18. You Won’t Let Me Sleep
I did it.
I told her I’m attracted to her, and nothing terrible happened. Hell, she looked pleased. Sure, she said she wanted to go home soon after that, but she’d smoked weed for the first time, and she was clearly exhausted.
She looked happy, though. It must mean she’s attracted to me too. That she’d like something to happen between us.
Fuck, the things I want to do to her.
I rub my eyes, trying to fight the first erection of the day. I’ve been doing a lot of that since she came along.
The piglets aren’t on their bundle of blankets. If I’m to guess, they’re probably in Primrose’s bedroom, and though it makes no sense, it feels like they’re mocking me with the fact that they get to enter her bedroom whenever they please, day and night.
“Little fuckers,” I mumble as I stand.
I walk out of the bedroom, and holy shit, I swear I’m standing taller than usual. My eyes keep darting to the corridor, waiting for Primrose to come out as I make coffee, then work on breakfast.
I ate the last of her candy yesterday, but the bowl has been filled again. Strawberry. I guess she knows she’s found my favorite. As the pancakes cook, I eat a couple of pieces.
Not even the memory of Josie’s freakout at my parents’ place last night is enough to bring my mood down, though I plan on calling her later today and see how she’s doing. I don’t trust Aaron to be doing something about her drinking addiction, but she needs help. Quickly too, before someone at work notices.
By the time I enter the bathroom, Primrose still isn’t out. It feels weird, as if something’s missing around the house, and it’s just another confirmation that I’ve let her in.
Worst part?
I don’t hate it. Not completely.
Having someone to come back home to after work, for example, isn’t that terrible. Cooking, knowing you’re not just making food for yourself? Also not terrible. Primrose is right, this place can get very...quiet. And I guess sometimes, her voice filling it isn’t the most annoying thing in the world.
I come out of the shower, wrap a towel around my waist, and march out, deciding I’ll knock on her door. But as I step into the corridor, she silently walks my way while looking over her shoulder until she bumps into my chest.
“Sh—sorry,” she mumbles as she bolts back, her forehead wet with the water droplets from my skin.
So now I know how her lips feel against my stomach.
Which, by the way, is not bad at all.
Her eyes run along my shoulders and arms, then the towel hanging low on my hips, and her whole face turns a lovely shade of pink.
“Good morning.”
“G-good morning,” she sputters.
“If you don’t get a move on, there’ll be some pretty fucked up chickens pecking at the door soon enough.”
Uncomfortably wrapping an arm around her, she mumbles, “Uh, I’m not coming today.”
My brows furrow.
What’s wrong? She’s...not herself. Her back is all hunched, like she’d rather be anywhere else but here. And why can she barely stand to look at me?
“Why not?”
“I’ll just stay in and work on my recipes.” She glances at my face, and her eyes, usually a warm blue, are as cold as ice. “You know, time is of the essence.”
Yesterday, she said she needed some missing ingredients. Why is she lying to me?
My lips part as the painfully obvious answer strikes me like lightning.
She’s not into me. She’s rejecting me.
“What if Josie comes over?” I ask.
As her brows rise, and she stalls with a hum, I have the confirmation I need.
They say the worst thing that can happen is that she says no, right?
Wrong.
The worst thing that can happen is that she smiles. That she flirts back, that she looks at you as if she’s begging for a kiss. That you fall asleep thinking you’ll wake up to some gorgeous woman flirting with you during your car ride to work. Instead, you find out she was just high. Or trying to be polite. Or, what do I know, maybe she changed her mind. The point—though she hasn’t flat-out said it—is that Primrose isn’t interested. She wouldn’t be blowing me off for no apparent reason if she were.
I can’t believe I told her she’s my type. That I had the goddamn audacity to talk about how every time I see her around the house, I lose any sense of self-control. That I nearly kissed her—probably would have if she hadn’t been so high.
I told her I’m attracted to her, and now she can’t even look at me.
“I’ll just...uh, pretend no one’s home.”
Eyes harshly staring into hers, I remain silent for a few seconds. “Got it.”
My heart is thumping hard against my chest, and with a shake of my head, I walk past her. But then I realize, though I can’t unsay what I confessed to her last night, if Simon and Kyle find out she rejected the crap out of me, I’ll never hear the end of it.
“Primrose?”
She turns around.
“Can I ask you...could we keep last night between us?”
Her expression darkens, but after a long pause, she nods. “Sure, no worries.”
We stare at each other, and there’s so much I want to tell her. That she’s the first person I felt this attracted to in...god, in so long. That she made me think she was into me too. That she has every right to change her mind, but she hurt me.
But it doesn’t matter, does it?
It’s my fault, not hers.
I should have never let her in.
