Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
EBONY
Irun out of there before we can exchange pleasantries; that wasn’t what tonight was about. I could end it however I pleased, and blissfully sated without the awkward back and forth while he pretends he wants to get to know the girl he’s just made orgasm, feels like a perfect end to my night.
Making my way back through the crowd, I push my hair away from my face, my heart still thumping wildly in my chest. The dull ache of his fingers at my centre throbs as the last fractured remnants of my orgasm tickle at the edge of every sense, my nose filled with his oddly familiar fresh citrus and leather scent.
My thighs are slick with my arousal; the taste of his whiskey-laced breath stained on my abused lips.
Every inch of my body tingles with life, and it takes everything in me not to turn around and run back to the closet in the hopes that my cowboy is still there and willing for a second round.
My heart dropped as his fingers grazed my scars, a ripple of weird fascination at what he might think taking a different turn than I was expecting.
For the briefest moment, I had wondered what it might feel like to have his lips adoring the broken parts of me.
His touch was firm yet soft at the same time, nimble fingers digging into my flesh as my body rocked back against his strong, broad, heaving chest. That flash of his caress against the trauma-bonded skin a white hot spike to my slick centre as he was undeterred.
Chewing on my finger and working my way back through the party, I am oblivious to those around me. I still can’t quite believe what I’ve just done with a complete stranger.
A part of me believes I should be embarrassed; I have never come that hard in my life, and as the beat of the music feels as though it’s carrying me away on a cloud, I can’t seem to muster the energy to pass the judgement on myself.
That will be hungover Ebony’s problem. For now, I’ll enjoy the carefree weightlessness that comes with squirting all over a cowboy’s boots as he finger fucks me to within an inch of my life.
Glassy-eyed and suitably sore between my legs, I accept the red solo cup from Mateo in a daze as he passes me in his jersey.
I crane my neck to see Megan, but they are gone as quick as they arrived.
My legs are in no fit state to chase after them, so instead, I slump down and bury myself back into the sofa cushions.
Wedged between two guys animatedly discussing the pros and cons of Pokémon, including the dangers it poses to the youth of today at a theoretical level.
Fucking psych majors.
Even that doesn’t kill my buzz though as I knock back the top-shelf rum and coke like it’s water.
The minutes pass, and I expect to be coming back down to earth, but the room begins to spin around me, my head light and fuzzy, my eyesight blurry at the edges. My stomach roils, and I gag on nothing.
‘You had a nine-inch pierced anaconda in your mouth not so long ago, but you can’t inhale air properly without heaving?’
The voice in my head sounds distant, the words muffled as though I have my head submerged underwater.
The unease shifting in my chest amplifies.
I don’t realise I’m running outside towards the back of the house until the fresh pool water air hits me full pelt in the face.
If you ever wondered what was the worst piece of garden furniture to use as support whilst intoxicated, I’ll tell you—a fucking porch swing.
I land unceremoniously in the rose bush below, the thorns scratching at my legs.
I see the mottled blood blackened in the moonlight as it seeps from the cuts in my pale skin, but I don’t feel it.
I squint, trying to focus as I see a pair of black boots fill my vision.
For a second, I’m about to ask why the owner of the boots is horizontal, when I realise it’s me who is lying on my side in the dirt, the patio doors now pulled shut and containing the music and the cheers of the people still inside.
I see the football jersey he’s wearing as I move to sit, my legs still refusing to comply, to let me stand like I’m ordering them silently to do.
I want to sleep; I need to sleep.
But first, I’ll ask Mateo to help me inside. I’m sure the Pokémon brothers could send me into the deepest rest of my life if I ask them to share their theories in detail.
His hands grip me under my arms as he manoeuvres me like a rag doll that weighs nothing. But it isn’t Mateo I see in front of me. I am in the garden alone with the one person I vowed to never be caught alone with.