Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
I push up to lean on my hand, sitting up more. “We should learn sign language.”
Oleg blinks at me.
“I’ll bet they teach it at the community college. We can both learn it. Your friends can learn it, too.” I’m pretty excited about my idea although I don’t know why I’m making long-term plans with this guy. It scares the hell out of me.
Oleg nods, watching my face like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he looks away.
“Yeah? I’ll look into it, then.”
Maybe I’ll even break down and finally get a smartphone, so we can text translate.
I get my guitar out and sit cross-legged on his bed. Oleg stays where he is, watching me with the same intensity he watches me perform. I watch him watch me, and try out the song I’ve been working on. The one about sex. With him. I have a chorus, but not the verses yet. Not the hook.
I don’t sing the words, but they play in my head as I try out the notes.
I’m up against the wall / your hands tangled in my clothes
I’m kissing, I’m biting, I’m begging for more
Knowing once this rocket’s launched, it will never be restored
Knowing once this rocket’s launched, you’ll never bring me more.
Inspiration isn’t mine at the moment, though. I’m too clogged up with the intensity of last night and this morning. The fuzzy-headedness of my on-going denial about it all. I’m very good at compartmentalizing.
Instead, I pick out the tune to Van Morrison’s “Brown-Eyed Girl.” I don’t know why that particular song came out—it’s a song my dad used to play for me when I was little. He said it was my song because my eyes are brown. I think it always made me feel loved.
And that’s how I feel right now, playing under Oleg’s smoldering gaze. If only I could string together all the little moments of feeling loved in my life. Weave them into a tapestry that stays.
But it doesn’t. I know better than to believe it would.
I close my eyes and sing the words softly, sinking into the melody. My fingers slide over the frets by memory, knowing the notes by feel. By heart.
Oleg can’t sing along, and yet I swear, I feel him listening. Drinking in every note. Every word. Weaving the same sense of pleasure I feel into the music. My pleasure, his. His, mine.
When I stop playing, I open my eyes and look at him.
My phone rings from my bag by the door. Oleg gets up and fastens his pants. He retrieves my phone and looks at the screen. Flynn’s photo flashes on the front. For a moment, I think he might not let me answer it, but he hands it to me.
“Hey,” I answer, looking up at Oleg. My stomach contracts as reality barrels back in.
“Hey.” Flynn’s voice sounds froggy with sleep. “I was just making sure you’re all right. I tried calling last night when I saw your car was still there.”
“You did? I’m sorry, I didn’t hear it,” I lie. I’m actually touched that party-boy brother is checking up on me. It’s almost always the other way around. I’m freaking out about him the next day because I left a party at 4 a.m., and he was still there, tripping his balls off.
“Well, you’re fine, I just wanted to check. I don’t need the details.”
“Yeah, everything’s cool.” I don’t know why I check Oleg’s face again. Is it cool? Are things going to be cool for him? I actually don’t know the real answer. I do know when I tried to leave, he stopped me. But then I quickly forgot because he made me come twice.
“Okay. See ya later.”
“Yep. Bye.” I hang up.
Oleg nods like he approves. Whether he approves that Flynn’s checking up on me or whether he approves of my answer, I can’t be sure.
I get up and walk to the bathroom. “I’m going to take another shower,” I tell Oleg.
I’m only slightly disappointed that he doesn’t follow me in. I really don’t think I could take more sex at this point. The guy is huge and rough, and I’m definitely sore.
Even so, I’m already excited to do it all over again. I can't wait to experiment in this new way. To play his bad girl. Receive his punishment and dominance with the pleasure of being wrapped up in his arms when it’s over. Something I never wanted before.
I’m definitely like a cat when it comes to men. I want them on my own terms. I go to them when I want. Leave when I want. I’m the opposite of clingy. So the fact that I would even like being held after sex is freaking weird. But the sex was intense.
So is Oleg.
Maybe that’s the addiction.
I turn on the water and take a long shower, refusing to work through the unwelcome thoughts bumping around in my head. I was too shocked last night to examine everything, and now I don’t want to.