By a Thread

by Lucy Score

I navigated the curb buried under foot-tall piles of what used to be snow. Now it was gray slush frozen into dirty, depressing clumps. I identified with those frozen clumps.

Rude Sex Hair was back. “I don’t know. Can you?” I shot back. “We’re fresh out of the blood of children, Satan. How about something that matches your personality?” She was saying the words nicely. Sweetly even. “I’ll have a—” “Unsweetened iced tea,” she filled in for me.

Was grumpy and rude suddenly the new hot? My vagina seemed to think so. It hadn’t been that

If I were wildly wealthy, I’d do shit like that. Sure, I’d give back. Rescue dogs. Eradicate cancer. Take care of the elderly. Buy nice interview outfits for women who needed better jobs. I’d start a spa where women could get massages along with gynecological exams, mammograms, and dental cleanings. With a bar. And for fun, I’d buy up corporations and fire assholes.

“You know, you’d be a lot prettier if you smiled once in a while,” she mused, fluttering her lashes. No wonder women hated it when men said that.

“Now that Malina? She’s going to try to crawl into yours. So you might want to consider a chastity belt or shark repellent,” she suggested.

“People don’t want real,” I argued. “They want the fantasy. They want the dress that’s going to change their life. They want clothing that makes them feel beautiful, sexy, special, one-of-a-kind.” “And you can’t feel that in a wheelchair?”

Today, I was keeping my fucking hands off my fucking cock and my fucking mind off fucking Ally. End of story.

Delaney not only had a flawless complexion, she also had a brilliant smile. I really, really wanted to hate her… or maybe make out with her.

Dominic kept his gaze on me and reached down to adjust himself. Holy baby goats in pajamas. I swear I almost blacked out. It was the most blatantly sexual thing he’d done in front of me. And I wanted more. I wanted to see him naked, spread out before me like a buffet. I also never wanted to see him again.

“I’ll be doing what I’ve been doing since I met you,” he rasped. “What’s that?” “Fucking my goddamn hand and wishing it was you.” And there went my knees, buckling under me.

The song was slow, dirty, tortured. I liked it. It reminded me of me.

I wondered if I was leaving a trail of body glitter behind me like I was a Questionable Life Choices Tinkerbell.

“You say that. But I’m ’zactly like him. I jerk off in the bathroom thinking about you. Well, not anymore.” She was quiet for a beat, and then her fingers were on my necktie. “Why not?” “Doesn’t seem right. You’re right outside the door. It’s disrep—disruh—dis-re-spect-ful,” I enunciated clearly. I was so fucking tired.

“I don’t want anything serious,” I whispered on a shiver when he brushed a kiss to the corner of my mouth. My lips burned with the need to feel his. His laugh was gentle, but I still heard the sound of prison doors slamming shut. “Oh, sweetheart, you no longer have a choice.”

“Oh, God.” “Dom, baby,” I corrected. She lasted four glorious pumps before the quivering clamped down on my dick like a velvet vice.