* * *
Sleep, Logan. Sleep.
It’s been a shitty day, and I wish I could close my eyes and stop thinking, but I’ve been lying here for two hours. I’ve listened to Primrose work on her computer, then leave the house to settle on the front porch and call one of her friends back home. I’ve heard the click of her lamp when she turned it off, and since then, I’ve heard absolutely nothing.
Yet I can’t fall asleep.
We’ve been avoiding each other the whole day. When I returned home for my lunch break, she didn’t leave her room. And once I turned in for dinner, she’d already cooked and left food in the microwave for me.
So this is it. I guess we’ll keep to ourselves until she leaves. She’ll be gone in nine days, and I’ll forget about this whole thing.
It’s for the best, anyway. I have nothing to offer—my business is sinking, I have no real friends or family to bring to the table, and the emotional availability of a goose. Having sex with her would have made a mess of everything, and we don’t need that.
I just wish it didn’t make my stomach twist the way it does.
A noise has me widening my eyes and sitting upright. I hold my breath, straining my ears as I listen for something—anything. It could have been Lola. Last I saw, she was asleep in the living room. Or it could’ve been a pipe. The wind, even.
It sounded like a sob, but I’m sure there’s a perfectly—there it is again. Primrose must have left her door open, otherwise I wouldn’t have heard it.
She’s crying.
I shove a hand on my face, my chest hurting in a million different places.
Primrose’s an easy cryer, right? Emotional too, so her crying isn’t a big deal, and I should go back to sleep. But she’s crying. And I don’t care if she does it all the time, or if it’s because of a stupid reason. I don’t care if there’s no reason at all.
I pull my covers off and walk out of my room and down the corridor. Though I’ve never been much of a sleeper, this woman has been stealing my peace in more than one way.
I raise my hand to knock on the door, but the bed springs squeaking stop me. Is she coming out here?
“Hmm.”
Nope. Back to sobbing.
“Oh, fuck...”
My eyes shoot wide as if I’ve just inhaled powdered coffee. That did not sound like a sob. It sounded like...like a moan.
I step back, my heartbeat racing like a runaway train, and hold my breath. There’s more squeaking, then a whimper. I confirm she’s not crying when she mewls, “Oh, Logan...” And I lose my ever-loving mind when I hear a click, followed swiftly by a vibration sound.
She’s masturbating.
In my house.
Thinking about me.
I’m back in my room and sitting on the edge of the bed within thirty seconds, my cock poking at my stomach. What the hell is happening? She rejected me. Last night, she sent me all the green lights there can be, and this morning, a huge STOP sign. And now she wants me again?
Could I have gotten it all wrong?
The muffled cries continue, my erection growing stiffer until pre-cum leaks from the tip, and my hand itches to jerk off. Would it be creepy? She doesn’t know I’m listening, and it feels like invading a private moment. But these walls are thin, and it turns out I miss porn after all.
I rub my dick over my sweatpants in a desperate attempt to soothe the ache, but it only makes it worse, and with a loud sigh, I throw my back on the mattress.
Ridiculous. That I’d be pitching a tent because my roommate can’t keep her volume in check is just...ridiculous.
I pull a pillow over my head as her whines turn shorter and closer together If I hear her climax, I’ll need to dip my junk in iced water, but knowing I could be hearing her orgasm, and I’m choosing not to, might hurt even more.
Pillow back into a chokehold on my chest, I listen to the vibration increase, picturing her legs writhing together and her pussy clamping around nothing.
With our size difference, I know she’d feel better than good. Better than perfect.
My cock throbs, pleasure shooting from my balls and straight up, almost leaving me dizzy. I pull the pillow over my head again, and I might be going crazy, because I can still hear her. It’s like she’s in front of me, flushed, dimpled cheeks and hungry eyes, bringing herself to climax.
Fuuuuck.
She flirts with me. She teases me. Then she rejects me. And now she’s picturing me—picturing me doing what? How? Why aren’t we doing it?
No. No, Logan. You don’t need the complication. It’s better this way.
Except I’m so hard I might just come in my briefs.
“Primrose,” I bark before I can command my mouth to shut. There’s a few seconds of silence, then the vibrator is turned off.
“Y-yeah?”
“Can you hear me fine?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then so can I!”
Nothing.
I could kick myself, because I know I pissed her off—that she’s probably embarrassed. And now I won’t get to hear her come.
Well fucking played.
I close my eyes, not that I have any hope of sleeping now, and after a few seconds, the door of her room shuts. More noises follow, and I can’t tell what she’s doing, but she’s up.
“Goddammit,” I say as I stand and venture into the corridor, tucking my erection into the waistband of my sweats.
“Hey.” I knock twice at her door. “What’s going on now?”
