Call Me Love Ch. 02

Chapter Two

You know what's the cure for a crap day? The thing that makes it all better? The thing that fixes busted knuckles, motor oil in your hair, and idiot coworkers messing shit up just because they couldn't be arsed to listen to you? You know what fixes that?

Me neither.

It's not the first time I've had to deal with some twat second-guessing me in a shop, and I'm sure it won't be the last, but damn. There's no cure for that.

I know what DOESN'T fix it.

A cold shower because your flat kinda sucks and the hot water is always the first thing to go. Your favorite fish and chip place with a queue a mile long, the rain starting to pour down, and because you're a stubborn Seattlite you don't carry an umbrella. But at least the cold rain prepared you for the cold shower. All of that I could forgive, but damn, the final straw that's more than I can take? My vibrator dying just as I was finally warming up.

Yeah, that's just the cherry on top of my day.

I'm a grown woman who drinks, curses like a sailor, and enjoys hard and fast sex, but damn, I feel like crying. And I know an orgasm wouldn't fix things; my hands are still killing me, cold water doesn't do much to get oil out of your hair, so my cold shower was a long one and I'm still freezing, and that idiot at Dad's shop still has a job. But I've got the next two days off to forget about it, or at least quiet the angry little intrusive thoughts in my head that demand vengeance through blood tribute. God, I just wanna feel good. Guess I'll have to wait until my vibrator finishes charging because one orgasm isn't going to fix it, but maybe a few might.

Maybe not, though. Truth is, that little toy of mine just hasn't been cutting it since I met Ben. It's been a week, and we've exchanged a few texts back and forth, just fun and flirty banter between two people who had mind-blowing sex, several times. In bed, in the shower, and back in bed again before I stumbled my way out of his place, owning my 'walk of shame' all the way back to my flat.

Ben.

My phone's been quiet all day, and it's starting to bug me a bit. But I guess Ben's not much of a texter, pretty much anything he sent was fairly short and simplistic. Maybe he was just being nice when he asked for that date, which still hasn't happened. Then again, it's only been a few days. Can't say I'm keen on a guy who drops everything for a date right after getting busy. Feels a bit clingy, and I'm all for needy, just not that kind. I like a guy who makes me crave him, and I'm already pretty damn needy as it is, I don't need a double dose of that.

But then my grin widens like a Cheshire cat's when I suddenly remember the little memento I nicked from Ben's place, and I hop out of bed to fish it out of my dresser drawer--the shirt he had on.

It's one of Queen's 1985 Live Aid Concert shirts. No, not an original vintage, those are like gold dust, especially in London. I didn't run off with a rock and roll heirloom. It's just a reproduction. But it caught my eye when I first saw him eyeing me up. It's a bit big for me, so much that it's slipping off a shoulder but looking at my reflection it's a pretty cute look and one I know guys like. His shirt and panties. I'm not one for vanity, but I'm confident enough to know I look good.

Sure, there are plenty of girls out there who might be skinnier, taller, or bustier than me, and while social media is weird and annoying to me and I don't know the first thing about selfies or taking pics of my food because I'm too busy scarfing it down. I'd bet good money none of them can throw a wrench like I can. You want to talk about replacing an ignition coil in a Norton Commando? I can do that blindfolded, faster than you can say 'Vroom Vroom.' That's not to say I'm better than those girls because it's not about who's better; I still like clothes and makeup and getting my nails done, I'm just different, limited edition, if you will.

But Ben doesn't strike me as the type who cares about all that stuff.

It's a ballsy move, swiping his shirt like that. Might seem a tad clingy, but let's see how it plays out. Wonder if he's noticed it's missing yet. No denying he's a Queen fan, that's for sure. And I got major Roger Taylor vibes from him. And after the night we had I'd say he's worthy of the 'Sex on Legs' nickname Roger used to rock. Damn, he was good.

First few days after work had me swamped, barely any free time to take care of myself, let alone think about him. But after being cockblocked by my own vibrator? He's all I can think about now. That shaggy hair I could run my fingers through, he loved that shit. Every shiver, every little 'fuck me baby' groan told me so. Those tasty abs he's hiding under that Queen shirt, and my stupid lady lizard brain going wild with all the things I want to lick off them. Am I a sucker for that accent? Hell yes. Been fantasizing about all the kinky things I want him to say to me? You bet.

