Not My Heart to Break

by W Winters

  “This is for you.” I hand her the note, not going back on the promise I made to myself, although I know without a question of a doubt, that she’d get up on this desk right now with no hesitation. She needs that note first. I told myself for years that if ever I were to see her again, she needed to have it back. There’s dried blood on the edge of one side although it’s turned a dark brown now. There are other stains on the once clean paper as well. I can still see right where she’d cried and the paper took in her tears, seeping into the crisp creased folds and warping them. It’s harder to see it now though. It blends in with all the other evidence that the paper has existed for far too many years.

  I watch her eyes as she unfolds the note. I watch her pupils dilate and note their glossy sheen as she rips her gaze away and looks anywhere but at me.

  Her inhale is ragged and sharp.

  “This isn’t for me.”

  “It is. It’s for you to read. I’ve read it enough.”

  The paper crinkles in her hand. The creases are so soft; I didn’t think it could crinkle anymore.

  She needs to be reminded that she told me she’d love me forever.

  She promised me she would. She can read it and know it every day of her life like I have since she left me.

  “I want you to read it every day. It’s only fair—it’s what I did for years.”

  Her voice is raw when she answers the command with, “At least you had a note,” and then tosses it onto the desk. Like she doesn’t want it.

  I didn’t want it either. It would have been so much easier without it. If she’d just left me because she hated me.

  “Is this what you want?” she asks as a tear rolls down her cheek, unable to hide it any longer. She angrily wipes it away.

  “Partly,” I admit out loud and shock myself. Her disgust shows and she grabs her purse this time, as if she’ll leave.

  “Sit down,” I command as her ass lifts from the seat. She stills where she is. Debating maybe. “We aren’t finished, Babygirl.” I meant for the word to get to her. Not to me. But it settles in my chest, spreading the ache I’ve been doing my damnedest to suppress.

  She’s slow to take her seat, but she does.

  “Want to know what I missed?” I ask her although at this point, I’m just speaking my mind. No filter; I let it all out. “The way you say my name,” I say and close my eyes, focusing for a moment on the motions of my thumb. Tap, tap. “I missed it.”

  Even with my eyes closed, I can feel hers on me. I swear my body knows hers. The vulnerability of it all wanes as I flick through the scenes of what happened when she left.

  “I missed the taste of you,” I comment lowly and tilt my head when I look back at her. Her skin is a gorgeous blush color and her pale blue eyes are rimmed with a pink that matches her complexion. Desire dances between us. My cock hardens and her thighs tense as her inhale skips.

  “I remember thinking one night,” I say and point to the desk, “as I read that note, is any pussy that good?” Hardening my voice, I remind her of the anger.

  She needs to be punished. She has to be.

  Her red-rimmed eyes fill with lust. There’s an undeniable heat.

  “I want to taste you, Laura,” I say and then realize it’s not a command. She needs to be told what to do though. And every action reinforced.

  Desire outweighs the rage. It outweighs everything. The image of her under me, her thighs parted, enters my mind. It’s all I can focus on. With my zipper pressing tight against my erection, I get up from the chair and tell her to strip. I add, “I want you down to nothing.”

  I think, for a moment, there’s no way she’ll do it.

  “Say please,” she retaliates, although it’s softly spoken and submissive, laced with a sadness too. A new roar of fire ignites inside of me.

  “Please,” I say and my voice comes out deeper, from a raw place inside of me as I lean forward, “Get your ass up here.”

  The hesitation in her expression is clear, but that doesn’t stop her from toeing off her heels. She’s quick to obey me. The hope that blooms from that knowledge is unwanted.

  “I want you here,” I say and splay my hand on the space to my left I cleared moments ago. All but the notebook and my laptop, which I move now, keeping my head turned as I go and pretending like I’m not obsessed with the peripheral image of her doing exactly what I tell her to do.

