Wanting the Man

She fell backwards onto the bed and squealed in jubilation as she beat a victory rhythm on her air-drums. This was it. This proved that her actions at the Christmas Party were not her own.

She was acting under duress and not due to some subconscious need to be promiscuous. It was her redemption.

Sure, it didn’t change anything. The pictures, the footage, and the satires were still out there, racking up the views and shares, and people were still judging her. She couldn’t change that.

But what it did mean is that now she couldn’t judge herself.

Every minute since she woke up after the Christmas party, she had spent living in fear that that woman was her, that this was the real her.

She was mortified that somewhere inside her lived that woman. She’d never been able to believe what she was seeing but still she wasn’t able to dispute it either.

She still didn’t have the evidence to convince others, but she had enough to convince herself. Now she could rest knowing that she would never do that, not under normal circumstances.

It was a huge victory.

Her air-drum solo stopped mid-beat. She had celebrated enough to notice other key things. Firstly, she wasn’t in the room from this morning. The bed was different. The linen was black instead of grey.

The bedhead was chunky rough-cut wood, which was different, and she actually liked it.

“Where am I?” She lay still as she tried to work out what was happening with the light fitting. It was a weird mix between chrome, black plastic, and some sort of slicks that she could only assume glowed when it was on.

“My room,” he didn’t sound happy.

“Why?” She pushed herself up on one elbow to look at him. Her eyes were becoming accustomed to the gloom, and she could now see more than just his outline, “And what exactly am I wearing?”

“You aren’t very grateful, are you?” he muttered as he looked away, “You’re here because, in case you missed it, the door to the other room is broken, and you are wearing my pajama top because you threw up all over your dress.”

“I do appreciate what you are doing, it’s just that, well Mr. Wood, how did I, you know, get into your nightwear?”

“Why do you call me that?”

“It’s your name,” she screwed her nose up, “Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he breathed out his nose and shook his head, “Why don’t you call me Josh?”

“Because you’ve never asked me to,” she answered honestly.

“So you’ve had a crush on me for years, but you respect me too much to call me by my Christian name?”

“I haven’t...!” She started to say, then realized that it was pointless to deny it. She’d all but admitted to it last night. “Alright, so I might have. But that doesn’t give you license to be mean about it.”

Silence came from the chair. He was staring at her with an expressionless face, but his eyes seemed to burn into her.

On his lower half was a pair of soft long pants with a pattern printed on them that matched the pattern on her oversized shirt, and on his chest was a tight white t-shirt.

He could have been modeling the latest collection of flannelette sexy grandpa pajamas worn low on the hips so the fabric’s old-fashioned patterning skimmed and hung to hint what it was hiding.

Her fingers itched to run themselves down its featherlike texture and discover what it concealed.

Her mouth was dry and her mind was once departing for a place where reality no longer lived.

With him sitting there looking at her with those intense eyes, if he’d asked, she wouldn’t have been able to deny that she was and still is infatuated with him.

She didn’t want to be, there were great reasons for her to not like him at all, but right now she couldn’t think of a single one.

“Do you really think I’m dead inside?” his words were strained.

She grimaced. She had said that. It was true but it didn’t seem appropriate to enthusiastically confirm it to him.

“Well, you’re just very work driven,” she looked away. He was still staring at her. The tingles that swept over her started in her hair follicles and went all the way to her toes and only served to magnify the flip-floppy feeling in her abdomen. “You’re focused on your career, I understand that.”

“A simple yes or no, please Andrea.”

She took a deep breath and screwed up her face as a “Yes,” snuck out her lips.

“And emotionless, conceited, arrogant, and heartless, am I all those too?”

She scratched the back of her head as she looked for a pattern in the black linen, “Yeah.”

He exhaled.

“But, don’t take it the wrong way.”

“Don’t take it the wrong way? Which way should I take it?”

“Constructive criticism, a personal observation, something to improve upon, you could even see it as helpful?” she suggested hopefully.

