Sinner(201)

She looks at me like I’m totally nuts, which I can’t exactly disagree with her on at that particular junction. “Well fuck you then, prick.”

Yeah, fuck me, right?

The guys I came with are out trying to score on the dance floor, so I just pay their tab as a goodbye before I just leave.

Out on the street, I breathe, fingering the metal slug in my pocket and feeling the sharp tug of the addiction demons grabbing at my fucking throat. Me, Hudson Banks, turning down no-strings sex with a hot girl. Something is definitely throwing the world and reality as we know it out of whack.

I take out my phone and scroll through my contacts until I see her name. This is why the world is off it’s axis, I think as I stare at Reagan Archer’s number.

Fuck, this is a bad idea.



P R E S E N T



It’s hours later, and I’m still rock hard. All I can think about - the only possible real thought going through my head at all actually - is the memory of her calling my name like that.

Jesus. I mean I couldn't totally see through the curtain, but I could enough that I can assume what she was doing, and assuming is enough to have me going out of my mind right now. It’s not just the way she said my name like that either, it’s knowing what she was doing, naked with that hot water steaming over her perfect skin, trickling over her hot body when she did say it.

It’s knowing that she was uttering my name when she came, and that thought has kept me hard for hours since.

I tried fixing the situation myself - by hand, if you will. I tried wrapping my hand around my throbbing hard cock and stroking it as I imagined Reagan’s perfect pouty lips wrapping around my dick. I tried to imagine that insane body of hers sliding down onto me, my cock sliding hotly through her wetness as she came for me - on me - calling my name.

But it wasn't the same, not by a damn mile, and I just couldn't do it with being pissed at it not being the real thing.

The apartment, completely unsurprisingly, has been silent since; like, pin-drop quiet. And I’m willing to bet she’d down the hall doing the exact same thing I am - sitting on a bed staring at a wall trying to get thoughts together enough to think about what the hell we do now.

What we had before? Yeah, they call that sexual tension. Now? I don’t think they have a name for whatever the fuck falls between sexual tension and fucking, but Goddamn if it isn’t so damn tense that I feel like I’m about to snap.

I’m on my feet in a second. I can’t just stay in this tiny fucking guest room anymore. Her door is still closed when I go to the living room and turn on some mindless movie, though I think I hear the quietest intake of breath in the world as I walk past her door.

I want to leave, well, sort of. I want to give her space is more accurate. I don’t want to leave at all, but something tells me Reagan will stay in her room indefinitely until I do. I whip out my phone and text my office to get two of my guys to come watch the place tonight so I can get the fuck out of here. So I can clear the air of whatever just happened back there.

“Sorry for walking in on you.”

Her voice makes me jump, and I’m amazed at how I never heard her coming. “Reagan-”

“I’m sorry for walking in on you.” She repeats herself, her voice level and quite, her face neutral, as if she never said it the first time at all.

“I- I’m sorry too, for, walking in on-”

For walking in on you with your fingers buried in that sweet pussy that I’d love to cover with my mouth and lick until you couldn’t see straight is what I want to say. I don’t obviously, but it doesn’t stop me from congratulating myself on being such a smooth talker.

“It’s fine,” She cuts off my thoughts. “Look, if we’re going to- I mean if you’re going to be around-” She sighs, her hand coming up as she runs her fingers through her long hair. “That time before- you know, at my Da-”

“This is my job, Reagan, I’m not going to get tripped up by-”

“No, look, I’m just saying before was nothing, right?”

I feel a tight clench somewhere deep inside my chest. ‘Before’, meaning ‘that kiss’. That kiss. The only kiss that’s ever mattered, anywhere. And yet I hear myself talking, and saying the opposite of everything I want to tell her. “Uh, yeah I guess so.”

Fuck!

“Good,” she breathes out. An expression that looks a lot like relief moving over her face. “OK, good.”

Yeah, fucking awesome.

“So before was nothing, right? I mean, I was drunk, you might've been drunk, I was grieving-” I start to open my mouth, but she cuts me off again. “No no, it’s not like you were taking advantage or anything, Hudson, I’m just saying it was nothing, OK?”