Debt

by Nina G. Jones

He already knows my dirtiest secret. He is my dirtiest secret.

“I fuck you when I want, how I want. I own you. Period. Don’t pretend like you have any sort of say in this. Don’t convince yourself that you can play mind games with me, because you will lose. Every. Single. Fucking. Time.”

This man is my stalker, my terrorizer, my lover.

I only see him once a week. We have no contact outside of that conference room every Tuesday, and yet, his presence permeates every waking hour of my day.

Tonight, I find myself in her living room, shirtless, with her lips pressing softly against my back. I watched her today, like I always do whenever my schedule allows. But this time, I crossed that invisible wall. I’m so sick of fucking watching. I don’t just want her Tuesday mornings. I want her all the time. There’s no reason I shouldn’t have her whenever I motherfucking want.

Every time I dig deeper, looking to find that black spot on her heart, I only find more tenderness. Every time I dig deeper, I find it harder to crawl back out.

And so I push, her little gasp as I enter her makes me even harder. “Tax,” she whispers in my ear, swallowing air as I thrust deep inside of her. Her pussy is so wet, so ready for me, that I groan and grunt, unable to pretend that this isn’t the most incredible feeling on the fucking planet. Her soft, flowery scent, the one that clings to my clothes every Tuesday, fills my nose.

She meets my rage with a weapon more powerful: acceptance.

“Because as soon as I leave after having you, I want you again. And then even when I have that, it’s not enough. When I see another man look at you the way I do, I want to kill him. I want to swallow you. I want to consume you. I want to possess you. I want you.”

His lips brush against my collarbone as he whispers the last words with a rasp: “I want more.”

The sounds of fabric rustling dominate the quiet as he wrestles off his suit jacket, and buttons rain on the floor as he rips off his shirt. Then his body pushes up against my back side. He slides his hand down between my legs. “This...” The other grabs a breast. “This...is mine.”

“Tell me, Mia. Tell me it’s mine.” “It’s yours,” I moan shakily. “Say my name.” “It’s yours, Tax.”

“Fuck, Mia,” he says, clenching my hair and burying his face into its scent. “I want to damage you. I want to ruin you for anyone else.”

My juices soak my thighs like Tax is biting into a ripe piece of fruit.

“Just because we want more, doesn’t mean we can have it.”

“Have you been with other women, since we—“ “No.” “Because we have—“ “The answer is no. I have only been with you. I very much enjoy fucking you raw, and I also very much enjoy my cock, so I keep him well taken care of.”

It’s come full circle: the girl who set me on the path of destruction can be my redemption.

He turns to me, his freshly dried, soft, dark hair lays flat so that he looks almost boyish, and kisses me on top of my head. “You’re pretty fucking special too.”

Her cock sucking skills are about as magical as a fucking unicorn.