Walking Heartbreak (12 page)

BO

Girls jump my cock whenever I allow it
—I’m used to giving and taking what I want. They hunt me down before shows, after shows, even in bars and in back alleys. They’re creative too, good at making me curious. It’s the rocker thing: chicks dig it. All I need is to lean back and watch. But here I am now, in this situation where I’m chasing a married woman—even though I’ve already had her. It’s absurd.

I know who I am and what I’m capable of. Those bedroom eyes from the audience? They get to my wang, but they don’t get to
me
.

Nadia showing up at our last show made me ponder my relationship with my ex again. Year after year, Ingela looked at me with adoration in her eyes, while I, no matter how deep I searched, found nothing in my black, selfish soul. Over and over I hurt her because I couldn’t fake what I didn’t have—a goddamn heart. It’s why I stare out over the masses in arenas without the awe Emil’s face sometimes reveals.

I told Nadia that night; people don’t do it for me—music does. Just another way of being emotionally stumped, I guess. I haven’t looked into it closely enough to diagnose my condition, but I know I’m not a sociopath. Not a psychopath. Definitely not asexual—hell, sex is the only way I make a woman happy.

At the last thought, my mind returns to Nadia, and my dick twitches. Sex with her was insane. Not since I last slept with my ex over a year ago have I had sex that good. I was so turned on I couldn’t think straight.

It’s weird, because she wasn’t trying to blow my mind. There’ve been acrobatics involved throughout our tours—overflow Luminessence groupies with a limberness beyond anyone’s fantasies and swallowing techniques that can blow a guy’s mind. None of that came close to the simple, real, understated sex with Nadia.

The scent of her hair, the flower perfume or soap or whatever she’d used. Then the secret aroma of her pussy. It called to me, I swear. Great, and now I’m rock hard again.

Because I like her, the situation with her husband is starting to piss me off. Nadia is young. She’s wasting her life on some asshole who doesn’t appreciate her. She’s miserable, and you don’t need to be a rocket scientist to get that it’s his fault.

I’ve been that guy. In my case, at least I never married the girl, and I made love to her as often as she needed it. In my defense, I tried. I really tried to make it work.

From Nadia’s reaction to my slightest touch, I’d say she hadn’t been fucked in a while, and that’s just wrong. If she doesn’t turn him on, then
her husband
must be stumped.

And seriously: what kind of douchebag doesn’t care enough to call his wife when she hasn’t returned from a concert at nine—the morning after?

Yeah, me chasing this particular married woman might not be so absurd. If she’s game, I’ll brighten her day again. Make her understand how beautiful she is, how easy it is for her to make a guy feel horny as shit.

Hell, this is me paying back karma over Ingela. Right—good. That’s why I’m picking Nadia up from the restaurant right now.

“Hey,” she murmurs timidly. She’s still wearing her apron and tugs to get it off.

“Hey,” I reply, the grin growing on my face. She’s tired, but she must have done something to her face and hair, because the redness in her eyes is the only thing giving her away.

“I like your lips,” I say, because I do. I shrug inwardly. I’m not a blurt-out kind of dude, but I guess that one escaped. She flushes immediately, which doesn’t help my already aroused state, and I hear myself say, “Screw bowling. Want to go to my place?”

She gasps like I’m being indecent. Which, to be fair, I am.

“No, I mean, we can pick up a movie.”

Smooth, Bo.

“What movie?” she asks, and I feel like she’s buying time. Then she hurries on, not waiting for my reply, “No, I’d like to watch you bowl.”

And so we go. I take her to the bowling hall and struggle through a few hours of Emil’s inane chuckling and Elias’ chicken dance whenever he gets a good score. Troy discretely kicks everyone’s ass, whooshing his ball down the lane like a pro.

Turns out Troy
was
a pro for a year, and his father owns a bowling hall. Sadly for us, he collects his winnings before he reveals this. How did I not know that about him? Nadia was the one asking—I never even thought of it. We all put too much money into the bets too, so here we go, shoveling out green to Troy yet again. I’m amazed at his financial astuteness. It almost rivals his drummer talent.

