by Penny Wylder
“You want me?” he asks.
“Yes,” I whisper, the word falling out of my mouth on a groan as he pulls his hips back. The tip of his cock threatens to pop free. My pussy tightens, refusing to let him out.
His eyes glide over my face. The mahogany glass so crystal clear, I can see myself in his pupils. There's a flutter in the back of his stare, it draws me in, taking my heart and stopping it from beating.
His hips start to move more fluidly, smooth but bold, steady but vigorous all at the same. Wrapping my legs around his hips, I grind my ass up, hitting the base of his dick as we lose ourselves in each other's stare.
I can feel him in my lower belly. His swollen crown is scraping at my g-spot, causing my toes to curl up and my calves to cramp. Phade's hands slip into my hair, taking fistfuls. He pulls my head back, and it arches my entire body.
The pleasure is starting to radiate down my legs and up my chest. Moaning, I cry out as my eyes close on impulse. “I'm coming! Fuck, I'm coming!”
Phade pistons his hips, faster and faster. My hair is tangled around his hands, between his fingers and wrapping his wrists. Burying his face in my shoulder, he pushes his mouth against my skin and groans.
I can't make out any actual word, it's just a deep throaty moan. His shoulders roll forward, settling on my chest, and the rest of his body follows. Pulse after pulse of cum fills my pussy as his cock jerks inside me.
Twisting his face against my cheek, he kisses me softly. “I think you'll make a great golden slave girl.” Flicking my eyes to his, Phade busts out laughing. “I'm kidding,” he says, rolling off me and onto his side.
“Damn right.” Giggling, I pull the blankets up over my chest and snuggle into the crook of his arm. “So, where do we go from here?”
“Well. . .” Pausing, he pulls me in closer, “if it feels right, there's no reason to push it away. So, how about we just do what feels right?”
“I like the way that sounds.” Smiling up at him, we drift off to sleep together.
And I'm happy with his answer. I love the idea of just doing what feels right. That's how it should always be.
Why should anyone ever be miserable?
Life is too short to worry about everyone else. I'm finally ready to start living for the only person who actually matters.
Me.
15
Sylvia
Pushing the cart through the aisle, I look up and down the shelves, searching for my favorite brand of cereal. I saw a commercial for it this morning, and it's all I've been able to think about since.
Gotcha.
Tearing the box off the shelf, I'm salivating as I pull back the top and peel the plastic bag apart. Grabbing a handful, I toss it in my mouth and groan to myself as I finally satisfy this craving.
I purposely made the list I'm carrying for the sole excuse to come to the store and buy this sugar infested, diabetic nightmare of a cereal. The tiny marshmallows dissolve on my tongue, and the crunchy flakes crackle into bits as I chew. It's an orgasm in my mouth. Every mouthful causes me to moan just a little bit.
What is wrong with me today?
Handful after handful, I chomp down the cereal, slowly checking off items as I drop them in the carriage.
Lotion—check.
Yogurt—check.
Toilet paper—check.
Standing in the aisle, I plop the pack of toilet paper into the cart. I think have everything, but I want to be sure before I leave. Tapping my thumbs on the handle, I look up at the signs hanging over the end of each aisle and read.
Bread; have it. Milk; have it. Pasta, canned vegetables, sauce. . .
Feminine Hygiene. Pausing, I glance down at the tiles and try to think. When did I have my period last? Last month, right? Yeah, it wasn't that long ago—was it?
Fuck. I can't remember.
My chest tightens, and my pulse starts to kick harder. Sweat beads up on the back of my neck as I push my cart toward the tampons and family planning section. I honestly can't recall the last time I bought tampons.
Stopping, I stare at the array of different boxes. Heavy flow, overnight, light flow, but I keep going, coming to a halt in front of the pregnancy tests.
Squeezing the plastic on the handle, I turn my hands back and forth. My palms are slippery, making the plastic move easily under my grip. If the cart had lungs, I'd be strangling it right now.
I'm not pregnant.
