TEMPTATION - A Bad Boy Romance
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Authors: Gabi Moore
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TEMPTATION
A Bad Boy Romance
By: Gabi Moore
Table of Contents
TEMPTATION – A Bad Boy Romance
ADDITIONAL BOOKS IN THIS ANTHOLOGY
Manipulator Of Elements: Earth – An Urban Fantasy
Manipulator Of Elements: Air - An Urban Fantasy
Manipulator Of Elements: Water – An Urban Fantasy
THOU SHALT KILL – A Military Bad Boy Romance
MAN MILK - A Gay Romance Of Cosmic Proportions
TEMPTATION
A Bad Boy Romance
By Gabi Moore
Chapter 1
Ok, here it is, my confession: I’m a cheater.
I know, I know, everybody is these days, right? What could be more ordinary than two people declaring undying love for one another and then losing interest 2.6 years later and breaking up once the whole sorry mess falls to pieces? It’s normal, isn’t it? It’s always the same: boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love, boy meets
another
girl, previous girl cries and throws things at boy, boy says sorry…
But you’ll have to believe me when I tell you that mine is no ordinary tale of deception. No, there’s nothing normal about my cheating story. You see, I cheated on my boyfriend…
with
my boyfriend. And if I’m honest, it was one of the best things I’ve ever done.
Allow me to explain.
Why did any of this happen the way it did? Well, it’s hard to say. Maybe it’s the fault of too many Disney princess movies during my formative years. Maybe I have what my asshole ex sneeringly called “high standards” that no man could possibly live up to. Maybe faulty hormones. I don’t know. But the state of things was this: I loved David, and David loved me. But we had made a
promise
to one another. And that means something.
I know, if you’re like most people, you’ll think a no-sex-before-marriage agreement is old fashioned and a little sad. But hear me out. I wasn’t some idealistic child who submitted her boyfriend to years of blue balls. I wasn’t a tease or a prude. And David …well, lets just say he was on board, right from the beginning. Really.
Sure, I had what are considered outdated sentiments. Instead of “dating” and gossiping about how far this one had gone with that one, I spent my puberty reading old Victorian romance novels, and placing heirloom rose cultivars into crystal vases I inherited from my grandmother. I grew my hair too long and was good with children. I was hopelessly out of fashion, and in more ways than even I knew at the time.
My peer group’s obsession with sex baffled me at best, and I shrank from what seemed crude and ugly at the time. I wasn’t sappy though – cheap romance alone wasn’t good enough for me. My girlish heart craved something more than true love, more than perfect union. At the time I could see how people thought I was fusty and naïve, but I was, as I saw it, trying to cultivate something nobler. Something
sublime
. Sex was merely one star in a whole immense universe of love and significance I had created for myself.
So, to get on with the story, David and I went to the same High School. He had written me a poem one day, smiled at me shyly and then scuttled off. With my overactive imagination, I filled in all the rest. Soon he was assigned the role of my fated love, my One, my soul mate and the sun around which all of my high-flown fantasies orbited.
Surprisingly, he went with it. While other boys had balked at the fact that I reserved handholding till the third date, or that I expected the door to be held open for me, he not only seemed unbothered, but actively charmed. When I told him that singing to flowers made them grow faster or that you can only make good banana bread if you’re in a happy mood, he didn’t tease me, but only smiled and pecked my cheek.
With a living, breathing focal point on which to pin my fairy tale, life became so much lovelier, like cupid himself had come down and smiled on us. There were stolen embraces, love letters scented with perfume, a daisy woven into a lock of hair, tentative fingers laced together… and promises. Lots of promises.
David understood me. And his understanding was enough intimacy to last my sensitive soul a long, long time. He understood that I resisted sex not because I thought so little of it, but because I thought more highly of it than anything else in the world. In my fevered teenage brain, I believed nothing could be so momentous as melding your body to that of someone you loved, and I intended to relish that moment, to hang it far off on the horizon of “one day” where it would grow so ripe that by the time I was ready for it, the angels themselves would weep when I finally consummated my love.
David and I nuzzled and whispered and giggled our way through most of High School. Sex wasn’t urgent, and there was always homework to do, besides. We were safe and warm and happy with each other, and sex was just some post dated check that we could always cash in later, when we felt like it.
It was sweet. Sickly sweet.
You can see where this is going, right?
Chapter 2
“Phosphorylation is such a nice word.”
He looked up from his books at me. “It’s a nice word, but it doesn’t sound like what it is, you know? It’s sounds like how you describe mice running around in some dry leaves. Like, ‘the mice phosphorylated on the forest floor’… don’t you think?”
He shrugged and returned his gaze to his book. Studying together was no big deal for us. David would come to my house or I would go to his, and we’d prep for exams or do our assignments in silence together. Next year, when college started, these moments might be more difficult to coordinate, so part of me relished hanging out like this now, while we still could. Something was wrong, though.
“Everything ok?” I asked.
“Violet, you asked me that five minutes ago, and my answer is the same as it was five minutes ago. There’s nothing wrong, ok?”
