Post Breakup Sex

  © 2015, Sibylla Matilde

  Siby@SibyllaMatilde.com

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from Sibylla Matilde.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. With the exception of the original material written by the author, all songs, song titles, and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  To Chewie, my weird little chiweenie. Even though he can’t read. I’m pretty sure his favorite thing in the world is to curl up with me on the couch. That makes me feel pretty damn special.

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Songs that inspired Post Breakup Sex

  Acknowledgements

  About Sibylla

  Stalk Siby

  She looked so… wistful.

  She sat there in the park watching the wedding go on before her, and there were tears in her eyes. But not the happy tears people generally shed at weddings. Not the oh-my-God-how-beautiful tears.

  Lonely tears that she held back, feigning serenity.

  Beside her sat a guy that I assumed was her boyfriend. Not that he was loving or comforting in the slightest. He looked like a total dick, actually. But he leaned down to murmur something to her from time to time, and she’d nod and straighten. She’d slip her mask of composure back on.

  It wasn’t really that she was beautiful. But, my God, she was. Long blonde hair that was swept up off her neck, falling in wispy tendrils to her bare shoulders. She wore a deep red dress that sparkled in the faint lights surrounding the small gathering, and her ivory skin looked smooth and… perfect.

  I tried not to watch her. I was there with my buddy Cody waiting for the ceremony to end and the reception to begin. His older brother was part of the band, though, so we had a bit of time to kill. And I kept finding myself drawn to her. Wondering who she was. What she was like. Why she looked so withdrawn.

  It was like I was waiting for something to peek through.

  Then Cody pulled a joint out of his pocket, and we slipped back behind the pavilion to pass the time.

  The sun had set just as they bride and groom took their vows, and the music started up. Just as the reception began kicking into high gear, a glimmer caught my eye off in the distance. Through the shadows of the park, I saw the sparkles of that red dress.

  My first thought was that she was sneaking away with her boyfriend. Weddings tended to be an incredible turn-on for women. I’d benefited from their intense need to mate a time or two in the past. But I was strangely discomforted by the thought of her seeking out a romantic interlude.

  Then, I realized she was all alone. Carrying her shoes in her hand, her bare feet peeked out from her long, flowing skirt as she padded quietly across the grass towards the fountain.

  She stopped for a moment, reading the sign at the base, and, all at once, she got the most fascinating look on her face. She bit her lip and curled her mouth into a mischievous smile, then dropped her shoes to the ground, hiked up her skirt to bare some pretty fucking amazing thighs, and stepped into the fountain.

  I was by no means a romantic. I was all about free and easy pleasure and had never gotten all mushy about a chick before.

  So maybe it was the weed. Maybe getting high had triggered some deep, thought-provoking section of my brain. Some part that made me think of all kinds of flowery shit.

  Like the way her dress sparkled in the dark, like stars in the sky.

  Or the way her face lit up when she smiled and splashed in the shallow pool.

  And right then, I wanted to know her. I wanted to find out what made her tick. How she sounded first thing in the morning with her voice husky from sleep. I wanted to see if her lips felt as amazingly soft as they looked. If her hair was half as silky smooth as it appeared. How her naked skin would shine with perspiration in the heat of passion.

  An almost childlike giggle escaped her, and she glanced back towards the party for a moment, watching carefully. She looked back down at her feet, swirling one around for a moment more, and let out a deep sigh.

  Stepping out of the shallow fountain, the mystery girl picked up her shoes. With one more longing glance at her momentary escape, she stepped back through the darkness to the reception.

  I had no idea who she was.

  But I wanted her.

  When I found out who she was, I wished she was anyone else. The laws of social order would never allow a girl like her to be with a guy like me.

  So I tried to forget her. Any way I could.

  Three licentious years later…

  I think it was the shirt that sealed the deal that night. It seemed to get me laid more often than not, really. Big white block letters that said “Orgasm Donor” across the black fabric that, to be quite honest, was maybe a size too small. Fortunately, I was six feet three inches and had the muscular bulk to carry it off.

  I leaned against the counter that separated the open kitchen from the great room. The house was pretty massive, but when you had four guys and a shit ton of equipment to keep handy, you needed a pretty big place. Not very clean, though, which you’d expect considering the band members that lived here. More of a party spot, a place to sleep off the raucous lifestyle. And it was my home away from home when the confines of my own mediocre apartment started feeling a little cramped.

  It had been a long week at the garage, difficulty in finding parts, people not wanting to pay their bills, all kinds of shit. My grampa had left me the business that had supported his family for fifty years. Back when I was a teenager, I’d spent enough time with him to know the headache that it entailed, but this week had just really sucked. Maybe he should have left it to my sister. She was the steady one, the responsible one. I was, well… not.

  I was only twenty-four, for fuck’s sake.

