Perfect Chaos

Why does that bother me? Are all the pings in my heart a sign? And, more significantly, if she doesn’t want anything more than sex, why was she so damn worried about me hurting her? But still, in chasing her, I’m exposing myself, and if she’s determined to never get serious again, and I’m really actually considering getting serious again, that worries me. Unlike her, I’m facing the strange notion that for her, for this feeling to never end, I would change.

Fuck. Me.

What a revelation.

“So,” she says, out of the blue, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. I look at her, seeing uncertainty in her eyes that she tries to disguise with a forced smile. “As long as we both know where we stand, I don’t see any reason why we can’t carry on having fun while it lasts.”

Fun? She has to be shitting me. Is that what she calls it? All these alien feelings. All the questioning, the loss of sanity, and the raw chemistry we share? She calls that fun? I call it perfect fucking chaos. That’s what I call it. “Fun,” I mimic, with a lack of anything else coming to me. She’s in denial. It’s as obvious as the demons she’s doing a bad job of hiding, but for now, I’ll agree, if only because I know she’ll be up and out of here like lightning if I press any more on this.

“Are you going to take me to bed now?” she asks. Oh, there she is—the confident woman who wants to fuck. Should I tell her that we’re exclusive? That I don’t want her picking up other guys? Because, fuck, I don’t want to see that ever again. “Well?” she says, her blues boring into me. This is a blatant tactic to tempt me with her allure and stop the conversation she didn’t want to have. And—for now—I’m prepared to go along with her. Talking sucks, especially when you don’t like what the other person is saying. And am I really ready to step into monogamy myself?

Placing my glass on the coffee table, I stand, taking Lainey’s wine and resting it next to mine. I hold my hand out to her in offer, and she takes it, letting me pull her to her feet. I make sure her front meets mine, and her body responds, trembling with anticipation, as does mine. Fun? It’s an insult, and the more I think about her pathetic statement, the angrier I’m getting. “Let’s have some fun,” I whisper, threading my fingers into her hair and gripping, gently tugging her head back to give me direct access to her lips. I catch her mouth, just as she pulls in air, and I swallow down her whimper of surrender. Fun. My mouth presses harder to hers, feeling her hand find my back and claw at my T-shirt. Fun. I compress my chest to hers, feeling her nipples harden to bullets. Fun. Her hand forces its way between our pressed groins, feeling for my aching cock. Fun. I moan into her mouth, blood gushing into my dick and pounding with want.

“Tyler,” Lainey whimpers, massaging me over my jeans.

“You want me, baby?” I tease, rolling my pelvis into her touch, walking her toward my bedroom. “You want this?”

Both of her hands are quickly on the fly of my jeans trying to release me, her lips kissing me into oblivion. Her urgency deeply satisfies me. Her desperation. Her need. Fucking fun?

“You want to know what I’m going to do to you?” I ask, breaking our kiss and grabbing the bottom of her dress, pulling it up fast so she’s forced to abandon my jeans for a few moments to raise her arms.

“Tell me,” she begs, going back to my fly.

I catch her hands before they make it, prompting her to look at me questioningly. “Wait,” I say softly, taking the hem of my T-shirt and pulling it up over my head.

Despite the fact that I’ve just given her access to my impressive chest, she chooses to keep her eyes on mine. “Wait?” she asks. “Will it be worth it?”

“Oh, you know it’ll be worth it.”

“Sounds like fun.” Her voice is like gravel, her eyes reading mine.

Fun. I smile to myself. “You have no idea, Lainey.” She’s on my lips again, exploring my mouth urgently. She’s getting carried away. She’s trying to up the ante, trying to steer this in the direction of a raw fuck rather than something that blindsides us like it did the last time we were together. She’s scared. Good. She should be.

Shit, this is more. So much more, and it’s so fucking obvious in this moment. Like a lightbulb moment. I’m lost. Last night I fucked a girl I could easily never see again. I hate that she was in my bed. At least, I hate it now. But if anything, it proved categorically to me that I really wasn’t done with Lainey. Not by a long shot. And she so isn’t done with me.