Half Of My Heart

ANYA

What was I thinking?

The thoughts circulate in my mind like a torment-filled tune as I slam my fists into the punching bag in the gym. Every punch I throw is filled with rage and brimming with disappointment. The bag is me, and I am punishing myself for being stupid.

After I kissed Dimitri—Mr. Rossi—I ran away immediately, not even looking back when he called my name.

The kiss itself was… like a dream. His soft, warm lips. His scent, which still seems to linger over me. The hunger in his mouth as it met mine.

But I’m sure I imagined it all. It was so crazy to have jumped on him like that. Almost a week had gone by since that night, and I hadn’t been able to bring myself to speak to him.

The longer I wait to talk to him, the more awkward it will be, so pretending like it never happened may be the best plan.

My lips tingle where his stubble brushed them during our kiss, and I know I won’t be able to just forget it.

I punch the bag harder, but I let my mind drift to the what-ifs.

What if I hadn’t run away? What would he have said? That it was a mistake, sure. But that we shouldn’t do it again, I am not so sure.

Kissing Dimitri was a mistake, though. Just because he was friendly with me and spoke a few words that danced on the edge of flirtation doesn’t mean he would risk his career for me. And I shouldn’t even be entertaining the thought of asking him to do so.

“Ugh!” With a shriek of frustration at my ugly inner turmoil, I hit the punching bag so hard that it goes flying back. As it returns to its position, I move out of its path, my chest heaving with the storm raging in me.

I need an outlet to eliminate this tornado of emotions.

A string of incoherent curses slips past my lips as I unfold the tape around my knuckles, letting it drop to the floor. Plopping onto a bench, I grab my Stanley water bottle and take a large sip.

The cool liquid drenches my throat, giving a bit of relief to my rageful thoughts. I am close to tears as I rest my elbows on my knees, running my palms over my face and wishing I could go back in time and erase my actions.

If only it were that easy.

Glancing at my watch, I am surprised how much time has passed. I have spent longer here than normal, and it is nearly closing time.

In the changing stall, I turn the shower on and stand under the cascading water, imagining the sweat washing off my frame.

I try to think of something other than the Rossi men. Lord knows, I have enough else going on. I’ve been behind on rent, and I’m worried that I might have to move out of my apartment, but I have no idea where I’d go. At one point, I might have been able to stay with Blake and Mr. Rossi, but I’m sure I’ll never set foot back in that house.

Especially now.

Dimitri…saying my name in that same tone…maybe in a different location…perhaps right here in this shower… That is what I wish for right now.

He would walk up behind me, drenched head to toe with rivulets sticking to his skin. It would be so hot.

With a mind of its own, oblivious to my surroundings, my hand finds its way down to my swollen clit. I gasp as my fingers graze the sensitive bud, pinching it flatly between two digits.

I picture Dimitri in all his handsomeness, his confident masculinity a constant turn-on as he reads to us in class. His hands are big, holding the little marker in a tight grip when he writes on the whiteboard.

My clit throbs while I recall him in class, so authoritative, so untamable. His hair is always in a just-fucked state, and he runs his tattooed fingers through the thick locks, pulling my attention away from the text.

For two years, he has been the forbidden fruit I have been dying to devour. Not that I would. Ever. But now that I have had a taste…

My fingers brush against the slick lips of my pussy. As I rub my clit in small circles, I imagine him.

His face, his hands, his body—I could map that man if given a chance. I would lap him up like he was my tool for getting off.

A heady sigh escapes my parted lips as images of his head between my legs and his hands squeezing my boobs build up my desire.

I imagine his fingers penetrating me deep, his cock following soon after, and his raspy voice moaning in my ear. He could fuck me any way he wants as long as he whispers dirty things to me and unleashes himself on me without restraint.

If he asked, I would let him fuck my ass. I would happily be a whore for this man in exchange for getting to ride him on a regular basis.

My body quakes as I twist my clit, my release building up while I fuck myself with two fingers of my other hand. The sounds I make are dirty and loud as our sex scene plays on in my mind.

Dimitri rails into me from behind as he forces me to bend over, his strong thighs, hopefully dusted with manly hair, parted while his cock rams into me.

His tattooed fingers grip my chin, squeezing, as he pulls me up and forces my head to turn. He swoops to smash his full lips against mine, his tongue ring grazing my lips like it would graze my clit.

Dimitri moans my name in his sexy bedroom voice, his cock sliding deeper inside me, and he presses me to the wall, my boobs smashing against the tiles.

“That’s my good little girl,” he grunts into my ear.

My fingers move in time with his thrusts, and I rub my clit like he is doing in my fantasy. His hands are bigger and rougher than mine, so I work my nub harder, quivering as my orgasm builds.

“Fuck me, Daddy.”

“Daddy is~ fucking you, sweet girl.”~

Wait, what? My eyes fly open. ~Did I just call him Daddy?~ I stop touching myself, my breathing ragged as the realization of what the fuck I was doing sends a cold chill over me.

Dimitri is a father figure to me, and I shouldn’t allow these thoughts to continue. Not only because he is more than twice my age, or because he is my ex’s dad, or because he is my professor, but because I would never be able to face my Catholic mom and dad again.

They would never accept him—especially if he gets fired for being with me.

Stop it, Anya, I scold myself mentally. ~That will not happen because nothing will happen between you two. You are done with these thoughts, and you are done with this crush~.

Letting out a grunt, I turn the shower from hot to cold and allow the icy water to cool my thoughts before I dry off, get dressed, and prepare to go home.

***

The streets are dark and quiet by the time I leave, and as I step onto the pavement, the night air nips at my skin, plastering to my face the tendrils of hair that have escaped my bun.

The gym is within walking distance from my home, so I didn’t bother hailing a cab, but I have never left so late before. Worry gnaws at my chest despite my familiarity with the surroundings, and I distract myself by thinking about Dimitri.

How handsome he is, how he took my hand in his car, how he offered to hug me, how he called out to me as I ran away.

Thoughts of him storm my mind, but I push them back as I pick up my pace. This section of the street is particularly dark, with all the buildings and street lights turned off, which sends my senses into overdrive.

A clatter of tin cans behind me startles me, raising goosebumps on my arms and the nape of my neck. Instead of looking back, I hug myself, tighten my arms around me, and pick up my pace even more.

Footsteps then begin to echo behind me, their heavy thumps following a short distance away.

Fear claws at my chest as I fix my eyes on the street ahead, toward the end where there are lights and people—safety.

Kicking my speed walk up a gear into a jog, I risk a glance back. My ponytail slaps me across the face before I spot two burly men wobbling behind me.

My look back triggers something in them, and they break into a sprint as if I had fired a starting gun.

Panic envelops me, and I run.

As I turn my head to face forward, my foot hits something soft, and I topple over a pile of trash bags. Letting out a small scream, I snap my eyes shut and brace myself for the fall.

Sharp pain skitters through my palms where my hands hit the pavement, while my body crashes on top of the bags, causing them to burst open and spill their contents. Nausea from the bad stink hits me from all sides, but I don’t have time to get away.

Strong hands yank at my ponytail and pull me up, allowing another pair of arms to wrap around my chest.

The men have caught me.

I scream, and one of the men puts his hand over my mouth, silencing me.

Suddenly, I hear another set of footsteps running towards us. The man holding me steps back, loosening his grip, allowing me to turn and see where the sound is coming from.

I squint when I see the six-foot-five frame barreling towards us.

Is that…?