“Go burn in hell!” She was repulsed by the mere thought of being back with me.
I smiled as I looked deep into her big, beautiful blue eyes. “Gladly. I’ll burn for you for eternity—but only if you lit the flame.”
She rolled her eyes at me and turned around. I had thrown her off her game. Which was evident when instead of going to her bedroom, she went other way around. When she realized the same, she grunted and turned back—but slipped on Kermit the Frog that Casey had left behind on the floor during our mission to shut Frank’s snores.
I stepped ahead to catch her, and she fell into my arms. I held her tightly against my chest. I was so close to her that tips of our nose were grazing with each other. My hands wrapped around her waist; her warm breath putting me in a state of euphoria; the feel of her racing heart against my chest—it all felt right.
She opened her eyes, and when I looked at my reflection in her eyes—it was magical. She tucked her hair behind her ear—feeling embarrassed—and unsuccessfully tried to wiggle her way out from my hold.
“When we were together, I always kissed you on the forehead when you were going to bed. Do you remember? You used to ask me, ‘Duke, why do you kiss me on the forehead at night—like I am a child—but not on my lips?’ and I always averted your question. . . .”
With Amber still captivated in my arms, I tried to remind her of our past and decided to give her the answer to the question which I hadn’t answered until then.
“. . . It’s because I was scared. I feared that one day you will wake up from a dream and realize that you have made a mistake by marrying me and could do a whole lot better. That’s why I used to kiss you at night, hoping to suppress that thought before it could pop in your head. It was my desperate attempt to ensure that you dream only of me.”
I got emotional remembering my happy life with Amber. I was feeling mixed emotions of love and guilt at the same time. I didn’t know what happened to me—either I was memorized, or trying to re-live my past—but I kissed her on the forehead.
She didn’t like me overstepping my boundaries, and pushed me away. With the look of disbelief on her face, she walked—almost ran—to her bedroom without saying anything. I followed her to apologize, but she slammed the door on my face.
Chapter 8
Duke overstepped his boundaries. He had lost the right to ever touch me a long time ago—but he still dared to kiss me. It was completely unacceptable. I could have given him the answer in the language that convicts like him understand.
But I froze. I couldn’t do it.
I put the pillow on my face and screamed to let my anger and frustration out.
I decided to talk to Dad in the morning. See—if he could twist Duke’s arm to make him sign the divorce papers earlier. It was better to get rid of Duke before Casey would get attached to him.
I laid on the bed, and the thought of ongoing wedding preparation started rolling in my mind. The dress. The cake. The centerpiece. The bouquet. I even imagined reciting my vows—but to Duke, instead of Walter.
“What’s happening to me?”
I rubbed my forehead where Duke had kissed me. I was sure that he had cast some kind of spell on me. I tried to sleep very hard. Even put soothing music on my phone. But everything failed. I got hooked on the thought of me kissing Duke, and saying ‘I do.’
“That’s it!” I stepped down from the bed half an hour later when I was unable to sleep.
Duke had started some kind of ninja mind warfare, and I decided to confront him right then before the situation went out of hand. I rushed downstairs looking for a fight and found him at his place—sleeping on the couch under the sheet.
“Get up!” I shouted and pulled the sheet from over him.
I came for a fight but surrendered the next moment when I saw Duke in his natural bodysuit—fully naked with his hard cock in his hand. He took my breath away with his toned chest, chiseled abs, and muscular arms. He was in great shape—certainly had pumped some iron in prison.
It looked like he was waiting for me.
He knew I would be there.
And he said what was on my mind. “I knew you would come.”
He got up from the couch, and began untying my night robe—and I just stood there in the heat, biting my lips off.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
I couldn’t hate him.
I gave up and started kissing his chest.
He got rough with me by grabbing my hair from the base of my neck and pulled it hard—which aroused me even more. Then he started nibbling on my neck and moved down to kiss my boobs ruthlessly.
I didn’t know what had gotten into him, but he was going extra filthy. He put his finger in my mouth and made me suck on it until it was nice and wet. It might be some sexual thing for him because he was saying ‘Just like that’ quite a lot.
I got really hot—almost burning with sexual energy—by the time he finally got on his knees. But to my shock, he walked on his knees and went behind me. Before I could understand what he had in mind, he started kissing my ass.
It was nothing short of a pleasant surprise for me. He had always been a boob-man, a complete savage when it came down it, but never an ass-man. In fact, my ass was neglected the most in the bedroom. But it looked like that he had finally seen the light considering how he appreciated my ass by pestering it with numerous kisses. Needless to say, I was really enjoying what he was doing back there. It was a new experience for me altogether.
After some time—I didn’t know how I lost track of time then—he spread my butt cheeks and buried his face in there. He took a long whiff and said, “It smells nice . . .” And then took another whiff.
I failed to understand what he was doing. What could he possibly be sniffing back there that got him hooked? It was a bum hole for God’s sake; it’s supposed to be dirty.
“. . . like a vanilla extract, ” he finished.
“Thank you . . . I guess.”
