Page 4

Red VS. Tayden

“Looking back, I knew better; I owed her better, but I could argue she owed me better just the same. We have never had much grace for one another when it comes to him… Tayden. God dammit, Tayden.”—Red

Present Day

Logically, there are two ways this will go.

One, we either end up finally fucking after all these years by the end of tonight, or two, we will be in the near future.

Harsh, but the truth.

Keeping our hands off each other all these years has been easy when our interactions have remained strictly through text and Facetime, but in physical form, I am unsure whether either of us possess the amount of restraint required.

We are in uncharted waters here.

Knowing Tayden, this is the exact reason he showed up to our event this evening.

The only question is, who did he come for? Luckily for me, Ivy bitched out and left, so I am who he gets.

I won’t lie; the history between us three is messy.

Things have always been reactive between Ivy and I when it comes to him.

She’s always wanted him in the shadows.

I, on the other hand, have wanted him for myself in reality; to wake up to him, fall asleep with him every night, and build our lives together, but a promise is a promise, and I did make that promise to her all those years ago in that hotel room.

So, for once in my life, I need to weigh out the pros and cons of the conversation I am about to have with him.

Secondly, consider the repercussions at the end of it for everyone this triangle has always involved ensuring I maintain poise and class.

Consideration has never been my strong suit, especially when I’ve had more than my share of cocktails tonight.

My body relaxes as my imagination runs rampant with him in view.

It’s the perfect recipe for bad decisions.

Would I love to rip the clothes of this tall, tanned, white-smiled, impeccable Panamanian man right here at the table and to hell with anyone who sees? The man with whom I have a lengthy history and my heart beats for, and just wreck him physically? Absolutely.

The things I would do to him would be sinful, corrupt, and immoral.

For now, I need to just have a conversation and focus on keeping my dress off the floor by the end of the night, because I’m not the only history this man has, and Ivy isn’t all that is at stake.

Stay classy Red. Stay classy, do not let your vagina do the talking. Just conversation, nothing else.

My curiosity ablaze, I sit patiently awaiting his response. Just two old friends in a stare-off.

“Why, isn’t really the question here, or is it, Red?”

God, his passive-aggressive responses never cease to amaze me. It is so typical of him and partially our problem. He’s always throwing the ball in my court like he isn’t the key player. Listening to him speak reminds me of all his voice does to me; the warmth begins creeping up my legs with each roll of his tongue, landing smack between my thighs. I can feel the throb, the torment between my body and my mind building already. The internal struggle of want versus need races through me, and I’m fearful but aware of which will prevail.

Jesus Christ Red, you are fucked.

“I mean, hasn’t it always been the question, Tayden? Why, why not?”

I whimper, taunting him, sliding my hand up to my mouth, slowly sucking one of the two olives off the red crystal spear that holds them between my lips, my refusal to drop my gaze fueled by that of his own.

Fuck, that bone structure is heavenly. The way the black hairs of his 5 o’clock shadow further defines the true depth of his chiseled jawline should be illegal.

“I mean, if you want to look at it that way, but I’d like to start with how you are?”

Really, Tayden, how am I? What are we back in seventh grade again on AOL messenger checking in on one another? You’ve got mail. My inner child is living for this right now.

I can sense the table’s stillness; no true conversations being had, just small, inconsistent ones, to allow them to eavesdrop on the playfulness between two old friends.

I am aware all eyes are on us.

Especially those of Olive and O’Connor.

I sever my connection from the trance he has me encased in, remembering I am upon guests and colleagues.

Snapping my head to Olive, I give her a look.

Her disdain for our unexpected guest’s arrival staring back at me.

It’s cute honestly, and it comes warranted.

Outside of Ivy, Olive is the only other friend I’ve had.

Our history goes back ten years, and she knows exactly who is standing right in front of me and what it means, and she’s not the only one privy to us at this table.

Trying to contain my devilish smile, my eyes squint in her direction, and she’s aware of the task.

