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And you call me whatever name you want, Baby Doll. But I like it when you say Daddy.”
Jesus shot-taking Christ.
Watching Kendra lick the salt off her shot glass a second time might send me into cardiac arrest. But we all got to die somehow. And death by Brat is okay with me.
He already likes my pussy. It shouldn’t matter so much that he likes my cooking too.
If you’re going to fuck me, then feed me, you might as well wife me.
On my hands and knees, I feel alive. Invincible. I feel powerful. And the look on his face, the appreciation, makes me feel like a fucking queen.
On the next breath, it hits me again. The hurt. And I let it live. I let the hurt fill my chest, same as the oxygen. Because the pain is true. The pain is as alive as I am. But it won’t beat me. Won’t defeat me. It will just hurt me.
I don’t know if she’s fucking with me, flirting with me, or putting a curse on me.
His eyes are full of smiles. His mouth is full of pussy. And I have no regrets over welcoming him back into my life.
He tastes like tears. I kiss him back. He tastes like home. I open for him. He tastes like forever.
She comes undone beneath me. I lose myself above her. And I know. With her. I’ll never stop smiling.
