We had sex last night. Unfuckingbelievable sex, if her marked body and that tease of a glimpse I just had are any indication. And that’s all I remember?
Are you fucking kidding me, universe?
The woman I’ve been obsessing over gave herself to me, I have no idea what all we did together, and now she’s crying, and my head is stuck in a toilet?
Molly. That stupid bitch is responsible for all of this.
I push off from the floor when the cramp in my gut seems to settle. After rinsing my mouth out in the bathroom sink, I walk back out into the bedroom, expecting to see Beth waiting for me where I left her. The room is empty.
“Beth!”
I check the second floor and then take to the stairs. Pausing at the entrance into the living room, I look around and question whether or not I was too drunk to feel an earthquake last night. Lamps are turned over. Pictures are hanging crooked on the walls. My couch seems to be at a different angle to my TV.
Holy shit. We had sex all over this room. And we really utilized the entire floor plan.
I move in the direction of the kitchen, stepping over my clothes from last night that are scattered about.
“Beth?”
I turn the corner and freeze in the entryway.
The chairs are pushed back away from the table, with one specifically placed in front of the large, antique wall mirror I have hanging. I don’t need two guesses as to why it’s there. Forcing Beth to watch herself ride me has been a recurring fantasy of mine. I’m sure it was amazing seeing her like that. I imagine it was, since I don’t fucking remember it.
I step further into the room and shove the chair aside. Items from the fridge and cabinets litter the counter, and some of the floor. Lids have been left off the honey and chocolate sauce. The whipped cream is warm when I wrap my hand around the tube. My cock hardens at the thought of eating any one of these off Beth. I look down at the lucky bastard, tenting my boxers.
“I’m surprised you don’t need a fucking cast.”
A car horn sounds, pulling my attention up.
Beth.
It’s like a minefield getting down the hallway to the front door. I step between pillows, books, my phone, which I palm as I move past it. The door is pulled open just as a cab pulls away from the house.
“Beth!” I yell, stepping off the porch and onto the small pathway. The car continues down the street.
“Fuck!”
My free hand grips my hair, still slick with sweat and the water from the tap. I take a look around to make sure none of my neighbors are out. I’m usually not chasing women out of my house wearing only a pair of boxers. They’re normally getting shoved out the door, and I’m fully clothed.
I head back inside and slam the door. Kicking shit out of the way this time instead of bothering to step over it, I clear a path for the couch and sit down. My shoulders roll forward as I pull up the contact list on my phone. I place it to my ear, while my other hand cradles my head.
“Come on. Pick up.”
Two rings, then the call goes to voicemail. That means she forced it to voicemail. I call again, this time it doesn’t ring at all. Her soft voice hums against my ear, asking me to leave her a message. I drop my head back against the couch.
“Will you call me, please, so we can talk about this? I don’t like that you left here upset.”
I disconnect the call and toss the phone.
Keeping my head back, I let my eyes fall closed as I try and put together more pieces of last night. Nothing new appears, and I try harder, squeezing my eyes so damn tight I swear I strain a muscle in my neck. The same images circle in my head. Nothing past Jim Beam, and Beth sitting and talking next to me at the bar. I can’t hear anything she’s saying to me. I have no idea what we talked about, but in those flashes she’s smiling. Always smiling at me, like I’m giving her something amazing just by listening. My eyes open and I stare up at the ceiling.
This is fucking infuriating.
I’ve had her. My hands know what her body feels like, all that softness underneath my palm.
My mouth has tasted every inch of her skin, that I’m fucking sure of.
My cock has been buried inside a woman bare for the first time in my life, but it’s as if it never happened.
None of it, except for what I was lucid for at the party. I could’ve done shit with Beth I’ve never done before, and I wouldn’t know. I might not ever know it if she refuses to call me back.
I reach for the phone again, but stop myself mid-way.
Shit. I’m losing it. Losing. It.
Maybe not talking to her is a good thing. Maybe not having all of these images in my head of every way I’ve experienced her is a good thing. I’ve already jacked off more in the past week than I have in my entire life. Thinking about Beth’s mouth was already an obsession. Now I have that wicked little hand of hers to throw into the mix. Adding anything else and I might have a serious problem.
Right. ‘Cause right now, what I have already isn’t a serious problem.