Shift OR Drift

Amberly

Lexy greets me as I walk back through the door. A smile slips off my face and she notices. "What's that face? Is that the I just fucked face?" She smiles excitedly.

"We didn't fuck but I mean," I shrug leaving it up to her imagination to decide what happened between Killian and me.

Lexy follows me up the stairwell. The need for every detail of what happened visibly spins on her face. She follows me to my room until I shut the door and lock it before she can invite herself in. I undress and climb into the shower after turning on Sausalito by Daniel Leggs. My head spins as I try to clear it and think about anything other than the way Killian tried to push me away and only an hour later he greedily stole my orgasm from me on his bathroom sink. I take notice of how he was mean to me prior to the whole bathroom fiasco. Any time his father is mentioned he seems to become tense and on top of his tension, Royce's warning still wraps around in my brain as an unwelcome reminder. I need to ask Killian about his father. Their relationship and how things ended up so fucked up between the two. Killian is sweet when he wants to be but, the way his tongue caused my orgasm to rattle through my whole system, anticipation and little excitement chokehold my brain about what it will be like when we finally decide to do the deed. Whenever that may be. Every opportunity we have had, Killian turns it away, always stating not yet. What could he possibly be waiting for?

I stand under the water of the warm shower head and spray water onto my hair and down my body. Every fiber in my being lit up like a match from his touch and the way he sent shockwaves through me. There was never a moment he made a misplaced lick. He enjoyed making me unravel at his touch. He was pleased by the sight of me flayed open on the marble sink. The memory teases me. Never leaving my brain. Maybe I should finally text him. Talk to him about things. I do not expect him to become my boyfriend. As I am fully aware, he does not do relationships. I cannot say I blame him. His mother and father's relationship seem the opposite of healthy. There is no  relationship to base anything off of for me. Only a heartbreak six years ago. One without an explanation. I swore off relationships after. Although, the thought of calling Killian my boyfriend doesn't frighten me as it should. The thought is almost enticing.

I have never let another man stick around as long as Killian already has but, then again, most men sleep with me on night one and do not think about it again for even a split second. Killian has had many opportunities and yet, he has never seized the moment although, I will admit Royce has impeccable timing on ruining an intense high. I was thoroughly relishing in the feeling till he knocked. Embarrassment sunk into my bones after I pulled my bottoms up and realized Royce was outside the door. The troublemaker grin on his face when the door opened told me he heard everything. Even though Killian tried to tell me to be quiet because other people were home, the moans he ripped from my throat were unfightable. Everything vibrated through me at once and when Killian's hand touched my skin after, the same tingling greeted it.

I have grown to love the vibrations his hands send through me. The feeling is intoxicating. His warm body up against mine. The vice grip he has on me in the middle of the night as if he is scared to let go. His warm torso and impressive print pushes up against my back. I sigh at the thought not registering that the water turns cold. I quickly rinse out the conditioner on the ends of my hair and get out in a hurry. The song After Hours by Charlieonnafriday plays through my Bluetooth speaker. I unhook my phone and let the speaker play off of my phone by itself. I take off my make-up. My reflection stares back at me and for a second I feel like a stranger. As if someone planted a different person in the room.

My mind snaps back into the real world. Back into reality. Reality sucks. Reality is messy. Chaotic. Scary. Most  of all exhilarating. There is no knowledge of what comes next. The only standards being held are from myself. The only expectations come from me. There is no living up to someone else's standards or idea of their version of me. The reality when I look at it in this moment in time is a twenty-year-old woman with more than likely two dead parents, who lives with her best friend in her dead father's old home. Races cars and edits music for a living. Is in a complicated relationship with a guy who sums up the definition of tall, dark, and handsome and does not date. This is what life looks like to me. My own standards and expectations of my future rely on my dial tone for the big racing corporation that gave me their number to call. Everything else outside of this is unaffiliated to me.