by Vivien Vale
“Come, come for me,” I tell him, resting my head on his shoulder.
Maybe it’s because I told him to, or maybe it was already going to happen anyway, but the moment my words reach him his cock pulses almost too violently inside my pussy. I moan as that happens, ripples of pleasure spreading from my loins to the rest of my body, and then he starts coming with a groan.
“Fuck,” he hisses, his cum gushing a river of warm cum inside of me. I press my mouth against his shoulder, a shiver going up my spine each time his cock pulses and shoots his seed inside of me. He keeps on coming for what seems like forever, his cum dripping out of my pussy and making its way down my thighs and legs.
Groaning again, he takes his cock out of me slowly and then puts me down. I lean back against the wall once more, taking a deep breath as I feel strands of cum sliding down my legs.
I slide down to the floor, sitting down on it while I try to catch my breath. My lungs feel as if they’re on fire, and my heart is beating so fast I wouldn’t be surprised if it rips a hole through my chest and simply jump out.
I hear Blake sitting down next to me, and without knowing what I’m doing I reach for his hand. I softly place my fingers on top of his, and simply hold his hand.
When I open my eyes, he’s looking straight at me. There’s something about his gaze that I can’t really describe, and so I just smile at him while squeezing his hand in mine.
“I was right,” he whispers, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’re different.”
“Different? How?”
“I exactly don’t know yet…I’m just sure of it,” he tells me, smiling warmly back at me, and his words make me feel…I don’t even know. God, why am I suddenly at a loss for words? Why do I even call myself a writer?
That’s beside the point anyway.
Thing is, all this should be nothing but a fun romp…but I’m finding that there’s more to all this than just ‘fun’.
Blake
There’s a buzzing…or maybe it’s a low hum. Either way it’s pulsing through my body and I’m wide awake at 4 a.m.
What I feel is nearly impossible to describe, except to say it’s the complete absence of the dullness that’s filled me for months. Call it boredom, call it a lack of inspiration. Whatever name you give it, the gigantic red stop sign that's been sitting in front of my face, the one with the words, “The struggle is real”, is finally gone. Can I get an amen?
Yeah, yeah, I know, what am I whining about? From the outside looking in, my life is one long conga line of fabulous. I’ve got a dope apartment, serious cash, women whenever I want them, and my career is…well…who wouldn’t want it.? Everyone thinks I’m living the dream.
Well, fuck ‘em, because until right this minute, something was definitely missing – and now, for some inexplicable reason, I feel energized.
Maybe it’s her.
Next to me, Katherine stirs and the sheet slips just enough so that I can see the sensual curve of her hip and her long legs. Her bare back is exposed and my fingers recall the softness of her skin. I lie on my side propping my head up with my hand, and stare at her. I can’t help it.
I’m not used to women spending the night, but Katherine is… different. Beautiful. Sexy. Alluring. She's all those things…and something else. I just can’t give it a name yet.
But I’m not making a move, which is unusual for me. There’s something going on here.
Between the buzz I feel, and naked Katherine a few inches away, I’m actually torn about what to do. Unmoving, I watch as her chest rises and falls with each breath, and in my mind’s eye I imagine her against the warm golden tones of an evening sunset as I sketch the outlines of her body on a canvas.
It’s clear, I’m bewitched and I chuckle to myself thinking she’s somehow put a spell on me. There’s no other way to explain the gravitational pull I feel for her, because women don’t usually affect me like this. It’s always been the other way around. But this one…
I chastise myself. Okay, don’t get stupid. The only powers she has she used last night. They may have felt supernatural, but it was just flesh on flesh. Don’t put too much into this.
I raise my hand to touch her luscious skin but stop short. I can’t believe I’m restraining myself from reaching over and taking her because this is not how I play this game.
I want her, but at the same time there’s an equally powerful sensation tugging me away. It’s that feeling I’ve been trying to grasp since I woke up.
With each deep breath I take, I’m working on settling this restlessness that has me by the neck. A few minutes pass and it all finally coalesces. I know what this unsettling feeling is and I need to handle it right now.
With only a momentary feeling of regret, I quietly leave the bed, because my desire to paint is back with an indescribable urgency. My pulse is racing and my hands are itching to feel the brush as it strokes the canvas.
Dressing quietly, I scribble a note,
K – Had a great time. Call you later. B
I stop for a minute knowing it's too cursory. What I really want to tell her is that she seems to have opened me up in some way, because inspiration has been hard to come by and suddenly I’m full of it.
But I don’t bother with a re-write. I place the note on the pillow beside her so she doesn’t wake up confused to find me gone.
I head to the studio. I know I will be there for a while. I get so consumed by my art when I am inspired, that time passes indefinitely for me.
Taking a last glance at the direction of the bedroom, I tell myself I really will call her. Feeling assured by that thought, I close the door of the studio behind me.
Once inside, I don’t have to stop and think, because I’m possessed with ideas. It’s the only way I can describe what’s happening to me. Grabbing the biggest canvas, I drag it to the center of the room where the morning light is brightest. There are dozens of images floating through my mind, but they're all images of her. Of Katherine.