“Just for five minutes?” Zoe bats her lashes to her friend, who looks uncomfortable.

“I need to go home to Jude,” Nadia mumbles.

Zoe’s reaction is interesting. Her eyes flare with anger, her hands actually fisting at her sides, and when she opens her mouth, it’s like she’s trying out words first, censoring herself before she selects the few clipped ones she uses. “No, you do not.”

Nadia has responded to my charm before, so I turn it on. With my arms folded, I nudge her with my elbow and go, “Nadia, the ice cream Emil and Zoe bought the other night? Is still in the freezer. Shh,” I add, tip my head in against hers, and glance around us surreptitiously. “It’s calling your name.”

“Yeah, dude!” Emil exclaims, pointing at Nadia, probably worried that Zoe will leave with her if she doesn’t come along. Everything Emil does is for Emil.

“Do you work tomorrow?”

“I have a full-time job, yes,” Nadia says.

“Early?” I insist.

“No, late shift.”

“So that decides it. Let’s get going before the ice cream melts.”

Nadia’s lips are a plump, succulent red, and now she can’t stop them from stretching. Shit, she’s sweet when she smiles. “Melting in the freezer, huh?”

“Probably. Thinking of you.”

Out in the parking lot, I glimpse her face. She’s bright red. Maybe at my last flirty comment? Damn, I feel young—puberty-raging-hormones young. I’m thinking it could be uncomfortable to spend a lot of time with her if the night doesn’t go the way I want.

Once we pull up to our place, Emil and Zoe spill out of the backseat and head upstairs without waiting. From inside, Zoe’s halfhearted call, “Nadia, let me know if you need me, just—um, knock on Emil’s door,” reaches us.

I look at Nadia, really look, under the porch light. She doesn’t meet my gaze. I brush hair away from her face and tilt her chin so I can study her. She doesn’t object, but her lashes flutter low enough to conceal her eyes.

I curl my hand, using the backside of it to touch her cheek. Move it down slowly until I reach her throat. “Do you want to come upstairs?” I ask quietly. “I’d like you to. Very much.”

I’m not making up stories now. Her throat lifts and sinks as she swallows, struggling with herself. She understands that what I’m implying is not ice cream on separate chairs in front of the TV.

She doesn’t reply, so I grab her hand and take the first steps. She hesitates, but then comes along, her grip in mine tightening. And damn if that doesn’t make my bloodstream come alive. It rushes through me, pumping fast in anticipation.

“You’re special,” I whisper as I kiss her backwards in through the apartment door. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Nadia. Jesus, you’re so…”

I’m not a bedroom talker. I’m your quiet guy, the one who prefers to make the girl babble and moan and scream. I observe, enjoy what I do to her. My own voice? I hear it enough as it is. And yet here I am, rambling to Nadia between kisses.

Her mouth puckers through our kiss, tongue meeting mine and sucking. My bedroom door is behind her. I push it open and bring her with me, an arm under hers, lifting her off the floor. I’m impatient. Damn, I’m—

Bo, she’s skittish. Calm the fuck down.

I need to rein myself in.

With a palm at the back of her neck, I angle her upward for better access to her mouth. I lick, and ah, the top button of her shirt has come undone. I slide a hand inside, flat against her sternum, and stroke downward until I cup a breast inside her bra.

“Uh.” The sound puffs out of her, and it’s natural and genuine. Such a small sound. She’s not trying to impress with fake pleasure—I’m losing my shit!

“I love your tits, all of you. You’re so damn delicious.”

Her breathing speeds into short, shallow pants at my words, and I haven’t even removed her clothes yet.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come with me tonight. So glad you did,” I pant out, grinding her against the leg I’ve wedged in between hers. She clamps around me, not riding, but holding on like a good girl.

“I… wanted to,” she says.

“You like me?” I sound like a five-year-old.

“Who doesn’t?” is her answer.

