George, my bipolar neighbor, would never lay a hand on me. The guy loves me! Being a caseworker, the first time we spoke, I picked up on his behavior right away. I’m sure he wasn’t used to what he got from me.
A hug.
I told George that I worked with a lot of people who suffered mental illness, and that if he felt a panic attack coming on that I would be there for him; all he needed to do was call. Which he has done. And I’ve always been there to help talk him down and soothe him from the overwhelming state he finds himself in. He has never – I repeat – never been violent towards me. So I’m a little pissed at Nikki right now.
I glower at her, “Don’t you do that, Nikki! That’s not cool, babe.”
“Do what?” she responds, exasperated.
Staring her down a moment, I state, “Stereotype.”
Brows rising, she whispers, “Holy shit. I totally did, didn’t I?” Taking a step away from me, her brows bunch. She’s obviously upset with herself. And now I feel like shit.
Taking her hand, I sigh, “Babe, I’ll explain everything later, I promise. But right now, I’ve got cocoa to make, you’ve got niknaks to slice, and we’ve got to come up with a way for Dave to make this right with Phil.” Gesturing to my face, I tell her, “This…is not a priority right now.”
Her eyes search my face, and I add, “Do I look like a withering mess right now?”
Rolling her eyes, she responds sullenly, “Well, no.”
Nodding, I agree, “Exactly, Nikki. Priorities.” She throws me a curt nod. I feel the need to add quietly, “Because what I’ve got to tell you…it’s not pretty.”
Her face turns anxious, but she covers it quickly. Clapping her hands together, she opens the fridge, hands me the milk and orders, “Right! Cocoa à la Lexi. Now, lady!”
This is one of the reasons I love Nikki. She knows me well enough to know I’ll talk to her when I’m ready. And we don’t keep secrets.
So why am I thinking of a suitable lie to tell her about the state of my face?
Pushing that thought aside, I go about making my famous concoction and pouring the steaming goodness into mugs. Placing the cocoa and bite-sized squares of niknaks on a tray, I walk them into the lounge room and put them on the coffee table.
Not even looking up at me, Dave reaches forward and takes a mug. Robotically, he puts the mug to his lips and sips. Two, three, four sips later, the robot comes back to life. “Damn, girlie. No one does cocoa like you do.”
Smiling gently, he looks up at me, and his face turns stunned, “Baby! What happened to your face?”
Lying like a pro, I shrug and say easily, as if rehearsed, “Tripped on the last step down and planted my face into the brick hall.” He gasps, and looking up in thought, I add to lighten the mood, “Not as much fun as it sounds.”
Dave chuckles, “Shit, Lex. Only you would do something like that. Queen klutz, you are.”
Smiling through my split lip, I glance over at Nikki. Her eyes narrow at me, and unease climbs over me. Clearing my throat, I take my mug and announce, “Right! Well I think the first course of action tonight is finding a way for Dave to tell Phil he wants him to move back in.”
Dave smiles at me so warmly, so brightly, that I’m suddenly reminded that there are people I also have that I can talk to about my issues. My mind stills on this thought.
People I can talk to.
Talk to.
Talk to them.
Don’t talk to them.
They would never understand.
I don’t want them to understand.
Twitch is mine. Just mine. And right now, I like it like that.
That night, my eyes flutter.
Then widen in alarm.
Then soften with my sleepy smile.
His hand rests gently on my hip as he maintains his distance, his body away from mine.
Closing my eyes, I listen to his steady breathing as he sleeps.
My last thought before I fall asleep is, “He came back.”
The next morning, Twitch isn’t there when I wake. Again. But it doesn’t bother me as much.
I’m thinking less and less about that night, and more about my hero.
My distant hero.
I find myself purposefully making my way to the park for lunch in hopes of seeing him. And today, I do see him. My spine tingles in recognition, I lift my head, and there he is.
Today is unlike other days. It is unlike other days, because his hood is down.
