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Greyson
I stand just behind the balcony door, watching the last dregs of light disappear, turning this part of the Earth dark. In a while, a half-moon will appear in the inky sky.
I know from the sunset that I’m now very late.
I’m amazed she hasn’t texted me to tell me to go fuck myself at this point. She’d be well within her rights to.
I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing here. I feel like I’ve landed in some foreign world whose rules I no longer understand.
I guess this is some pitiful attempt on my part to do the right thing. For once.
I’m not good for her. I’m not good for anyone.
Too much trauma. Too many secrets.
I am way more fucked in the head than she could ever imagine. I know just from the little I’ve interacted with her that’s she’s much more sensitive than the women I usually spend time with.
Gabriella is worldly, calculated, shrewd, poised, experienced.
Indigo is none of those things. She’s a walking mess of emotions and overreactions.
Either through my need for unequivocal submission and my taste for disciplining of the rough kind, or my tendency to shut down and retreat from the world without warning, I know as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow that I will end up hurting this girl badly. The thought of her little face as I do so has haunted my vision for the last half hour.
I know I’m probably overthinking things as Gideon said. Maybe she’s just after a holiday fling herself. I just don’t know if that’s a good idea anymore.
I intend to help her deal with her ex.
We can be friends.
That’s it.
I’m not designed for women like her. I’m designed for women who engage their brains more than their hearts. Those are the only ones I can frequent in good conscience.
At the beep of my phone, I pull it out of my back pocket, seeing her name appear in my screen.
You know, if you wanted to cancel, you should have just told me.
I’d rather take that than this.
Or maybe this is all fun and games to you?
Making me wait like some low-standards simpleton?
I never took you for a coward but whatever.
I blink slowly as another message comes in fast, picturing her fingers typing her ire out frenetically.
Thank you very much for the orgasm. It was much appreciated, but as of today, you can kindly go fuck yourself.
PS. You’re the world’s biggest dick.
The last one makes my lips twist into a smile despite the dread settling into my belly like a stone.
Inhaling a rough breath, I head to the door, grab my keys and lock it behind me as I make my way over to explain why I made a mistake in pursuing her, while making a mental note to try to ignore the hunger I feel pulling at my body—the need to lift her up, to carry her silently up the stairs, the need to touch her, to taste her.
To fuck the living daylights out of her.
