Dry Spell
Vi Keeland
Copyright © 2014 by Vi Keeland
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.
Dry Spell
Edited by: Lila Richman
Sex.
Three simple letters.
A myriad of complications.
I was ready to have sex. And not just sex. Clawing, scratching, biting, pull my hair hard, sweat till we’re slippery, all night marathon sex. Was that too much to ask for?
It had been way too long.
Way, way too long.
The kind of dry spell that left me scratching my head trying to remember the last time I’d even been with a man.
A year?
Could it really be that long?
No wonder I was finally taking matters into my own hands. Well, actually, I’d taken matters into my own hands for far too long in that department. Now it was time someone else’s hands got involved. Although a hand was not nearly enough to quell the craving I had.
I needed a man.
A full, thick, rock hard, grab me by the hair and fuck me against the wall, night with a man.
I just hoped Evan Little was the right man for the job. More than that, I hoped I would soon find out his last name was ironic, rather than an aptly titled prelude.
Evan had taken me out five times. We’d met on opposite sides of the courtroom. After two weeks of arguing over a high profile case, the sparks burning so hot, I thought for sure the dapper district attorney would nail me to the wall when we stepped into the elevator alone at the end of the trial.
But he was a gentleman. Instead he shook my hand, congratulated me, and asked me out to dinner. It had been six weeks since the first date. Weeks filled with expensive dinners, nice conversation, and all the makings of a chivalrous courtship we could someday tell our grandchildren about.
It was sweet. But all chivalry and no sex makes Evan a dull boy. And keeps Ava buying the mega pack of batteries on sale at Target.
I just didn’t get it. I’d even went back to his place the last few times after dinner—in hopes of a little dessert. But nothing. A perfect gentleman. Even when the banging and groans started again on the other side of the wall in his apartment, he continued chatting away about crimes of moral turpitude. Apparently, Evan wasn’t as affected as I was listening to the noisy neighbor shake the walls. The sound of that breathy grunt made me cross and re-cross my legs a few times to calm the swell between my legs.
Since it was clear Evan wasn’t taking my subtle hints, I decided it was time for a more direct approach. It was two thousand and eighteen, not nineteen fifty-two anymore. Why should I sit at home and wait for a man to take the lead? I was a woman of the millennium, for God’s sake. I owned a vibrator. I used the word fuck in casual conversation with as much flare as any man. My nightstand was well stocked with condoms. I am woman, hear me roar.
Pep talk complete, I parked my brand new Mercedes and stepped into the cool night air in front of Evan’s tall apartment building. It was an unusually chilly evening for Boston in June, which helped to make the raincoat I was wearing slightly less conspicuous.
The clock showed 11:52 pm, I was a few minutes early, still eight minutes to go until Evan’s twenty-ninth birthday. But the elevator in his pre-war high-rise was often slow, and I was undeniably anxious.
Fastening the belt on my black full length Burberry coat, I looked up at Evan’s apartment from the street. Corner apartment, top floor. His bedroom light was still on.
A surge of adrenaline shot through my veins as I thought about what Evan might do when I let my coat slip seductively from my shoulders. I’d chosen black lace purposefully, since tonight I was playing the aggressor. Normally, I’d prefer something more girly and soft, but tonight I looked like what I was—the vixen.
The black lace corset barely contained my voluptuous breasts, the matching G-string bottom left even less to the imagination. Thigh high black stockings, with garters and five-inch stilettos, took the outfit from sexy to sinful. I’d even gone the extra mile and done my hair and makeup over the top—blowing my thick blonde hair upside down to get maximum body and applying an extra coat of dark mascara that made my pale blue eyes even more startling than usual.
At the ripe young age of only twenty-eight, at work I was the boss. I’d started my own firm right out of law school. Five years later, fourteen men and women called my firm home. I loved being in charge at the office; I couldn’t even imagine it any other way. But in the bedroom I’d always preferred a strong man that took control. Surrendering to the wanton desires of a lover somehow gave me balance.
Unfortunately, I’d run out of patience with Evan. I was hoping that my surprise visit, donning a birthday present I hoped he would enjoy unwrapping, might give him a hint to leave his perfunctory manners at the door.
The little gnawing reluctance that I’d been able to quash as I got ready began to rear its ugly head again as I opened the door to the lobby. The halls were quiet, I was certainly grateful for that, and the elevator that was waiting at the ground floor for a change swooped me away as fast as I entered.
Arriving on the twenty-second floor, I took a deep breath in and stepped out of the elevator car, reminding myself of what a renaissance woman I was. Yes, that’s right, confident woman of the millennium decided another pep talk was in order. After all, it’s not everyday a woman traipses across town scantly clad under a raincoat to seduce a man who she hasn’t yet bedded.
