10. Wendy
Newport seemed like a fresh start, and maybe it was time for me to let go of old wounds and embrace new beginnings. After all, the sun would rise again tomorrow, and who knew what it might bring? Perhaps even love...just not his.
Ugh, who was I even kidding to imagine such hope as the clock crept closer to being the middle of the night? This was officially one of the longest days of my life. From fleeing New York to returning home on impulse, nothing was helping. I was trapped. By the time I reached my cozy house, the moon sat high in the velvet sky, and the residential streets were bathed in an ethereal glow.
I dropped my bags at the door. I stumbled toward my bedroom and collapsed onto the mattress without shedding my travel clothes or switching on any lights. The cool sheets felt like a balm to my burning skin, and I buried my face into the pillows, tears streaming down my cheeks. Vincent’s reappearance had changed everything. It had ripped open wounds I thought were healed and revealed a truth I was too afraid to admitI still loved him. But love alone wasn’t enough, not after what he had done.
The clock read 2 AM, but sleep was nowhere on the radar. My mind raced. Every inch of flesh on me wanted to detach itself from my body. My bones screamed from exhaustion, the gravity of the fatigue threatening to glue me to the wood floors.
I would not let Vincent win. Let alone on his terms. He came to New York to destroy me again, but I refused to lose. Reaching for my phone, my raucous instincts taking over, my fingers dialed Stephen’s number. I waited for Stephen to pick up, and that was when the crazy laugh burst from my throat. Of course, he wasn’t going to answer. It was the middle of the fucking night, and I was officially losing my mind. What was even my plan for doing this?
Suddenly, the line connected, a groggy voice on the other side. “Wendy? Is that you?”
“Stephen,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. I slapped my hand over my eyes, squeezing them tight. What did I want? What did I want to do? Why did I call Stephen? It wasn’t right for me to call him. But lately, my mind screamed to make all the wrong choices. “Do you want to come over?”
“Now?” Stephen’s voice raised a surprised octave.
“Yes, now.” My voice grew louder, staying firm.
And, twenty minutes later, Stephen knocked on my door with three persistent thumps. I rose from the living room couch and moved toward the door. My heart was racing as I twisted the doorknob and opened it reluctantly. In his tight blue jeans, white Henley, and a hastily donned coat, Stephen stood there, bewildered. His hair was in disarray, but his blue eyes pooled with genuine concern.
“Wendy,” he said softly. “What's going on?”
“I’m fine. Here, come in.” I stepped back, welcoming him into my home.
I ushered him into the living room. The silence rang in my ears as we sat next to each other. He looked at me intently as if trying to decode an unsolvable mystery written all over my face. My eyes darted everywhere, searching for the reason for my actions in the last twenty-four hours. Still, none of it mattered as my gaze honed in on a baffled Stephen, who wouldn’t stop fidgeting with his hands until he shoved them under his muscular thighs.
If I couldn’t mentally push Vincent from my mind, I’d have to tackle my dilemma harder, with raw force. Since my brain failed to rid the incessant thoughts of Vincent from my soul, I’d do the one thing he wouldn’t want me to.
I’d fuck him out of me. And that was exactly what I planned to do. I was going to fuck Stephen.
“So, how was New York?” Stephen asked with a goofy grin.
“Okay, enough talking.” I pivoted my body to face Stephen, bumping our knees, grabbed his face, and crashed my lips against his. My tongue invaded his mouth, not bothering to wait for the invite, and Stephen nearly fell off the couch but stopped himself with his free hand.
Stephen pulled back, breathless and bemused. His blue eyes were wide, with question marks dancing in them and a quickly rising heat. I moved in again, capturing his bottom lip between mine, nipping at the soft skin, and he released a quick yelp but didn’t pull back. His hands came up to rest on my waist, fingertips brushing against the exposed skin at the hem of my shirt, and it felt good even if they weren't the hands I truly wanted on my body. That was why I was doing this. His fingers tracing circles on my skin effectively erased the ghost of Vincent's hands that seemed eternally imprinted there. I yanked off my shirt, ready to keep going as I fought every nerve in my body.
My hand ran through Stephen's hair, tugging at his soft locks until I couldn’t anymore.
“Hey, take it easy there,” Stephen breathed against my open mouth.
Shut up, I thought. Just shut up and use me. Grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, I threw one leg over his lap, straddling him. He gasped at the swift movement, almost surprised.
“Wow, you’re not wasting any time, are ya?” Stephen’s azure eyes raked my body before settling on my heaving chest. Our gazes locked, and his hands tightened on my thighs before moving to my breasts. I nodded, encouraging Stephen to take my body for his pleasure. For his anything, really. “Wendy, are you sure?” He hesitated with his hands frozen mid-air.
I didn’t need to be sure. I just needed to forget. “Yes, Stephen. I’m sure.”
And then I was pulling his shirt up and over his head, exposing his broad chest and muscular arms as they flexed with each movement, offering the distraction I needed. His fingertips were warm against my skin as they traced the lacy edge of my black bra, a soft gasp slipping past his lips when he unclasped it and bared my chest. The cold air licked my skin, but Stephen's touch invited warmth.
His lips descended onto mine once again, fumbling and unsure but slowly gaining confidence with every second that passed. His touch was different from Vincent’s—less possessive and somehow gentler. His hand slid down my back, trailing goosebumps in its wake as it settled on the curve of my hip, squeezing gently before sliding further down to cup my ass. The sound that escaped me was a mix of surprise and something else—something I wanted him to do. I ground my pussy against his dick but didn’t exactly feel…anything? His erection was probably buried under the heavy fabric of denim. However, his jeans didn’t look that thick.
