Isabella
My boyfriend is the best boyfriend in the world.
"It's not that hard. Use your eyes, man."
"Seriously, Jas. I've been looking everywhere, and I can't find it."
"Far out. Just get whatever and come home. I'm getting bored."
"What do you mean by bored?"
He had sighed before answering my question.
"I'm horny, okay? And these fucking videos aren't doing it for me. Hurry up."
"Okay, I'm hurrying. Bye―"
He treats me like I'm the one for him―like I'm the queen whose feet he grovels at in greeting. If my laces come undone, he'll tie them; if my back aches from slouching too long, he'll massage it. Being taken care of isn't a solitary job to perform on my own. Not when he's around.
This idea of being treated tenderly by my partner explains why he constantly ends calls in my face.
"Gosh, he's so annoying," I whine to myself as I dart through the men's summer-related section of the store.
Jasper's made a claim that we're to go on a date next week, of my choosing. And because of his generosity, I apparently owe him a specific shirt that he's been fond of over the past few days. This isn't the only inconvenience; my jeans are too thin, as is my top, and the weather isn't the friendliest today. To him, offering a jacket isn't necessary, even if he dropped me off with the expectation that he'd return home in the warmth of his bed. Continuing my search is the only solution to pushing the irritative thought aside.
The opulent store, floored with glossy marble tiles and presenting clothing racks made of lustrous steel, is uncrowded. I decided to come just before closing time, meaning I can take it easy between aisles instead of furtively waiting as people cram the space. But I won't be able to look around for myself. I'd walked through the entire mall and left this one for last, stalling the moment where I'd need to look for that hideous bright green button-down of Jasper's. Hideous.
A rock-hard chest clothed in a blouse stops me from leaving.
I bump into it, my palms flattening on the surface out of instinct.
"Oh my gosh. I'm so―"
The remainder of my apology ceases. Tilting my head upwards, I'm astounded with sharp features and dark wood-coloured eyes. Bronze skin is prominent over shallow cheekbones, lashes are long and curled to almost touch eyelids, and a beard is short and well-groomed.
It's only been a short moment and I'm already swooning over this man. But perusing the beauty of him reels in distant memories, and my mind is trying to fix on something it can't get ahold of. I prod at my thoughts, dig for anything that might be reminiscent, then—
After ten seconds of conspicuous staring, I find something.
Familiarity.
The panic of what I dreaded unfurls in my stomach.
"I'm so sorry," I manage, trying not to tremble and shuffle in my spot. After months of avoidance I decide to come to this mall. He isn't even saying anything, nor is he looking at me. I want to slap that cheek of his. Does he not remember me? Does he not remember what he'd bought me, and that I almost let him tear through my clothes in the front seat of his car? He was the reason I'd almost cheated on Jasper.
When he coughs and deigns to stare back at me, I realize my hands are still on his chest. I awkwardly slide them off, cursing myself for not perceiving the solid skin that was beneath my palms and adhering my focus to that sexy face and my distracting thoughts instead.
"Closing time's approaching. Five minutes." That smoky and cheerful voice strikes another chord. It confirms that the man I'm seeing is the man I saw, and it's startling. Pricks at my composure.
Silence stretches on for another ten seconds as I ponder it.
"Do you work here?" I ask, tucking away the explicit thoughts and replacing them with the one's reminding me I have a boyfriend.
He cocks an eyebrow. "Why, is that how I appear? Like an employee."
"Shit—shit, my bad. I'm just going to go because closing time, you know?" I set off to flee from the large man, but just as I turn around and take a step, a grip on my wrist stops me, and something hot ignites on that portion of skin.
"I'm kidding, beautiful. Tell me what you need."
I barely manage to turn around with the heat in my cheeks, on the place he'd touched, and...between my legs. Fuck. Treacherous pussy.
"Okay...I need—" My chest begins to heave. "I need, um..."
"You're alright?"
I nod my head. To quell my nervousness, I take out my phone and present an image of Jasper's hideous button-down. The employee scrutinizes it critically, so I say, "It's not for me. It's for my boyfriend."
His jaw tightens. "I'd presume he's the one talking crap to you minutes before?"
"Yes. You heard." Within this short time of meeting him again, I've noticed that he's taken a few glimpses down at my chest. Just minor. Quick but noticeable. Maybe the revealing choice of attire wasn't a terrible thing? Those eyes can stare at me for as long as they want.
"This way." He gestures towards the opposite end of the store, asking that I follow him just as I did those months ago. I trail behind him and shamefully admire his enormous back. Paired with a dauntingly tall frame that's probably a few inches taller than my own, he looks frightening. And I'd taken myself right onto his lap with very high hopes. Hopes of getting fucked, more precisely.
When he arrives at a rack of various button-downs and flicks through them, I survey his attire. Below his dark-blue blouse are black jeans matching in color to the leather belt that wraps around it. The top is doing awfully great at flaunting his body. It strains over his biceps, the cotton stretching over his chest. If I lean in a little closer, I might be able to see through it. The ridiculous temptation anchors me to my spot.
I glance at his hands working between the clothes and really get a look at them. Tattoos? Each finger has been tatted, and upon further inspection, I note that the design extends onto the top of his palm, then journeys up his arm. The rest I can't make up. Stupid sleeves.
It's an intricate artwork of stems and leaves and roses. The vegetation wraps around trellis's which are positioned between his fingers, growing off the top of the framework's arches to crowd around the skin above. None of it was there the first time I met him; he got them some time after our encounter. A time in which he's forgot me.
"My apologies." He stops searching and turns to me, and I immediately look up from his hands. "Seems like we're out."