“What’s going on?” she shrieks in a sarcastic voice. “I’m leaving, that’s what’s going on!”
She’s what?
Paco wobbles lazily beside me as I scratch my head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m leaving. I’m done. Being caught masturbating is where I draw the line, okay? I’m out.”
Eyes rolling, I rest my forehead against her door. “Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”
“No, not at all.”
“Can I open the door?”
“I can’t look you in the eyes.”
“Then look away,” I mumble before pushing the door open.
With a gasp, she turns around, then throws herself at the tiny pink vibrator on her bed before pocketing it. “Seriously? I said no!”
Glancing at the half-stuffed backpack on the desk, then her open luggage, I exhale. “Primrose, masturbating is normal.”
“I know,” she mutters, throwing more clothes into the backpack. Her cheeks are still red, her hair ruffled. It makes it so hard to think.
“Tell you what. Walk into my shower tomorrow, and you’ll catch me.”
She glares, which feels like an improvement.
“Come on. Stop packing.”
With a deep sigh, she lets the shirt she’s holding fall onto the floor. “Fine. Sorry about this. I guess this is just my week to gross people out.”
Her sad frown does nearly nothing to soothe the immediate anger that fires up my mind. She does this all the time. She puts words in my mouth, twists the meaning of the ones I speak, assumes she knows what she’s talking about.
I’m here, dying to touch her, my dick a rocket ready to take off, and she talks about grossing me out.
It’s not a matter of self-esteem, because I’ve hardly ever seen someone stare at the mirror as much as she does. Her hair, makeup, and clothes are bold. Everything about her screams confidence. But with what she said about men keeping her hidden before, I guess it makes sense she’d be reluctant to believe anyone who tells her they’re attracted to her.
“You know...” I rumble, but before I can continue, the word people echoes in my mind. She said this week she grosses people out. Who could she— “Derek? Derek told you you gross him out?”
She quickly looks away, and it’s like a knife to my guts, twisting.
That’s what she didn’t want to tell me. Why she was crying after seeing him.
“He, um...He didn’t even...finish. When we slept together.” She sits on the edge of the bed, staring sadly at the floor. “He broke up with me after that, and it’s been...”
Her lips wobble as I step closer. I want to kill him. Right now. But I also can’t bring myself to walk away from her.
“It’s fine, Logan. I don’t want your pity, okay?”
“Well, good, ’cause you don’t have it.”
Her confused gaze meets mine.
“So...what? One dude can’t get it up, and suddenly you’re the problem?”
“It’s not just that.”
“Then what?”
Arms crossed, she huffs.
Does she really think I’ll let this go? Yeah, fuck that.
I stride over and grip her arm, pulling her up to standing. Ignoring her protests, I drag her to the mirror on the opposite wall, and when she squirms, I hold both her shoulders to my chest. “So? What is it? Point at what’s ‘gross.’ Let’s talk about it.”
“Stop it, Logan. That’s not?—”
“Come on, show me. What don’t you like?”
“I love myself,” she says, eyes brimming with confidence for a long moment before it dims out. “But I’m also aware that not many people like my body the way I do. They’d prefer it if I were slimmer, taller, or both.”
“Yeah? Like who? Derek?”
She’s so pretty without makeup. With it, she looks like a million bucks, and without it, she looks cozy. Warm and natural.
“Are we seriously acting like my belly is the benchmark for what men find attractive? The rolls on my back? The way my thighs brush together when I walk?”
I shrug. “I could keep them spread for you.”
A faint blush tints her cheeks, the hint of a smile playing on her lips.“Logan...”
“You probably don’t even notice men flirting with you half the time, Primrose. You?—”
“I’ve been rejected because of my weight more often than I can keep track of. Online dates who couldn’t handle their disappointment when they saw me in person. Men who wanted to kiss me, possibly do more, but didn’t want to be seen in public with me.” She exhales, her breath shaking. “A man once told me he liked me, but he’d always pictured himself being with someone skinny, and it bothered him that I wasn’t. My first crush, a friend of a friend I met over the phone, walked out on me when he first saw me. Didn’t say anything at all, just got on his bicycle and rode away.”
I watch her, speechless. Uncomfortable, not because of what she’s sharing, but because the only acceptable answer would be to tuck away that lock of hair bouncing over her eye as she speaks, then cup her chin and slowly lift it, until my lips are pressed on hers.
There’s no other answer.
“Logan,” she whispers, “I love myself—I do. I love my hair, my eyes. I have great boobs and, if I may say so myself, my ass is hot.”
Good god, I know this is about her, but I don’t need the reminder. “You may.”
She chuckles, and it quickly dwindles. “But I also learned that most men don’t feel the same. They don’t find me attractive. Not until...well. I thought that Derek found me attractive, but he did not.”