I was over-thinking this. Of course, he was attracted to me—the constant flirting said so.
“I want you to use me.” I locked my arms behind his neck while rolling my hips against his flat lap.
“What do you mean, use you?” Stephen released a nervous chuckle, breathing heavily.
“I mean just that,” I replied, pressing my lips to his neck. His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously as I whispered against his skin, “I want to be your fucktoy.”
Stephen's breath hitched, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he tightened his hold on me, a low growl echoing from the back of his throat. “Can you show me how?” he whispered into my ear, a tinge of vulnerability in his voice.
My fingernails dragged along his smooth skin, finding his heavy hands. I took one in my small, confident palm and moved it until I placed his fingers so they were wrapped around my neck. His eyes widened and pupils dilated when he saw what I wanted, and before he could pull his hand away, I clamped my hand around his, trapping it against my neck. Our eyes locked, and his jaw hung slack.
“I'm not sure I can do this, Wendy.” The vulnerability in his voice had morphed into an unmistakable tremor of fear.
His fingers twitched around my neck as he began to pull away.
I pressed my hand over him, tightening his grip around my throat and leaning into his touch. “You can, Stephen.” My gaze never broke from his, while my other hand slid down his chest, tracing the arch of his abs until it settled over the non-existent bulge in his jeans, searching for any sign from his body to grab onto, but there was nothing.
Suddenly, Stephen yanked his hand from my neck, along with mine, and tossed me like a rag doll off his lap and onto the cushion next to him. “That’s enough.” He bolted from the couch and tossed his shirt over his body, not bothering to fix it yet. “Jesus, Wendy. What the fuck’s gotten into you?”
Not wasting a second, I grabbed my shirt and bra, covering myself from Stephen’s shocked eyes. “I just thought we’d have a good time.” The lies spilling from my mouth were enough to make me swallow down a sour gag.
“In the middle of the night?” Stephen twisted his face, gesturing to the air.
“Yeah, in the middle of the night.” I slumped against the couch, accepting my plan had gone to complete shit.
“What happened in New York? Something happened.” Stephen planted his hands on his hips. “You’re using me, aren’t you?”
“Using you?” I rolled my eyes, fighting the pit of disgust in my stomach because Stephen was right. I was using him and had been caught. This wasn’t me. If anything, it was Vincent. And in my quest to rid myself of Vincent’s dark energy, a sliver of my soul morphed into him. “Ugh, I’m sorry.” I pinched my temple. “You’re right. Something did happen in New York. And I reacted poorly.”
Stephen’s face softened, and his arms fell to his sides. “When you called earlier, I wasn’t sure what to expect.” A half-laugh slipped through his lips, stirring nothing in me. “But, what you want to do? I’m not your guy for that. I guess I’m…too vanilla?” Stephen shrugged, reaching for his coat. “You should get some sleep. You’ve had a long day.”
“Vanilla?” I echoed, though it was more of a mumble to myself.
“Goodnight, Wendy.” His voice was distant, like he was already miles away from me. His heavy footsteps carried throughout my house while my eyes remained glued to my slightly trembling hands. At some point, he reached the front door and twisted the knob, the door creaking open.
“Stephen?” My head shot up, and he pivoted to face me. “I’m really sorry for how I acted.”
With a faint smile, Stephen said, “It’s all good. I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe I’ll stop by for lunch.”
“Sounds good.” I nodded, the corner of my mouth lifting as I watched Stephen leave.
And then I was alone…again. I exhaled, fighting the weight of my heavy lids, begging me to sleep, but my body simply refused. If my soul could reject sleep for the rest of my life, that would be its answer. Just to torture me. The pendulum clock on the wall ticked its monotonous rhythm, filling the room with an impending dread. With each swing of its metal arm, my heart lurched, keeping time to its relentless cadence. I pressed my hand against my chest, trying to still the chaotic flurry of emotions threatening to consume me.
As if on cue, three quick knocks reverberated from the door. “Fucking Stephen,” I mumbled, tossing my forehead into my hands. “Hold on. I’ll be right there.” He probably forgot something or worse, had second thoughts, and wanted to choke me. But I doubted that since he never got hard during whatever we tried to do on the couch. I pulled myself up, dragging my feet to the entrance.
As I swung open the door, my lips were ready to fire off another apology, only they froze in their tracks. It wasn't Stephen standing on my porch. The moonlight framed a figure, a silhouette dark enough to make the suburban night seem almost sinister. His white breath clouded inches before his face, sending a shiver down my spine. The figure was tall with broad shoulders, and before I could summon my voice to ask who it was, he stepped into the golden light.
Vincent.
The last time I was this close to him was the night he left me there blindfolded…on the bed. I was about to open my mouth, but no words existed. Instead, my thundering pulse swallowed my speaking ability, and strange black specs began to invade my vision. I stepped forward but couldn’t find my balance. “Vincent,” I breathed as my world tilted, his name anchoring me to reality.
His eyes widened in alarm, and he lunged forward, his reflexes having lost none of their sharpness over the years. His arms cradled me against his chest just as my knees buckled, and I collapsed against him. My senses were overwhelmed with the familiar scent of him. A mixture of musky cologne and a trace of aftershave topped off with a hint of the smoky whiskey he always loved sipping on cool evenings.
I was losing the fight to keep my eyes open as our gazes locked, me peering at Vincent’s dark orbs like he was some God I prayed to.
“Wendy,” Vincent’s deep, echoing voice uttered over the sharp ringing in my ears was the last thing I remembered before the world faded to black.