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Only then did I quietly turn onto my back, lift my nightgown, and sink my fingers into my burning hot pussy. I came in under two minutes with my clit pinched between my fingers and another two shoved deep inside, thinking of the sexy young blond king and how he would rule me if I were his queen. It was the hardest I had come in years, maybe ever, and right on its heels came the tears. I cried silently and long into my pillow until it was steeped in salty wet and I was steeped deeply in shame.
Why was I lying in the dark like a victim? Because I was ashamed that my perfect life and husband didn’t make me happy?
“I thought we agreed the best way to get to know each other was with you on the back of my bike? I don’t take that shit lightly. In fact, I haven’t asked a chick to ride with me like that in my whole fuckin’ life. So, I’m going to ask you again, what the fuck changed in the last three minutes?”
Paradise Lost quotes, “The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell or a hell of heaven.”
“I got a lotta sweet to give if you promise to look at me like that every time I give it.” “Look at you like what?” “Like I’m worth somethin’ special. Don’t get that much and babe, I gotta tell you, it makes me feel like I’m king of my own fuckin’ castle.” I closed my eyes and dropped my head against the car with a groan. “I never stood a chance against you, did I?” “Not really,” he laughed.
I dreamt of a man who would utterly possess me, rip me from comfort and safety and plunge me into passion and chaos. A man who would look at me, instead of through me as my husband had. A man who was a real man, maybe one who chopped his own wood and fixed his own leaky pipes.
Don’t push a man when he’s on the fence about somethin’. He’ll keep clinging to it ’til his dying breath if he feels he might land on the wrong side with the right push.”
“Second, you’re right. I’m not your fuckin’ boyfriend. Children have girlfriends and boyfriends. Idiots let their women walk around unclaimed, secured by a fuckin’ hope and a prayer because they don’t make their women feel owned, cherished like the ultimate prize. No, I am your man, babe. The fuckin’ man that sees you strugglin’ to make ends meet because of your prick of a soon-to-be ex-husband, so he calls in his brothers to help her out even though he knows they’ll give him shit for being pussy whipped. I’m your fuckin’ man because I love being that for you. Now, do you hear me?”
“Fuck, that look in your eye,” King groaned, both hands sinking into the hair above my ears. “You look like you want to fucking worship me.” “I do,” I said. “I shouldn’t want to, but I’ve never wanted anything more.”
I’d dreamt of this since puberty but only in the darkest hours before morning, my fingers sticky from my leaking pussy as I imagined all the ways I could be made to please a man who had the power to bend me to my knees.
Happiness is streaking bare-assed naked down the wet sand into the waves, it’s drinkin’ too much and laughin’ too loud with your friends, it’s lovin’ so hard you want to devour the flesh, soul, and mind of another person. None of that is fuckin’ pure and all of it is fuckin’ sublime.”
I wanted the same things that I always did. Love, laughter, and living large right beside fear, anger, and tears. I wanted it all, every single thing life had to offer me.
“Name’s Paula,” the awful woman from behind the front desk told me with a saccharine smile. “I’m a real good friend of King’s.” Violence ignited in my belly, great gusts of hatred billowing up my throat tasting like ash in my mouth. “Name’s Cressida,” I mimicked her with an equally sweet smile. “I’m King’s old lady.” Her lips thinned instantly and she turned to Nova as if he’d betrayed her. “She’s what?” The biker shrugged, rolling an unlit cigarette between his pink, pink lips. “You heard her.” “The fuck?” she asked. “We do,” I agreed, nodding somberly. “A lot.”
He kissed me the way little girls dream about being kissed at their weddings, the way teenagers like to see in movies. The way most grown women have given up on wishing for.
