It is Mimi who clues him in. Not that he hadn't had enough clues but he's been practicing denial for little over a month and he's not ready to admit it. Yet.
It's her fault anyway. He had walked in on a girls evening, Joanne, Angel, Mimi and Amanda with a cheap bottle of wine that Mimi had stolen from work. And then Maureen.
There is a small radio that Maureen has brought and a horrible Britney Spears song is playing from it.
And then Amanda joins in, her voice clear as a bell over the pop stars.
"The more I understand the touch of my hand ayay, ayay, ayay, ayay.."
The sound is light and breathy and Roger's musician's ears are impressed that Amanda can make a sound so much like an orgasm, in tune. But what is even more disturbing is Roger's reaction. He looks out into the loft. Amanda's eyes are closed, mouth slightly open and Roger suddenly imagines her in his bed, naked and making that noise for him. He's instantly hard.
He shakes it off as the room dissolves into giggles again, but the image and the sound follow him. When he's in bed, hand wrapped around his cock it's Amanda that he imagines, that breathy, soft sound in his ears as he strokes himself.
He tries to rationalize it. Amanda is the closest female to him since his break up with Mimi and his body is obviously telling him that he needs to get laid. The guilt eats away at him. He shouldn't feel this way about Amanda, shouldn't want to do a hundred dirty things to her, shouldn't imagine her naked and writhing beneath him, on top of him whimpering his name.
Amanda is his best friend, the only thing in his life that he can count absolutely, that he would do anything for. Amanda just has to say the word and Roger will jump, and it's not just guilt over the way Amanda has stood by him through everything, has taken care of him, loved him at his worst and still stayed around. He can never repay her for everything she has done. And what does he do? Imagine fucking her like she were some girl in a club.
Mimi listens silently as Roger confesses, awaiting her judgment about what a lousy best friend he is but Mimi simply sighs and says, "It's because you're in love with her," like the way you would say 'the sky is blue.'
Roger just stares. She's wrong. He would know if he were in love with his best friend.
"You've been in love with her for years if Collins is any judge", Mimi says, and there's no heat in her voice, like she hasn't just admitted her ex was in love with another woman while they were together.
Roger shakes his head. Okay, so maybe he'd liked Amanda when Collins had brought her to the loft all those years ago, had liked her fresh face and innocent smile and dreams of becoming a filmmaker. He'd like the challenge. Roger was a self proclaimed rock god at the time, with hundreds of groupies but none like Amanda, virginity and innocence creating an invisible shield around her. And she hadn't been impressed with Roger. He grimaced slightly as he remembered. She had given him a long assessing look, but obviously the punky grunge look wasn't her thing. She liked his voice and his playing, but when Collins had made a remark about Roger keeping his hands off Amanda had laughed and told him that she didn't think she was in danger. After that Amanda has sort of blended into the background and Roger, easily distracted had moved on to shinier, more glamorous baubles. But that initial reaction had festered at the back of him mind, even as he and Amanda had gotten closer, best friends and through April and drugs, the suicide attempts and withdrawal. Amanda must have a mountain of chips she could call in at any given moment but she never had.
And maybe if he'd been that asshole way back when he would have considered it, but what was he now? A washed up guitarist with HIV. Not exactly catch of the day.
It was New Years Eve and Mimi had made him promise to make a move. Ignorance was definitely bliss, he thought. He'd been much happier when the thought of Amanda just made him smile, want to be a better person, instead of instantly hard. He'd been in a foul mood for most of the week up to New Years, snapping at everything and especially at Amanda. This sexual tension had to be released somehow and he'd spent too much of his time with his hand wrapped around his cock, Amanda's name hanging on his lips.
He'd asked her to leave the camera in her room, and she'd obeyed, he wanted her to live in the moment for once and it had worked, she was part of the group instead of perpetually filming it.
But that was the start. She'd been drawn into a game of spin-the-bottle-truth-or-dare and he should have known Maureen would do something stupid.
"If you could sleep with anyone in this room without an awkward morning after who would it be?"
And Amanda had pointed at him, giggles bubbling up out of her, and all Roger could hear was the fake orgasm of that stupid fucking song.
He'd left then, gone to stand out on the balcony, hoping the cold air would slap some sense into him but instead of cooling him down it made it even more difficult for him to focus on anything but Amanda. He turned looking into the loft. The room was warm and cozy- Benny had finally quit being an asshole, at least this Christmas.
He heard Maureen start of count down to the New Year, and watched as Mimi drew Amanda into a hug. Jealousy took over. He'd always been territorial and Amanda had always, always fell under the category of his. No matter who or what happened in their lives that was the constant and suddenly he didn't like his ex-girlfriend's arms around his Amanda.
He was back in the room before he knew it and as the final countdown faded away he grabbed Amanda, slamming her against the wall. She let out a soft muffled oof as her body hit the wall but he swallowed the rest of the sound as he kissed her. Hard.
