The guy hovering above me thrusts into me one final time, before shuddering and collapsing as a dead weight on top of me. He pants heavily, even though he'd only been jackhammering away for about five minutes.
I roll my eyes. Looks like I'll be using my vibrator again tonight, then.
I give him a gentle shove on the shoulder, and he rolls off me with a grunt, pulling his limp dick with him as he goes. Still no indication that he might remember to get
me
off, too.
His eyes close, his breathing evens out, and now I have a sleeping-fucking-stranger in my bed and no orgasm to show for it. Great. I wonder briefly if any of the other guys in the bar would have done a better job. Christ, my hand would've done a better job.
Sighing deeply, I shove off the bed and walk to the door, grabbing my robe to cover my nakedness before stepping out into the night-dark hallway. I know my roommate, Becca, will already be asleep, so I make my footsteps as light as possible on the way to the kitchen. If I wake her, I know I'll just get a lecture about one-night stands and bringing strange men back to the apartment. Pass on that tonight, thanks.
Stumbling in the darkness, I make my way over to the countertop, reaching for a cold can of Coke to wash away the taste of the stranger's sloppy kisses.
"Doesn't look like that guy did a very good job," says a familiar, deep, masculine voice behind me.
I whirl, grabbing at the front of my robe to keep it from flapping open.
Sure enough, there leaning against the doorjamb with his arms folded and a smirk on his face, is Cole. My long-time friend, Becca's
boyfriend
and honestly, the hottest thing I've ever laid eyes on. He and I went to college together, have been friends-with-an-edge for years, and had a heavy flirtation going for a while until I stupidly introduced him to Becca. If I'm being honest, the heavy flirtation continued after that too.
Now I have to endure watching their relationship in my own home, and consoling Becca after one of their many,
many
fallouts. Becca and I aren't particularly great friends, and it's torturous hearing her whine about the man I want so badly. Thankfully, her room is the other end of the apartment to mine, so I don't need to listen to them 'making up' afterwards.
But here he is now, standing in my kitchen like he owns the place, looking like some sort of Greek god with his long dark curls, golden-tan skin and chiselled face. His face should be harsh, with all those hard lines, the razor-sharp jaw and cheekbones, but it's softened by the beautiful, full mouth.
Christ, Cara, stop staring at his lips.
I force my eyes up to meet his, and yep, he's caught me staring. Fuck. His mouth is still curled in that knowing smirk, and there's an arrogance there that makes me damp in a way that the boy currently in my bed never did.
I clear my throat. "What do you mean?"
I hope he doesn't notice the hoarseness of my voice.
Lazily, he sweeps his gaze down over my body, taking all of me in. I'm instantly, keenly aware of the thin silk of my robe, how short it is, and the fact I'm bare underneath. Shit, he can probably see my nipples hardening against the fabric. Can I cross my arms over my chest without being obvious? The longer he looks at me like that, the wetter I'm getting.
He pushes off from the door, walks towards me with almost predatory focus. My breath catches as he reaches me, braces his hand on the countertop, leans in close enough to feel his breath against the shell of my ear. I resist the urge to shudder.
"I
mean
, Cara, that you wouldn't still look like that, if it had been me that just fucked you," he whispers onto my skin.
Then he reaches behind me, grabs a can of Coke and saunters away, leaving me standing there, breathless, still clutching my robe.
The soft, sexy sound of his laugh rumbles through the hallway.
---
I kick out the shit-sex guy as soon as he wakes up the next morning. He seems to think we might go for round two, and is surprised when I tell him that I have absolutely zero interest in having him inside me again. He slinks off with a scowl.
When he's gone, I take a long shower, enjoying the feel of the hot water searing over my skin. I soap myself, taking my time, cleaning all traces of him away. The slick slide of the water feels too good, and I end up staying in the shower too long. I have to rush to throw my long, dark hair up into a damp braid, and hurriedly shove on my skirt and blouse for work.
Becca and Cole are already at the kitchen table, having breakfast. She's obviously noted last night's guy leaving, because she has that pious, condescending look on her face that makes me want to slap her. She tips her blonde head to the side, studying me like I'm some unknown creature she needs to save. If she launches into a lecture about sleeping around, I think I just might follow through on that slap. It's not even like I'm
that
promiscuous; I've not had a relationship in months, but I've only had a handful of one-nighters in that time. Just because she's so uptight about enjoying her own body, doesn't mean we all need to be.