  The balls of her feet pad on the floor as she makes her way around to the other side of the desk, climbing on top of it. Her heavy breathing invades my senses and fuels the rapid pump of my heart. She’s naked, and I’m fully dressed. I swear if I were to move even a muscle right now, I’d take her, savagely and roughly on top of my desk.

  Control. I grasp for it. I cling to it when her gaze searches mine for direction. I won’t be reckless with her. That’s why I lost her. Recklessness.

  “Put your ass here and spread your legs.” My voice is even and she listens, bringing the sweet scent of her femininity closer to me. I don’t move, watching her crawl closer to position herself with her legs in front of her and her ass only inches from my hand on the desk.

  My head falls to the side as she places one heel to the left of my hand. I let my nose brush against her calf, then kiss the inside of her knee.

  “Seth.” She calls my name as if she’s falling and I don’t respond. Not for a moment and then another. I’m waiting for that other heel to be placed and her thighs to part for me.

  It takes her a long minute to do it, but she does.

  She’s propped up with her hands bracing her. Her breasts are small but they fall heavy, swaying slightly as she breathes.

  Bringing my hand to her heat, I brush my knuckles against her soft flesh and then higher up her body, until my hand is at her stomach. “Down,” I command, pressing against the base of her sternum and pushing her to lie on her back.

  Her body burns under my touch.

  “You shaved,” I comment as I move my fingers back down. With both hands, I spread her thighs farther apart and she doesn’t protest in the least.

  “You shaved, you chose a dress and heels, but you came ready to bargain.” I’m barely conscious of my own words as I stare at her pussy. Her clit is swollen and she’s already glistening with desire. I run my middle finger between her lips, playing with her, toying with her cunt and watching goosebumps spread along her skin.

  “You had to know I’d take you, didn’t you?” I ask her. The way I’m seated, I can’t see her eyes. I’m glad for that because it means she can’t see my expression when she gasps as I push my finger inside of her.

  She whispers the words, “I missed you too.”

  A painful recognition spreads through me, suffocating me, knowing it’s true; it hurts to hear her say that even more. I lean down and take a languid lick, ignoring the longing in her response and focusing on how her back arches.

  She’s hot and sweet. I lap at her, taking my time, from her entrance to her clit. A strangled moan fills the air along with the sound of her nails scratching on the desk. As if she wants to grab hold of something.

  Letting a low groan come from my chest, I enjoy her, drawing this out. Her thighs close in on me when she writhes on the desk and it’s only then that I pull back.

  She won’t get off. I won’t let her. I want her to miss it. To miss how I would do this to her the way I missed it.

  “You don’t get to cum. Not until I decide you should.”

  Standing up quickly, I push the chair back just as it nearly falls. I turn my back to her and when I hear her draw in a sharp breath, I tell her to stay.

  “Don’t you dare move.” My heart pounds against my rib cage; maybe it’s desperate to get back to her. A cold sweat lines my skin. “You do what I say and when,” I state, reminding her of our arrangement.

  “I told you no to that deal,” she whispers, the desire still coloring her upper chest, throat and cheeks. She doesn’t move though. I watch her to make sure she listens. Her eyes are closed as
I slowly pace, ignoring her comment about her telling me no. I grab her throat with my right hand, feeling the pulse of her hot blood as she quickly looks up at me, wide eyed and full of concern.

  “I missed that mouth of yours,” I comment and then lean down, kissing her harshly. I expect it to be short lived, but when she parts her lips ever so slightly, even with the taste of her still present on my tongue, I deepen it. And she does the same.

  There has always been a disconnect with us. Our bodies do one thing; our minds tell us another. With the fever of lust covering every inch of my skin, I pull away from her, although my grip on her throat is unmoving.

  “You’ll stay with me,” I say absently, telling her without thinking and my mind plays tricks on me. It goes back years ago. If only she’d stay with me.

  “No,” she answers weakly, a raw vulnerability lacing the single word.

  “You will and you’ll pay off the debt with your cunt.” I grasp for any reason at all for her to agree. To remember her guilt.

