by K. B. Nelson
“Don’t be stupid.” He vacates his resting place and begins to pace. “I’m not jealous of a sociopathic, spoiled, punk ass bitch.”
…
…
…
In his defense, Jensen just nailed Brick to a fucking ‘T’.
“You claimed you let him go,” he continues and shakes his head, “but I don’t feel it.”
“We’re fighting,” I point out to him, hoping he’ll realize this is exactly what I didn’t want.
“Captain obvious speaking.”
“I don’t want to fight.”
He paces toward me, throws his arm around me, and pulls me close as he caresses my back. “I think we kind of have to.”
“Can you just be kissing me?” I pull back gently and tilt my head to see him.
“We have to—“
Realizing he’s not going to let this go—not right now—I push my lips against his. It’s quick, rough, and the perfect antidote to the conflicted feelings swarming my gut.
“Apple, please.”
“I’ll be the one begging.” I shut him up with a kiss, this time praying it’s enough to placate him. We might have hit a rough patch, but there’s no denying the deep love between the both of us. “Please, can we talk about it in the morning?”
“I can live with that.” He nods and with strong hands, picks me up by the thighs.
I wrap my legs around him as he pushes me against a wall. There’s force behind his touch—bottled-up feelings and neglected emotions. A tremendous need to touch and to be touched.
His mouth hovers from the base of my neck, to the lobe of my ear. Warm. Wanting. Dismayed passion.
I caress his strong back with my fingers, running my hand along his flesh until I find myself at the crease of his shorts against skin. I dig further down, collecting a mound of flesh in my hand.
He reaffirms his grip on me and peels me away from the wall. He lifts me by my ass and pivots on his foot before rushing into my bedroom. He throws me onto the bed, and rips his shirt over his head before I’m able to open my eyes.
I pull my pink top over my head and toss it to the floor. I lean on the crux of my elbows and wait for him to crawl to me. The necklace hanging from his neck is the first thing to grace my skin—cool metal slipping between the valley of my breasts.
His eyes gleam with swirling darkness, like there’s something missing. I part my legs and his body falls onto mine. I’m tired of waiting, and terrified if we don’t get this show on the road, we’ll go back to talking.
I can’t talk right now. Not about the things he wants to talk about. Not about the things he needs to talk about. I swivel away from his body so I’m free to maneuver my panties down my legs. Jensen catches on, grabs them, and pulls them from my body.
“Come on,” I beg, “What are you waiting for?”
“How bad do you want it?”
“You can’t fucking imagine.”
A strange contortion passes over his face—a monster taking over his body and his soul. It’d be a terrifying sight if I were in any other situation, but right now, I don’t need a savior. I need a monster, someone to ravage and fuck me until I can’t see straight. There’s something special about giving in—something special about losing control.
Jensen pushes his shorts down to his thighs, freeing his erection before pressing it against me. He steadies himself above, with his hands pushed against the mattress on either side of my head.
My fingers trail along his smooth skin, reminiscing of a time not long ago when he would make love to me. Slow, steady, and gentle. Then after a symphony of thrusts, rough, but always with love.
But as he pushes his cock into me in one quick motion, I’m pulled back into my new reality. A reality where those days are long gone, and the forecast for happier days are grim with a chance of heartbreak and destruction.
His pace speeds up without ever taking a second to breathe. His body rocks against mine, pushing my entire body closer to the headboard until I’m pushed up against it. He leans down to me, and plants a short kiss against my lips, but quickly remembers he’s supposed to be fucking me, not making love.
His pelvis meets mine as he slams to the hilt and back. My hips sway with every thrust, welcoming him into the deepest parts of me.
I close my eyes, lost in the waves of the pleasure of being torn up from the inside. Closer and closer, I speed toward an inevitable climax. Everything after that is downhill, and I long to hold onto this sensation for as long as possible.
I close my eyes tighter, tight enough so I can feel my eyelids pinch against each other, but it does nothing to rescue me from the earthquake building within.
Closer…
Closer…
Closer…
And he pulls his cock out of me, and I flash my eyes open in displeasure. I sense the feeling going away, and I find myself back at square one with a hole where my heart should be.
But when he flips me over onto my stomach, and drags me to my hands and knees, I know the ride has only just begun.
He places a firm hand on both sides of my hip, lines himself up, and slams back in. I yelp out, waking my neighbors from their late-night slumber. His grip is strong, holding onto me for dear life as his breath begins to quicken. His fingers dig deeper, locked into my skin with enough force to leave bruises. I’ll welcome them in the morning as a memory.
Aside from the requisite kissing, this is the epitome of fucking without passion. It’s like we’re ten years into our marriage, and we only have sex because it’s routine. I flip my hair to the side and push back against him, craving for him to drive deeper. But I know he can’t go deeper, and he can’t go harder. He’s working with basic physics, and what I truly crave is something science can’t touch.
“Fuck,” he cries out. “I’m going to come.”
He thrusts into me rapidly and from the sounds thrown from his throat, I know he’s coming deep within me. His body goes limp and he falls against my back, breathing warm fire against my skin.