There's no way. Shit has been stressful, complicated. I'm late, that's all this is.
Picking up one of the boxes, I stare at the front. It's brightly colored in pink and blue splashes. Pretty and inviting, there are flowers decorating the blank space, and a silhouette of a woman is filling the upper corner.
The woman isn't showing that she's pregnant, she doesn't have a face or any distinguishing features. She's just there as an outline in limbo, waiting for the answer this box should deliver.
The packaging is far too welcoming for what it's going to tell you. It makes the entire situation seem happy and exciting. But what if it's not? What if you're not trying to have a baby just yet? What if you're not ready?
They should have dull, black and white boxes too, for those of us that aren't sure what to feel. Keep it simple, keep it low key and objective. Let me decide how to feel. Don't fancy the box up making me enticed to be excited.
My eyes flick between the tampons and the pregnancy tests, so I grab one of each and drop them into the cart. Just in case.
Paying for my groceries, I throw them into the back of my car and drive home. Carrying the bags into my apartment, I set them down on the counter, and only take out the pregnancy test.
I can hear my phone going off in my purse, one ping after another. Digging around, I take it out and see it's Daniel. He's texted me four times already, telling me to call him, and wondering where the hell I am.
And right now. . . I don't give a shit. He can wait.
Flipping the box over, I read the directions.
Remove test strip from foil.
Put tip of test in urine stream for five seconds.
Wait three minutes.
That's it? Three minutes of my time, and I know the card my future's been dealt?
How do you learn if you're having a baby or not in three minutes?
It's super simple, a little too simple I think to tell you if you're prego or not, but I guess it doesn't need to be that difficult either.
Going into the bathroom, I sit down, and hold the test strip in place. Staring off, I wait, and I wait, and I wait. I don't have to pee.
Figures. I have to pee a million times a day, but when I actually need to go, I can't.
Huffing, I stand up and turn on the sink. I let the cold water run for a few seconds, before sticking my mouth against the stream. I drink fast and quick, hoping the sudden onslaught of icy cool water will kick start my bladder.
Sitting back down, all I can do is wait. I probably could have waited until I knew I had to pee, but I got ahead of myself and just want to take this test and be done with it. It's just easier to know.
Once I know it's negative, I'll be able to go on with my day, talk to Daniel about this publicity thing, and forget this whole pregnancy scare to begin with.
I feel like I'm sitting for hours. My legs are numb from my knees up, and my lower back is starting to ache. A little tingle hits my vagina, and I let out a sigh of relief.
Finally!
After peeing on the stick, I slip the clear cover on, and set it on the granite top. Going into my kitchen, I grab the egg timer and set it to three minutes. It starts to tick. Placing it on the stove, I wipe clammy hands over my thighs.
What if it's positive?
It's not. I know it's not. I'd know if I were pregnant, I'd feel it.
Right?
Pacing back and forth between my bathroom and the kitchen, I'm biting my nails, tearing them down to the bed. I don't want to wait anymore, I just want the answer.
Now, the three minutes makes se
nse. I get it completely. The sooner the better. I need to know and I need to know now.
Who wants to wait any longer than they need to for an answer like this?
My eyes dart to the clock on the stove, fully aware that I just checked it seconds before. Never has time gone so slow, it's torture.
My phone pings again, a distraction for the moment, and I'll gladly take it. Something to occupy me for the next minute and half. Sliding my thumb across the screen, it's Daniel again.
His message is less friendly and more demanding. 'Where the hell are you? CALL ME'
Throwing my phone across the counter, I grip my temples and close my eyes. Not right now, I'm not doing it. I know he's just going to berate me for not calling sooner, interrogating me about why it took so long and where I've been. I don't have the time or the patience for him right now.
Brring! Brring!
Jumping up straight, the egg timer is vibrating as it rings on the stove. Holding my chest, I turn it off and let out a heavy breath. It startles me. I'm shaking, eager and terrified all at once.
