I Love My Hope (Nicole's Erotic Romance) Page 7
He turns to leave and freezes, torn. I can’t stop myself from whispering, “Michael…oh God… don’t go.”
He grabs the door handle, his knuckles white like they were when they gripped the canvas. All the muscles in his back tense up, beneath the weight of his decision. He jerks the door open, leaves without looking back, and slams it shut. A sob rips from my heart and I collapse beneath its brothers and sisters, crying for what seems like hours until I fall asleep in the fetal position in the middle of an unforgiving floor, once more.
4:44 a.m.
Opening my eyes, I remember quickly where I am and what happened. I peel my body up, sore from sleeping on wood, and drag myself to the bathroom. Turning hot water on in the tub, I flip over the bottle of bubble bath and drain all of its contents into the steaming stream. As the bubbles rise, I slather on facial soap, taking extra long to circle it into my pores, all over my face and even my lips. I want to wash away Michael. I want to wash away my weakness for him. Just thinking about it crushes me because the yearning for him isn’t gone. Not by a long shot. I slide out of my clothes, tie up my hair and bring my phone in so I can find my opera playlist, hoping desperately for its healing powers. My softest hand towel gets folded into a rectangle and I carry it into the bath. I lower myself into the scorching hot water faster than I should. I want it to hurt. I want to burn him off of me. Sliding the towel under my neck, I wedge it between my head and the ceramic rim. With Lady Lorraine singing just to me, and with suds all around and rising fast, I close my eyes and say a little prayer for help.
I don’t get out until the water cools so much, that I can’t stand it anymore.
When I finally crawl into bed and fall asleep… I dream of earthquakes.
Saturday
Sunlight shining on my face wakes me hours later. I roll out of the way of a particularly nasty beam, and try to fall back to sleep, clutching my pillow. But then I remember that Michael was here last night, and the racing thoughts begin. He followed me. Has he followed me before? The idea that Michael has been tortured enough by my absence to stalk me is so bizarre and distracting a concept that I find myself more alert than if I’d had ten espressos.
Oh no! What time is it? I bolt upright and search the room for my phone, but it’s nowhere in sight. The covers get thrown as I spring out of bed and run into the bathroom to find my phone where I left it sitting on the side of the bathtub, obscured by a towel crumbled over it. When I see that it’s 12:46 p.m. I drop the phone onto the floor causing a loud CRACK as the screen breaks into thin spider-web lines.
“NOOOOO!!!!!” I grab and rub at them. Of course there’s nothing I can do. The damage is permanent. “Dammit!”
There’s no time to mourn, he’s going to be here in a forty-five minutes.
How am I going to do this? I should cancel. I don’t want to go. How can I face this man knowing that I still have feelings for Michael? But don’t I have feelings for him, too? This is such a mess! What am I going to do? Oh no! I don’t even have his phone number. I can’t cancel!!
With the toothbrush sticking out of my mouth and me frothing like I’ve got rabies – which I might as well have– I change into five different pairs of jeans, throwing each on the bed as they fail to impress me, until I settle on one. Then eight shirts – yes, eight –bounce on and off my body until I settle on a striped sweater that’s super soft. The mint begins to burn my tongue off, so I run for the sink and spit hard, coughing. Because I waited too long and some got in my throat, gag reflex ensues and I am in hell.
I look at my reflection, eyes watering, and think, I need help.
Running, I search for my phone. I dial Amber’s number as quick as I can, saying as it rings, “Come on. Come on. Come on.”
“Hello?”
“Amber!”
“Yes! What’s wrong?!”
“Mark is on the way over and Michael followed us home last night and he came in and kissed me and then I bit him and he ran off like he always does! What do I do?!”
“Wait! Let me get this straight!”
“Okay.”
“You and Mark hit it off?”
“Yes. Totally. He’s amazing.”
“That’s so great!”
“Amber! Focus!”
“Right. Okay, Michael followed you. What a bastard! How was the kiss?”
“Amber!”
“Shit. Sorry! Okay, did Mark see Michael?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. God, I hope not.”
“Did Michael see Mark?”
“Yes! That’s what I’m trying to tell you!”
“No – you’re trying to tell me that you’re about to throw away a date with a good man because a married man – MARRIED MAN – came to your house and kissed you.”
I stop pacing and think on this. “I see your point.”
“Slap your face for me, would you please?” I give my face a loud slap. “Good. Now go on the date and forget all about the married man for ONE DAY. If you hate Mark after, you can pick your misery back up, right where you left it.”
A little puff of air that wishes it were a laugh, escapes from my lips. “You’re incredible.”
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten you brought Josh with you last night.”
“Shit. Yeah. Sorry about that.”
A knock sounds on my door.
I hiss into the phone, “He’s here!! He’s here!” jumping around like a maniac.
“Then go open the door and be your beautiful, charming self! And consider yourself the luckiest woman on the planet because that man is hot!!!”
“Thank you, Amber. You saved me.”
“Yeah. I’m good like that. Now go! I’m hanging up!” The phone goes dead. Oh, the little wise-ass knew I was procrastinating.
