18. James
Chapter 18
James
A s soon as the Uber slows to a stop, I fling the door open and make a beeline for my flat. Once inside, I grab a beer from the fridge, taking a large gulp before setting it down on the counter. The rush of cold bubbles slides down my throat, cooling me. The icy sensation offers a fleeting reprieve, but it does nothing to drown the guilt clawing its way up my throat. I storm to the bathroom and turn the shower on full blast. I swivel on my feet and brace my hands on the vanity, staring at my reflection.
The desire on April’s face is frozen in my mind as both remorse and need eat away at me. There was something about the haunted look in her eyes as she spilled her feelings like ink on paper. The way they turned from dark and tortured to heated as I shifted closer. I can’t forget the way she felt after cracking herself open and letting me see her rawest parts. I saw her shattered pieces, but still, her beauty outshone everything.
Usually, after wrapping up a gig, I wind down by sharing a pint with the boys before heading home with whoever’s attached themselves to my arm that night. Women like musicians; I learned that young. Ever since my relationship with Abi went up in flames, I’ve become accustomed to living alone, sleeping alone, and waking up alone. I like the freedom of doing whatever I want, whenever I want. I like the luxury of fucking whoever I want, whenever I want, with no strings attached.
I don’t, however, typically escort my brother’s ex-fiancée home, feel her up, and nearly fucking kiss her. But after seeing her face when she realised Lucas was at the Mayfair, on a date, no less, I couldn’t just let her go home to solitude.
Her hurt was palpable, and she looked as though she needed someone—someone who wasn’t going to take her home to sleep in a guest room while they hopped into bed with their own husband. The last thing she needed was the stark reminder of her failed engagement after seeing Lucas with a new woman. A woman I’ve heard nothing about, but that honestly isn’t a surprise.
I should know.
“Fuck!” I push away and step into the shower, letting out a breath of relief as the hot water pelts my skin.
Too far. I took it too far.
Closing my eyes, I try to convince myself that nothing happened. I need the lie right now to shield myself from the truth.
I never catch feelings, never.
I haven’t let myself; I haven’t wanted to. Not after Abi.
But I can’t fucking help it. April is alluring.
I’ve always envied my brother for having her, knowing she deserved better. She’s good— too good for me , I tell myself.
I come to two conclusions:
Number one: I’m undoubtedly attracted to April.
Number two: I can’t have her.
I need to wring this frustration out.
I grasp my hard cock and begin to pump my hand up and down. Closing my eyes, I picture her little leather skirt. The way her hips swayed as she danced, her heels elongating her creamy legs, and how sexy she looked moving to the music I was playing. I wish I could wrap her legs around me and fuck her.
I replay the way her body reacted to my touch when I ran my thumb over her hard nipple and cupped her pussy. The needy little noises she made.
Fuck .
I imagine my hand travelling underneath her tiny skirt, sliding up her thigh, teasing her until I reach the thin, drenched fabric covering her sweet pussy.
I envision pushing aside the flimsy material and running my fingers through her wetness, anticipating the sounds she would make as she arches back, pleading for more.
Finally pushing two fingers inside her. She’d be tight and hot. My thumb slowly circling her swollen clit as her hips rock, drenching me as she grinds against my hand. I imagine leaning in to kiss my way up the exposed column of her neck, and the tropical scent of her shampoo overwhelming my senses. I visualise sucking and nipping her supple skin while she runs her hands through my hair, urging me closer. And then, when she’s finally wet and greedy enough, I would withdraw my fingers before adding a third, gently rubbing over her sensitive spot until she shudders violently, coating my hand in her release.
That does it.
With a grunt, I release long ropes of cum before collapsing against the tiled wall. That was all it could be now: a fleeting fantasy that never came to fruition and would never hold any real significance in the long run, because she wouldn’t go for me. She wants him.
I lather up with body wash, rinse, then step out and dry off.
After throwing on pyjama bottoms, I sink into bed and let the evening fade away.
I finally surrender to sleep, seeking solace in the darkness.