Dirty Lover (The Dirty Suburbs Book 5)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  She’s shaking now as she sobs and my heart feels like its being crushed by my guilt. She’s right. I never gave her a chance to decide for herself if she wanted to be with me. I made that decision for her without giving her a say.

  But, I did it to protect her. She doesn’t know what it’s like to be with a person who has Asperger’s. She may think that she can handle it. But she can’t. I can’t love her the way she deserves. I can’t connect with her on the level that she needs. As much as I want her, I can’t be with her.

  “Blakely, I made the right decision. It’s killing me. Can’t you see that? But it was the right decision. I’m not the man you need. I can’t be the man you need.”

  She sniffles one last time. “We’re both better together than we are apart and if you can’t see that, then you’re a fool...”

  Her face disappears from the screen when she disconnects the call.

  Chapter 38

  Blakely

  The past few weeks have been hell for me. Since Nicholas left I’ve been falling deeper and deeper into my funk. I haven’t been taking care of myself, I’ve been eating pure junk, I haven’t been in touch with my friends.

  It hurts so bad that the man who holds all of my secrets, knows all of my weaknesses, he didn’t trust me enough to believe that I could do the same for him.

  Yes, there’s a lot of stigma around mental illness. People make lots of inaccurate judgments about someone when they reveal that they’re suffering from a disease of the mind. But I thought that Nicholas knew me better than to think that I was that superficial.

  I take a greedy swallow of wine as thunder rolls in the distance and raindrops beat against the windowpane. A flash of lightning sparks up the sky and I pull my sheets up to my chin. I think I’m getting a headache. Or maybe it’s my anxiety thumping in my body. All I know is that it feels like my heart’s been scooped out and replaced with a hollow drum. My stomach’s upset, too. I really wish hadn’t spent the past few days drinking cheap red wine and watching sappy chick flicks.

  I’m startled when I hear the front door open, banging loudly into the wall. I sit up straighter in my bed, clutching the sheets. I’m too hung over to rush to out of bed and inspect the situation.

  A shadowy figure appears in the doorway, water dripping from his drenched clothes. Nicholas takes a step forward and light from the streetlamp outside illuminates his face.

  Time freezes as we stare at each other.

  My heart is beating so hard, it hurts. He’s here. He’s standing right in front of me. I don’t know what it means but I can’t help the hopefulness fluttering in my stomach.

  He digs a hand into his bag and pulls out a little clear bottle full of pale green pills. He slaps it onto the dresser. "Sertraline," he says, "it helps with the anxiety but I don't take it everyday because it literally gives me the shakes. And it makes food taste like cardboard." He sets a bottle of white capsules next to it. “Methylphenidate keeps the OCD under control…for the most part.” He sighs. “Then there's desipramine and nortriptyline for the depression." His eyes fill with shame as he gives the bottles a shake. "I should probably be taking these, because giving you up is the most depressing thing I've ever done...” His voice drops to a whisper. “I want you so bad there’s no way to even explain it,” his voice cracks, “but it’s not just Asperger's, Blakely. It's a whole lot of shit."

  I climb out of bed, approaching him one tentative step after the other. Standing on my tiptoes, I pull off his glasses and set them next to the pill bottles. I cup my hands on his cheeks and look straight into those dark eyes. "Your flaw isn't that you have Asperger's, Nicholas. Your flaw is that you think your Asperger’s makes you unlovable."

  He gives my words a moment to sink in. I don’t break his gaze and when he tries to look away, I redirect his attention to me because I want him to know how much I mean this. “Blakely…” he groans, “I want you. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. But I’m going to break you.” Seeing his vulnerability tears straight through my heart. But it lets me know that I can be vulnerable with him, too.

  “I’m broken without you,” I whisper. “You make me stronger. You make me bold. You make me like who I am. Nicholas, please – I need you to see that. You’ve changed my life in so many ways. All of them good.”

  “I’m not like the guys you know, the good regular guys who can give you all the nice, normal things you need.

  I smile softly, his words sounding silly to me. “Why would I choose ‘regular’ when I can have you? Okay, I get. Some doctor put a whole bunch of labels on you. But so what? It doesn't change how I feel around you."

  "How do you feel around me?" There’s so much pain in his tone.

  "When I'm with you, I feel like I've finally busted through my cocoon. I feel like maybe I can fly.”

  “You don’t understand–"

  I cut him off unapologetically. “I’m not all that different from you. Why can’t you see that? I’m socially awkward, I can’t maintain eye contact, I’d rather hide out with you than be anywhere else."

  He exhales a long breath, accepting that he’s not going to change my mind. His thumb trails across my bottom lip. “Fuck, I don’t want to do without you.”

  Tears blur my vision. “Well, you don’t have to.”

  And just like that, all the passion we’ve been restraining explodes.

  Our lips collide with urgency and lust. His hands are in my hair, pulling, tugging, getting lost. He angles my head, fucking my mouth roughly.

