by Hazel Grace
“Hi,” she greets, biting on her lower lip. “Are you the man that wanted me to meet with him?”
I compel myself to keep any scowls or glares off my face and remain seated, wanting to jump off this couch and slam her head into the small table in front of me. “I am.”
She doesn’t hide her assessment of me, rounding the only object in between us and sits on it. “What can I do for you?”
I tilt my head to the side with a confused look. “Don’t tell me I’m your first. I did ask for someone with plenty of experience.”
Dark brown eyes widen, and she quickly shakes her head. “Oh, no, I do. I just meant what kind of fun did you have in mind?”
“I’m looking to let a little aggression out,” I deadpan. “Long week.”
Actually two drawn-out days of not seeing Stormi at all.
Emmy Lou came over to occupy her and do “girl things”, however, I wanted to do things to her. I ache to let my fingers linger as long as I want on her skin. I crave to sink myself inside her body and kiss her for as long as I desire.
But with how things went down and currently stand, we’re pretty much dead at this point.
Bianca sits on the table in front of me and spreads her legs, giving me a full view of her covered pussy between creamy legs. I force myself to appear interested in what she has to offer. That this is what I’m here for.
“I can help with that.” Her long, hot pink fingernails trail down her flat torso, over her belly button and disappear underneath the fabric of her thong.
I’m so beyond not interested that I’m about to call Bishop in here and do his plan.
“Shall I take the lead?” she asks innocently, slowly performing circles around her clit.
Clenching my jaw, I nod, watching Bianca lean back and prop herself up with one arm.
It’s a perfect opportunity to pull the knife out of my back pocket and slit her throat, then ask questions—if that were possible.
“Stroke yourself,” Bianca promptly orders, using the same gentle tone but with confidence.
Geezus Christ, if Stormi did this to me, I’d be so beyond the two words “fucked up” by the time my hands were down my pants.
Following along with my thought, I unbutton my jeans and reach down to stroke my length, thinking of how sweet and sexy Stormi would look on her knees in front of me. How her small hand would grip and jerk me off while those prominent blues stared up at me, watching me struggle to keep my shit.
Bianca moans before pulling aside the neon green material and exposing her pink and bald pussy. Her obnoxiously bright fingers part her lower lips as she begins to work herself again.
I’m so fucking Stormi when I get home.
“Get in my lap,” I snap, ready to be done with this shit already. The sooner I can get Bianca out of this place, the quicker my ass can go look at the woman I want.
Bianca jumps in my space, straddling both sides like Stormi did the last time I was here. Except now, my cock is limp from the smell of her perfume of some strong ass roses or something floral, and she fits me wrong. I can feel it everywhere.
My Stormi-wannabe doesn’t waste any time, thank God, kissing the side of my face and making her way to the column of my neck where Stormi likes to tease and taunt me. Her lips feel thin and dry, undertaking a role that she’ll never win.
Holding up my cell that’s still in my hand while Bianca does an amateur job of turning me on, I text Bishop left-handed, which is a bitch.
Me: Pull up, we’ll be out there in less than four.
“Fuck,” I fake groan, jerking my limp-noodle cock harder, so she thinks I’m completely into this. “What will it take for you to come home with me?”
Bianca chuckles in my ear then bites down hard on my lobe.
Another testament to my self-control not to toss this woman across the room.
Just her in my lap makes me feel guilty towards the only woman in my life that I’ve felt something for.
Feelings I shouldn’t have. Events that shouldn’t have ever happened. A woman I don’t deserve at all.
“Where do you live?” Bianca whispers, brushing her lips against my ear.
“Not a shithole if that’s what you’re thinking.”
You stupid bitch.
“How do I know you’re not going to try and kill me or anything?”
Well, at least she’s not completely stupid.
Easing the limelight off what I’m going to do and into the moment that I’m trying to create, I free my hand from my boxers and jeans to grab whatever lack of ass she has.
“I think a woman like you,” I begin, kneading the flat surface of her bottom. “Would carry something on her, wouldn’t you? Mase or some shit. You don’t look like an idiot.”
But she’ll be one because the moment I talk money, that’ll be it.
“Never when it comes to safety.” Her tongue licks at my ear. “But, I can get a little crazy myself elsewhere.”
I roll my eyes, grabbing her ass more firmly and pull her closer to me. “Prove it.”
“I can...right here, lover boy.”
“Mhm, on a couch full of jizz, and God knows what else.” She tears herself away from Stormi’s favorite spot and looks down at me.
I may have sounded too pushy but, seriously, this place is fucking disgusting.
“A grand says you can give me a better blowjob in a house that hasn’t seen a pest inspector in the last month. I also return favors, darling, how many times do you wanna come under thirty minutes?”
“You sound a little assured of yourself,” she quips through a perked brow.
I give a half-shrug to my shoulders. “Find out.” Thrusting my pelvis into her center, I get her to focus on what she could have if she wasn’t a murderous bitch, and I didn’t have Stormi. And even then...
“Never had any complaints before.”
Her lips curl into a smile. “Big ego?”