With the canvas in front of me, I take only a moment before I make the first bold stroke. There’s no confusion about what this piece will be. She’s in my head with each brush stroke, as if I’m painting a sensual symphony of colors.
I feel like I'm on fire and that hasn’t happened in too long. Much too long.
Katherine is my inspiration now, and I’m not going to question it. She’s my muse and I must have her sit for me. I don’t know how, but I’m not gonna work myself into a state about right now.
I’m here in my studio and it’s where I need to be.
I’ll call her. Later.
Katherine
“What time is it?”
I whisper these words in the darkness of the room I’m in, stretching my arms as I say it. I feel the soft fabric of the sheets brushing against my naked body, and I realize that these aren’t my sheets.
Nor is this my bed. And why the hell am I naked?
It all comes to me then.
Blake.
Moving quickly, but carefully so as not to wake him up, I roll to the side and blink twice, trying to get my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room. I half-expect to see the outline of his naked body, but all I find is emptiness.
For half-a-second I think he must have bolted on me, but that doesn’t make any sense – I’m in his apartment, after all.
Kicking the sheets back, I swing my legs off the bed and run one hand through my tangled hair. Thank God Blake isn’t around – I wouldn’t like him to see me with puffy eyes, morning breath, and messy hair. Still, he probably saw me drooling on my pillow right before he left, so there’s that.
I stay there for a while, just sitting on the edge of the bed as I remember what happened last night. I came in here decided to just have dinner with Blake, and then…I just succumbed to him.
I have no idea how that happened. I just know it did, and that it was the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me. Sure, I’m no virgin, but with Blake…it felt as if I had never been with a m
an before. He knows my body better than I do, and he predicts exactly what I want (or need) him to do.
It’s surreal.
No wonder he has a legion of women throwing themselves at his feet. Handsome, charming, wealthy, and an artist between the sheets (or up against the wall, for that matter)? Yeah, he sure earned his reputation.
Okay, this was fun, sure. But it was nothing more than a fling, I need to remind myself of that. I know my writer’s mind enjoys weaving little love stories out of everything, but I need to stop myself before it’s too late. Blake isn’t the kind of a guy that loves a woman – for more than a few hours at least.
Casual. I’ll keep things casual.
“Right, casual,” I whisper to myself as I get up from the bed. I move toward the wall and hit the light switch, squinting as the bright light floods the room.
I see my clothes neatly folded at the foot of the bed, and I can’t remember if I folded them myself or if Blake did it. It was probably me, as I can’t imagine him taking care of that.
God, I was so exhausted from last night that I barely remember anything. I kinda remember him picking me up from the floor and carrying me to the bedroom, but it’s all a blur. The moment I felt the soft mattress under my back, I was out.
I’m reaching for my clothes when I notice a folded piece of paper on top of Blake’s pillow. Climbing on top of the bed, I reach for it and open it.
K – Had a great time. Call you later. B, the note reads.
Well, at least he left a note. Still…his words seem so cold and distant. And the call you later part…I want to believe he’ll really call me, but deep down I know that men like Blake don’t do the phone call thing.
I’ll probably never hear from him again.
Jesus, why does that make me sad?
I get dressed in a hurry, and then I grab my purse and tiptoe my way out of the bedroom. I know Blake isn’t around, but I can’t help being as silent as possible.
The moment I’m out on the street, I hail a cab and make my way home. Right now, I need a shower more than anything. I need to clear my head – and try to stop thoughts of Blake from taking over my mind. Easier said than done, of course.
The moment I step one foot inside my apartment, I feel my phone ringing inside my purse. I reach for it in a hurry, almost expecting to see Blake’s name plastered on the screen, but Robin’s the one calling me. Of course – she must be dying to hear about last night.
She knows something happened. If it hadn’t happened, I’d just have called her after dinner.
“Tell me everything,” she chirps happily as soon as I pick up the phone. “Every single detail.”
“C’mon, Robin,” I sigh, throwing my purse on the small coffee table I have in the middle of the living room and sinking down onto my couch. “There’s nothing to–”
“Uh-uh. No way. Don’t you lie to me, girl,” she laughs. “My spider-sense is tingling, and you know what that means. I can hear the I-just-got-laid tone on your voice. And by the sound of it, it must be gooood.”
“Okay, okay,” I sigh, and then I just end up laughing. “Yeah, it was good.”
“Oh my God! I knew it!”
“Of course you knew it. It’s not like I can keep anything from you,” I sigh, propping my feet up on the coffee table and throwing my head back against the headrest. I close my eyes for a second and just enjoy the silence, waiting for Robin to start speaking again.
“What now? You’re going to see him again, right?”
“Robin, I…I don’t know. You know how guys like Blake are,” I tell her, and I feel my heart tightening up inside my chest. “To be honest, I doubt he’ll ever call me again. He had what he wanted, and now he’ll just disappear into thin air.”
“You’re wrong,” she says matter-of-factly, almost as if she knows something I don’t. “I noticed the way he looks at you.”