  So I scanned the room to see who might be willing to slip away and entertain me for the evening. I needed to lose myself. I was pissy and tired, which meant I needed to fight or fuck, and fucking would hurt less in the morning.

  Laura was eyeing me from across the room. She wasn’t too bad the first time, but I was a little concerned that she might start getting clingy if I gave her much encouragement. I couldn’t deal with clingy. It was hard to be fun when faced with clingy, and I kinda liked being fun. I didn’t want to be an asshole, but sometimes asshole was the only language clingy could understand.

  Looking on through the crowd, it occurred to me that Pauline looked pretty hot tonight. And, bonus, she was a bit more laid back about things. I’d actually done her a couple times, and she was far from clingy, mostly because she sort of seemed to like variety. She’d also done Denny, Justin, Cody, and Drew.


  And Maggie.

  One night, she did Drew and Maggie… together. From what Drew told me, that was kinda how he and Maggie hooked up in the first place. I took a swig of my beer wondering if I was up for her tonight. She was quite adventurous. But then Justin sidled up beside her and proceeded to start sucking at her neck.

  I’d shared with Justin once before. Sadly, I barely remembered the girl, which sort of made me feel shitty, but I had been really drunk. I’d just finished off just over half of a bottle of Jack. And it had been dark. The whole experience was a bit of a haze. Not one I was sure I wanted to repeat.

  So, he could have Pauline all to himself tonight. This week had been exhausting, and then I’d helped the guys set up at the Copperline. Their gig had been loud and rowdy as usual, leaving no doubt that they were the Bangin’ Mofos. By the time we had all their instruments packed away, I’d been going strong for about twenty hours. So I was looking for someone easy. I really didn’t want to have to work too hard to get off.

  Ruth… she was a possibility. She was almost a wallflower at parties. Sweet as honey in public, but swore like a sailor in the sack. It was always the quiet ones. But she could suck a golf ball through a garden hose and didn’t mind doing a majority of the work. Unfortunately, it appeared she’d brought some dude from the bar tonight, meaning my chances were slim to none.

  For tonight anyway. Maybe next time.

  I scoped out the room a bit more. As big as the place was, it was damn near wall-to-wall, and people were still showing up. I saw Lily walk in and considered her for a second. I’d never had her. Cody had, and he seemed to think she was worth another round sometime. She turned back to the door, still open behind her, and motioned for someone to follow her.

  And then, she walked in.

  Sophie fucking Buchanan.

  What in the actual fuck was she doing here?

  For a second, I thought I was seeing things. Not only was she here, at a band party, but that preppie dickhead boyfriend wasn’t with her.

  She looked different. Way different. My first thought was that Lily had likely given her a slutty makeover. Thick black eyeliner, ruby red lips, her blonde hair wild and full and falling in luscious waves around her bare shoulders with bright streaks of pink and purple and blue. Her little strappy shirt displayed the top curves of her breasts and ended just above an incredibly short, tight skirt. A skirt that ended a few good inches above some killer thigh-high boots.

  Seriously, pure beat off material. Hotter than a fuckin’ playboy cover. I tucked the image away in my mind for the next rare occasion that I had to take care of my own shit.

  She stood with Lily, looking around the room, perusing the crowd. Lily pointed out a person here and a person there, and Sophie pondered them for a second before Lily pointed out another. Slowly, they eyed their way across the great room, and then Lily pointed at me.

  Boldly holding Sophie’s gaze as she locked onto mine, I did the whole smolder thing that generally made panties drop all over town. Her head tilted a bit to the side and, even from a distance, I could see a flush color her cheeks. I could see her breath catch.

  She glanced down at my shirt, and for just a moment, her eyes showed a faint hint of shock. She quickly schooled her features, though, masking her expression as Lily murmured something into her ear. Sophie looked over at her pensively, then glanced back in my direction. Lily told her something else which made Sophie shake her head ever so slightly. Then she took a deep breath, grazed her tongue across her lips, and left Lily to weave her way through the crowd.

  Towards me.

  And I felt a huge surge of blood rush right to my junk.

  The closer she got, the harder I got. I’d only ever seen her from a distance, and she was way hotter than I’d thought, even under the thick make-up. I could imagine her plump lips wrapped around my cock. My mouth watered to taste the smooth, buttery skin of those spectacular tits. As she stepped up to me, I realized that her eyes were almost a deep blue-green, not the baby-blue I’d imagined, and I wondered how they’d look all heavy with lust as she rode me to exhaustion. The tousled blonde of her hair framed her heart-shaped face, the multicolored streaks grazing the opalescent bare skin of her shoulders.

  She stepped up to me and glanced pointedly back down at my shirt. I prepared myself for a scathing comment. Every time I’d seen her before, she simply oozed class. Money. Style. High society, and, once again, I could only wonder what the fuck she was doing here.

