CHAPTER 8 #2
I change the babydoll-pink color of her bra and panties, because it reminds me of Elle and makes me feel like a bastard.
So baby-blue it is, a set just as sheer, if not more so, than what she wore during her audition.
Only this time, it’s better, because it’s my fantasy she’s wielding as she moves, my music she’s swaying her hips to, and my gaze the only one she’s performing for.
I rub my chest, massaging my pecs before letting my hand fall and cup the bulge in my jeans.
There are times, like in the shower, when I’m limited on hot water supply when I just get right to it, but this isn’t one of them. Alone, with nothing but time on my hands today, I edge myself, taking my time and letting the dance build as she moves.
The music shifts U2’s “With or Without You” as I rub my cock over my jeans and focus on her hands skimming over her body as she gets lost in song after song.
When “In the Air Tonight” by Phil Collins kicks in, my jeans are open, my dick is in my hand being teased and taunted with strokes and pulls as my other hand plays across my chest. The heat in the loft and on my skin rises as her performance becomes more sensual. A deliberate, sinful tease.
The light blue pops against Lily’s golden skin.
She comes closer, and the sight of her small nipples on display through the fabric elicits a deep moan from my lips.
She places her hands on the coffee table in front of me and bends forward, her tits nearly spilling out of the bra.
In the fantasy, she swipes the puzzle to the floor and crawls toward me.
She kneels there in front of me and spreads her thighs wide, giving me a close-up view of her gorgeous body as she undulates to the music.
Her hands slowly travel up her body, palming her breasts, then reaching behind her to release the clasp of her bra.
Slowly, and with a sly smile, she drops it to the floor.
Her panties come off seconds later, and I melt them away.
She sweeps her beautiful hair from one side to the other and gazes straight at me.
Reaching out, she takes my hand and moves over me, straddling my lap.
The fantasy builds from there. Her hands roaming over my body, mine doing the same to hers.
I pump my cock harder and faster as I imagine what it would be like to sink into her pussy for the first time. That first moment. The wet glide as I buried myself inch by inch. The tight grip of her around me. What her breathy moans would sound like. And fuck, her sultry voice in my ear.
The daydream spins a little darker as I envision a different scenario, her beneath me, fucking her in a way that’s not sweet or soft. Giving her all of me and watching her fall apart.
My balls fucking tingle. My mind runs wild with this part of the fantasy. I thrust and fuck into her, as deep as I can get, over and over again until she comes undone and cries my name.
I’m jerking myself hard and fast. An avalanche shifts, and a rumble of pleasure vibrates through me.
Like a genie escaping a bottle, my orgasm erupts.
It’s liquid bliss as far as I’m concerned, ribbons of cum shoot out from my tip, landing across my chest and funneling over the head of my cock.
I keep pumping as it goes on and on, an endless fountain because it’s been too fucking long since I’ve felt anything like it.
I ride those waves of pleasure until they slowly recede, leaving me a blissed-out state.
I’m not sure how the daydream wielded itself into a motion picture inside my head, but it did, and sure as fuck took on a life of its own.
Two abrupt knocks at the door startle the shit out of me. I scramble off the couch as muttered curses spill from my lips.
Fuck. “Be right there. Just, uh… give me a sec.” In the kitchen, I wash my hands and grab a towel, quickly wetting it to wipe myself down. I button up my jeans with hurried fingers as I head to the front door.
Deidre, one of my tenants, stands on the other side of the door, sporting an all-too-knowing smirk when I open it.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” she asks, peering over my shoulder for a split second, even standing a little on her tiptoes to see around me.
I comb my hair away from my face as concern floods me.
“Hey, Deidre. What’s up? Something broken at your place?
” There’s always something breaking in one of the units, and since I don’t trust property management companies anymore, not after what happened with Dad’s place, I’m left holding the bag when shit goes awry.
But being a landlord has its perks too—a steady stream of income, neighbors I handpick, and helping people like Deidre.
When I pull the door shut somewhat behind me, it forces her to focus on me instead of her search for the woman she thinks is in my apartment.
Honestly, it makes me a little uncomfortable as her eyes travel over the expanse of my chest and my tattoos, something I usually keep hidden from the world.
Not just due to the scars, but because I hate the questions my tattoos inevitably bring.
“Sorry, let me just grab a shirt, and I’ll be right back.”
“I don’t mind,” she calls after me, but I’m already moving through my place. Finding what I need in my middle drawer, I grab the navy shirt at the top and yank it on. When I reenter the doorway, I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the frame. “What’s going on?”
Deidre looks good, healthy. She has facial scars from her years of drug use, but her brown skin is clear now.
Her hair is freshly styled in thick, colorful braids.
She’s even wearing a decently modest outfit, and she’s put on a good amount of weight.
I didn’t notice in passing, but it’s obvious now, as she stands in front of me, that she’s kept her promise to me and stayed clean.
Reaching behind her, she pulls an envelope from her back pocket and holds it out for me to take.
“I wanted to give you this in person. It’s my notice.
” I open it and thumb through the contents.
Inside is a check for two months’ rent and a letter.
She shakes her head when she sees my confusion.
“It’s not what you think. I got a new gig, a job in New Orleans—my auntie owns a restaurant and she’s been lookin’ for help.
My mom told her how I turned my life around, and she’s offered it to me.
She’s giving me a chance to study under her and become a chef. ”
The corner of my mouth twitches. I clamp down hard on the emotion burning in my chest. “Damn, Deidre—I’m happy for you.”
She shrugs, but I can see she’s proud of herself too. Her mouth spreads in a wide smile. “I thought you would be. I know I owe you so much more than—”
I cut her off by pulling out the check and ripping it up. Her jaw drops. “You don’t owe me anything. Seeing you turn your life around is enough for me.”
