Page 32 of To Her

Arjun and Nick had greeted me with similar appreciation, their eyes lingering a beat too long on my cleavage before meeting my gaze. I hadn't minded. In fact, I'd revelled in it—in the power of being desired, of knowing I could affect people with just my presence.

"Louise and Kelly should be here soon," Nick had said, and I'd felt my mood darken at the mention of Kelly's name.

"Great," I'd replied, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my voice.

Alex had shot me a questioning look, but I'd ignored it, reaching for the bottle of vodka on the table and pouring myself a generous shot. "Let's get this party started, shall we?"

The shots had burned a path down my throat, the alcohol hitting my bloodstream with a familiar warmth that had loosened my limbs and quieted the nagging voice in the back of my mind—the one that sounded suspiciously like Con, telling me to get my shit together.

I'd pulled Alex onto the dance floor, losing myself in the pounding rhythm of the music, in the press of bodies around us, in the heat that built between us as we'd moved together.

His hands had found my waist, then slid lower, cupping my ass through the thin fabric of my dress.

I'd pressed closer, grinding against him, feeling him harden in response.

"You're driving me crazy," he'd murmured in my ear, his breath hot against my skin.

"That's the idea," I'd replied, turning in his arms so my back was to his chest, my ass pressed firmly against his groin as I'd continued to move to the music.

We'd danced like that for what felt like hours, the alcohol and the music and the sensation of Alex's body against mine creating a heady cocktail of arousal and abandon.

When Louise and Kelly had finally arrived, I'd been too buzzed to care much about Kelly's presence—until she'd approached me directly, her expression a mixture of contrition and determination.

"Geri, can we talk?" she'd asked, having to shout to be heard over the music.

I'd stared at her, taking in her carefully applied makeup, her trendy outfit, her hopeful expression. And I'd felt... nothing. No anger, no hurt, just a vast emptiness where those emotions should have been.

"Fuck you," I'd said, my voice flat despite the volume. "We're not friends. Do me a favour and avoid me all night."

She'd flinched as if I'd slapped her, her eyes widening with hurt.

For a brief moment, I'd felt a flicker of guilt—Kelly and I had been friends for years, after all.

But then I'd remembered how she'd gone behind my back to Matt, how she'd interfered in my life under the guise of "helping," and the guilt had evaporated.

She'd nodded once, her lips pressed into a thin line, before turning and disappearing into the crowd. Louise had given me a reproachful look but hadn't said anything, instead following Kelly to wherever she'd gone.

I'd turned back to Alex, pushing the interaction from my mind. "Another drink?" I'd suggested, already leading him back to the bar.

Around 1 AM, a few more of Louise's mates had arrived, and along with them, the drugs had also. And this is where the rabbit hole started. I thought, fuck it, and took one pill and spent the night in a state of blissful harmony. It had been the happiest I had been in weeks, and I loved it.

The pill had been small and white, innocuous-looking in the palm of the guy offering it—one of Louise's friends whose name I couldn't remember or maybe had never known. He'd held it out to me with a knowing smile, as if he could see the battle playing out in my head.

"It's clean," he'd assured me. "Tested it myself."

I'd hesitated, memories of my past struggles with pills flashing through my mind. I'd been down this road before, knew exactly where it led—to a place of temporary bliss followed by crushing lows, to a cycle of dependency that had taken me years to break.

But then I'd thought of the emptiness that had become my constant companion, of the effort it took just to get through each day pretending to be okay, of the new job waiting for me on Monday that represented nothing more than another form of escape.

Fuck it.

I'd taken the pill from his palm and swallowed it dry, ignoring the voice in the back of my mind that whispered this was a mistake. I didn't want to be careful or responsible or mindful of consequences. I wanted to feel good, just for one night. Was that so wrong?

The effects had taken about thirty minutes to kick in—a gradual warming that had started in my core and spread outward, a lightening of my limbs, a softening of the edges of reality.

Colours had become more vibrant, sounds more textured, sensations more intense.

The music had seemed to flow through me rather than around me, each beat matching the rhythm of my heart.

I'd found myself back on the dance floor, moving with a freedom I hadn't felt in months, maybe years.