  He walks me backward until I bump into the bed and fall onto it. He’s on top of me in an instant. His weight crushes me into the mattress. I’m as wet as an umbrella in a rainstorm.

  Argh – what a horrible metaphor…

  Fuck it. I can't come up with insightful figures of speech when I'm this horny.

  We fumble about in the dark, completely unwilling to take our hands off of each other. I peel the wet clothes off of his body. He yanks my t-shirt over my head and smooths his hands down my sides.

  He kisses me all over, whispering against my skin, telling me how happy is to have me in his arms. I reach for a condom from my bedside draw, so eager to have him inside. I’ve been away from him for too long. At this point, I don’t want an inch of separation between us. He sheathes himself quickly.

  Nicholas grips the sheets beside my head as he fucks me, hard and deep, each stroke bursting with passion. He hits me in all the right places, he says all the right words, he touches me just the way I need it. And when we orgasm together, it’s loud and primal and so, so satisfying.

  He collapses next to me and we hold each other, tangled in the bed sheets, listening to the rain and the sound of our synchronous breathing.

  “I’d give you anything, Blakely. Anything you want, anything you need…” he whispers and my heart stops.

  I roll over in the sheets and he looks afraid.

  But hopeful. And open. And genuine. Everything I’ve wanted him to be.

  I touch his cheek with my hand, looking deep into his soul. “Oh, Nicholas. You’re everything that I need.” I pull his arms around my waist and place kisses against the humid skin of his chest. I hear his audible sigh of relief as he lets go of the breath he’d be holding onto.

  He presses his lips to my scalp, holding me tight. “I just want you to be happy.”

  “I am happy,” I say, “Now that you’re here…” I exhale and settle into his warmth. “But you do owe me a lesson, though.” I look up at him and his eyebrow hitches in the darkness. I giggle into his chest. “Yup – my bonus lesson. Lesson four: Anal.”

  His cock gallops between us. “Shit…” he hisses as he flips me onto my back and climbs on top of me. “I won’t keep you waiting…”

  I spread my legs for him. “Don’t keep me waiting, baby.”

  I watch as he soaks his index and middle fingers with his tongue. “Lesson four,” he breathes as his fingers stroke my eager asshole before pressing inside, “Anal...”

  C
hapter 39

  Nicholas

  Blakely flips casually through the loose-leaf pages sitting in her lap. She’s proofreading her latest manuscript, Taken by my Bad Boy Tax Consultant.

  Her book titles are utterly ridiculous. Her series has legions of raving fans and dedicated buyers, though so I guess the joke’s on me.

  Hearing my soft laugh, she looks up at me. She’s curious. I grin at her, trying to keep my expression neutral. She touches her hand to my cheek and kisses my lips. I squeeze her hand, so grateful that she’s here with me.

  She’s done everything to show me that she’s committed to making this work. She even dropped everything and flew all the way out here to California to come to doctor Howard’s with me. When I told him that I have a girlfriend and that I really want this relationship to last, he recommended a few couples’ therapy sessions. This is the first one.

  I still can’t believe that she’s sitting here with me, that she didn’t bolt when she found out how messed up I am. I kiss her knuckles and she looks at me like she’s about to melt. My cock twitches just at her expression.

  My girl is so fucking beautiful. I consider myself lucky that she’s even willing to give ‘us’ a chance. She says that she can handle my condition. Well, this is the ultimate test.

  “Nicholas Sullivan?”

  I look up at the short woman holding a clipboard to her chest. I nod.

  “The doctor will see you now,” she says with a smile. She points at the open door at the far end of the corridor.

  I feel Blakely’s body shift. She’s nervous, think. I can feel her tight energy. I read her better than I’ve ever read anyone else. Maybe because I never cared what anyone was thinking until her. But despite her reservations, she holds my hand tightly. “Let’s go,” she says with calm assurance. She stands, wiggling her arm to coax me to my feet.

  I rise and she leads the way down the hall to the doctor’s office. She twists her hands and shakes them out as she walks, taking deep, centering breaths. A wave of guilt sweeps over me. I shouldn’t be putting her through this. I grip her shoulder from behind, halting her movements.

  "Blakely, if this isn't what you signed up for, then I understand."

  She watches me with steely eyes. "Are you kidding me? I'm here, Nicholas. You've got me in your corner."

  Filaments of doubt still linger in my gut.

  Blakely takes my hand. "I read somewhere once that the underlying theme of every great romance novel is 'love conquers all'. That can be true for our story too.” She grins. “For the longest time, I was locked. Nobody could get to me because I was shut tight. But you came and you managed to find a way to squeeze inside. And now, I'm wide open for you. I want you to feel safe like that with me, too.”

  I take a moment to look at her – I mean really look at her – and that’s when I know that it’s fine, it’s safe to share this part of myself with her. She’s so perfect for me.

  “Man – I fucking love you,” I blurt out, shocking her and shocking the hell out of myself.

