Resisting the Bad Boy - A Standalone Bad Boy Romance Page 9

  “It’s a weird idea though. Maybe you’ll think it’s strange.”

  “Does it matter if I do?”

  “I guess not. I want to …write a story. And then … I don’t know. Bring that story to life. Act it out. So, I want to plan out ahead what I’m going to do, and then actually do it.”

  “Sounds interesting,” she said.

  “Like doing set design, except without any sets…” I continued.

  “OK. No sets. Then what do we have if not sets?”

  I thought about it. “Well, the sets are the people. The ideas. The words.”

  “I can’t wait for you to come back next week and tell me all about it.”

  “Do you think it’s weird? Is it a stupid idea?”

  “Not at all. In fact, it sounds like a very common idea.”

  “It does?”

  “Yes. You know what it sounds like to me?”

  “What?”

  “Like you want to write a play.”

  I blinked hard. A play. Yes, of course, that is what it sounded like, actually. I stood up quickly and got ready to leave. Aunt Lila wasn’t paying for me to learn how to write plays or be an actress or do whatever selfish navel-gazing I kept seeming to find myself drawn to. It was already pushing it to do set design. It wasn’t as fun, but set designers could earn well, and they weren’t so …artsy fartsy. The course was expensive. Entry into it was extremely competitive. People would kill to have the opportunity I did.

  “No, not a play. I didn’t mean I wanted to write a play, not at all,” I said, a little sarcastically.

  She looked at me.

  “Thank you for a good session,” I said, and left quickly. I went home and wrote …something.

  ***

  It’s a chilly winter-ish day. Blank sky, no blue anywhere, just grey and brown. A woman goes to the house of a stranger she’s getting to know. He doesn’t speak English, and so they have to communicate with glances, with body language, with hints and spider webs and ESP.

  At his home, he feeds her an elaborate, magical meal, one inspired from the ingredients from his native country, a place the woman has never been before. The meal is enchanting, and flavored with strange spices and aromas that are entirely new to her. She’s so happy, and she eats it all so quickly that she ends up choking on her food, and soon she can’t breathe at all and starts to go blue in the face. Something is stuck in her throat.

  The stranger sees this, runs over to her and squeezes her hard. It looks as though she might die, but just in time, the stranger squeezes hard enough to release the blockage and the woman sputters and coughs and starts to turn the right color again.

  As she opens her eyes, she realizes all at once that she is in love with the stranger. She has died and come back from the dead, and when she sees his face again, she realizes that he is her one true love. They kiss. They make love. They fall asleep together. In the morning, the woman makes some breakfast, using all the same magical and foreign ingredients that had caused her to choke the night before. But this time, she knows what she’s doing. This time, she doesn’t choke.

  I put my pen down and read it through a few more times. It decidedly wasn’t a play, anyone could see that. Obviously. It was just a …story. Something like a dream. Like a game a child would play.

  I took a photograph of the page and messaged it to Adam. He would be the stranger from another country. I followed up with a message containing nothing but a date and time. Tomorrow evening.

  I went to my wardrobe and picked out an outfit, the kind of outfit the girl in the story would wear. I settled on something and perched the hanger on the bedroom door. Good.

  I didn’t know if Adam would go for it. If I really wanted to literally act out this ‘story’. I didn’t yet know what the point of this story even was, or why I had written it. In fact, I had had no idea what I was doing, at all.

  But I was having fun.

  Chapter Thirteen

  He reached out for my hand and took it, and it felt warm and safe against the cold air. The sunlight was blotted out on the horizon and dulled by a layer of smog.

  Without words, we said nothing …and everything. Without the use of words, our communications became more primal. Without small talk, our talk became …large.

  I looked over to him and found his warm brown eyes. There was a deep, knowing look in them. I blushed and looked away, but he squeezed my hand. That was a sentence. We walked on a little and I turned to look at him again, back into those heavy warm eyes, and I looked, and this was a question. He returned my gaze, tilted his head. And that was the answer.

