Page 95 of Lust

Snowflake has already gone by the time I open the bedroom door. Whatever it was that she was looking for, I hope it was worth it.

Stepping out onto the front balcony, I inhale deeply. Just above me, the tower's circular window frames the sky, its ominous, swirling clouds mirroring my own mood. I walk down the curved stairs, taking my time walking round each balcony until I reach the next stairs. I’ve literally just busted my nut and yet I don’t feel sated. When I reach the eighth level and my door, I don’t stop. Snowflake’s words keep going round in my head after her ambush earlier. I’m not pulling on anyone’s pigtails. Fuck Snowflake and her pseudo-psychiatry bullshit and fuck Rowena too. I don’t like her. Not in the way Snowflake makes out. Hell, I don’t like the bitch at all. I fucked her as a mercy fuck and for no other reason. I was fucking drunk and my head was messed up and yeah, maybe I was a little curious. So what if I took her virginity? And so what if she’s the first woman I ever went down on? And so what if her orgasm was more real and genuine than anything I’ve ever experienced with the hundreds of women I’ve been with?

My anger and confusion reach a crescendo as I come to a stop outside her door. I don’t even know why I stopped here. There’s no way I’m going to knock. I’m not going to let her know that she’s gotten into my head.

I clench my fists in silent frustration, the tension radiating through my body. The creak of a nearby door opening grabs my attention, and I quickly straighten up, only to see Juliette stepping out of the room next door.

Her eyes widen as they lock onto me, but her expression quickly transforms into a knowing smirk. “Well, well. Fancy seeing you here.”

I grit my teeth, resisting the urge to snap at her. “I'm just on my way to the gym.”

She tilts her head, eyeing the door adjacent to mine. “Funny how you managed to take a break right outside Rowena’s door. Quite the coincidence, don't you think?” Her lips curl into a suggestive smile.

I gesture impatiently towards the staircase I've just descended. “It's hardly a coincidence that I'm at the bottom of the stairs, needing a breather.”

She saunters over to me, her face full of mirth. “Here’s what I think, lover boy. I think you were hoping for a secret tryst with my best friend, and now that you’ve been caught, you're scrambling for excuses. Maybe you should ask yourself why you feel the need to do that?”

My jaw locks as frustrated anger burns through me. “I’m not in the market for a mercy fuck from that freak,” I mutter.

Her features darken as she comes closer. “I guess not. I can smell Anthura on you a mile off. You should stick to fucking her. She’s on the same level as you. You’re both on par with an ant’s ball sack.”

I’m so angry because she’s right. I should stick to fucking Anthura. It’s not just anger flooding my veins like poison, but a strange kind of grief.

“Go fuck yourself, Juliette.” I turn to leave and as I take the next set of stairs, I hear her call out. “Unlike you, Felix, I don’t need to.”

I reach the bottom and stalk across the lounge. My anger pauses when a group of hot women race after me and hold out autograph books and pens. They want my fucking autograph.

A blonde “accidentally” rubs her pert tits on me as I ask her name.

“Joanie,” she whispers with a suggestive smile. This is what I’m talking about. This is who I used to be. People used to stop me and ask me for my autograph all the time when I was alive. Every woman I met wanted to fuck me and I did. A long hot line-up of pussy, ripe for the taking. After signing a few of their autograph books and a couple of their tits, a guy shoves through them with a book of his own.

“I’m your biggest fan, Felix Barclay.”

I take the pen and book from his hand. “Name?”

“Simon. Just write to Simon, Love and Kisses, Felix.”

I write out To Simon quickly and sign it. He looks a bit pissed off, but I’m not writing all that crap. Let him get his autographs from the others. The fucking weird couple who are practically shagging each other all the fucking time would probably love to write a soppy essay in his book.

“Thanks,” he says with a wink. “You know, if I’d have known you were into guys, I’d have loved to get in on that action.”

I thrust his book back at him and bite back the urge to punch his lights out. “She’s a fucking girl. I’m not into dudes.” I push past him and the women and slam my hand on the elevator call button.

When I get to the gym, I turn on the running machine, inclining it as far as it will go. I want to sweat. I want to feel pain. I want to feel anything other than what I currently do.

I pound away on the treadmill, stretching my lungs to the limit with each breath and burning my muscles. Sweat is dripping down my face, but I don’t stop. The irony is, this isn’t going to make me fitter at all. I’m already dead and I look and feel better than I have in years. Physically, I’m in the best shape I can be, so I don’t know what it is that’s making me feel so shit.

My breathing hitches up a notch when I see Rowena walk by through the gym window. She turns slightly and I see that it’s not her, just someone who looks a bit like her. Except now that I look closer, she doesn’t look like Rowena. Maybe she has blonde curls, but they don’t fall in the same way. Her body doesn’t move with the same confident gait.

Fuck!Frustration courses through me, and I slam my hand onto the stop button, abruptly halting the treadmill. Snatching a towel, I wipe the sweat from my face, trying to quell the fucking stress that seems to take up every part of my being these days.

Stress that only one thing cut through and it’s the one thing I have no intention of doing aver again. I will never, under any circumstances, sleep with Rowena Bagshot ever again!

Now I just need my brain, dick and emotions to agree with the sentiment.

46

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