I’ve got to get out of here.
I slowly back away until I can no longer see him but I do hear his groans becoming louder. I know them so well because I’ve heard them often but it’s an entirely different animal to hear them up close, to be able to envision just what his hard body does when he’s that wrapped up in lust.
I manage to leave his apartment, quietly shutting the door behind me, before I can hear him escalate. If he had come in front of me that would have been way, way too much. I might have lost all control over myself.
Once inside my own place, I close the door to my room and try to go to bed. I don’t even bother washing my face or anything. I just want to drift away and start over. But I can’t. My heart rate is up and I feel flushed from head to toe.
Just go back over, I tell myself. It’s that dirty part of me, the one I’ve tried to keep buried. The wild one. The one I know Bram wants to see and wants to bring out of me. But that’s not me anymore.
Still, I slip a hand between my legs and feel how soaked I am. It just takes a few strokes of my clit to get me off and I throw the pillow over my face to keep my own moans from escaping out into the air.
Somewhere behind his music, behind the wall, I think I hear Bram crying out, too, finally coming. I imagine him coming hard, his toes curling up, his head thrown back, his ass muscles clenching. It’s enough to have me coming again, this one sneaking up on me in surprise.
I may have not acted out my fantasy but whatever the hell just happened was one of the hottest things to happen to me in a long time.
I know I fall asleep with a stupid grin on my face.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bram
When I wake up, I’m feeling strangely refreshed, something I haven’t felt in a while. Maybe it was good that I hadn’t brought Justine back to the apartment after Aida was over. It hadn’t been my plan to shag her anyway. I mean the whole date was made on behalf of our parents. I’m not sure why my father thought anything would come from it and I’m not really sure why I went along with it but old habits die hard.
Oh yeah, it was because Justine was gorgeous. She was also one of those types that put up a battle in the “I don’t like you” department, just like Nicola. It got me going every single time. But while Justine smelled like roses and indifference, I can tell I’m slowly getting through Nicola’s defenses.
At least I hope I am. I’ve never been so unsure with a woman and while I’m finding it mildly frustrating, it’s at least keeping me on my toes. I feel like every day is a new challenge and I haven’t felt that way since I left New York. Shit, I haven’t felt this way in a very long time.
Adding to the perplexities that living next door to Nicola brings, when I finally get out of bed and make my way into the kitchen, I’m shocked to see the kettle on the counter. I had given it to her mother last night to make some tea. Now she was quite the MILF, but then I guess her daughter is too. I’m not surprised that Nicola brought it back – I figured she would – but I am puzzled as to how she got into my place without me knowing it.
And why?
I make my way over to the door and see that’s its unlocked. I have a habit of doing that sometimes, probably because when I first bought the building I was the only tenant in this place for months.
So last night – or this morning – she would have had to come inside and put it on the counter. Was it possible that I didn’t hear her, that she didn’t wake me up?
Or was it that…
Well, after I dropped off Justine at her place and got nary even a peck on the cheek, I took my sexual frustrations home and had a bit of a wank-fest, as you do. I had the music pretty loud, everything that reminded me of my Scottish youth: Portishead, Garbage, Massive Attack, Faithless, Tricky, you know, just to really get in there.
But the minute I was stroking it, Justine became a distant memory. Her face would go out of focus every time I tried to imagine her and in her place was Nicola. It didn’t matter how many other people I tried – Brooklyn Decker, Kate Beckinsdale, that saucy, bitchy redhead that shot Jon Snow on Game of Thrones – Nicola’s face replaced them all.
And why not. It’s a beautiful face. She has the most gorgeous cheeks and a full upper lip that you just wanted to take between your teeth or have her slide along the ridge of your cock. The freckles just add to the appeal. There’s something so wholesome about her yet she always has this wicked gleam in her sloe-eyes that hints at something wild underneath. I know she puts up a bashful and prudish front, but it’s just a front. I know it is. I know how mums get, how wrapped up they can be with their child about being selfless and devoted that they forget they’re still a sexual creature with multiple needs.
I want to let the sexual creature free. Out of its cage. I want Nicola to have the fun she hasn’t had in a long time.
But my usual tactics don’t work with her. I’m not sure what will. And to be honest, I’m not sure if even hitting on her is the right thing, let alone fucking her. The absolute last thing I need is to be entangled up with a single mum, no matter how enticing she is, no matter how precious her child is.
I just can’t go down that path.
I know how that ends.
More and more though, it’s becoming something I have little control over. And that, that is what scares me. Fear has no place in my life, not anymore.
I contemplate going over to her place and asking her when she dropped off the kettle. I know that within seconds I’ll be able to tell whether she caught me in the act or not. I wouldn’t even be embarrassed about it. I actually wish she did watch me sampling my own goods. Maybe the sight of me naked would be enough to get her to look at me a little differently. I mean, I know I’m good-looking, I know I have what it takes to lure any woman into bed and I know what it takes to get them off again and again and again. But I think her disgust for me might run a bit deeper than her hormones.
I decide to bypass the whole kettle situation and bring it up later. Even though I woke up refreshed, my head feels cloudy now so I drive up to Golden Gate Park and go for one of my Saturday runs before stopping at the boxing gym. Pounding those bags isn’t as satisfying as pounding a woman, preferably Nicola, preferably from behind, preferably while pulling her hair. But it will do.
When I get back to my building though, all cleaned up and spiffy, I knock on her door only to find that awkward bird of a woman, Lisa, there instead.
“She’s already left for work,” she says, eyeing me like I’m about to bust down the door and steal her virtue. Makes me wonder what Nicola has told her.
“Long shift?” I ask, checking my watch for the time. It’s only about three in the afternoon.
She nods, her expression un-changing.
“Well, I guess I’ll catch her later.”
The door shuts in my face. So polite.
But I don’t plan on letting later happen on this turf. I want to see Nicola in action. At about seven I get a cab and head to The Burgundy Lion. I haven’t been there since she started working and it’s high time I paid it a visit. Back in New York, I was always frequenting the hoighty-toighty nightclubs and martini bars but secretly my favorite kind of place was a dive bar. There’s something so freeing about those places, the freedom to be yourself, to let loose, to express desires, to lurk in the dark. Everyone is equal in the shadows with a cheap drink in hand. Now, the Lion wasn’t a dive bar at all, but it could feel that way on the weekends when everyone seemed to congregate there under the sole purpose of being pissed off their rockers.