  Like this we walked to his house.

  He was a stranger from a strange land, but from what I could tell, he was still built like a man. He still had square fingernails and pale blue veins on his hands that disappeared into the sleeve of his woolly jumper. He still had lips. His breath was still warm as it left his body and went white in the air as we walked. I wondered how different he was underneath his clothes. They were unusual clothes, sure, but something told me that what I would find underneath would be …familiar.

  He led me to his house. Inside was a style of décor I found completely bizarre. Candles and ornaments and artwork on the wall that didn’t make much sense to me.

  He closed the door.

  He stripped off all his clothes and put on a strange silky robe. His eyes, in their silence, said, this is traditional in my country, now you do it too. So I took off my clothes and took the robe he handed me. He was a stranger. I think his name might have been “Adam”, but in his country, details like this weren’t that important.

  I followed him to a living room where he had set up an elaborate feast of foods. Tiny dishes and bowls, candles and foliage tucked in between platters laid out with dainty morsels, and cut crystal glasses glowing with an odd green liquid. The smell was intoxicating, but I couldn’t begin to put my finger on what it was. All I knew is that it smelt delicious, and I suddenly felt starved.

  His arms said please, sit and so I did. On folded legs we both began to eat. We continued our conversation, here a smile, here a nod. I gingerly tasted the food, unsure of what it was or whether I’d like it. His eyebrows lifted and that was a kind of joke. I smiled, and that told him I had gotten it. It started to seem that not only were words unnecessary, they were actually far less useful than what we were learning to do with the corners of our mouths, or with the gestures of our fingers or shoulders, or with the quality of the air we exhaled when we sighed.

  The food was amazing. Too amazing. I ate quickly. Too quickly. I was enjoying everything so much that before I knew it, I was choking. Something was trapped in my throat. My hands flew up to my throat and this told him, oh god help me, I’m going to die!

  His gorgeous face flashed with concern and he was soon at my side of the table, his strong, masculine body kneeling close to me, his hand instantly on my chest. I looked to him with tears in my eyes. He crouched down over me as I felt my throat close over and the last of my oxygen leave my body. I sputtered and sagged in his arms as he looked down into my face, my eyes, trying to listen to what I was saying.

  But it was no use.

  I was dying.

  I was slipping away.

  My breathing slowed, the lights in my eyes dimmed and I took one last breath. I shuddered in his arms and closed my eyes, dead. I could feel the horror in his hands. I could hear the panic in his breath. All at once, he had spun me around and was holding me in front of him, my back to his chest, his strong arms linked round my middle.

  Then he squeezed.

  Hard.

  He squeezed me so hard that something came loose inside. So hard that what was trapped before came sputtering out, that my life and breath came rushing back to me, and all at once I threw back my head and gasped loudly. The blood came rushing back into my cheeks. I swallowed. I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. In front of me was the stranger, his dark, delicious eyes watching me closely, a look of joyful relief on his fa
ce.

  I smiled too. I was alive now. He had saved me. I was so close to death, but he had saved me. Pulled me back from the brink and cleared the way, and now I could breathe again.

  Two wet tears fell easily from each of my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. Real tears. Actual tears. I realized that I …loved him?

  “Oh my god, Adam, this is real,” I said. My voice was croaky. I hadn’t spoken at all for the last few hours. He looked at me. He was the handsome stranger from a far off land. And he was also Adam. There was a lump in my throat.

  “I know,” he said.

  He kissed me and I kissed hungrily back. I had no idea what I was doing. I was crazy. I was just a mad, stupid girl and I didn’t know what the hell I was doing with any of this. I was just a pathetic orphan, a bad person, a failure, ‘one of those girls’.

  “Adam, I’m sorry I made us do that …I don’t know why I wanted to. It’s crazy isn’t it?”