He was exaggerating. There was no way of that happening unless years of having a scoop of vanilla ice cream every night had somehow turned my ass into an ice-cream vending machine. Then, it was Duke who could even get it off on seeing me picking boogers.
Yeah—that happened one time when we used to live together in Brooklyn. I was lying on the bed, down with cold, and unshaven, unbathed for days. Duke arrived with the bowl of soup when I was picking boogers out of my congested nose. I couldn’t forget what he said to me then. “You look disgusting. But I like the disgusting you.” And then he kissed me without any care of getting himself sick. He even offered to pick out boogers from my nose.
Crazy guy!
Whom I once loved more than my life.
Meanwhile, Duke was done with whiffing my ass and introduced his tongue into action. He twirled his tongue around in my ass. It looked like he was really trying to find the source of that vanilla extract smell.
And I helped him further in his quest. I leaned down taking the support of couch’s armrest and spread my legs apart so that he could do a better job—not that I had any complaints.
He was working very hard on the rear end, but my front bottom was getting wet like never before. If I had known that rim job could be that arousing, I would have told him to give me one when we were together. No, I would have actually shoved his face in my butt crack. He would have certainly liked that. He loved it when I got bossy with him.
“Stop it . . .” I giggled when he started motorboating my ass.
“Why? What happened? You didn’t like it?” he said from behind and gave my ass a break.
“It felt . . . ticklish.”
“Really?! Let me check.”
He spread my ass cheeks as far as it could go, buried his face deep within, and motorboated the fuck out of my ass. I begged him to stop as my giggling had turned into a laugh and became very hard to suppress. I feared that we would wake everybody in the house, and if that happened, it would be nothing less than a disaster.
I reach
ed my hand behind my back and grabbed his hair, saying, “That’s enough. No means no!”
“Oww . . . oww . . . ,” he gasped when I gave his smooth hair a pull.
I turned back and strictly said, “Were you trying to make me pee?” I couldn’t say anything further when I saw his dick twitching.
He was clearly getting more aroused, and I had to act more dominant then. I sat on the couch, spread my legs, and snapped my fingers at him. “Come on. Let’s get to work.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Duke came walking on his knees and began gliding his fingers from my toe to the knee. Then, he held on to my legs and started kissing them. He paid extra attention to my knees. He still remembered that it got me going like nothing else.
“Ouch!” I said as he bit on my inner thigh. It looked like he was trying to even the score with me for literally dragging him away from my ass. But what he didn’t know was that with each chuckle and bite—I was getting hornier.
He finally moved on to the good stuff. He rubbed my clit with his finger which made me moan with ecstasy.
“Oh, God! I missed this.” I said with a moan. He certainly knew how to take care of a lady. If he hadn’t been a burglar, he could have been an excellent gynecologist.
After rubbing my clit for a while, he spread open my pussy cheeks and then came the tongue deep in my pussy. He was very meticulous—not cutting corners. Female genital could be complicated for some, but he paid proper attention to everything.
“You look great down there. Just as I remember,” he said between the licks. Then he gave a long deep kiss on my pussy and took a breather.
“Come here.” I took his face in my hand and returned the favor with a big kiss of my own. “Fuck me,” I whispered in his ear.
I was done with the foreplay and tease and wanted to move on to sex.
But he casually said, “Rain check?”
“Excuse me!” I was shocked. I probably didn’t hear it right. “Did you just say rain check?”
“Yeah . . . I am not feeling it.”
“You are not feeling it?!” With the gesture of my eyes, I said to him to look down on his crotch. He was hard as a rock and dripping everywhere.
“What, this silly thing?” He said while giving his dick a few strokes. “Oh, I’ll take care of it on my own.”
“What about me? I don’t like to masturbate.”
“I know. That was the plan all along. Now, you go to sleep with a blue vagina, and I will enjoy my rock hard erection alone.”
A bond villain laugh was floating on his face.
He got me.
He got me good.
I couldn’t believe he would do something like that to me. It indeed explained the extraordinary attention my ass received. It was a ploy from the start. He toyed with me, acted submissive to my needs only to leave me hot and bothered.
I was deeply hurt. It is a blatant insult to a woman’s ego when a guy refuses to have sex with her. And in the fit of rage, I slapped him hard across the face and yelled, “You son of a bitch.”
“You—” he said choking the cushion of the sofa.
I could see something evil in his eyes. He was angry, breathing heavily while rubbing his cheek. I believed I slapped him too hard which ticked him off.
But—I was wrong.
He gave me a broad smile like nothing happened and put his finger before my face.
The balls on him! After what transpired between us, he wanted me to start all over again by indulging in his fantasy of getting his finger sucked upon.
“What’s this? KFC chicken finger? Get it away from my face. “I slapped his finger down. “If you think I would suck on it, then you are out of your fucking mind.”
“But sweetheart, it’s not for sucking,” he said with an evil smile and raised his finger to his eye level. “It’s for . . .”
Before I could realize what he said, he shoved it deep in my pussy which made me moan in ecstasy.
And I shouted his name.
I woke up in my bed, covered in sweat—all horny, and with a wet vagina.
“You bastard!”
