Felix

Fuck Olivia Hernandez!

And why can I no longer tell if I mean that literally or figuratively? I turn our interaction in my head over and over again, trying to identify any potential cracks in my armor, any strays from my plan.

I did fine, even by my paranoid standards. I caught her at the perfect time, on the ground and embarrassed out of her mind. But that made her seem... human.

She likes dogs. She treated the animals with care and was genuinely scared when some of them went missing. I could tell it wasn't even fear generated by potentially losing a job. No, she truly cared about those animals and for a moment there, I was enthralled by the goodness inside her heart.

Fortunately, she decided to lie to me right after, and that brought me back to Earth.

It got me wondering, though. What would have happened if she hadn't lied? If she'd told me about her lame job and how she's still struggling to outgrow high school. But then again, if she were that person, I wouldn't be in this position, trying to get revenge on her and destroy her.

As I walk away from the park, my fists clenched in my pockets, my mind starts doing cartwheels.

I left my job in San Diego the moment I got the publishing deal for my book. The advance payment was supposed to fund my lifestyle as I beat my book into shape and wrote more. But then my uncle's inheritance fell in my lap, so now I'm buried in both money and time. It only gives me more time to obsess over my Olivia problem, and I don't want to think about her anymore.

I fish the phone out of my pocket and dial Maya. It goes straight to voicemail and I realize she's most likely at work, like any sane person. I try Derek next, but he's not answering either, so I stop trying to call people with actual jobs at four in the afternoon.

Instead, I head to the local office of my late uncle's real estate business. The main headquarters are in San Diego, but he had an office in every little town on the Golden Coast. He also left me very detailed instructions regarding how I can just sit on my ass and wait for the money to pile up from rent and development prices.

I have a business and employees without knowing anything about them. When he died, I swore to myself that I would learn everything there was to know in order to continue his legacy. Three months later, I know very little and I'm distracted out of my mind.

I need to cool off and stop thinking about Olivia. Until I can be around people who can talk some sanity into me, I decide to just disappear inside my new office and write.

Writing is good. Writing is my career and what I want to do after this whole Olivia business ends. And it will be over sooner rather than later. I saw the way she was looking at me, with bedroom eyes. She'd let me fuck her in an instant. I just need to resist a little longer.

I open my current work in progress and sail to the last paragraph. Unlike last time when I poured my frustration into the book, I'm trying for a coming-of-age story dealing with corporate greed, the choices one must face in life, and the potential toxicity of family. All realistic and reasonable problems that need to be faced by the majority of young adults.

Such a book will make an impact and better lives. It will delve into the feelings and needs of the many. It will be art.

All I have to do is finish writing it and pitch it to publishers. Easy.

If only I could get Olivia off my brain for a few hours.

I shake my head and take a deep breath, trying to focus my creative juices. Then I close my eyes, and place my fingers on the keyboard. The keys feel so familiar under my fingertips, like tiny liferafts keeping me afloat. I begin to write.

The moment he stepped inside the house, he knew something was wrong. The dishes were no longer in the sink, piled up, but clean, on the counter. That never happened, not lately. The change sent a shiver through his body and he stood frozen, listening for a sign that would indicate danger.

Heavy footsteps, the rattling roll of a vodka bottle... The hazel of Olivia's eyes.

I stare at the words. I blink, then stare again. They're still there.

Why is Olivia's name in my novel? I don't have a character named Olivia. I don't have any female character in this scene between my protagonist and his drunk, abusive father.

And yet, Olivia's name mocks me, together with the color of her eyes. The almond shape of them and how they darken when she's thinking naughty thoughts. Her curves, the way her jeans molded over her hips, so much more real than the fancy dress. The taste of her skin...

Ack, I really need to get her out of my system. But as much as I try to purge her from my thoughts through sheer willpower, it's obviously not working. If writing the most depressing scene in the world isn't doing the trick, nothing will.

I stare at the offending words and a sense of determination settles over me. I think there's only one way to purge her without my plan going to shit and without having to find someone else to sleep with. That would take much too long and I don't have the time.

Knees shaking, I get up and lock the door before returning to my seat. My skin crawls with what I'm about to do, but I'm sure it will work. All that sex I've been having since college has spoiled my body, and now it's hard for me to go so long without release.

Fortunately, my imagination is plentiful.

I sit back down and begin writing again, letting my fingers run over the keyboard.

Her eyes were hooded with desire as she looked at me and I could tell she wanted me, even if to satiate her selfish desires. She would grow bored with me and leave the moment she got what she wanted. Only that this time, what she wanted fit my agenda.

I didn't care about her. I didn't care that she would leave and never look back. I just wanted her body. The softness of her skin, the taste of her breasts. So large and enticing, a perfect fit for my hands.

