted nothing more than to run away and pretend like the whole situation and his entire being just didn't exist. But I would be damned if I let him know that. I smiled at a pas
sing waiter who handed me a menu he had tucked into an apron pocket then I made my way over to him.

  "Good morning," I said, my tone sounding cool and formal and I didn't particularly care.

  "Heya princess," he said, reaching for his coffee cup. "Sleep well?"

  "Perfectly." You jackass.

  "Really?" he asked, lounging back in his chair. "Because you look like you were... ridden hard and put away wet."

  Oh dear god, sitting with him was a bad idea. "Weird since I finally managed to nod off right after I got back to my room."

  "Oh, yeah?" he asked, a teasing smile on his lips. Like he knew. But he couldn't have known.

  "Yup. It's amazing how soundly you can sleep when you're not afraid the people on the other side of the wall are going to bust through it and land on top of you."

  "You think about me on top of you, huh?"

  "Not at all," I said, opening my menu and ignoring the swirling uncomfortable feeling in my belly. Anxiety. I felt so out of my depths. Every other thing he said made me feel like I was scrambling to save face, to keep a leg in the race.

  He considered me over his coffee which I pretended to ignore as I tried to pick out something to eat, despite feeling like I had completely lost my appetite. "There was a strange noise out on the porch last night," he said, sounding perfectly innocent.

  "What?" I asked, looking over the breakfast menu for the fifth time and not registering anything on it, "like a raccoon?"

  He made a strange snorting sound and let the subject drop. I ordered a coffee and an order of French toast which I was going to force down no matter how nauseated I was feeling from just having to sit across a table from Dane. I reluctantly handed off my menu and flipped open my magazine, looking across the table and realizing he had the exact same one open in front of him.

  "Are you... reading a decorating magazine?" I asked, not even trying to hide the surprise in my voice. Dane Broderick, local manwhore, wall banging prick with ego enough for ten men was reading a girly mag?