Sixteen
Danica
I glance at the bottle of wine in Austin’s hand, my curiosity piqued not just by the vintage, but by his unexpected presence. Why is he here? My mind flashes to the memory of him with that woman at the Velvet Anomaly show, and a twist of something like jealousy tugs at my insides. I push it away, focusing instead on the more pressing matter. The man standing in my living room is every bit as attractive as he was earlier tonight. The way his Velvet Anomaly T-shirt clings to his torso suggests an easy strength, and his jeans… Well, they’re just jeans, but they seem to hug all the right places, and I do mean the right places.
“Hope you like pinot noir,” Austin says.
“Who doesn’t?” I manage a smile back, even as my heart races for reasons I refuse to explore. I pull out two glasses, grateful for the mundane task. It gives me a moment—a moment to breathe, to think, to steel myself against whatever this is.
Glassware in hand, I return to the sanctuary of my small but cozy living room. Here, surrounded by cushions and Anna’s familiar knick-knacks, I can almost convince myself I’m in control. I settle into the corner of the couch, pulling my legs up under me, wrapping myself in the blanket that’s always draped over the back. It’s a protective cocoon, soft and warm and safe.
“How was your day?” Austin asks, pouring ruby liquid.
“The concert was great, but before that… Let’s just say I only let you in because you had liquor.”
“I have more at my place if you decide you want something stronger.”
I take a tentative sip of the wine and smile. “No, this is perfect.”
Austin’s eyes appear to settle on my throat. “Cheers,” he says, raising his glass.
“Cheers.” Our glasses clink, and I take another longer sip of the pinot noir. It’s good, and it helps me relax just a fraction, helps me find the courage to meet his gaze.
“This is a pinot from the Willamette Valley in Oregon. We did a company meeting there a few years ago, and I liked it so much I bought a case. They don’t sell this in stores. Only at the vineyard.”
I take another sip. “This is outstanding. I mean, I can’t tell you the notes and flavors, but it tastes very good.”
Austin throws his head back and laughs. “Don’t you sometimes wonder if people who say that aren’t making it up?”
I laugh. “Yes! But I also don’t have a discriminating palate.”
“You just know what you like.” His eyes bore into me, making my heart race.
I need to change the subject. “I didn’t know you were a Velvet Anomaly fan,” I tell him. It’s either comment on the band or ask why he’s here again, and I’m starting to think I won’t be ready for that answer.
He laughs. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
I believe him, and part of me wants to change that. I twirl the stem of the wine glass between my fingers, watching the way the liquid swirls, a deep burgundy whirlpool. “So how long have you been into them?” I ask.
Austin’s smile is nostalgic as he leans back into the armchair opposite me. “Since they started,” he confesses. “I went to school with Turner Bishop.”
“Wait, the lead singer? That Turner Bishop?”
“The one and only.” His laughter is a low rumble. “We went to Georgia Tech together. His senior project was a car design he sold to finance their first album. The guy was always so conflicted in school. His mother wanted him to be an engineer, but music was calling his name.”
“Wow. That’s…actually really impressive.” Admiration tinges my words, both for Turner’s commitment and Austin’s casual revelation. I’m seeing a sliver of a world I’ve only ever glimpsed from the outside.
“Did you enjoy the show?” he asks, filling the silence between us.
“I did. That’s the second time I’ve seen them. My favorite song is ‘Unchecked Love’,” I tell him. “How about you?”
“I don’t know that I have a favorite.” He shakes his head. “I hope the break they’re planning is only going to be a few months. I hate to think they may not get back together. I hung out with the band after the show, and it seems Turner is trying to find himself something to do next.”
“Like go solo?”
Austin laughs. “He wants to come work at my company.”
“What do you need a rock star for?”
“We don’t. And we don’t need an automotive design engineer either.”
“What are you going to tell him?”
“I’ve put him off for now,” Austin says after a moment, shifting forward, elbows resting on his knees. “How about you? How’s work going these days?”
“Ah, not so great,” I admit, setting my glass down and hugging the blanket tighter around myself. “The company didn’t get their next round of funding. I know they’re still working on it, and our customers haven’t bailed, but if the founder can’t find money, it looks like I’m back on the job hunt.”
“That’s rough, Danica.” He frowns. “But San Francisco’s always looking for good HR people, so someone with your skills shouldn’t have too much trouble finding something new.”