And all it would take is a phone call. Just a quick ring to cure what ails me, if he's even willing anymore.

Because even with all my "confident, modern woman, no-shame" BS attitude, no girl wants to come off too desperate, even though I am. I know it's a huge turn-off for guys. Figuring out what guys want when you're not in bed is always a bit of a puzzle. Yeah, I could've suggested swinging by later while we were having sex, but that smoking hot guy you're letting pound you into the mattress? Yeah, he's got two sides to him--the one who's all about getting laid and keeping his junk happy, and the one who's actually doing all the thinking when his dick isn't occupying all the blood supply.

Not positive which Ben I got, but I'm leaning towards the real him, though. Once we were at his place, holy shit, electric doesn't quite cover it. Makes me wet just thinking about it, though to be fair, I was already heading in that direction. The Ben I shared a smoke with, shot the breeze with, talked music, and traded barbs? He was sexy, smart, and cute as hell. Pretty sure that's who he is, but it's hard to say. You only ever see a shade of a guy if he's into you and I wasn't exactly subtle that night about what I wanted--Ben was hot and I wanted him bad. Besides, drummers? Always had a soft spot for 'em, and anyone who's ever seen a drummer banging away at a kit knows what I mean. A drum kit, not me.

Those sculpted arms, just waiting to wrap around me, feel the heat of his body against mine. Solid and strong back, a playground for my hands to explore every inch. And those thick thighs, fuck, I'd happily settle into his lap, and whisper in his ear, letting him know he's all I want for Christmas. There isn't a part of a drummer's body that doesn't get a workout, and the saying is true; drummers do it harder. And Ben did not disappoint me in that department either.

That vibrator suddenly doesn't feel quite as necessary with Ben on my mind. Still, I'm lazy and spoiled--I just wanted to lay in bed and relax with that perfect buzzing between my legs, letting my mind wander to all the sexy places I avoid because they make it hard for me to focus on work. Lately, those places involve this gorgeous shaggy blonde guy and every position imaginable. He did mention something about 'spanking the smart mouth out of me' last time, and we covered all bases several times, but somehow, we missed that... Well, sort of. There was some spanking involved.

Fuck.

My vibrator will be fully charged in about twenty minutes, which isn't a big deal, not really, but still, nothing kills a sexy buzz quicker than that particular buzz dying mid-tease.

My bed's nice and warm, and the sheets are clean, but they don't smell like him, and it's kind of bumming me out. Even the smell of his shirt is fading. God, I know I sound pathetic, but I guess it's a good thing it's just me and Simon here. Oh shit.

I forgot about Simon. My feet are frozen again as soon as they hit the floor and I go in search of the other flatmate who contributes nothing but still has time to bitch. I'm not too concerned about walking around the flat in Ben's shirt and a pair of blank panties because Stevie and Nicki do it all the time, and they're both at Nicki's place until the radiator is fixed. Their offer was tempting, but honestly, I know it was just out of courtesy. I could read Stevie's eyes and they were screaming 'Please don't come so that I can.'

It's rough being roommates and never really having alone time. Nicki's place is pretty much a shoebox anyway, but that figures for downtown London--it's no better than Seattle.

"Simon, here kitty, kitty, kitty!" I call out using that voice you use when you're trying to find something that doesn't want to be found, the lie that says 'Come on buddy we're all friends here.' We're not. He hates my ass.

I'm not much of a cat person. But Simon, he's 'usually' pretty chill for a drag queen, and he is a drag queen, as in dragging where his balls used to be all over our nice things. Because ever since Stevie got him fixed, he's been a bit more subdued and almost as spiteful as me; that was my bag he puked on last week.

The furry little asshole has a few hiding places, and he's not under the coffee table or the regular table. No, he's in his third favorite spot, perched on the counter next to the coffee maker. It's a bit odd, I know, and yes, I disinfect the countertop often. It's unnerving how much he blends in next to the coffee maker -- they're both dark, shape is kinda there and when he decides to play statue in a dim room, it's hard to tell until his eyes start that glowing, laser, eye thing. Scares the crap out of me every time. I scream, he hisses, and then he's off again. Rinse and repeat.