  I coolly took a sip of my beer, tipping the bottle back between my thumb and forefinger, and waited for her to talk. Lowering the bottle, I offered it to her. A dare. A test. She hesitated just a second before taking it and, not taking her eyes off mine, sucked it back.

  Oh…

  The way her lips curved around the bottle had my already dirty thoughts turning truly sordid.

  Those lips would feel awesome wrapped around my dick.

  With the first taste, she hardly contained the clear indication that she rarely, if ever, drank beer. The tip of her tongue slipped out to catch a stray drop as she tilted the neck of the bottle to touch the letters on my shirt.

  “Can you deliver on that promise?” she asked.

  Fuck yeah.

  Even in her slutty clothes, she oozed prim and proper. Little rich girl. Shouldn’t even fucking be here.

  I was tattoos, piercings, and leather. I was a mechanic. Blue collar all the way. Raised by a single mom, then by my grampa and big sister when cancer took her away from us. I was toeing the line to even hit middle class. Society chicks like Sophie Buchanan didn’t just come up and openly proposition guys like me. It took a minute for my brain to catch on that propositioning me was exactly what she was doing.

  I narrowed my eyes at her. Slowly, my gaze traveled down her skimpy little outfit, taking note of her perfect rack, her curvy little waist, and her super short skirt. She reacted as if it was my fingertips stroking her body instead of my eyes. Her breath caught in her throat, and a faint, but visible, tremble coursed through her. I took my time, covering my own shock with a lazy perusal, down to the tips of those thigh-high boots, then slowly back up to meet her heated gaze.

  I stood straighter, stepping closer and taking the now empty bottle from her hand. Sophie didn’t step back, but held her ground, and when I spoke, I was barely an inch away from her.

  “Oh yeah,” I replied in a low, firm rasp. “Guaranteed to make you scream.”

  I could see the words hit home. The flush that warmed her skin. The hot flash in her eyes.

  I really was pretty fucking smooth.

  She looked right at me, deep into my eyes, studying me closely, all the while shaking like a leaf. Then her tongue darted out again to wet her lips and she cocked her head to the side, motioning towards the hallway to the back of the house.

  “Let’s go,” she said quietly.

  I caught the tremor in her voice. Something that said she was terrified out of those fucking sexy-as-hell boots. But she also looked determined.

  I’d wanted her from the first time I saw her. But when I found out who she was, I figured I’d never get within forty feet of her. Different circles and all that shit. I had no idea why she was here, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to turn her down, to let some other dickweed here have her. She’d picked me. It was fate. It was time. Every good deed I had ever done in my entire life was paying off.

  She started to turn, reaching back nervously for my hand. That first touch sent a static shock through me. That might sound corny, and chances are it was just the dry air, but there was seriously a snap of electricity when she touched me for the first time.

  Weird. But strangely poetic.

  Her small grip, ever so slightly shaky, was warm and smooth. I wanted to feel that touch on my dick. The thought damn near had me ripping right through my fucking jeans.

  I let her lead me from the crowded great room. She pulled me down the hall, and I had no clue if she knew where she was going. She’d never been here, as
far as I could recall. I knew from past visits, past parties, that the band kept a lot of their equipment set up back here, sometimes using the space to practice or write music or just to fuck around with a melody.

  But there was also a huge, overstuffed L-shaped couch. Each side was easily big enough for someone my height to comfortably sprawl out on. I’d made out and passed out on it enough times to be pretty certain of this.

  She opened the door, just a crack at first, peeking inside to see a set of drums, a guitar, and a table covered with paper and pens and guitar picks. There was a bluish tint to the room from an old Icehouse beer sign that Cody had snagged from the Copperline Bar one night.

  “Dang, it’s instruments, not a bedroom,” she murmured under her breath.

  “There’s a couch,” I whispered into her ear, and felt a tremor rip through her. Her face turned towards me just slightly, just enough to give me a glimpse of her profile, but then she gave a short nod and pushed the door open the rest of the way.

  Piled at one end of the deep green couch were a few pillows, soft, fluffy, and plaid. And a heavy, plushy blanket was tossed over the back.

  She took a couple steps into the room. Her breath seemed to be coming quicker now, sharp intakes that resulted in shivers down her body. She stood there with her back to me, almost as though she was giving herself a little mental pep talk.

  “You okay, baby?” I asked, and she turned slowly.

  Her tongue darted out to touch her lips again and her fingers twisted together with an obvious apprehension. I wanted desperately in that moment to step closer. To touch her and taste her. She seemed ready to bolt, but nodded, then closed those amazing eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, she had regained some of her cool. And her voice was steady as she spoke.

  “Close the door.”

  I lifted my chin a little, studying her closely, and then did as she said.

  “Is there a lock?” she whispered.

  I nodded. As I secured the door, the click echoed through the room, rising above the sound of the band’s party.