Big Girls Do It On Top (#4) - Erotic Romance
© 2012 Jasinda Wilder
ORLY Press www.orlypress.com
This story you're ogling on your hot little digital device is 14,400 words, or 58 book pages long.
WARNING: This story contains super-hot sex, M/F. For adults, 18+ only.
BIG GIRLS DO IT ON TOP
I'm not the crying type. I've been through too much in my life to go bawling every time something shitty happens. I cried when my dad died a few years ago, and I cried when my dog died when I was thirteen. Not much else in between, mainly because everything else in my life just kept coming, one thing after another, and if I started crying, I'd never have stopped.
I sobbed all the way from New York to Detroit. I did it quietly, face to the window. My seat mate, an older woman with salt and pepper hair and a ridiculously adorable button nose, asked me what was wrong, but I just shrugged and kept my face to the window, watching the clouds pass by. She sighed and muttered something rude, then went back to her issue of People.
I wasn't sure exactly what I was going to do in Detroit. I knew I had to face Jeff, but I couldn't bear the thought of doing so right away. I knew I'd hurt him badly. I knew he'd be pissed when I finally got the balls to talk to him. Knowing Jeff, he wouldn't have a lot to say, but his thick, tense silence would speak volumes.
When my plane landed, I had no one to pick me up. My mom lived in Flint, and we didn't get along. Jeff was part of my problems. The only choice left was Jamie. She showed up an hour and a half after I landed. I spent most of that time in a little bar, nursing a margarita and attempting to get a hold of my crazed emotions.
A part of me wanted to fly straight back to New York and punch Chase in the face. Another part wanted to give him a chance to explain. The third part of me wanted to run to Jeff and beg him to take me back. The fourth and, at that moment, the strongest part wanted to just forget both of them and bury my head in the sand.
Being pulled in four different directions emotionally is confusing and exhausting.
Jamie is really my only friend aside from Jeff. We've been roommates for nearly three years now, through two moves, several tragedies between the two of us, and innumerable break-ups, mostly on her end. She's a serial dater. She's the girl who has a new boyfriend every few weeks or months, but nothing is ever serious and she rarely ever gets truly emotional about breaking up with them. They're just hook-ups for her. I've never understood how she can go from guy to guy and not get attached. She claims they're fun for a while, but then she gets bored.
I'm not that type. I get attached. My thing with Chase should've been just a fling: fun for a while, then over. I shouldn't have been devastated when I found him in the alley with those girls. But I was. I felt betrayed and confused. And now, with a couple thousand miles between us, I realized I'd been stupid to think it ever could have been anything for Chase but what it was: a fun distraction. He talked a good game, made it seem like he realy cared, like it meant something to him.
He was a rock star, and I was his flavor of the week.
I'd turned my phone on to cal Jamie, after having turned it off in the airport so I wouldn't hear Chase's deluge of texts and calls trying to explain away his bullshit.
I scrolled through the missed call log: he'd called me eighteen times and left ten voicemails. I dialed my voicemail and started hitting the "seven" button: delete, delete, delete. I couldn't help hearing snatches of the messages:
"Anna, I know what you think you saw, but please, give me a chance to explain. It wasn't—"
Delete.
"Goddammit, Anna. You have to listen. Please answer the phone—"
Delete.
"Seriously, Anna. It's not what you thought. I swear—"
Delete.
"Anna, for fuck's sake—"
Delete.
"Anna, this is the last message I'll leave. You're not answering, and your phone's going straight to voicemail,
© 2012 Jasinda Wilder
ORLY Press www.orlypress.com
This story you're ogling on your hot little digital device is 14,400 words, or 58 book pages long.
WARNING: This story contains super-hot sex, M/F. For adults, 18+ only.
BIG GIRLS DO IT ON TOP
I'm not the crying type. I've been through too much in my life to go bawling every time something shitty happens. I cried when my dad died a few years ago, and I cried when my dog died when I was thirteen. Not much else in between, mainly because everything else in my life just kept coming, one thing after another, and if I started crying, I'd never have stopped.
I sobbed all the way from New York to Detroit. I did it quietly, face to the window. My seat mate, an older woman with salt and pepper hair and a ridiculously adorable button nose, asked me what was wrong, but I just shrugged and kept my face to the window, watching the clouds pass by. She sighed and muttered something rude, then went back to her issue of People.
I wasn't sure exactly what I was going to do in Detroit. I knew I had to face Jeff, but I couldn't bear the thought of doing so right away. I knew I'd hurt him badly. I knew he'd be pissed when I finally got the balls to talk to him. Knowing Jeff, he wouldn't have a lot to say, but his thick, tense silence would speak volumes.
When my plane landed, I had no one to pick me up. My mom lived in Flint, and we didn't get along. Jeff was part of my problems. The only choice left was Jamie. She showed up an hour and a half after I landed. I spent most of that time in a little bar, nursing a margarita and attempting to get a hold of my crazed emotions.
A part of me wanted to fly straight back to New York and punch Chase in the face. Another part wanted to give him a chance to explain. The third part of me wanted to run to Jeff and beg him to take me back. The fourth and, at that moment, the strongest part wanted to just forget both of them and bury my head in the sand.
Being pulled in four different directions emotionally is confusing and exhausting.
Jamie is really my only friend aside from Jeff. We've been roommates for nearly three years now, through two moves, several tragedies between the two of us, and innumerable break-ups, mostly on her end. She's a serial dater. She's the girl who has a new boyfriend every few weeks or months, but nothing is ever serious and she rarely ever gets truly emotional about breaking up with them. They're just hook-ups for her. I've never understood how she can go from guy to guy and not get attached. She claims they're fun for a while, but then she gets bored.
I'm not that type. I get attached. My thing with Chase should've been just a fling: fun for a while, then over. I shouldn't have been devastated when I found him in the alley with those girls. But I was. I felt betrayed and confused. And now, with a couple thousand miles between us, I realized I'd been stupid to think it ever could have been anything for Chase but what it was: a fun distraction. He talked a good game, made it seem like he realy cared, like it meant something to him.
He was a rock star, and I was his flavor of the week.
I'd turned my phone on to cal Jamie, after having turned it off in the airport so I wouldn't hear Chase's deluge of texts and calls trying to explain away his bullshit.
I scrolled through the missed call log: he'd called me eighteen times and left ten voicemails. I dialed my voicemail and started hitting the "seven" button: delete, delete, delete. I couldn't help hearing snatches of the messages:
"Anna, I know what you think you saw, but please, give me a chance to explain. It wasn't—"
Delete.
"Goddammit, Anna. You have to listen. Please answer the phone—"
Delete.
"Seriously, Anna. It's not what you thought. I swear—"
Delete.
"Anna, for fuck's sake—"
Delete.
"Anna, this is the last message I'll leave. You're not answering, and your phone's going straight to voicemail,
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