I too am weak, and collapse onto the bed with him still on top of me. And in the silence, I can hear his heart beat and feel my own doing the same. And I hear his stunted breathing and nothing more.
Silence kills, but it’s preferable to saying anything at all.
* * *
Sex wore Jensen out, but that’s nothing new. All the bullshit aside, he’s a special man with special gifts and special talents, but when it comes to sex, he’s often just like the rest—hit it, quit it, done and goodnight.
He fell asleep minutes after our fuck-fest that went on for one more round, and he went to sleep without me in his arms. I’m exhausted, but there’s too many variables running through my mind to go back to sleep after my long nap earlier in the day.
I need to go for a drive and try to clear my head, and I know just the place.
6
Brick
I’m sure the owner of Gatsby’s believed he was creating a modern club that oozed decadence and brought out only the classiest of students. That man lives in Bizarro World, because despite the literature classic that inspired the joint, there’s nothing classy about this place.
Maybe that’s the point. I won’t pretend to be a literary scholar, but I do know a thing or two about Jay Gatsby, and the thing I know that speaks the most to me, is that Gatsby loved to party. And he partied hard. That’s something we share in common—our devotion to the things we love.
He loved his extravagant parties and he loved Daisy. I love extravagant games where the innocent are pawns, and I love Apple. Both Jay and I are fighting for something. Unlike that fucking loser, I’m actually going to win.
I always fucking win.
There’s a line formed outside the club with posers and pretenders decked out in their nicest faux formal dress. I pass them by and wave at the bouncer at the front of the line. He nods his head, and I make my way into the club.
Knowing people in this town pays. I’m on a tight schedule and I
don’t have the time to mingle with the poor peasants waiting for their chance at glory outside. As soon as I pass through the second door and into the main room of the club, I’m bombasted with booming tracks being laid down by an up-and-coming DJ.
Fuck if I know his name, because all these EDM magicians sound exactly the same. There’s purpose in my stride as I make my way through the crowd, looking for one girl in particular.
She isn’t too difficult to find, pulling her skirt down the length of her legs as she leans against the bar. Gone are her modest days, as she’s become someone else entirely. She’s a walking, talking trophy of my work.
I glide into an empty stool beside her and focus my eyes on her, watching and waiting for her to notice me. I want to see the look on her face when she does. Will it be disgust? Will it be respect? Will it be a potent combination of both? Will she curse at me for all the things I’ve done, or will she lure me with a hook of her finger into the bathroom to fuck?
Yeah, I’d fuck her again. She was terrible in bed, but most virgins are. But she’s not the same naïve girl she used to be. She’s more experienced and sure of herself, and with the few months she’s been with Rafe, I’m sure he’s taught her to ride a cock well.
No one’s interested in a girl who pleas to be on top, then just sits there like a limp fish. It was me on the bottom and I was still doing all the work. I had to pretend to come to ensure she felt any sense of worth.
She pulls her hands down to the cuff of her skirt again, worried someone might see she’s wearing a barely-there set of lace panties. A brief thought of bending her over the bar, and fucking her tight pussy in front of the entire club flashes through my mind. I quickly remember I’m not interested. I’m saving all my sex drive for Tyra first, and then to claim my prize.
Still not noticing me, or perhaps ignoring me, I lean in closer. She flinches and jumps backward, throwing her hand to her heart. “What the hell are you doing here?” Cece shouts, loud enough so I can hear her over the generic DJ.
“The same thing you’re doing here.” I shrug. “To party.”
That’s not why I’m really here. A general rule of thumb when it comes to me, is that I always have a hidden motive. Tonight is no different.
“I’m not here to party,” she says as a tall male bartender pushes her an orange drink, a Sex on the Beach, perhaps. “I’m here to have fun, and that involves walking away from you.”
She turns her back to me and tries to flee, but I’m too quick for her. I jump in front of her and block her path to the dance floor. “Do you have to be like that?”
“Do you want kicked in the dick?”
“You’re not that kind of girl.”
“Interesting to know you think you know anything about me at all.” She pushes my hand out of the way and marches toward the bathroom.
I point to the dance floor and motion with my hips. “The dance floor is that way.”
“I’m going to the one place you can’t follow me.” She smirks and turns away. Little does she know that men are often found in the women’s bathroom, albeit with their pants around their ankles.
Fortunately for her, I have more devious plans than to engage in a battle of wits with a certified idiot. I watch her with a sly smirk as she pushes the bathroom door open and disappears from sight.
Game. Set. Match.
I crane my head and scan the crowd, searching furiously for my target for the night. Poor fucking Rafe, being dragged into my world all because he was foolish enough to get involved with poor, naïve Cece. She’ll always be a heavy burden of baggage for anyone she crosses paths with.
I spot Rafe in the far corner, sitting alone at a table with a beer in front of him. It becomes clearer the closer I get to him that he’s waiting for Cece. This is going to be perfect.
Once I arrive at his table, I take a seat without permission. He glances up to me and looks out the corner of his eye.
“What’s up?” I ask him nonchalantly, as if we’re best buds.
“Do I know you?”
“You’re Rafe, right?”