Every touch had been electric—Alex's hands on my waist, a stranger's arm brushing against mine, the fabric of my dress against my skin.

I'd thrown my head back, laughing at nothing and everything, feeling truly alive for the first time since. .. since Con.

The thought of him had flitted through my mind without the usual accompanying pain. In my altered state, even memories of Con had seemed benign, just another part of my story rather than an open wound.

Alex had noticed the change in me, his eyes questioning as he'd watched me dance with abandoned joy. "You OK?" he'd shouted over the music, concern evident despite the volume.

"I'm perfect," I'd replied, and in that moment, it had been true. I'd pulled him closer, pressing my body against his, feeling the hard length of him through his jeans. "Take me home," I'd whispered in his ear, my tongue darting out to trace its shell.

He hadn't needed to be asked twice.

The taxi ride to his place had been a blur of wandering hands and hungry kisses, my dress hiked up around my waist as his fingers had found their way beneath my thong, stroking me to a state of desperate need.

I'd reciprocated, palming him through his jeans, feeling him throb against my hand as I'd whispered all the things I wanted him to do to me.

By the time we'd stumbled through his door, we'd been half-undressed already, clothes discarded in a frantic trail from the entrance to his bedroom.

He'd pushed me onto the bed, his eyes dark with desire as he'd taken in the sight of me—sprawled across his sheets in nothing but my heels and thong, my lipstick smeared, my pupils dilated from both arousal and chemicals.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he'd murmured, stripping off the last of his clothes to reveal his body—lean and toned, his cock standing proud against his stomach.

I'd spread my legs in invitation, too far gone to play coy. "Show me how much you want me."

He'd knelt between my thighs, his hands sliding up to cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they'd hardened to sensitive peaks. Then he'd lowered his head, replacing his thumbs with his mouth, sucking and licking until I'd been arching off the bed, my hands tangled in his hair.

"Please," I'd gasped, not even sure what I was begging for—just more, more of everything.

He'd understood, trailing kisses down my stomach, over my hip bones, to the edge of my thong. With a wicked grin, he'd hooked his fingers into the sides and pulled it down my legs, leaving me completely exposed to his gaze.

"So wet for me," he'd murmured, his breath hot against my most sensitive flesh. And then his mouth had been on me, his tongue exploring every fold, every crevice, finding the bundle of nerves at my centre and focusing his attention there.

The combination of the drug and his skilled mouth had sent me spiralling toward orgasm embarrassingly quickly. I'd cried out, my thighs clamping around his head as waves of pleasure had crashed over me, leaving me trembling and gasping for breath.

But he hadn't given me time to recover. Before the aftershocks had even subsided, he'd been reaching for a condom, rolling it on with practiced ease before positioning himself at my entrance.

"Tell me you want this," he'd said, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

"I want this," I'd replied, wrapping my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "I want you. Now."

He'd entered me in one smooth thrust, filling me completely, the sensation so intense in my heightened state that I'd nearly come again right then. He'd set a relentless pace, each thrust driving me higher, my nails raking down his back as I'd urged him on.

"Harder," I'd demanded, meeting him thrust for thrust. "Make me feel it."

He'd complied, his movements becoming more forceful, the headboard banging against the wall with each impact. I'd revelled in the roughness, in the pure physical sensation that drowned out all thought, all emotion except the building pressure of another orgasm.

When it had hit, it had been even more intense than the first—a full-body experience that had left me seeing stars, my inner walls clenching around him, pulling him deeper.

He'd followed shortly after, his rhythm faltering as he'd groaned my name, his body tensing above me before collapsing onto my chest.

We'd lain there for a moment, both catching our breath, before he'd rolled off me and disposed of the condom. Then he'd pulled me against him, my back to his chest, his arm draped possessively over my waist.

"That was..." he'd started, seemingly at a loss for words.

"Yeah," I'd agreed, still floating on a cloud of chemical bliss and post-orgasmic glow.

We'd dozed for a while, but the night had been far from over. As the initial effects of the pill had begun to wane, I'd found myself craving more—more touch, more pleasure, more of the oblivion that came with losing myself in physical sensation.

