Tranquility

by Ava O'Shay

  “So spit it out. What are you looking for?” Missy leaned forward. “Me? I’m looking for a guy that isn’t boring. A guy that has an edge. I’m tired of the frat scene and the monotony of the system. If you want to score some pot, I’m all in.”

  Quill leaned back in his chair, a little taken aback by her rant. She sounded like a female version of him. “Let’s go.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her out the door.

  A few phone calls later, Quill had scored them some primo pot and landed them along the river where he and Ren liked to hang out.

  He pulled the rich smoke into his lungs and handed the joint over to Missy, who mimicked his action. “I didn’t take you for a smoker. You seemed like the Malibu Barbie Sorority type.” Smoke puffed out with his words.

  “It’s all a cover. We look the part, but deep down we’re all a little dirty inside.” She leaned her arms back and tipped her head back to look at the sky. “We all want a good high and a great fuck.”

  Quill smiled. He liked this girl. She said she wanted a hard fuck, but she gave off a softer side, too. Maybe she could provide him with what he was looking for. Her neck was long and beautiful. Quill felt himself drawn to touch it. Lightly, he drew his fingers down the center of her throat, then leaned in and trailed his tongue along the same path. She tasted like flowers. Her breath increased at his touch. He waited for his dick to respond as he anticipated it would. But it wasn’t really happening down there.

  Her eyes were sleepy as she raised her head to look into his own hooded eyes. “Kiss me,” she whispered.

  He forced himself to go slow as he took her mouth, feeling her quiver under his fingertips.

  Her breathing became labored the deeper the kiss became. He moved to straddle her, rubbing his crotch against hers. Her hips responded immediately, lifting into each of his thrusts. Quill could feel this wasn’t going to end the way either of them hoped. He lightened the touch of his lips and slowed his advances, eventually moving to the side, and finally laying on his back in the warm sand.

  Missy sat beside him, unmoving for a minute before resting her hand on his chest to lean over him. “That wasn’t what I was expecting.”

  “What were you expecting?”

  “Having careless sex with you on the edge of the river.”

  “I’m trying to mend my ways. I thought maybe we could actually drink coffee sometime.” It had always been about the climax with him. Nothing more. His past had him running for the finish before the race even started. Assad had slowed things down, and he’d like that. If he could slow things down with a girl, it might get his head on straight again.

  Missy straightened her shirt. “I could do coffee.”

  “I have morning classes. Get done about noon and have to work at two-thirty. How about we meet at The Bakery at one?”

  Missy looked surprised at his offer. “Yeah. I guess that would be okay.”

  Quill hopped up, holding out a hand to her. “I got homework. I’ll take you home.”

  Missy grabbed his hand and they walked hand in hand back to the car. And when he dropped her off, he walked her to the door of her sorority and kissed her on the cheek. He was going to try a normal relationship if it killed him.

  .nineteen

  Quill Diaz

  October 10

  5:00 p.m.

  Missy was sitting at The Bakery much the same way she’d been waiting for the last two weeks, two cups of coffee on a table in front of her. The only difference was he wasn’t late.

  She looked good as usual. He hadn’t realized she was in two of his morning classes and as soon as he did, he altered his routine to sit by her for both. He guessed what they were doing was dating. Missy was funny but studious as she doodled around the edges of her notes and wrote quirky cartoons to him. He liked her. His stomach didn’t do flips when he saw her, but she was interesting to talk to—most of the time.

  “Hey.” He leaned in and kissed her. “Hey yourself.”

  Quill knew she was itching to take their short relationship farther. She couldn’t have been more forward if she said the actual words, ‘screw me.’

  “I don’t work tonight,” he started.

  She smiled. “What do you want to do?”

  Quill shrugged. He wanted to get rid of the heavy feeling sitting on his chest. Assad wasn’t coming around the store, Cori was working on an assignment for finals, and he needed a release. His self-imposed boycott on sex needed to come to an end. The nightmares of his youth had been visiting him again, and he needed this to beat them back the only way he knew… drugs, alcohol or sex… all of the above if possible.