When I smile and lift my hand in a wave, I feel like slapping my forehead with my palm. Embarrassed, I lower my hand quickly and watch as he turns and walks away.
I don’t miss the smile he tries to keep hidden.
Biting my lip to hold in my own escaping smile, I lift my face to the sun, and once again, take in its light.
Roused from my sleep, I enter the world of consciousness. Snuggling into something warm, I breathe deeply. And smell him.
I love his smell.
Nuzzling into the crook of his neck, I feel him move, then hesitate. I steady my breathing and place my hand on his tee-covered chest. Still, he hesitates. Feigning sleep, I lift my leg over his and feel his body shake in silent chuckles.
I want his arms to come around me. I want him to hold me tight. I silently wish for him to make a move.
But he doesn’t.
He rumbles, “Get back to sleep.”
No longer able to conceal my grin, I whisper into his neck, “Sweet dreams, Twitch.”
My eyes flutter and I lose my battle to stay awake, just to memorize the feel of his body against mine.
Three days have passed, and every day this week has had the same routine. This is great for me because there’s security in predictability. I feel safer and am less jumpy. My day’s routine goes something like this:
*Wake up alone.
*Feel Twitch watching me at lunch. Sometimes catch him. Sometimes don’t.
*Make my way home, where I have a slight freak out in the unit parking lot.
*Go to bed alone. Wake during the night wrapped around Twitch.
Which is where I’m at now.
Wrapped around Twitch.
Tonight is a little different though. Tonight, he’s ventured under the covers with me and removed his tee.
My head rests on his bare chest, my arm wrapping around him much like I’d hug a teddy bear, my leg draping over him, trapping the both of his. Feeling me wake, his arm snakes around my back. Trailing his fingers across my shoulder, he asks quietly, “You good?”
I take a moment to think about that. Am I good?
Considering that my private area is tingling, and my nipples are so taut they could cut through glass, I’d say yes.
Rubbing my cheek along his pec, I breathe him in and reply on a soft exhale, “Yeah.”
His fingers still at my back; he loosens his hold on me and utters sleepily, “Sleep.”
Taking a second to give him a tight squeeze, I relax and exhale.
Twitch doesn’t say much. He doesn’t need to. You know that saying actions speak louder than words? His actions are speaking for him. And I like what they’re saying.
I wonder if he’ll let me keep him.
Today has officially became a rewind day.
You know those days that are so tiring and draining; the type of day where everything annoys you and no one can say a right thing to you? My day has been one of those.
Why a rewind day?
Because you wish you could hit rewind and start it over in a much better way.
It all started last night. I had spent a little more time getting ready for bed. I shaved my legs, moisturised, and wore a plain but short nightie instead of my regular Elmo pajama combo. I made sure I sprayed myself with deodorant and perfume, and made sure my hair wasn’t too unruly. Once I deemed myself kissable, I checked myself in the mirror one last time before sliding under the covers, making sure to show enough skin to look enticing to a certain someone I was beginning to have a major a
ttraction to.
I mean, the attraction was there from the first time he lowered his hood, but as of the last few days, that attraction has quadrupled.
And I was going to do something about it.
I went to sleep thinking that this night would be the night we connected. Emotionally and physically. And I was looking forward to it.
There was one little hitch in my plan.
Twitch never came.
I woke in the morning alone. I lifted my head to find the opposite side of my bed untouched.
And it hurt. I was irrationally hurt.
My chest ached, and somewhere deep in my gut, I knew our time together was finished.
Which brings us to today’s bad day. I’m sure my lips are in a perpetual state of pout, while my brow is stuck in the state of furrow. I must look like a ten-year-old who has been told she can’t have any candy.
Which sucks, because I want candy. I would’ve done anything to have candy. I want candy to make me scream his name as we coupled for the first time.
