Page 64 of Shade
Okay, let’s go over the facts here.
If Shadedidn’twant to have sex with me, he would have told me to get the fuck out, right?
Or. . . if he just wanted to get off, he would have been quick about it. We fucked for like an hour, and my body has the marks to prove it. Obviously he wanted everything we were doing, and I distinctly remember the moan he let out when he discovered my clit ring. All signs pointed to a good fucking time.
So why’d he pull out?
Still don’t know, and I won’t get my answer because it’s not like I’m going to go up there and demand he tell me. Dignity, remember?
Let’s think about what he said to me:
Stop.
I’m fucked up. I won’t remember.
Goddamn it.
Turn around.
Put your legs up. Now.
Move.
Get off me.
Leave your number. I’ll call the next time I’m in town.
Seems like a lot now, but truthfully, I’ve had more of a conversation with my neighbor’s cat over her leaving cat hair on my legs when I pass by the little fucker.
The next morning, I still haven’t gone home or showered. Part of me doesn’t want to wash away the reminder of Shade just yet. I might never shower again. I sniff my hair that still smells like gas from the event, and then my shoulder that smells like him. Yep. Never showering again.
It’s early when Tom bumps my shoulder and hands me a much-needed cup of coffee. He’s leaning into the wall with his head pressing into the cabinets above. “How’d it go? Worth it?”
He was being a brat last night, so I wonder what’s changed.
Just like Shade, I’m not sure what to make of Tom’s behavior. Why are men so cryptic?
If you’ve pissed me off, I’m going to straight up tell you. No questions asked.
When Tom handed me the cup, I noticed his knuckles are bloody. This isn’t alarming if you know Tom. He’s constantly doing stupid shit. He probably punched a wall for fun.
I raise the cup, winking my thank you. “Did you put cream in this?” He nods. But then I think about his question. I’m wondering why Tom’s asking if I had fun, but I don’t put much thought into it. I’m still high on Shade’s scent clinging to me and the soreness rooting itself in my bones. Not my muscles. It’s deeper. My bones hurt. And my neck. Totally pinched a nerve for sure.
Looks like I’ll be paying Ms. Izzy Bizzy a visit today. By the way, her last name isn’t really Bizzy. Mila and I nicknamed her that when she hooked up with the pro-hockey player, because no one knew for the longest time. She was just buzzing back and forth between Seattle and Canada getting her Bizzy on.
I’m getting sidetracked. Sorry. Back to me and my hurting body.
“So?” he presses, waiting for my answer.
“A lady never tells.”
Tom smirks, bringing his coffee to his lips. “It’s a good thing you’re not one.”
He has a point. “True.” I rub my sore neck. “He put me in a full nelson and fucked my brains out.”
Was that too much? Should I have said that to Tom? Probably not.
He chews on the inside of his cheek, then raises his hand to pinch his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger. “I’m almost afraid to ask. . . but what’s a full nelson?”