“Look, I’m just trying to enjoy a few drinks with my girl, okay?”
I’m not sure what he thinks I’m here for, but I’ll play along. “This club is the worst, right?”
He shifts in his seat, a glorious sight of nervousness that betrays his built frame. “I don’t know you, and you’re sitting in my girls seat.”
“It’s okay,” I say and motion with my hand, signaling that everything is fine. “I know Cece.”
He cocks a brow. “Really?”
“Yeah.” I grin and lean against the table. “We had a short fling.”
“I really don’t care.”
“Calm down,” I scold him, getting a huge kick out of what comes next. I can hardly contain my excitement. I twist my head to spot Cece emerging through the thick crowd. Then, I’m back to focus my attention on Rafe as I lean across the table. “You know I had her first.”
“Dude, I’m warning you.” His face grows taut as Cece approaches the table.
Her face is strained and tight as she places her palm on Rafe’s shoulder. “I think we should go,” she tells him.
“Yeah, I think you’re right.” He stands up and finishes off his beer, never taking his eyes off of me in the process.
I shake my head and chuckle before also standing up. Once again, I lean toward him and deliver the final blow. “I thought she’d taste sweet, so imagine my surprise when I bit into her sour warhead.”
Cece shakes her head in disgust and latches onto Rafe’s arm. I’ve seen the look painted across his face many times before. He wants nothing more than to kick my ass, but I know his type. He won’t fucking dare.
As predicted, he lowers his palm to Cece’s back and guides her away from the table, and toward the exit of the club.
I stalk closely behind them.
* * *
Seconds after they push through the exit, I follow and chase them onto the sidewalk.
Sometimes, I just want to be an asshole for no reason. This is one of those nights. I revel in the brain-fucked look on their faces. I love being the train that crashes through a busy intersection, taking everyone in utter shock.
And they might not know it yet, but I just took a fucking wrecking ball to their perfect world. A world where they are delusional enough to believe they belong together, when in reality, there’s someone out there waiting for the both of them. Someone more suitable. In a way, I’m actually doing them a favor by planting the subtle seeds that are going to rip them apart.
Yeah, I take great pleasure in destroying those around me. But when everything you love has been taken from you, it’s understandable that you’d want to share the pain a little. Give other people a little taste.
“Have you trained her well?” I inquire and watch as they break their stride. Cece urges her boyfriend to not turn around, but he’s not in the mood to follow orders. “If it’s any consolation, the only reason she fucked me was for practice. I was nothing more than target practice.”
He swallows a lump in his throat, and his breath quickens. He’s trying to control his rage, and I’m waiting for him to let it all out. “Keep running your mouth, pretty boy,” he warns me, but it only serves to drive me further.
“I did you a favor.” I shrug and smile with malicious intent. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be fucking a fish every night.”
His fist connects with my face, and I’m knocked to the ground. He’s packing one hell of a swing, and the burn is incredible. I’m lost in a laughing fit as I struggle to push myself off the ground. “Did you enjoy that as much as I did?” I wipe the back of my fist against my swollen cheek.
“More than you know. Care for seconds?” There’s the cocky attitude I’ve been dying to see.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” I throw my hands in the air and alert the growing crowd around us. “The show’s about to begin. In one corner—”
He lands another blow against my face. Th
is time, I stumble but don’t fall. I won’t be blindsided again. As I recover, I hear Cece screaming, “Rafe, stop it.”
“Listen to your bitch,” I tell him and chuckle. “I’m really not worth it.”
7
Apple
The city buzzes around me as I close in on my destination. From up ahead, a rowdy group of drunks cheer on a fight outside of Gatsby’s. No one has ever been guilty of claiming it’s a fancy joint, except maybe the owner. I’m hit by a gust wind of nostalgia the closer I get.
College, there ain’t nothing like it. I’m still in the process of adapting to my post-college life, albeit without a degree as my life as an undergrad was cut ceremoniously short. I made a string of bad decisions, and now I’m forced to live with them.
Finishing my education is the last thing on my mind right now, but if that day ever comes, it’ll be far away from the war trenches of Charlotte, North Carolina. I can’t even begin to sort through the fogginess in my mind, and I have no clue what I even want to do with my life.
A familiar face stalks past me in the arms of a man I also know. Cece and Rafe flee the scene of the fight, and by the dry expressions painted across their faces, I know trouble lies ahead. A sinking feeling, concocted of a perfected recipe of guilt and shame, emerges in my gut.
I could vomit, but I’ll save that for after I’ve had one too many drinks. When I approach the entrance of Gatsby’s, I’m met by the last fucking person I want to see. He smiles like the Devil, even though he’s worse for wear, with a small trail of blood leaking from his nose. His cheeks are swollen and his nose is cherry red.
I should know better. I should turn and flee. “I can’t get away from you, can I?”
Brick shrugs and wipes his nose. “Must be fate.”
“No,” I huff. “I think you’re just a pain in my ass.”
He cocks his head, obviously expecting this conversation to go another way. A smoother way. He should know better, but he has about as much self-awareness as I do. We’re both equally flawed that way—we know better, but we don’t behave as if we do “Why you have to be like that?”
