His To Shatter (8 page)

“Won’t your roommates be annoyed?” I asked,
as he closed the door.

“They might if I had any,” he replied.

“You can afford to live without roommates?” I
asked, amazed. “You must be loaded as hell.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” he said,
stepping back towards me. “But I don’t much feel like talking about
that right now. Or anything, for that matter.”

He kissed me again, sliding his tongue far
into my mouth. I threw my arms around his shoulders and pressed my
body firmly against his. I could tell from the persistent pressure
against my thigh that he wanted me, and I was ready to give myself
to him for the night. Some part of me, deep down, was screaming
with anxiety at the prospect of sleeping with Ryan. After all, I’d
only ever been with one other guy in my entire life, and that
hadn’t exactly been a positive experience. What if Ryan could tell
how new I was to sex? What if he laughed at me when my incompetence
showed through? But that small, nay saying voice was quickly
drowned out by the overwhelming and unfamiliar feeling that coursed
through my body. For the first time in my life, I felt what it was
to want somebody, to have somebody. I’d found men attractive in the
past, but had never considered them long enough to lust after them.
But it was a feeling I was more than willing to explore.

Ryan guided me through his massive apartment,
never once letting his lips leave mine. Finally, he pulled me down
onto a huge, king sized bed. I landed on top of him, straddling his
body. I didn’t even care that my dress was bunched up around my
hips, leaving little to the imagination below the waist. I was
giddy with desire, and marveled at how good it felt to be on top of
this handsome man in his beautiful apartment. Feeling adventurous,
I reached for the hem of my dress and attempted to pull it over my
head in the sexiest way I could. But the thing was far too tight to
get off in one fell swoop, and I struggled to free myself from the
clingy fabric. With my dress stuck up over my head, I suffered a
tiny moment of panic, feeling like an idiot and probably looking
like one too. But Ryan laughed and sat up to help me. I was glad
that he wasn’t one to judge a girl for being a little klutzy.

Sitting before Ryan in my bra and panties, I
felt sexier than I ever had before. He drank in the sight of me,
his eyes bright with lust. I lay back against the soft comforter
and waited for him to lead the way. I certainly didn’t know what I
was doing, but suddenly it didn’t matter. Ryan smiled down at me,
and ran his fingers along the tender skin of my inner thighs. My
whole body responded to his touch, and I felt an unfamiliar warmth
spread through my groin.
Is this what it feels like to be turned
on?
I thought, amazed by the sensation. I spread my knees apart
for Ryan, waiting for him to teach me what he might.

He placed himself between my spread legs, and
slowly, gently, began to tug my panties down my legs. I held my
breath as the garment fell away, and I was left open and exposed to
him. Ryan looked reverently down at me, and all I could focus on in
my drunken state was to keep breathing.

“Relax,” he cooed warmly, and I tried my
best. I willed my muscles to unclench so that I could enjoy Ryan’s
attention. Slowly, he lowered his face to my bare abdomen. He
planted kiss upon kiss on the soft skin of my belly, working his
way further down with each one. I grabbed onto the comforter,
twisting the fabric between my fingers. His lips were sending
sparks of sensation dancing through my body, and the anticipation
was killing me. I’d never been treated like this before; Marc was
never too keen on seeing to my pleasure, being so focused on his
own.

I gasped as Ryan’s lips brushed the skin just
above my sex. What was he about to do? I felt his hands on my knees
as he pushed my legs up just a hair, opening me to him even more. I
looked down at him as he lowered his mouth once more, and let out a
gasp as his lips touched my most intimate place. I threw my head
back as the pleasure of his touch overwhelmed me. He traced his
tongue along every lip and fold, exploring me, opening me. I felt
an indescribable feeling building up in my very core as he licked
along the length of me. What was happening to me?

A jolt of red hot sensation burst through my
body as Ryan’s tongue flicked against that very special spot that
I’d heard of but never really used. I couldn’t believe the power
locked up in that one tiny nub. My every cell seemed to be taken in
by the pleasure that Ryan’s tongue was unleashing. He flicked and
twirled the tip of his tongue around that tender little button, and
my head spun as the unstoppable feeling continued to mount. I could
feel my legs begin to tremble uncontrollably, and I struggled to
keep them from spasming.