“Goose…”
“I mean it.”
She flushes, then rushes forward and wraps her arms around me. I stand there, arms bent and held out, until I awkwardly pat her back. She pulls away, pointing at me. “You’re the bee’s knees, pappi, you know? I hope you find a woman who can see that someday.”
I brush off the comment and ask her more about the move and her new position.
Eventually, I wish her my best and she leaves.
When I reenter my loft, I lean back against the door and feel the emotions rise.
Thoughts of the day I offered Diedre a second chance flood through me; thankfully, it’s a memory I don’t have to reach for or that has fallen into a pothole in my mind.
She didn’t trust me at first, didn’t trust herself, but damn… what a difference a year makes.
Raising my hand, I hold up my pointer finger, acknowledging my father and the request he made of me. “ Keep helping those who need it the most.”
Well, old man, I’m doing my part. Another person off the streets. Think you can start pulling some strings for me with the man upstairs? Because I could use a little help here, and I’m feeling a little lost in the weeds.
As I head to my room, guilt surges again. The shame of what I was doing before Deidre knocked rushes over me. Did she hear me? Wait for me to finish before knocking?
Nice, Finn. Real fucking nice.
I jump into the shower, scrubbing off the evidence of my sins.
Cold water, sharp and biting, is just what I need to clear the last hour from my mind.
When I’m done, I tie a towel around my waist and start on my morning routine, trimming up my goatee and shaving my jaw.
Afterward, I stare at myself in the mirror, letting my gaze roam over my chest, over the tattoo of the bird I can’t let go of.
It represents the way she disappeared from my life.
From a girl to a flight of birds, to nothing but smoke.
Lily’s face flashes in my mind—the way she looked at me in my office. The way she stared at the picture that means so much to me. The way she felt in my arms.
Not to mention that fucking lap dance.
For the first time in a long time, I hadn’t been thinking, just giving in to my body’s demands.
I wanted something besides this life I’ve allowed myself to have.
A spark of hope for something more. Yeah, lust was the key player, sure, but that hope—it did something to me.
Had she come into my office and given even a slight hint that she’d felt a certain way about me, I would have possibly found a different way to bring her on board while still giving me a chance to get to know her on another level.
She hadn’t. She’d walked in like any other applicant, as if not a damn thing had happened between us. It threw me for a fucking loop.
Because fuck, was that how she’d won other gigs in the past? Was that just part of her audition routine? Pretty aggressive, but it put me in a position where I either had to hire her or worry about her suing my ass for sexual harassment.
The whole fucking thing made me feel like a tool for thinking it meant more.
Shaking the thoughts from my head, I drop my towel and get dressed. When I go to pull socks from the top drawer, the bottles of pills inside rattle and taunt me. The temptation hits like a punch.
Take me, they all but whisper. No more pain. No more headaches. Just one little pill. Just for today.
I know it’s all bullshit. But I still hear them. Every damn day. And like yesterday, and the day before, I tell them to fuck right the hell off, and slam the drawer shut.
They tug at me, though. Like there’s a string tied from my gut to the actual fucking pill bottle, one I have to work daily to snip, until I’m either far enough away that their effect wavers, or my mind’s occupied enough to forget their pull.
I’ve found facing the temptation each day helps lessen the lure. I’m stronger at fighting my addiction because I don’t shy away from it. I face it head-the-fuck-on.
The pain makes it a fucking relentless fight.
Most of it’s triggered by thoughts of my little bird at the edge of my mind.
An inner voice screams at me about my promise.
Flashes of memory come too, set off by everything and nothing.
And that fucking woodpecker pecks. Peck.
Peck. PECKS! Saying… you’re forgetting something, something important.
Fight harder. Dig deeper. Remember. Find her.
I want to. God, I want to with everything in me.
It’s why I stretch my mind with the puzzles, why I log all my dreams, why I run the fucking strip club.
Why I do almost every goddamn thing in my life to fill the gaps in my memories—the time right before my tour of duty.
It’s all for one purpose: to find the girl who meant so much to me that I cheated death to get another chance with her.
To keep my promise to her that I wouldn’t abandon her in this world alone.
That I’d live through that tour and come back to her.
I just wish searching for any trace of her wasn’t fucking killing me. Because it feels as if I’m nowhere close and that I’m running out of time.
Days without pain are addictive as hell.
And I want them all to be, but it’s not in the cards for me.
A pill sure as hell isn’t going to do it.
One pill leads to two, then four. I’ve been down that road—chasing numbness, never quite finding it as my body adapts, needing more, needing stronger doses.
And therein lies the problem. Hardcore drugs, being off my fucking rocker from them, that’s a no-go for Harbingers of Chaos members, part of the code we live by.
It’s one of the reasons I joined them. A life insurance policy, if you will.
As Road Captain, it’s my job to keep them safe. I can’t do that if I’m chasing the Sandman. Which means I have to keep going, deal with the pain, and stay the course. Keep trying to find her while clean and hope that one day I can figure it all out—this mess in my head—before it’s too late.
If I fall down that rabbit hole again, I’ll lose everything—the respect of my brothers, the cut, the club tattoo on my back that shows my service and dedication. I’d lose pretty much everything remaining in my life that gives me purpose, besides the people I help on the side when I can.
I’m pretty sure I know where my path leads when all is said and done, but I’ll claw and scrape my way through each day because if there’s a slim chance that unraveling the mess my life has become will mean finding her at the end of it, it’ll be worth it.
It’s like my dad used to say, “ Only through great sacrifice are we given life’s greatest rewards. Earn it, son, and God will reward you.”