🔥STEAMY ALERT—very mild towards the end🔥

♫ Once, twice, three times the guy I
Ever thought I would meet so
Don't say you're over me, when we both know that you lie ♪
{Lana Del Rey—If you lie down next to me}

That was close.

Too close for comfort; having Michael and Ryan in the same space, feet away from one another, had taken all the energy from Coralie's body. The singing and dancing had drained her, and she didn't have the strength to deal with a fight—Ryan would have started it, and Michael would have had to defend himself.

Thankfully, she'd managed it. She'd let Michael say his piece and skedaddle off to San Francisco to think about things. And she'd let Ryan work out his anger at seeing Michael and not being able to punch him. Michael hadn't known Ryan was there, and this, Coralie believed, was for the better. If he'd known, would his reaction have been different? Would he have remained calm, and strutted off with the upper hand? Or would he have sought Ryan out like Ryan had sought him?

What she needed now were her friends; those who knew the entire situation and could provide some slight comfort while she waited to meet with Mellie. Mellie's set was a long one, and Coralie knew she'd have at least an hour to waste before the singer would wish to speak with her. With Ryan and Michael gone, she could breathe, at least; but she'd breathe better if she knew where her friends had wandered off to.

She peeked out through the guarded entrance, searching for Delilah and Bella—but with the immense crowd dancing to Mellie's melodies, she couldn't see a thing. Were the girls back in their seats, enjoying the show? Or had they gone backstage?

Maybe they're waiting for me in my dressing room.

Coralie took off down the corridor, eager to sit and take her heels off. The straps were tight over her feet, and though she was used to platform shoes, these had narrow bases that were difficult to walk in. But was it the shoes making her struggle to stride correctly? Or the fact that her legs were still wobbly from her two near-drastic encounters?

She'd almost lost two contenders at once, tonight. Two men who'd breached her boundaries to visit her; she'd blocked them out, asked them to steer clear, and yet they'd both showed up. And so had Chester, but he'd been a decent guy and backed off when made aware he wasn't alone.

Had he understood? When she'd mouthed at him to not come find her, had he figured out why? Yes, she was still a bit sour about their last meeting—when he'd left her high and dry in the elevator—but hopefully he knew she wouldn't dismiss him without reason. She'd have to unblock his number later, to explain what had happened; she hated leaving him hanging without an explanation. He'd stayed in the crowd, reluctant-looking but obedient. He, unlike Ryan and Michael, hadn't gone running after her for a confrontation on one of the most important nights of her life. No, Chester was—

"Chester?" Her thoughts evaporated as she opened her dressing room door and found him lounging on the plush sofa.

"Oh, hey," he said, with a shy wave and a wink, as Coralie entered the room, blinking in disbelief.

He sat there, one leg dangling over the armrest, snacking on what appeared to be grapes, unfazed by Coralie's arrival. As if he'd known she was coming, and wanted her to come find him there.

"Excuse me?" She slammed the door behind her, causing Chester to sit up straight. "How the fuck did you get in here? Why are you in here?"

Though he'd gone rigid, Chester smirked—that impossible to resist grin that showed him as the mischievous fiend he'd claimed to not be anymore. "I have connections." He leaned back, legs spread open, and set his clasped hands behind his head. His shirt hiked up enough to reveal a slither of skin, above his jean buckle; a few delicate hairs trailing down to his nether region. A sparkle of roguery resided in his eyes, and his smirk grew wider as he saw her glowering at him. "I've done more than one poetry reading here, so I'm a VIP. They let me pass, no questions asked."

"Connections?" She huffed, getting a bit tired of all these men with means to invade her privacy because of the people they knew, their jobs, their positions of power. "But how—" she scratched her chin, wondering if she was hallucinating, "—I was out there and... which way... is there some other hallway I don't know about? How did I not see you?"

"Ah." Chester grunted as he got to his feet. "Well, you were a bit busy arguing with a guy in a flannel shirt." His lips twitched side to side. "Michael, I presume? And then there was another dude—crisp navy suit, bright eyes, dark skin—you never mentioned how seriously hot Ryan is in person."