  “Probably the same thing you want to.” He gave her his crooked grin. She ran her fingernails down his arm. “What do you think I want?”

  “Oh I know what you want.” She may look like an ad for American Eagle, but she was as aggressive as the girls at The Warehouse.

  “I didn’t think I was that transparent.” “Like Saran wrap.”

  “So? What do you think I want to do?”

  Quill leveled his stare to hers and mouthed the word fuck. She returned his look with her own shit eating grin.

  “Where?” was all he needed to say before she scooted out from the bench seat of the booth, took his hand, and led him out the door.

  Quill followed, interested in where she planned on taking him. He knew the rules of the sorority made it impossible to get at it in the house. Maybe they had a secluded fuck shack.

  Missy took them back toward campus, but before they hit Greek Row she turned down a side street to a small green cottage style house with the letters of her sorority nailed to the side.

  Holy shit, they did have a fuck shack. “What is this?” he asked.

  “It’s our Annex. My friend Allysa has a room here. She’s gone for the semester.” “What about the other girls?”

  She looked over her shoulder at him. “They have their own rooms. How loud are you planning on making me scream?”

  Quill laughed.

  They climbed two sets of stairs before getting to a small, neat room on the second floor. Missy closed and locked the door behind them then walked slowly toward him. “I have wanted to touch you since I saw you in class at the beginning of the semester.”

  Oh shit.

  “Um.” He took a step back. “I do better if I’m the one doing the touching.” “Can I at least look?” She tugged at the bottom of his shirt.

  “How about I get a look first.” This slow dance of seduction was night and day from his usual mode of fucking, especially adding in the absence of the smell of stale beer and a toilet seat to have her bent over.

  She pouted, but began to unbutton her blouse.

  Quill grabbed the back of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head.

  Missy blew out a breath. “I want to lick every inch of your body.” She reached toward his nipple rings.

  Quill grabbed her hand before it made contact. “Let me worry about you.” Quill moved in, taking over the job of unbuttoning her shirt.

  He slid the shirt off her shoulders, then pulled the straps of her bra off, letting her breasts pop free. She was a perfect specimen of the female form. He took her nipple in his mouth and sucked. Her back arched into him.

  She grabbed his shoulders, guiding him toward a bed covered in a light green comforter. Missy unbuttoned her jeans and wiggled them down, letting them pool at her feet before stepping out of them. With one hand, she pulled the blanket back, then kneeled on the mattress, moving toward the center. Quill watched her toss her bra onto the floor. He couldn’t remember a time a girl had stood naked before him. Probably because one never had. His sexual experiences seemed to begin and end with the least amount of clothing removal possible to still get the job done. Besides, he preferred to take his woman from behind, he rarely saw their breasts.

  “Are you coming?”

  Quill nodded, kicked off his boots and pushed his jeans to the floor.

  Missy’s gaze dropped to his sad excuse for an e
rection. He could feel it wasn’t at its true potential and hoped once he was on the bed with her things would move along. The worry that this normal, bedroom sex wasn’t going to do it for him wasn’t helping the situation. Quill hadn’t had sex in a bedroom or a bed for that matter since he spent the week in hell at his mom’s. That is if he didn’t count Assad in his bed. But then they hadn’t had sex, had they? He’d frequented closets, cars, walls, bathrooms, and the most recent practice room—but he’d avoided beds.

  “Come here baby,” she cooed.

  He cringed when the memory flooded his mind.

  “Come here baby.” Mom’s friend was patting the edge of the bed.

  “I’m not allowed in my mom’s room.” Quill had been watching this lady for the past week. She wasn’t like most of mom’s friends. She was younger and prettier. She was also nicer.

  “It’s all right. Your mom told me we could use the room.” She leaned down and picked up a bottle, taking a long drink from the clear contents. “Come here and have a drink.”

  That got Quill’s attention. He liked the alcohol his mom had laying around the house.