“I don’t think that –”
“You think too much, and that has always been your problem, Kat. Trust me, he’ll call you again.”
I sigh heavily, not replying as I ponder on her words. My brain tells me that no, I won’t hear from Blake again, but my heart insists on believing what Robin’s telling me.
But it was just a fling, right?
Katherine
My fingers fly across the keyboard. Words pour out of me. There is no doubt about it; inspiration is flowing through me like a raging river. At this rate my next novel will be finished within the month.
I pause to take a sip of my coffee. I savor the taste of the strong dark liquid. To say I’m a coffee addict is an understatement. I love a good cup of coffee.
As I sip the delicious hot drink I re-read the last paragraph.
“Emily watches the artist at work. The way he holds his paintbrush, his brow furrowed, his eyes totally focused on his canvas. His right hand moves deftly across the white space, filling it with life. Like pure poetry in motion.”
My lips curl into a smile. I know where the inspiration has come from. There is no point denying the obvious. Perhaps it had not been such a bad idea giving into my animal instincts and having wild passionate sex with bad boy Blake.
I lean back in my chair and close my eyes. Images of our hot sweaty bodies flash through my mind. I am reminding myself not to get too attached, when I am annoyed by a sudden knock on the door.
I wasn’t expecting anyone, and my heart performs little somersaults as I wonder if it’s Blake knocking. A longing creeps through me and I try not to sprint. I don’t want to appear desperate.
With my most nonchalant look, I open the door. I have my left hand on my hip and smile brightly. I hope there’s not a hint of lust in my eyes.
The second my eyes register who is standing in front of me, I deflate like a balloon. I am about to slam the door, but Dale puts his foot in the way.
“We need to talk.”
I huff. Talk? What a dick. “Piss off.” I snarl and fold both arms. Someone once told me to ward off negative energy other people give off, you should fold your arms in front of your body. It’s worth a shot.
“Kath, please. Babe.”
I hate the way he shortens my name. And he has the nerve to call me babe. Argh. How dare he?
“What do you want Dale?” I realize I won’t get rid of him unless I talk to him. Un-friending him from social media sites and erasing his number was obviously not enough.
He follows me into my apartment.
“Writing again?”
I want to tell him it’s none of his fucking business, but I don’t. Instead, I shrug because I really shouldn’t be so angry, and in fact, I should be thankful. If it had not been for Dale screwing someone else I would never have met Blake, nor would I have had the best sex ever.
At the thought of sex with Blake, a wave of desire washes over me.
“Babe, look,” Dale takes two or three steps toward me. He puts his left hand on my shoulder. With his right hand he strokes my cheek.
His scent of cheap aftershave is almost overpowering. Had I really wanted to spend the rest of my life with him? I must have been deluded.
I cringe at the touch and push his hand away. It simply does not compare to the way Blake touched me. My mind threatens to go off on a frolic of its own. I force myself to focus.
“Get to the point Dale. I’m busy.”
Dale’s expression changes to the hurt puppy look.
“Babe I just want us to give it another go.” Again his hand reaches for me.
This time he pulls me close and before I really know what is happening his lips are on top of mine. I feel his tongue forcing its way into my mouth. He holds me tight with both of his hands now.
I can’t escape the forcefulness of his kiss. He pushes me against the wall of my apartment. My breathing increases. I feel his right hand reach for my breast, squeeze it and then move downward. In no time his hand is under my skirt, pushing my slip aside.
A noise escapes my lips. Dale now presses hard into me and there is no mistaking
what he wants. I can feel his erection.
With one hand between my legs, Dale uses his other one to reach for my breast.
This is my moment. I use all my will power to push Dale away. He stumbles.
With lightning speed I put distance between the two of us. I reach for the closest object, a pair of scissors.
“Don’t do that again,” I hiss and pull my skirt down.
I’m surprised at my own reaction. I felt nothing but disgust when Dale groped me. To think a few weeks ago I was dreaming of having children with this man.
“Bitch.” Dale is breathing hard.
“I think you should leave.”
Dale glares. He does not move.
“You know why I had to have all those affairs?” I feel his spit land on my cheek.
Pain shoots through me. Had he just admitted to multiple affairs? How stupid and naïve I had been. I had thought the peroxide bimbo had been the only one.
“I don’t care.” And I really don’t. He cheated on me. Would knowing why really make any it better? I don’t think so. “I had all those other women because you’re frigid. You don’t know how to have great sex.”
Now tears do well up and I clench my fists. Arrogant prick.
“I pity the next man you date.”
It takes all my effort not to scream at Dale’s face what a loser he is, and throw the closest thing within my reach, the only one of any real value in my apartment, my great grandmother’s porcelain vase.
“Well, for your information I think you were the problem. You don’t know how to satisfy a woman. I pity the women who have sex with you.” I pause. “You probably pay them so they have no choice but to oblige and suffer through your grunting and pathetic attempt at getting a woman to have an orgasm.”
Without another word I walk to the front door, scissors still in hand.