Cats are the most judgmental creatures on the planet, and Simon is judging me right now. I get it. I probably scared the piss out of him when my vibrator died. He doesn't like loud noises, and the banshee wail I let out and the pillow projectile probably didn't earn me any kitty karma. But for all I know, he knew exactly what I was doing and he resents the hell out of me for it anyway.

"I'm sorry?" Not sure why I'm apologizing to a cat; it's not like I had him neutered, but I did help shove him into the crate and I may have helped wrestle him into the cone of shame, more than once. "Look, if you could have sex, you'd get it."

He just keeps looking at me with this look that says, 'I'm gonna piss in your shoes later.' And there's only one way to avoid that -- to the pantry I go. No doubt if I died right here and now, Simon wouldn't even wait till I was cold before he'd be eating my eyes, but the sharp and crisp sound of a can opening quickly has him changing his tune. Suddenly he's happy as a clam, trotting over, rubbing his head against me, purring, and acting like we're best friends, as opposed to what we really are: two very sexually frustrated roommates.

He doesn't give a shit about my little outburst anymore; he's nose-deep in that tin of tuna, and all's well for him. Least now he might wait till rigor mortis sets in before he chows down on me, I'm still probably first on the menu if I kick off here in the flat. And you know what? Hope he enjoys it. Because I too would like to feast on the entrails of those who have displeased me, metaphorically anyway.

Dale. Asshole.

It's freaking freezing out here. With Simon all sorted, I'm headed back to bed. Still got maybe fifteen minutes before my vibrator is fully charged, and as much as I want to get off in a hurry, I know I'll forget to charge the damn thing and this exact scenario will happen again, because the pillow-throwing banshee wail incident was not an anomaly. It's why Simon hates me; we've been here before. I'm also in no hurry because I'm not so quick to get my fix, I have two days off and with the heating effectively out, I am not leaving my bed except for tea and takeout, what else am I gonna do?

Is it masochistic if you tease yourself? Christ, I just need to get fucked. I wanna call him.

The blankets are still warm when I crawl back under them, and the pillow is cozy. Honestly, Ben doesn't even need to say anything sexual; I could get myself off just to the sound of his voice calling me his good girl. It's always interesting when you hook up with a guy and find out something new about yourself. BAM! New kink unlocked! Apparently, I have a bit of a praise kink, and I'm into spanking because, holy fuck. I don't think I've ever come that hard, or maybe Ben just has the magic touch.

That is 100% spanking done right, had an ex who tried it, and let's just say he did NOT understand the assignment. My pussy hurts just thinking about it. I like a little spice, not pain. Ben may as well have been my Goldilocks hookup, not too rough, not too soft; just right.

I've still got that picture I snapped of him, and he looks just as good now as he did the other day. Even better, actually, because now I know what's under that sweaty shirt of his and those jeans. Never been with a guy who actually had an Adonis belt. But Jesus my lord and savior... I could happily eat every meal off of him, and the further down I go, the better he gets.

Some guys don't taste good, but I read something once that said if you crave a guy's taste, then you might be chemically compatible or something. At the time, I figured it was just some guy trying to 'science' his way to more blowjobs. You like the taste of his cum? Must be fate! Maybe there's something more to that. I liked how he tasted, and I loved the look on his face even more.

I think blowjobs are sexy because you've got quite a bit of power over a guy. It was cute when he told me he loved me mid-suck, then that look of panic in his eyes--the 'holy shit, what the fuck did I just say?' look--kinda cute. Made me wonder if he's ever said it before mid-BJ and the girl freaked out and ditched him or got super clingy. Either way, poor baby. Fact is, I know Ben doesn't love me, guys just say dumb shit when they're happy but he sure as hell loved what I did to his dick, and as soon as he said that, fuck, it just made me want to get him off even more.

That hair of his, it's funny how many guys will give us grief about how much money we spend at the salon getting our hair done, when I think half the reason we go is just to have someone play with our hair. But the second we play with theirs and you see the look of bliss in their eyes, they get it. He's got such pretty hair, and it was so soft. It was cute seeing his eyes flutter shut when I ran my nails across his scalp, and I'm pretty sure his toes were curling. If he thinks that's good, I wonder what he'd think of someone with tits washing his hair?

Yeah, we didn't exactly do much washing in his shower, more like more foreplay.

