I fall over her body again, bracing myself on my arms as I fuck her ruthlessly. She continues to voice her pleasure through grunts and moans, and her pussy contracts, squeezing my cock tight and ripping my orgasm from me.
My voice roars through the room as I have one of the longest orgasms I’ve had in a long time. It takes a minute before I’m able to bring myself to roll off of her, but when I do, I quickly rip the condom off and throw it on the floor.
We’re both left panting on the bed, trying to catch our breath as sweat glistens on our bodies. My eyes close and I feel her pinky wrap around my pinky. No words are spoken, but I don’t pull away, and I feel like this gesture speaks volumes.
Fuck.
“I’M GONNA JUMP in the shower real quick,” I say, getting out of the bed.
“Okay,” she replies, pulling the cover up to her chin and curling up on her side.
In the shower, I rest my arm against the tile in front of me and drop my head, letting my forehead lay against my arm. The stream of hot water hits my shoulders and back for a few minutes before I straighten up and let it pour over my face. The temperature of the water is so hot the whole bathroom fills with steam fairly quick. I take this time alone to think about what happened earlier.
Not the sex. The sex was great. It always is with her. She never ceases to surprise me with her ability to adapt to whatever I throw at her. However, she did hesitate when I said I hadn’t been rough yet, but I guess I can’t be too surprised.
However, the show of affection caught me off guard. We finally kissed, and I enjoyed it.
I’ve kissed women before, but I don’t make a habit of it. When you’re used to just fucking around with someone, you don’t find kissing important. Kissing is for showing how much you like someone. Shared kisses between people only mean those people enjoy being close. There’s a connection there. I’ve only been interested in sex. When you just fuck people¸ kissing isn’t the important part.
Women tend to enjoy the kissing more than men. I’ve had them try to latch onto my face after just meeting me. I mean, look, if we’re fucking in a bathroom, I’m not interested in making out. If we’re fucking in the back of my truck, I don’t care about your fucking mouth on mine.
This feels different though. While we’ve met up in hotel rooms, and had quick hook-ups at her apartment, I can already tell this is different than anyone else I’ve been with. By this time, I’ve already put a stop to whatever I’ve had going on with someone. Three times is usually the limit. After that, emotions can start getting involved, things start to be expected of you, and I don’t do well with that shit.
This is number four for Analeigh and me, and quite possibly one too many. But there’s still something in her that draws me in. I don’t understand it, and I’m not surprised. I’ve never had a female in my life for a long period of time. Mom died, foster moms were shitty people, I didn’t have female friends growing up, and once I became an adult, women were only good for one thing.
Analeigh is fucking with me, and I don’t know what the fuck to do about it. Everybody, even someone as fucked up as me, seeks someone who understands them. People need to know that someone in the world likes them for who they are, and cares if something bad happens to them.
The problem with that is, nobody could like me for who I am. How could they? Which means, I’ll never be able to be happy with someone. I’ll never be able to be me. I’ll always have to wear this front, and that shit is tiring.
So the question is, do I keep on doing what we’re doing and hope for the best possible outcome, or do I put an end to this shit now, even if that means a lonelier life? Even though I want to be able to see her again, fuck her again, talk to her again.
After washing off with the generic soap and shampoo, I step out of the shower and start drying off. When I hear voices and laughter, I wrap the towel around my waist and rush into the main room. I stop short when I see someone delivering room service.
“Hey, hope you don’t mind,” Analeigh says, tipping the guy standing in the room. He smiles at her before looking at me and losing the smile just as quick as it was put there.
“Oh. No, that’s fine,” I say, watching the man hurry out. “Was he flirting with you?” I ask as the door closes.
Analeigh laughs. “Why? You jealous?”
I scoff. “Yeah right. There was just a lot of laughter in here until I came in.”
She playfully rolls her eyes. “There wasn’t a lot of laughter. I think I laughed once.”
“What’d you get?” I ask, changing the subject.
“I didn’t know what you’d want, but since you ordered a burger at the restaurant that one day, I ordered you that and some fries.”
“That’s good. Thanks.”
“Good. Now go get dressed since you don’t have to worry about the room service attendant stealing me away,” she says with a laugh.
I give her a pointed look before going back to the bathroom and putting my clothes on. When I come back out, she’s got the food placed on the table on the other side of the room, so I sit across from her and start eating.
“Mm. This is good,” she mumbles as she shoves a seasoned fry in her mouth.
My lips curl into a smile as I watch her shove food in her mouth like she hasn’t eaten in weeks. “You’re acting like you haven’t had food in a while,” I say with a laugh. “You do feed yourself, don’t you?”
She looks up, her mouth full of fries, and throws one at me. After swallowing down the food, she says, “Shut up. Someone took all my energy from me. I need to replenish.”
“Does that mean you’ll be ready to go again soon?” I ask, lifting a brow.
She smiles at me. “Maybe.”
The next several minutes go by in silence as we both focus on finishing our food. Once we’re done, she takes everything and places it outside the door in the hall.
“God, I’m so full,” she says, rubbing her stomach. She flops onto her back on the unused bed and closes her eyes. After a couple minutes of me watching her, she speaks up. “You’re staring at me, aren’t you?”
