18. JACK
18
JACK
I don’t know what to make of Elly. We’ve always had this slightly antagonistic flirtatious relationship, but in spite of all my claims to the contrary, I never knew whether it was one that would definitely go anywhere until she orgasmed in my lap last night. Brought herself off right there on my crotch.
Fuck me, that was one of the hottest things I’ve ever experienced, and it took an extraordinary force of will not to touch her. If she’d lasted a moment longer, I’d have come right there with her. I was pretty pleased I didn’t, to be honest, because it gives me the edge. The upper hand. I’m winning.
And yet, I don’t feel good about it. I’m not sure how I feel, especially given Elly’s reaction when it was all over. She was a fireball of frustration, on the verge of tears, yelling that she’d never sleep with me. If she’d said she wanted to quit, I’d have let her walk away, no questions asked. But she didn’t, and her refusal gives me hope that I’m still in with a chance.
Only when she finally gives in, sinking to her knees and begging me to satisfy the need that only I can satisfy, will I truly feel like I’ve won. But fuck me, I want that woman so much, I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to hold back from doing it first.
Images of her opening her eyes, staring right at me as she came, burst across my mental screen like fireworks.
My dick stirs at the memory, and I’m mildly surprised, given I’ve already jerked off thinking about it twice this morning and it’s only 11 am. If I wasn’t in the office, I’d beat another one out, because these thoughts are distracting. I can’t focus.
I haven’t seen her today. She didn’t come down for breakfast. We didn’t even pass one another in the hall before I left for work. Perhaps she’s embarrassed. There’s no reason to be. I’m not judging her. As far as I’m concerned, the whole thing was bloody brilliant, until the end, which was confusing as fuck.
Have we taken this game too far? Did I push too hard? Do we need to talk about it?
I sit back in my chair, strumming my fingers on the desk. I’m itching to call her. Send a text. Check she’s all right. But we haven’t had that sort of contact since we agreed to play the game. Feels like a boundary I’m not sure I should cross.
But I want to because I’m pretty sure we could have a really good time together for the next couple of months. And— fuck —seeing her let loose on me, hearing those noises she made as she came, feeling the way her body twitched with pleasure… I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want to see her do that again. Preferably naked and sitting on my dick.
A knock on my office door rips me from my thoughts. “Come in,” I call.
Seb Hawkston blasts into my office, a massive grin on his face. “Great night last night. Thanks so much. I feel a bit rotten today though.” He taps his head, letting me know he’s got a hangover.
“Glad you enjoyed it.”
“Listen, about Elly,” Seb begins, and I immediately tense up. “Can I get her number?”
Images of Elly, arms latched around my neck, moaning in my ear, assault my brain again. “Err, no.”
Seb’s mouth twitches, eyes alert. “Why not?”
I mentally fumble for a reason but come up short.
Seb laughs, and the sound makes me grit my teeth. I’m not sure there’s ever been a more annoying noise. “I’ve never seen you so distracted by a woman before,” he says.
I push my chair back from my desk and stare at him. “You came in here to laugh at me?”
Seb slides both hands into his trouser pockets. “Not exactly. I wanted to double-check. I can normally get a good read on a room and the people in it. I offered her my card last night and told her to call, but she didn’t take it.”
A traitorous heat simmers through me. If she had taken his card, I would have been crushed. Completely flattened. “She didn’t?”
“Nah. She’s into you.”
I drop my forehead into my hand. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with Elly. The game is fun, but it has put limits on what we can be. What she thinks I can offer her. And clearly, after her reaction last night, it's more complicated than it should be. Maybe it was a mistake, but I can hardly back out now, can I?
I don’t fucking know what I want from her, but Seb’s right. She is distracting. She fills my thoughts like no one else ever has.
“But if I’m wrong, and you aren’t keen, let me know,” Seb continues, his words tearing me from my thoughts. “I’d still like to take her out.”
I respond without thinking. “Don’t fucking touch her. Don’t even try, and if you do, I’ll—”
Seb laughs again, cutting me off, but when I glare at him, he compresses a smile as though he finds my sudden protectiveness amusing. “You are keen, then. That’s all I needed to know.” He pauses to observe me, then shakes his head. “ Fuck . I’ve never seen you like this.”
He doesn’t say another word and saunters out of my office. For a few minutes, I sit staring into space. Am I really that different this time?
A montage of Elly begins playing in my mind. Damn Seb, coming in here and making me think of her. Fuck it, who am I kidding? All I’ve done is think about her. Might as well plunge right in. Indulge myself . I pull my phone out of my pocket and, without pausing to question it, I bring up TikTok and search Elly’s name.
A bunch of Ellies come up, but none of them are right.
I do the same with Instagram. Facebook. I even try X, but there is nothing anywhere. She has no social media presence at all.
An unexpected annoyance flares. How does she expect anyone to find her music if she’s not putting it out there? I send Kate a message.
Me: Is Elly on social media? For her music?
Kate: Nope. You still trying to work out if she’s good enough for Nico’s party? Because she is.
I type a response. Delete it. Type another and delete it, then Kate sends one.
Kate: Should I be worried that you’re sitting at your desk stalking Elly when you should be working?
Me: I’m not stalking. Just interested.
Kate: Don’t believe you for a second. Elly’s not a dish to be tasted at the buffet. Leave her alone and get back to work.