I lift her and press her against the wall—the same wall Emil is already banging Zoe against on the other side. I smooth my palms against her skin, pulling upward, crumpling her shirt up and helping her raise her arms so I can tug it off. Boob, lots of boob quivering on such a skinny little body. I stroke the indentations between each rib and wrestle her bra up over taut nipples.

“I don’t know all of your secrets, baby,” I groan, pressing myself into her, crowding her. “But I’m going to extract every damn detail. I want to know everything about you. Nadia, you’re a mystery, a fucking million songs waiting to be written.”

She likes what I’m saying. She lets out a small, guttural sound, her body alive and squirming against me.

“Since the other night, you’ve been all I can think of,” I whisper, setting her down to work on her skirt. “The way you felt under me, and…” I cover her mound with my hand, pressing my middle finger inward right at the center. “…
around
me.”

Shock and pleasure intermingles in her eyes, and I let go of her panty-clad pussy to grab her face and hold it steady against the wall. I suckle on her mouth, lubricating it with my tongue the way I will her honeypot in a minute. She’s going weak in my arms, but she’s holding on, fingers clutching around my shoulders.

“Did you like it too?” I ask, daring her to peek outside her sheltered, demure world. A small whimper is her answer. I thrust myself hard against her center and repeat, “Did. You. Like. It?”

Her whimper is louder, and it turns me on so hard I’d come on the spot. I don’t though. Hell no, I’m not ruining this.

“That a ‘yes,’ baby?”

“Yeah…”

Because she made me wait, because I didn’t speed up and pound her the way I wanted to the last time, because I dreamed of her while writing
Fuck You
—I grab her panties on both sides where only a string holds them together, and rip them off.

Nadia lets out a shocked little squeal, and I’m hardly recognizing the way I make love nowadays. It’s her. All her. So modest, reserved, unpretentious, worried… secretive. I want to own her, and I’m impatient. I want her free—as free as in that small moment when she came the other night, spasming around me.

“Turn, sweetie,” I manage, my voice thick.

She does, and she’s all naked, the slope of her behind arching for me to feast on. I push myself against her first. Then I lower my shorts so I can rub my dick through her crack. Nice, warm cheeks just here for my pleasure, ready to do with what I want.

My hands go around her waist, fingers digging in so I can hold her tight. “Have you had sex against a wall before?” I ask, thrusting without entering. I shift to reach her boobs and knead while I work against her, gliding in her juices.

“No…”

I’m relieved and pissed for her at once.

Fucking husband.

“Raise your butt in the air,” Emil grunts.

“I am!” Zoe replies.

“I know, but higher. You want me all the way in, right? This is, like, half the length—you’re squeezing me out!”

“Hold on,” she mumbles. “There?”

“Yeah, spread those bunny-buns, baby,” he smarms, and I rip Nadia away from the wall and carry her to the bed.

“Shit, so sorry. It’s ridiculous in this apartment.”

“In ours too… the neighbors… all the time,” she manages.

Emil has a full-on headboard. It’s heavy hardwood, and I’ve told him time and again that he needs to move the bed farther out into the room. The guy never does. Now, it rattles hard against the wall as the two of them agree on a breakneck speed.

Nadia’s eyes glimmer beneath me, desire and shame warring in them. She’s withdrawing from me, becoming unreachable, and for her sake—for mine—I can’t allow it.

I form the comforter around her, a makeshift cocoon, revealing enough skin for me to caress. In sweeps much lighter than I crave, I tease her with my nails first, then add the length of my fingers as I draw a nipple out in a gentler version of a kiss.

I keep my gaze hidden beneath my hair; she’s not the type who gets a kick out of me studying her. I might get her there at some point, but tonight she’s too conflicted, maybe too hampered by her upbringing as well. I need her to feel safe, safe enough to fall apart despite the insanity in the next room.

I’m over her, leaning on one elbow, thighs pleated with hers, my dick resting along her hip. I don’t push against her anymore. No, I want Nadia to climb so slowly she’s unaware of what’s happening. I want her to surrender to pleasure in a way that would disregard a jumbo jet crashing into our room.