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As Rose’s dress slipped off her shoulders and onto the landing of the stairs above him, all Shane could think about was him.
His thoughts should be consumed with his beautiful girlfriend, who makes him laugh. Who eases him out of his comfort zone with easy smiles and even easier conversations. But at this moment, Shane is still trapped in the club they had just left. With Ilya.
She saunters up the stairs like his silence is just a game they are playing. The role of seductress and seduced. She doesn’t see the absolute dread filling Shane as he slowly follows her up.
He thinks of the way Ilya’s eyes had pinned him in place, despite the girl he was with writhing against him. He tries not to think of the way that Shane pinned Ilya against the glass wall of the landing where Rose’s dress lies abandoned.
He doesn’t think of how Ilya turned them around, forced his wrists next his head, and kissed him so gently.
Rose is already lounging in his bed by the time he got to the room, her black bra already discarded at the doorway. Her hand teases so playfully at the edges of her thong, her fingertips barely dipping lower.
As he stands there, he tries not to think about him.
As he walks forward and starts to crawl over her, he tries not to think about him.
As he kisses Rose, he tries not to think about how soft Ilya’s lips were.
She kisses him hard, already tired of the little game she initiated on the stairs, hands sliding under his shirt, pushing it up.
Shane tries not to think about the last time Ilya was here. How he was the one tosed on the bed, how Ilya was the to crawl over him and kiss him so deeply. How Shane was the one dying with need to get him shirtless.
She quickens the pace. His shirt is gone one moment, his belt the next. She trails butterfly kisses down his neck as he slides his hand into her hair. It’s too long.
Rose continues down his chest to his abs. And he knows where she intends to end.
He pulls her up to kiss her roughly.
Her hands are grasping at him with want and desire and all Shane wants is for all of this to stop.
But this was what he wanted, wasn’t it?
So he closes his eyes and leans forward, gently pushing her back onto his bed. He pushes the waistband of his jeans down, lets them pile on the ground, leaving them there.
Doesn’t think of how Ilya loved to watch him fold his clothes awkwardly, that infuriating smirk on his face, but saying nothing.
He is left only in his boxers and his socks, his cock only half hard, interested in a way that there was something sexual happening, but nothing deeper.
Shane grabs himself like he was too excited, like just the mere fact that kissing Rose had gotten him so close.
He was hoping the extra stimulation could get him to that point.
Again, she was watching him with that smile of hers. Shane hoped that he was preforming well, that she didn’t see any of the conflict running through his head. That she couldn’t sense the ghosts of the last time he was here with someone else.
They were kissing again, pressed against each other in an awkward embrace, her long nails clawing at his back while Shane gingerly grasped her hips. They broke apart and locked eyes. She grabbed his hand and moved it lower.
She was wet and warm through her underwear, and Shane’s mind raced to remember what to do next. It had been years since he was with a woman, his last girlfriend being from high school. So he pressed his hand against her heat and let her grind against it.
Rose lets out a soft moan. He hoped that he was doing well. He tried not to think about how natural it was with Ilya, how reactive he was when Shane would grab his dick through his boxers and he would hiss through his teeth, and buck into his hand, and Shane would have to swallow his saliva to prevent him from just taking him in his mouth then and there.
Shane was getting hard just from the memory and the guilt was eating him alive.
She was getting impatient. He could tell. She whimpered into his neck and grabbed his hand. Rose quickly took off her thong and threw it who knows where. Someplace to be collected in the morning.
She could stay the night. She was his girlfriend. That was allowed.
Rose was beautiful. With her long hair and her nice breasts and her neatly trimmed pubic hair and she was staring at him with eyes full of adoration.
And Shane felt nothing. No, not nothing, he tried to mentally correct himself. He felt something, but try as he may, he could not find anything to fuel the fire of desire within him.
So he leaned into another kiss and with trembling hands he reached for her again. They kissed while he trailed his fingers against her, feeling the wet, slick, heat of her want, it feeling familiar but just not quite right. He rubbed her clit with his thumb gently, hands still shaking with what he hope she perceived as nerves.
She clench down on his middle finger one he entered her and paused on how strange and different and oh so familiar it felt.
He tried not to think about how he would open himself up for Ilya, or how Ilya would finger him. About the absolute bliss he would feel, the need to ram himself down on Ilya’s hand begging for more, for him to reach deep down in him and touch that one spot that sent his body into convulsions.
He wondered if Rose was feeling the same way right now. He felt sick knowing he could never tell her that he loved that feeling too.
He adds another finger, and then a third. She’s moaning against his mouth, panting these soft little breaths. He can’t take it. He kisses her to stop it, can’t baring the fact that her voice is so high and light and not deep and ragged how he wishes it was.
He thinks back to the club. The way Ilya was looking at him. His eyes cutting through the darkness, piercing into him, and he finally feels himself grow fully hard and he hates himself so much in that moment.
He returns to the moment when he feels her hand wrap around him through his boxers, her hands so much smaller than he expected that he jolts with the disconnect.
She laughs into his mouth. Rose probably thinks that he’s just a jumpy virgin, star struck and horny and utterly confused on how this is supposed to go. He sees an out, a perfect explanation for his behavior, for his hesitancy.
She can never know that he’s well practiced in skills that will never apply to her. Techniques and movements and sounds and lovemaking that he will neatly fold into a box and never use again.
Rose pulls him on top of her, him between her legs that quickly fold and rest on his lower back, ready for the main event. Shane swallows hard. He leans back, pushing his boxers down, freeing his dick and awkwardly shuffling them down his thighs to his knees. Her legs don’t move from his sides, so he has to reach over them to fully pull of his underwear, throwing them next to his jeans.
She’s looking up at him, smiling wide, the corner of her eyes crinkling. He tries to match her, but can tell that his mask is not fully there, the unease in him bleeding through the edges. He leans back down and kisses her again.
Then her hand is directly touching his cock, guiding it forward, and Shane is so happy that this will be finally over.
Next thing he knows he is thrusting into her, moving his hips in ways he never has before. Arms braced next her head, her hands clutching at his short hair, her legs tightening behind his back. She whispers sweet words into his ears, encouraging, but he can’t hear her over the ringing in his ears.
Shane tries to stay in the moment, enjoy the feeling of feeling the wet warm heat of his girlfriend around him, inside and out, but all he can think of is Ilya. Still only Ilya.
Again he is back in that club, only this time Ilya is not dancing with that girl. He is just there, watching him. For a second he’s in Vegas again, Ilya sitting across from him, his eyes burning, his cock straining against his pants, breathing heavily. All because of him.
Rose whispers into his ear that she’s close and he is too. Then and now and all of those moments bleed together as he searches for his release.
He groans into her long hair, darker than Ilya’s, and has to trap the name he’s only gasped out once behind his teeth.
She comes undone beneath him and he closely follows, a million miles away.
He is still at that club. He knows he will always be at that club. Till the memory becomes worn and distorted like a well loved photograph stored in a box, hidden away, but always on his mind.
“Shane,” she says, gasping for air.
He kisses her instead of answering.