Page 15 of Selfish Desires

“This is one hundred percent the right choice. You won't regret it.”

I frowned, knowing I had to ask. “Is Vincent going to be there?”

“Vincent?” Blair gasped. “Fuck no. Zachary hasn't spoken to him in almost three years. Especially when he found out how Vincent went back to their old ways. Zachary wanted nothing to do with him after what he did to you and especially when he found out about the poker crap again.”

“Oh wow. I had no idea.” My stomach flipped at the thought of Vincent going down a dangerous path before quickly pushing any shred of concern for him out of my mind.

“Uh huh,” Blair said, still sounding breathless from her fall. “Total asswipe.”

A soft sigh escaped my lips as I looked out the window, the twinkle of the lone streetlight glimmering like a solitary star in the dark, lonely sky.

“Anyway, I just wanted to confirm with you about Sadie's birthday. I wouldn't have missed it for the world.”

There wasn't much more to say other than the promise of seeing each other in less than two weeks, and after a long goodbye, we hung up. It was close to midnight, and I'd be getting up to start a new day at the restaurant in less than seven hours. I dragged my heavy, lazy feet to the bedroom before collapsing onto the cool, crisp sheets. The white comforter molded to my body while my head sank into the pillows. I wanted to sleep, but my body and mind were connected this evening and refused to settle. The minutes ticked by until it was officially a new day. At half-past twelve, when sleep wasn't coming any faster, I found my mind racing and suddenly realized how long it had been since I shared an intimate space with anyone. I hadn't welcomed one warm body into my bed since Vincent, and maybe everyone was right. Maybe that needed to change.

Before I knew what I was doing, my hand crept under the warm blanket, protecting my body from the cold as I attempted to ignite an inner fire that hadn't been lit in years. A shiver raced across my skin, hardened my nipples, and flooded my pussy with a liquid heat that wasn't from the cool air of the room but rather from the thoughts that I was slowly letting penetrate my mind. Echoes of memories, faded and almost forgotten, flowed back into my consciousness with a rogue wave's force.

His laughter, those ocean blue eyes, how he'd stroke my hair as we lay entwined. My fingers brushed against my swollen clit, traveling to my wet sex, dipping ever so slightly to coat the two fingers in my juices. This was wrong. So fucking wrong, but it was like I lost my brakes. I couldn't be stopped. My hand stilled momentarily as I contemplated my wants, thoughts, and these stupid desires. But my body had a mind of its own, and it yearned for more—the pleasure it hadn't known in years. And so, my fingers began to move again, slowly stroking, circling, exploring the sensitive button that sent waves of pleasure pulsating throughout my body. I bit my lip to keep myself from uttering his name aloud.

It was like opening Pandora's box. Once released, there was no containing the intrusive thoughts, no matter how sordid. They came gushing out—images of his muscular arms holding me close, his lips seared my skin, and his eyes always held a mischievous spark when he gazed at me. My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath.

He ruined me. Vincent fucking ruined me. I wanted to stop thinking about him but refused. It was like I wanted to punish myself while chasing a release I hadn't met in years. A storm of blissful torture rendered me powerless.

My free hand reached up to cup my breast, squeezing and kneading it while my thumb went over the hardened nipple. The combined assault sent pleasure rippling through me, and my thighs clenched. My fingers drove into my cunt, just as he would have taken and fucked me on this bed. The memory of his hand collaring my neck, robbing me of the oxygen my lungs needed, sent pools of arousal coating my fingers.

Suddenly, I was there again, our last night together. Him fucking me into the mattress until I could barely breathe. His voice promising how I was his dirty little slut, sent my hips bucking on the bed, chasing my hand's rhythm to find my long overdue release. This was so wrong. How could I be thinking about him? Wishing it was his cock instead of my digits fucking me? The echoes of our past coated my skin; I could almost taste him on my tongue. The tangy salt of his skin after being buried under a suit all day, the sweet taste of his tongue against mine.

I gasped, clutching at the sheets as my orgasm ripped through my center, my pussy grabbing my fingers, holding and sucking them deeper. An image of Vincent's smoldering eyes flashed before me just as my climax hit its peak. The moan that tumbled down my lips was swallowed by the silence of the night. My fingers stilled, my breath heaving out of me in ragged pants as I lay there shuddering from the aftershocks of pleasure and guilt. I pulled them from under the covers, glistening with the sticky evidence.

