A/N: As you can see this story is rated M.
It's mostly for language so don't worry too much. I wanted to try to stay honest to Nick's internal thoughts and and I couldn't do that without using a few choice words.
I'm a newer author and would appreciate any feedback.
He can't get it out of his head.
It had happened three nights ago and since then it's taunted him night and day, making his life an even more miserable existence.
He had kissed her.
He had pulled her to him, without any care for boyfriends, shaky friendships, or awkward living arrangements. No, those very important, very crucial details hadn't stood a chance in hell…not that night. Instead of thinking about how terrible the consequences would be of an action so irreversible…he had thrown caution to the wind and had kissed her.
See the thing is, Nick Miller doesn't consider the important things in life like relationships and feelings and consequences, not when he's finally set his sights on following through with something.
And kissing that girl, that goddamn conundrum of a girl, has been something that he's been thinking about since the moment she had stormed into his life and had pinned him with those damn Bambie size watery blue eyes of hers.
So he had kissed her. With every pent up and frustrating emotion he's been feeling for over a year and a half now. And who could blame him? No one in their right mind could point the finger entirely at him. She had pranced around in that frilly little bra and that ridiculous red skirt, tempting and teasing him for over half the night.
And dammit he had clearly told Holly to hold up a TWO! A TWO! A fucking two from her would have locked him behind the iron curtain with a hot blonde with questionable morals. But instead, like the naive and sometimes clueless flake she can be, she had slapped those two fingers against her forehead and instead he had gotten the sweet, pouty, maddening girl he'd been trying so hard to avoid in exactly that way.
He can't help but wonder who the hell he had pissed off upstairs to have had to endure something so cruel and unfair.
And to make matters worse, she had taunted him through the night—urging him to get it over with, practically begging him to do it. Just kiss me—she had said huskily and his fucking cock had nearly stood to attention at her flippant words, agreeing with her wholeheartedly while something whispered softly to him in a desperate voice...
No…not like this.
God he hadn't been aware he had fucking said it out loud...not at first. But when he had, when the realization of what he had let slip reached his panicked brain, it had been too late to take the words back. And the wide-eyed smirking look she had given him after...with that knowing gleam flashing in her eyes…
Jesus Christ...he's only a man. He's never claimed to be anything great. He's never even claimed to be anything good. He's just a man.
So later, as she had wished him goodnight, giving him that soft smile that he swears to fucking God she only reserves for him…he had felt something inside of him snap…and he had kissed her.
To be fair, he had actually considered the repercussions for a few tumultuous seconds before he had went through with it—and in that short time he had prepared himself for the backlash. He had realized the risk he was taking and had expected a more than likely angry reaction from her.
A slap on the cheek, possibly a few biting words.
But the fucking crazy thing is...
She had kissed him back.
And it wasn't unsure or tentative. No. Hell, she had thrown her arms around him and had kissed him with a passion so fiery, he's surprised that his lips aren't still burning with the scorching heat.
It had taken everything in him not to push her against the wall, tear that goddamn flimsy robe off her, and fuck her until he made them both forget about why what they were doing was most likely a terrible terrible mistake.
But he had held back, because contrary to popular belief and his own dick's preferences, among a bunch of other torrid and unwanted emotions…he does respect her.
And at the end of the day, stolen reciprocated kiss or not…she has a boyfriend.
And she deserves more from him than a quickie against a wall while attached to another.
Thinking back, he probably could have gotten over it—the whole fucking her while she was seeing someone else. But he's pretty sure what stopped him was knowing that she wouldn't have been able to get over it. She would have never let herself live it down.
She's good and pure and honest and everything he's not.
So he had stolen his one kiss and had left her in the hallway, mumbling some lame comment that probably didn't make much sense to her but had sounded right to him. And as he had closed the door he had hoped, hell he had prayed, that he would feel sated, relieved to have finally made his move.
Unfortunately for him…he's not a lucky guy.
Now that he's tasted her, he wants more. His hunger for her hasn't been satisfied. If anything he now realizes the extent of the sweetness he's been depriving himself of, for over the last eighteen months.
Yeah, he's pretty sure someone upstairs definitely has it out for him.
It doesn't help that he lives with her…obviously it doesn't. Things are strained between them now. She had tried to talk to him the next day, but he had avoided her like the fucking plague. He's done his best to stay out of the apartment…leaving early and working extra hours at the bar. Tonight he had even considered an attractive and decidedly drunk redhead's number as she had slipped it to him with a sloppy smile he's sure she thought was seductive. It wouldn't have been the first time that he's fucked another girl while picturing glossy bangs and big blue eyes.
But now...now it felt wrong to consider it. Dirty. So instead he had politely smiled and respectfully declined.
Hadn't stop the redhead from leaving him a shitty-ass tip though.
