Page 31 of The Deals We Make
“Fuck,” I huff as the sensations grow, as I finally allow my hand to slide over my sensitive head.
My leg twitches at how good it feels. I’m really fucking close.
I wonder what she’d look like riding my face. Would she let me tie her to my bed frame and give up that control to me? I imagine her ankles suspended by rope from the hook there, open and spread. Fuck, what would it look like to rail her until she couldn’t speak?
In my head, she has thick lips down there that hug my cock.
The mental image of my cock sliding in and out of her is enough to tip me over the edge. I slam a palm to the shower wall and let the spray wash over me as I come in thick spurts.
My legs shake, my breathing unsteady, my eyes closed.
All I can think of is I made out with Calista Moray. And I felt more in those fifteen seconds with her than I have in years.
I finish off my shower in a bit of a daze.
Then, I wrap a towel around my waist and look at myself in the mirror. I’m not sure who I thought I would become. A conversation I had with Switch recently comes to me. He was talking about fate. About the role it had played in his and Sophia’s relationship, using the analogy that rivers always run where they want to go, even if it takes a hundred years of wearing down rocks.
But I wonder if that’s true. I have to believe I’m the master of my own destiny. There’s no point in pretending that the life I have right now was an accident or some fated design. I have to own it. Circumstance, life, whatever. They are all the sum of my own decisions.
Yet, there are days when I wonder if this is all there is.
Yes, it’s a life. But where’s the progress?
Some days feel like lather, rinse, repeat.
“When everyone hates you, you’re tired. When you hate the world, you’re hungry,” I say to myself.
I’m running on fumes. That’s why all this is losing perspective.
Once I’ve pulled on some clothes, I walk to the kitchen. King sits at the large stainless-steel counter, and it looks like Rae is just about to cook them some food.
“Vex,” King says as I walk in.
“Hey. I can come back later,” I say.
“No,” Rae says. “Please, stay. You want some food?”
I raise my hand. “No, honestly, I’m?—”
“Sit,” King says. His tone says there’s no room for negotiation.
“Yes, Prez,” I say with a smirk as I take the stool next to him.
“You cool if I tell him why, Duchess?” King says.
She nods. “Go ahead.”
“Rae has had issues with making food for other people. Couldn’t cook it, couldn’t eat it, couldn’t enjoy it. She’s been working on it. Would suck if you walked away after she was brave enough to offer to cook for you.”
I look up at King’s old lady. “Sorry, sweetheart. Hope the cause has been dealt with.”
King nods. “Smashed her father’s face in with his own skillet myself.”
I hold my fist out to King, and he bumps it with his own.
“What are we eating?” I ask.
“Oh, nothing fancy. Was just going to make some chicken, feta, and roasted vegetable focaccia sandwiches. Might not even taste that good.”
