Snapshot (Lessons in Love Book 2)

Present Day

Las Vegas

The dim glow of the small TV is the only light in my bedroom. Alan kisses me on my temple before pulling me tighter into his bare chest. My bed creaks loudly, even at the most subtle movements. This mattress has seen better days, that’s for sure. But replacing it is low on the priority list. First, see a dentist for my aching molar. Next, figure out why my car is making that wheezing sound. Third, replace my mattress.

Actually, scratch that. Before replacing my mattress, I really need to look into a new living situation. I share a tiny apartment with my roommate, Grace. She’s a little quiet, definitely a wallflower, but she’s kind and considerate. Oftentimes, she picks me up a soda and a candy bar when she swings by the gas station. She leaves it on the kitchen counter, always with the same little note: For my favorite roomie. It’s sweet, but I highly suspect it’s a bribe, so I don’t go poking my nose into her business. I am almost certain Grace is not her real name and that she’s using her room to store the drugs she distributes.

I can’t be certain. I’m not in the business of raiding people’s rooms when they’re away. Nor am I a snitch. As long as I don’t see any dead bodies or questionable sleepy-eyed women going in and out of my apartment, my lips are sealed. It’s Las Vegas. The city of sin. Everybody is drunk, high, or some combination of the two. It could all be in my head, and blue-eyed, blond-haired, sweet Grace is really just a normal roommate who happens to have four burner phones and pill cutters in every color.

I highly doubt it, though. I’m pretty positive she’s dealing prescription drugs.

Alan lets out a low hum, a sheepish, satisfied smile on his face. “I think that was our best sex ever.”

“Definitely.” Liar. I silently scold myself. Just tell him the truth. He’s sweet, handsome, polite…and has never once given you an orgasm. Maybe I just need to hold his hand through more adventurous stuff. Perhaps he’s waiting for an invitation. “I have an idea,” I say.

“What idea, Lennox?” he asks.

Lennox? That’s another thing… Alan always calls me by my name, and it makes me feel like I’m in trouble. Okay, this is actually a good first step to opening this conversation. I won’t tell him about the leather cuffs and anal beads I have in the back of my closet yet, but I can tell him I am a sucker for cutesy names.

I kiss his pec and nuzzle against his chest. “Hey, you know, you’re welcome to call me nicknames if you like. I’m not one of those girls who doesn’t like pet names. I think they’re sweet, and they make me feel adored.”

“Nicknames?” Alan asks.

“Yeah,” I say, snuggling deeper into him. “Like baby, sexy, sugar, sweetheart, angel…anything really. Whatever feels natural.”

“Oh.” His brows knit together. “I uh…okay. I can try that if you’d like. It’s just you have such a pretty name, I love to use it.”

I exhale in exasperation. Therein lies the problem. Alan says and does everything right. Why aren’t we connecting in that way? It’s been over a year, and it’s still awkward. Does he feel it, too? Is he faking it as well?

“What was your idea…um…Muffin?”

Muffin? Oh God. This nickname thing is going to take some work. “I was thinking, maybe I grab you a snack from the kitchen, we cuddle for a little longer, and then round two?” I waggle my eyebrows at him. “Me on top?”

“You’re full of energy,” Alan says with a worried-looking smile. You’d think I just suggested we snort a line and go base jumping.

“I’d love to be full of something,” I say, winking.

His face falls in confusion. “Oh, right. You mentioned a snack. Are you hungry?”

The poor man is clueless about dirty talk.

“Sorry, bad joke. Never mind. But if you’re hungry, I have a new bag of Funyuns in the pantry. And Grace left me a couple of Cokes in the fridge.”

Alan sits up, causing me to slide off his chest. I wiggle upward to cuddle against his side again. “Not the most nutritious dinner choice. Is that all you have?”

I nod wordlessly.

“How about I bring some groceries by tomorrow morning? Sprouts is on my way back here. I’ll pick up a fruit tray.” I flash him a tepid smile at best. He winks and adds, “And the cream cheese fruit dip you like.”

“My hero.” I strain to press my lips against his. He pecks me, but I linger. So he awkwardly pecks me again, then pulls away.

He clears his throat. “You love that dip so much. I should keep it at my place, too. Maybe it’ll get you to eat a little more fruit.”

“And veggies,” I say. “I dip baby carrots into that stuff, too.”

“Gross,” he teases.

