KIRK
I could get used to this, I think to myself as I open my eyes. The sun is streaming through the blinds of her bedroom, its pink morning glow tumbling over the room gently. There’s only a sheet covering both of our naked bodies, and I smile as I feel one of her feet brushing against mine.
I roll to the side, that stupid smile still on my face, and I reach for her. She has her back turned to me and, with my hands almost touching her waist, I hesitate. I start thinking about what happened last night and I can’t stop myself from overthinking everything.
She seemed distraught about something, but she didn’t even tell me what it was… She just jumped on me, a kind of wild hunger flickering in her eyes. She was like a wild animal, completely untamable, and I loved every single fucking second of it.
But, I gotta wonder… Was she just looking for sex? Maybe that’s all I am for her, a walking twelve-inch cock. Fuck, I really have to stop all this self- pitying bullshit. It isn’t helping me at all.
What happened to the old Kirk? The one who didn’t give a shit.
Well, he fell in love, my brain answers back. And he’s got to be strong till the female version of him is able to fucking realize it.
Holding my breath, I finally lay my hand on her waist, the warmness of her smooth skin spreading to my fingers. I sigh softly as I feel the curve of her hips, remembering the way it felt to be inside of her… Whenever I lose myself in her kiss, in her touch, in her body, it’s absolute perfection. It’s more than sex with her. I never thought I’d be saying something quite like this, but now I know what ‘making love’ really means.
I want nothing more than to pull her against me and hold her close. And the weird thing is, just like I told you, I’m not even talking about sex. I just want to hold her, to feel her body pressed against mine and breath at the same rhythm… as if we’re one.
Screw it, I have to stop thinking and start doing.
Draping one arm over her body, I press my chest against her back and close my eyes, breathing in the gentle perfume of her hair. She smells like Spring, like one of these perfect days where the world seems to be blossoming like a flower. Usually I need three or four glasses of wine to be this poetic, but I guess I’m already drunk on Emily. If I keep going like this, soon enough I’ll be writing her sonnets under the moonlight. And to think that I used to be the terror of women in this city.
I sigh softly as I press my whole body against hers; she stirs in her sleep slightly, and I hold my breath as I find my cock pressed against her ass, the smooth curve of her cheeks against my shaft. Remember when I said this wasn’t about sex? Well, how does the saying go? One thing leads to another… As I remember the necessity of breathing again, my heart picks up the pace and my cock starts hardening up slowly, desire rushing through my veins.
It doesn’t take long for all of my cock to be trapped between her ass cheeks, lust making my shaft pulse steadily.
“G’morning,” she mumbles in her sleep, pushing her ass back against my cock.
“Good morning,” I repeat, whispering these two words. I don’t know why, but it feels like it’s a sacrilege to cut through the silence in her bedroom right now. This little moment is so fucking perfect that I don’t want to risk ruining it.
Sliding one hand up to the nape of her neck, I push her hair over her shoulder. I take a moment, watching as the morning sunlight bathes her naked skin, and then I reach for her with my parted lips. I lay my mouth against her neck, softly kissing her, but she doesn’t react. I keep on doing it for a few seconds more, waiting for her to do something (really, anything!) but either she’s asleep or she doesn’t care.
And so I just stop, feeling like a complete idiot.
I can’t believe that I was trying to cuddle and she just ignored me. Look, I know I’m not used to the whole cuddling scene, but being rejected like this hurts like hell. Because, let’s be honest about it, this is rejection. Plain and simple.
Fuck, it’s morning already, what the hell am I doing in bed still? Emily probably sees me as nothing more than a booty-call, so why am I torturing myself with all these thoughts of relationship and cuddling up to my loved one in the morning? I’m a grown-fucking-man, and I need to stop acting like a pussy.
Well, easier said than done, of course.
Right now, all I can do is roll to the side and pretend that I’ve fallen asleep. What did you expect me to do? Jump out of bed and storm out like a drama-queen? That’s not me. Sure, I’m not exactly in the greatest of moods right now, but I don’t lose my cool that easily.
I remain lying there for a few minutes, but my mind is working overtime.
No more sleep for me, it seems.
Swinging my legs off the bed, I sit on the edge of the mattress and run one hand through my hair. I stretch my back loudly, and that’s when I hear her stir in her sleep again. To my shame, I consider tip-toeing my way out of the bedroom and leaving without telling her, but then I decide against it. I won’t blame her because my feelings have been hurt; after all, it’s all my fault.
If I hadn’t been such an idiot from the start, we wouldn’t be in this situation. Even though I’ve never felt so close to anyone as I feel to Emily, there’s a kind of no-man’s-land between the two of us, a space that I simply don’t know how to cross.
I’ve tried, but either I don’t know how to do it right, or Emily just doesn’t care enough about me.
Either way, I’m fucked.
EMILY
Mm, that feels good.
