Impulse Control Ch. 05byradiodemon©
Rick's voice was rough and mellow, and it was one reason why I'd gone out with him the night before. Another was the small grin he gave me as he stood in my cubicle entry. Add in funny, intelligent, and he actually listened when I talked, and I was willing to overlook that my hormones only responded with a weak "yay!" instead of the "OH GOD OH GOD" I got with Zach.
No one would ever come close to Zach. I knew that. It still hurt, though. The treasured, precious feeling he'd given me, like I was everything he could have ever wanted and goddess beautiful on top of it, I'd resigned myself to never feeling quite like that again. Truth be told, I wasn't sure I wanted to. It was an uncomfortable mantel.
Right now I was going for wanted. Wanted in every way there was. Was that too much to ask?
"Did you make it home all right last night?"
Oh. Oh God. Blush. Blushing blushing blushing would be bad. A pleasant date with one man followed by the most incredible fucking I'd had in ages with another was embarrassing and more than a little shame-inducing, if he had any idea what I'd been up to. Somehow, the heat managed to stay on my cheeks without spreading further. "I did, yeah."
"Good. I was hoping you might want to do it again. Say Saturday? We could eat actual food instead of appetizers?"
Why not? Rick fell in line with what I was looking for these days, might as well see if there was anything to this. "I'd love to. Seven okay?"
"Seven's fine." He sent a surreptitious glance first to the right, then the left, before he stepped into my cubicle, bent down, and pressed a soft, dry kiss to my cheek. "Text me your address, and I'll pick you up."
The kiss burned on my skin long after Rick walked back to his desk, and I forced myself to concentrate on the spreadsheet in front of me. Logan and I had agreed to this. I wasn't betraying one by spending time with the other.
Guilt had a nasty way of sticking around, even when it wasn't warranted.
Logan had my pants around my ankles within ten seconds of me walking through the front door, his mouth and fingers busily taking the edge off the guilt. I was still shuddering when he shoved his pants down and lifted me, bracing me against the wall. Still sensitive from the last orgasm, the hard and fast strokes pushed me over the edge as Logan went rigid, grinding his pelvis against mine.
Limp, he held me up while I caught my breath. "Thanks," I gasped. "I needed that. And I didn't even know I needed that."
"That's what I'm here for, babe." He kissed me briefly before setting me on my feet. I straightened my sweater, gathered my pants, and, feeling ridiculous, walked down the hall to my bedroom with as much dignity as I could muster.
I grabbed my sweats and headed for the bathroom, locking the door behind me. As welcome as the impromptu fucking had been, I wanted a few minutes to myself.
When I stepped out of the bathroom, I was definitely alone. The apartment was silent but for the sound of the refrigerator humming. Figuring Logan must have gone out, I made my way to the kitchen to scrounge up dinner.
Nothing looked appetizing. I absolutely loathe cooking, especially for one, which seems like such a waste of time. As a result, my diet wavered from uber healthy (ginormous salads) to gut suckingly bad (Italian take out). I tugged the menu from the Italian restaurant around the corner off the fridge and scanned it. I was in the mood for a lot of carbs. The fettucini Alfredo would be perfect. Now if only I could remember where the hell I'd put my phone.
I found it in my purse, which was still in the hallway. I ignored the twinge of shame as I read through the text Rick had sent that I'd missed because I was too busy having a screaming orgasm and dumped my purse in my room. I think I deserved an order of garlic bread to go with my fettuccini.
Order placed, I lectured myself into making a salad while I waited for my food. The front door clicked open as I was swallowing the first bite and Logan appeared in the doorway, bearing plastic bags. "I never did understand why women insisted a salad was a full meal." He smirked, setting the bags on the table.
"It's not. I'm going to pick up my dinner in another few minutes."
"Oh. Guess you don't want this, then." He pulled out a large carton and opened the flaps, steam rising. I leaned over to get a look at it. Fettuccini Alfredo. I burst out laughing. "What?" he scowled.
"That's what I ordered. Let me see if I can cancel my order." My chair scraped over the linoleum and I hurried to my room where I'd left my phone. I got lucky; they were behind and were more than happy not to have to fulfill an order.