Coralie snarled at him. "Don't you dare get all hot and bothered by one of your competitors, Chess." She crossed her arms, suddenly self-conscious about her too-tight top and the sweat drizzling between her breasts. She was still winded—whether from her performance or the shows she'd had to put on in the hallway with Ryan and Michael, she couldn't tell.

"Hey, calm down, doll." Chester lazily reached down to one of the plates on the coffee table and snatched up a piece of cheese. How long had the food been sitting out? She wasn't sure she'd recommend eating any of it; but then again, Chester had a stomach of steel from all the drugs he'd done in his youth. "I only want to loosen your mood, okay? You've had quite a night, from the looks of it. I didn't come here to make it worse."

And yet, he had made it worse. Coralie fought the urge to storm up and slap him, smack the food from his hands, grab his head and squeeze hard. He dared imply he wanted to help her? Why hadn't he helped her the previous week, when she'd craved him in the elevator? Or why hadn't he warned her he'd be there, so she wouldn't have come close to fucking up her set upon sighting him in the crowd?

"You," she scoffed, "all three of you, jeez." She strode up to the coffee table and seized a water bottle, and chugged from it until there was no liquid left. "You'll keep barging into my life until I finally choose, won't you? Is it not enough that I asked you all to leave me alone? I need time and space to think, and yet, here you are! Bombarding the biggest opportunity of my career to show your support? Could you not have emailed congratulations? Did you all have to be here tonight?"

Too worn out to control her limbs, she fell onto the carpet, letting the soft surface caress her arms as she resigned to her fate. Too weak to stand, too alert to pass out. In a dizzy daze, she stared up at the ceiling, seeing stars—then Chester's sweet, sexy smile came into view.

But he wasn't smiling; no, she was seeing him upside down. He was frowning. "Cora," he said, nose to nose with her. "Let me get you to the couch, yeah?"

He took her by the shoulders and lifted her, and the simple scent of him sent her overboard. From Michael's spicy sweetness, to Ryan's aroma of anger, Coralie had had her share of smells that night; but Chester's was something else. That whiff of pepper and smoke that she was always pulled to—it infested her nostrils, lulled her into a puddle of Jell-O that Chester easily scooped up and brought to the sofa.

He deposited her, and she melted into the cushions. The spots in her vision faded, but her nausea didn't. He lowered beside her, and she had half a mind to nudge him to the opposite end of the couch—but had no energy to lift an arm, let alone shove him.

"Hey," he said, tilting her into him. Her nose smudged into the crook of his armpit, and his fresh, forest-scented deodorant crippled her into stillness. She couldn't move, at once comforted and conflicted by Chester's proximity, still swallowing the fact that he was there, he was touching her, he wasn't a figment of her imagination.

"I'm exhausted," she confessed, giving in to the heaviness of her body, the fatigue dwelling in her mind. A few tears gathered at her lash-line, and she didn't bother to stop them from falling. Mascara be damned—it was waterproof, anyway—she needed to release the tension, and a good cry would help.

Chester hugged her close and kissed her forehead. "That was an intense show." His voice was smooth as a calm river, and Coralie wanted to float along it until she fell asleep and forgot everything that had happened.

"That's not it," she said, then sniffled. "Mentally exhausted. You," she blew out a breath, "and them, all here tonight... it destabilized me, a lot. I hadn't anticipated it. You're all blocked—well, Michael isn't, but that's because he was in town, so—"

"—ah, so the flannel guy was Michael." Coralie poked at his stomach and he chortled. "Okay, okay—sorry, I'll get back to serious. Why was he in town? For his move? Business stuff?" Coralie nodded, taking advantage of the movement to wipe her tears on Chester's shirt. It was a dark auburn shade—the tear stains wouldn't be too visible. "And did you meet up with him? Is that why he wasn't blocked?"

