Fuck, I’m heartbroken—again.
Taking off all my clothes, I crawl onto my bed and let the cool crisp feeling of the clean sheets blanket my skin.
How did I let Matt put that ring on my finger? I will forever walk around wondering how I let him trap me.
My phone rings, and I run into my living room hoping it’s Damian. Maybe he finally wants to talk. I’ve sent him so many texts over the past few hours and he hasn’t returned even one. I grab my phone only to realize it’s Matt’s new number. Instantly my heart deflates. Hitting decline, and blocking his number my frustration boils over.
What is wrong with the male race? Are they so testosterone driven they can’t see further than their dicks? Why the fuck would Matt think I’d answered his call? I’ve been so clear, laid it out plain and simple in black and white. He doesn’t do it for me anymore.
Opening my sliding glass door as far as it will go, I walk onto my balcony and chuck the damn phone as far as I can, listening to it break and smash all over the concrete below.
I feel liberated, and I fist-bump the air. He can’t reach me. Finally, he can’t torment me with his damn phone calls.
Shit, no one can reach me, not even Damian. And that’s when I realize it’s finally happened. I’ve lost my fucking mind.
I slam the sliding glass door shut and crawl back under my covers.
Closing my eyes and trying to sleep, thoughts of where Damian could possibly be plague my mind. I hope like hell he isn’t out doing something crazy and stupid. He has to know I’d never pick Matt over him. How could he not know that? Because I never told him I loved him. Shit, he thinks I still love Matt. He accused me of that just last week. God, how could I be so naïve?
Hours go by, and all I’ve done is stare at the ceiling. At two in the morning, I finally hear a car approach, then a door slam. Wrapping a blanket around myself, I walk into the entryway and look out the peephole. I hear footsteps. They’re heavy, pounding each concrete step as he comes up the walkway. I’m about to open the door and make him talk to me when I hear it, his voice, deep, husky and slurring every word that comes out of his mouth. He’s drunk, and as I watch him approach the top step, he’s swaying, not keeping his balance, talking on the phone. Everything inside my system feels slow and heavy, like molasses is being poured into my veins and through my body. This isn’t the time for us to hash things out, but I can’t leave him like this either.
My mind is screaming at me to stop my motions, to let him go, but I can’t. I open the door.
“Damian.”
His head flips around, his eyes looking into mine, but he’s not looking at me, he’s looking through me.
I’ve lost him.
“Well, look who it is. The adulterer.” His words are slow and deliberate, his body leaning back onto the railing that leads down to our parking spots.
Stepping out into the cool night air, the wind picks up a corner of the blanket covering my body, exposing a decent amount of leg and causing goose bumps to erupt all over my skin.
“Come inside, I’ll make you some coffee.”
A wicked smile crosses his face. “I’m not in the mood for coffee, Ms. Peacock. How about a little drunk—” thrusting his hips in my direction and wagging his eyebrows he takes a step closer. “You know, tit for tat. I fucked you when you were so drunk and begging for it, how about a little recipro . . . reciprocation. It’s the least you can do.”
Taking another step closer, I immediately take one back. Anger begins to worm its way into my gut, spilling over into my blood and making my heart beat audible to everyone within a five-mile radius. He left me to fend for myself tonight. So caught up in his own emotions he didn’t once stop to think how I was feeling.
I am about to slam the door in his face before we both say something we’ll regret, when he grabs my wrist and pulls me to him. Holding onto the blanket tight with my left arm to keep it from falling, adrenaline is coursing through my system and I pull on my arm, trying to free it from his iron strong grasp.
It’s impossible.
Bending down to reach my ear he whispers, his voice pointed and the smell of whisky rolling off his tongue, “I’m not interested in dirty seconds. I wouldn’t fuck you tonight if you got down on your pretty little knees and begged me.” Gasping in a shocked breath, I pull on my arm again, furious that he thinks he can talk to me this way. “I would never hurt you, Addison, but you’ve destroyed me.”
He releases my arm and staggers to his front door, never looking back.
My heart feels like it’s on a race to nowhere. Her scent is everywhere, her being a permanent fixture in my apartment. Every time I close my eyes, haunted green ones stare back at me. I’m not sure I’ll ever sleep again.
I have a raging headache and it feels like I swallowed a thousand cotton balls. I’m also completely naked and have a wicked case of morning wood. The smart me should go over, knock on her door and talk this out. Figure out exactly what it was I walked into last night, but the stubborn me, the part that reminds me I am my father’s son, no matter how hard I want to prove everyone wrong, wants her to come crawling back to my side. Beg a little harder for my forgiveness.
God, I’m such a prick sometimes.
The strong scent of coffee begins to filter throughout my room, and my hopes rise that she’s already here, knowing how much I need her. I hear footsteps in the living room, she’s trying to be as quiet as possible, but the walls are so thin, there’s no way I can’t hear the creak of the wood floor and gentle closing of the refrigerator door. Her soft footsteps near my room and my dick instantly reacts.
Awesome, we can hash this out right here and then get to making up, because I miss my morning girl.
Throwing the covers off and laying back on my arm, I can’t wait for her to see how much I fucking need her. My cock begins to pulse, understanding it’s about to go home and I get the sudden urge to stroke myself. Knowing how much that one act drenches her sweet core. Slowly I grip my cock and slide my hand up and down the hard length. My hangover is quickly vanishing and my desire is growing stronger by the second as my door slowly begins to open. I’m pulsing in my palm, her lust filled eyes invading my thoughts and shining bright. Her luscious lips opening in desire as I conjure up the best image of her I can, waiting for her to open that damn door all the way and replace my hand with her mouth.
My body is trembling, my hand working myself into a frantic need for release. It feels like it’s taking forever for that door to completely open and my balls are beginning to tense, my gut coiling up tight as my orgasm starts to crest. I try to hold off, try to still my hand needing to watch her face as I come, but it’s useless. My hand pumps faster, my grip tightens and her eyes shine brighter, her tongue juts out licking those perfectly curved lips. I’m done for, semen spurting out of my cock, my fist gripping myself tight as with a loud groan, I come all over myself.
Sitting straight up in bed, I’m covered in my own semen, my apartment silent, and the bedroom door firmly shut.
What. The. Fuck?
A dream. A fucking vivid as hell wet dream that I haven’t had since I was fourteen. That woman is going to make me lose my fucking mind. My heart is pounding furiously, and I’m panting as sweat coats my skin. And while I do have the makings of the world’s worst hangover, there is a lingering scent of coffee in the air.
Even after an intensely satisfying orgasm, I’m still sporting an enormous hard on as my body realizes what it craves is the real deal, not some conjured up image of my morning girl, but her, in all her perfect glory.