“You have no idea how many times someone has said that to me,” I reply off a sigh, noticing more and more that this woman doesn’t possess an ounce of what Stormi does for me.
“Let me go grab my things.” She springs off my lap. “Wait right here.”
“I’ll get an Uber.” That has her stopping dead in her tracks and pivoting around to face me again.
“You didn’t bring your car?”
I shake my head. “No, I was expecting to get fucked up and wasn’t going to drive. Then I saw you...” I let a tick of a second go by before finishing with, “Then I wanted to get fucked in a different way tonight.”
Bianca squints her eyes at me. “Why me?”
Funny, I never thought she’d have self-esteem issues. That or I pegged her for being more gold digger and ignorant.
“I like blondes,” I say plainly. “And I like them curvy, well-fed with a bit of madness in them.” I cock my head to the side in silent challenge. We can do this the easy way or with Bishop’s plan B, which doesn’t involve a morning-after pill and glass of water. “Did I grab the wrong one?”
She inclines her chin and offers me a weak grin. “No. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be here.” The door clicks closed behind her, and my nostrils flare as I stare at the back of it. And on cue, my phone buzzes in my hand, prompting me to glance down at it.
Bishop: Time’s up. My turn?
Me: Chill out.
Bishop: I don’t like waiting,
Me: And I don’t give a fuck.
Bishop: Are you needing to get your dick sucked? Is this why you decided to do it this way, so you didn’t feel guilty doing it when that blonde is there?
Five deep breaths. That’s what the therapist that Reagan made me go to prescribed when I felt as though I was about to go off the rails.
Doesn’t work.
Me: Making scenes aren’t my thing.
Bishop: Where we differ.
Me: Then go kick Mills’ ass if you’re looking for some fun.
Bishop: I prefer not knowing if my opp
onent can throw a shitty left hook or not.
Me: lol.
The door to the room opens again, and Bianca stands there in jeans and a black leather jacket, holding a giant purse.
“I’m ready,” she coos, now smacking on a piece of gum.
Another forced grin. “Great.”
Now I know how Stormi felt.
The suffocating feeling of not being able to breathe and know if I’ll ever be able to again on my own. The humiliation of having someone watch you struggle with the predicament that you’re put in against your will.
Bianca will not let me come up for air, hardcore making out with me while straddling my lap as Bishop snickers in the front.
I should’ve been more specific when I said be nice as my pretend Uber driver—it should’ve been just shut the fuck up.
The goal was to keep Bianca occupied with something else other than a long car ride and us going into the middle of fucking nowhere. It’ll only cause questions, concern, and her changing her mind.
Actually, the closer she gets, if she wants to lose her shit, that’s fine. I just don’t want her kicking and screaming when we get home and wake up Stormi. It’s way after one in the morning, Stormi is probably curled up into a ball in bed and dreaming about her new life.
Meanwhile, I’m being mauled and possessed by a lookalike who is shoving her tongue into my mouth like she’s about to suck the soul out of me with it.
“We’re here,” Bishop announces, suddenly putting the SUV in park in front. It’s then that Bianca breaks from me, peering out the window to see what kind of place I have.
“Holy shit,” she chortles, climbing off of me and almost hitting me in the balls. “This is your place?”
She wastes no time opening up the door and slipping out, still talking as she steps closer to the cabin.
“You’re fucked,” Bishop mutters, tapping his fingers along the steering wheel.
I ignore him, sliding off the leather seats and slamming the door while Bianca lets out a loud squeal of excitement—on my front fucking porch.
Oh fuck...
“You didn’t tell me you were loaded,” she exclaims, bouncing on the tips of her toes as she pivots to face me.
I march-sprint in her direction. “I wouldn’t say that.”
She doesn’t wait for me to invite her in but opens the front door and walks inside.
I shoot up the porch steps, finding the living room dark and soothed of any sound besides Bianca just running into something and giggling an “oops”.
I glance over in the direction of my kitchen, quickly contemplating getting this bitch out the back before she rearranges the place with her clumsy ass when her body crashes into mine followed by her lips and tongue again.
I bite down on her lower lip because she’s pissing me off and ground myself to the hardwood floors. Bianca is trying to climb me like a damn tree, and I’m ready for this scene to have its plot twist.
“Where are the lights?” Bianca asserts, digging her fingers into my shoulder blades. “I wanna see the inside.”
It doesn’t matter but...
I begin to shift us towards the kitchen so we can end this fucking charade out the backdoor. “They’re right over—” The soft click of a light turning on practically echoes through the room, and, on instinct, I’m on the ready to fight.
Shoving Bianca away from me, my pinpoint falls on a small body sitting upright on the couch with their arms sternly crossed over their chest, lifting up her perfect breasts in a white tank top and...beautiful locks cascading down her—
“What the fuck did you do to your hair?” Gone are the blonde strands that I loved to run my fingers through. The ones that brightened Stormi’s eyes and smile.
Now they’re a light hue of blue, but they still mirror perfectly off her stunning features.
Fuck, she looks amazing and...different.
“What the fuck did you bring home?” she snaps back, her eyes severing into my face.
