Up until six months ago, I routinely screwed who ever I wanted, not thinking twice about how Vivian felt or what she would say about it. I didn’t particularly care. Sure, that was messed up, but it was the truth.
I knew Vivian didn’t like it. She made her feelings pretty clear on a number of occasions. But I also knew that she got off on feeling jealous. That she enjoyed getting mad and taking it out on me. That it gave her the same sick sense of satisfaction that it gave me. That despite all that when she was around, she was the only one I wanted.
She was spiteful. She was retaliatory. I knew that if I made her angry, I’d get it back in the worst way possible. She’d make me feel it.
And I dug that about her. She wasn’t like most girls I knew who said what they thought you wanted to hear. She was mouthy. She was loud. She flew off the handle at the slightest provocation.
And she drove me fucking crazy.
She pushed my buttons like nobody else. She pissed me off. She frustrated me to all hell. And she turned me on like no girl had ever known before. She just had to flip that gorgeous hair of hers and I was rock hard.
The sex had always been amazing. Viv was a tiger. She scratched, she bit, she pulled chunks of hair out of my head. And she took it as good as she gave it. She loved it when I bent her over a chair or laid her out on a pool table.
She loved it loud and public. Vivian was a total exhibitionist. She thought nothing of riding me in a bathroom at Barton’s or sucking me off in a darkened corner at the back of a club.
She was exciting. And sexy as hell.
And she had never been anything more than that. I hadn’t wanted her to be.
She was the girl I could call in the middle of the night when I needed to get my rocks off. She was the girl I knew was waiting to warm my bed when I came home in between shows. And she was the girl who would fly half across the country just to see me naked.
And she was the girl who would lose her fucking shit if she found me with anyone else. She’d scream and throw a scene. She’d turn me on in an instant. And then we would fuck all night long.
It was who we were together. I didn’t expect anyone to understand it. There were times when even I couldn’t wrap my head around what we were to each other. So I didn’t expect anyone to approve or comprehend.
It was what it was.
And there was a nice simplicity in that.
But at some point along the way, I had found it easier and easier to talk to Vivian in between bouts of marathon sex. When my dick wasn’t inside her, I would tell her about my parents. Or about the crazy shit going on with the band.
And she’d listen. She always did.
And I liked it.
Almost as much as I liked her magnificent breasts.
“Shut up, Cole. I can’t laugh right now. It hurts too much,” Vivian moaned, low and deep and I felt my cock stir at the sound. It’s what this girl did to me. Just the sound of her voice had me hard as a rock.
“Sorry, babe,” I said sincerely.
“So what’s going on? Why the million and one texts and phone calls? If I didn’t know better I’d think you missed me, Cole Brandt,” Vivian teased tiredly. I knew she felt like crap and if I were a nicer guy I’d let her go so she could rest.
But I needed to talk to her.
I was a selfish prick.
“You weren’t answering. I thought you were pissed at me again,” I said jokingly, though it was 100% true.
Vivian sighed. “So that warranted stalking?” she asked, sounding perturbed.
“I don’t like it when you’re pissed at me,” I told her, coating my words in warm honey. I knew how hard it was for her to resist me when I was sweet. And damned if I didn’t like being sweet to her.
“Yes, you do,” Vivian mocked.
I chuckled. “Yeah, you’re right. You’re hot when you’re mad. I like it when your claws come out,” I admitted.
“So how are things out there in the land of rock and roll?” she asked, changing the subject.
I lay back on the bed and tucked the hand not holding the phone under my head. I stared at the ceiling. “It’s going,” I sighed.