Page 31 of Unleashing Chaos

A little gasp of horror comes from her side of the car, and my eyes dart over to her, afraid that something’s wrong, that she’s somehow hurt.

But she’s not. She’s just looking over at me with sorrow etched on her features. “Oh, I’m sorry, Jace. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine talking about sex. Despite the myths about nerds never getting any, I’m well versed in the subject. I just find that when that door is opened it’s hard to close, and it could complicate situations. Especially when it feels like lines have already almost been crossed prior to talking about sex.”

“So, we did almost cross a line. I didn’t read too much into that.”

I take a deep breath before speaking. “You were there, Desideria. We were emotional and struggling to rationally voice our frustrations. I chalk it up to feeling like we lost our minds for a moment. I want you to know that I’d never cross that boundary with you, not when you’re looking for the type of relationship I can’t give you.”

“Of course,” she mumbles. “You don’t believe in commitment. And that’s exactly what I’m here to find. Not that I’d—never mind. You’re right. I just want to know what it feels like.”

“What?”

“I want to know what it feels like,” she says a little louder, and without even looking I know she’s turned her whole body to face me. “To be completely desired. Needed. To be kissed so desperately that I lose my breath. I want them to come back for more, desperate to kiss me again. And when they do, I want them in control, for them to tell me what would make them feel good. I don’t want to be a fumbling mess. I just want to be theirs for that moment. You know what I mean?”

My blood stills. My heart stops for a moment. Everything freezes. I completely know what she means because that’s where I thrive. So much in my life has been outside my control but sex is the one place—other than my art—where I can create an outcome where everyone is happy. It turns me on to dominate in those moments that bring a woman pleasure. But part of what she just said doesn’t compute. There’s simply no way it can be true.

“Back up a second. You’ve never been kissed? I know you said Cannon was your first date, but you’ve never—”

“I mean, when I was younger, yeah, but every time it was with some sloppy dem—guy—and it never meant anything. No more than a messy kiss on the lips with either hardly any tongue or way too much tongue. I’ve never been really kissed. Hence, the desire for someone to be in control.”

I fall silent because I have no idea what to say. It seems truly impossible that this beautiful creature has not been kissed within an inch of her life. When I finally pull my car into the garage, I cut the engine and turn to her.

“Then I’m glad I didn’t cross that line with you the other day. I would have let you down, and I don’t want to be on that list of meaningless kisses from guys who never returned for more. You deserve better than that.”

Her sharp inhale cuts me to the bone. She opens the car door and jumps out, pulling her heels off as she goes. “Thank you for tonight, Jace. I had a great time,” she says, her voice suspiciously thick, as she runs into the house without looking back.

Fuck. Well, it’s clear that she took what I said the wrong way. Like I wouldn’t want to kiss her. Like I wouldn’t kill to come back for more. When the exact opposite is true.

But she can never, ever know that. I won’t hurt her that way.

Or myself.

I lean back against the headrest and close my eyes. This is the exact thing I never wanted to happen. When hormones and sex get involved, things get messy. People get hurt. I’ve spent my time on the receiving and the giving end of that pain. I swore I’d never get twisted in that kind of emotion after everything that happened to me, but it appears I’m the clown who’s caught himself in that trap again.

Eleven

DESI

I feel so foolish. I should have never let the alcohol go to my head and flirted so much with Jace. I mean, yeah, he made the “daddy” comment, but he was clearly joking and of course I took things too far. And then to tell him I’ve never kissed anyone before?! Ugh, he probably thinks I’m such a loser. No wonder he felt like he had to let me down easy and tell me it wouldn’t be a good idea for us to be more than friends.

I let myself into my room and swing my arm behind me, slamming my door shut with my power. With an aggressive sweep of my hand, my curtains race across the rod, colliding in the center. I kick my shoes off and focus on the zipper on the back of my dress. It slides down with little effort and my dress ends up in a pile at my feet.

It’s a release to use my power. I’ve spent weeks bottling it up and acting like a human. My lazy nature isn’t made for loading dishwashers and folding clothes by hand. I’m like a fish running on land when I thrive floating in the water. All that pent-up energy along with the sting of rejection is too much to contain.

It hurt when Jace said if he kissed me, he would never come back for more. Am I so easy to discard? The way all my dates turn out seems to say I am. My self-confidence is already raw, and with every word Jace said, he picked at the open wound until it bled.

After putting on a satin nightgown, I wiggle my finger at the clothes on the floor. My dress and undergarments float to the laundry basket, and my shoes slide across the carpet until they sit side by side inside my closet. I dust off my palms, like I’ve just spent hours tackling the dirtiest of jobs. Desperate for something to ease my stress, I will my oil diffuser to turn on. The room fills with the calming scent of lavender and a soft blue light. I fall onto my bed and motion for the lights to turn off.

When I’m as comfortable as I can get in my agitated state, my power pulls back the curtains. I turn on my side, my gaze drifting to Jace’s bedroom. The light is still off, signaling that he either hasn’t come upstairs yet or he already went to sleep while I was getting ready for bed.

I doubt the latter is true. I’ve been slyly watching him every night for weeks now, learning his routine, and there’s no way he did everything he needs to do in that amount of time. He always turns his blankets and sheets down first, as if prepping his bed for his entry. Then he separates all his laundry from the day, takes a shower, does a set of stretches, and reads for a while before finally turning out the light.

He hasn’t come up for the night. I wonder what he’s doing down there. I hold back a laugh that turns into a snort. Probably sipping on disgusting grass juice and contemplating the next video game he should buy.

As if on cue, I hear his footsteps on the stairs. They’re slow, almost unsteady, like he’s trying to decide which way to go. I close my eyes and hold my breath as I wait for a knock at my door. I’m not sure why he’d come talk to me; I think we said all that needed to be said tonight. But then he starts walking again, heading across the house into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him. I exhale deeply and let my eyelids flutter open.

Covered by the veil of night, I watch as the light clicks on and he enters his bedroom. He’s distracted by something on his phone and doesn’t so much as spare a glance at his window. But that’s no different than usual. He doesn’t pay attention on a regular night; I’m not sure that he even realizes our rooms share this view. Unbuttoning his dress shirt, he walks into his bathroom.

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