I want the damn candy. I want to catalogue and alphabetize all the beautiful tattoo’s I have seen, and those that I haven’t. I feel connected to him in a way I can’t explain. He makes me feel safe from everything. From everyone. Deep inside of me, I know he wouldn’t let anyone hurt me.
He just wouldn’t.
And now the candy is gone. Just when I needed a sugar rush.
Figures.
Leaning back in my office chair with a sigh I hope time has mercy on me and passes quickly.
Otherwise, I might just go insane.
Feeling a prickling sensation on the back of my neck, I wake with a start.
Lifting my head from my pillow, I sit up and watch the large shadow walk away from me.
And my heart sinks.
“Twitch?”
Stopping mid-step, he turns and slowly walks back to my bedroom door. My eyes adjust to the dark and I watch him as he watches me. I whisper, “You didn’t come back.”
Fully awake now, I realize how pathetic I must sound, all but begging my stalker-slash-protector to sleep with me forever and ever.
He searches my face in the dim light for a long moment. He asks roughly, “You need my help sleeping?”
Shit.
The way he said that indicated there will be no sleeping if I say yes.
My voice strains. “Yes.”
My nipples become taut under his watchful eye, and he almost takes a step forward, but holds himself back. Reaching into his pocket, he takes some candy and throws them in his mouth. Sucking on them, he says gently but firmly, “There’s only one way I fuck.”
The words are so crude that my lips part and I huff in an unsteady breath.
He takes a step forward, his eyes never leaving mine. “Dirty.” Watching my reaction, he adds, “And this type of dirty...” He breathes deep and says on an exhale, “…it doesn’t wash off.”
Say goodnight and forget this ever happened.
I stutter through my whisper, “Sh-show me.”
You’ve lost your damn mind.
His brown eyes crinkle as his brow bunches, clearly not expecting that reply. “I don’t think you know what you’re sayin’.” I swallow hard and he leans a hip on my dresser and explains, “You start this and change your mind, I won’t stop. Stop, when I’m fucking, means a very different thing. Last thing I need is a woman crying rape.”
Closing my eyes, I hope my shiver isn’t visible. Forcing my eyes open, I say quietly, “I want it.”
Standing straight, his expression turns indifferent. “Beg.”
Oh God, what? Seriously? Tell him to leave!
“Please.” I say this so quietly, the wind outside sounds over it.
I’m so ashamed of myself for wanting this. His brand of sex comes with a warning label. That should make me want to run in the opposite direction.
He slowly places his hands into the pockets of his pants, shaking his head. “No, Alexa. Not good enough.” Then he turns and walks out of my room.
Sitting in my bed, my face flushes the brightest of pinks.
Did I seriously just get rejected by my stalker? What the fuck?
My body, not taking no for an answer, jumps up out of bed and runs down the hall, meeting Twitch at the door. Just as he opens it, I slam it shut.
My scowl must be fierce because his brows rise. As he takes in my expression, I bark out, “You can’t do that, Twitch. That’s an asshole move! You didn’t even give me a chance to—”
He cuts me off. “Gave you a chance when I asked you to beg.”
My mouth gapes. “That was a test?”
His eyes soften a little. “No. Not a test. Just what I like. And if you’re not into it, you’re not into it. Unless you give yourself to me completely, then...” he shrugs, “…not gonna happen.”
I’m unsure how to proceed. Do I risk losing myself? Even for one night?
He turns the doorknob once more, but I use my hip to bump it shut. “I’ll do it. Whatever you want. I’ll do it.”
“Show me how much you want it.”
My cheeks heat.
Licking my lips, I lean forward and up, but he catches my chin in his hand, holding it tight. His brows furrowed, he softens his reprimand with a gentle voice. “You don’t get to kiss me until I say you can.”
My brows furrow to match his.
Then how can I show him that I wa—
My eyes widen and I swallow hard. He sees the moment I catch on and his lip twitches.