Luckily for her, Sweet Caroline just came on, and in Boston, it is a must rally to song.

“Oh, we can’t miss this banga,”

Olive shouts, pulling everyone from the table. O’Connor in one hand and her husband Dax, who was built with two left feet in the other. Smart man, no dance abilities. Neil Diamond and Olive for the win.

Circling back to his question, it’s time to play, my tone subtle and precise. “I am well, as you can obviously see Tayden; how are you?”

I figured this was more fitting instead of what I really wanted to say. Like, hey Tayden, I’m glad you showed up. Can we skip to the forbidden part? I’ve been a good girl all these years, patiently waiting…fuck me now?

“I’m well. Business is really good, that’s actually why I am here tonight. I had a car that needed to be delivered to your city, and it just so happened to be the weekend of your event, so here we are.”

“So here we are, ”

I bite with hesitation, sex laced in my tone.

He’s been into anything fast with a motor since we were kids, so there is no surprise he ended up owning one of the top Porsche distributors in the world, well that and his father wasn’t always a tech mogul; he got into the tech world after becoming a car mogul himself.

Taking one success and then funneling it into another.

His family, just like Ivy and I, love a good monetization.

However, Tayden’s company wasn’t given to him as many have believed, coming from the family and wealth he does.

No, he created it for himself from the ground up down in Dallas, Texas, far from home and his father’s legacy.

He still oversees the car side of his dad’s portfolio, but branched off to build his own.

Although his name and connections surely came in handy at times, I’ve always been proud of him for doing something for himself.

Proud of him for betting on himself.

If only he’d bet on me .

When he filled me in years ago when we first reconnected on his endeavors, I wasn’t the slightest surprised by it.

He’s always been stubborn and wanted to make a mark for himself outside of his father’s hold.

Getting into cars has its perks for sure, no lack of sexy inventory to pick through for a glamorous evening out.

Not that we have ever had a mundane night together, but something tells me we just might in the future, and fuck, I love a sexy car, even better when it has a stick shift.

There’s always been something about watching a man shift between gears, the way their veins pop and muscles tense as they grasp in poetic firmness onto the handle. Fuck.

I wonder what he’s driving tonight. Fuck me if it’s a manual. Has he already delivered the car? Or am I the stop before the delivery?

Merely the thought brings a puddle to formation between my thighs. Lifting my leg over the other, I cross my legs, squeezing them tightly together, creating pressure to please the taunt that my pussy needs fed, a mere attempt to quiet the pulse.

“Wow, the big boss is hand-delivering cars. It must have been a massive client,”

I state, setting the direction of where I’d like this little exchange of words to go.

I’m a sucker at baiting conversations when it comes to men, especially with him.

Certainly one of my strong suits, among others, but emotionally, it’s my biggest downfall.

Strategically, it’s my own superpower; every conversation in the world is simply a game of cat and mouse, like strategic moves across a chess board.

We all possess the ability to sway any conversation how we please.

Oscillating it the direction in which we desire if we simply read the person in front of us and play our words correctly.

I fucking love it.

Done properly, the other person isn’t even aware the words rolling off their tongue are merely yours fed to them.

Hitting that level of manipulation has taken me years to master, but fuck it’s made my life selling real estate and building an empire limitless.

Most of the time, I’m not even aware that I’m doing it.

It’s just naturally become part of my day-to-day function.

At times, it has complicated my relationships, leaving doubt in them, never knowing if what someone is saying is their truth or simply what I wanted to hear, something I fed to them.

Tayden isn’t a saint in this either; he does it just as good as I, although his ability to turn it on and off is more precise than mine, making this conversation even more exciting as I attempt to put words into his mouth, as he does the same to mine.

His words aren’t the only thing I want in my mouth.

I shouldn’t be baiting him to say he came for me, but God, the burn that would radiate through my body hearing that would send me into tidal waves, but even so, he wouldn’t play that card this early.

No, not my Tayden.

He’ll hold it for the last fucking hand.

As much as I like to believe I am baiting him, he is playing my own game against me. Two peas in a pod we are—Toxic.

