The Fishermen (Infidelity #2)

by C.P. Harris

The burger and fries were already plated, a clear portion cup containing a creamy, white sauce sat next to it. “You should try it,” Leland insisted, but I was already on my way over there. I brought the portion cup to my nose, nearly drowning my nostrils in the heady cum in my impatience. “Jesus,” I croaked, my salivary glands activating. I buried my tongue inside Leland’s cum, the sounds coming from me inhuman. I scooped up a mouthful and tilted my head back, feeling it slide like honey down my throat to pool in my belly.

Y'all need jesus goddamn. And ketchup. Who tf serves burgers with cum? Ya nasty.

“Did you get to open my birthday gift?” I asked, fingers digging into the edges of the porcelain tub as Franky tightened his fist. “I excused myself to the kitchen with my slice of birthday cake and added the extra frosting you provided me with.” “A-all of it on o-one piece of c-cake?” I stuttered, body blistering with beads of sweat as my orgasm took shape. I’d managed to jerk off a couple times, filling a portion cup with my cum before he’d left. “All of it,” he stressed, water splashing as he jerked me off.

YOU NASTY MOTHERFUCKER.

“I’ll never be the same, Franky,” I promised, giving in to the pain and devastation contorting my body. “Please don’t fucking break me.” “I’m sorry,” he whispered. And then he was gone. I waited for him for nineteen whole days, with nothing to nourish me but fleeting hope. I waited, and he never came. He never chose me.

FUCK YOU FRANK.

“Cole keeps showing up at Josephine’s,” I said. Franky nodded as if he’d suspected this. “The two people he depended on the most are gone,” he said. “He needs time—” “He needs more than time,” I snapped, then softened my tone to something more sympathetic to his pain. “He needs his father.” “I can’t be there for him,” he said. “You’re all he has left,” I stressed, stepping around the loveseat and moving closer to where he stood with his back straight. “I can’t,” he said, adopting a glacial façade as if that would make me back down.

Jesus christ frank. Wtf is wrong with you, you fucking wankstain.

“Don’t you lay a fucking hand on me.” My hiss clashed with his scream as my back met the wall. His hands, ready to lacerate anything in their way, froze near the buttons of my shirt. “This isn’t our summer of love, Franky. Those days are over. You touching me now without my explicit consent will not be the turn on it once used to be. I won’t be yielding to you this time.” I couldn’t imagine what him fucking me right then would’ve been like. From the look of crippling desperation on his face it would’ve taken a stretcher to wheel me out of there afterward or a search party to find my scattered remains after he was done tearing me apart. “I won’t be the thing you release your self-hate on. Not anymore. I’ve already endured you rage-fucking me and then leaving me in a heap to recover alone. Once was more than enough.

Oh god Leland you poor baby. I'm fucking sobbing for you.

“Where do you see yourself in five years, Leland?” I groaned. “Not this question again.” “Answer me, please,” he said seriously, his eyes roaming my face anxiously. I placed a palm over his chest, feeling his frantic heartbeat under my fingertips. “Why stop there?” I asked. “Why not half a century?” “How about several millennia?” he whispered. “I think I like the sound of infinity more,” I whispered back. “Where do you see yourself in this lifetime, and every lifetime after, Leelee Bear?” I swooped in impossibly close, holding his face and his gaze the way he held mine, and I gave him the same answer I’d given him all those years ago. I gave him the truth. “Somewhere still wanting you, Franky.”

FUCKKKK. I am fucking wailing here godfuckingdamnit.