My eyes turn to the bathroom door, and I hesitate. I know it's ready, I know my answer is right there, but I'm too afraid to move.
Just go! Get it over with!
Sucking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly and push myself forward. This anxiety is only going to end once I see that single line on the test strip. I can see it on the sink from the doorway, but it's still too far away to read it.
My steps are slow, feathered on a fear of what's in that little square window. Closer and closer, I stalk forward, eager and petrified, tense and frail. All while not knowing a fucking thing.
Every nerve in my body is charged, I can feel the electricity as it rushes through my veins, percolating my blood under the skin.
My eyes close instinctively as I pick up the test. Pinching it in my fingertips, I have it by both ends. I'll count it out, I'll give myself the three count, and then I'll look. I can't stand here forever, wondering, questioning, forever trapped in my bathroom afraid to know the truth.
The words come out softly, but I have to say them out loud. I need to hear each number or I might chicken out and never look.
“One. . .”
“Two. . .”
“Three—”
“Fuck.”
16
Phade
“Where is she? Where the hell is she?” Daniel throws his arms up and stalks back and forth, moving between the windows and the door that leads to the hall. He pokes his head out, growling when he still doesn't see her. “She knows she was supposed to be here at seven, it's almost eight-thirty!” His voice is deep and rugged, like he's holding his breath.
The thick vein in his neck is throbbing, like a worm under the skin. His face is flush, his eyes bulging from the sockets. I half expect his head to fly off his neck any second if he doesn't calm down.
“Relax,” I say, looking in the mirror and watching him behind me. “She'll be here. She won't flake on this. She knows it's important.”
Daniel whips around, his face twisting into this melted clown mask of concern and anger. “She better, she better show up.” His teeth drag over each other, nostrils flaring. “If she doesn't, it'll reflect badly on me. I won't have her fucking up my image too. I've had enough of that with you.”
Shrugging him off, I go back to looking at myself in the mirror. “Daniel, we've both been doing everything you asked us to. Sylvia has gone above and beyond for you with this. I think you could have a little more faith in her.”
I'm trying to be calm, relaxed, and not lose my shit on him. He's a user. Even his own family isn't safe. It bothers me, but I don't want to make a scene at the studio. I'm going to behave, reign in this beast of a man that lives inside me, and not run with my fists out all the time.
“Faith?” he chuckles as he runs his hand down his throat. Tipping his head back, he scratches his chin. “Faith is just a mirage people try to grasp when everything around them is falling apart. I don't believe in that shit. I don't look to a higher power to grant me wishes. It comes down to one thing—loyalty. Is she loyal enough to me, to you, to her job, to make the right decision?”
Turning to face him, I tilt my head. “You honestly doubt her loyalty to you?”
A woman with short black hair sticks her head in the door and yells, “Fifteen minutes!”
Daniel nods, waving her away with a hand. “Yes, I know, thank you.” His eyes flutter back to mine, glinting like gunmetal steel. “I doubt everyone's loyalty, Phade. Sylvia included. She isn't special.”
“She's your family.”
I'm actually shocked that he even thinks he has to question what she's willing to do for him. It's more than obvious that Sylvia is willing to walk through fire for this man. He barks and she jumps, he commands and she bows. What more confirmation does he need?
“She's not blood, Phade.” Pulling a comb from his pocket, he drags it through his graying hair, turning to the face mirror behind me. Taking a few steps closer, he eyes himself, pulling his hair tight against the scalp. “I married her mother, that's all. She isn't my child; she'll never be my real child. I don't owe her shit.”
Shaking my head, I'm doing everything in my power not to fucking hit him, except he's making it extremely difficult. Even the look in his eyes deserves a visit from my knuckles.
“You don't owe her? You're really going to stand there and pretend like Sylvia means nothing to you?” My fists clench at my sides, jaw bearing down as I grit my teeth.