“I suppose, at least you’re not gushy and all sycophantic,” the words were dismissive but his tone wasn’t. There was a dry vacant quality to his words.

“See!” she gushed as she tried to ignore his sarcasm and smoldering looks, “A positive.”

She swung her legs out from under the covers. Getting out of this room and away from his unrelenting eyes was now a high priority. It didn’t matter that her legs were bare.

She threw off the bed covers and pushed herself to her feet. She needed to get into the shower and remind herself that Mr. Joshua Woods was off the menu.

Her legs were shakier than she thought they would be. It was then she realized just how dehydrated she was. She wobbled and reached out for the wall or anything to steady herself.

Her hand hit something vertical, hard and too close. Her fingers gripped the tight surface as two steel ropes lashed around her and dragged her inwards.

She was enveloped in a rich, spicy, masculine smell as she was danced several steps backwards.

Before she realized what was happening she was wedged between two immovable objects, one was cold and smooth, the other warm and contoured.

Something tickled her neck as she tried to work out what just happened. The surface pressed to the front of her moved and the steel girders that held her began to caress.

“Tell me again,” the words were breathed in a fan of hot waves that made her skin shiver and prickle.

She could feel every curve of the strong body that was intimately pressed against her.

The thin layer of soft fabric that separated them wasn’t so much as a barrier; instead, the silky yet fluffy cloth against her naked skin heightened the lust that boiled in her blood.

If her legs weren’t pinned to the wall by his hips, sinewy thighs, and the growing evidence of his gender, she would have wrapped them around his hips and rubbed them shamelessly over his clothed lower half.

“Tell me, Andrea,” he breathed her name, which made my heart bounce right out of her chest.

A finger skimmed the skin at the top of her underwear. It traced a searing design in the naked flesh.

The flannel top that matched his trousers was now bunched up around her waist, but she had no intention of adjusting it back into place.

Having her panties exposed wasn’t what concerned her; having them still on was more of a worry.

“Andrea?” his voice teased her as his lips hovered mere millimeters from the sensitive skin at the base of her neck. He skimmed his lips, burning a path up her neck and dragging a guttural moan from deep within her. He chuckled softly as his teeth pressed soft dents into her earlobe.

“Tell me,” the whisper melted her.

Reason was lost to her. Nothing but his touch and his kiss meant anything. He wanted her and all her dreams were coming true.

With him finally holding her, she could no longer deny that she was still in love with him. Everything that had happened, all the confusion and insecurities evaporated because she had his love.

She was finally complete.

“Say it again,” the words brought her back to the here and now, and she looked up and blinked as his intense stare bore into her.

“What?” her whisper was stuttered. “Say what?”

He lowered his face to her neck. Her head tilted to the side to give him access and permission to do whatever he pleased to her skin. She drew a deep breath in, anticipating the pure joy of his kiss.

The rough prickle of his unshaven face teased her, and the resulting small moan ensured that he knew how much she yearned for what he was about to give her.

“Tell me?” he whispered with his lips a mere millimeter from the junction of her neck and shoulder.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Wrong answer,” his soft laugh sent tingles all over her.

“No,” she tried again.

“Tell me, Andrea,” he punctuated the words with small, soft kisses. “Tell me how alive I feel?”

“Alive?” the word confused her. It seemed out of context and reminded her about something that was said, what seemed like a long time ago.

“Tell me,” his arms tightened and she was pulled flush with him. “Are you being kissed by a man who’s dead inside?”

“No, what?” she pulled her head back and away from the heaven he was inflicting. “No, what are you...?

“Tell me,” he lifted his head to look her in the eyes, “How emotionless, heartless, and dead inside I am?”

She pushed him, but he had her pinned against the wall.

“You didn’t?” the lust in her turned sour as she realized the deception. “Tell me that you didn’t just...?”

“Unless you’re into necrophilia, if I was a walking zombie, I doubt I could get you so hot.”