“Thanks. I hope you’re right. I haven’t worked for them very long, though, so I’m worried about how that looks.” I reach for the bottle, pouring the last of the crimson liquid into our glasses. “It’s just… Everything’s so uncertain now.”
Austin takes his glass, swirling the wine thoughtfully. “I know how that feels,” he admits. “My company was on the brink once, teetering on the edge of collapse. But we pulled through. These things have a way of working themselves out.” His eyes hold mine, steady and reassuring.
“Thanks. I hope my next opportunity is just around the corner.”
“Me too.” He raises his glass in a silent toast, and I mirror the gesture.
As the night unfurls, the air between us grows lighter, playful even. He teases me about my obsession with office supplies—I love colored pens, markers, and fancy papers—and I counter with gentle jabs at his apparent infatuation with shoes after he tells me he owns over one hundred and fifty pairs. We laugh, and with each chuckle, the room seems to shrink, bringing us closer together.
“Come on, Danica,” he chides as he leans back against the couch. He joined me here at some point. “You think Twilight is a cinematic masterpiece?”
“I’m Team Edward all the way,” I shoot back. “Plus, it nails the strangeness that happens on the Olympic Peninsula perfectly.”
“You don’t think his glittering skin and his showing up whenever she thinks of him is a bit strange?” he says with an exaggerated sigh.
“It’s a great story,” I say in defense of a book I read when I was too young. “Did you know E.L. James’ Fifty Shades of Grey was originally fan fiction of Twilight ?”
“Now Fifty Shades , I could get into that.” His eyes light up.
That is exactly what I should not be encouraging. I pretend to stifle a yawn, and he feigns outrage, though his eyes dance with amusement.
“Your laugh,” Austin says a little while later. “It’s infectious.”
“Is that so?” I can’t suppress the flutter in my stomach, nor the slight curve of my lips. “I could say the same for your smile.”
“Then I’ll have to smile more often.” There’s an invitation in his words, a flirtation that sends a thrill through me.
“Please do,” I whisper, and there’s no mistaking my intent. We’re in a dangerous dance now, one step away from crossing lines that, until tonight, had seemed indelibly drawn. But the wine has made me bold, and his presence has set alight a curiosity within me, a desire to explore the what-ifs that hang suspended in the air.
I stand, busying myself to put some space between us before I jump him. But Austin follows me into the kitchen, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from him. As I turn to face him, the world tilts slightly, evidence of a pleasant buzz from the alcohol, and I crash into his chest. Strong arms catch me, steadying my wobbly stance.
“Whoa there.” He chuckles, his breath tickling my ear.
“Sorry,” I mumble, though I’m not sure what for—the inadvertent collision or the fact that I don’t really mind it.
He brushes a stray lock of hair from my forehead, a touch so tender it tugs at something deep inside me. Our eyes meet and hold, and his gaze is a caress, soft and questioning, as if he’s seeking permission for something both of us want.
Then he leans down, his lips grazing mine in a whisper of a kiss that ignites every nerve ending. Fireworks explode behind my closed lids, vibrant and wild. His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me close, and I melt into him.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, with an intensity that’s almost palpable. He’s giving me control, the chance to say no . But everything within me screams yes . My heart hammers against my ribcage, my skin tingles where he touches me, and I know I don’t want this to stop.
I lean forward, closing the distance between us once more. This time, the kiss is fierce, full of the pent-up longing that’s been simmering between us all evening. His tongue sweeps through my lips, claiming me with a passion that sends shivers down my spine. We’re lost in each other, anchored only by the touch of our mouths and the shared heat that flares with each movement.
We stand there, in the middle of the kitchen, wrapped up in a kiss that feels like a promise. It’s reckless, like we’re teenagers again, stealing moments that belong to no one but us.
“Danica,” he murmurs, and the sound of my name on his tongue is another kind of kiss, sending my senses reeling.
“More,” is all I can manage in response, and it’s enough. It has to be.
After a moment, though, my breath catches as I find the strength to press my palms against Austin’s chest, pushing him back. His eyes, clouded with a mix of desire and confusion, search mine for an explanation. “We shouldn’t,” I gasp, trying to steady my racing heart. “I’m not the kind of girl you typically date.”
Austin cocks his head to the side. “And what kind of girl is that?” he asks.
“Models, actresses, rock stars.” I shake my head. “This is a bad idea.”
