Page 15 of Broken Clocks
He didn’t seem fazed by the fact that we were parting without reaching an understanding. Meanwhile, I felt… rejected.
I didn’t like that feeling. But instead of driving my ass home and processing it like a rational adult, I stayed stuck in my own pattern of self-sabotage. I had issues—I knew that. I shouldn’t have made a spontaneous decision.
But I was hardheaded.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay what?”
“Let’s fuck.”
Just like that. Head first. Into the shallow end of stupidity.
“You sure?” he asked. “I ain’t stressing you, shawty. If you don’t think you can handle what I’m offering, don’t do it. Don’t get your feelings hurt.”
It sounded like a warning—but also a dare.
“Wanna do it now?” I asked. That’s what I’d come for, right? The missing drawls were proof.
He blinked. “You sure?”
“Yeah. Really fucking sure.”
To show him just how serious I was, I rose onto my tiptoes and kissed him—deep and intentional. I was trying to steal his breath, his heart, his soul. Whichever one was easiest to keep.
It was retaliation, if I was being honest. For the rejection. The honesty. One of my biggest flaws was always feeling like I had to prove myself. It led to constant stress, never being satisfied, always chasing validation.
But I was aware of my bullshit. That was the first step. So I knew one day, I’d figure it out. Find peace. Grow.
Just not tonight.
His words had stung. My feelings were hurt. But I needed to prove he couldn’t hurt me further. That I was strong. That he was just a big dick, a nice body, and a cocky attitude. I’d had better. I didn’t need him. Just the satisfaction fucking him would give me.
My want for him was superficial. Fleeting. That’s what I told myself.
I grabbed his hand and guided it down the waistband of my skirt, mimicking what he’d done earlier.
“Fuck,” he hissed, two fingers slipping through heat and wetness.
My logic? Gone. My shame? Dead. My conscience? The bitch had already clocked out.
“This pussy super wet,” he groaned, voice thick with greed.
I stepped back, letting his hand fall to his side. His fingers curled into a fist, still glistening. He frowned, thinking I’d changed my mind.
I hadn’t.
I opened the back door of my car and waited.
Without hesitation, he climbed in and pulled me with him. The scent of his sweat and cologne made my head spin.
I straddled his lap. Moaned when he tugged my shirt down over my bra. My skirt rode up, and he pulled my right breast out of its cup. His mouth found my nipple and I damn near lost my mind.
“Fuck,” I cursed, my head falling back against the seat.
His mouth lit a fuse in me. My whole body shook. Sirens went off in my head. Stop this. Stop this now.
I didn’t listen. I never did.
