“Does that feel good, beautiful? You like the way I touch you?”
“I want your mouth on me. Your cock in me. I need it all now. So bad, Gus. Please. I need you so bad.”
My head flies back as I pull my fingers out of her pussy, sucking them into my mouth so I can taste her while slipping my cock deep inside of her.
Her body arches, but her gaze remains locked on mine while I fuck her.
Jesus. God in heaven. I fuck her so hard.
She wraps her legs around my waist, her nails scraping down my back and up through my hair as I pound into her. Over and over and over while she screams in pleasure. While she begs for it harder, deeper. While she tells me how close she is and how good I feel inside of her.
How no one has ever felt better.
The need to claim her consumes me. Her pussy. Her ass. Her mouth. Her tits.
Mine. All of her is mine.
Her head falls back, her lips part, and she comes so hard, all over my cock, crying out my name like it’s the answer to her prayers. I explode. Spurts of white cum shoot out all over my hand and the wall as I yell out, cursing like I never have before. My vision sways, sparks of color splash behind my eyes as I lean against the wall so I don’t pass out.
Jesus.
I can’t remember the last time I came that hard and that was just me jerking off to her.
And instead of leaving me satisfied and content, instead of feeling like I worked her out of my system with that mind-blowing orgasm, it’s the complete opposite.
All that did is make me hungrier for her. All this interlude with my palm did is leave me craving more.
I unleashed the beast—and now I have no idea how to tuck him back into hibernation when he’s demanding to be fed.
And unfortunately for me, there’s only one woman who can sate his appetite.
Chapter Sixteen
Gus
* * *
“I like that line, I’m just not sure how well it works with the one before it,” I say, pointing to the page we’re working on. We’re sitting in the coffee shop in Santa Monica, leaning over a coffee table of sorts and shoving the paper with my original lyrics back and forth between us. My back hurts. My eyes ache. My stomach is queasy from the two strong cups of coffee I’ve had.
But I can’t do this with Naomi any other way, so I’ve been suffering through.
The moment she left Jasper’s a few days ago, he immediately began digging into me. He saw that I want her. That I am trying to hold it back. He noticed how my stupid jaw locked when Henry and Keith were going back and forth over her.
Fucking Jasper always has to see it all, doesn’t he?
Always has to win.
“Lock it down,” he said. “If you’re not serious about the girl for more than her body and this song, then lock it down now and throw away the fucking key.”
“What if it’s more than that?” I asked, and he raised an eyebrow at that.
“Is it?” he threw back, not in a mean or mocking way either. It was a question dipped in skepticism. Dipped in concern. Because he knows me and knows that there has only been one woman I’ve wanted for more than her body. One. And that’s what this goddamn song is about.
So yeah, I get his thinking on this.
Doesn’t mean I like it.
“I don’t know,” I told him because it’s the truth. I don’t know. I like Naomi. I like spending time with her. And since she came along, I haven’t thought about Viola all that much. And she’s all I’ve thought about since I laid eyes on her when we were eight. I’m not even exaggerating. Maybe that’s what is throwing me off the most.
Obsession is a funny thing. It’s one of those bastards that eats at every chunk of your skin. Sucks at every cell of your blood. Consumes every fiber of your thinking. Until one day, you realize your obsession isn’t at all what you thought it was. That maybe, all this time, it was misguided. Confused. Stuck on the wrong person on the wrong path.
I should be ecstatic about that.
Insanely relieved that my heart and mind are finally starting to move past Viola. That she no longer consumes my every waking thought.
But now, all I’m able to think about is Naomi.
Her smile. Her voice that sounds like angels singing. Her laugh that makes me smile like a fool every time I hear it. Her wit and sarcasm and sass. Her body. Her mind. Her talent. Even her vulnerability and sadness hit me on a different level.
It’s like history repeating itself. I’m not looking to get attached to someone new, I’m just looking to get unattached to someone old. I can’t tell if this attraction is just muscle memory or if it’s something genuine. I don’t know if I want this woman because I can’t have her, because she’s as forbidden to me as Viola is, or because I just want this woman.
And my head is a goddamn mess with it.
I’m worried I’m latching on to the first woman to come around, transferring my feelings for Viola onto Naomi, because she’s here and seemingly perfect.
I crave her more than my next breath. I inhale deeper just so I can smell her unique fragrance. I stare a little longer to memorize her every feature. I picture her in a hundred different dirty ways, and all of them make me so goddamn hard I don’t think I’ve ever had erections like this.
“If you don’t know, then you need to respect her enough to keep it strictly professional and your hands and thoughts to yourself until you do. She doesn’t deserve to be used.”
I agreed once more and told Jasper I would keep it in check. Because he’s right. Naomi does not deserve to be used. She is not a rebound, and I’m smart enough to realize that that’s likely what this is. Isn’t that what they say? That when you’re getting over someone you love, it’s easy to transfer those emotions onto someone else? Doesn’t make them real.
So, I’ve been keeping my distance. Texting her only when needed.
Suggested meeting here in a safe, neutral place instead of her house or mine.
“Gus, I can’t work like this anymore,” Naomi growls in aggravation, shoving the scribbled-up piece of paper back at me. “I can’t tell where your lines begin and mine end and vice versa. Can’t we please just type this out?”
I shake my head. “It’s better like this. It’s easier to work out our thoughts with a pen and paper than a computer.”
She shakes her head in return, heaving out a frustrated breath. We’ve been at this for well over an hour and made very little progress. Honestly, I think we’re starting to get on each other’s nerves. I make a change and she bitches about it. She makes a change and I bitch about it. There’s a tension in the air, swirling around, weighing us down, and it’s all my fault.
She showed up like sunshine and roses, glowing a beautiful smile, and it did funny things to my insides. I can’t look at her. I can hardly talk to her. I have no idea how I’m going to write this duet with her, let alone sing it and record it when it suddenly feels all wrong. Everything about it. The lyrics, the sentiment.
I can’t even tell why.
But it’s too late to back out now.
What felt so fucking important a week ago is now strangling me.
“That’s absolutely ridiculous.” She brushes some of her long, dark hair from her face, sitting back and glaring at me. “It takes me so much longer to write than it does to type.”