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Somewhere along the way, all the polish I so meticulously perfected has hardened into a veneer that’s starting to show its cracks.
For reasons I’ve never wanted to examine too closely, we’re constantly trying to prove to one another that we’re invulnerable, that we don’t care what the other thinks. In short, we lie spectacularly to each other. The fact that I’ve overheard her confession must be killing her.
“I detest physical violence.” “Uh-huh.” “But for you, I’ll make an exception.” A grin erupts. “You’ll make it hurt so good, won’t you, Berry?”
“I can’t…” I swallow thickly. “I might not make it for long this time. It’s been too many years of wanting you.”
He plays my pussy with the effortless authority of the world-class bass player that he is.
Berrylicious: You’re sounding suspiciously parental right now, Peterson. TrueAceOfBass: If you want to call me Daddy, I’m surprisingly okay with that. Berrylicious: It’s like you never want to have sex with me again.
I know relationships can work. I also know that when they fail, they fail spectacularly.
“Stop being a male cliché, bitching about commitment. It’s pedestrian.”
“From now on, I’ll only call you a diva if you start whining about venues not providing your favorite bottled water.”
She’s smiling at me. In public.
one snidely spoken comment from my father and I’m decimated, uncertain, and embarrassed to live within my own skin. I loathe how family can do that to me.
“Don’t baby me, Bren. I can’t handle your pity.” I’m already pulling down his half-open zipper. “I’m not going to baby you. I’m going to wrap your hands in a heating pad, then I’m going to trim that damn scraggly beard. After that, I might sit on that massive dick of yours and ride it for my pleasure, but we’ll have to see if you’re still being a grumpy ass.”
Something I absolutely love about Brenna? She’s a fiend for my cock. She loves playing with it, sucking it…I’d marry her for that alone. I don’t think she’d appreciate that particular motivating factor. But I do.
“Hey, it’s Supernatural. Castiel is my boy.”
“Biggest rock band in the world and we’re sitting around drinking beers and watching paranormal melodrama.” “Yeah,” Whip says, accepting a beer. “Life’s pretty fucking grand, ain’t it?”
Never mind, I keep picking the man version of low-budget cling wrap—the ones who claim they’ll hold on tight but then slip and slide away the second you relax enough to let go.”
For the first time in years, I’m fairly certain Scottie is about to lose his shit.