He steps closer, his height casting a comforting shadow over me. He leans down, and his lips brush mine so softly it’s like he’s rewriting our narrative with a single, chaste kiss. “I’m not with Sandrine,” he whispers. “And I would very much like to see more of you.” His words dance between us, laced with promise.
In that moment, despite the flutter of nerves in my belly, I can’t help but believe him. I can’t pinpoint exactly when the shift happens, but suddenly, it’s like I’m someone else—someone daring, someone unafraid of the consequences. Standing before Austin, I find the edge of my robe. The fabric slips away with a whisper, revealing the tiny camisole clinging to my skin beneath. His gaze intensifies, and every inch of me comes alive under his scrutiny.
“Wow.” He exhales, the word hanging in the air between us.
I bite down on my bottom lip, a nervous habit that feels oddly fitting now, a silent invitation. He steps closer, and our breaths mingle. When his lips capture mine, there’s an urgency that belies the tenderness of his kiss. A whimper escapes me as his teeth tug at my lip, a perfect echo of the yearning swirl inside me.
His hand, warm and confident, finds the strap of my camisole. With a deft movement, it slides off my shoulder, and his fingers graze the sensitive skin just above my now-pebbled nipple. The pinch that follows sends a jolt through me, sharp and sweet, and I gasp, arching into his touch.
“Danica, you’re so responsive,” he murmurs against my mouth, his voice a low rumble that vibrates straight to my core. “Every touch, every word… It’s like you’re made of fire.”
He’s right. I am aflame, burning from the inside out, consumed by a desire I no longer have any intention of quelling. Every part of me screams for more, for him, and I know that whatever he asks of me, my answer will be yes. Because in this moment, I want nothing more than to lose myself in the blaze we’re creating together.
He sweeps me up, carrying me back to the bedroom and a bed that now seems like a stage for the night’s unfolding drama. His hands are both gentle and insistent. The cool air hits my skin, but I’m far from cold. The heat radiating from his gaze could set the very air on fire.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathes as my sleep shorts join the growing pile of discarded clothing. His eyes shine with a mixture of desire and something akin to reverence as they trail over me. “Absolutely stunning.”
I’m laid bare before him, the vulnerability of the moment clashing with the powerful urge to be seen, to be admired by this man whose every look sends shivers down my spine. He steps back, creating space between us, and I watch, entranced, as he begins to undress. As each piece of his clothing hits the floor, it’s like he’s peeling away layers, the complications and pretenses falling away with them.
“Show me,” he commands softly, his voice rough. “Show me how wet you are for me.”
My body responds before my mind fully catches up, my legs parting almost of their own accord, my hand moving in a dance it knows all too well. It’s a private ritual made public, and yet there’s no room for embarrassment, only an aching need that drowns out every other sensation.
“Like this?” I whisper, my fingers slipping easily through the slickness. I moan at the contact.
Austin’s groan mirrors mine, a raw sound filled with wanting. He watches me, and it feels like he’s touching me with his gaze alone. His pants are undone, his arousal evident, and he wraps his hand around himself, his movements syncing with the rhythm of my own exploration.
“Fuck, Danica, you’re so sexy,” he growls, his voice thick with lust. “Now, show me… Show me what you like.”
I’m caught in a magnetic pull toward pleasure and sharing the deepest parts of myself with him. My mouth finds my fingers, tasting the tangy evidence of my desire, and I hear his sharp intake of breath, see the way he tightens his grip.
“Like this,” I say again, guiding my fingers back to the source of my heat, showing him the strokes and circles that have led me to countless nights of solace. But tonight, I don’t want solitude. I want him, all of him, filling me and erasing the lingering doubt that flickers at the edge of my consciousness.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, his approval sending waves of pride through me. “Keep going, just like that.”
The room fades away until there’s nothing but the two of us, caught in an orbit of passion where only our mutual desire holds any gravity. And I am weightless, adrift, ready to collide with him in a burst of stars and endless light.
My breath catches as my fingers dance, strumming my clit while the other hand delves deeper, finding a rhythm that parallels the pounding pulse throughout my body. Austin’s gaze is an inferno, igniting every nerve ending as he watches, transfixed.
“Danica,” his voice is a husky whisper, filled with raw need as he lowers himself, kneeling between my spread legs. His lips capture the fingers of my right hand, sucking them into the warmth of his mouth, and my back arches off the bed in response. It’s too much and not enough all at once.