He laughs in a smirk-covered tone, playing his hand, letting me know that he knows exactly what my backhanded comment was fishing for.

That’s the problem with him and me; it always has been.

We know exactly what the other is thinking before we even speak, making our conversations a fishing adventure that lacks every ounce of true merit.

Our relationship is a fucking game, simply feeding the other’s ego.

“Yeah, it was a big client. I must admit I delivered the car with other motives in mind.”

His words showing his hand, proving my suspicions.

I knew it; I fish, and he baits me.

Leaning into him, resting my elbow on the table, my fingers brace my chin, my tongue lacquering my lips, a smile conforms so big across my face.

My deep brown eyes look him down, then back up again, demanding his eyes meet mine, and they do.

“And, what would that be?”

Devil knows I shouldn’t be doing this. Ivy would not approve, but seeing him here, I can’t fucking stop. I need to, but I won’t because I don’t want to. I should have shut this down like Ivy did. I should have ran away just as her the moment he approached us; but I am the devil on my own shoulder.

“I assume you would find it rude of me to be in your city on your big night and allow the viewing of that stunning red dress to go to waste, Red?”

“I’d hardly say it would go to waste, you being here or not. Look at me. Do you really think this dress has gone unnoticed tonight?”

I pull my dirty martini to my mouth, slowly taking a sip, not breaking eye contact, refusing to relinquish my dominance, slowly removing the last olive from the crystal spear.

“You know what I mean. I’d hate to see that dress go unappreciated for the true beauty that lies under it and within it. Besides, can’t a man just want to see an old friend on her big night and congratulate her on all her success after all this time?”

Fuck off, I can’t with you.

He has never been one to lack ulterior motives, so for him to think I believe whatever line of bull he is throwing is comical, but I love a great power struggle, especially with him. I sense the apprehension in his body, in the way his words articulate the necessities to melodically create the conversation in the direction he craves, but his body is unsure and uncertain because what his mind has always had with me, his words always capturing me leaving me hanging off each one by his perfect design, his body has never fulfilled.

My move.

“ The beauty that lies underneath it? I didn’t realize you knew what that looks like. Your dreams are hardly reality.”

“Dreams are dreamt with the hope of forging it into reality, are they not? Without dreams, would our realities even exist? I-”

I mean, was it a dream meant for reality or mere fantasy fueling it all this time?

I can’t help but cut him off mid-sentence. He can save that philosophical bull for Ivy.

“Let’s cut the bullshit. We were never good at small talk, love. A celebratory visit? Let’s see Red and congratulate her on all her accomplishments? What has it been, dear friend?Six, maybe seven years since we’ve seen each other? Let’s address the elephant in the room. Seven years ago, the last time we saw each other, and the unaccomplished mission of exploring what’s under this dress? Me leaving that hotel room with no explanation, the pact the three of us made. Unresolved sexual tension? The fact we haven’t fucked, and you just happen to be in my city to say hi?”

Curving my body into him, I zone in on his uncomfortability. Closing the distance between us, I take him over the cliff with my scent, drawing in his gaze to the structure of my collarbone as I gently roll my fingers across it, pulling our personal spaces into one. My mouth level to his ear, my tone a mere whisper, “Checkmate, your move.”

Playfully slamming back into my seat, my drink finds my lips, my view stuck on him as I wait for his play.

His jaw tenses and I can tell I have hit a nerve, and I fucking revel in it for all of three seconds before his retaliation hits me, and I am reminded he will always have the upper hand in his ability to completely undo me.

Grasping the chair between my thighs, he pulls me into him forcefully, his other hand now my necklace, his words his venom.

“Let’s not play games, my little flame. If I wanted you, then I could have had you. If I wanted you tonight, I would have you. Two options, be a good girl and have a drink with me, or when I do get behind those red lace panties I know you have under that dress, I will have no mercy, and the only sounds coming from your lips will be you begging me to fulfill you deeper. Sweet whimpers of you unraveling for my cock.”

