Finally, the band started packing up and Mina announced it was last call. It was almost time to close, clean, and get the hell home. Since it’d been busier than normal and my mind was all over the place, I was freaking exhausted. I couldn’t wait to pass out, even if my mattress was rock-hard and my pillow was flatter than a pancake. But it was what I could afford at the time, and I knew when I had enough money, my next purchase would be new pillows and possibly some towels that weren’t threadbare.
When I heard the ruckus of the band starting to leave, I couldn’t help but look up from where I’d been wiping down the bar to watch them as they walked toward the rear exit. But could anyone blame me? They were loud, and I was nosy. It had absolutely nothing to do with long-haired man covered in tattoos. But when Sax Man walked by, the ability to drop my eyes was gone, and I couldn’t help but track his movements. And when he felt my gaze and locked his eyes on mine, my breath hitched, and my lips parted slightly. His eyes burned into mine as he continued to walk by, and holy hell, the pink tip of his tongue peeked out just ever so slightly as he ran it slowly across his bottom lip.
A low moan escaped my mouth as my spine tingled, and my fingers clenched tightly around the rag I was holding as I gave it a twist. The burn from the terry cloth chafing my skin barely provided enough distraction to calm my dick, and I still kept my eyes glued to his retreating form even when he looked away to chat with a bandmate who demanded his attention.
It was only when he was out of sight that I was finally able to regain control of my body. What was all that? I asked myself again as I loosened the grip I had on the rag and dropped it on the bar so I could shake my stinging hands. Giving myself a fabric burn on my hand wasn’t conducive to bartending, and I needed to get a fucking grip.
Or maybe I needed to allow myself to get buried in another warm body. Wasn’t the best way of getting over someone was getting under—or inside—someone else? Maybe I needed to give in to one of the women who flirted with me and take her home for the night. Or rather, go home with her. The last thing I wanted was for someone to see where I lived. Casual sex while nursing a broken heart was okay, right? As long as there were no feelings or expectations involved?
But as I continued to think about it, even as I lay in bed a few hours later, I couldn’t help but remind myself that my heart wasn’t broken. Yes, I hated how the breakup played out, and I hated that I had to come back home with my tail tucked between my legs, but my heart wasn’t broken. I was…relieved. My engagement to Jennifer had been a mistake, and the only reason we got so far was because it was expected of us. After dating all through high school, and having a pregnancy scare, it seemed like the logical thing to do.
When her job offered her a lucrative position with a high pay increase, there was no way she could turn it down. So when it was time for her to move, of course I followed her. But the love between us had died long before our breakup. I wasn’t in love with her, and she wasn’t in love with me. And the sex between us seemed more robotic than passionate. A way to scratch an itch that still lingered long after the orgasm had settled and the cum had dried. So when she finally came to me with sad eyes and told me she’d fallen in love with her colleague, I couldn’t be upset. We both deserved better. And I had hopes we could part amicably, but it didn’t happen. She wouldn’t allow it to happen.
She’d wanted me to fight for her, for our relationship, and to beg her to stay with me. But I couldn’t bring myself to do that. Not when it wasn’t how I felt. I wanted her to be happy, and that wasn’t something I could give her. Not when my heart wasn’t there anymore. So when I remained emotionless about it all and agreed with everything she said, she made my life hell.
All my belongings were packed, I was given notice to leave, and I was taken off our joint bank account with only the tiny bit of savings I’d contributed withdrawn and stuck in an envelope. Since I didn’t want to fight for her, she didn’t show me any grace. And that’s how I found myself back home and in my crummy apartment. But she was happy with her colleague, and I was no longer stuck in a relationship I didn’t want to be in anyway. That’s what mattered, right? That we both finally got what we wanted.
But as I lay in bed, with my flat pillow folded in half to provide some extra cushion, I stopped wondering about my life and how I wound up there in that apartment. I gave up questioning why I allowed Jennifer and I to let things go so far and why I couldn’t be strong enough to tell her I wanted to end things. Instead, in my exhausted state, I allowed my mind to drift and think about hazel eyes, heavily tattooed skin, and the way he made my spine shiver and fire flow through my veins at the briefest of touches.
My entire body ignited, exhaustion be damned, and my dick came to full attention as it tented the thin sheet that covered me. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to think about anything that wasn’t sexual: baseball stats, car parts, even going to the dentist. But it was to no avail. The only way to fix my problem was to take care of it, and the only solution was to roll over and grab the bottle of lube from the drawer of my bedside table.
But as my hand worked the soft skin of my rock-hard cock until precum coated my fingers as it leaked from the slit, it wasn’t a sexy woman in a tight dress I was thinking about.
“Oh fuck,” I gasped as I moved my hand faster.
With my legs bent, my heels dug into the mattress as I worked my cock. And as the familiar tingle shot down my spine, my back arched and my balls drew up tightly toward my body until my orgasm rocked through me. My breath came in short bursts and my hand worked faster as I milked my cock. My entire body shook from the exertion as it slammed through me. I’d never came so hard in my life, and my hand, sheet, and chest were all covered in my release.
“Oh fuck,” I said again as I settled back against the bed. Only that time it didn’t come out as a breathy gasp. Instead, it was filled with dread.
Because the image that filled my head to give me the best self-induced orgasm I’d ever experienced wasn’t a woman with pouty lips and luscious curves. Instead, it was heat-filled hazel eyes and tattooed skin.
I was fucked. And not in a good way.
Hopefully the powerful orgasm would reset my brain and tomorrow all would return to normal. Otherwise, I wasn’t sure what I’d do. And as I washed up, I kept telling myself it was only a fluke and hoped I’d never have to see him again. But the tiny sadistic part of me was thrilled about the possibility and curious what would happen if I did.
And that was the part of myself I hated the most.
4
Stellan
“You guys want a drink?” I asked my band members as I walked toward the fridge.
“I’ll have a beer,” Baylor shouted over the other guys, who opted for water like me.
“It’s not even five yet,” I reminded him.
“It is somewhere.”
I rolled my eyes but grabbed the bottles of water and a beer for Baylor before returning to the living room to pass them out. We’d just finished a rehearsal, which we always had at my place because I lived in the middle of nowhere.. We could be as loud as we wanted, and no one would care except for the local wildlife. I had an entire setup in a spare room so Baylor didn’t have to cart around his drums and Maverick could practice on a piano rather than a keyboard.