We used to stay at Alan’s house predominantly. It’s much bigger. My apartment is similar to the cardboard boxes you find puppies in at yard sales. Just enough room to wiggle your ass and spin around. But we crash here because Alan’s roommate recently got a girlfriend, and they’re loud when they have sex. My boyfriend considers them lewd. Me? I’m a little jealous.

Through the paper-thin walls, I’ve heard them fuck, and I’ve also heard them make love. They seem to connect on every single level. The way I wish I was connecting with Alan.

I let my fingers tiptoe down his chest but before I can reach beneath the covers, he grabs my hand. “Len—I mean, Muffin, aren’t you exhausted? We were at it for almost half an hour.” He pulls my hand up to his lips and kisses my palm. “Anyway, I have to get home and take a shower. It’s end-of-month inventory. I need to be at work a little early so I’m done in time for my shift.”

“Such an overachiever,” I mutter, crossing my legs, trying to ignore the familiar ache that won’t be relieved.

“Actually, my boss thinks so too,” Alan says, with an odd look on his face. “He offered me a raise.”

“That’s great. Good for you,” I say, patting his hand. I’m trying to be enthusiastic, but I’m distracted by the itch that most definitely wasn’t scratched. And as soon as Alan leaves, I can finish the job in private with my vibrator. “You deserve it more than anybody.”

“The raise comes with a promotion to general night manager.”

That gets my full attention. I shoot up in bed, the covers falling down, exposing my breasts. “Alan. That’s amazing. You’ve been waiting for this for so long. I’m so happy for you.” I wrap my arm around his broad chest and rub his shoulder in an awkward hug with my breasts smashed against his side.

“Thank you. And hey, there’s a front desk concierge position open during the day shift. I could put in a good word for you at my company.”

“Eh… Won’t that be a problem, seeing as you’re about to be the manager and we’re dating?”

“No, not if you’re on day shift. I wouldn’t be your direct manager. Camden Hotels has really good benefits, and they do career mapping. If you wanted to switch over to corporate eventually, they’d help. There’s a lot you can do in corporate—finance, marketing, accounting. They even offer tuition assistance if you want to go to school.”

Grimacing, I run my hands through my hair, catching the few loose strands that break free. They’re dark. My natural shade, but against the colorful glow of the TV screen, they almost look purple again. I really miss my purple hair. On our first date, Alan mentioned that flamboyant hair colors were fun but a little childish. Looking back, I’m not sure if he was merely commenting or if it was a not-so-subtle hint about my blue streaks at the time. Regardless, my hair has remained its natural jet-black for a year now since we officially became boyfriend and girlfriend.

“Thank you for thinking of me. But I need a break from customer service for a while. I’m seeing Avery tomorrow. I bet she has some ideas. Don’t worry about me.”

“Okay, just let me know if I can help.” After kissing the top of my head, he crawls out of bed. He covers his bare ass when he stands in a show of modesty. Once his boxers are pulled on, he turns around and smiles at me. “You look very pretty.”

“Thank you, babe.”

His smile goes from wide to small, and then his face turns anguished as he switches on the bedside lamp. “Since we’re being honest about things…”

“Yeah?” I ask.

“I’m happy to call you whatever you like, um…Dumpling.”

Why did I open my mouth about nicknames? This is even more uncomfortable.

“Okay, I appreciate you trying,” I say.

“But, for me, I prefer Alan. Is that all right? I’ve never been into pet names or any of that stuff.”

“What stuff?”

He grimaces. “Like flaunting your relationship. Public displays of affection. I think what we do in private should be private.”

I glance over his deep blue eyes and neatly trimmed sandy-blond hair. He really is beautiful. “Oh, okay, sure. I understand.”

His smile returns. “Great. I like that we can talk about this stuff. I love you.”

“I love you too,” I reply, but the words feel empty. I do love Alan. I want to make him happy. I’m loyal, protective, and thoughtful. But I’m not hungry for him. Is this grownup love? Is maturity choosing what’s good for me, regardless of what I’m actually craving?

Once he’s fully dressed, he heads towards the door, leaving me behind, still naked and half-tucked under the sheets. “I’ll lock the front door so you can stay cozy as long as you like. I’ll see you in the morning,” he says. So considerate.

“Have a good night at work.”

I wait until I hear the front door close.

Then, the eager butterflies flutter in my chest as I open my nightstand drawer to find my sleek black vibrating clit stimulator. Magic little device. Relief is just moments away.