  “Don’t be crass,” she bites out even as her voice trembles. She seems to come out of it, out of the haze of longing. Wiping the corners of her mouth, she stares back at me, not giving in to my demand. “I won’t do it, Seth.”

  “Crass? Are you too good for that kind of language now?”

  Even at my mercy, Laura’s strength shines through. I wonder what she looked like when she left me. I wonder if she cried. Derrick swore to me there’s no way she left without falling apart. I want to see her fall apart. I want to know what this version of her looks like when she does.

  “I’m not yours anymore,” Laura tells me calmly, still lying spread on my desk. The taste of her is still present on my tongue.

  “You owe me,” is all I tell her, firm and deliberate.

  “You owe me too,” she whispers after a moment and the crack in her guard splinters. Suddenly, she looks all too familiar. I have to let her go. In an instant, the room feels colder. The ghost of her in my living room stares back at me. Cross-legged on the floor with the scent of smoke filtering through my lungs.

  “I owe you?” I question with feigned disgust. She’s quick to sit up, to cover herself from me. The moment is lost. “What is it I owe you?” I dare her to answer me. To bring up her home, to bring up Cami. Fuck.

  If she’d listened to me, if only she’d stayed close—I could have kept her safe. It could have been different. It didn’t have to end the way it did.

  I’m so close to screaming the words. It didn’t have to end like it did. You should have listened to me. So close, I can feel them scratching up the back of my throat.

  “I wish I’d never fallen in love with you,” she admits and scrambles to get off my desk. Stay still, I warn myself. Stay still. If I move, I’ll grab her. She reaches for her clothes, heedlessly throwing them on.

  “You will stay with me. You will do everything I tell you to.” I give the commands as if all of her objecting will vanish. I still don’t trust myself to move. I swear I’ll lift her beautiful ass over my shoulder and lock her in a room.

  “You wanted to humiliate me? To prove to me you could still have me if you wanted?” she questions with disdain and the thought of what she’s implying had not once occurred to me. Not once. I didn’t even know until a moment ago that I could have her.

  “You have no idea what I want from you!” I don’t know why I scream. I don’t know why I shake as she zips up her dress and slowly faces me.

  “Yes, I do, and I’ll tell you right now, Seth, it won’t happen. I won’t let it.”

  “I left you alone for years. I won’t any longer,” I tell her and my words are rushed.

  “I’m not a plaything. I’m not yours anymore,” she tells me as she grabs her heels from the floor.

  “Yes. You are. That is exactly what you are.”

  She turns from my heated gaze, frantically looking for her purse until she can snatch it, ready to leave me.

  “You’ll come back tomorrow night. Five o’clock,” I say calmly even as a panic stirs in my blood watching her race out of the door.

  I don’t follow her. I stay perfectly still, not trusting myself to move. It’s not until I hear her car start from outside that I brace myself against my desk. It’s still warm from where she laid herself bare for me.

  The rev of her engine and the peeling out of her tires comes and goes until I’m alone.

  She left me again. My eyes catch sight of the note on my desk. She left me again.

  With a roar ripped from my throat, I grab the floor lamp and slam it against the bookshelf. Heaving in the darkened room, I can’t let go of it.

  She left me again, but she’ll be back.

  I’ll have her again.

  She’ll be back.

  Laura

  The bags under my eyes still feel heavy. I put on enough concealer to hide them though. I’m an expert at that now. I doubt anyone in this coffee shop can tell how much I cried last night.

  With the small chatter and the subtle pop music, no one in Baked and Brewed is paying me any mind. I picked a table in the back corner and from here I can see everything in this place. It’s cute and quaint, smelling of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon from something they just baked. The new shop is on the corner of Fourth and Washington. With walnut furniture, all simple and clean, but pops of mint green from the steel signs and chairs, it’s certainly eye catching. Every table has a short clear vase with a few sprigs of baby’s breath too. It’s all sorts of happy and relaxed in this coffee shop. Completely at odds with how I’m feeling.

