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Bastard.
***
The apartment is cold and dark. I close the door and lock it, then lean back and heave a breath. I glance at the bed. It’s after ten, and I’m dead on my feet. Not sleeping every night does that to you.
But I don’t want to even try to sleep. Between the nightmares and the chills, the nauseating aftermath, I’m better off awake.
My decision made, I open the windows, letting in the icy breeze, and pull on another sweater. Then I take my laptop out of its case. Time I did some of the online work I neglected. Might as well get on with it. There’s my promise to Ash, and the money that needs to be sent to his account every month. Can’t fuck this up.
Not like I fucked it up with Erin today.
Shit. I sink into the rickety chair, plop my laptop on the table and boot it up. At least I got an internet connection now and that makes my life easier.
My email account contains three emails sent by the customer, asking when I’ll deliver his order. Grinding my teeth, forcing my tired brain to function, I get to work. My fingers fly over the keyboard—the same with which I touched Erin after so long, made her moan and close her e
yes in pleasure—and…
My body tightens as the memory replays in my mind—this time fresh and real, not stitched up of old memories I kept locked up in my mind. She was there, with me, today.
Dammit, Tyler, focus!
Groaning, I rub my itchy eyes and continue, organizing my customer’s website, pulling up images saved on my hard drive and prettying it up. I learned how to do this from a friend of Uncle Jerry’s who used to come over and stay for days with us. Mark was his name. I never knew if he was just a friend to Jerry or something more, and I never found out. After Uncle Jerry died, Mark vanished from my life—a constant I should be used to, by now.
Anyway, working with the images helps me relax. My mind enters a kind of trance as I move pictures around and arrange categories and information. Creating order out of chaos. Peace.
It’s late when I finish. I’m frozen stiff, and my head’s pounding. A glance at the time tells me it’s almost four in the morning. My back protests when I straighten from my slouch and turn off my computer. I lick my dry lips—and Erin’s image flashes in my mind as if it’s been waiting there all along.
Maybe it has. The thought of her is always there, under the surface of my thoughts. Without her, the world is so dark. I’d forgotten how she lights up everything until I saw her again.
Damn.
The urge to take my bike and ride out of town hits me again, but in my state of exhaustion that’s a certain death sentence. Still, I consider it. I’m too tense to sleep, and the promise of night horrors isn’t a good incentive.
Maybe I can relax another way, relieve the tension in my body.
Erin. Ever since the moment I kissed her, my body has been thrumming with desire. She tasted like candy. I want to kiss her again, wrap myself in her. She’s so intoxicating, and yet she feels so good, like home, a feeling I’ve almost forgotten.
I want her. Need her. So much it fucking hurts. My erection strains, trapped inside my jeans, the zipper making an imprint on it.
Fuck it.
I undo my fly and reach inside my briefs, curling my fingers around my hard cock. A groan of pleasure rises in my throat. God. Pressure and friction. It feels so good. I tighten my fist and pump my erection, my head falling back. Yeah.
I can picture her sliding down between my legs, her dark hair loose and silky, her eyes wide, her lips parting. She’s naked, or maybe dressed in white lace that shows off her golden skin. She gives me knowing smile, one that tells me she knows what I like and she wants to give it to me. Wants to take care of me. She reaches for my dick with her small hand.
Another groan leaves my lips as my hand speeds up. Yeah, baby. Erin…
But then I recall the anger on her face, the way she turned away to go, and I falter. Shit. Her image crumples, and no matter how I tug and stroke my erection, trying to get off, I can’t.
Fuck. I don’t even get to have this anymore—a release through my fantasy of her. Damn this misery. I jump to my feet and throw the chair against the wall. It lands with a satisfying crash, falling to the floor. I pace up and down, running my hands through my hair, wiping them over my face.
I can’t. Can’t take this. Can’t relax, can’t sleep, no matter how tired I am.
Giving in, I grab my jacket and stride out of the apartment. I trudge down the stairs and step out into the cold, gray predawn. No sleep for me this night. I walk about aimlessly until I spot an open bar. Raucous laughter spills from inside, and rowdy music. Maybe I can drink until I forget. Maybe I can pick a fight and get knocked unconscious.
Either option sounds a damn sight better than my bed right now.
Part II