  Her eyes go wide and she stalls for a moment. And I fear that I’ve just fucked everything up with my big, out-of-control, uncensored mouth. But then, the biggest smile tears across her face and her cheeks light up with a deep blush. “I love you, too,” she whispers shyly.

  My heart does an acrobatic move I can’t even describe when I hear the words. I lean down and cup her face in my hands. I kiss her hard, not caring about all the people milling about around us. She’s all that matters anyway. When we pull apart, it’s like a whole new universe has unfolded around me.

  I’m going to marry this girl someday.

  The thought jolts me and the rest of my life quickly flashes before my eyes. Blakely Hamliton is in every scene.

  "Now let's get this therapy session over with so we can get home." She walks on toward the doctor’s office. “I’ve got writer’s block so you know what that means – it’s gonna be a long night, guinea pig.” She tosses a wink over her shoulder and I can’t help but reach down and pinch her ass.

  I’ve got the prettiest, funniest, smartest girl in the cosmos lying in my bed every night, begging for my cock, my mouth, my heart. And she tells the whole world about it, writing about our sex life all in vivid detail and making a cold hard cash from it.

  Damn – I’m the luckiest bastard alive.

  Epilogue

  Blakely

  18 months later…

  "Come on!" Nicholas yells as he grabs my arm and as dashes past the tall, tangled hedges.

  Shrieking, I sprint behind him up the walkway toward the tiny, yellow brick house nestled behind the overgrown bushes. Holding fast to the hoodie of my windbreaker, I run straight through a huge puddle of muddy water, splashing my pants in the process.

  Fantastic!

  I double over at the top of the stairs, cold and wet and breathless, trying to compose myself. "This was such a bad idea," I grumble bitterly.

  Nicholas had insisted on going for a run despite the heavy rainclouds that had been weighing down the sky all morning. As soon as we hit Pomelo Street, it had started coming down and in ten seconds flat, it was a torrential downpour. Now, he stands back on the balls of his heels, totally unaffected while I feel like I'm about to pass out in a breathless, hypothermic heap.

  He flicks a wrist dismissively. "Ah, it's just a little rain."

  I'm trying not to be rotten right now but he is truly pissing me off. You see, yesterday was my birthday and he didn't even mention it. It’s well-known that people with Asperger's have a hard time with birthdays, anniversaries and other special occasions. They just don't get the importance of them. I know that Nicholas loves me. He shows me in the little things he does.

  So right now, I have to remember not to be a surly, passive aggressive bitch.

  The past 18 months have been wonderful. And challenging. But without a doubt, they've been worth it. We've both grown in incredible ways as individuals and as a couple. I've learned to believe in myself and be confident in my worth. Nicholas is becoming more comfortable with his condition and he doesn’t go out of his way to hide it anymore. And together, we've been unstoppable. I'm now consistently earning five figures a month from my writing and the Taken Series has an unbelievable crowd of die-hard fans always clamouring for the next release. I'm living my dream. I wouldn't have been able to do it without Nicholas. Not only has he been my willing muse and the most awesome inspiration a girl could ask for, but he also joined forces with Emily and developed Conquer: For Writers. It's an amazing cognitive aid for writer's block and tech giants are already putting in very handsome offers to buy it.

  (And by the way, I eventually had to come out and tell my friends about my writing because when I gifted Isla a gorgeous Coach purse for Christmas, she staged an intervention for me after managing to convince herself that I was either dealing drugs or sitting at the top of a very elaborate pyramid scheme. Now, she's BJ Hamilton's biggest fan, demanding advance copies of every book and pimping the hell out of my writing to her yoga students.)

  So basically, everything is amazing. Nicholas and I are living our very own fairy tale. Except that every now and then, he skips buying me a card on a holiday. You know what? I can live with that.

  I look over at him and smile. "I love you."

  He walks over, pulls me to him and plants his mouth on mine. "I love you."

  Our lips press together again and his hands run down over my ass, weighing each handful in turn. I feel my pussy coming to life. I thread my fingers in his wet hair as the kiss grows passionate.

  A car horn in the distance jolts me out of my trance, reminding me that we’re making out on some stranger's front porch. "Shit – we need to get out of here before the neighbors call the cops."

  "Ah, where's your sense of adventure?" He chuckles as he walks over to the front window, shielding his eyes to peek in. He casually jiggles the handle of the front door and it opens.

  I slap my hand over my mouth. "Oh my god – what are you do
ing?" Another thing about Aspies is that they tend to be a bit impulsive. But this goes way beyond impulsive and straight into dangerous territory.

  He steps inside. "Let's go warm up," he calls over his shoulder and suddenly, he's Goldilocks and I'm terrified of what will happen when the three (or four or five) bears get home.

  "Get out of there," I scold, backing away toward the stairs.

  No answer.

  “Babe! Get out of there! Now!”

  Long silence.

  "Blakely, you've got to check this library out," he calls finally, "These people are BJ Hamilton superfans. They have the entire Taken Series in paperback!"

  Well, that sparks my curiosity.