I want everything from him.
Heart. Body. Soul.
I’m flying like one of those kites people carry along the shore of Lake Michigan. Buoyant. Aloft. Flapping and fluttering in the wind.
I’m a new woman. Capable of being intimate with a man. Capable of orgasming–twice!
I feel like I just won a race. Or the lottery. Like I completed some spectacular feat that I never thought could happen for me.
I straddle Flynn’s hips and smile down at him. “I did it.”
He smiles back. “You did. We did. You’re beautiful.”
He makes me feel beautiful. More importantly, I don’t feel frightened over him finding me beautiful. I don’t want to disengage from my body.
“I’m so happy.” It’s an understatement. I’m downright ecstatic.
Flynn holds my hips and undulates his beneath me a few times, with satisfying, unambitious thrusts.
I climb off him, pull on my panties, and flit about his room on shaking legs.
I just had sex. I just orgasmed. I swear to God, I didn’t even know if it would ever be possible to feel sexual pleasure again, but I did it!
I investigate everything in his room, wanting to absorb all that is Flynn. Wanting to somehow hang onto and keep this sense of happiness that’s overcome me.
It’s a guy room. An acoustic guitar stands in the corner. A blown glass pipe for smoking weed is on the dresser, along with a library card and a Starbucks gift card.
I open his closet and investigate his clothing.
“Are you going to style me?” He rolls his lanky form off the bed and disposes of the condom.
“Will you let me?”
His chuckle is warm and rusty. It ignites tiny explosions under my ribs. “Sure. Yeah. Of course.”
So easy.
Everything with Flynn is always so easy. There’s no pressure. There’s no agenda.
Even when things got heated during sex, he was so damn present with me. His passion carried me along. Or ignited mine.
I examine the clothes in his closet. Mostly button-down shirts–not the expensive crisp ones that Ravil or Maxim wear, but worn flannels and just a couple dress shirts. He has a few pairs of dress slacks. I open his dresser drawers and peek inside. They are packed with more comfortable shirts and pullovers, jeans and khakis.
Flynn pulls a pair of boxer briefs on and picks up the guitar, folding his long body into a cross-legged position on the bed. He starts to play. The lamplight falls across his face, lighting his boyish good looks. This could be a music video–Flynn shirtless and happy, hanging out playing music in the bed where he just made love.
In fact…
“Hang on.” I pull a pair of flannel pajama pants out of his dresser. “Put these on.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t ask me why. He doesn’t protest. He just climbs off the bed to put on the pants. “Now what?”
I turn on another lamp. “Go back to the bed and play.”
He leans over and brushes his lips across the bridge of my nose. “I like you bossy.”
I laugh. “I’m not bossy. I just have an idea.”
“What is it?”
“You just play the guitar, like you were.”
I find his phone where he dropped it with his keys and open up the Tiktok app. Flynn has a profile there. I know because I follow him. He doesn’t post that often–usually just clips from their live shows–but he has a decent following because of Skate 32’s videos and the Storyteller’s growing local fanbase.
I take a seat in the armchair by the window and go live.
“What are you doing?” His eyes crinkle when he smiles at me as his fingers dance over the strings. The guy can play anything without ever making it seem hard.
“I’m live streaming the megastar Flynn Taylor from his bedroom.”
He sends me a lazy grin. “Yeah?”
“Mmm hmm. I think your fans would love to see you like this.”
He looks beautiful. Like a rock god–shirtless with an armband tattoo around his sculpted biceps. Hair mussed. Totally into his music.
He plucks a tune I don’t recognize.
“What’s that?”
“It’s how I feel with you.” His eyes crinkle again and flutters start up in my stomach.
The part that gets me–beyond just how incredibly sexy he looks right now in the lamplight–is that the song isn’t sad. The tune that he’s playing for me is light and easy. Full of possibilities.
“That’s how I feel with you,” I counter.
He flashes another grin and starts humming softly, swaying his shoulders a bit. I’m ready to come again just watching him. Knowing the music is about me.
His phone shows a DM come through from Cadence. I see you on Tiktok! Where are you tonight? Can I come over?
I don’t mean to–oh, who am I kidding? I totally mean to–open up their chat window. He’s received seven messages from her but hasn’t responded to a single one. No reason for me to feel threatened. I’m the one in his bedroom.
I go back to watching the Tiktok screen. We already have 106 viewers, and the comments are coming in.
Who is filming?
Who’s the girl?
I love you Flynn!
They scroll up the screen.
I’m not jealous. Not this time. Not when Flynn just gave me everything. Maybe later, I will be when I contemplate how easily unattached Flynn always seems. When I remember that I don’t get to keep him. That he could be with another girl tomorrow night. But right now, I feel honored to be the girl in his bedroom. Honored enough to want to share him with the world. Help him get famous.
Because Flynn definitely deserves to have it all. He has crazy talent and remains so humble. So friendly and go-lucky. Flynn doesn’t feel the need to perform, even though he knows I’m streaming him. He plays around–trying out different tunes, strumming chords, going back to the first melody.