Closing my eyes, I hold the door with one hand and kneel slowly. Once on my knees in front of him, I reach up and place my shaking fingers on his belt buckle. I’m not sure why I do it, but I look up at him, silently asking permission. His eyes soften and he places a hand on my head, softly stroking my hair.
Approval.
Feeling a little braver, I keep my eyes on him while I work his belt, and when it finally comes undone, I pop the button and lower the zip to his jeans. Opening the flaps, I rub him over the material of his boxers for a moment. He takes in a quick breath. A surge of confidence washes over me.
I reach into his boxers and pull him free.
My eyes widen.
Sweet mother of God!
With my eyes wide, I look up at Twitch. His eyes bore into mine. “Make me want it.”
Holding his semi-erect cock in my slightly shaking hand, I don’t know what to do with this. I’ve never been with a man who has a piercing before. The bar goes vertically, with one silver ball resting on the sensitive underside, and the other just where the head starts on the top of his shaft.
He’s thick. He’s long. He’s smooth.
He’s impressive.
I’ve seen enough penises to know that this one is bigger than your average.
I guess a big guy needs a big cock…right?
Tightening my grip on him, I lift my other hand to join the other and stroke it. Almost completely erect, I hold his eye as I lean forward, part my lips, and gently kiss the tip. His cock jerks in my hands. Closing my eyes, I stroke slowly but firmly while placing kisses on the head.
Time to stop playing around.
Opening my mouth wider, I flatten my tongue and lick from the base to the tip, revelling in the smooth warmth of him. He tastes good. Clean and slightly musky, just like a man should. When I reach the head, I close my mouth around it and suck. Eyes still closed, I lower my mouth on his shaft. The balls of his piercing feel strange and unfamiliar, yet perfect at the very same time.
The soft firmness of his erection, and the solid warmth of the piercing on my tongue, put me in a daze.
No longer thinking about what I’m doing, I sigh softly around him and begin to bob my head. He spreads his legs wider. Removing one of my hands from his cock, he takes it, reaches into his boxers, and places them underneath his balls, pushing up.
It takes only a moment for me to get the hint.
Cupping them in my hand, I gently massage them, while slowly sucking and stroki
ng him with the other.
I don’t remember a time in my life when I’ve been more comfortable performing a sexual act.
Something in me desperately craves Twitch’s approval.
When his hand strokes my hair again, I relax even further, taking him as deep as I can into my mouth without gagging. The hand on my head tangles in my hair and pulls. My eyes close in pain, and I gasp as I’m pulled back. Wincing, I look up at him. His eyes so hooded they’re barely open, he mutters, “Enough.”
His hold in my hair eases. Gripping my upper arm, he lifts me to a standing position and orders gently, “Strip.”
Not taking even a moment to second-guess myself, I grip the bottom of my tank and lift it over my head. My breasts free to the cool air makes my body break out into goosebumps. My nipples stiffen. This doesn’t get past Twitch. His nostrils flare and his eyes flash before he reaches up and rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. My mouth opens in a silent moan and I lean forward into him. He pinches my nipple a little too hard. I hiss in a breath. He softly reminds me. “I said strip, Alexa.”
God. This guy has me so hot and bothered I actually feel tipsy.
Placing my thumbs into the waistband of my pajama pants and panties, I slowly wiggle them down my thighs until they loosen enough to fall to the ground on their own.
So here I am. Naked. In front of the man who has been stalking me for as long as I can remember.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Before I can process my mind’s question, Twitch reaches out. His hand grips my waist and he pulls me forward, pressing me into his body.
I’m not short. On the contrary, I’m kind of tall for a woman. But Twitch…he makes me feel small when I’m next to him.
His hand at my waist squeezes. “You sure you want this?” His hooded eyes search my face. “You need to open that pretty mouth and give me words, babe. This’ll be your last chance to say no.”
The thought of Twitch leaving now makes me anxious. Not happening.
Bare breasts pressed into his tee, I look up into his eyes and whisper, “I want you.”