He's running on adrenaline now- there's nothing but want and need thrumming through his blood, hot and heavy and demanding. He's sort of reminded of heroin, this desperate desire and the culminating high but this is a hundred times better. If they could bottle Amanda's kiss they'd have thousands more addicts. He would be at the front of the line, and there would be no rehab that could bring him back.
He spread her legs easily. For once she's wearing a skirt and he's eternally grateful to whoever talked her into wearing it. She'd worn the skirt the day he'd met her and he'd been impressed by the length of those legs, the pale creamy skin. He had always been saddened that Amanda had slowly reverted to wearing jeans the longer she stayed. He grins inwardly as Amanda wraps one of those gloriously long legs around his waist and he returns the favor by running a hand up her knee and under her skirt. He rubs the heel of his hand over her mound and is rewarded by a sharp groan and wetness seeping through her panties.
There's no going back now and Amanda doesn't seem to have any objections. Her arms wrap around his neck even as his hand runs through the soft silkiness of her hair. It smells wonderful even though they use the same shampoo, cheap and scentless.
There is only a small part of Roger that remembers the bedroom. He's perfectly willing to take Amanda up against this wall in front of all their friends, not that they are in any state to watch, bombed out of their minds on alcohol, marijuana and good will and they've all walked in on each other in fairly compromising situations before. But he knows that Amanda could come to her senses any moment and there's no way she would let him. So, reluctantly, he leads her back to his room.
The door shuts closed behind them, shutting them away from their friends, from the rest of the world. Roger's only concern is the woman lying on his bed, eyes dark and wide as he lays her back.
"Fuck, fuck, Mandy," Roger groans in her ear, harsh and wet. It's not Shakespeare but it's all his mind can spare him.
The woman in his bed bore little resemblance to his roommate, shy, serious Amanda Cohen who was always content to be in the background. All he can do is divest Amanda of her shirt as quickly as possible. He needs to feel her skin with the same desperation with which he would have handled a needle.
"Roger..." Her voice is dark and needy but she's trying to push him away, she wants to talk, to analyze but Roger is in no mood and he cuts her off by kissing her again, tongue gently but insistently moving against her lips until she opens her mouth to him.
Her bra is the next to go and he flings the material into the dark confines of his room, not caring if Amanda can find it again later. He doesn't want her to.
He stares. Amanda is pale all over, her nipples shell pink against the snow white skin and Roger can't resist taking one aching nipple between his lips, laving it gently with his tongue. Amanda arches into him with a cry and it spurs Roger to move to the other breast as his free hand travels down her belly. He doesn't like that he can feel the impression of her ribs against his fingers, another testament of how much Amanda gives up for him but he's going to repay he somehow, and if nothing else he's going to make her feel good, feel him.
His fingers brush the cold button on her skirt and he easily draws it down her legs along with her panties as his mouth moves lower, sucking kisses over her belly until he reaches her belly button. He pauses for a moment, shucking his shirt off, suddenly too hot with the material rough against his skin. He wants to feel Amanda against him, not cheap cotton. His stomach contracts as he feels her soft fingers running over his chest, his stomach and her feather light touches feel like fire licking his skin. It's too much and he grabs her hands, trapping them over her head.
He glimpses something spilling over the edge of the bed. Amanda's scarf. An evil thought forms in his brain and without a second thought he begins to wrap the material around Amanda's wrists and the bedposts. There is a spark of fear in her eyes as he straddles her, making sure his weight isn't settling on her.
"Mandy..." His voice is hoarse as he whispers, licking the soft curve of her ear. She whimpers beneath him and Roger has to shut his eyes and grit his teeth not to come right there.
He can't control himself as he pushes closer to her, erection straining against his boxers, his voice little more than a growl.
"Fuck. Do that again."
She does, this time a tight high needy moan following it as her hips pushing up against him, seeking the friction he desperately needed.
"Fuck..." It is drawn into a hiss. His whole vocabulary, not exactly extensive, has been sucked out of him through his dick and all he wants is Amanda.
"You're so fuckin' hot... I'm gonna fuck you so hard into this mattress that you won't remember your own name." Her clit is slippery as his finger runs over it.
"Rog... Rog... Oh God, ROGER!" He slides his fingers inside of her, biting the inside of his cheek as she clenches her muscles around the digits and he curls his fingers until he finds the nerves that shatter her.
"Fuck! Roger,shit, please..."
He grins. He can't help it. He loves seeing Amanda fall to pieces around him, filling the air with desperate begging and cussing. He slides down low enough that he's between her legs and he can get down to business.
He licks a stripe along her mound, circling her clit lightly, a promise. He has to be inside her but he's nowhere done teasing her yet, so he slowly slides a finger inside her, kissing the inside of her thigh, over her mound before gently easing another finger inside and scissoring, feeling the satin of her inner walls clench around his digits.
He grins as Amanda makes desperate little noises, hands twisting desperately in the scarf. She's making the right noises but far too quiet.
He speeds up a little, matching his tongue and fingers until Amanda is trembling with need, completely wanton and completely his.
"I could do this all night, keep you begging me to fuck you."
