Debt

by Nina G. Jones

“Don’t fucking act like you don’t like this shit Mia. I know you want someone to dirty you up. I’ll make you fucking filthy. Now, show me. ”

“I’ll tell you what I don’t want,” he says, the fragrance of his skin and musky vanilla scent of his cologne flooding my nose and violating my desire. “I don’t want to deal with your sudden streak of confidence at five in the fucking morning.” He presses me up against the closed door with his chest. “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.”

My dad used to warn me that the devil doesn’t have horns and a pitchfork, he’ll appear as the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. He’ll make you laugh. He’ll make you feel good. You’ll do things you never thought you would, but he’ll tell you it’s okay. And before you know it, you’ve sold your soul to him. That’s how I know Tax is my devil.

“I’m here because I dream about you, the taste of your pussy, your moans, your cries, the way you beg for me...”

“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.”