  But this is the place Bethany picked. And so I’m here.

  Blowing on the hot cup of caramel coffee, their flavor of the day, I think back to last night. Back to the moment I know I lost myself as I wait for Bethany to walk in the front door.

  * * *

  Is any pussy really that good?

  * * *

  His voice is deep and rough in my memory. I don’t know if I’ve made it up, rethinking about that moment time after time in such a short period, or if he really sounded like that. There was a sense of awe, followed by a sense of loss that coated his words. I was a fiddle for him to play right then and there.

  I thought after he took that first lick he’d lift his head and meet my stare to tell me, “No, it isn’t that good.” Swallowing thickly, I force down a sip of the coffee, not tasting it at all.

  The way he treated me… I’ve never let a man treat me like that before. He’s fucked me every way possible, but yesterday I let him touch me, not knowing if he respected me anymore. I’m ashamed I let Seth make me feel the way he did. The vulnerability is something I’ve never felt sexually with him and I hate it. I am ashamed and humiliated. I’ve never hated him before last night.

  I’ve heard there’s a thin line between love and hate, but damn, I never knew how true those words were.

  What’s worse is that I know it’s the same for him. He has a mix of love and hate for me. I could feel it. It’s all deserved.

  That’s why I never should have gotten on his desk. The way I craved him loving me… it’s not possible for him to do that anymore. I should know better. That fleeting thought left me the moment his touch registered. I’m not interested in a hate fuck or being played with and treated as less than. If that’s what he thinks this will be, I’ll refuse, consequences be damned.

  Seth’s not apologetic; he’s only demanding. It terrifies me most because I want to obey him. I want to do whatever he tells me because I am sorry. I hate what I did to him. I hate myself. He makes me hate myself.

  Maybe a piece of me thinks he should be treating me like that… like I’m “less than.”

  “You okay?” Bethany’s voice startles me and pulls me back to the present. Back to the hot mug I’ve got both hands wrapped around and the small ceramic plate of bite-size lemon cake squares.

  “Yeah,” I answer Bethany, setting the mug down and listening to the bells above the coffee shop door chime as an older man makes his way out
. I didn’t hear Bethany come in. “I didn’t see you come in,” I tell her.

  As she pulls out the mint green metal stool on the other side of the table, the feet scrape against the floor and she simply stares at me.

  There are at least six more patrons in the shop, a pair of maybe sixteen-year-olds—I don’t even know if the two girls at the far end should be sipping on those lattes—and a few single adults scattered around the place. One’s reading a book, others are scrolling through their phones and one man with white-as-snow hair is reading a newspaper. Bethany’s got her back to all of them and her attention is centered on me.

  “Sorry I’m late. I got into a little thing at home.”

  “Does it have to do with your sister?” I ask her in response, keeping my mind focused on the fact that everyone else has something going on in their life too. It’s not all about me. It never will be. There’s always someone else who needs help. It may seem inconsistent with logic, but that’s what gets me through. Bethany nods and I’m quick to tell her, “I’m here for you, you know?” I put my hand over hers on the table and she takes it and squeezes it but then lets go as she sits back.

  She seems to look right through me when she tells me, “It looks like you need someone more than me, to be honest.” Bethany’s blunt. She’s always blunt. There’s a kindness about the way she says things, but it cuts straight to the heart of the matter. She’s a lot wiser than she appears, given how young she looks. She’s been through hell and I know all about it. She came out fighting though.

  We’re silent as a waitress wearing a white apron with a mint green logo for Baked and Brewed stamped square on the front of it, places a cup of tea in front of Bethany.

  “Thank you.” Bethany smiles and then her dark red lips leave a smudge of lipstick behind on the white mug. That lipstick is what we first bonded over. “Lipstick courage” is what she responded when I complimented the shade. Later that night, she told me the name of it and I ordered a tube without thinking twice. There’s a lot to be said about lipstick courage.