Fuck he’s so hard to say no to.

Vibrations swarm my body as I hang on the cliff of every word that leaves his lips, telling me to absolutely not walk out of this event with him. It feels like someone is holding my entire body over hot coals, and the snow is the only remedy to my wounds. I can’t fight it anymore.

“Now you’re just teasing me, Mr. Bergess, but I’ll bite, for now . I’ll give you, say , two hours as long as you ensure me your threats are also backhanded promises.”

I know better than to set a boundary like this; however, for research purposes, I love to test myself, knowing damn well I will fail. I really need to stop doing this to myself, but knowing I can have any man I want, truly is a devil’s game. My yearning for the complete separation after the fuck is a desire I can’t control, but he’s not them. He’s different. Maybe I love the pain the next morning brings when the sun rises and last night’s promises aren’t in the morning’s reality, or I simply love chasing a ghost. Possibly the torture of it all turns me on, or maybe I’m truly just a delusional human with no self-control.

Reaching over the table, brushing his hand over mine. The pit in my stomach makes me think he’s going to grab it, but he doesn’t. Continuing past it, grabbing my dirty martini, he sways it in front of me, leaning into my ear gently whispering, “Since we only have a few hours, I think you may want to finish this one first. I’d hate for you to be thirsty later, little flame, left with nothing but me to feed you.”

Fuck this is a disaster in the best and worst possible way.

I throw back the remainder of my martini. Reaching for my phone, I unlock it before shooting off a message.

Me: Antonio, I’m ready. Bring the car around to the back please.

Antonio: I am headed your way, just you?

Me: Sometimes your knowledge is insulting. Yeah, no, Mr. Bergess is in town.

Antonio: See you soon, boss.

Me: Thanks, Antonio, and as usual, full discretion please. It’s why you make the big bucks.

Antonio: 10-4 as always, boss. That NDA helps a lot, too.

Me: Walking out now, any papp?

Antonio: All clear, boss.

Not taking chances, Tayden pulls off his jacket, swinging it up and over us both before we exit through the back.

Love speaks to me from his chocolate eyes as he stares into mine, and in this singular moment, we are both on a quest to conquer what has never been.

The last thing either of us need is a public scandal, especially when it would harm more than just our reputations.

Darting to the door, the scent of leather and vanilla fills my nostrils, and I suddenly feel unease being this close to him.

Memories of our years together and our years apart flip through my mind like a rolodex.

Thoughts of the last time we were physically together start coming to the forefront; the beautiful Porsche he drove, the hotel room, his scent, and the disappointment.

Hurriedly, I push it all to the back, for tonight we are kids.

Fiercely, we dive through the door Antonio holds open for us headfirst like a grenade just erupted behind us.

Our laughs echo through the empty shell of the limousine, his hand brushing the skin creeping through the slit in my dress, pulling me out of my trance, his body securely on top of mine.

My breaths become heavier, my consciousness fighting to still them.

My resistance is growing weaker as his exhales dance across my lips, our breaths now equal and on beat.

Warmth begins to fill my veins, tingles strumming across my skin, my heartbeat pooling between my thighs once again.

I know I should resist, clear my throat, do something, but I can’t.

I don’t want to.

I’m a statue beneath him, with a savage pulse and a half-empty heart waiting to be refilled.

His hand brushes underneath my neck, gently directing my chin up, forcing my eyes to meet his.

Our darkened souls stare deep into one another’s.

His eyes are as beautiful as they ever were, his naturally tanned skin glowing even in his older age.

His stubble brushes against my face, moving it back and forth, enthralled in me, taunting me.

Our skin, touching just enough to feel the universal pull we have on each other, fully igniting us both.

“God, I have fucking missed you,”

desperation on his tongue.

Pulling his head back just enough to have all of me in his view, I see the pain in his expression, the hurt it causes him to have me this close yet so far.

I recognize it because it is all I feel in this moment with all I am.

My lips part as I try to find words, but for once, I have none to speak, nothing but silence on my tongue.