Logan had gotten out plates and was dishing up pasta when I came back. "Thanks. What do I owe you?"
He put a piece of garlic bread on the rim of my plate. "Don't worry about it." Before I could argue, he took his plate and a beer into the living room.
I glanced at my plate, then at the doorway to the living room. I could put up a fuss, calculate how much I owe him and dump the money in his lap and refuse to take it back. Or maybe I was reading too much into what was most likely a nice gesture. The pasta was growing colder the longer I stood there debating. What the hell.
I took my plate into the living room and settled on the opposite side of the couch. "Thanks for dinner," I said, slipping a forkful of noodles between my lips. Cream sauce dripped onto my chin. "Shit."
Logan glanced over. "Problem?"
"Forgot a napkin. And a drink." I wiped at the sauce with my fingers and licked them off.
"I'll get it. I need another beer anyway." He disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with a torn off paper towel, a beer, and a glass of wine. "You didn't have any open, so I hope the Ghost Pines is okay. That's the one you usually go for, right?" He handed the glass and the towel to me.
My heart rate hitched and smoothed out. Silly. "Yeah. Thanks." Honestly? I hadn't thought he'd paid much attention to my habits.
He sat back down and picked up the remote. "Anything you want to watch?"
"Any bad movies on?"
He flashed a grin. "Aren't there always?"
It didn't take him long to find one starring Dolph Lundgren and a bunch of other third rate actors, running through a jungle and randomly blowing shit up or shooting at each other. The day and the heavy food started to catch up to me, and I slid down on the couch, resting my head on the side cushion.
Someone shook me awake what felt like moments later. I blinked and squinted up at Logan. "Thought you might be more comfortable in your bed."
Still in a fog, I nodded once and struggled to sit up and get off the couch. He cupped a hand under my elbow and helped me to my feet, shifting his hold to my waist when I swayed. Christ, I was tired. We shuffled out of the living room and down the hall, and he left me at my bedroom door with a chaste kiss on the lips. "Sleep tight, Janey-girl."
The interlude disturbed me. It was new, and while he had woken me from an impromptu nap on the couch on more than one occasion, he'd never actually helped me to my room, let alone kissed me goodnight. So of course I did what any sane female would do: I deconstructed it from every possible angle, then started looking for more hints he was interested in more. Even though all that meant was I'd need to find a way to let him down gently.
The next night Logan attempted to offer me leftovers, which I accepted, because of my aforementioned loathing of all things cooking related. We ended the night with a bout of mutual oral satisfaction. Then he tried to get me to eat some of the pizza he ordered without letting me pay for it, and seemed put out when I turned down his request to watch a movie with him. He was even more pissed when I locked myself in my room instead of sticking my ass in the air and begging him to pound me. By the time Friday rolled around and he was actually cooking dinner in the kitchen when I got home and asked if I wanted some, I was pretty sure something hinky was going on. Logan rarely offered me food, and he'd done it three times this week. Four, if I counted the pasta.
I stared at him, trying to puzzle him out. I'd seen this behavior before, both in Logan and in other guys I'd slept with. This was the behavior of a guy who didn't quite understand the meaning of the words "fuck buddies".
What no man seemed to understand is that if you want the woman you're fucking to keep her feelings out of it, you can't ask her to hang out. You can't share meals, you can't watch a movie together, you can't do anything other than fuck. Basically, take the "buddy" out of "fuck buddy."
And men wonder why we get attached and start thinking there's more there than there actually is.
Before I could try and talk some sense into Logan, someone pounded on the front door. I hurried to open it and immediately regretted it, because I got a harsh slap for my troubles.
Chelsea, who looked like she'd blow over in a slight breeze, eyes bloodshot, blonde hair lank, raised her hand to slap me again. "Whoa. Hold up there, hon. You want to slap anyone, slap Logan."
"You bitch," she hissed.
"That's right. I'm a bitch," I said calmly. "Logan! Get your ass out here!"
He took his sweet time, and I managed to usher Chelsea into the apartment and into the living room by the time he decided to put in an appearance. "Just hanging out?" I murmured as I passed him. Maybe Chelsea would drive home the lesson I needed him to learn so I wouldn't have to.