Cole catches my eye and winks, our little clandestine meeting clearly just between us. I smile sweetly back, refusing to blush. Refusing to let him see that I went back to my room last night, pulled out my best-loved vibrator from my bedside table, and made myself come while the comatose one-night stand snored beside me. All fuelled by thoughts of Cole.
Somehow, though, the weight of his stare tells me that he already knows. I wonder briefly if he thinks of me when he's fucking Becca, and wonder if I'd like having that power over him.
He grins. Becca's lips purse further. Yeah, I'd fucking love having that power over both of them.
"Cara --"
I can tell she's gearing up to launch into that sermon, so I grab a cereal bar from the cabinet and take my coffee to go.
"Sorry, already running late for work. See you later."
She calls after me, but I'm already halfway out the door.
---
Work drags all morning; the restaurant I work at is always dead on the breakfast shift. There are only two customers in, an older couple who come in every week -- black coffee for him, cappuccino and pancakes for her. They know the place so well that they just walk in and choose their usual table now, a small circular one right in the bay window.
It doesn't leave much else to do, once they're served. Maybe I could clean more tables, but they're already spotless. I check the salt and pepper shakers. Full. Now what?
As if in answer, my phone pings in my apron.
You rushed away pretty quick this morning. -- Cole
A thrill runs up my spine. We haven't messaged much, since he and Becca started officially seeing each other three months ago. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe this is innocent, but somehow it feels like the start of something.
Well, I was up late last night. - Cara
Vague, testing the waters. I hope he takes the rope I'm throwing him, tell myself I won't be disappointed if he plays it safe. He starts typing his reply; I try to swallow my nerves.
And did things improve for you, after I saw you?
He's showing me he's willing to play along, but not ready to show all his cards yet. Maybe I should be the brave one. Deep breaths. I type, delete, re-type, then settle on:
They did, because I took matters into my own hands.
Barely a moment passes.
Were you thinking about me?
Yes.
Good girl.
The rest of my day passes much more pleasantly.
---
The next couple of weeks pass in much the same way. I've hardly seen Cole at the apartment, but we've been messaging most days. Sometimes general chitchat, but most often the messages descend into utter filth. Sexting was something we did occasionally before he got together with Becca, but this is on another level.
I should feel guilty. I
know
I should feel bad about Becca. They've been fighting more recently, and her eyes are red-rimmed when I see her at the apartment, but she's been such an asshole to me the past few months that I struggle to muster up the guilt. She knew that he and I had an unspoken
thing
and she still went there. The only reason I'm still living with her is because of how convenient the apartment is. I tell myself these are just messages, they don't count.
But all I can think of is Cole. Every night, when I'm in bed, I pleasure myself thinking about him. Or if he's not with her and is able to message, I have my phone in one hand, and the other hand between my legs, fingers buried deep inside me, frantically pumping myself while we message and he tells me exactly what he'd do to me.
I don't know how I'm going to cope, seeing him in person again. There's always been huge attraction and lust between us, but what we've been doing the past couple of weeks has turned that spark of flame into a towering inferno.
I want him, badly, but I can't have him.
The first test of will is going to come tomorrow. Becca is throwing a party at our apartment; I'm expected to co-host, and obviously Cole will be there as her boyfriend. Already, I feel the nerves beginning to climb up my veins, but beneath that lies an undercurrent of excitement. Pure anticipation.
My phone pings.
Cara -- I'm sorry, but we have to put a stop to this. We can't do this to Becca. I'm sorry. Cole x
Crushing disappointment settles on me for a heartbeat, and I feel blindsided. Just last night, he was telling me exactly where on my body he wanted to lick, where he wanted my mouth on him. He told me how badly Becca has been treating him, and how much he looks forward to talking to me. He started this whole thing, whatever it is. Now, suddenly, he's done?
Okay, fine. He can be out if that's what he wants, I have never begged a man for anything in my life.
But that doesn't mean I need to make it easy for him.
---
It's a half hour before the party is due to start, and I'm nearly ready. I didn't reply to Cole's weird half-assed message yesterday, because
fuck him
, but I did go shopping for a dress to wear tonight.
I may or may not have had the words
fuck you
running through my head when I picked it out.
Slinky silver fabric hugs my body and barely covers my ass. The neckline is high, but the dress is completely backless so it's obvious I'm not wearing a bra. Checking myself in the mirror for the millionth time, I can't help but admire the way the material clings around my breasts and glides over my hips. It's tight in all the right places, sexy without being too much.
