Page 58 of Hold On

“No more. I promise. I’m here to help,” I whisper in her ear. “But first I need to see what everyone can’t stop paying you for.” I nervously press forward, hoping she’ll take the bait. I know it seems fucked up, but we’ve got to move past this, and sex has always been that barrier breaker for us.

“I think I’m booked currently, but maybe you can come back later,” she whispers as she shimmies her hips over my dick. Her pussy feels more relaxed as it coats me in a new dose of her wetness. I send a silent thank you to the heavens that we’re about to push through this shit and overcome something really big for us both.

“In that case, meet me in my room,” I grit out as I rip my dick from her cunt and replace her panties over her dripping hole. “You had my wallet last. Where is it?”

“I left it in the shed,” she says with a wicked glint in her eye.

“Don’t come back without it. That’syourpayment in there,” I say as I walk away, my slicked cock hanging free as I climb the stairs.

She cusses me out as I disappear, knowing she has to walk back down to the shed before I’ll fuck her again.

I keep walking upstairs, waiting for her to get back.

Alina:

I’d like to pretend I’m madder than I actually am about having to walk back down to the shed. I’m not though. Something about this feels healthy. Like we’re going to trust each other deeper after this. Or at least, I’m hoping so.

I hold myself as I walk as fast as I can back to the pond. My fucking titties feel like they’re going to fall off. When I reach the inside of the shed, I grab my discarded jacket from earlier and find Bash’s wallet on the bed. I stuff it in my pocket, turning to leave, when I stop. The nightstand with the toys catches my eye. I walk up to it and open the drawer, purple hearts glittering at me from its depths.

An idea forms. I grab one and place it in my pocket along with his wallet. I smirk as I leave, lube in my other hand.

Sebastian:

I’m nervous as shit. I don’t really have a plan here.

I’m just trying to allow Alina the safe space to be fully free and not have to feel like she has to hide herself and what she does for a living from me. I don’t want that. Not in the slightest. We’re both at home in each other’s darkness and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Maybe it should just be her to lead here. I scrub a hand down my face, wanting to get this right. It feels like the first time almost, and I smile at that. That we’ve gone through so muchand she still has this kind of effect over me. I’m intoxicated by her.

I’m organizing my room, not having another outlet for my nervous energy until I see what’s left of my guitars and thinkDuh, strum one of them, you fucking idiot.

I pick one up and sling it over my shoulder, the weight of it instantly grounding me like I’m desperately craving. It’s my acoustic Epiphone. I tune it for a few minutes, allowing the task to consume and distract me. Once I get it to that sweet spot, I start to strum the strings. My fingers take over as I begin to play I’m With You by Avril Lavigne. The words fall easily from my mouth as I sing them to myself. And my anxiety begins to fade.

Music used to have this effect on me and that’s why I loved it. Why I wanted to share it with the world. But then it became everything I feared. It brought the anxiety, instead of squashing it. And that’s when I began to fall apart and turn to drugs to feel better. Drank before every show. Had to stay awake with coke. Had to wind down with heroin. There was an excuse for everything. A reason as to why Ihadto do everything I got addicted to.

But none of it truly fixed the problem. The trauma buried within me from my shitty childhood. My abandonment wound from Alina. My anger at my mom for never helping me, then the guilt that ate away at me for not fixing shit for her.

I’m a mess. I’vealwaysbeen a mess. Not to Alina though.

I was too in love to see it coming, the end that happened so quickly. I was barely able to register her absence before I just died internally and shut down. I got by until I was discovered, and that excitement was enough to wake me up again, but I was never truly whole. Not until she came back to me.

I sing to myself. To the empty room. I think of the woman I’m waiting for and a smile springs to my lips. Alina fucking Timber. The woman of my fucking dreams.

I trail off as I hear the door opening downstairs, sitting myself in the chair next to my guitar stands as I hold the one in my arms for comfort. I hear nothing but the shifting of steps as she climbs them to my room. I grip the fret board tighter, my anxiety peaking as her purple hair clears the landing and then she’s standing there in a jacket and her little schoolgirl outfit. Her toes are still bare, and her legs are cold with goosebumps. Her nipples are hard as shit beneath the shirt she’s wearing. She has no bra on. My boner presses into the back of the guitar on my lap as I audibly swallow. She looks absolutely gorgeous.

“Is this your wallet I picked up on my way up here?” she asks as I nod my head yes, unable to speak. She opens it and throws whatever money is inside upon the floor between us. “It’s not enough,” she bites out in an annoyed voice. I’m swallowing again, uncomfortable that I’ve upset her. Luckily I have access to hordes of cash.

“How much more do you need?” My voice is low, a little shaky, and dark. I’m clinging to the guitar as she overpowers me with her energy and presence.

“To remove my jacket? Five fucking hundred,” she challenges. I nod, unphased by the number.

“Venmo, ok?” I ask her. She nods back.

“Venmo isgreat,” she says. “Don’tsay it’s a service, though.” I smirk at her very thorough, smartass remark.

“Username?” I ask next and she gives it to me. The sound of a cha-ching rings out in the room. Alina grabs her phone. There’s a five-hundred-and-fifty-dollar payment waiting for her.

“Take the jacket off,” I quietly command as she sets her phone off to the side and does as I directed. Her nipples peak harder, the temperature change apparent. “How much to take off your shirt?” I inquire. She smirks.

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