by T. L Smith
My hands start to slide down the front of his chest, and he flies backward to the end of the couch, away from me. My eyes reopen, his taste lingers on my lips. His dark green eyes are focused strongly on me.
“You shouldn't have done that.” His green eyes are darker now, fiercer.
“Why not?” I antagonize him.
He stands abruptly from the couch, taking two steps to be in front of me. He looks down at me and swings my legs around off the couch directly in front of his legs. He leans down, picks up my hands, joining them together, pinning them with one of his hands and pushes me back on the couch. He leans down, now his face inches from mine, his lips inches from my lips.
His lips descend on mine. They’re rough but soft, just like him. Rough on the outside, soft on the inside. My lips part and he gives me more than what he gave me mere seconds ago. His tongue enters me, and he kisses back with the same passion I’m giving him. My back arches, my body wanting to be closer to his. His hand slides down—making my stomach break out in butterflies—in between my breast, but it stops there and then there’s pressure. He pushes me down away from him. I want to protest, but I know if I do it will come to an end.
His hand stays in between my breasts—his mouth, his lips, assaulting me. It's fierce, so much passion. It feels like ten years’ worth of kisses.
As our tongues dance together with a wild passion I taste coconut.
He breaks for air, his forehead rests against mine, my hands still pinned above my head. Both of our breaths are heavy, our eyes connect and he goes to speak, but pulls away abruptly.
My hands drop falling to my side. I desperately want words to leave my mouth, but nothing seems to fall from my lips when I move to speak. His eyes do a slow burn, he looks unsure. He hasn't moved far.
“You need to leave,” his voice sounds gruff.
“That was…” I pause staring him, “…ten years’ worth of kisses.”
His head shakes, not disagreeing nor agreeing.
“That shouldn't have happened. We can't happen!”
“We can, and it would be explosive.”
His eyes leer at me while he bites his bottom lip. I sit up straight, closer to him, two steps away. I stand and take a step closer, his eyes tracking my movements. Another step closer, our bodies now touching slightly.
“Kiss me again?” My voice is tight, nerves taking hold. Unsure of what he’ll do or say.
It takes a while and I don't move, and neither does he. His hand snatches out and brings my body to his. I slam into the front of him and my hands come up, circling around his neck so fast there’s not enough time for him to pull away. His lips descend on mine. This kiss is softer with not so much aggression. I could kiss him forever.
My body grinds on him. I want to explore. His body pushes back into mine, the need, the want is there. I don't move my hands, afraid of what he will do. He doesn't like intimacy—not the sexual kind, just the love kind. His hands explore me. I let him. They're rough and unsure of what they’re meant to be doing. He isn't sure how to be normal. I don't want him normal, I want him just the way he is—fucked up and all.
“Touch me,” my voice is husky, turned on.
His hands slide up the back of my shirt and they unclasp my bra. They feather back down, and his hands come in between us. He pulls my hands away and they drop to my side, he grabs the bottom of my shirt, and in one swift movement tears my shirt apart. He slides it off my shoulders, then my bra. I’m now exposed in front of him, the top half of me completely naked. His eyes travel downward, stopping on my breasts. Roger used to make me feel insecure about my breasts. He’d tell me I had the chest of a boy. He never made me feel beautiful or desired. But the way Liam is looking at me it makes me feel all those things and more.
I go to reach for his shirt, but his hands stop me. He reaches out again, undoing my pants, and I kick my shoes off. He pulls my pants down, taking my underwear with them. I’m now completely naked and he’s completely dressed in his black trousers and white shirt. His hand reaches up and he undoes his first button, I see hair, it's not much, just a patch. The rest is next the shirt gets removed, his nipples are pierced with a barbell through each. No tattoos, just the piercings.