“Well, there’s nothing else to look at.”
Her giggle fills the room. “You’re crazy.” She turns over on her stomach and looks at me. “So.”
I give her a lopsided grin. “So.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Really?” I say with a chuckle.
“What? I’m trying to get to know you without asking questions you don’t want to answer. So, yes. What’s your favorite color?”
I shake my head. “Black.”
She rolls her eyes. “Surprise, surprise. It’s all you wear.”
“I’ve worn gray.”
“Pft. Light black is what that is.”
“What’s yours?”
“Green. But a hunter green, not like bright green. Have you always lived in California?” she asks, quickly jumping to the next question.
“Yep. Different parts, but always California. You?”
“Same. Do you ever want to leave?”
“Probably not.”
“When was your last relationship and how long did it last?” she asks, wiggling her brows like she’s about to get some juicy information.
“Didn’t I say I don’t do the boyfriend thing?” I say with a chuckle, leaning back in the chair and stretching my legs out in front of me. I run my finger over my bottom lip as my elbow rests on the arm of the chair. “I think I did.”
“Yeah, but I figured that just meant you’re not currently doing that. Maybe you just got out of a relationship or something. Are you telling me you’ve never been in a relationship? Ever?” she asks with a tiny screech.
“That’s what I’m telling you.”
“No way!” she squeals, getting up and sitting Indian style on the bed. “You’re full of shit.”
“No, I’m not,” I say with a laugh. “I sleep with women. I don’t commit to them.”
She flinches. “That’s . . . I don’t know. Sad.”
/>
“It’s not bad, actually.”
“Why, though? Why don’t you ever give it a try?”
I huff, sitting forward. “I’ve told you why.”
She watches me for a while without saying anything. The silence stretches between us as we lock into this staring contest. I know what’s going to happen before it does. I can see it in her eyes. She’s not going to let this go and the silence is about to be ripped away, replaced with a conversation neither of us wants to have.
“I’ve had a bad life too, Donovan. You’re not the only one.”
“Don’t try to compare lives. You won’t win,” I say, getting up and finding my cigarettes.
“You can’t smoke in here,” she points out. I don’t respond. I just look at her as I light it up and inhale. She shakes her head. “So, what? You had a hard life and that means nobody else had a bad life?”
“No, that’s not what I said. Lots of people had shitty lives. I’ve witnessed that myself, but we all handle that differently, don’t we?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she says, shaking her head, her eyebrows pinched together.
“You seem like you turned out okay even though you had a bad life.”
“Yeah, but so do you.”
I smile a menacing smile at her. “What I allow you to see and who I actually am, are two completely different things. Never forget that.”
“Are you talking about your mental disorder?”
I laugh a humorless laugh. “I don’t have a mental disorder, Analeigh.”
“I thought you said you did.”
“I never said that,” I say, taking another drag of the cigarette. “You came to that conclusion on your own.”
“I’m tired of playing twenty-one questions with you, Donovan. Why can’t you just answer a simple question?” she yells, getting off the bed.
“Because these aren’t simple fucking questions. Nobody told you to play this fucking question game.”
“I just want to know what makes you tick. I want to know who you are, Donovan. That’s it.”
“You don’t want to know what makes me tick. You don’t want to know who I am. You keep saying that shit, but you don’t know what you’re asking for,” I say, walking over to the bathroom to drop the cigarette in the toilet. “This is why I don’t do relationships. This is why it’s only about the sex. Women always want to get to know someone. Asking all these fucking questions, and then getting pissed when they aren’t answered the way they want them to be. Well, guess what? That’s not how life works. You don’t always get what you want.”
“Oh, what? You didn’t grow up with your biological parents? You didn’t have siblings? Boo hoo. Cry me a fucking river. My dad’s an alcoholic. My mom ran out on us when I was sixteen. Life goes on.”
My anger rises in an instant. Most people would say they see red when they get angry, but not me. I see black. The darkness begins to come out and everything goes black. I do my best to rein it in, because while she’s so fucking wrong, she doesn’t deserve to die.
I ball my hands into fists at my side as my jaw clenches. I step right up to her, and she looks up at me, fear briefly painting her face. She takes a tiny step back, seeing the difference in me.
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, because if you had even the slightest clue, you’d know that the smartest thing for you to do right now would be to shut your fucking mouth. Daddy drinks?” I ask in a mocking tone. “How terrible for you. Your mom left after you’d already had sixteen years with her? My heart fucking breaks for you,” I spit, staring down at her.
“Stop it!”
“No, you stop it! My mom was a junkie whore who’d forget about me for days, weeks even. I was left alone at the age of six and seven, having to fend for myself until she found her way back home. When she was home, I was still ignored, because drugs were more important. I was probably left alone at a younger age, but I can’t even fucking remember. I was moved from foster home to foster home, and before you go thinking I was better off, these weren’t the fucking Brady’s who were taking care of me. You want to know what I went through? Huh? You want to know me?”
“No. Just forget it,” she says, moving away from me.
