This book is an exertion of fiction. All characters, names, and events are the creation of the author’s imagination. Any likenesses to any person, living or deceased, places, names, or situations are entirely coincidental. This book takes place in Portland, though some of the locations are made-up from the author’s imagination.
Copyright © Mary E. Palmerin 2015
All rights reserved.
Editor: Kellie Montgomery
Photograph: Shauna Kruse, Kruse Images and Boudoir © 2015
Cover: Kelsey Keeton, KKeeton Designs © 2015
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Disclaimer
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For the Reader
About the Author
To all the Gwens and Welchs of the world, may you never give up and find your flicker of life once again. I’m humbled, honored, and blown away at the amount of people like them who reached out to me after I released Gwendolyn vs. the Band of Barren Hearts. Thank you for surviving and sharing your story with me. This book is for you. Let your sparkle shine.
As always, a big thank you to my husband, Domingo, for being there for me during this journey. It has taken a lot during the past few years since I decided to take the leap of faith and put myself out there. I wasn’t prepared at all, but he has remained by my side and kept me grounded. He’s lived these stories with me, tolerated my late nights on weekends, and of course will always have the title of the “Google Master”. Domingo, I love you more than you will ever know.
To my family, there are not enough words to express my gratitude. To my sister, Catherine, thank you for living this dream with me and being by my side in NYC, holding my hand at the signing while having more faith in me than I have in myself. To my mother, Lee Ann, you have always been my number one believer. I hope that I make you proud. To my Aunt Teri, for being the first to know about my book and supporting me every step of the way. Your love for literature and my stories means more to me than you will ever know. Thank you.
To Cecily Bonney, my best friend, my soul sister, my beta reader, and so many other things. You were one of my first readers and I know that life brought us together for a reason. It turned into something so much more than that and I am beyond grateful. I can’t say thank you enough for the late night phone calls about plot ideas, twists, minor details, and your ideas have inspired so much in every tale that I create. I am honored to have you alongside of me during this journey.
To Kelly Riley, my best friend who helps me understand that true, genuine kindness is still present in this world. She was one of my first readers turned into something so much more and I couldn’t be more grateful for it. Your support and encouragement in all my tales makes my heart swell with joy. You are an amazing woman. Thank you, Kelly.
I want to say a big thank you to Jenna Schmitt, another beta reader of mine who has read every story of mine. Her feedback and love for Welch has driven me to continue when there were times I didn’t want to. We met years ago as teenagers under less-than-ideal circumstances, and now we have grown to be great friends celebrating our Fruit Fridays! Thank you, Jenna.
To Tara Sanders-Vanover, words cannot express my gratitude for you. You understand how my compulsive writer brain works and you get my stories even when others don’t. They aren’t hearts and flowers. They hurt, but you know why I have to tell them. Thank you for understanding the kind of writer I am, but most of all, thank you for your unwavering friendship!
To Kristin Dutt, reader turned beta! She read my Scars and Sorrow Saga and helped spread the word about my books. She loved Gwen’s story and became a beta for me, appreciating the dark nature of my tales. Thank you, Kristin!
To Di Covey, blogger from Twisted Sisters’. She signed up for the cover reveal of Gwendolyn vs. the Band of Barren Hearts and our friendship and love for books flourished from there. She has helped spread the word about my books, offered me advice, and has been an ever-present sane voice for me during the process of writing Welch’s book. With her advice and reassurance, I have stepped outside of my comfort zone, understanding that is where I am most comfortable. Di, thank you for being such an amazing friend to me!
To Julianne McCorkendale, blogger from Twisted Sisters’. She took a chance on Gwen thanks to the recommendation from Di, and fell in love with the story. We formed an instant friendship and she has spread the word about all my books and invested herself in all the tales I have created, including The Scars and Sorrow Saga. Thank you so much, Julianne!
To all my girls on my street team, Mary’s Magnificent Minxes. They are a spectacular group of women who love my stories. Most of all, we have grown to be great friends. They are total rock stars. I love you ladies!
To Kellie Montgomery, thank you for your editor-eyes that help perfect my work to make it shine and make it the best it can be! Your friendship means so much to me.
To Deena Harrison-Schoenfeldt for making the inside of my books pretty! I would be beyond lost without her. She is an amazing woman and a friend and I am lucky to have her in my corner. Thank you, Deena!
To Shauna Kruse and Stephen Hughes-Landers, thank you for taking such a great picture for the cover!
To Kelsey Kukal-Keeton, friend and cover designer extraordinaire. She has designed eight books for me and stepped outside of her comfort zone. Kelsey, thank you for searching for whip marks, slash marks, and all things bloody for my covers! They are stunning and your eye is parallel with my vision.
