Page 28 of Shattered

I should keep my distance. I won’t allow myself to think of his rock hard body, the way he can manipulate mine, or the earth shattering orgasms I’ve had at his hands. From now on, he’s just a friend. A friend I’m not attracted to at all. That’s all it is anyway: attraction. I’m not in love with him. He drives me completely fucking crazy.

I slide into bed and watch the black and white movie playing on the TV, but I’m not really watching it. I’m thinking about what I have gotten myself into.

Remembering to text my mom, I type out a quick message, telling her where I am and that I’m safe for the night before turning my phone off and dropping it onto the table. I settle back into bed.

The bathroom door suddenly opens and he walks into the room in his white boxer briefs. His strong chest is still slightly damp and it glistens with the soft glow of the room. As he passes in front of the TV, his whole body is fully visible, and my eyes skim down his six pack to that V that points right to his dick. I have no idea what that part of the body is called, but fuck my life, it does things to me it shouldn’t.

Feeling extra irritated with myself, I roll my eyes as he walks closer to me. He struts his shit like a damn runway model, demanding my attention. He slides into bed next to me and the smell of his body-wash and shampoo sends a tingling fire from my stomach to directly between my legs.

“God, don’t you have clothes?”

He turns to give me his cocky grin. “What’s the matter, princess? Are you afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?”

I scoff. “Hardly.”

“Well then my nearly naked appearance shouldn’t bother you.” He raises his arms, placing them behind his head, elevating him enough to watch TV.

His scent washes over me again, strong and powerful. I breathe it in deeply, letting it take me back to that first night in the alley. I think about the way he held me firmly in his hands, the way he’d drilled into me hard and forceful, his cocky grin that pisses me off and turns me on at the same time, and I can feel the wetness pooling between my thighs.

I keep my eyes on the TV, refusing to do anything about my urges. There is seriously something wrong with me. I’ve never wanted a guy this much. Even the guys I dated before didn’t have this much control over me with something as simple as their presence.

My heart pounds wildly in my ears and my flesh becomes sticky as my blood pressure rises, but I don’t dare look at him.

I let out a long breath. “I need a drink.” I cover my eyes with my forearm.

“Lucky for you I don’t go anywhere without my flask.” He stands and reaches into his bag. He pulls out the shiny metal flask and uncaps it. He takes a drink before handing it over. As I’m lying on my side, I prop my head up with my hand and take a drink. The warm alcohol pours into my mouth, burning its way down. It sets in my belly, warming it even more.

In an attempt to talk to keep my mind off what his body is doing to mine, I say, “I know nothing about you. Where are you from? Where do you work?”

He takes the flask and takes a sip. “I’m from New York. I just moved to the city about a month ago. In New York, I was in advertising, but I hated it. It was suffocating.”

“What do you mean?”

He looks at me and thinks it over for a minute. “Did you ever hear the saying, leave your work at work?”

“Of course.”

“That wasn’t possible with advertising. It was all I thought about. All day at work we would create ads and try to figure out how to market whatever product we were working on. But when I was off work, all I saw was advertising. Most people tend to overlook the billboards, the posters plastered all over the walls of the subway, the advertisements on the sides of buses, but I couldn’t. When I saw an ad, I wondered who created it, what made them think up that concept, how I could make it better. It was exhausting.”

“I can honestly say that I’ve never given it much thought.”

“Exactly. I worked myself to the bone and for what? So people like you could totally overlook all my hard work.”

“I’m sorry,” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“No. I didn’t mean it like that. It was all just too impersonal. Everyone was doing the same things. It was like one person would come up with a good concept, and when everyone saw how well it was working, they would copy it. It just wasn’t worth the annoyance anymore.”

“So what? You just packed your bags and moved to California?”

He nods. “Basically. I wanted to get out of New York. I wanted to find myself, I guess.”

“And have you found yourself?” I look up to meet his dark eyes.

“I’m starting to.” His face is serious, but he has an easiness about him.

“How old are you, River?”

“Twenty-five,” he answers.

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