Fool for Love (Believe #2) (10 page)

A
MARCHING BAND OF
elephants have taken up residence in my skull.

Groaning from the pounding in my head, I slowly open my eyes, but shut them quickly when the bright sun shining through the windows burns them. I clutch my head, silently cursing the excessive drinking I indulged in last night.

Fucking hell. No more alcohol for me this year.

I know that I had an excuse last night – when a man’s dick lies dormant, despite the willing and sexy female before him, he gets scared. But when I feel the hard-on I’m sporting this morning, the nerves leave my body, and I relax slightly as I open my eyes once more. The glare still hurts, but it’s not as bad as before, and for the first time since waking up, I notice the blanket covering my body. I frown as I turn my head to the left where a glass of water and a couple of pills lie on the coffee table within arm’s reach. Propped against the glass, there’s a note. Careful to not move too quickly, I take it and read it:

“Gone out. See you later. Suzy.”

That’s it.

I sit up and take the pills, downing them in quick, large gulps, and I pray they’ll start working soon. My thoughts linger on my roommate. I can’t remember how I got home, or if Suzy helped me get comfortable on the couch, but I guess she must have.

I’ll have to thank her when she gets back.

Sighing, I rub my chin, wondering if I ought to shave my beard, but I don’t really care…I need to man up and head into my restaurant,
‘Mama Rosa’s’,
soon, but I won’t until this hangover lets up. I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth and take a long, much-needed shower to clear my body from the stench of whiskey and sweat reeking. I return to lie on the couch, only wearing my sweatpants.

As I turn on the TV and zap mindlessly through the channels, I frown when I realise that Suzy didn’t write her cell number on her note. I should probably ask her to exchange phone numbers, just in case. I make a mental note to bring up the subject when I see her again.

I should stay as far away from her as possible. I have a nagging feeling that something happened between us last night, but I still can’t remember.

And why does it feel so important?

For fuck’s sake. I’m getting old.

Old and horny, that’s for sure.

I haven’t had a willing sub in months, and I need some proper release soon.

Jerking off in the shower isn’t enough.

I want, no –
crave
the empowering feeling that comes with being a Dom. Life is simpler, easier to handle when I am with a willing participant. There are rules to uphold, and I live for them.

Then why didn’t they work last night? The sub I picked out was perfect: demure, elegant, eager. Perfect on paper.

And yet, so wrong.

My mind is too tired to understand the reasons behind my concerns, and I try to find a more comfortable position on my leather couch. The pills have started to work, and as my thoughts veer off in Suzy’s direction – her porcelain skin and plump lips – I groan when my dick hardens almost immediately.

“Wrong,” I mutter, balling my fists as I try not to give into temptation. It’s no use.

“Fuck it.” Roughly, I free my dick from my pants with one hand, breath heaving, and spit quickly in my palm, rubbing the moisture around the head a couple of times. I know I have to work quickly, and I take a firm hold on the base, and rub it aggressively. It’s almost painful, but I don’t give a damn.

For the second time in twenty-four hours, I bring myself to orgasm while thinking about Suzy. Imagining her sweet pussy riding me while I squeeze her tits, it doesn’t take long before I feel the tightening on my balls. As my release spurts on my stomach, I roar loudly. While I feel slightly less frustrated now, it’s not enough.

It never is.

The physical release isn’t enough to quell the coldness in my heart.

I am empty. Hollow. Lost in the pits of hell that is my past. I deserve the self-hatred that consumes my mind all day, every day. I am not allowed to feel happiness, elation, or even contentment.

Then how is it that this feisty blonde seems able to weave some kind of magic wand that is beginning to thaw the ice in my heart?

What power is it that she holds over me?

And – do I dare give in to her charms?

“No.” The sound reverberates in the air, and I vow that this is the last time I will sport these kinds of fantasies about her.

She is pure goodness. She is innocent and sweet.

I am darkness. I am cold and ruthless.

Unfit – and too old for her.

I’ve had my chance at happiness, and I ruined it a long time ago.