It's a lie of course, his body screaming for release, barely holding on but he knows that this is just the beginning and if he can hold on a little longer he'll have the best orgasm of his life.
Amanda seems to believe him, her body wracked with pleasure and her moans have turned into sobs.
"Or I could fuck you, fuck your tight little pussy till you scream my name. Do you want me, Mandy? Want my cock inside of you?" Its a redundant question. Everything in Amanda's body is begging to be fucked, he can read it in her eyes, pupils blown, the red flush over her chest, writhing against him. But he needs to know that Amanda wants him as much as he wants her, that all those desperate hours alone in his bed and in the shower, his cock hard and straining against his hand has been worth it.
He unwraps the condom and if his hands are shaking only he knows it. Amanda is staring at the ceiling now.
"Please. Please, Roger fuck me now. I want you. So fucking bad. Now." He's impressed with the vulgarity in her words. He couldn't have scripted it better. She knows just what to say.
"I'm going to make you fucking scream my name," he promises, positioning himself over her, "Ready?"
He doesn't wait, can't wait for a reply. He enters her quickly, and barely hold back a scream himself. She's all around him, hot and wet, satin walls sucking him in deeper into her blistering heat and every inch is exquisite torture until he's finally inside her and all he can do is breathe deeply.
"Roger!"
Her voice unhinges him. He has to have her. NOW.
"Shhh, Mandy, I've got you." Its all the comfort he can give because his body is already moving, craving hers and he plunges inside her deeper and deeper, the heat drawing him closer, and all he can think of that intense heat all around his cock, clenching around him harder and harder.
He grabs her hips hard enough to bruise but Amanda doesn't seem to care. Her hips meet his and they're moving seamlessly together and all he can feel is satin heat inside of him and around him as her body moves beneath his. He watches as sweat beads at her throat and he curls his tongue, sweeping it up. Her skin is addictive and he needs more, nibbling at the soft skin of her throat.
It takes a huge amount of willpower for him to stop thrusting and his body doesn't like it but he marshals himself ruthlessly. He needs to hear it. Needs to know that Amanda needs him as much as he needs her. That she is his, the way he is inexplicably but undeniably hers.
"You're mine. Say it." Roger whispers against her. His answer is a whimper. It's not good enough.
"Please, please, Roger!" Amanda begs. Roger shakes his head.
He suddenly had a flashback to withdrawal. He'd begged and begged and begged Amanda for help for the last time. She had stared him down and had made him promise.
"Say it!" she had demanded. "Say that you want help, that you mean it." And he had, finally. He knew he couldn't kick his habit without help, that the drugs couldn't help him anymore.
Roger shook himself from the past. Remembering withdrawal was certainly a passion killer.
"Say it. You're mine. I want to hear you say it." It came out more of a plea then he had wanted but Amanda didn't notice. She was eying the door nervously, shy and nervous again.
"Roger, I can't they're all still out there." Her voice was choked with need. She'd break, soon.
Roger ran an idle finger across her clit and Amanda choked on her breath.
He felt stronger now. "Say it, Mandy, you know that it's true." He paused, a wicked grin gracing his features as he teased her with a slow rotation of his finger on her clit. "Say. It. Now." He wanted their friends to know, the whole building, fuck, the whole neighborhood.
It was a command and Amanda helplessly obeyed.
"Fuck, fuck, alright, I'm yours. Fuck." Roger groaned underneath his breath as he resumed thrusting inside of her with renewed vigor, and as he had promised, Amanda screamed his name.
There was a brilliant flash of light that lit up the room momentarily. He took it all, Amanda bound to his bedposts, body slowly relaxing after climax, her eyes returning to their normal beautiful blue.
He didn't want to untie her. Untying her meant that there was a chance that Amanda would go back to hiding behind her camera. He could see it now, the hesitant way she averted her eyes as he pulled on a pair of boxers, throwing the condom in the trash.
"Are you going to untie me?" Her voice was still unsteady
"Are you going to be a good girl?"
"I think I've proved I'm a good girl," Amanda retorted. She was still in the game and it wasn't the answer Roger wanted but he acquiesced, walking over to untie her. She gently rubbed the burn that has begun to form on her wrists.
"Stay."
He knew it was dangerous but he'd gone too far now. He'd had a taste of her and he needed more. He would always be a junkie.
"I can't."
"You're going to have to leave this room sometime. Either now or tomorrow they're going to make their own assumptions." He can't help but grin, his old wild smile. "Although, I'm pretty sure it's beyond dispute. Face them alone now or tomorrow."
He had won and he knew it. Intellectually Amanda knew their friends had probably heard everything but she wasn't brave enough to go out there and confirm it.
"Stop thinking so much and come to bed."
He hid his smirk as Amanda settled down beside him, he knew she was full of questions, trying to rationalize what had happened.
He could feel the thunder of her heart as he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close, gently bringing her wrists up to his mouth to kiss them. Amanda might be confused, but he wasn't. Tomorrow was going to be fun.
Happy new year, indeed.