“Just let go,” Ryan whispered, taking a
second’s pause. “It’s OK.”

I listened, and stopped trying to control my
body. Just as I let myself relax, Ryan lay an expert stroke of the
tongue against me as he slid two fingers deep up into my silky
wetness. The feeling that had been mounting and mounting peaked and
exploded through me, flooding every nerve with an unaccountable raw
pleasure. I screamed as the sensation overtook me, writhing beneath
Ryan’s mouth. A sudden hot pulse from my groin surprised me, and I
was alarmed to feel the fabric beneath me become wet.
Oh my
god
, I thought frantically,
Did I wet the bed?

“I’m so glad I got to make you come,” Ryan
cooed, crawling up beside me and pulling me close. I felt a cool
shot of relief chase through me, knowing what had actually
happened. But that relief was soon replaced by unbelieving wonder.
Had I just had an orgasm? That was a first. There were so many
emotions and reactions battling to be aired inside of me that I was
completely overwhelmed. It was all I could do to roll onto my side
and promptly pass out with Ryan’s arms wrapped around me.

* * * * *

Chapter Six

* * * * *

In what felt like the blink of an eye,
glaring sunlight was beating down upon my closed eyelids. I felt
myself emerging from a deep, thick sleep, struggling back to the
surface of consciousness as best I could. I cracked open one
swollen eye and immediately wished that I hadn’t. A sharp, stabbing
pain rocked through my cranium, ricocheting off the walls of my
skull and spreading through my entire body. What the hell was the
matter with my body all of a sudden? Why in the world was I in so
much pain.

I let out a groan, my lips felt pasty and
dry. My mouth tasted terrible, and my entire body felt fuzzy. I’d
never felt so horrible in my entire life, and I couldn’t for the
life of me figure out what was wrong. I reached for my cell phone
where it should have been on my beside table, but my hand fell down
upon a vast, cushy expanse of bed. I opened my eyes wider and was
startled to realize that I didn’t recognize anything around me. I
wasn’t in my bed at all. I wasn’t even in my own apartment! Though
the pain blazing through my head was unbearable, I forced myself to
look around. I immediately spotted the thick arms encircling my
waist and craned my neck around to determine who they belonged
to.

My eyes fell on a blonde man with big muscles
and a baby face who happened to be sleeping beside me. Suddenly,
the events of the previous evening came screeching back into my
mind. The bar, Ryan, stumbling home through the streets and up into
some stranger’s apartment; everything suddenly made sense. My
stomach turned over as I recalled what had happened once we’d
gotten back here and gone to bed together. I’d let Ryan, helped
Ryan, undress me. I’d spread my legs for him and let him use his
mouth on me. I started to tremble, remembering the huge orgasm that
had rocked through me body as he licked me. He’d made me come,
right there in front of him, a total stranger.

I felt the sudden and urgent need to cry. As
quietly as I could, I rolled out from under Ryan’s arm and crawled
to the side of the bed. I felt like I was going to be sick all over
his lovely, soft comforter. I pulled myself to the edge and rolled
off, the pain in my head beating like hammer. I’d never felt this
ruined, this utterly beside myself. I looked around wildly for my
clothes, sloppily throwing on the few layers I had left the house
in. Luckily, Ryan slumbered on as I clothed myself. If he’d woken
up, I think I would have died in shame.

Stumbling like an idiot, I made my way to the
front door of the apartment and slipped out. I didn’t wake my host,
or leave a note. I didn’t even lock the door behind me. I simply
ran, as fast as I could, away from the site of my irresponsible,
dirty deed. The elevator seemed to take a thousand years and move
at the rate of a glacier once I was inside. Finally, I made it to
the front door of the building and careened out into the early
morning light.

Before I could stop it, a wave of nausea hit
me like a brick wall. I leaned over the front steps, into the
beautifully manicured row of shrubs, and puked. A burst of boozy
mess left my body in a hurry as I retched again and again, emptying
the contents of my stomach onto the greenery below. I saw an early
morning dog walker pass by hurriedly, shooting me the nastiest of
looks. I straightened up and wiped my mouth with the back of my
hand. Stumbling down the steps, I caught a glimpse of myself in the
mirrored window of a parked car and immediately wished that I
hadn’t.