His fingers make their way through my hair, caressing me, the cold of all he is upon me.

One touch is all it takes for me to let go of all my inhibitions, all my plans, my commitments, and that promise—the pact.

My body going feral as my mind slips away into all we were, all we should have been and the dream of what we could be if life would have played out differently are the strings controlling me now.

Reaching my lips within inches of his, my words begin to fall. “I-”

but before I can form a sentence, his lips crash into mine, ravaging, his tongue between them now dancing with mine.

His fingers tighten around my hair, and I am sucked through a wormhole, and I don’t want to find my way out.

My breaths merging into soft moans, my hands grasping the back of his head as we both force our mouths onto one another as if on a quest for all that time has taken from us, all that my best friend took from us.

Ivy’s feelings dive into my consciousness, the promise we both made to each other to never cross this line with him causing me to cease completely.

I can’t betray her.

“We can’t,”

I object through my lips into his mouth, but he doesn’t stop, yet his hold becomes stronger from my words as if the motto of our entire relationship, ‘ we can’t’, lights a fire in him, causing him to dive deeper into my flesh, jolting me into the most passionate kiss he and I have ever shared. His hands begin exploring my entire body, his touch cooling my flushed skin, and I never want to be away from him again. Ice now moving up my waist, brushing across each of my ribs slowly as if making sure to touch each one along the way.

The fucking restraint on this man. I think to myself just before his hand crosses the top of my tits, aggressively exposing one. His lips descend, leaving my mouth unfilled with only moans escaping. His tongue circles my hard nipple before sucking it all in, releasing it little by little while his tongue sucks against my skin, causing them to shake with each stroke of his mouth. My hands ravingly grip his hair into my fist, digging into his scalp, my back curling, causing my pussy to thrust up against him. The feel of his hardened cock drawing urgent whimpers from my lips, my greed craving to be fulfilled by him right here and now in this moment, years of tension being released and only communicated between our bodies.

Ivy seeps into my psyche again, and the betrayal she will feel if I cross this line. Forcefully, I push my hands into his chest, forcing him to stop.

“We can’t, Tayden,”

I snap at him, using my legs to push myself up and out from under him.

Collecting myself, I straighten my dress, placing my tits back into their place, now hidden by my red lace bra slipping through my neckline.

Of all the times for me to have a conscience, it had to be in this moment.

Jesus fucking Christ, it’s so hard being good.

All I want to do is everything that is wrong, yet everything that is right, that’s owed to me, owed to us, to both of us.

I can’t even look at him as I straighten my hair, brushing through it with my fingers, detangling the knots.

I fight the burn in my eyes, my body still floating in vanilla and leather.

Clearing his throat, he turns to me, pushing my hair from my face, his fingers wrapping around the nape of my neck.

Sucking in a hiss as his lips leave a soft, tender kiss on my collarbone.

“How about that drink?”

He questions, a smile protruding on his face, not fighting my objections, just accepting them. For acceptance of ‘we can’t’ is the lesson time has drilled into us, a word we both loathe, yet live by each day.

“Yeah, a drink.”

Lifting myself up, I make my way towards the window, my knuckles knocking on the glass. Antonio rolls down the only thing separating him from us.

“Where to, boss?”

“The rooftop.”

Coming back to my seat, I snuggle up under Tayden’s shoulder. His hand running up and down my arm, the cold reminder on my skin as my finger glides across his palm, tracing the lines, and all that’s left to be said remains in our heads. Just two tortured souls trapped by our unspoken thoughts. Unspoken desires. Unspoken truths. Trapped by a promise made all those years ago between friends and lovers.

“To be kids again for a moment—for a day.”

—Ivy

It’s been a rough weekend. I’ve spent most of it hiding in my oversized loft apartment, wallowing in my feelings, and drinking expensive wine since T’s arrival.

I was supposed to go home to Liam this weekend, but instead, I keep hitting the fuck you button on his calls, Olives too.