He didn’t even make eye contact. This was bad. I slammed my biology textbook shut, perhaps a little too dramatically. He looked up at me again.
The trouble with finding your soul mate, and I say this without any irony, is that you don’t really get too much practice having mature and respectful fights. David and I just didn’t fight. We didn’t really know
how
. Which made him sulking right now extra inconvenient.
“Is this about before? About what I said?” I asked him, frustrated that no amount of staring at the top of his dusty blond head could make him look at me. He sighed deeply and closed his books too, perhaps with not enough drama
“If you want to talk about it again, fine,” he said, “but there’s no point. You don’t want to. Cool. I got it. I won’t beg.”
“I don’t want you to beg.”
“Fine. And I’m not going to. What I want is for
you
to want to …and you don’t.”
“That’s not true. I’m perfectly happy to do whatever it takes to-”
“Ok, lets do it then.”
“But—”
“See? Call it what you like, that sounds like a no to me.”
Lately, we hadn’t been agreeing much on what did and didn’t count as sex. We had had this disagreement at least four times in the last six months alone. He wanted oral sex, and me …well let’s just say I felt that that would a slope that was somewhat, uh, slippery.
“David, I’ve explained this to you, it’s not saying no to you at all, believe me, I want to as much as you do…”
“Then let’s do it.”
“But …can’t we just kiss?”
“
Just
?” He shot an accusatory eyebrow at me.
He was right. It felt rotten offering him a kiss as some sort of consolation prize.
I had always scoffed inwardly at girls who slept with boys just to win a little more of their attention, or moved faster than they wanted to just to keep an impatient guy from leaving. While the girls at our school were living out epic sagas of love and rejection in the course of a single evening of hooking up, while they courted and consummated and broke up literally overnight, I admit I always felt a little smug and that I was somehow immune. That I was on a different, more sophisticated timeline. But I looked at him again, and there was no denying it: he was getting impatient with me. Even my timeline had its limits, apparently.
In the story of whimsy and romance I had already written for both of us, I had never foreseen this outcome, stupid as that may sound to some of you. Our promise was always something that made me feel safe and sure. Now, my boyfriend was hungry and irritable, and our promise hung there on the tree like a fruit that might rot and be inedible if left even for a day longer.
A very ugly thought jumped into my mind – what if David and I became
bored
of each other? What if the promise of things to come wasn’t enough to fix things right here in the moment? I opened my book and tried to study again. ‘Phosphorylation’ suddenly seemed like a different word, now. An ugly, threatening word. Like the rustling of veils about to be pulled off.
Chapter 3
“Most girls swallow, everybody knows that,” she said.
The other girls in my group of friends immediately nodded as if yes, they did of course know that, even though I could tell that many of them hadn’t considered this fact at all till Jess mentioned it.
“And if he really likes the girl, his cum won’t taste so bad, that’s a fact,” she carried on.
This last bit proved to be too much; Jess might be the most “experienced” girl in our group, but even she had trouble convincing us of some things.
“That doesn’t make sense Jess. Like, his cum actually changes depending on how much he likes the girl?”
Lizzy was the only other virgin in our group, besides me, but I like to think she was definitely the most clueless of us all. We didn’t know much, but we had managed to figure out a lot about the mysteries of sex right there on the lawn after school.
“Exactly. I read it somewhere. He produces, like, more sugars in there if he likes the girl.”
“Bullshit” I said.
“Nah, it’s true.” Jess scowled at me, disappointed that I wasn’t fully appreciating that she had
read it somewhere
and that was the end of it. It was a romantic idea, sure, but I hated
her
having anything to do with it.
“So, like, if he tastes bad and then all of a sudden he tastes good, then you know he’s falling in love with you.”
I laughed. As if the time to determine whether a boy loved you or not was
after
his dick was already in your mouth.
“Maybe if it tastes good and then suddenly doesn’t, that’s a sign that he’s cheating or he’s into some other girl.”
Now, I like a good bit of whimsy myself, but never, I repeat never underestimate your standard teen girl’s endless ability to look for “signs”. There are signs that he likes you, signs that he doesn’t, omens in the way he kisses and secret symbols in the way he texts, and whether he does it 5 minutes after he reads your text or 15 can spell out a whole world of secrets and insinuations. Teen girls are experts at reading the hidden meanings in everything, especially the hidden meanings that don’t technically exist. The more direct methods elude us. Just talking to the damn guy, for example.
“Anyway, all boys cheat eventually, everybody knows that” Jess continued. Her sermons about what the human male did and why seemed suspiciously full of information that everybody already knew.
“That’s not true, not all boys cheat” I said, already deciding that I was done with idle chit chat for the afternoon. Surprisingly, they all turned to look at me with something like pity on their faces.
“Oh my god, you guys, what?” I said.
Jess pouted and put her hand on my knee.
“Violet, don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s even worse in your case. All boys cheat eventually, but it’ll happen way sooner if you’re, you know…”