His words were so soothing compared to Michael's passive aggressiveness and Ryan's rage. She nestled deeper into his arms, desperate for a minute to breathe, to gather her thoughts. And irritated as she was that Chester was there, she couldn't deny he always knew how to calm her down. His embrace was always magical, mood-shifting; and she'd use it for as long as she needed to get herself together.

"I did." She sniffled again, and Chester fumbled to snatch a napkin from the coffee table. He handed it to her, and she swabbed at her dampened nostrils. "I'll spare you the details, but shit happened, and I was so guilty... I left him a note telling him the truth."

Chester stiffened. "The truth? Which truth?"

"All of it." Coralie squirreled out of his arms and blew her nose. "Ryan, you—not by name, of course, but he's aware I've been cheating on him."

"And?" Chester sat up straight, and seemed to struggle to hide the mix of surprise and excitement on his face. "Was that why you were arguing? He came to break up with you?"

Coralie wanted to laugh, and would have, were it not her love-life he was referring to with such ease. "Don't get too excited," she tapped his shoulder, harder than she'd meant to, "because no, he didn't. He wants answers, though, and said he wanted to meet up again soon. When he's back in town, I assume. And Ryan," she snorted and pinched her lips as she tossed her napkin across the way, to land into a garbage can, "he's giving me ultimatums, now. Without filtering his words. Make your choice, and fast, he said. The fucking nerve."

Chester relaxed into his spot and rubbed her back. "They care. Clearly."

She jolted to him, brows shooting upwards. "And you? Why the fuck are you here, then? Also come to extract answers from me?" He opened his mouth to reply, but she pressed her hand to his lips, muffling his speech. "No, no, don't tell me; the bar's Facebook page, right? Like everyone else?"

To her shock, Chester chuckled as he crossed one leg over the other. "Yes. Social media—what a culprit." Coralie kicked his shin, and he hissed. "Okay, fine, sorry. Yes, the Facebook page. Like I said, I've done readings here, so I follow the bar's page on most platforms. I saw your name, got pumped—and remembered you'd blocked me, so I had no way to let you know. I wasn't going to email you, how impersonal! And stalking you at work... well, I told you I'd stop doing that, and I did. I respected your space, Cora. But the way we left things... the way I left things... I wanted to support you. To show that I was wrong—we can be friends. Maybe not in person, but I figured there was no harm being in the audience for your set."

"Were you hoping to blend into the crowd, or something?"

She sneered at him—how could someone like Chester blend in? He looked like he'd hopped off his motorcycle, with his wind-whipped hair, his glistening gaze, that air of rebellion about him. His leather pants screamed chick-magnet and the way he'd left his shirt open at the top drew Coralie into craving his flesh against her lips, the taste of his skin on her tongue.

"Fuck." She got up and paraded around the coffee table, putting some distance between them before she pounced. She was filled with adrenaline now; her energy had replenished from Chester's intoxicating presence, and she worried what she'd do to him if she stayed too close. Her nerves were on edge from her meetings with Michael and Ryan, and she'd had no outlet to ease her frustration from their proximity. No means to distract herself from their disappointment with her.

And she couldn't blame them, but to see them in the crowd had brought her to better times—when she was delighted to see them, thrilled that they'd come to encourage her. Granted, last time it had happened—the show in San Francisco that they'd both attended—she'd let Michael drive her home, but spent the night naked with Ryan, fucking until they were too sore to move.

"It was a risky play," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose, sensing her sinuses tightening and her eyes watering. "Ryan and Michael were both here, and both hit me with their feelings out of the blue. It was a slap in the face—a deserved one, but still." She glared at Chester, who hadn't moved from the couch, but focused on her, his lips parted, his hands clasped under his chin. "Is that why you're here? To berate me about not choosing? To yell at me for having so many affairs and options and not making up my damn mind?"

Chester stood and sashayed over to her. She'd sensed his intention, and tried to stay out of reach—but he gripped her hips and pulled her into him before she could escape. On instinct, she wrapped her arms around his middle and settled, again too weak to battle her need to be held, to be consoled.