I know they are probably in cahoots wondering if the other has heard from me.

They always are.

I’m afraid to talk to him until I am stronger.

I try to avoid him seeing me this broken and weak as much as possible.

Being together all these years, though, I’d be lying if I said he hadn’t.

Liam is such a gentle and understanding man, too gentle at times if I’m being truthful with myself.

It’s part of our problem, my disconnect from him.

Growing up the way I did, I wasn’t wired to find patience and kindness attractive, nor being broken okay.

My past relationship roster proves that.

My continuous conversations with T throughout our entire relationship has certainly played a part in our rift as well.

How can one fully give themselves to someone when they are constantly living in fairytale land with another? I am not proud of it.

But this secret, this part of my past, these emotions T brings out of me, I am not ready to explain, for I can’t even understand them myself.

If I could handle them, we would have found resolve by now, but we haven’t, and his sudden appearance at the Gala Friday has made my emotions more intense than they have ever been.

Liam is my mystery I have yet to fully figure out.

On one hand, I live for it; on the other, he terrifies me.

The unknown now that’s something my childhood made me find comfort in.

It’s what binds me to him.

All the while, I feel like he has always understood me to my core, eerie at times, a sense of home in others.

T’s been trying to reach out to me, relentless in his approach.

After his and Red’s actions the night of the event, she fully filled me in on, with no reserve over coffee the morning after, makes it harder to answer that call.

I know they didn’t hook up per our pact all those years ago, but still, it complicates things.

I just have no desire to speak to him until I can find some clarity.

My soul is on fire, my gut in mourning for seeing him, reminded me of everything we are and never will be, which hits harder in person compared to our exclusive text conversations all this time.

Our years, our history, a reminder of my childhood and the clouds that stormed through it.

His presence sets my mind ablaze.

For the first time in a very long time, my past is resurfacing in my present, and it’s terrifying.

If I just ignore them all, if I just allow myself to break, then I can build myself back up again and harden my heart a little.

Until then, I prefer to just hide in the darkness.

That is me, a woman comfortable in the dark.

My phone buzzes again, pulling my arm out from under the hand-knotted wool blanket that shelters me.

I hold it up to my face in a sad attempt to unlock it.

* face not recognized* No fucking shit.

How can it be me, with all these tears weeping from my saddened eyes? After a few failed attempts, my frustration grows, and I opt for the code option. 03063663.

It’s Liam….Fuck.

Liam: Ivy, I don’t need to know where you are, and I don’t need to know what is going on.

You said you are fine, and I trust you in your word.

But baby, I need you to know that I love you, and I will catch you anytime you need me to.

I’m not saying you do, but I feel you are going through something, and when you hurt, I hurt.I assume you will not be home until next weekend with work in the city this week, so dive into your work, and I will be waiting come Friday.

Take your time.

I will always be here.

I love you.

Ever that everything will be how it should, but looking at her reaction to my request, I find it best not to press further for now.

Years of texts and sexual innuendos are not enough anymore.

The irrational desire I have to touch her, to taste her, is beyond allowing it to never fucking happen.

My dick needs resolve; it needs her; nothing could ever fulfill me like Ivy wrapped around my cock, just as her vines have strangled my heart all these years.

All bets are off after we arrive.

It is time we fucking have this dance, if only she finally agrees.

Finding out what I did a few years back that night sitting in my father’s office made today a necessity, and my months planning leading to this exact moment necessary.

I must be selfish.

If that makes me the monster, then I’ll wear that mask with pride.

There is so much I need to tell her and many questions she has left unanswered over the years I desire to resolve.

Boundaries are not something we ever speak of; they are simply an unspoken road map between us.

I wish that night hadn’t been what opened my eyes to understanding her more, but it made me realize the most important part of her.

It took me years and a misstep to come to know, and now I cannot unhear her responses to my prying questions all this time.

Our conversations swim in my head like a song on an endless repeat, shocking my nerves and slashing my heart endlessly.