“You’re a dickweed,” she tried to sneer at him, but her words didn’t hold the anger. Instead, they reflected the blush that was staining her cheeks.

He chuckled as he leaned into her, pinning her to the wall with his hips. “Well, at least you are now very aware that I’m not a weedy dick.”

“Get off me!”

“No,” his smile was sly, “I’m making a point.”

“No,” she squirmed, trying to get out of his hold.

“I wouldn’t do that, Andrea,” his eyes smoldered, and his breath hitched, “Unless you want me to finish my demonstration. It’s been a very long time since I held a woman and, when you rub yourself against me like that, I’m struggling to remember the reason why I shouldn’t throw you back into bed.”

She stopped moving and breathing too.

“Can you now see that I’m a red, warm-blooded man who is very capable of reacting to a beautiful woman?”

“Let me go,” her eyes narrowed as she, without moving even her lips. “I give in. You’re alive. You’re also arrogant, conceited, and a real ass. I hate you.”

“One victory at a time,” he chuckled as he leaned into her, “and by the way, you’re a terrible liar.”

He dropped his lips down to hers. Her eyes closed as his lips massaged hers. Surprised, she inhaled, which parted her lips.

His teeth slid over her bottom lip and clamped over it, holding it hostage as he kissed her. Forgetting everything he just said, she parted her lips, inviting him to deepen the kiss.

His chest expanded as he breathed in and pushed himself even closer to her, and his hips ground into her. A hand wound its way into her hair and tangled itself in her dark locks.

The other fanned out in the small of her back and pulsed, pushing her in time with his lips and hips.

Her hands, which were pressed against him, pushed against him. It wasn’t her intention to push him away but to free them so they could explore.

She wanted to slide one down his back and slip beneath the cotton to latch onto his skin. But when her hands were granted the freedom to explore his body, they ended up clutching nothing but empty air.

He pushed himself away from her, leaving her lips and her hands searching for him.

The rush of air surprised her. She floundered, trying to understand what just happened. She sucked in her bottom lip so as to savor the taste of him.

Then she realized that he was watching her and he wasn’t kissing her or holding her. He was just standing there, observing her.

She woke up. He’d kissed her to distract her and to manipulate her. And she’d fallen for it and him like a lead balloon. How could she be so stupid?

Lashing out, she soon realized that there was enough distance between them that her open palm slap sailed past him without touching his face. That didn’t help matters.

If he was a real man, he would allow her hand to hit home just because it would ease some of her pain.

“You are a pig!” she clenched her fists, but the wall was the only thing holding her up now and all she could do was to lean against it or crumple to the ground.

“That’s better than being dead inside,” he stood there making no attempt to hide the tent that was pitched in his soft flannel pajama bottoms. “And pigs have hearts. If we think about this, I was an ass a few minutes ago, now I’m a pig and, if we keep going where we are heading, pretty soon I’ll be a dog.”

“I hate you.”

“And you still can’t lie,” he smiled, but there was pain in the twist of his lips. “Your problem is that you should hate me.”

“You’re so arrogant you’re unbelievable.”

“This isn’t arrogance. I’m a man, Andrea. Men don’t take constructive criticism well. If we are presented with a problem, we solve it.”

His eyes surveyed her before arriving back to her face with an intensity that shocked her—“And my current problem is that you’re now angry, only half wearing my top, and looking as sexy as hell.”

She hadn’t noticed that several buttons had come loose and the flannel was still hitched up on one side, exposing the black lace of her panties.

She pulled it down and folded her arms over the front of the front, drawing the fabric into her.

“You know that doesn’t help matters,” he smiled as his eyes travelled down her legs and back to her breasts that were now gathered up by her attempt to hide herself. “This is going to ache but it was worth it.”

“It was worth it? Really? That,” she nodded in the direction of his lower half, “Doesn’t prove anything. You’re still incapable of having fun.”

His eyes lit up as his eyebrows rose up and a small smile played on the corners of his mouth—“I can think of something fun we can do right now.”