“I find you attractive.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes as if she doesn’t believe me for a second. “Don’t do this again. You think you’re helping, but you’re not.”
As the memory of last night comes back to me, I groan.
Of course. That’s what happened. For some reason, she thought I didn’t mean what I said. That I’m not attracted to her.
That’swhy she pulled away this morning.
I get it now. She needs me to show her. She’s been burned too many times to take my word for it, and that’s something I can relate to.
“I find you attractive, and I think you deserve better than some pathetic piece of shit who thinks you’re not worth his miserable moves.” I fit my hand into the pocket of her shorts, then take out the small vibrator. Watching her eyes widen, I set it in her hands. “Finish.”
“What?”
“Watch me,” I whisper into her ear as I hold her gaze in the mirror, “watch you. Then you’ll know.”
A shiver makes her body tremble, her fingers tight around the small vibrator, and when she doesn’t make another move, I press the on button and guide it to her shorts.
Brushing my lips against her skin, I breathe, “You moaned my name,” and ignore the way she flinches at the realization I’ve heard that too. “It’s my turn now.” When her light blue eyes remain stuck on mine, I insist, “Number eighteen.”
Make me feel pretty.
I’m not sure this is what she had in mind when she wrote that, nor do I want to pretend watching her orgasm won’t be the best thing that’s ever happened to me, but I mean it.
She needs to know there is a man who wants her.
And though it’ll complicate everything—and I will inevitably mess it up—I am only human. I’ve wanted to revere every inch of her body since the night I met her.
I never stood a chance.
After another moment of hesitation, her hand disappears under her shorts and panties, and my mouth goes dry. The vibration intensifies and mixes with the wet noise of her pussy, followed by her worked-up breaths, though she’s trying as best as she can to smother those. I can’t say when I last blinked as my arm wraps around her to pull her closer.
Her legs spread, and eyelids fluttering, she lets out a strangled moan.
Fuck me, it’s the best noise in the whole world.
“Barbie,” I whisper as her hips swing back and forth. Her teeth snag her bottom lip, unbridled and honest desperation pouring out from her squinted eyes. Brushing a blonde and pink lock away from her shoulder, my lips drop to her neck, and I keep my eyes glued to her reflection. She’s so gorgeous it hurts, her body writhing against mine as she looks for more friction. “Please, don’t hold back. Let me hear it.”
“Oh, yes.” She pushes her ass back, rubbing it against me until I can taste an orgasm coming. “L-Logan,” she whines, and with a moan, I sink my teeth into her skin.
I need her to stop saying my name. Stop moving. Stop moaning and holding that vibrator against her clit.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper in her ear. My hips buck forward, my cock straining against my sweatpants and using her perfectly round ass for friction. I can feel it moisten at the tip, feel my balls tighten with each of her needy whimpers. “Get your tight hole wet for me.”
Her eyes widen for a moment, then turn languid, and her free hand reaches back to pull my hair.
I groan at the sting on my scalp, my fingers digging into the skin of her hip. “If that shocks you, you won’t be able to look into my eyes once I’m done with you.”
Will I ever be done with her, is the question.
When I wrap my hand around her neck, she gasps, her throat bobbing against my palm and her eyes searching mine in the mirror.
I have to keep reminding myself to go easy on her—that this is all new, and she might not be into the type of rough sex I like. But she looks pleased, her eyes rolling back, and it definitely makes me want to find out what her limit is.
“Let me watch you come.”
She stares at my reflection, so I tighten my hold around her neck.
“Now, Barbie.”
Before I come myself.
Her eyes roll, and her throat works hard, the sweetest noises coming out of her lips as moisture drips down her thighs.
“Keep your eyes on me,” I whisper. Her head falls back, her eyes two dark slits directed at the mirror. “You’ve been driving me mad since the first moment I laid eyes on you, Barbie. And every day, I think I’ve reached the peak—that I can’t possibly want you more than I already do. Then you wear one of your short dresses, laugh with your mouth open and your eyes shining. You talk in that low voice that’s so sexy. And now, look at this,” I say, jerking my chin toward the mirror. “You’ve never been more beautiful.”
“God,” she whines, digging her nails into the skin of my back. Her whole body shakes as she reaches the peak of her pleasure, her cheeks flushed, and a thin layer of sweat over her forehead. “Logan—fuck!”
When she lets go, I hiss. My cock hurts, my balls hurt, my head hurts. But the scratches left by her nails on my right shoulder sting so perfectly. She’s perfect.
“Another reason why I’d never date you,” she says as she catches her breath. She turns around, nervously pulling at her shirt, which has ridden up her side. “You make me do all the work.”