To my readers, I could write thousands of words about how I feel and that would never suffice. I never thought I would have the courage to share Lyla’s story, but I did. Writing Gwen’s was difficult, but different for me because I was able to separate myself more. When I wrote Gwen’s book, I didn’t have plans to continue past hers, but Welch’s character was screaming, “Tell my story!” Here I am on my eighth book. I am glad that I decided to tell it, because he is a complex, compelling man. The stories that I tell aren’t far from reality, which may be the reason that it scares people. I’m okay with that. I am not a butterflies and white picket fence writer. I want to put reality in your hands. Like I have said before, happily-ever-afters aren’t always defined as million-dollar mansions and flawless love. Sometimes it is finding light in darkness and grasping onto hope when you feel like letting go. That is what kind of writer I want to be known as.
I hope you enjoy Welch’s story as much as Gwendolyn’s. As always, live like there is no tomorrow and carpe fucking diem.
Readers, please be aware that this book is intended for mature audiences. Graphic scenes are depicted throughout the book and are not intended for readers under the age of eighteen. If you are expecting a romantic love story, please do not continue because this tale is not for you. Parts of this book contain sensitive subject matter that may be triggers for some people including but not limited to physical and emotional abuse, rape, sexual degradation, and detailed depiction of violent and brutal acts. Reader discretion is highly advised. Do not proceed reading if you are easily offended by strong language and sexual encounters (both consensual and non-consensual). Consideration of the above mentioned disclaimer is highly advised before reading.
If you continue, I hope that I expose you to a facet of the world that is all too real for many people. I once had a
person tell me that I do not allow my characters to be happy. I don’t see that to be true. I simply expose them to the gruff, vicious elements of the world before giving them little bits of faith along the way. That, to me, is more delightful that billionaires and white picket fences. I knew when I decided to put myself out there as a writer that I would be taking big chances, and I am okay with that. The stories that I tell deserve to be told. I hope that you are moved by Welch’s story.
Enjoy.
“There is no greater sorrow than to recall happiness in times of misery.”
-Dante Alighieri
Nine Years after Sentencing
Four Years since Being Free (Technically)
Portland, Oregon
“What the fuck did I tell you, sweet girl?” I yell, before smacking my hand down onto the girl’s fat ass.
My dick is hard as fuck and this whore’s inability to listen is pissing me off more and more. Her curvy, olive skin bears the markings of my hand prints along her back and ass. She’s moving more than I care for which earns her increased punishment, but that leads me to believe that she likes it.
“So sorry,” she whimpers, arching her back while pushing her ass further back into me.
“No you’re not. You enjoy this, don’t you?” I bite.
I’m punishing myself, withholding the pleasure I crave as I see Gwendolyn haunting my mind and dreams while I prepare to ravage this Spanish beauty.
“Turn over and let me see your face, Isabel.”
Shit gets real when I use their real names. It hurts me when I use Gwen’s pet name for every girl that I bed, but in my tortured mind I am still holding onto part of her. It probably doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t to me half the time until it is already out of my mouth.
She rolls over onto her back, showing me her perfect D-cup tits. Her face is flushed with desire and her full lips are opened slightly, so pink and delectable. I dismiss my adorations and bring my hand up, swatting it hard onto her breast, watching her dark nipple rise to life. I let myself smile before I lay my naked body on top of hers, allowing myself to revel in a second of normalcy as the warmth of her body makes me feel alive. I’m covered in sweat from anticipation as I find myself sticking to her soft skin. It must mean something. I am the sticky and she is the sweet. I bend down and bite her breast; hearing her shriek out in pain makes me smile against her body.
I hate myself for grinning. There isn’t much to be happy about. Relishing freedom only to be trapped by my past and the love that I can’t ever have is a sorrow that can’t be put into words. My smile quickly leaves as my lips turn into a frown. My madness is bubbling high, an indication that my usual outlets will not leave me satisfied. I fear that I may make Isabel take it to a level that she will not feel comfortable with, but she doesn’t realize one major factor.
She doesn’t have a choice because I am a master of intent.
She bucks her hips up towards my body. I make the decision to allow myself the simplicity of getting her off and tasting a beautiful woman cum on my tongue. But the more and more I continue to try to search for someone like me, the further away I am pushed and the closer to darkness that I feel. I shove her knees apart, appreciating her fully waxed pussy. She’s dripping wet and it makes my mouth water and my belly grumble.
I’m ready to eat.
I dip my head between her thick thighs and flick my tongue on her clit quickly as I finger her tight pussy. Goddamn, she is wet as fuck and responding to my touch. I try not to let myself feed into my pride, but giving pleasure before I feel pain is all I have come to know since I lost the only good thing I had in life.
I pull out my two fingers, adjusting them to three and jabbing them into her tight cunt. Her back arches up from the bed and she screams out.
“William! Stop, please!”
I ignore her statement; begging me to stop makes my cock harder than before. Her words may say something, but her body tells another story as her pussy floods my fingers. I fuck her faster and lick her clit, harder than it was before. She grasps onto my hair, pulling me closer into her. I continue to finger fuck her as she yells out again, “Please, more!”