She unbuttoned her shirt, the smile on her face predatory. I unbuttoned mine in return. She wasn't wearing anything underneath and I could already see myself pleasuring her in every way imaginable, touching every yearning inch of her.

I could see it in my mind, the sweat dripping down our bodies as I planted myself inside her and took her against the wall, thrusting harder and harder until she screamed out my name. Until I finally find release and bury my face in her hair.

I can feel her curling around me, her legs tight against my hips, pushing herself onto me, riding me until I can take no more. I can hear her panting. I can feel her hot skin under my fingers.

Oh God, would she feel this good in real life? Would she askdja;nsdaaaa

My breath shudders and my entire body tenses. I shut my eyes as tightly as possible, trying to get a hold of myself, but I can't. My imagination went too far. Much too far. I see her in my mind kneeling before me, undoing my jeans. I can feel her around me and I'm so hard, I'm in agony.

How, when I hate her? How can she bring this out in me? How can I be so aroused just thinking about her?

I thought writing about it would get it out of my system. It just planted her deeper and now I feel I will explode if I don't have her. Because of her dress, of the night of the reunion, of the way she looked at me mere hours ago. I know it's there. Her intentions are clear. I'm the one denying her, except I wasn't aware that I'm also denying myself.

"Fuck..." I breathe out, trying to regain a semblance of control.

I could finish this myself, but I know for a fact it won't work. It would be nothing but a sad substitute for the woman I can still imagine coming undone around me. Why is my imagination so fucking vivid?

This is starting to hurt me and I swore I would never let her do that to me again. All the good advice I seeked and received from people who care about me, all my careful planning... It fades in the face of the primal needs of my body. I'm not an animal. I can control myself. I can...

A cold sheen settles over me, protecting me from the overwhelming heat, as a new line of thought fills my mind. It's enough to calm me down and make the arousal bearable.

After all, why not? Why should I deny myself this? Who am I punishing here?

Fuck the plan.

Hands still shaking, and throbbing all over, I grab my phone off the table and make another call.

She answers almost immediately. "Hello?" She sounds uncertain, wondering why I called her hours after we saw each other when last time I ignored her for days. I don't care. Let her be confused. It will be over soon.

"Hi, Olivia," I say smoothly. "Got home alright?"

"Yes, sure." She now sounds happy. Pleased that her charms finally worked on me. Confused why they did when I found her groveling in the dirt. "How about you?"

Small talk. Oh, how low you've fallen. I don't care. All the better because I don't want to talk to her.

"I'm at the office and I was thinking about you." I look down at my crotch which refuses to calm the fuck down. If anything, the prospect of living the fantasy makes me even more excited.

"Were you now?" Her voice is a flirty purr. She thinks she has the upper hand, and I want to give it to her this time.

"I was, and it's exactly what you're thinking." I lean over the desk, getting ready to say something I never thought would come out of my mouth. "I'm so hard, it hurts."

There's silence on the other end of the line, like I knew there would be. I press backspace to delete the garbage I just wrote, and wait. She's taking much too long. I know I shocked her, but I'm not in the mindset to be reasonable.

"Um, Felix... Are you...?"

"Fantasizing about you? You can bet your sweet ass I am. Just went a bit overboard, that's all."

There's another pause as she probably wonders if she should keep up the lady act or fall into naughty conversation with me. I know it will be the latter.

"You don't say. And what was I doing in this fantasy of yours?"

I falter. A part of me wants to lay it down in exquisite detail, but knowing I won't see the look on her face stops me. Besides, I'm getting antsy.

"Let's just say it involved you kneeling before me and taking my pants off."

I realize my mistake when her tone changes.

"Oh, you don't say."

Yep, blowing me is not her fantasy. She wants to be the pampered princess, and I hate myself for being okay with that. I should be doing what I want, asserting my dominance. I was always so bad at that and I don't think that's changed yet.

"It doesn't mean I'm not open to more."

She huffs, and I can't tell if she's amused or annoyed. She's definitely not turned on, though, and that makes this entire conversation a failure. I should hang up. But I'm still throbbing all over and I'm not going to let her get away with this. Fuck my embarrassment.

"Look, Olivia." My tone is firm and business-like now. "The Felix you knew is gone. I'm not that little geeky boy anymore. I'm a man and I can recognize an interested woman when I see one. I can also recognize when I want to fuck her. So if you're game, I'd like to take you out tonight."

My mouth hurts, but at the same time, it feels good to speak the truth without filters, crass as it may be. I'm also very aware that I just put myself back in charge and Olivia's victory was short lived. But since she now realizes the danger, she might not want to do this on my terms.

Alas, she does. "Okay, sure. What time and what should I wear?"

Right now and nothing.

But I can't tell her that. I'm not a Neanderthal, even if I feel like one at the moment. "I'll pick you up at seven. Wear something nice. I'm taking you to a fancy restaurant."

And then I'm taking her home and getting her out of my system for good.