  It was all just a story. Just a joke. Just a game. It was just green food coloring in the glasses, right? Just regular food on the table, right? But the tears were real. They felt cold on my cheeks and as real as ever.

  “Yes, it’s totally crazy,” he said and laughed.

  “You think I’m nuts, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely,” he said and grinned at me. “And I love it.”

  My heart skipped a beat.

  “In the story she wakes up and sees the stranger. Then they fall in love,” I said.

  His arms felt so firm and safe around me. I could just let go and he’d hold me. It was the most delicious sensation in the world, just to be held by him.

  “Yes, I know”, he said, and gave me a mischievous look.

  Another tear rolled out. He kissed it away, and his lips found their way to mine again. I tried to speak but he kissed me again.

  “Adam …Adam, wait, I feel silly.”

  “I’m not surprised, you’re a very silly girl and you’ve written a very silly play.”

  “A play?”

  “Yes, what else is it?”

  I kissed him again.

  “Adam, did you think my play was stupid?”

  “Was stupid? But Nyx, we’re not done yet. We’re just getting to the most important part, aren’t we…?”

  And there it was. That familiar, aching glow between my legs. My body knew what was coming. I kissed him again, eating him up like a dish of magical food I had never tasted before. Fuck it. Maybe it was all OK. Maybe I was crazy. And so what?

  The weird green wine was beginning to take effect. My head spun, and I didn’t do anything to stop it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Now, you never went into much detail about this part of the play…” he said.

  “It’s not a play,” I said quickly.

  “No, of course not, nothing like a play. And I’m not playing a character,” he said, naughty grin all over his face. “But if it was, and I was, what would happen next?”

  I loved the cheeky glint in his eyes. He never stopped seeming extraordinary to me. I tried to hide a smile.

  “You …I mean the handsome stranger would whisk me off to the bedroom. I mean the coupling chamber. That’s what it’s called where he’s from.”

  “Ooh… that’s hot. Coupling chamber huh?”

  “Yes. He’s about to teach the heroine the erotic delights of his people.”

  “Go on…”

  I giggled. “And she’s a little nervous, naturally, but he discovers she’s really rather adept, when given a little instruction.”

  “I feel like I should be writing this down or something.”

  I couldn’t help but grab him and kiss him deeply. His fingertips felt like heaven as they went up to touch the skin on my neck. He bent down and gently picked me up. I loved how easily he could do that. He carried me to the bedroom and lay me gently on the bed, then stood above me.

  “You know, my people generally begin every coupling session with an extended blowjob ceremony,” he said with all seriousness.

  I burst out laughing. “Hey, who’s the one writing this play, anyway?”

  “I thought this wasn’t a play?” he said and dropped his trousers.

  I rolled over onto my stomach and reached for him, teasing his legs and belly with little kisses.

  “Fine. The people of your country do start every coupling session with an extended blowjob ceremony, you’re actually correct.”

  I inched closer to his crotch, the animal scent of him waking up something delicious and primitive in the back of my mind.

  “You’re fucking beautiful,” he said to my back as I leaned in closer and took him in my mouth.

  Pressed against the pink of my tongue, his dick twitched a little and stiffened to fill my mouth. He was just nearly too much for me, but hearing him moan in response made it easy to press closer to him, to take in more, to be closer to that delightful musk on his skin, and all along the line of black hair trailing down from his navel.

  He gently placed both hands on the top of my head. Slowly, I let him guide my eager lips over his slick shaft. All the way in his dick glided, right to the back of my throat, then all the way out it came again, swollen and hot. Then all the way in again, then slowly out. In, then out again. His jagged breath rose and fell with the same rhythm. I glanced up to his deliciously tormented face, lips parted and head tilted back as I stroked my warm tongue over and over exactly where I knew he liked it.

  Adam was an expressive man. An open man. A man who wasn’t afraid of anything, not least of all feeling something too deeply. I could easily feel when he was getting close. I could feel his gorgeous cock swell and heat up in my mouth in response, and I held him and let his fingertips tighten their hold on my skull.

