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March 24 - March 26, 2024
She probably already thinks I’ve destroyed her. She’s wrong.
My weight rests on my forearms as I hover over her. I tap one finger to her lips. Tap, tap, tap. Open wide. Sloane’s lips part. I spit the cum into her waiting mouth. “Swallow.” She does, her eyes not leaving mine, not until I crush my lips to hers.
Fuck
“An appetizer. And now it’s time for a fucking feast.”
He takes in a way that’s giving.
He roared mine as he came in my mouth, my hair twisted around his fist.
“Or don’t, up to you. But I’m going to sleep like a fucking rock with my cock buried deep in your perfect pussy.” How the fuck was I supposed to sleep after he said that?
“Sloane.” I go completely still, a breath caught in my lungs, my fingers still pressed against my clit and piercing. “You seem to be up to something. Want to tell me about it?” “Umm …”
“I think you couldn’t fall asleep. You were thinking about how good it felt to be fucked the way you deserved. Admittedly, it was probably a little hard to fall asleep with my cock lodged deep in your greedy cunt, wasn’t it?”
You need to be fucked, even though you’re so goddamn tired. And you need to know what’s real.”
“Is that …? Did you …?” “Did I get the raven you left on the table tattooed on my back?” His smile is teasing, but there’s a hint of shyness in it as he finishes my thought. “Yeah. Appears to be the case.”
What a flex
Rowan prowls toward the bed. My heart ricochets against my ribs like a pinball.
“You were right. You’re no fucking angel.”
I’m shaking, sweating, lost to some mindless dimension where all I know is the feeling of intense pleasure twined with a hint of discomfort, but one I welcome because it only adds to the euphoric haze that consumes me.
“Question … was …?”
What was the question??
“Like. You. Seriously …? Christ, Sloane. You are fucking brilliant but also the most willfully oblivious person I have ever met. Do you really think I just like you when I framed a drawing you left for me on a scrap of paper you tore from a notebook? The one I hung in the kitchen so I can look at it every day and think of you? Do you think I just like you when I tattoo it on my skin? I play this fucking game every year and tear my heart out watching you walk away, only to do it all over again, and I like you? You think I just like you when I fuck you like this?”
AHHHH
I would die for you. I don’t just like you, Sloane, and you fucking know it.”
A sound I’ve never before made spills across my lips as the orgasm breaks me apart.
I don’t unravel. I detonate.
It’s not a question. It’s not even a demand. It’s a need to be freed from a place where he thinks he’s been alone.
Put some of that bravery to use for yourself for a change.
“We don’t have a good track record of normal-people stuff.” I point to my face. “Exhibit A. We could have gone for beers.”
But I’ll never climb if I just keep standing still. And Lark was right, I have been lonely standing in the shadows.
“Rock-paper-scissors.”
but my heart saw a broken man on the road, struggling to find himself in the haze of rage. And the first word to pass his lips was my name.
I never even turned away.
“I knew you didn’t just want me to stay. You needed me to. I haven’t been needed like that in a long time.”
his heartbeat a comfort in the dark.
“I said the same thing that I told you just before I killed him,” he finally says. “That you’re mine.”
her big brown eyes welcoming.
We love a brown eyed queen
“Don’t worry, Blackbird. He’ll be just fine. Dr. Blueballs is just a little jealous.”
“We weren’t playing sports. We were having sex.”
“You’re coming to Raleigh?”
“No, Sloane,” he says. “I’m taking you home. To Boston.”
Table 12 is PERMANENTLY RESERVED for: —any reservation under the name Sloane Sutherland —a beautiful, black-haired woman with hazel eyes and freckles, 5'8", probably alone, shy, looks like she wants to run Inform Rowan immediately of any reservations under this name or any guests fitting this description. And then, in red text as though it was added at a later date: IMMEDIATELY. I AM NOT FUCKING AROUND.
He permanently reserves the booth he knows you would want at his popular restaurant. He beats the shit out of an emo pervert for watching you masturbate. He has some random neighborhood kid bring you groceries. Who the fuck are you kidding? You don’t just “more than like” this guy.
“Told you so,”
I might not have a lot of people, but I have Lark and Rowan, and that’s enough.
BUTCHER & BLACKBIRD.
Ill cry right now
But the restaurant was probably a giant clue.”
“Such a good girl you are, Blackbird,” he coos into my ear as he slides the spoon through the crème brûlée and brings it to my parted lips. “And good girls get rewards.”
When I glance between the front entrance and the sign for the emergency exit by the bathrooms and the door to the kitchen, it’s obvious which one I’d choose—the booth that sits just beneath the vertex of the spread wing.
Blackbird’s Booth, it says.
CAUSE HE UNDERSTANDS HER!!!!!
So are you using your safe word?” “No.”
God damn
“That you were going to devour me on a table in the restaurant.” “Damn straight, Blackbird. And this is a meal I’ve been fucking dying for.”
I need a fan
Rowan bands an arm across my back and yanks me off the table,
Jesus
That’s right, baby, take me deeper in that tight little cunt. You’re going to be dripping my cum down those pretty thighs all the way home.
“I meant what I said. You’ll be walking home with that mess on your thighs, little bird.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper. “Just home with you.”
Please for the love of god dont let this be foreshadowing
But thank fuck, the one bright light is Sloane.
this is good for me. I don’t feel lonely. Actually, it’s the first time in a long time that I don’t.”