As I approached the door, realization dawned for the first time that I hadn’t really given any thought to what I would say when Evan opened the door. Truthfully, I was hoping words wouldn’t be necessary once I’d loosened the tie and allowed him to get a glimpse of my outfit. Knowing the doorbell wasn’t working, I knocked shyly. Music was playing in the background, so I waited and then knocked again. This time with more vigor. Still no answer.
Surprisingly, the door handle turned when I tried it.
“Evan?” I called in a low yell as the door slowly cracked open. In the distance I thought I heard the familiar sound of water beading in the shower. A few more steps and the resonance of water ricocheting from the floor in the bathroom became more certain. Gently, I closed the door behind me.
I smiled thinking this is even more perfect than I could have imagined. He was already naked and, if my reflection in the living room mirror as I passed was telling me the truth, one look and he would be naked and hard.
I untied my coat and let it pool at my feet. Stepping over it, a quick fluff of my hair and I was heading closer to the echo of the running water.
I heard a sound, but it wasn’t until later that it would register what the sound was. My body was too busy humming in anticipation for what was to come to allow anything to distract me.
Slowly, I creaked open the bathroom door. Evan’s back was to me, but I could see his naked tight ass through the haze of the clear glass door. He still hadn’t heard me come in. Licking my painted lips, I took a step closer and gently slipped the foggy sliding glass door open. Steam billowed out and the dense fog that was shadowing a clear view of Evan’s taut ass came into full focus.
It was then that I realized that ass was furiously pumping away. Into the woman that he had pressed against the tiled wal
l.
The woman yelled.
Evan turned.
“Ava!” he screamed.
It was all a blur from there. I bolted from the bathroom, there was shouting and cursing going on behind me, but I didn’t stop to try to make out the words. Getting out of there was the only thing that mattered.
By the time I reached the door, Evan was already out of the shower and coming after me.
“Ava. Wait!”
But I didn’t. Humiliated, I ran as fast as I possibly could. Out the door, down the long hall, my finger pressing the elevator button furiously—as if pressing it fifty times might make it appear faster.
Luckily, the door slid open and I jumped in, just as Evan emerged from the apartment, a towel wrapped around his cheating waist while he yelled after me.
It was then that I realized I wasn’t alone.
And…
I hadn’t stopped to pick up my coat.
The doors slid closed and, not having any other viable alternative, I faced forward, trying my best to act like a normal, fully clothed person. I prayed that God would come and take me. Are you there God? It’s me, Ava. Please, please, put me out of my misery. Was death by humiliation even possible? It most certainly had to be.
My ass was fully exposed to whoever was behind me. I could hear him or her breathing, but refused to turn and acknowledge exactly whom I was flashing. My heart was beating so loudly, the swish of my own blood pumping wildly through my ears made it difficult to hear.
“Are you okay?” The occupant asked from behind me.
The male occupant. Please lord, swallow me up now.
“Do I look okay?” Exasperated, my words came out as frayed as I felt.
The car went silent for a minute. The damn thing wasn’t moving.
“You look pretty good from where I’m standing.” Male occupant had the nerve to chuckle.
Forget humiliation. That comment…
I turned to face him, nostrils flaring, menacing glare set firmly in place. When my vision cleared through the cloud of anger, I got my first look at the man sharing the small space.
And the space was getting smaller by the minute.
Really? Six hundred and fifty thousand people shoved into the tiny city of Boston, and the one person who is in the elevator at midnight—on a Tuesday of all nights—had to be ridiculously handsome. His handsomeness seemed to piss me off even more.
I watched as his eyes dropped to take in the entirety of my outfit. From head to toe, I was a walking wet dream. An angry, bitter, sex deprived soon to be thirty-year-old walking wet dream.
“Do you have a sweatshirt in there?” I eyed the sack of groceries Male Occupant was carrying.
His lip twitched as if he was amused but he quickly caught himself. “I take it you don’t want to be out here this exposed?”
“Gee what makes you think that?” I mused snidely.
Without saying a word, he reached up and over his head, a quick tug and Male Occupant was showing as much skin as me.
And what lucky skin it was covering all that muscle. The edge to my anger dissipated slightly, due to the sheer delight with which my eyes were feasting. I’d seen six packs before, even had one of my own brewing beneath the lace of my corset due to a grueling six-day a week appointment with a personal trainer. But Male Occupant was beyond anything I could comprehend. The ridges on his hard planes looked fake…and ridiculously delicious. I held my hands at my side, afraid my craving to touch the chiseled olive skin might overtake my self control.
“Here. Take it.”
I furrowed my brow, lost somewhere between the pectoral and oblique.
“Put it on.”
Snapping myself back to reality, I took the shirt and slipped it over my head. It was warm and hung down to almost my knees, even though I myself was nearly five foot nine.
“Thank you.”
“Are you okay?” he asked again. The second time there was no flirting. He sounded truly concerned.
“Better now with my ass covered.” I tried to sound light, but the rush of adrenaline that sent me flying high was about to come crashing down. I felt the momentum of the last five minutes chasing after me at high speed and all I wanted to do was flee. Flee to the safety of my car. Or better yet, back inside my apartment, double locks securely fastened, curled up into the fetal position in the middle of my indulgent kind size bed.