When I get home, Elly’s playing the guitar and singing in her room, and something in my stomach flutters. The word ‘ butterflies’ springs to mind. I roll my eyes at myself, but in spite of whatever reaction I’m having to the sound of her voice, I take off my coat and jacket, hang them up, and take the stairs to her room. There is no way I am letting her ignore me, or what happened last night.
She might be able to pretend that orgasm didn’t happen, but I can’t. She’s given me the sweetest taste of what it might be like to have her, and I am desperate for more.
I stand outside her room, holding my breath, listening to her sing. The melody, the sweet cascade of notes, elicits an emotional response that I’ve never felt from any music other than Elly’s. I could stay here all night, letting her songs drift into my subconscious and carry me away to some other world. She’s a siren. A witch, casting a spell with music that floods my veins like a drug.
She’s really good. I have no idea why she hasn’t made it yet, whatever that looks like. She should be putting this stuff out in the world. Sharing her gift. That annoyance flares again, but at the same time something stirs in my chest, as though her song is tugging on my heart. Maybe even my soul...
Reality check. I’m lurking outside my housemate’s room, listening to her sing, hoping I get to witness her orgasm again. This is not sustainable behaviour.
I knock on the door, and the noise stops.
“Go away.”
Hmm . Maybe she’s not as up for this game as I thought she was. I knock again, more gently this time, and lean right against the door when I say, “Are you avoiding me?” The guitar begins strumming again, but she’s no longer singing. I knock again. “Come on, El. Open up.”
Silence is followed by soft footsteps pacing towards the door, and my chest tightens.
The door swings open, revealing Elly in her pyjamas and those pink fluffy slippers back on her feet. I note them, but say nothing.
“What do you want?” She cocks a hip, one fine-fingered hand resting on it. Her eyes blaze like she wants to raze me to the ground. Everything I meant to say withers and dies in my mouth. What the fuck was I going to do? Give her a winning smile and say, ‘Hey, El, how about some more orgasms?’ Even I’m not enough of a dick to realise that, based on the look on her face, she’s not going to take me up on it.
“If you don’t have anything to say, then go away,” she quips. “I don’t want to play with you right now. This is my practise time. It’s important. Don’t interrupt me when I’m playing.”
Frustration crackles through me. Why is she being like this? Elly goes to shut the door, but I stick out my hand to stop it. She might be mad, but she doesn’t have the strength to shut me out.
“If you take it so seriously, why don’t you have any social media?”
She backs up a step, the anger draining from her face. My question has obviously knocked the wind out of her sails.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “I looked you up, and there’s nothing. Can’t find your music anywhere. How do you expect to make it if you won’t let anyone hear it?”
“I do let people hear it,” she mutters.
“At the Marchmont Arms? That dive in the West End? Who the fuck do you think is going to hear you down there? Are you that na?ve?” With each question, the harshness in my tone increases.
Elly’s shrinking before me, wilting like I’m stealing all her nutrients. An inner voice warns me to stop, trying to remind me that this isn’t what I meant to say when I came up here. Not even close, but her defensiveness has me on the attack. And if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s spot other people’s weaknesses. I’ve been doing it ever since I was a kid, so I could know what they were and make sure I didn’t fucking have any.
“Fuck you,” she snarls. “My career is none of your business. How dare—”
“No.” The word erupts from my mouth, and Elly tries to push the door closed again, but I’m still holding it open. “Don’t shut me out. This is important. You want to know what I think?”
“No. No, I don’t.”
“I think you’re frightened, and that’s why you’re stuck in this hopeless rut of waitressing and gigs. Do you want to spend your life waiting tables and singing in that shithole? Why aren’t you out there looking for a manager? An agent? Something?”
These words jolt her, as though they’re charged with a force that runs right through her body. I’ve hit a nerve; by the looks of it, a fucking big one.
She lunges towards me, hands striking my chest, but the impact is negligible, like moths batting the underside of a lampshade. “Get out. Get out of my room.”
I catch her wrists, holding her still. She’s breathing unevenly, snorting exhalations through flared nostrils. I’ve never seen her look so angry. Not that I’m surprised, because I’ve gone for the jugular tonight, and I really don’t know why, but now that I’ve started, I can’t stop.
“You can dance for me like you did last night, all dressed up and playing a role, and that causes you no issues. You can come on my lap, for fuck’s sake. But putting your music out there? Letting people see something that actually means something to you? Where you’re not pretending? You can’t fucking do it.”
She wrenches her hands out of my grip and thrusts her chin forward. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t understand—” She lets out an angry groan. “I don’t know why I’m even bothering to explain myself to you. Get the fuck out of my room. Get out. Get out,” she repeats through gritted teeth, eyes burning with rage. But I’m not listening to her, because—for reasons I don’t even understand—I’m pretty fucking pissed off about this.
“Not until you hear me. You’re good. You’re really fucking good, and if you don’t put yourself out there, no one will find you. The world doesn’t owe you anything. No one is coming to get you, to drag you out of obscurity. Fame and fortune aren’t going to appear on a silver fucking platter, no matter how much time you spend practising.”
Her eyes well up as she stares at me. Shit . I didn’t mean to make her cry, and all I want to do now is put my arms around her and comfort her, tell her I’m sorry and I don’t mean any of it, but I can’t lie to her. I do mean it. I mean every fucking word, even if I didn’t mean to say any of it.
“Save your pep talk for your employees. I don’t need your help. I can do this on my own.” Her voice breaks, and I feel the pain of it right in my chest.
This time, when she goes to slam the door, I step out of the way and let it happen. I cup my hands around the back of my head and let out a frustrated groan.
What the fuck just happened here?