I yell out, “Be right there!!!! One minute!” and run back into the bathroom to brush on a bit of mascara and some lip-gloss. This’ll do. “Coming!” I grab some red, laceless Converse sneakers and run, sliding around a corner in my socks.
Assuming a stance of poise and calm, I walk slowly to the door and open it, with a nice, cool and collected, normal smile. Mark stands with his feet hip-width apart, one hand comfortably in his gray jeans pocket, the other holding a bouquet of purple roses, his eyes twinkling. The purple is exact same shade I used in my painting.
He leans against the doorframe. “I didn’t know there was such a thing as purple roses. But I also didn’t know there was such as thing as you.”
The shoes drop from my hands and I reach for the flowers. I bring them to my face and close my eyes, drinking in their sweet scent. I peek up at him with my face buried. The calm energy of him disintegrates my anxiety as though it were a figment of my imagination, a dream that fades away. Like he woke me up.
I tell him, “Purple is my favorite color. Did you know it’s the color of the soul?”
His expression is open and unassuming. “I didn’t know that. I just thought these were very you.”
“I just have to put my shoes on. Would you like to come in?”
He smiles, pushes off the doorframe, and walks in, closing the door behind him. “I’ll put those in some water if you want.”
“That’d be great, thank you. The kitchen is in there.”
He walks past me, and soon I hear the water running. I look over at my paintings as I slide on my sneakers. They’re in the same order Michael left them. Thinking about his face as he sifted through them, gives me pause.
“So, where are we going again?” I call out, listening to a cabinet open as he searches for a vase. “They’re above the fridge.”
“Thanks,” Mark calls back.
It takes effort, but I push the image of Michael away. Putting on my coat, I pull it tightly around me against the chilling memory and walk to the kitchen to see Mark standing there, dwarfing the already small space, and holding a simple, tear-shaped vase.
“This good?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at me.
“Perfect.”
&nbs
p; I watch as he fills it with water. His shoulders are broad on his tall figure. His back is covered by a jacket, but I can tell it’s defined by the way the fabric pulls when he reaches over to turn off the faucet. The lines of his jeans make me weak in the knees as they shift with his every movement, and I can feel myself getting wet, the tingles in my panties, distracting me.
I step forward to help. “Here.”
Our shoulders touch as we move the stems, searching for the most appealing arrangement. We glance at each other several times, the chemistry palpably intense. My skin flushes hot when his fingers accidentally brush mine and he catches my eyes and gives me a wink.
“Hey you.”
I smile. “Hey yourself.”
Behind his eyes, something shifts. The little gold flecks come alive. Fiery. Intense. My reserve rips away and I grab onto his head as he lunges to take my mouth in a ravenous kiss. Our bodies mash together, waking up the animals inside us. He tears off his jacket as I tear at my sweater, pulling it impatiently over my head so I can kiss him again as fast as possible. Our mouths jam back together, gasping and starving. I grab for his belt and he plucks open my bra with one snap. Our tongues lash inside each other’s mouths as we test just how far we can go without coming up for air. He manages to shove his hand down the front of my jeans and under my panties, fast. I unzip his pants and grab for him, massaging the hard length of his cock furiously as I pull it out, pushing the fabric out of my fucking way. I throw my leg around his hip while he pushes his middle finger up inside me and makes me scream out in his mouth. He won’t let me pull away, kissing me furiously, latched onto my lips. I gnaw on his tongue and stroke his cock, grab for his balls and hold them. He releases my mouth and yells out, then curls forward, biting and sucking on my breasts as I lean back, baring them to him to do with as he pleases. He licks them. Breathes on them. Heats them up with his tongue, teasing my nipples with his teeth as he vibrates his hand in my jeans. His face is buried in my chest, and I grab on his head and bury my face in his hair, breathing in the sweet scent of shampoo mingled with man, kissing the top of his head repeatedly as I gasp under his caresses, “I need you, Mark.”
He growls, scoops me off the floor and carries me to my bedroom. His mouth devours mine, breaking free only long enough to say, “Not as much as I need you.”
He kicks open the door, throws me several feet through the air, onto the bed. I bounce and stare at him, amazed. He wrenches his pants off over his perfect ass, his cock standing up, full and gorgeous. His eyes lock on mine as he climbs on all fours onto the bed, a muscular beast coming to take me. Every inch of him is muscle that rolls with his approach. His shoulders are beautiful, his chest sculpted to perfection. His lungs rise up and down with passion. He wrenches off my jeans and panties, staring at me, just before he burrows his face between my legs. He gives me one long lick that makes me quiver. Then he takes my clit between his teeth and breathes hot air onto my pussy’s soft, sensitive, silky skin. I wrap my legs around his head and move with his tongue, bringing myself to my first orgasm, quickly. He slides his tongue inside me, pushing it in as I scream out again and again.