“Why aren’t we moving?”
Male Occupant shrugged. “You didn’t press a button and this is my floor.”
“You live on this floor?” My voice screeched the question.
“Come on. Let me give you something to wear.” He pressed the open button.
I pressed the close button. “I can’t go out there.”
“Is someone out there?” His face angered, hardening to a menacing scowl. Oddly, it made me feel safe.
“No. Nothing like that.”
“Then what is it?”
“Ummm…nothing. Can you just see if anyone is in the hall still?”
He nodded and pressed the button again. Taking a step forward, he peaked outside. “Coast is clear.”
I nibbled on my bottom lip. I might not have made a great decision going to Evan’s unannounced tonight, but at least I had the good sense to think twice before going to the apartment of a perfect stranger.
“I’m not a serial killer, I promise.”
I still wasn’t sold.
“Or a felon,” he added.
“How do I know what you’re telling me is true?”
He shrugged. “You don’t. Guess you’ll just have to trust me.”
I debated with myself internally while I stayed quiet.
“Well. It’s been nice meeting you.” He pushed the button on the panel and the elevator doors slid open again. “You can keep the shirt.” Mentally, I envisioned my trek home. It’s late. I might be able to make it to my car without garnering much attention. But the two block walk from the closest parking garage to my building would be a long shot. I doubted the attendant at the lot I kept my car would be mature enough not to snap a picture.
Male Occupant took a step over the elevator threshold.
“Wait,” I said and he froze in his tracks. “Are you sure you’re not a serial killer? Because seriously, my night can only get so much worse.”
Again the corner of his mouth twitched, but no smile came. He shook his head. “Not a serial killer. Name is Smith.”
I eyed him. “First name or last name?”
“First. And you?”
“Ava.”
Smith reached out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ava.”
Good sense may have abandoned me at the moment, but seeing as I hadn’t yet died of shame, I was on a roll. So I stepped out of the car with potential serial killer Smith and apprehensively looked to the right in the direction of Evan’s apartment. The hall was clear.
“We good?” he asked.
I nodded.
The long hall seemed even longer as we headed in the direction I had just fled. Three apartments from Evan’s, I stopped.
“What apartment do you live in?”
“2201. Why?”
“Umm…just wondering.”
Reaching the next to last apartment on the floor, the one located directly next to Evan, Smith unlocked the door and held it open for me. Pensively, I entered. Serial killers don’t generally have good manners, right?
He flicked on a few lights as he passed and went straight through to the kitchen to begin unpacking the groceries he had been holding.
I stood just inside, the door behind me still within reach so I could bolt if I needed to. Oh my god, I’m in the groaner’s apartment. The crazy situation had been partly his fault. My mouth couldn’t help itself.
“You know. The walls are thin in these apartments.”
He furrowed his brow.
My eyes flash to the wall behind him, the shared wall to Evan’s apartment. “I was in your neighbor’s apartment. Heard you a few times last
week.”
“Sorry. I can be loud while I get in a good workout sometimes.”
A good workout? Don’t get me wrong, it sounded like he definitely got in a challenging workout, but there’s a more tactful way to say it.
“You know the guy who lives next to me?”
I nodded my head. “We worked together on a case.” No use airing my sordid tale to the guy who lived next door.
He chuckled. “Thin walls? Now that guy’s loud. Woke me up twice last week. Well, not him actually. Girlfriend’s a screamer.”
And…just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse. The last shred of dignity I clung to was that maybe, just maybe, the bimbo in the shower was a one-night stand he’d just met. But the sleezeball had no class. He was waking the neighbors with a screamer last week and took me out to dinner three nights ago. The last bit of knowledge sent me into a mental spiral. I was angry and looking to lash out.
“Guess that goes both ways. The walls were shaking between your groans last week.” The sound sent me home wet between the legs, but I left that part out.
He furrowed his brow and then something seemed to dawn on him. “You heard me?” His pointer finger motioned toward the back room and then to the wall separating Evan’s apartment. “Through the wall?”
I nodded.
“And you thought I was having sex?”
How dumb did this guy think I was? I stared at him with a face that asked the question, yet I said nothing.
“I was exercising. The spare bedroom is my workout room. When I have trouble sleeping sometimes I train.”
“Train for what?”
“I’m a boxer.”
My eyes roamed down his still bare chest. His body sure looked like he could be a fighter. But I’d heard the sounds myself. It was positively erotic. Only, now that I think about it, I never did hear a woman’s voice. Hell, with all that slamming going on, I can’t imagine a woman wouldn’t be moaning.
“Oh God. Sorry.” I’m not sure what’s worse, the fact that I’m so hard up that I got hot over the sound of a man exercising or that he could hear the asshole I was dating have sex with another woman through his wall. I wished the floor would just open up and swallow me.