  He slid out and I looked up sweetly at him. The look on his face was begging to be kissed.

  “And so…?” I asked playfully. He stroked his fingers through my hair.

  “You tell me, you’re the boss,” he said coyly.

  I couldn’t stand it anymore. I pulled him down onto the bed with me, and his body came tumbling down, a dark lock of his hair falling into his smiling face. I opened my legs wide and guided him down into me, not wanting to waste any more time.

  “I want you, Adam,” I growled into his ear, as that same glorious cock pressed all the way into me, right to the core. No sooner had I said the words had he obliged and thrust his hips square down into mine. I gasped and let my head fall back.

  I loved this. I loved every second of it, but this, this part was the most delicious of all.

  He peered down at me as I squirmed a little on his cock, enjoying me struggle a little, pausing and waiting for me to open my eyes again and beg for more.

  And I did.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I woke up to the sound of a dog barking somewhere far outside the flat. I peeled open my eyes and tried to remember.

  Adam’s house.

  The ‘play’.

  Ah, yes.

  My eyes adjusted to the thin morning light as my brain quickly pieced together the events from the night before. There had been more wine. More weed. A brief interlude where we horsed around a little in the kitchen, and joked that it was actually the traditional dance of Adam’s people. Even more wine. Even more weed. I rolled over in bed and felt an ache between my legs. And lots and lots more of that, too. Ouch.

  I peered over to see him curled beside me, sleeping like an angel, no sign on his lips of any of the filthy things he had said to me the night before, no indication of what his softly breathing body had been doing just a few hours ago. I had seen his jaw clench, and the muscles in his hips tighten as he growled and orgasmed hard on top of me; I had seen a tiny fleck of sweat snake down his brow as he gave me a smoldering look and then asked me if I was ready to go again.

  I wiggled my toes and felt my body wake up a little. I felt amazing. Alive after all. Able to breathe after all. But! The play wasn’t done yet, now was it? I smiled to myself and got up silently, padded o
ver to the kitchen and tried to see what goodies I could whip up into a breakfast before he woke up.

  Standing naked in the kitchen, a little song came into my head and I went with it. As I rummaged in his cupboards, a little dance came to my feet. Life was good. I was enrolled in an exciting program doing work I probably enjoyed, I had just spent the night exhausting myself on the hard body of a man that could make my toes curl with a single look, and now I was making toast with Nutella and sliced bananas. Could things be any lovelier?

  As my hands worked swiftly with the knife, smearing a smooth glossy layer of chocolate over each warm slice of toast, my thoughts went somewhere strange and new. Aunt Lila was a bit of a slave driver. I knew that. She knew that. But wasn’t it really me who had agreed to go along with the whole thing? Wasn’t I the one who hastily said yes to a program that, granted, I didn’t even know that much about? It seemed like a stupid thing, but it was true: I had never even considered before if I wanted to be a set designer.

  I stood with my gooey knife hovering above the plates, frozen in thought, then went back to smearing. So what if I pissed aunt Lila off and she stopped paying for my course …would that really be the end of the world? So I had been a party girl in the past. Again, so what? I wasn’t the same as I was back then. Hell, I wasn’t even the same as I was yesterday afternoon…

  “Your genius knows no bounds, truly.”

  I turned to see a groggy, naked Adam walk into the room, eyeing my chocolatey masterpiece, rubbing his eyes. I grinned and pushed a plate towards him. He sauntered over, in all his naked glory, and gave me a slow, juicy kiss on the neck.

  “Now this is what I really want for breakfast,” he cooed into my ear. His face was all soft and sleepy and his hair disheveled. He smelt like bed.

  “You are insatiable, you know that?” I giggled. “Can’t a girl make some toast without being accosted in the kitchen?”

  “Apparently not,” he said and nuzzled his way into my neck again, sending a wave of goosebumps down over my body. I moaned and took a big, messy bite of toast.