His eyes stay on mine, he kicks his shoes off then comes his pants. I'm afraid to look down. He isn't, his eyes don't stop traveling my body. My eyes stay glued to his face. He looks at me challenging, challenging me to look down. He smirks, and it's the sexiest thing I’ve seen. I remove my eyes from his face and trail them down from his chest to his stomach, which has a beautifully sculptured six-pack. I let my eyes travel further, where they stop at this cock. I gasp loudly. He has an apadravya, and the metal shines brightly at the end of his cock. He's manicured, clean, and very tall. My eyes shoot back up to him. His smirk is still in place. I've never been with someone who had a cock piercing. It should be interesting.
“I have rules.” His voice is husky, his eyes now on me.
“Rules,” I reply.
“Yes, rules…” he pauses. “…the biggest rule is no touching.”
“Ever?”
“Ever,” he confirms.
“I want to touch, and I will touch.” He shakes his head. How can he say no? I’m naked in front of him!
“When I fuck, no one is allowed to touch. I fuck hard, I don't fuck soft. And I don't make love.”
I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be standing in this place, at this time, with her. I can't say no and I can't walk away. Her ice blue eyes search my face, like she doesn't believe those words I’ve spoken. But excitement is also evident in her eyes. My hands snake up and I capture her, her naked body pressed against mine. I'm hard, I was hard from the moment I saw her. I used to be worried about fucking, worried that the excitement of it was gone. But it wasn't, my mind and my body had had enough of fucking. It wanted something different, it wanted her. Her hands are stuck to her side, and I know she wants to move them. Though too much touching has been involved.
“I'm going to make you forget everything. Erase every other hand, lips, or body that’s touched you before me.” Her body shivers. “Do you believe me?"
She nods her head. “Keep your hands to your side. If you move them you’re not allowed to come.”
“That’s unfair,” she barely whispers.
“Life is unfair, you should know this.” She doesn't answer me, but I see it in her eyes that she understands.
I take my time while I look her over—her breasts are a perfect size, her nipples a soft pink, begging me to make them red. My tongue trails down her neck, and she stands still, still as a statue. Maybe she will listen, maybe I will let her come. Her skin tastes sweet. She’s not sunken, not skinny anymore.
I lick all the way down to her left breast, where I circle her nipple, wanting to devour it. Her breathing is heavy, her chest moving up and down fast. My other hand palms her right breast. I'm waiting for her to move, but I’m hoping she won’t. I suck hard on her breast, then lick and bite. I go to her other breast and do the same. My hands run up and down her stomach. It's flat, so I move my hands slightly further down. Slowly, I touch her pussy. She holds a breath as I insert a finger. Her eyes close, and I insert another. I want to take my time, but I also want to ravage her. I push her down to the coffee table. She knocks the pizza and the remotes off of it. I push forward, my fingers still inserted inside her as I drop to my knees in front of her. Her legs spread wide, her back arched. Eyes closed. She visibly shakes. I grab my pants that are discarded on the floor, reach for a condom, and slide it on. My tongue starts at her entrance and works its way up to her quickly. She gasps, and it’s loud. I haven't had to restrain her, she’s listened. Hands stay to her sides, or on her breasts. She reaches down a few times, stopping at her naval, wanting to touch me. I just can't, I can’t allow it.
My tongue fucks her, it tastes every bit of her, and she starts to scream my real name. She knows not to use it, I warned her not to use it. But in this moment I don't stop her.
It's fast, I don't give her moment to breathe. I slam straight into her. Her mouth opens in shock. I'm rough, always have been. I seek my own pleasure when I fuck, though the women always seem to get off before me. I'm not an asshole, I usually make sure their pleasure is met. And with Rose I'm unsure. She’s different to the chicks I usually fuck. I slam into her, repeatedly. Her neck is arched, and I can't see her face. Her fists are clenched, but the noises leaving her mouth are pleasure.
She tightens around me, I can feel she's almost there. My piercing is hitting the right spot with each deep thrust a take. I know she feels it each time I slam into her. She clenches and moans loudly. It's a beautiful thing to watch, a woman completely coming apart in front of my very eyes. I'm going to be addicted, I can't slow down. I haven't felt this kind of pleasure for a very long time.