It’s a bit weird of me to admit it, but this is something new for me. Usually, most guys are gone before I wake up; and, in the case they decide to overstay their welcome, I just kick them out of the bed with a smile.
But waking up with Kirk by my side, his naked chest pressed against my back… his cock against my ass, trapped right between my cheeks… Oh, now this is how every woman in the world should wake up.
Smiling to myself, I jut my ass back, pressing it against his cock. He runs one hand down the side of my body as I do it, and I feel his warm breath against the naked skin of my neck. Taking his hand to my neck, he brushes my hair aside and then reaches for me; when he finally brushes his lips against my neck, I have to purse my lips to stop myself from moaning. Jesus, forget all about breakfast… Waking up with him by my side, that’s all I need to start my day with a nice big smile.
“Mm, g’morning,” I purr, but I do it so subtly that I doubt he even heard me. I stay there, laying against him as he kisses my neck, and I start feeling terribly self-conscious. What am I supposed to do here? Turn to him and kiss him? Cuddle? This is the morning after we’re talking about, which is almost unexplored territory.
Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m actually considering cuddling with a guy as if he were my boyfriend. Emily, Emily… You’re turning into a fine young woman. Soon enough I’ll be able to call myself an adult, just imagine that!
Still, I can’t bring myself to do it. It goes against each and everyone of my instincts. If I had to guess, I’d say being a commitment-phobe is part of my genetic makeup. As much as I want to turn to Kirk and simply enjoy the moment, I can’t. My brain is working fast, going through all possible outcomes and, before I know it, the moment’s gone.
Kirk pulls back from me and rolls on his back, facing the other side of the bed. I hear him move for a few seconds, but then a deep silence quickly settles in the room. Has he fallen asleep?
Lying there, I keep on waiting for him to come back, to press his body against mine… But that doesn’t happen, of course. Oh, what am I doing? This is the 21st century we’re living in; I’m a woman, and I can take initiative. I’m about to roll to the side so that I can face him, when he suddenly pushes the sheets back and sits on the edge of the bed. He stretches his back, goes up to his feet and, for a dreadful minute, I think he’s simply going to leave without telling me anything.
Usually, I’d be fine with something like that. In fact, I’d prefer something like that.
Do you know what I used to say to Lana back in college? More than sleeping with a guy, there’s nothing that I like more than to wake up all by myself. Yeah, that’s me, the romance writer. I spend most of my waking hours daydreaming and writing about love and romance, but when it comes to my personal life… I’m ice-cold.
My HEA in the morning is an empty bed that I can roll around in. But that ice has started to crack, and that thanks to Kirk.
“Emily?” he whispers, and I realize with a sinking feeling that he’s waking me up because he wants to leave. After the night we spent together, he’s still acting as if there’s nothing serious going on between the two of us. I mean, we still haven’t had a proper date, but that doesn’t mean that we have can’t be serious. In fact, I never felt more serious about anything in my life.
Then why don’t you say it, you dummy? I scold myself, but fear’s gripping my heart too tightly. If he’s getting up to leave, that must mean he doesn’t want to stay; it couldn’t be any more obvious. So why in the hell would I tell him to stay? Just so he can feed me so excuse and leave me here all the same? Yeah, like I’m going to let that happen.
I’m not going to end up being that woman.
Please. I write about enough of them in my books. The ones that get used around by the big alpha male.
I’m not giving up the power here.
Not after I did so much to stand on my own two feet.
“Emily?” he whispers again, this time louder. Closing my eyes shut, I just pretend to be deep sleep. For a moment I hear nothing, and I assume he’s just staring at me, waiting to see if I wake up.
I hear him start to collect his clothes from the floor and get dressed, and a few minutes later his black shoes are tapping the floor of my bedroom as he walks out. Each time I hear the tap of his shoes, my heart seems to shrink more and more, tightening up until it’s as taut as a violin strang.
Soon enough his footsteps fade away, and then I hear the door close as he leaves the apartment. Only then do I open up my eyes. I sit up on the bed, pulling the sheets against my body and covering my naked breasts. His scent stills lingers in the room and, doing it almost unconsciously, I brush the palm of one hand over the spot where he slept. It still feels warm to the touch, and I close my eyes and let the memories of the whole night come crashing in.
After what happened with Freeway, being with Kirk was exactly what I needed. It helped me clear my head and, more than that, it reassured me that I wasn’t wrong about him. There’s a future for the two of us… Or so I thought, because this morning I don’t feel that confident about morning.
Kirk is always so hot and cold. I just can’t read him. Even though he seems to look at life the same way I do, I never know what he’s thinking, which is kinda ironic, since I don’t really know what to think about all this.
How do porcupines afraid of their own shadow mate?
It’s an old joke. The punch line is…”very carefully.” And one or both usually end up dying.
Well, maybe WineBar and I are porcupines.
Except that joke is playing itself out right now in real life, and I don’t feel like laughing.