This is the best part, when they ask for me to stop and then plead for more, finally understanding that something foreign and unknown can be deliciously desirable. I apply force onto her pussy lips with my teeth, stilling my three fingers inside of her while finding her sweet spot. She clenches hard around me, screaming my name as Spanish chanting follows suit. I pull my fingers out of her cunt and allow my tongue to be bathed with the sweet and salty fluid, lapping it up as my taste buds are thanking me with every drop she offers.
After I lick her clean, I pull my head away to watch her still pulsating pussy.
“Such a good girl. You didn’t want it, but deep down you did. Feels good to be bad,” I whisper against her wet thigh.
“You are too much for words, William,” Isabel returns, panting.
That is a funny thing of her to mention considering I never provide any of the girls with much conversation. They usually come to terms with how hollow and fucked up I am along with my inability to give them what they want.
Love.
Love. I felt that once, but the love that I had is dust, scattering itself in the wind as I meander along, helplessly destroying myself and others who are in my way.
“How’s that, Isabel?” I question, disturbingly interested.
I hate when I allow myself to participate in small talk during these times when the girl gets off and slowly comes down from her high, but I know what I am about to ask her to do will likely push every sexual boundary she has, even ones she never knew existed. I suppose it is only necessary for me to be polite and act interested in what she says in the meantime to get what I want when the truth is, I don’t give a shit because she will never be her.
I’m a glutton for self-punishment and pain.
“Mysterious, yet soft. You seem like a very interesting man, William.”
“You say that now, sweet girl. You don’t know me,” I return, laughing like a maddened lunatic on the inside as my horns and teeth beg to erupt through the surface.
It’s true. She doesn’t have the slightest clue what I want from her, how it affects me and gets me off in the most dysfunctional and amusing way.
Again, I am a gorger for aching and self-destruction.
“I want to know you, William.”
I pick my head up from her thigh and ascend up the soft curves of her body, rubbing my hands all along the way. She may think that this is a sweet gesture, but make no mistake, I am a man that has learned the evil ways of the world. I have become a master of manipulation. I give her what she wants to cloud her mind from what is about to occur, make her think that I am someone that is capable of a good life, when the fact of the matter is I’m not. Trickery at its goddamn finest.
I am a monster. I am her monster and my cold heart will never belong to anyone else.
“Oh, Isabel. Believe me when I say this…” I pause, tickling her pussy with the head of my painfully hard cock as she gasps aloud, “I’m a fucking monster.”
She’s lust drunk on me, unaffected by my admission. I don’t let myself feel the complete wonder of her enveloped all the way around me. Why? Because it is a form of punishing myself, one of many that I partake in.
I bend back and rest my weight on my knees, looking down at my inked chest and stomach and letting my hands graze the surface of my belly. Most of my scars from my past can’t be noticed because of my tattoos, but I feel them beneath my hands straight down to my jumbled soul. I look at her through glinted eyes, deciding which route I want to take; how bad I want to hurt myself.
“You want to know me, sweet girl?” I murmur, stroking my hard dick.
“So much,” she pleads, her full lips remaining parted like she wishes to speak further, but she does not continue on.
Yes, practically begging. I see in her deep, dark eyes that she wants me. I will make her think that she
can have me until I get what I want, but soon she will see how fucked I am and go running for the hills. There has yet to be a woman out there that understands my agony and sexual fuckedupedness. Would my previous counselor flip her shit if she knew that I partook in such events? Yes, the definite and absolute answer.
“All of me?” I question, tightening the grip around my cock.
She nods her head yes, at a total loss for words as her eyes roam across all the artwork I have on my body. I continue to jack my cock with thoughts of the pain that I love to hate; the actions that I so much deserve to let me know that I am still alive and wasting time away from my life because I am existing without her.
My fucking monster, because that is what Gwendolyn is. I close my eyes as I continue to touch myself while I see her before me, so innocent yet fiery at the same time. I’m certain that she was made for me as I was made for her. Thoughts of our bloody fuck session send shockwaves of ecstasy to my belly, clenching every muscle straight to my core and I can’t stop myself. I remember her bloodied hands entangled in my hair, the trail she left on my stomach, and the fucking taste of her when I kissed her. Goddamn, it is nearly too much.
“William?” Isabel calls out, watching me masturbate in front of her.
My eyes dart open as I release my cock. I’m angry, so angry and I want to relive that bloody time again. Being disciplined and reliving other encounters won’t give me the same kind of satisfaction. It’s time to push Isabel for more. Let’s see how much she really wants to know me.
“Now’s the time, sweet girl,” I sneer.
She turns her head, perplexed while she remains on her back on my bed with her legs spread open with that dripping pussy before me.
“Time for what?”
“To get to know just how fucked up I am,” I whisper, then show her my wicked smile.
She reluctantly smiles back at me as I rise from the bed from my tiny apartment in Buckman in the Hawthorne District in Portland. I walk over to my nightstand as my heart speeds up. I open the drawer and pull out my plastic box of handy dandy blades.
The Emancipation of Love Page 1