  He liked the feeling of weightlessness it gave him. He liked the way it allowed him to sleep without nightmares. He reached for the bottle, and the lady grabbed his wrist, bringing him closer. When she had him situated between her legs, she released the bottle. He took a large swig, the amount causing his throat to ache as he forced it down his too small throat.

  “You’ve turned into a handsome young man,” the lady slurred.

  Quill squinted at her, trying to remember if she had a name. His mom had gotten a two week visitation during his seventh grade summer, and the number of men and women coming into the house made it difficult to learn names. The case worker was supposed to be around… make sure his mom was sober, but after he was dropped off he hadn’t seen her. Wondered if she was ever going to come back. Wondered if he wanted her to. Free access to alcohol and drugs was every Junior High boy’s dream.

  The lady ran her hands around his hips, grabbing his butt and squeezing. “You play any sports?” She smoothed her hands back down his sleek basketball shorts, this time sliding her hands under the loose openings and up his bare legs to massage his ass again.

  “Football,” Quill took a step back, but her hands held him firm.

  “Oh, I can tell. You’re legs are so muscular.” Quill wasn’t oblivious to what was happening. He knew this woman, who was about the age of his mom, wanted something he wasn’t sure he was ready for, but his body was telling him he was.

  The lady smoothed her hands back down his legs, running them up the outside of his shorts until they sat lightly on the waistband.

  The bottle was still hanging from Quill’s hand. He brought it back to his lips and gulped down as much as he could while the woman in front of him pushed his shorts down and took him in her mouth.

  The touch of Missy’s warm hands on his chest brought him out of the memory. He rubbed his face and stepped back. “I need to… I need to use the bathroom.”

  He pulled his boxers on and headed into the hall to the community bathroom. Locking the door, he put his hands on each side of the sink and leaned over, pulling in deep breaths of fresh air, pushing back the need to throw-up. The taste and smell of the lady who’d taught him about sex that week had invaded his senses along with the memory. Quill turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face. “Shit,” he swore. It was one thing to have the memories invade his sleep in nightmares that awoke him in a cold sweat, but when they began invading his days he knew he was losing it.

  He looked at himself in the mirror and saw the reflection of a twelve year old boy. He had been drunk and high for the entire week, sucked off and taught to fuck in a hard and fast manner. He covered his face with his hands and rubbed hard. He didn’t want to be that guy. He wanted to be normal. He wanted soft touches and caring kisses. He just didn’t know if he deserved it.

  Pulling himself together, he walked back to the bedroom. Missy was laying on her side, naked. Apparently she wasn’t going to wait for him to take off her panties and wanted to get this party started. He knew he had a rep when it came to women, and he doubted Missy was unaware of it. In fact, he was pretty sure most of the girls signing up for lessons were wondering if they could tame the wild man. Unfortunately, Missy seemed to want what he was trying to avoid.

  She turned over and gave him a lazy smile. “Come here.”

  Quill climbed on the bed and crawled over to her, pinning her under him. Her hands snuck between his legs and began to softly massage him. His willed his body to not recoil from her touch and took her mouth in a lazy, soft kiss. His stomach began to churn as her hand grasped his balls harder. He prayed he wouldn’t throw up all over her. Quill shifted, blocking her hand by positioning her hip into his crotch. Not comfortable but at least his nausea settled.

  She moaned beside him and began a rhythmic motion of her hips against his thigh. “Come on, Quill. I haven’t hung out with you for two weeks for nice.”

  He pulled back and looked into her eyes. Was she serious? She wanted rough and hard?

  He took her mouth again, trying to take the kiss to another level, but the thought of the only person he ever kissed sober being Assad was distracting. Sex helped clear his mind. It was his few moments of complete peace as he shot his load into a willing volunteer. But the more he thought about it, he’d never had an orgasm sober. Unless he counted Assad jacking him off the other night. Although he’d had a few beers but he wasn’t drunk. Shit. Why was he thinking so much while making out with a hot girl?