I looked like absolute hell. My elegant up-do
had been reduced to a tangled, sweaty mess, hanging off my head
like a dead animal. My dress was absurdly short and tight for this
time of the morning, or ever really. I wobbled on the spiky points
of my unfortunate heels, my toes pinched painfully into the torture
devices that were my shoes. Worst of all was my face—smeared with
streaks and black and red makeup, blotchy, and wearing the sorriest
expression of remorse anyone had ever seen. I was an absolute
mess.

The walk back to my apartment was one of the
new low points of my entire life. I could feel the stares of
passersby as I made my way through the Lower East Side. Men
smirked, women grimaced, and I fought back my tears as best I
could. Each and every one of them knew what I’d been doing not
hours before; everybody knew my own personal shame. And the
knowledge of that was almost too much for me to bear. I’d never
felt so ashamed in all my life, and shame was not something that I
was much of a stranger to.

After what felt like miles, I turned back
onto Clinton Street and all but ran up the steps of my building. I
tiptoed into my apartment, praying that no one would be awake to
witness my entrance. Thankfully, my roommates were late sleepers. I
ran into my bedroom and closed the door firmly behind me, snapping
the lock. It wasn’t until I had thrown myself hopelessly down onto
the bed that I let the pent-up sobs overtake me. I wept into my
pillow on my measly little twin bed, unable to believe what I had
done.

The whole incident was horrifying to
remember, but the worst part was the fact that I had been drunk the
whole time. What had I been thinking, letting myself booze it up?
I’d known full well what the consequences would be from the very
first shot. I’d steered clear of booze throughout my entire adult
life for fear of this very circumstance. Alcohol made people
irresponsible, immoral, and out of control. I had to have known
that I wouldn’t be the exception to that fate. If anything, I
should have been more careful, given my history.

My mind reeled back to West Chester as I lay
crying on my pathetic little bed. How many nights had my father
come home, stinking of booze, on the war path? I’d watched him
descend from a well-liked man in the town to a fumbling, disgusting
mess when he hit the bottle. His behavior and actions had been
humiliating to watch, knowing that we shared even a drop of blood.
I’d been appalled with him every time he came roaring through the
front door, bellowing like a savage and all but beating his chest.
His antics were ridiculous, but worse than that, they were
harmful.

My father had never been a violent man before
the alcoholism took hold of him. He’d been aggressive and
outspoken, sure, but booze turned him into an absolute monster. I
could still remember the first time that he hit my mother. Having
returned home from his first big bender after being fired, he
rallied against her attempts to get him clean up. In a flash, he’d
slapped her so hard that she fell back against the stairs. He fell
upon her, wrapping his hands around her throat. I was just a stick
of a kid, but I flew at him, beating my tiny fists against his
back, begging him to stop. He’d only laughed and pushed me off of
him, sauntering up the stairs to pass out, dead to the world. My
mother and I had stared at each other, at a loss, until finally she
said the words I’d never forget.

“You’re not to tell anyone about this,” she’d
said. “Your father is a good man. Never forget that. He’s just
drunk, that’s all. Alcohol makes people do horrible things,
sometimes. You stay away from it, you hear me? Stay away from
it.”

And I had. For years and years, I had
refrained from ever experimenting with the stuff. And why should I
have experimented? I didn’t need to try booze to see the effect it
would have. I’d seen my father pass out on the couch enough times,
slur his way through the simplest of conversations, make an ass out
of himself plenty times enough to know what booze would do to me.
And I’d watched as his career and reputation had gone to pieces
because of sex, too. I knew what harm sex could do to a person’s
life if they weren’t careful.

I’d gotten cocky over my new job offer and
forgotten all the lessons I’d already learned so well. There was
nothing to be gained from losing control of my mind and body
through sex and booze. There was only shame, and heartache, and
staggering hangovers to fend off the next day. I knew that it
wasn’t this way for everyone. Dara and Ashlee could have all the
sex they wanted, drink the nights clear away, and wake up smiling
the next morning, but not me. And the sooner I accepted that truth,
the better off I would be.