“Scream my name, Rose. Scream it so loud that heaven and hell can hear you.” She obliges, my finger playing with her clit. And that's all it takes, my name, my real name coming from those beautiful pink lush lips.
I remove myself from her. She stays where she is on the coffee table, laid out, deeply breathing and exhausted. I came, but my cock wants more. I can feel it stirring again. She does this to me. Takes over my sense of normal, making it her own.
“How…” the voice is husky, “…no one has made me come like that in my life.” She breathes hard.
“I need more,” I inform her while placing on another condom. Her head shakes back and forth.
“I can't move.”
I grab her hips and turn her around. “You don't need to move.”
She’s passed out. I picked her up and placed her on the spare bed. When I woke the next morning, she wasn't there. All evidence of her was gone. I have mixed feelings, I don't want to be attached. But somehow I think that's impossible now. How do you not get attached to someone that implants themselves in you? She's an enigma. Once you see her, you're drawn in by her. It was ten years ago. She changed me, some may say for the good, some may say for the worse. Either way, I wouldn't change that day for anything.
I'm going to have to tell her, going to have to tell her the real story. The one she doesn't know, the one that could make her hate me. The one that could make her want to kill me. You’d think a man in my position would be more afraid telling her what I do for work. But in actuality it’s what I did to her a few years ago that will shatter us before we’ve even begun.
If you could say pure bliss, that's how I’ve felt for the last two weeks with Liam. I see him every day. He waits outside my work and he takes me back to his place and fucks me into oblivion every fucking day. We hardly talk, and if we do it’s me talking. I've learned that he doesn't like to speak, but he does like to listen. There's nothing wrong with that, I think it's just the way he’s always been—listening and watching what everyone does. No one’s really wanted to hear what he has had to say. So he just takes it all in measure. But when he does talk, I see glimpses of the man that he really is, and it's a beautiful sight to behold.
I'm allowed to touch his neck, his face, and his hair. He hasn't let me ventured further, I’ve tried. But when I do, he pins my hands above my head and slams into me with such passion that I forget everything that’s happened. Touching where he can touch me any way he pleases. I don't believe I’m a weak woman, I believe I’ve been dealt a bad hand. I believe I thought I was in love at a young age and that when a man told me he loves me, I should believe it. That every word he spoke to me was true. But it wasn't, I was naïve, I was young, and I was definitely stupid.
Liam is the opposite. He doesn't tell me he loves me, but he does say I'm beautiful. And I believe that, I believe every word that comes from his mouth. I'm not being naïve this time, I believe what he says is true. When he puts his time into someone, he puts his all.
When I leave work, he’s standing outside his truck. His hands are tucked into his pockets, and as usual he has glasses covering his eyes. The black suit he always wears that fits him like a glove is covering his body. I get butterflies just from looking at him. I want to run to him and wrap my arms around his waist, but he won't let me. My hands are allowed to go around his neck now, and his around my waist, usually on my ass. I don't complain though. He gives me pieces, pieces I think he doesn't show anyone. Last night we were on the floor, both of us naked, both thoroughly fucked. He said something after I asked him about his walls, why they’re covered in graffiti. It's an odd thing to see, no one has walls like him, but then again no one is like Liam Black.
“They take me back to a time, a time when I was young and met a beautiful girl on the darkest night of nights. We had an indescribable bond and I would graffiti things to her. And she would sit and watch me. It was probably the happiest time of my life.”
I shed a tear when he said that that time was the happiest day of his life. The only way to remember was to paint the inside of his house later. I sleep on the couch when I'm at his. I haven't seen the inside of his room, he doesn't leave me until I'm fast asleep. He waits, waits until I pass out. And it's never long after we have fucked. I have to tell him something tonight, something that I need to do, something that's missing in me and he needs to understand. I don't know how we will, I just hope it's not the end of us.
“I think we should talk.” He’s naked, breathing heavily above me. My hands are above my head, being held there by his hands. He slams into me again, my eyes are closed, pure ecstasy taking over me. I manage to open them to see he’s looking at me, watching me. He likes to do this, he likes to see me. Where I can’t help but close my eyes, it’s instinct, too much, all at once taking me over.
