Monk by Ivy Black

Chapter Seven

Kasey

The early morning light slants in through the blinds. I watch as motes of dust dance through the golden beam of light, hearing my dad moving around downstairs as he gets ready for work. It’s not long before I hear the front door close, and a few moments later, he gets into his SUV and fires up the engine.

Laying there, I listen to the rumbling of the motor fading away, and I suddenly feel the emptiness of the house. Everything is so perfectly silent and still. It’s almost like being in a vacuum. Back when I was a kid, there was always a presence about being here. The house never felt empty, even when they weren’t here. My mom and dad made this a warm and loving home for us that was always filled with laughter, and of course… love.

Rolling over, I prop myself up on an elbow and open the top drawer of my nightstand, looking for what secret treasures I kept all those years ago. After rummaging around in it a little, I stumble upon my old diary buried under the pile of junk in my drawer. With a smile on my face, I pull it out and start to flip through the pages, marveling at the trivial things I thought were life-altering crises back in the day. A few of the entries are so overwrought and emotional, I can’t help but laugh.

At the back of the diary is a stack of pictures tied together with a red ribbon that’s faded over the years. The ribbon unfurls when I give it a pull, and the pictures slip out. The nostalgia is thick as I look at my pictures with some of my old girlfriends. Some of them are at school functions, others are just candid shots from different places. It’s quite the blast from the past and a fun trip down memory lane.

I stop, when I get to the last picture in the stack. My heart lurches in my chest, and my belly starts to roil with a thick feeling. In the photo, I am standing next to Jacob Tulowisky. He was—and arguably still is—the greatest love of my life. He’s the man who got me to open my heart to him… and then vanished. Disappeared from my life, and as far as I know, simply dropped off the face of the earth altogether.

This was back in the days before they even had a name for what he did. Today, everyone knows what it’s called, but back then, we just called it a really shitty thing to do. Setting everything else on the nightstand, I lie back in bed, the picture in my hand, and look at his face, recalling the way his full lips felt pressed to my lips, and the way his body, taut with corded muscles felt against mine.

It was Jacob’s eyes that were my favorite part of him. They were crystalline blue, so light they were almost silver. And intense. They were always so intense. But then, so was he. It was one of the things that drew me to him. Jacob was my first… everything. First kiss. First love. First sex. He was my world for a while.

Even now, despite all the years between then and now, and the anger I still carry toward him, just seeing his face puts a hitch in my heart. As I look into those intense eyes of his, even in a photograph, the emotions that well within me are overwhelming. They’re as visceral today as they were more than a decade ago. And I can’t help but recall that I lost my virginity to Jacob in this very bed.

As I shut everything else out and think about that night, I feel a warmth that starts in my belly and quickly spreads through me. It’s not difficult to push through all of the negative and focus only on the way he once made me feel. Jacob has always lived in my fantasies and has remained my ideal man. A generous lover, and a good man, with a good heart.

I remember everything about that night—how he smelled, how his mouth felt on my body, how he felt inside of me—I remember it all in vivid detail. The warmth spreads like wildfire and a sensual quiver ripples through my intimate parts. As the heat between my thighs grows, I drop the picture, Jacob’s face fixed firmly in my mind—as it always has been—and push my panties down around my thighs.

Closing my eyes tight, I bite my bottom lip and slip my hand between my legs. My fingers strum my clit, swollen and throbbing, sending electric jolts through me. Circling my button with the fingers of my left hand, a long moan passes my lips as I slide my right hand down and slip two fingers past my velvety folds, piercing my molten core.

I picture his face, hovering above me, that intense gaze holding mine. Picturing him inside me as I plunge my fingers deep into my center sets off explosions of pleasure within me. Pressing my head back against my pillows, I cry out, my left hand still strumming my clit, playing it like a virtuoso as I continue driving the fingers of my right hand into me.

“Jacob, yes baby,” I gasp. “Yes.”

The memory of being with him is so vibrant, I can practically feel his mouth on my pussy. Feel his cock deep into me. My nose is filled with the scent of his skin, his cologne, and my whole body tingles, sending goosebumps marching along my skin as I remember the feeling of his touch.

The pressure is building up low within me and I know I’m getting close. Part of me wants to prolong this, enjoying the sensations coursing through my body. But there’s a small part of my mind that’s afraid I won’t hear my dad come home, and I really don’t want him to walk in and find me in this position.

Flashing back to my memories of sex with Jacob, I see myself on top of him, grinding down on him and riding him hard. I’m so wet, my fingers slide into me with ease. I pump them into me harder and faster, my entire body trembling with desire. The fingers of my left hand keep flicking and circling my clit, making me writhe on the bed.

Gasps and whimpers of pleasure echo around my room. My heart is racing, and my breathing is labored, my entire body feeling like it’s on fire. I see his face, tight with pleasure, and his eyes burn with intensity as they bore into mine. In my mind’s eye, his body moves in a sinuous and sensual rhythm and as my fingers plumb the depths of my own sex, it feels as if my every muscle clenches tight.

“Oh god, yes,” I groan.

Gritting my teeth, I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on the memory of his toned, hard body on top of me, the memory of him so deep and vivid. And with my fingers working their magic, I cry out as I reach my crescendo. For a moment, I feel totally weightless, my body hanging suspended in that moment just before you plunge down the steepest hill on a roller coaster.

The groan that escapes me is long, throaty, and sensual. As I tremble and writhe, every cell in my body pulsing with carnal energy, I clamp my hands over my mouth, trying to stifle the scream that wants to come out. The image of Jacob’s face in the throes of ecstasy are fixed in my mind, and the explosion of pleasure is as intense as his silvery-blue gaze.

Leaning back against my pillows, my body quivering and twitching, I let the ecstasy of a powerful orgasm and comforting memories wash over me. I let out a long breath and my pulse finally starts to slow. But as I start to settle down and the remnants of my orgasm fade to a dull sense of bliss, the reality of my life comes crashing back in.

Jacob is nothing more than a fantasy, albeit one that’s sustained me through years of an uninspired rut with Spencer. But the reality is that Jacob is just the idealized memory of a boy who lives in my mind—a boy who promised me the world and gave me nothing but misery and heartache.