Maybe another ten minutes until the charging light goes from red to green, and then I'm green to go and I can get back to making my bad day go away with the right dose of orgasmic serotonin and dopamine. Thinking about him is definitely winding me up, so much so that I almost jump out of my skin when my phone lights up with a text, and I drop the damn thing. That'll make the second time this week it's hit the ground, the first time was at Ben's place.

Ben: What're you up to, love?

Oh, you've got to be kidding me. My flat is freezing but right now my bed's feeling like a nice cozy place to be with me snuggled up under my blankets clutching my phone like Gollum and my precious drummer hook up, texting me out of the blue.

I was just thinking about you.

Oh yeah? What were you thinking about? Nothing naughty, I trust?

Moi? Naughty? I don't know what you're talking about.

That's a load of bollocks.

Maybe, but you'll never know if you don't ask me nicely. ;)

Ew, I just used a winky face emoji. Not really my style--I'm more of a GIF conversationalist. Emoji's feel so juvenile. But seriously, texting can be a nightmare for tone. I'm all about the snark, so risking looking a bit silly is better than a misunderstanding with Ben. There's a few seconds where I'm just staring at my phone waiting for a response and those moments of phone-staring are torture, but as soon as I see those bouncing text dots, I'm back in business.

Cassandra, what were you thinking about, love?

It's kinda weird seeing him call me Cassandra or even when I heard him say it back at his place, Kit has always been my go-to when I wanted to avoid giving a real name and I really can't remember where it came from. But I'll admit when he made the comparison between my name and a drum kit my first thought was definitely 'Feel free to bang me like one.' Good thing we both seemed to be on the same wavelength. I like my name and hearing Ben say it was pretty damn sexy and I was pretty surprised he was so gun-ho to get it, although I can safely say I've never had a guy threaten me with overstimulation from orgasms if he didn't get what he wanted.

And there go my panties... Again.

My day was kinda crap and I was thinking about you calling me your good girl.

Two seconds later, my phone lights up with a call, and his name flashes across the screen, and I chuckle at my contact name for him, it's Sexy Drummer Hookup (Ben). Maybe there really is a god, or maybe he just heard me praying to him when I was with Ben, yeah, I'm going to hell for that one.

"Speak of the devil, hello," I answer, grinning like a schoolgirl with a recess crush before he even says hi.

"How's my good girl?" He had to start with that? A mess. I'm a hot mess and only getting messier and that doesn't even cover what's happening in my panties right now. Am I actually giggling? I swear, I can hear him smiling through the phone.

"Tired, bit sore, and frustrated," Jesus, Kit, pull it together. I can hear the sound of shuffling fabric and a squeaking coil echoing through the phone, like he's laying down on his bed, looks like he's getting comfy too.

"Blimey, sounds like I proper messed you up if you're still feeling it?" I can see the shit-eating grin on his face and he's half right. I was sore for a bit after we hooked up but in the best way. I don't even need to tell him that's not what I meant, I'm just shaking my head which I know he can't see. "Who's done you wrong, love? Lemme at 'em, I'll knock 'im out," I can almost see him sitting up in bed like he'll actually do it, beat up the guy who pissed me off, oh, that protective thing is a keeper.

"I believe you, and I would pay good money to see that,"

"No charge for you, love--"

"Well now, wait a sec. Last time I got a show, I remember having to give one in return. Nothing's really free, is it?"

There are some things a guy says that the second you hear them, your inner ho makes her appearance and she's like 'Hang on sis, I've got this.' That was me the second Ben had me spread out on his lap in front of that mirror telling me I owed him a show.

"No cash charge anyway," Well, that's fair, I'm willing to bet my last quid, even though I can't see it, I'm pretty sure he's winking back at me. "So, what's got your day all knotted up, then?"

"It sucked. Had to sort out some moron who couldn't leave well enough alone, my knuckles are cracked and bleeding, and I'm tired and cold,"

Stevie and Nicki don't really 'get' my working in a garage with dudes, they're both pretty girly so whenever I complain to them they just don't really 'get it' and I'm constantly having to explain things to them. And I'm positive that most of the time they're just letting me vent as a courtesy, which I appreciate. Not Ben, it's actually kinda nice to tell him about my day and it's even nicer because he asked instead of just going with the old standby 'Wow that sucks babe.'

"Why're your knuckles all busted up, eh? Been throwin' punches? I'd shell out some cash to watch that." God his laugh is so damn sexy, and I can hear it in his voice, that tiny bit of concern.