Squeezing my eyes tight and throwing an arm over my forehead, I wondered when I became so fucked up that I wanted someone to call me his dirty little whore as he filled me up with his cum. Why did I want that? And why did I feel like I needed it only from him? I was trapped. So fucking trapped.

Just then, a sharp thud jolted me from my post-orgasm fog, and I nearly jumped out of bed. My heart thumped heavily in my chest as I quickly scrambled for the lamp on the bedside table, flipping it on and squinting against the sudden bright light. I slid out of bed and grabbed the bathrobe at the foot of the mattress, tying it around me as I padded over to my bedroom door.

The sound came from the living room; I was almost positive. I peered into my living room from behind the wall separating it from the hallway, immediately noticing a hairline crack on the corner window. When I was certain there weren't any unexpected hiding shadows other than my trembling against the floor, I crept to the damaged window. The moonlight hit the cause of the crack, and on the other side of the glass lay a bird on the cold ground, wings splayed. My index finger ran the crack's length as I frowned, peering at the either injured or dead animal outside and vulnerable to the elements. I thought about calling animal control, but it was no use. They would just laugh at my silly request to remove the animal.

I couldn’t just leave the poor creature out there, though. Grabbing a jacket from the wrought iron rack, I pulled the door open and darted over to the injured bird. Staring at its still body, heavy tears formed in my eyes. I frowned, bending down, and when my fingertips were about to nudge him, its wings flapped, and it came back to life, nearly throwing me flat onto my ass, and it flew away.

I watched the animal disappear into the night as a flood of relief filled my lungs. The stranger part was I didn’t know if it was meant for the alive bird or for me.

“That’s it. Open your mouth wider. Leave your tongue out just like that,” I said to the nameless cocktail waitress as I watched my hard dick rest on her tongue. There was a poker game happening in the front for the last two hours, and I should be out there concentrating and making sure no player skimped me on any bet. But, what mattered most to me at this second was fucking this girl’s mouth raw and to teach her a lesson that was meant for me.

For the last three years, I did everything in my power to fuck Wendy out of my system, yet nothing worked. The void only grew bigger. The hurt only grew stronger. And I was lonely as fuck. Except, I deserved all the anguish I lived with every morning I awoke. I did this. Three years ago, I made a choice to push her away while destroying her in the process, and now I was suffering in the aftermath. A life without Wendy wasn’t a life at all. But what other choice did I have? Was I going to kill myself? No. That wasn’t a choice.

So here I was, watching my hands grip and disappear in this girl’s raven hair. She was probably no older than twenty-five. No different than the one from last night or the night before. Every inch of skin on me grew more numb from the day prior. I was turning into stone. No sensation. No passion. Nothing to get excited about. I woke up, ate, fucked, collected debts from morons who bet their lives across a green felt table, fucked some more, and went to sleep.

The cocktail waitress pulled her mouth away, gripping my cock with her nimble hands, a single tattoo on her index finger. “Is this what you want, Daddy?” She stared up at me with those ice-blue eyes that would set any man’s skin on fire and make his dick explode, but it wasn’t happening with me.

“No.” My dead tone closed her mouth, and she pressed my erection between her fat tits, readying my cock for a ride between those globes.

“Why’s Daddy in such a bad mood tonight?” She pouted, those red dick-sucking lips teased, but I didn’t want them. I didn’t want any of this.

“Don’t call me that.” Without a word, I eased back, slipping out of her grip. Her surprise mirrored in those orbs, but I didn’t care. “Get dressed,” I instructed, my voice as cold. She hesitated for a moment as if contemplating whether to argue or not. She must have seen something in my eyes because she chose not to. Instead, she moved around the room collecting her clothes, pulling on her scanty black lace dress that barely covered her round ass, and fixed her hair silently, in no rush.

As I watched her, I realized how absurd all this was. I was surrounded by everything a man could want: money, power, women ready to bed at a single command. Yet it was all meaningless. Every woman seemed like a pale imitation of Wendy. Every act was hollow without the spark of connection that only she provided.

“Get out,” I said once her clothes were back on. She looked at me momentarily before hurrying out of the room, leaving me alone with my life's infinite void. Days turned into weeks, then months, and still, every night was the same. Empty sex and rounds of poker with idiots who didn’t know when to quit. The monotony was broken occasionally by a brawl or two, and getting my hands dirty reminded me that I was barely alive.

The reason I abandoned Wendy three years ago came to a crashing halt about six months ago.

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