Slipping the comb back in his pocket, his lips crinkle up. “Why should she mean anything to me? Like I said, she doesn't belong to me.” Holding out his hand, he bounces it lightly in the air. “Don't get me wrong, I care for her, I do. But that doesn't mean I have to trust her, and it doesn't mean I owe her shit. I've given everything to that girl, handed it to her on a silver fucking platter. The least she can do is be on time.” Plucking the sides of his suit, he tosses it gently and lets if fall back into place.
The corner of his lip twitches, taunting me. He knows what he's doing, I can see it in his eyes. He's toying with me, testing my own loyalty to him. Who would I stand up for, him or her?
Taking a step forward, my arm starts to pull back, ready to fly out and strike that grimace off his face. I stop in my tracks as the door flies open, hitting the wall. Daniel and I both avert our eyes, and stare at the door.
“I'm here! Sorry I'm late, I'm so sorry.” Sylvia comes bumbling through the doorway, frazzled and almost sounding manic. “I made it though, right? I didn't miss the interview?” Her eyes dart around the room, searching, scanning, crazed. “What time is it? When are we going on?”
Her hair is all over the place, frizzy and tousled like she got caught in a windstorm. Her dress is wrinkled like crumpled paper. There are papers sticking out of her bag, stuffed carelessly in place.
She's a mess. What the hell happened to her?
“You're late. Where the hell have you been?” Daniel asks, his brows dropping in anger.
“I—”
“Forget it,” he says, not giving her a chance to explain. “It doesn't matter right now. We'll discuss that later. Right now we need to get you ready.” Taking her by the shoulders, he guides her deeper into the room, and sits her down at the small vanity against the back wall. “I'll go get Jennifer, don't move.”
He quickly disappears out the door, and she looks up at me from the mirror. There's a look on her face that I haven't seen yet. Her eyes gloss over on the verge of tears. She isn't blinking, maybe for fear that the bubbles of water will break free.
There's panic and anxiousness, fear and uncertainty all balled up into one giant frown. Walking up behind her, I place my hands on her shoulders and tuck my chin into the crook of her neck.
“You all right?”
Swallowing hard, her eyes jump away, and she starts to pull some of the papers out of her bag. “Yeah, yeah, I'm fine.” Tapping the papers on the tabletop, she looks at me through the
reflection. “I didn't sleep well, that's all.”
“That's all?” I ask, standing up straight and massaging her shoulders. “You're sure?”
Nodding quickly, she bites her lip. “Mm hm, that's it. I'm good.” Her eyes move down the top piece of paper, reading it in her head. “You ready for this?” I open my mouth to answer, but she cuts me off. “Of course you think you're ready, you're in front of large crowds all the time. But this is different, Phade.” Snapping her eyes wide open up to mine, she gives me a serious stare. “This isn't a group of drunk fans.”
“I know. You think I've never done an interview before?” Dropping my hands to my sides, I pull up a chair, and sit down next to her. Grabbing the legs of the chair, I twist her to face me. Boxing her legs with mine, I hold the outside of her thighs. “Are you sure you're okay? You seem off, this isn't like you at all.”
“Yes, Phade, I'm fine.” Sylvia is short with me, jerking her entire body back to the mirror. Picking up a brush, she starts to detangle her hair. “I just hope you realize this isn't one of your after the fight, testosterone filled, question and answer sessions. This is live television, it's the news, not a platform for you to gloat about yourself.”
Wow, this woman is angry. And it seems like she's angry at me, but I haven't clue why.
Did I do something?
“I get it.” Pushing back, I stand up and walk to the window. “Daniel's pissed you're late just so you know. I don't want you to feel like you're being attacked later by him because you didn't see it coming.”
“Thank you, but I don't need advice from you on how to handle Daniel or what to expect from him. I know he's pissed, and I know he's going to give me an earful.”
“What's gotten into you?” Cocking a brow, I drag a hand through my hair, letting it settle on my nape.
I wait for her to tell me the truth, or at least some lie she wants me to believe. Even if she wants to fill my head with nonsense, I'm ready to listen. I'm sure there's some nugget of truth in whatever she says.