It is never what she says. It is always what she doesn’t that you will hear her in. I continue to find her in all she has never spoken. Her silence, her tell, and the mirror behind the smoke of her words. If only I had been listening.

“Where are we going, T?”

she questions, looking up at me, insecurity across her face, before looking back down to her nails, fidgeting in angst, but not the kind in which I hope to explore with her later.

She’s a ball of nerves.

Hopefully, today will untangle some of them for her—for us.

“It’s a surprise, Ives, but I promise the risk will be worth the reward.”

My response is a mere attempt to help dissolve her fears.

“Can you tell me anything? A timeline? A hint? I am in a soaking wet robe, for Christ’s sake, T,”

she bites, her eyes off in another glare. Her lack of connection turns me on. I can feel my cock bulging at the thought of her sliding down it, mixed with the way the words leave her lips in uncertainty. I’ve enjoyed her brokenness all these years. Somewhere inside, I think I enjoy it even more knowing what I do. It should not turn me on that the woman I love, at one point, was forced to pretend she was certifiably crazy, but I am far from normal myself.

“No hints, Amor. A place where time doesn’t matter and distance is a mere illusion. And no, you don’t need anything where we are going. I suggest you rest,”

I calmly reply, my hand readjusting myself in hopes she doesn’t notice.

Her eyes jolt, connecting with mine, laced with fire and fear.

Something in my words just forced more harm than calmness on her.

What did I say, Amor? I reach for the blanket I packed for her, wrapping it over her, taking her beauty in as she closes her eyes with no parting words before her head is across my lap.

I watch her float away, running my fingers through her hair.

Fuck have I missed her.

I miss her so fucking much.

I hope I can fix us, fucking heal her, kill everyone who harmed her, my father included.

The scent of honeysuckle and champagne, her scent, fills me, reminding me of my mission, calming the flames that rage inside of me as I lean my head back against the headrest.

The city views now fading off into the distance.

We have not long until we arrive.

Hopefully, it’s enough time for her to get some much-needed rest.

Now that she is asleep, I take the opportunity to get some myself, as we are both going to need it.

Rest has no place in what’s to come for either of us.

It’s time I made her mine.

She has always been mine to own, as I, hers.

I’m startled from my sleep by Ivy’s voice.

Her body’s trembling, mumbled words gasping from her lips.

Leaning my head down, I try to catch them,but I can’t make out any of them.

I wonder if she always sleeps like this.

I know she dreams a lot, per our texts.

Is this why she’s denied my requests to fall asleep on Facetime together when I’m traveling? I’ve never seen anyone speak so much in their sleep before, and I’ve slept next to many women in my life, regretfully, well, only when I’m next to her.

Being in love with someone you can never have has taken its toll on me, just as her.

I am constantly searching for her in my sexual desires and relations, just to wake each morning and feel further from her, further from myself.

Being in love with two—even more tragic.

A lifetime of being the bad guy to every woman that crosses my path.

The answer to their search for love when I am inside them, unknowing to them that I am simply a destruction in their path come morning.

It’s tragic, selfish really.

I’m not sure I can ever stop. Unless—

Ivy’s sleeping body begins to relax, her words continuing to roll off her tongue.

Should I wake her? Should I leave her to sleep? I’m certain she had zero rest this weekend, drowning herself in true Ivy fashion, refusing to speak about her feelings yet just internalizing them in her head, spiraling in her own thoughts while popping champagne and, I am certain, listening to music.

The Ivy cocktail in emotional times, if you will.

One of my least favorite character traits about her, but selfishly, my favorite all in the same.

Red on the other hand? That woman will destroy you with her honesty.

Loving two women you crave but can’t have isn’t easy; never fucking either of them, even worse.

Fuck, what I’d give to taste them, to have them both at the same time.

I am a man, after all.

Looking out the window as the pines lining the road grow thicker, the city a distant memory, I can’t help but wonder what she is dreaming about.

Stroking her hair, my lips gently kiss her head, my tone, a mere whisper, “I wish I was there, Amor, wherever there is.”