I can feel the heat protruding off them, chipping away flakes of skin and my plan as she pins a scowl on me. Her and Bishop should hook up with some ideas, he loves sweltering shit too.
“Uh oh,” Bianca utters, latching on to my side possessively. “We should’ve gone in the back way.”
Yeah, no shit.
I shrug her off to gain some distance and my pussy-whipped dick back then decide to use the basic ass line of, “It’s not what you think. I’ll explain—”
“Explain?” Stormi repeats, rising from her spot. “Go fuck your entire self, Marty, Emric—” She starts for the stairs. “—whatever the hell you want to call yourself today. You freaking prick!”
Damn.
“Stormi,” I call after her. “Hold on one fucking—”
“Stormi?” Bianca reiterates, snapping her neck to the woman whose hand just touched the banister. At that exact moment, Stormi turns as Bianca raises a finger and points at her. “You were taken.”
I watch my girl adjust her jaw and begin stalking back in our direction, hands clutched into tiny fists.
“Taken?” she mocks through clenched teeth. “Bitch I was fucking kidnapped. When it should’ve been you!”
“For what?” Bianca scoffs.
“For trying to murder Reagan Lockwood, not me!” She points at the faint mark on her cheek that I trailed my blade down. “I was tortured for information that you clearly had.”
“How do you know about that?” Bianca barks back, digging herself a hole with her awareness. “Did Hollis tell you?”
And there’s strike two.
Stormi wrinkles her nose. “Hollis? He’s dead for all I know.” She jerks her head in my direction. “Ask him.”
The room falls back to being silent as Bianca slowly twists her head to me with recognition, dawning all over her face.
I knew she wasn’t that stupid.
“Surprise,” I deadpan. Bianca then suddenly makes an inept attempt for the door, but I already have a hold on her forearm.
My touch is received with a punch to the side of my head and a kick to my shin, festering my already risen temper.
“Get the fuck off me,” Bianca hollers, jerking her weight to try and get free.
Movement shifts in my peripheral, and I release her before she sprints again but runs right smack into Bishop’s chest of steel.
“You got dirt all over my backseat,” he claims dryly, twisting her frame and wrapping his bulky forearm around her throat. Then he squeezes as Bianca’s pink fingernails dig into his flesh, seeking to get her declining air supply back. “Go take care of what you need to, I’ll take her to the bunker.”
I don’t wait for him to recant his comment, taking the stairs two at a time, and knowing where to find my livid celestial being.
When I hurl the door open, she’s waiting for me, standing in front of her bed with a glare so powerful that I feel like a little kid.
“Get. Away. From. Me,” she snarls, her eyes so blue and bright that I swear she’s about to blast me away with them.
“Listen,” I retort, raising my hands in the air but still making my way to close the distance between us. “It’s not what—”
“What is it like? You let the woman who was supposed to be here in the first place...you let her kiss you? What else did you let her do when you were at Dougie’s?”
“Nothing,” I fume. “I went to grab her and—”
“And get a free fuck out of it?”
“I just fucking said no.”
Stormi rattles her head back and forth, stepping back from me when I’m within reach of touching her. “I don’t believe you.”
“I’ve never lied to you befo—”
“That I know of. I’ve watched my dad’s friends run a train on Bianca. I’m fully aware of what she’s capable of. So looking at you—” She takes quick inventory of my body, observing me like the piece of shit I am. “—her or anyone else there wouldn’t knock the chance of getting to know you better.”
“Shut the fuck up and listen to me,” I shoot back. “I didn’t fuck anybody. I can’t fuck anyone else when you’re all I want.”
“You’re so full of crap.“ I make the small lunge, my hand snatching her waist before I back her up until the back of her claves hit the mattress.
“Believe it or not, sweetheart, I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Did she touch you?”
“Where?” She uses all her might and yanks herself out of my hold, reaching up for the back of her neck. She fucking hurt herself, but she doesn’t cower back in pain. Instead, her eyes shed in what looks to be tears.
“I never want you to touch me again, do you hear me? Do what you need with her, get the information, and let me go.”
“That’s the plan,” I claim gently. “I didn’t—” She removes her palm from her neck and points for the door.
“Get the hell out.”
“Stormi, I just needed to get her out of Dougie’s. There wasn’t any—”
“Fucking out!” she hollers, flinging her arm again towards the hall.
For the first time in my life and against what I choose to do, I leave, knowing that after today her and I will never be the same. I did exactly what I didn’t want to do again.
I hurt her.
We were never together.
That’s what I keep on repeat over and over in my head to be able to function the next day. His kissing another woman—no matter who or what she did—isn’t something that I have any right to get mad about.
We’re not together.
We’re not a couple.
He’s not my man.
And I don’t want to be in his world.
It all sounds simple and straightforward, but it doesn’t settle to where I accept and stop thinking about it. What I am good at doing is ignoring and shoving it into a dark place in my head because I’m used to being disappointed.
Marty is no better than any of my dad’s friends—he’s worse. He made me feel special just to show me that I wasn’t. And of all the women he chose to be a male whore with, if he believed I might forgive and forget, he better not hold his breath.