Head down, I walk slowly out of the deli where I just applied for a job. My hopes are not that high. The fact is that there are so many people looking for jobs these days, and I guess I don’t blame the owner when he outright asked me why he should hire me when I’ll be going home soon. It felt like the high stack of applications he already had lying scattered on his desk was mocking me somehow.

It still stings, but I guess I just have to keep going.

I’m tired and cranky from lack of sleep, and I just want to forget this entire day, but I don’t want to go home yet.

As if in answer to my thoughts, my phone starts to ring. When I see it’s Morgan calling, I quickly press the green button.

“You’re a godsend,” I answer on a sigh.

“Well, well,” she chuckles in that southern Texas drawl I like. “Aren’t I just mighty happy you said that? Not that I would ever doubt that statement, but what’s brought this on?”

Frowning, I stop and stare at the cars passing by.

“I have a headache, and I’ve spent the entire day trudging around NYC, looking for a job, but no one is hiring,” I grumble. “I’m also hungry. No, wait…
hangry
would be more accurate”

“Aawww, I’m sorry.” I can hear the sincerity in her voice.

I haven’t told Morgan about my empty pockets, but I think she’s figured it out on her own.

“Want to come over to my place? I have pie. I know it’s not exactly dinner, but I baked it myself.”

“Pie?” I muse, twisting back and forth on my feet. “I never could resist sweets. I’ll be there soon.”

“Awesome! See you soon, baby,” she says, and we ring off.

I’m not too sure why she called me
‘baby’
, because she’s never done that before, but I shrug and head to the nearest subway. I need food and some laughs with my friend, and definitely some hanky-panky. I’ll worry about the rest later.

Morgan greets me like usual when I turn up at her doorstep – a quick kiss on the lips and a hug. The familiarity is soothing. It comforts me, and also reassures me of her friendship; maybe she didn’t mean anything by the whole
‘baby’
thing?

“I thought we could watch a movie while we eat,” she says. I smile at her.

“Sounds great.”

“Just make yourself comfortable, and I’ll bring out the pie. It’s my grandmama’s recipe, and I
guarantee
that you’ll love it.” She points to her couch, and I shrug off my leather jacket, hanging it on the peg inside her front door like usual.

I love Morgan’s place. It’s not that big, but it has an open floor plan like mine; bold, red paint on the walls; lots of pillows on her bed to the far end, as well as on the black suede leather couch.

It’s so daring, yet inviting, and I sigh deeply as I sit down on her couch. I take in the movie playing on the TV:
‘Crazy Stupid Lo
ve’. Well, how appropriate. I lean my head back and close my eyes, utterly spent.

“Now, don’t go falling asleep on me, darlin’.” She tugs on my hand, and I can feel her slide down next to me.

I smile and open my eyes, almost laughing out loud when I see the tray in her hands. The pie looks amazing, and my mouth waters from the smell wafting in the air.

“Wow,” I breathe, leaning in closer as she sets it on the coffee table in front of us. “Did you really bake this?” I ask her, awestruck. I follow her movements as she prepares a big slice with plenty of cream on top.

“Mm-hmm…” I can see the proud smile on her face, and I smile back at her when she glances at me.

“I didn’t know you could bake,” I mumble as I take the plate she hands to me.

“There’re plenty of things we don’t know about each other, I guess,” she states matter-of-fact. I nod, conceding.

“True…Oh my god, this is heaven!” I exclaim as I take the first bite and the warm apples hit my taste buds; the flavour of them mixed with the crunchy crust and the cream makes me close to having a foodgasm right there on the spot.

Licking some cream from her thumb, Morgan nods, a smug look on her face.

“Okay, I need the recipe, please,” I tell her.

“I’ll write it down and email it to you,” she says as she leans back in her seat beside me.

We eat in silence, and I like that Morgan feels the same way as me – talking isn’t necessary all the time; that keeping quiet can be a comfort; and that silence doesn’t have to feel oppressive or awkward.

“So, are you going to tell me why you were so down when I called?” she asks after some time.

I nod. “Sure. It’s not
that
big of a deal, I guess, but I really need a job. I was feeling kind of depressed.”