To give them some privacy, I collected my coat and purse from my room and slipped out of the apartment, walking the few blocks to the pricey grocery store where I picked up an overpriced salad for dinner.
Chelsea was gone by the time I returned, and Logan was slumped on the couch. I curled into my corner and waited. He'd say something sooner or later. The plastic creaked as I pried open my salad.
"I don't get it," he said at last. "She just went all crazy on my ass. I mean, she knew we weren't together or anything. Sorry she slapped you," he added.
"I hope she slapped you harder. You deserve it." I crunched down on a carrot and picked up the remote.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
I sighed and blanked the TV. So much for the Sons of Guns marathon I'd wanted to watch. "You don't strike me as a stupid person, Logan. So I'm going to assume you get it when I remind you most women view sex differently from men. We might say we're capable of keeping our hearts out of it, but we're not. Not when you start acting all couple-y on us."
The poor kid looked more confused than he had before I'd opened my mouth. "And?"
Earth-moving sex aside, this wasn't worth it. I might not have any interest in Logan romantically, but when you add in hormones to anything resembling friendship, your mind could very likely play tricks on you. "Let me guess. You and Chelsea would go out drinking, grab some food, maybe lounge around and watch a movie together. Sometimes you might even get together with some of your friends or hers." He nodded. "What part of that doesn't sound like stuff you do when you're dating?" Needing to drive my point home, I jammed my fork into the lettuce. "You offering me dinner? Getting upset when I'd rather read than watch a movie with you? You didn't do any of those things before we started fucking. My expectation was nothing would change. You saying you want to change that? Because I'm not okay with that."
"Excuse me if I'd like to know the person I'm fucking a little bit."
"And I don't. You can't handle that, maybe you ought to go back to fucking Chelsea. Now," and I picked up the remote, pointing it at the TV, "are we done? Because I'd really like to finish my dinner in peace."
He glared at me. "Never thought you were this bitchy, Jane."
I shrugged. "Learn something new every day, hon."
Minutes passed without further comment from Logan, and I started to relax, smiling when the boys from Red Jacket Firearms blew up a car.
Then I was yanked out of my seat, his mouth sealing over mine, the kiss all fury and cruelty. More a mashing of lips than a mating, his hands were rough as they streaked up under my sweatshirt, squeezing my breasts a little too hard. The pain vibrated out, dripping into my blood, and gathered low in my belly, rumbling there and mixing with dread.
I retaliated by scratching down over his abdomen. There was the sound of fabric tearing as Logan's shirt came off. We fairly mauled each other in our efforts to get the clothing out of the way, and I slammed my hips down, his cock splitting me in half.
He didn't give me a chance to scream before he thrust up. The sex was feral and bruising, my fingers twisting and pinching my clit. Sweat ran and clung, and the scent of it mingled with our fucking as the room filled with the grunts we exchanged.
I hated sex like this. Hated the rage behind it, hated the scratches and soreness it left behind. But Logan wasn't going to let me have it any other way tonight, so if he was going to punish me, I'd punish him right back. I ground down on him, making sure his pelvis rubbed against my clit, ignoring his hisses of pain.
Finally, finally, the orgasm crashed through me, searing and edged in pain. Logan grunted one last time and held my hips down.
Tears threatened. This was not what I'd wanted. Our couplings before had been hot, scorching even, and this was nothing like those. This was not sex without emotions. This was filled with hate and negativity and jealousy, everything I'd wanted to avoid.
I climbed off Logan and picked up my clothes. He sat back and laced his hands behind his head, a smirk playing over his lips. "Is that what you had in mind?"
I leaned in until we were nose to nose. "Did your tantrum make you feel better?" I strolled out of the room, losing the battle with my tears. They rolled down my face as I locked myself in my bedroom. The semen sliding down my thighs was a fantastic reminder of the wrongness that had just happened. I tugged on my clothes and wiped away the tears before I booted up my laptop. I'd known this was a bad idea from the beginning. Now I was going to do something about it.
Pulling up Craigslist, I started searching through the rentals. Hopefully it wouldn't take long for me to find a new place to live.