And then he’s there, leaning over me, one of my legs draped over his shoulder as he dives in, lips and tongue paying homage to the most intimate part of me. The sensation is electric, spiraling out from my core to every extremity. My hands tangle in his hair, urging him closer, deeper, as he devours me with a fervor that tips me headlong into an intense climax. Every muscle clenches, and I’m consumed by a blaze of pleasure so fierce it nearly blinds me.
As I float back down, panting and spent, Austin straightens up. There’s a rustle of foil, and I watch through half-lidded eyes as he tears the wrapper open. The sight of him rolling the condom over his impressive length sends another thrill of anticipation coursing through me. I can’t help but wonder if—
“You’re wondering if it’ll fit,” he says. His fingers, warm and sure, roll over my nipples, coaxing them into hard peaks, stoking the fire within me anew. “It will. I promise.”
His assurance calms my flicker of apprehension, and my desire flares again, eclipsing any doubts. He knows, he understands, and I trust him. With Austin, I’m ready to explore depths I’ve never known, certain that he’ll be there to catch me if I fall.
I open my legs wide as heat pools between my thighs. Austin’s body hovers over mine, his eyes locked on me with an intensity that ignites something primal. His cock slips between my folds, tender and insistent, and I arch again, inviting him deeper into my core.
“Harder,” I breathe, a plea wrapped in a whisper.
“Are you sure?” he asks, even as he begins to move within me, a slow rhythm that teases and tempts.
“Yes,” I gasp.
The smacking sound of our bodies colliding fills the room, a carnal symphony propelling me toward the edge. With every thrust, I’m closer, racing toward release, but just as I’m about to tumble over, he stops.
“Wait,” I plead, the word torn from my lips.
Austin leans down, his breath hot against my ear. “I’m not done with you yet.” His voice is low, commanding. “Turn over. Get on your knees,” he instructs.
Though my heart pounds, trying to regain its rhythm after the frantic pace he’s set, I obey. My movements are sluggish, my brain catching up with the reality of what’s unfolding. But there’s no space for second-guessing, not now, not with the way my body sings under his touch.
As I position myself, Austin pulls me to the edge of the bed. His hand lands on my backside—a sharp, stinging spank that wrenches a moan from deep within me.
“You’re perfect,” he says, and I feel it, the truth of his words resonating.
He enters me again, this time with a force that leaves no room for doubt. I catch a glimpse of us in the mirrored closet doors—his dark hair a stark contrast against my lighter strands, his body a shadow merging with mine. “Play with your clit. Strum it hard,” Austin commands, and his voice is the trigger I need.
My fingers dance to his dictation, circling, pressing, strumming with a frenzied beat that echoes the slap of his hand against my skin. The sting melds into pleasure, a catalyst that sends me spiraling into a second climax, more intense than the first. Austin follows, his groans mingling with my cries as we both descend down the dark alley of bliss, together lost, together found.
Gasping for breath, I press into the softness of the bed and brace myself for the cold that’s sure to follow. After a moment, Austin retreats to the bathroom, and I swallow the lump in my throat, convincing myself that it’s okay if he leaves now. It has to be okay.
The toilet flushes, water runs, and the mundane sounds oddly amplify the silence of the room. I curl my fingers into the sheets, still warm from our bodies intertwined. The best sex of my life , a voice inside me whispers, and I want to cling to the feeling like a lifeline. But no, I tell myself sternly, I need to be an adult about this. One night, one incredible memory. That should be enough.
Then he’s back, bringing with him a hint of mint toothpaste. He holds a damp face cloth, and as he gently wipes my skin, cleaning away the evidence of our shared passion, I watch him through heavy eyes. His touch is tender, reverent even, as if he’s memorizing the curves and valleys of my flesh. Then the cloth drops to the floor with a soft thud, forgotten.
“Danica,” Austin murmurs as he slips into the bed beside me. With an arm that feels both strong and impossibly gentle, he pulls me close, enveloping me in his embrace. The stubble on his chin grazes my ear.
“I’m not done with you yet,” he breathes, voice low and intimate, and something flares deep within me, a flicker of desire reignited.
“Neither am I,” escapes from my lips before I can catch it, betraying my resolve to keep emotions at bay. The words hang between us, charged and heavy, and I wonder if they might just be the truth.