I follow her. “No, you started this shit. I was starved, locked in closets, beaten, and fucking molested. You happy now? You have enough information? All foster families aren’t what they’re cracked up to be. They wanted money each month. They didn’t give a fuck about the kids. Not the ones that had me, anyway. I was tormented, Analeigh. I lived every single day wondering what form of abuse I’d suffer from. That was normal for me. I didn’t know love. I didn’t know happiness.
“When you were little did you have a grown man touch you? Make you touch him? And if you fought against it, were you beaten or starved? Did your parents keep you locked in a closet for a whole day if they were mad at you? Did your dad beat you up for no reason at all? Perhaps he had a bad day and you were there to play the punching bag? Did that happen to you, Analeigh?”
She shakes her head, not wanting to make eye contact with me. “Stop.”
“Why? Does that hurt you? Does that make you feel bad? Imagine living like that. Imagine not knowing what the fuck a normal life was. Never feeling loved or appreciated. All you feel is used, abused, and worthless.”
She doesn’t look at me again. Her face is buried in her hands and she turns her back to me. Yeah, just like I thought. Not fucking ready.
I start putting on my shoes and collecting my shit from the room, shoving everything in my pockets.
“Wait, Donovan!” she calls out, finally looking at me through red eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. I told you you didn’t want to know. You’re not ready for my kind of fucked up.”
“I can’t even imagine any of that. Those people deserve to rot in jail for what they’ve done.”
“That’s where we differ, Analeigh,” I say, pointing my finger at her. “This is where the problem lies. You think they should go to jail. I think they deserve to die.”
Her jaw goes slack, and that’s the last thing I see before I storm out of the room.
TWO WEEKS GO by without a word from Analeigh. Not that I wanted her to get in touch, but a small part of me thought she’d send a text to try to apologize again. It’s most definitely better this way, though. I can’t worry about spilling my fucking life story out to someone. Especially when there’s no way in hell that someone could ever understand who I am. Not who I appear to be, but who I truly am deep down inside.
I’m not ignorant enough to think there are women out there who are looking for a man like me. At first glance, I’m sure they want me. I’m good-looking enough, tattooed, well-built, tall, and look like a man that crawled out of their daddy’s nightmares. Women like to go for the bad-boy type. The allure of danger is exciting. They want to piss off their dads or make ex-boyfriends jealous. They want a man that looks like they could fuck them into next week. But they only want that for so long.
I’m not a bad-boy type. What the fuck is that, anyway? Someone who cusses, treats women like shit, is so goddamn full of themselves, they’d suck their own dick if they could? Bad-boy types want to pretend they’re bad, but really they’re insecure little pussies who put on a front. I don’t want to be thought of as a bad boy. For one, I’m not a fucking boy. Two, the danger that comes to getting close to me is a real one, because when you allow yourself to get close to someone, you open yourself up for heartbreak. You’re vulnerable. And the people who’ve fucked me over in the past have learned that it’s not good to do that.
Analeigh could end up being a fucking cunt who pisses me off one too many times and makes me snap. So, yes, not trying for anything more is the best thing. For both of us.
These past two weeks at work have been tense to say the least. Nick is uneasy around me, but we still have small talk. Honestly, he’s caused me to think back too many times
about that drunken night when I may have told him something I shouldn’t have. For the life of me, I can’t fucking remember.
It would be too much of a coincidence for him to be saying the things he has and not know anything. However, perhaps his friendship or loyalty to me is what’s kept him quiet this whole time. If he does know anything, maybe I can trust him. I just don’t know how to broach the conversation, and why they hell was he trying to lure me into saying something? Maybe he’s trying to set me up. Fuck it. I’ll worry about it later.
Miguel, on the other hand, has been asking me about Analeigh way too much. He doesn’t know her name of course, but he knows I was spending time with someone, thanks to eavesdropping on conversations Nick and I had. I don’t know why he’s acting so interested in my life. He’s trying too hard to be my friend and it’s only making him more annoying. I don’t talk about my personal life, and even if Analeigh and I were happy, I wouldn’t tell him.
The final name on my list has been haunting me for these two weeks, too. Kathy Weber decided to take a last minute trip out of the country. When she and her husband divorced, she apparently got quite a bit from him and has been living luxuriously for a while now.
I followed her last week, ending up at a fancy restaurant where her and her friend chose to sit outside, under red and white umbrellas, having wine and some nasty fucking food only rich people eat. They decided to fly to Italy, but didn’t decide on how long, so now I must wait.
But the darkness wants out. I find myself becoming restless, easily agitated, and I know that it’s becoming stronger. Angrier. Impatient.
I’ve been able to keep it subdued for so long, and while I’ll always be able to keep up the persona of a normally functioning human being, the darkness may need to come out more often in order for that to be possible. Which means adding more people to my list. But who?
I can think of one.
No. I can’t do that. Too risky.
I put all of my focus on my plan for when Kathy finally returns. Whenever the fuck that’ll be. Kathy Weber is a sixty year old woman. I know, I’m a heartless bastard, but I’ve never pretended to be otherwise. She was a heartless bitch when I knew her, so I don’t have any pity in my body for that old woman.
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