What a relief. I don't need to endure a date with Jasper wearing that almost neon green atrocity. I still don't know why he's asking me to get it, especially since he's the one who's usually at home, coddled by layers of blankets, jerking off underneath. He always insists that his indulgences in pornography are lessons that educate him on sexual intercourse. Our dog-shit sex is a firm disapprover of that.
"That's fine. It wasn't nice anyway." I try not to gulp too evidently as the man crosses his arms. The action is successfully drawing attention to those biceps.
"It looked awful. Your boyfriend seems to have an affinity with shit-looking clothes."
Hopefully, the way I flinch back isn't too apparent. He seems to be carrying the same unrestrained confidence that I had when I pushed a vibrator to his chest. I wonder what he did with it, and whatever he did do, I don't care. He's being absurd.
"People with large builds always think they're free to speak their thoughts. You have an affinity with rudeness."
He makes a roguish smirk—then I realize what I'd said.
"You've been peeking at my body, have you?"
"No." I spit out the word and spin around.
"Wait," he calls. "I can get your number and I'll dial you when they come back in stock. Summer season's coming, and they'll be supplied soon due to the bright nature of the shirt."
"Fine." I rotate and find his arms falling to his sides, like he had snapped them from each other just as I turned to walk away.
"So, is that a yes?" He takes a step towards me. Any inclination I have to drop onto his chest is shoved away by the reminder that he can't even recall my existence. He lured me into his car with a frustratingly seductive character only a few months ago, and he hasn't hinted feeling even the slightest bit of recognition.
But then he comes closer, and an amazing scent that settles over me drags that unbelievable urge back in. It's a masculine cologne, a fragrance so compelling that I want to drown in it. My eyes need to shut closed. It might help me breathe steadily if I didn't have a body builder towering over me.
He grins, and demands with a lower voice, "Give me your number."
"I have a boyfriend," is all I can muster. There's a voice ringing in my ears, telling me to reverse, distance myself from this man entirely before I do something that isn't appropriate and end up embarrassing myself.
The gap between us diminishes. It's like I hadn't seen him move closer.
"Again, it's to update you on the stock of the shirts." He takes my phone and swipes to my contacts. Respiration is difficult when I'm watching his inked fingers tap at my screen. "You'll receive a call in the morning."
He returns my phone, winks, then reoccupies himself with duties.
⚘
"Jas, I'm home."
Just as I walk through the front door, Jasper's pale hands are already crawling all over me. My ass, my waist, my breasts. Unwanted lips peck at my neck, repulsive fingers brush down my hips. I tense my muscles and grip the bags tighter.
"Let me put these away first," I add. It's a struggle to slip past him. A head of straight brown hair is alternating between different sides of my shoulders, and a lanky body is pressing on me. I push him away playfully and rush into the kitchen, immediately providing my arms the relaxation of dropping all the bags onto our marble counter. I slack onto a stool and cringe at his upcoming arrival.
Why couldn't he help me with the bags?
The sink is full of dishes. Ketchup is smeared over plates, the crust of pizza has been thrown inside. Hoping to ease the weight of obligations for tomorrow morning, I force myself to wash the lot and ignore Jasper's uneasy presence creeping in on me.
He's going to ask me to have sex with him. In just a few moments from now. If I didn't have to fake my moans and convince him I've reached my peak every night, then I'd be excited. Because it's draining. I always find myself sneaking out the covers and into the bathroom with a vibrator in hand, hoping the pleasure I'd given was enough to lull him into a deep enough sleep not to be awoken. Sometimes I want something more. A stupid toy doesn't do it. I need a capable person. Someone tall like me, bulky...attractive.
Someone like the man who'd served me earlier.
I shake my head.
"Your hair is so nice and thick." As expected, Jasper's hands circle my waist. He props his chin onto my shoulder and sniffs at my hair, groin pushing against me. "I wonder how it'd feel with my fingers through it."
Gosh. Today I'm not getting ready for an act. I cannot fuck him.
"I'm not in the mood." I throw my head up and make way for a sloppy kiss. His lips come to mine, and I try my hardest to conceal the disgust rooting in from that place our skin collides.
"Sure." With my hands still wet from washing the dishes, Jasper drags us to our room, right into a hellhole.
He chucks himself onto the bed and rests his head on the fabric of the grey headboard. Waiting for me to join him. He seems to process my message when I simply stare at him and take a step back. His solution is to reach forward and seize my wrist.
"Come." He tugs me towards him.
"I don't want to." I lurch forward but refuse to fall into those disgusting arms. For a moment, he loosens his hold and glares at me with incensed intent. I don't capture this look on his face very often, because I usually surrender to revulsion and end up joining in beside him.
He lets go. "Really?"
"Yes," I mumble, shame turning me away from him.
"Seriously. When was the last time you agreed to fuck me?"
Yesterday. When his arms had eased around my body, when the feeling of dispassion and uncertainty slithered through me, when the path to a peaceful sleep was obstructed.
"Just—not today." I do the inevitable and face him. It seems I've unleashed a fury. I see it in his eyes, in the way he's frozen in a seating position before me. Unmoving, forehead tense. Dissatisfied. He exhales deeply.
"Get out and sleep on the couch."
Gladly.
I dash out the room and plop myself onto the couch. I'm not too keen on carrying out my night routine today, especially if it means having to return to the bedroom just to use the bathroom. His sheer presence will have me retching on the floor.
With my head against the hard edge of the couch, I close my eyes and allow my mind the freedom to run and establish whatever sort of fantasy it wishes to entertain itself with tonight.
But then my fingers steal down my midriff, and my hand is below my waist band.
I wrench it out before visions of an employee can treat me to sleep.