I'd woken him with my mouth, taking him from soft to rock hard in minutes, enjoying the way he'd moaned and cursed as I'd worked him with lips and tongue.

Then I'd straddled him, sinking down onto his length with a satisfied sigh, setting a pace that suited my needs—slow at first, savouring the fullness, then faster as my desire had built again.

He'd watched me with hooded eyes, his hands on my hips guiding my movements, occasionally reaching up to pinch my nipples or pull me down for a deep, messy kiss.

I'd taken my pleasure from him again and again, riding him until my thighs had burned with the effort, until we'd both been slick with sweat and gasping for breath.

When we'd finally exhausted ourselves, the sky outside his window had been lightening with the first hints of dawn. We'd fallen asleep tangled together, my head on his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath my ear.

I'd woken hours later to sunlight streaming through the blinds, my head surprisingly clear given the night's excesses. Alex had still been asleep beside me, his face relaxed in slumber, looking younger and more vulnerable than he ever did awake.

For a moment, panic had threatened to rise—the familiar urge to flee before he woke, to avoid the morning-after awkwardness, the potential for expectations or attachments.

But then I'd remembered: this was Alex. Uncomplicated, undemanding Alex, who wanted from me exactly what I was willing to give—no more, no less.

So I'd stayed, watching the rise and fall of his chest, cataloguing the sensations in my body—the pleasant soreness between my thighs, the slight dryness in my mouth, the lingering warmth in my veins that had nothing to do with the drug and everything to do with the satisfaction of a night well spent.

When he'd finally stirred, blinking sleepily at me, I'd been prepared for awkwardness, for regret, for the usual morning-after dance of pretending the night meant more or less than it did. Instead, he'd simply smiled, a lazy, contented curve of his lips.

"Morning," he'd murmured, his voice rough with sleep. "Coffee?"

"God, yes," I'd replied, grateful for his easy acceptance of the situation.

He'd pulled on a pair of boxers and padded to the kitchen, leaving me to use the bathroom and collect my scattered clothing. By the time I'd emerged, dressed in last night's outfit and with my makeup somewhat salvaged, he'd had two mugs of coffee waiting on the counter.

We'd sipped in companionable silence for a while, neither of us feeling the need to dissect what had happened or define what it meant. It was refreshing, this lack of pressure, this mutual understanding that what we shared was physical, temporary, and uncomplicated.

"So," he'd said eventually, “excited for the new job?"

"Yeah," I'd replied, grateful for the neutral topic. "Nine to five, Monday to Friday. Like a real adult."

He'd chuckled at that. "Congratulations. We should celebrate properly next weekend."

The invitation had hung in the air between us, and I'd found myself nodding without hesitation. "Definitely. Same place?"

"If you want. Or we could try somewhere new."

"Let's go back to The Underground," I'd suggested, thinking of the job opportunity, of Tasha with her tattoos and knowing smile, of the way the music and the crowd and the atmosphere had made me feel alive in a way I hadn't in too long. "I liked it there."

"Underground it is," he'd agreed easily. "Friday night?"

"Friday night," I'd confirmed, already looking forward to it—to the escape, to the possibility of another pill, to the promise of more nights like the one we'd just shared.

As I'd left his apartment later that morning, stepping into the bright sunlight of a Saturday in the city, I'd felt.

.. not happy, exactly, but something close to it.

A contentment born not of genuine fulfillment but of acceptance—acceptance that this was my life now, that I was choosing this path with eyes wide open, that I was embracing the descent rather than fighting it.

I wasn't sure if it was because I had resigned myself to the fact that I was okay slipping up, or because I knew I was about to slide back into old habits and just allowed myself to tag along for the ride, but in that moment, I was happy and blissfully unaware of where I was heading.

Or maybe I was aware, and I just didn't care anymore.

Either way, as I'd hailed a taxi to take me home, I'd felt lighter than I had in weeks. The weight of Con's absence, of James's disappointment, of my own self-loathing—all of it had seemed distant, manageable, almost irrelevant in the face of this new direction I was taking.

The rabbit hole beckoned, dark and deep and promising oblivion. And I was jumping in with both feet, eyes closed, arms spread wide, welcoming whatever waited at the bottom.