So now because his heart has too much control over his dick…he's left alone laying in his bed, waiting for the bright neon numbers of his bedside clock to change from 3:15 to 3:16 and wondering if she's with the good doctor. The masochist in him considers the successful and good-looking man, wondering if she's letting him put his hands on her…if he knows what she likes, what makes her tick. Does he know what makes her moan, what sends that pouty full mouth into the shape of an O while that raspy voice mumbles incoherent words.
Of course the doctors knows…he's been fucking her for months now.
He wonders if she'll ever allow him to find out what makes her tick, what sets her off in a way that's completely different from shouting matches and wiggling asses. He has a feeling he could figure it out pretty quickly. They've always been in tune with each other, and while he's never claimed the title of an exceptional lover, with her he thinks it would be different, natural.
With her he'd just know.
But as the possibility of touching her crosses his mind, he almost laughs out loud into the mocking lonely darkness before even truly finishing the tempting thought. He probably lost his damn chance the night he kissed her in the hall.
He's pretty sure she would have let him touch her more though.
And he wishes he could hate himself for not following through with what the twitch in his pants had been begging him to do...it would make him feel like much more of a man—for being pissed off he hadn't taken the chance to fuck the pretty girl that lives across the hall.
But it's her and no matter how much every fiber of his being had screamed for him to take more...he can't regret walking away from her too much.
Because that girl, that whimsical fairy creature—somewhere between the theme songs and tap dancing, the fights and tears, she somehow managed to make him go soft. Somehow she managed to go from the girl he begrudgingly tolerated to the most important goddamn person in his life.
So he's unable to fault himself too much for not taking full advantage of the situation.
Rolling over in bed, he closes his eyes, noting when a small shuffling sound in the hall stops in front of his door.
He ignores it, he's got more important things to think about than whoever is lurking in the hallway at the late hour.
Even as his eyes peek open and he notices the shadow over the tiny crack of light that comes through the bottom of his door...
He still ignores it.
When his door opens though, it becomes harder to pretend that he's not curious and sitting up with his eyes fully open he watches as she appears in the doorway.
Fuck him, she's wearing that goddamn robe.
The one he had wanted to tear off of her so badly over three nights ago.
As she closes the door behind her and the light from the hall quickly flees his room, his eyes try to focus on her willowy silhouette as it moves closer to him slowly.
He doesn't say anything.
He stays still, wondering if he's dreaming, if maybe he had slipped off to sleep during his late night musings.
When his mattress dips down with her weight as she climbs onto his bed, his heart stops before roaring to life, slamming against his chest painfully. She doesn't say anything though, doesn't explain her presence, doesn't ask if it's alright if she's there. She just pulls his covers back and slips underneath them and with a tiny sigh she lays down and turns towards him, facing him quietly. Although he can't completely make out her features, he can feel her bright gaze burning into him and he wonders what she's thinking, what the hell she's doing. He wants to ask her so badly, because maybe she's lost her mind...that's the only reasonable explanation anyway. But he keeps silent, because she's in his goddamn bed and if he opens his mouth maybe she'll remember where she is and leave him.
"I ended things exactly one night ago with Sam."
"Okay."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Okay."
She shifts closer to him and with the movement his nostrils are invaded by the sweet scent of strawberries.
"Will you hold me while we sleep?"
"Yes." He wonders if she even understood him, the one syllable word comes out so choked and ragged.
He thinks she smiles, he swears he sees a flash of white in the dark room, but then she's moving closer to him, and he doesn't really care what she's doing, just as long as she doesn't leave his bed. And as her head somehow finds its way onto his chest...he mentally has to scream for himself to relax...to not fuck up this moment. When she places a light hand on him and trails her fingers over the soft fabric of his thankfully clean white t-shirt, he jumps and scowling has to force himself not to tense any further.
"Put your arms around me Nicholas." Her whisper is unsure, and there's a slightly desperate note of pleading in her tone.
She has no reason to feel anxious though, he doesn't deny her...he's never been able to deny her anything. And without hesitation, he wraps his arms around her small frame, holding her tight.
They stay like that for awhile, neither talking, he holding her and she laying quietly in his arms.
Finally he feels as if he has to say something...it's almost as if something inside him feels compelled to ruin the moment. "Is this a terrible mistake?" he whispers into her fruit scented hair.
Seconds tick by slowly as he waits for her to answer, until finally she lets out a shuddering breath against his chest and snuggles even closer as her shoulders move with a tiny shrug.
"Sometimes those are the best kind of mistakes."
He's not sure he understands her answer.
But at the moment...he doesn't really care.
I'm tossing the idea around of adding another bonus chapter, with more MATURE content but I'm not sure. Sometimes I feel like authors don't know when to end a story and I don't want to fall into that group. Plus I'm freaking out enough about that chapter up there ^^^
Leave me some love and let me know what you think. More or no?