I flick on the vibration to the lowest settings and strip the sheets from my body, feeling the cool air kissing my nipples. I hate having sex under the covers. It’s like trying to fuck in a straightjacket. What’s there to be ashamed about when you love someone? When you’re sharing your body with someone you trust, it should feel like a playground. Every breath should be held in anticipation until it hurts. Every touch should feel dangerous, like a salacious dare. Every time you lock eyes is an invitation to go one step further than you had before. Sex should be invigorating. A treasure, a treat, not a chore to endure.

I’m religious about cleaning my vibrators so I can take my time and use them all over. It’s the teasing that really gets me. First, I place the suction divot in the hollow behind my ear. A few seconds later, I’m dragging it down my neck, fantasizing about plush lips leaving a trail of kisses down to my collarbone. Goose bumps begin to rise.

My breath quickens, and the images start to flash through my head. I stay focused on Alan’s face, but it quickly morphs into the man who has been occupying my hidden thoughts for years now.

It always happens like this, and I hate myself for it. Because I don’t see Alan’s blond hair and blue eyes. I try to keep him at the forefront of my mind. But instead, as it always goes, I picture my fists closing around thick tufts of jet-black hair. Hazel eyes—green in small patches, honey-brown in others—hold my gaze. I see the smile that starts in his eyes, spreading to his lips.

As I graze my nipples one by one with the vibrator, I think about Dex’s mouth on them. What it’d feel like. I wonder whether he’s the kind of guy to gently flick his tongue or suck mercilessly. In my fantasy, he’s a different Dex, and I’m a different Lennox. I want him, he wants me, and there aren’t so many obstacles in the way. Like friendship. The excuse he’s used to keep me at arm’s length for three years now.

Friendship. The thing I say I’m satisfied with.

And I am in real life. I truly do care about Dex as a friend. I’d do anything for him.

But in the sanctity of my mind?

His large hands are all-fucking-over my body.

And the mere thought of it is almost enough to make me come.

My clit is aching by the time the vibrator is resting just below my belly button. I bite my lip hard, making myself wait, staying in the fantasy for just a moment longer. I wonder what he’d say to me right now. Is Dex powerful and possessive in the bedroom? Or sweet and tender? If he wanted me like that, would we make love…or fuck?

I guess I’ll never get to know.

The vibrator barely contacts my wet clit before I’m sent. I groan loudly in pleasure at my surging climax. No one is here, so I let loose, whimpering, mewling, wishing these were the sounds I made with Alan. I bring him to the forefront of my mind, focusing on my boyfriend, feeling too guilty coming to the thought of a different man.

Stay, Alan. Stay with me.

When I hear his voice through the haze, saying my name, I’m certain for once my forced fantasy worked. It doesn’t always, so I’m relieved. At least I’m hearing the right man’s voice. But then he speaks again, and it sounds a little too real.

“Lennox?”

Yanked from my post-orgasmic high, I fly up into a sitting position to see Alan standing in the doorway. The bedroom door that was previously closed is flung wide open. My jaw drops. As if he didn’t just see my entire display of theatrics, I hastily tuck my vibrator behind my back. I clamp my knees together, closing my legs and hiding my swollen sex. But I don’t say anything as I try to gauge his expression.

There’s no misunderstanding the look on his face. It’s hurt and bewilderment mixed with a lot of embarrassment.Content rights by NôvelDr//ama.Org.

“I wasn’t spying on you,” he says, pointing to the nightstand. “I forgot my wallet. I knocked, but I don’t think you heard.”

I glance to my right, and sure enough, his worn black wallet is lying on my plastic nightstand. Grasping the edge of my sheets, I pull them up and cover my naked body as best I can before grabbing his wallet off the nightstand. Holding it out to him, I say, “I didn’t think you were spying on me.”

Why am I panicking? I didn’t do anything wrong, did I? Okay, it’s wrong to fantasize about another man, but who gets to govern my thoughts? I can’t even control them myself. God, I wish he’d make a joke to comfort me right now. Something like, “Well, that was quite a show.” Or, “If I wasn’t late for work, I’d join you for another round.” But it’s Alan, so all he does is politely take his wallet and avoid my gaze.

“I’ll lock up again behind me. Have a good night, Lennox.”

He doesn’t wait for my response.

And it dawns on me as he closes the door that the nicknames are gone, and we’re already back to Lennox.

Except it’s appropriate.

Because right now, I do actually believe I’m in trouble.