"I'd never," he whispered into her hair, his lips dangerously close to licking her earlobe. And she would have let him—again she was in his embrace, melting into him, forgetting why she didn't want him near in the first place.

Because he's a tease. Because he wouldn't rip your pants off last time, when you needed him to.

Was that his intent, now? To trick her, to toy with her and then leave, like the other two had? It seemed to be the theme of the night—let's get Coralie good and frustrated, and then abandon her to her own devices.

"I'm here to congratulate you on a fabulous show and take your mind off your stress, Cora. And from what I can tell, your stress is pretty high, isn't it?" She nodded, her nose scrubbing against his chest. "As for the choices you're being pressured with; yes, I want you to choose, but I'd never push you. I told you before: take all the time you need. And I meant it. I just didn't realize... how much I'd miss you while I waited. That's why I came—I'm having a hard time not bumping into you every day, not joking around in the elevator."

"It hurt me," she mumbled into his shirt. "That last time, in the elevator—I thought we would... you know... and we shouldn't have, obviously, but I still wanted it. And it fucked me up."

She omitted the second part of her train of thought—that she'd gotten a fix anyway, in the form of Ryan. Chester was open and aware of her other prospects, but it wasn't fair to remind him of them.

He held her closer, moving some matted hair from her forehead. "I'm sorry. If it helps, it fucked me up, too." He let out a trembling sigh. "I had to masturbate at least three times to get it out of my system."

Without meaning to, Coralie laughed, imagining the scene—but her laughter dissipated as the images became more vivid. Chester, sprawled on his cozy, squishy mattress, pools of red satin sheets surrounding him, his strong hands stroking his erect penis, his eyes closed as he pictured her. He moaned as he accelerated his pace, and his dick grew thicker with arousal, on the brink of explosion.

Something woke in Coralie's lower half, and she squeezed her thighs together, praying for it to stop.

No, not now. Not tonight.

To succumb to him now would revert all her progress; her slow, unstable progress, but progress, nonetheless.

"So, the choices you refer to..." He set a hand to her cheek—cold but calming—and guided her head up, forcing her to look at him. "Your body, mind, and heart will tell you different things. They'll sway you towards different options. But it's your heart you should follow, always. It takes into account what your brain aches for, what your core," he jutted into her, and she felt the erection she'd been praying wasn't there, "desires. Only obey your heart."

It was the second time she'd heard this; Bella had told her, not that long ago, the same thing. And she believed it—more now that Chester had uttered it in his poetic prose—but she was still at a loss for how to figure out what her heart wanted most. Who it couldn't live without.

She wriggled out of his embrace. "Right, well, my heart is a fucking mess, so it's not going to give me any clues any time soon."

"No, it still needs time, huh?" Chester cocked his head, flashing a sly grin that sent electricity sparking up her legs. "But in the meantime—what does your core want, hm?" His gaze went briefly to the junction between her thighs, and he flinched so slightly, if she'd blinked, she'd have missed it.

"My core," she gulped, "you mean, my vagina?"

He tugged his lower lip between his teeth. Slow, sultry, the lip then bounced back into place, but he kept his tongue within view. "Yeah. What does she want? What would help her tonight? The stress, the exhaustion—whatever you need, Cora, I'll give it to you. No strings attached, no need to ever mention it or bring it up. And it's not me trying to win you over—it's not your vagina I want, it's you. But if you need the release, I'm happy to provide. Tonight only. After that—I'm gone until you summon me."

The stress and the exhaustion he mentioned were warring with her logic, her conscience. But she was still too frail to decline him, or even to fully accept him. Her vocal cords wouldn't work, and she stood staring at his crotch, then at his hands, his nimble fingers unfastening the buttons of his shirt.

"Sex?" He smiled at her, and she gave the tiniest of nods, unable to stop her body from deciding for her. "Sex. To ease the tension."

Coralie's cheeks flushed with heat and she sensed every doubt pouring out of her as she imagined Chester prodding into her.

♥♥♥