  “Come on, baby,” she purred, pulling her mouth away from his and trailing kisses down his neck. “I can get nice from the frat guys.” Her hand found him again and began a rhythmic stroking and squeezing.

  Quill closed his eyes tight and tried to focus on the task at hand. He wasn’t getting erect, and it was glaringly obvious since she was currently massaging a limp dick in her hand.

  “What’s wrong?” She pouted. This wasn’t going to work.

  He pulled her hand away and flipped her over on her stomach. Caressing her back and running kisses down to the curve above her ass. Foreplay wasn’t his thing and apparently it wasn’t really hers either. He was grabbing at straws here. Missy expected a mind blowing fuck, and he wasn’t even hard. Watching his own hands trace the lines of her back, listening to her mews of pleasure brought back his night with Assad and the light tentative touches he’d given. The words of trust and encouragement while he tested touching Quill in ways he’d never been touched before.

  His erection grew.

  “Shit,” he said to himself. He was getting aroused by thinking about Assad.

  Quill ran his hand up and down his shaft a few times, groaning in relief, wishing he was with someone else, but afraid to admit it to himself. “Condom?” he asked.

  Missy grabbed one she’d placed under the pillow and tossed it back at him. He quickly ripped it opened, drew it over his pulsing hard on, and grabbed her hips, lifting them toward him.

  “Oh yeah, baby,” she moaned before he was even inside her.

  He held back a moment. His head in a state of confusion over the images of his past, of Assad, the need to pound his dick deep inside her, and the desire to do this right, normal, while she was grinding back against him, encouraging him to do it wrong.

  He placed the head of his dick at her opening, poised and ready, but not moving. He ran his fingers over her ass. The callouses he’d grown from his constant cello and guitar playing rough on her soft skin. She was beautiful in all the ways society said beauty should be. But she wasn’t what he wanted. He was with the wrong person. His erection began to subside.

  Overthinking this was not helping.

  Missy leaned back pushing the tip into her. “Hard baby. Hard,” she moaned. He really hated her calling him that.

  Grabbing her hips, digging his fingers in for purchase, he pulled her back until he was buried balls deep. The se
nsation did wonders at pushing out the shit ruining this moment.

  Ramming her hard did an even better job. He thrust in and out, pulling her against him, briefly wondering if he was going to leave bruises on her perfect white skin with the strength of his hold.

  The euphoria he felt at fucking his feelings away was short lived as he looked down at the girl below him. Blonde hair splayed across a white pillow, pink lips in a perfect o shape as she was pushed to her limit. He felt his erection falter again. “Shit,” he growled.

  She must have felt the intensity of the moment fade. Her eyes opened, questioning what was happening. He tilted his head back and let the thought he knew would help end this moment so he could get his clothes back on and get out of there happen. He let Assad back in. It took only four hard thrusts for him to let his load go and push her to scream his name in pure ecstasy.

  He was so screwed.

  .twenty

  Assad McVee

  October 18

  4:00 p.m.

  “Hey you up for some coffee?”

  Assad’s stomach dropped. Every time someone mentioned coffee, the sinking feeling of losing something came over him. He hated that Quill had ruined coffee for him.

  “No. I have work to do. Maybe another time.”

  A guy Assad had hooked up with a few times over the last semester looked disappointed but flashed a bright smile before giving a quick wave and leaving him at his desk to pretend to be doing work.

  Cori and Quill were at the shop working on their songs for Quill’s debut. He hated that he was missing out on music time with Cori, but he couldn’t be in the same room with Quill without—without something, he just didn’t know what. All he could think of was the feeling of Quill’s skin beneath his hand, and all he wanted was to flush that feeling away. Assad had buried himself in work, while he figured Quill buried himself in some random girl.

  He ran a hand over his hair and tried to read the same passage he’d been staring at for the last hour. He was supposed to recommend this book for the Department Head’s next semester class, and he couldn’t get past the first chapter.