She caught his quick glance at the half-made bed and then back to her. His eyes were now hungry and she knew that if he scooped her up she wouldn’t fight him. It made her feel weak.

Despite knowing he was only playing with her, she would give in to him completely, giving him everything she had, if he took her to bed. She had no ability to resist him and that made her angry.

“No, you can’t,” she spat the words with every ounce of venom she could muster, “Because you don’t have sex!”

A blanket of silence descended. She couldn’t believe she had just said that. She wanted to catch the words and swallow them back to where they came from. But she couldn’t move.

She stood still as her eyes tried to weigh up her next move. Was he going to be furious at her or would he be wounded and hateful? Was she going to have to run or apologize?

“Ah,” he nodded as his left eyebrow twitched upwards, “So Henry told you, I should have expected that.” His tone was dismissive and he didn’t deny it or defend himself. But as she watched, his shoulders dropped and he looked away but not quickly enough. A flash of real pain creased his face before he turned.

“Who are you? This isn’t what you’re normally like,” she didn’t recognize this man anymore. Mr. Joshua Wood wasn’t like this at all.

“Normally like? How would you know what I’m normally like? You don’t know me. No one knows me anymore. You women want me for this,” he waved over his body, “If they knew what I was really like, they’d run a mile. You shouldn’t want me, Andrea. I’m not the man you think I am.”

“Great, thanks for that advice. I’ll keep it in mind,” she glared at him. “But that doesn’t give you the justification to play me and humiliate me!”

“That wasn’t my intention,” he looked into her eyes. “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s been a long time and I’m out of practice with dealing with women.”

She tightened her hold over the flannel and looked away.

“I’m sorry.” He turned to look at something on the far wall. “I used to be a fun person, Andrea. I had a large group of friends and we did all the usual things young people do – we went to bars, we partied, we hung out and we did stuff. When you said those things to me, it reminded me of all the things I’ve lost and of the person I used to be. I overreacted. I’m sorry that I upset you. It won’t happen again.”

He turned away.

“That’s not good enough,” she pushed herself off the wall and glared at him.

“It’s been a long night, Andrea,” he didn’t look at her. “You probably want to shower in your own room.”

“I deserve a better explanation than that!”

“What do you want me to tell you, Andrea?” he shot back.

“What is your problem, Josh? A normal person doesn’t behave like this. I want to hear the truth.”

“The truth?” his laugh was cold and humourless. “No, you don’t. Go have a shower, Andrea. Go back to believing I’m dead inside because maybe you’re right after all.”

“Are you bipolar? Do you have a mental illness? Is that why Doctor Layton thought you could help me? Did he think that because you are so messed up it would make me feel better about myself?”

“I wish it was that easy, but no, not that simple.”

“Why then did you bother bringing me to your home? Why did you give a damn what happened to me? Why didn’t you just walk out and leave me there? It’s obvious that you don’t care about me.”

“You think that I don’t care about you?” his head swung to her. But before she could answer him, he closed his eyes and shook his head. “Maybe that’s for the best.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she shot back, but he didn’t answer.

He left her standing there as he walked into the bathroom and closed the door without acknowledging her question.

She found herself standing in the middle of his room, listening to the shower start up with her teeth clenched and her fists tight.

She released a small scream of total frustration. She wanted to throw every insult she could think of at that door, but in the end, she decided that it would be a waste of breath.

Instead, she strode out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Once in her room, she didn’t bother with the shower; she pulled out her suitcase and threw all her clothes back in.

Not bothering to fold anything, she just shoved it all back in and ripped the zip around. Then she changed, tied her hair back, and left his pajama shirt on the bed as she walked out.

Given that took a matter of minutes, he was presumably still in the shower when she walked out of the front door and onto the street. She wasn’t going to stay somewhere where she wasn’t wanted.

If she wanted that sort of negativity, she could go stay with her mother. She extended the handle on her suitcase and started to walk down the road.

Sooner or later, she would find a bus stop, but right now she was going to have to walk.