Page 20 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

I didn't do that when I lost Valerie. I retreated, sure. Built walls. Kept people at a distance. But I never became cruel.

Except...

Emily's face flashes in my mind.

In my bedroom, I open the door to my private bathroom. Stripping my clothes off, I leave them on the floor. Usually, I hate mess, but right now, I couldn’t care less.

As steam fills the glass enclosure, my thoughts drift back to Emily. My cock stirs at the thought of her, and I hate myself for it. For reducing her to just physical release when she deserves better. She's not Valerie, could never be Valerie, but she's not nothing, either.

Heat pools in my groin at the thought of her body, her skin against mine. It's inappropriate, disrespectful even, to want her this way. But my body doesn't seem to care about what's right. I close my eyes and picture her face. The image is so vivid that it's like she's standing before me.

I wonder how her lips would look stretched tight around my cock, which twitches at the mere thought of it. My body betrays me, responding to the fantasy even as my mind knows it can never be reality.

My hand slides down, squeezing until precum beads at the tip. In my mind, Emily's big eyes stare up at me, filled with desire and something dangerously close to affection. I can almost feel her moan around the thickness of my shaft, the vibration traveling through my entire body. My hand moves faster, my breathing becoming ragged as I chase release. The water continues to beat down on me, mingling with the sweat that breaks out across my skin despite the heat.

I'm close, so close. Pressure builds at the base of my spine. I come with a strangled groan, my body tensing and thenreleasing in waves of pleasure that leave me momentarily weak-kneed.

But the orgasm doesn't satisfy me. If anything, it makes my need greater, deepening the hollow ache in my chest that physical release cannot fill.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Emily

Ilet out a pathetic noise as I fumble around for the stupid clock. Six a.m. The only thing dragging my ass out of bed is knowing I can’t blow my first day. My apartment is a freezer, but whatever. Logan’s waiting for me to crash and burn. That look in his eyes said it all. His smug smirk when he handed me the job still pisses me off. But underneath all that, there’s something about him that gets under my skin in ways I don’t want to deal with. Screw him. I’m gonna be so good at this job he won’t know what hit him.

I kick off the covers. Jesus Christ, it’s freezing in here. Heat? Yeah right. My bank account’s emptier than my fridge. But today’s the day everything turns around. New job. Money. A life that doesn’t totally suck. It has to work because there’s no way in hell I’m crawling back to Mom and Dad’s to live with my dork brother and his stupid goldfish. Just thinking about slinking home like a loser makes me shiver worse than the cold in this apartment.

Outside, the city’s already losing its mind, with horns blasting, garbage trucks making a racket, and people yelling likethey’ve got something important to say. It’s so different from my boring hometown. I now have a bathroom next to my bedroom, which sounds fancy until you realize my entire “two-bedroom” is barely three hundred and twenty-five square feet. Pathetic! But hey, it’s mine, at least until the landlord comes knocking for rent I can’t pay.

This bathroom’s a joke. I have to leave the shower door open just to turn around. When I crank the water on, the freezing blast knocks the air from my lungs. These old pipes sound like they’re dying, banging and moaning as if they’re being tortured. I soap up and rinse faster than humanly possible, trying to remember Kate’s bullshit meditation crap. Find peace in discomfort. Embrace the cold. Yeah, it’s easy for Miss Trust Fund in her heated luxury condo with the doorman.

Shut up, Emily. You’ve got a roof. Running water. So what if everything smells like mildew and the faucet’s been dripping since the Stone Age? That’s the price of not living under Mommy and Daddy’s thumb. But sometimes, in my darkest moments, I wonder why I’m putting myself through this hell. Why not go home? Hot showers. Actual food three times a day. Working heat. Not having to pile on every blanket I own just so my toes don’t fall off overnight.

I shake my head, sending water flying against the cracked-to-hell mirror. I’m a grown-ass woman, not some kid who needs to be taken care of. Like a baby bird trying to fly with one wet, frozen, half-broken wing. But at least I’m still in the air and not smashed on the pavement. Not yet, anyway.

Thank God the water torture’s over. At least the cold shocked me awake. I wrap a threadbare towel around me and shuffle back to what passes for a bedroom, leaving wet footprints on the sad excuse for hardwood. My room is basically a closet someone shoved a bed into, with shelves that couldn’t hold a damnpaperback. That’s why my romance novels pile up everywhere but on those shelves.

I squeeze into jeans and yank on a dark blue blouse that screamsTake me seriously, please,then layer with a sweater and brown boots. The jeans dig into my waist, thanks to the Cup O’Noodles diet I’m on, but whatever.

No sign of Demon the hell-cat. For a hot second, I’m thrilled she might’ve escaped, then I feel like shit for thinking it.

I throw some cat food in the corner of my pathetic kitchen, making empty promises about buying a real dish tonight. At least I remember to fill up his water bowl—that's something. Gotta get a litter box, too, though my ficus tree’s never looked so damn green. My nose crinkles in disgust. I’ll buy whatever the demon cat needs, even if it means skipping breakfast. My stomach rumbles as if it’s staging a protest.

I double-check the lock on my crappy door before leaving. The hallway reeks of last night’s curry, and some kid is screaming its head off somewhere. Mrs. Rodriguez sticks her head out from across the hall, those gray curlers looking like they’ve been fighting with her hair all night.

“Hey, mijita,” she says with that sugary grandma smile. “Where are you rushing off to at the crack of dawn?”

“Got a new job.” I flash her a smile that doesn’t feel fake for once.

“Dios mío! That’s fantastic news! Good luck out there, mijita!”

“Thanks, Mrs. Rodriguez. Pretty sure I’ll need all the luck I can get, plus a miracle or two.”

At least somebody in this world thinks I won’t crash and burn.

I head for the subway, wrapping my scarf tighter as the cold air slaps me in the face. The streets are packed with people rushing to jobs they probably hate, with steam pouringfrom their overpriced coffee cups. Back home, you could walk everywhere in like, ten minutes. No need for trains or buses. But this city, it’s got its hooks in me, even the nasty subway. Well, maybe not right this second with my face shoved into some dude’s sweaty armpit. But most days. This place has a pulse, you know? Millions of stories all crashing into each other. I’d rather die than go back to my boring hometown, which is why I absolutely cannot screw up today.

The subway jerks violently, and I grab the pole before I end up face-first in some Wall Street guy’s lap. As we rattle through these grimy tunnels, I try to figure out what to say to Logan. Can’t sound too eager. Can’t sound like I don’t care. Maybe just a good morning with a smile that doesn’t look fake as hell? Even in my head, it sounds stupid and forced.

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