He jumps up and mounts me, pushing in the tip of his cock, and locking onto my eyes with a ferocity that makes me go wild inside. “Fuck me!” I moan and grab onto his shoulders to wrap my legs around his waist, bringing my ass up to him. He pushes in more, then more and more, until he’s all the way inside me. Our eyes don’t let go. I am enraptured by everything he is. By the way he looks at me. By the way he fucks me like his animal has been freed. By the way his body moves in mine, completing me. By the way mine opens up to receive him. By the way his tongue tastes in my mouth when he comes down for long, slow kisses as he hammers into me.
By the way his need for me matches mine, for him.
He reaches under and lifts me up to a sitting position on his lap, my legs around his waist, his knees bent beneath me, his cock buried deep. I ride him like this, loving the power of his hips as he meets me halfway, the strength of his hands on my ass as he lifts me in perfect matching time. He bends and reaches for my breasts with his mouth, finding and teasing them. Beads of sweat roll down his huge, strong back and I slide my fingers around, pressing in. He twists and moans and comes up to kiss me, saying huskily, “You’re so wet. I can feel you dripping.” I breathe, “I’m on the pill. I promise. Please don’t pull out.” He buries his face into the curve of my neck and says, “I won’t” as I grab onto his hair and scream from the next shocking wave of orgasmic pleasure lashing through my body. Our mouths come together as the walls inside me begin to shake and vibrate with an orgasm as deep as I’ve ever felt. I yell out as he pulls me closer to him, undulating his hips. “Oh god,” he moans, twisting against me. His body jerks once and his cock presses hard inside me as my inner walls grip him tightly again and again in delicious contractions. A primal yell rips from him. He grips his arms around me so tight I can’t breathe, his body quaking, plunging into me over and over. He yells out again, his chest and mine panting together, struggling to breathe as we come down from the high, nuzzling and kissing. I pull away from the kiss, first. I put my forehead to his and try to focus. He smiles that warm smile; the animal resting, Mark back in its place.
I’m overwhelmed and don’t know what to say to him. This wasn’t like the sex I’ve been having. This was raw. I feel transparent. I was who I really am for the first time outside of painting. This was my first time with another human being where I felt like I wasn’t hiding anything, wasn’t trying to be anything. I was wholly and completely me; raw and wicked and sweet and true.
“Thank you,” he smiles.
My fingers drift up through his hair. “For what?”
“For spending your Saturday with me.”
I give him a hug, holding him tightly, my head on his chest. “You’re welcome.”
He rests his cheek on the top of my head and we stay like this for awhile, absorbing it.
I say silently to my angel, Thank you for not giving me his number. If I’d had it, this wouldn’t be happening. I would have bailed out.
“Let’s go see the city,” I say, softly.
“Okay.” He kisses the top of my head and lifts me up off of him. We both groan as our bodies separate.
“I’m going to get cleaned up,” I say, sliding off the bed as he watches me, stretching out and lying on his side, propped up on an elbow. I look back and take in the breathtaking sight of him. “I could paint how you look right now.”
“Me? Look at you.” He laughs and shakes his head.
I grin and go into the bathroom, close the door and clean myself off. “Will you hand me my clothes?” I call out.
“Sure!” Soon there’s a short knock on the door and he slides them in through a small crack. I laugh and he chuckles and closes the door again to give me privacy. When I come out, he’s dressed and walking the vase into my studio. He set it on the solitary table, next to burnt out candle stubs and dirty paintbrushes. I point to my mess. “See? I warned you. I’m not tidy!”
He shrugs. “We’ll have a maid.”
My eyebrows fly up. “We?”
His eyes dance as he walks to the front door and holds it open. “After you.”
Grabbing my bag and my keys, I walk out first and say over my shoulder, “Lock the bottom lock, please.”
“Whatever you say.”
End of Part 2
________________
By Sabrina Lacey
(In order of timeline - both in story and publication -
of interlacing tales between three very different best friends.)
JESSICA
I LOVE MY HEALED HEART
AMBER AND JOSH
I LOVE MY SIDE OF THE STORY
(Told from the steamy points of view of both Amber & Josh.)
NICOLE
I LOVE MY SECRET ~ Part 1
I LOVE MY HOPE ~ Part 2
_________________________
CAN’T WAIT FOR SABRINA LACEY’S
NEXT TITILLATING TALE?
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sabrina's just like most women in modern times - she's been a lot of things to a lot of people; married, single, daughter, teacher, girlfriend, stand-up comedienne, wackadoo, friend, nutcase, bartender, fashion photographer, lazy bones, bitch, sweetheart (though less often than bitch), and always a little wild. As soon as she committed to writing stories - she became happier than she's been in years. Happy to entertain you - and happy to hear from you...always. Cheers!
Table of Contents
I LOVE MY HOPE Description
Twenty-Eight Minutes After I Left Michael
The Next Afternoon
5:05 A.M.The Next Morning
Months Later, On a Tuesday Early in SummerThe Night David Smashed Jess’s Heart
After That Bomb Explodes
The Day I Witness Jess’s Groove Is Back
Nineteen Minutes Later
Saturday Night In The Middle of Fashion Week
Friday NightAn Apple For An Apple…
Minutes Later
4:44 a.m.
Saturday
Other Books
ABOUT THE AUTHOR