“No,” he says, pulling out, leaving me on the floor. He stands naked and walks to the kitchen. And a beautiful sight. His ass is sculpted, no fat what-so-ever, his back is powerful, just as the rest of him. I manage to sit up though my body is sore. The light from the fridge shines on him, making him look so much more powerful than he already is.
“I have things to tell you.” I catch the bottle of water as it’s thrown at me. He cocks his head to the side, assessing me.
“I don’t want to hear them, Rose.”
“Why?”
“Our bubble is fine just the way it is, don’t burst it,” is all he says, then walks to his room, shutting the door and leaving me out. I don’t bother following, it’s a waste of time. He wouldn’t let me in anyway. When he comes out ten minutes later, he’s fully dressed in gloves and a black suit with his hair neatly styled.
“Going to get lucky?” I joke, standing and finding my dress, sliding it over my body.
“Yes.”
I swing back around, half dressed. He’s joking, I can see it now, but the joke hurt, more than it should have.
“Where are you going?” I ask, placing my shoes on while he watches my every move.
“I have work to do, Rose. I have more to do than fuck you.”
“Good, so do I. I have plans tomorrow. Don’t pick me up.” His forehead crinkles as he assesses what I’ve just said. He stands there, then turns away, picking up his keys. He nods for me to follow. I do without so much as a word.
He’s never taken me home after I have spent an afternoon with him. I’m always there when he wakes up, dressed and ready for work. He’s always right on time, ready to take me to work, without me even telling him when I start.
He stops at Casey’s house, parks his truck in the front yard. It’s dark and her lights are out. She must hear us though as the kitchen light flicks on, so I turn to face him. His eyes stay ahead, not looking at me. I reach for the handle, then pause, thinking of what I should say.
“Will you call me?” I ask just as my hand is on the door, ready to open it. My back is to him, I can’t face him—he’s shut down.
“No.”
“I’ll call you,” I say, stepping out. He doesn’t say anything else, he just drives off like nothing ever happened.
I watch her from my truck even though she didn’t want to see me tonight. But that
doesn’t mean I can’t see her. She’s outside a school, her hand is pressed up against the fence, her long blonde hair down. It flows around every time the wind catches it. She looks sad, more miserable than I’ve ever seen her. Her eyes are red and her mouth is tight. I wonder what it is that makes that look on her face like her world has been broken so badly that there’s no repairing it.
But I can’t wonder.
I shouldn’t even be here.
But I just can’t help myself.
She’s like a drug, my own personal fucked up drug.
And I can’t stay away, no matter how hard I try.
It’s not good for either of us, this fucked up thing we both have going on. We’re both as cracked as one another. Both as shattered as each other. Two shattered hearts cannot make it right. It would just cause an avalanche of feelings, feelings neither of us can bare.
She opens the gate, the kids running all around the playground. I sit forward so I can see clearer. She drops to her knees as she reaches the gate, a sob raking over her body. A little girl runs to her, wrapping her tiny arms around her shoulders and cries. The scene doesn’t make any sense, I can’t understand what I’m seeing. Then I see what the little girl mouths and I know, know that that’s what she wanted to tell me.
Mom.
I can’t see her anymore. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t deal with it all. It’s too much, it will be too much for her.
But I can’t help myself.
Drug… she’s a drug… and I’m wildly addicted.
I sit there and watch her for an hour. I have a job tonight. I can’t let whatever I have for her affect what I do. I’ve already declined work because I wanted to see her every day to get my fix. She listens to me when I say don’t touch, she obeys me. Most women I’m with never obey, they always try to touch, touch me in places where their hands are not permitted.
I am so lost in her I don’t recognize when she straightens her spine and grips the little girl until it’s too late. I’m not fast enough for the slap that echoes across her face either. The little girl who has edged to her side is crying, and the man pulls her arm to get her away. Rose screams something, tears soaking her face, making her makeup run. Her eyes look black.