I was feeling terrible for having a sex dream about Duke—the man who I hated the most and had no place in my life. I accused him of this; his filthy wet kiss on my forehead had penetrated in my mind.
It was morning already. I picked a floral towel and decided to shower off the stench of my sex dream, my guilt, and Duke from my mind—all at the same time.
“It was just a sex dream, nothing else,” I reassured myself on the way to the bathroom.
It was weird that I had a sex dream of Duke. I didn’t like this feeling, but I knew that it didn’t mean anything. I was not infatuated with him—and certainly not in love with him.
Chapter 9
Next morning, as promised to Casey, I was shaving my beard. There was no water in the downstairs bathroom; I was getting rid of my facial hair in the upstairs one. I was sure nobody would mind me using it. There was hardly any chance I was interfering with any house member’s morning schedule—it was still quite early in the morning.
I was almost done when Amber barged through the door with a towel in her hand.
“What are you doing in here?” she shouted uncomfortably.
I was fully clothed—even had underwear underneath the sweatpants—but she was still avoiding looking at me. It was new for me because she usually looked at me like cat woman poised to scratch my face.
“Apparently—not masturbating.” I mimicked her head movement to make eye contact with her, but couldn’t catch her. “Why are you not looking at me?”
“None of your business,” she said as she shielded her face with her hands. “Get out!”
“I am almost done. Just give me a minute . . .” My speech slurred when I noticed that her night robe was open, and the skimpy satin slip underneath was clearly visible.
When she didn’t hear anything from me for a few seconds, she removed her hands from her face and found me undressing her with my eyes. She felt uncomfortable and soon realized that her robe was open. She quickly strapped it down, but by then, the damage was already done. I had already slipped into the mesmerizing state.
“Hey . . .” She snapped her fingers to get my attention in which she partially succeeded.
“Almost done . . . give me a minute.”
I was still lost and continued moving the razor on my face while looking at her. I cut myself multiple times and started to bleed, but I didn’t feel any pain, nor realize that my face was bleeding until . . .
“Oh, my God! What have you done? You are bleeding,” Amber shouted and tried to get the razor away from my hand, but didn’t succeed—my hands were too stiff to let it go. “Come here.” She then grabbed my hand ever so gently, only to lead me to the commode, and made me sit on it by pushing me down.
She took out first aid kit from the medicine cabinet and dabbed the cotton ball with some antiseptic solution. While applying it on my wounds, she continuously blew air so it won’t sting me.
But it did—in more ways than she could ever imagine.
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes . . .” I whimpered.
Amber’s boobs were up-close to my face, and on the top of that, her morning dew smelling breath was giving me an erection. I tried to cross my legs to hide my erection, but there wasn’t enough room with her standing so close to me. My shaving cuts were least of my concern at that time.
Despite being tense due to my failure to conceal my erection—I was actually quite grateful for that situation. What more could I ask for? My wife who despised me from the bottom of her heart was looking after me and attending to my cuts with her soft hands as if I returned from the war all bruised and battered.
I had never seen Amber looking more beautiful than she did in that moment. She was breathtaking even though she had no make-up on, had goop in her eyes, and her hair was all messed up.
I even tried to cop a feel of her voluptuous ass. I sneakily moved my left
hand behind her back, but it shook so furiously out of excitement that I had to retreat before I could even grab her butt. I didn’t want Amber to have the wrong impression that I was having a stroke.
“Who even taught you how to shave?” Amber asked after she was done giving me the medical attention.
“I had to teach myself. There was nobody in my life who could have assumed this responsibility.” I tried to draw her attention to my lonely childhood. “Maybe if my parents hadn’t left this world so early, I would probably never be branded as a convict.”
“Sorry.” She was sympathetic—but not enough to hold me. She started packing the first aid kit.
Which I obviously couldn’t let her do.
I instantly nicked my chin with the razor and said, “Looks like you missed a spot.”
But unfortunately, Amber saw me doing that and was surprised by my stunt. “Are you out of your mind? Why did you do that?”
I couldn’t answer her question. I couldn’t tell her that I cut myself because I wanted to spend some more time alone with her in that bathroom.
But she might have thought that I had gone suicidal as she then finally snatched the razor out of my hand and threw it out the bathroom window. After she was done treating my self-inflicted cut, she said, “Stay away from the sharp things.”
“Why? What’s it to you? Why you dressed my cuts? Do you still care about me?” I fired round of questions to explore what was left in our relationship. The way she was caring for me made me believe that she still cared about me—and I wanted to hear it from her.
But she scoffed. “What? Why do I care about you? I had to do something about the cuts; you were bleeding all over the bathroom floor.”
“Well—that’s humiliating.”—I stood up and took a deep sigh of disappointment—“It’s heartbreaking to know that you care more about your bathroom floor than me for which you put your hate aside for the moment and patched me up. . . . Guess, I should have known better that—”
“You pervert!” Amber said with a disgusted look on her face when my boner finally caught her attention. “You intentionally cut yourself, didn’t you?”
Hard Redemption: A Second Chance Romantic Comedy Page 7
