Blasphemous (Torn #3)(43)
Regrouping and evening his breath, Carter got up and went straight to the bathroom. He came out with a wet towel and gently wiped my tummy off with soft strokes. “Open your legs, please,” he kindly asked as my thighs parted and he cleaned me off.
Dumping the towel on the floor, he gathered me in his arms, sighing happily before he kissed the back of my neck. “I love you, Em. I know you’re going through a lot right now, but I just want to get it out there; the moment you’re ready to start dating again, I will be the first man in line to try and steal you away.”
Funny how the situation was now reversed when it was only last year that I was madly in love with this soccer stud. It also mocked my recent relationship mishap with Bass.
If the time came that I was ready to date again, would I consider getting back with Carter? True, I may still feel something for him, but was it enough to risk being with him after the disastrous break-up we had?
To that, I had no answer. I suppose only time would tell.
Getting back on the dating wagon was inevitable, but the thought of being able to fall in love with someone else was questionable.
I had fallen already. How many times does a person drop in the depths of the abyss? I was sure most people who had infinitely loved another would tell you once. Loving someone was not a hardship.
Falling into it was.
Judging from the semi-aroused state that Carter was already in, it wouldn’t take long for him to get started again. Sure, it was great and all…
BUT.
I wanted… Bass.
Not only was he entertaining and adorable, but he knew what to do to make me crave him like I was going to lose my mind if he didn’t give it to me in a heartbeat. He simply knew my body like it was his own.
It was crazy to be this wanton.
There was no one to blame for my rapacious appetite other than Bass.
My body was programmed and played to meet his liking. I was Bass’s whore because he made it that way and I was more than happy to be his.
There’s sex and, then, there’s The Sex.
With Bass, it felt like it was an absolute, chimerical-like mating, a ritual of some kind where the world shifted from its axis—a kind of transcendental experience. It was epically sublime. Making love with Bass had always been like that. How could I possibly fathom taking another man after that poetic, dynamite-like, hotter than magma, so ardently profound that it was a once in a lifetime kind of experience that only one man could accomplish?
He made me so addicted to him—so drugged out from the very essence of him—that I was ruined for any other man.
We were like a star; burning with heat, bright with hypnotizing beauty and dangerously suffused with powerful, volatile energy that could explode in due course. Fireworks, falling stars, and the entire f*uking Milky Way combined with all the other blasted galaxies thundered into one. It detonated with corrupting speed, splitting and shattering whatever’s in its wake, until you’re left with pieces of yourself. Forsaking you with miniscule fragments of the person you once were, as you try to piece them together, trying to understand what the hell just imploded.
Even though we adamantly try to glue it back, piece by piece, we were never going to be whole again. Why? Because the cracks were there, forever scarring. Blatantly reminding you that you’re just a shell—an empty, barren carapace—and we just go on pretending that we were still the same person, because that’s all it was.
A pretense.
Acting as if life still mattered.
In truth, we craved to be back in that person’s embrace, but sanity demands us to lie to ourselves; telling our faces in the mirror that we were going to be okay.
Each and every f*uking morning without fail.
After all, aren’t we the greatest pretenders of all?
E
For the entire duration of the morning to the late afternoon, I was stuck in bed as Carter delivered his twenty-one promises.
Heck, my vagina was throbbing so badly for the rest of the night that it was beyond awkward to dance, but since it was my birthday, the girls wouldn’t let me sit and relax whilst sipping my drink.
Lindsey was persistent that only us girls partied, without the men, since we needed time with each other. For that, I was truly grateful because, if Carter were here, I might be in serious danger of getting excessive oral sex.
The four of us bonded with laughter, more dancing, downing shots and an abundant supply of hugs.
We drank so much alcohol that when it hit ten past one, we were ready for the hired limo to take us back to Taylor’s home. I admit, I missed the famed Chateau Marmont, but Taylor’s home was much more relaxed.
I woke up early, coughing as if my throat had no moisture left in it. My hand started to rub the base of my throat to ease the feeling as I slid off the bed and headed through the dimly lit house, weaving my way downstairs.
Taylor’s home was masculine yet homey, with mixtures of earthy tones and leather about. It suited the man quite perfectly. Helping myself to a glass filled with cold water, I didn’t take a breath until I had finished the entire content. The refreshing taste of the cold liquid made me feel a little awake now.
Since there wasn’t a person awake at four-thirty in the morning, I leisurely explored the house. Smiling as I saw pictures of a younger Taylor and another guy, who I’m assuming was his brother because they looked like twins—apart from the smiles and the hair color.
Striding towards the piano, I scanned the pictures with enthusiasm, that is until I found a picture of Bass with Taylor in their skiing gear, another one on a beach—his to-die for body was blatantly staring back at me—and the last picture had him with Taylor as well as a bunch of men and women on a vacation in a cabin somewhere.