Sinful

by Skylar Cross

  I look down at that pesky nail again. What if I just tore it off?

  "Nothing, I guess," I say.

  "Tell me how you felt while having sex with the four girls," she says.

  "Free. Totally free."

  "Did you feel like anyone was judging you?"

  "At the time, no. Later, yes."

  "Are you afraid if you go out and do the things you want to do your mom is going to find out?"

  "Yes."

  "And what are you so afraid of?"

  "That she'll kick me out."

  "But didn't you say you're getting paid a hundred thousand dollars to write this book for Damien Cage?"

  "That's right."

  "So what are you really afraid of, Annika?"

  I'm in tears now.

  "That my mother will stop loving me," I say.

  I start crying uncontrollably. Delphina pushes over a box of tissues. I wonder if psychotherapists get bulk discounts on tissues.

  I blow my nose.

  "Your truth is hidden, Annika, because you're afraid to live your own life for fear of losing your mother's love. But in order to grow up and live life on your own terms, you're going to have to take that risk. The question is... when will you be ready? And will you be ready before it's too late? Before you're forty and still living at home?"

  She leans forward and looks at her laptop.

  "How is Tuesday at 2 p.m.?" she says.

  Chapter 24

  We're back in the living room area with the Cherrystone coffee table. Damien holds a Kindle Fire, reading the first chapter of the book I'm writing for him.

  As I wait¸ I sip my drink.

  I cough.

  Yikes, that's strong!

  No green juice, fruit, or nuts today. Damien has another one of his large fruity drinks in a martini glass. Like the day I met him.

  Today I have one too. Grey Goose and fresh strawberries with a splash of Triple Sec, blended. Lemon wedge garnish.

  Yum.

  First drink I've ever had together with Damien Cage.

  Checkmark.

  "This is shit," he says.

  The world loses all its color. My heart skips a beat.

  "Um..." I say, "what do you mean?"

  He looks at me with a hard stare. Shit, he's pissed.

  "I mean," he says, "this is shit. Utter useless shit. Reads like it was written by a third-grader who didn't even read the book she's writing a report on."

  I look down at the expensive shaggy oval carpet in the center of the room.

  I did rush it, that's true. I pieced it together yesterday afternoon and this morning because my mom felt she had to interrupt me every five minutes to tell me about her friends, her friends' kids, tragedies she's upset about in the news, the trampy things she suspects her friends' kids are doing, an update on everything I missed on Downton Abbey, a rant about how liberals are ruining the world, a rant against gay marriage, and a few other items I missed because by that time I had consumed one too many vodkas.

  "I'm sorry," I say, "it's just that my mother—"

  "No excuses!" he says. "This is not the same girl who wrote the article about me I read on MiamiImproper.com the other day before it went offline."

  I stare at the carpet.

  "Yeah, I know," I say. "I was inspired when I wrote that."

  "When did you write that?" he says.

  "The day you went to L.A."

  "The day you sucked Jasmine's cock and played hide-my-tongue with Tara, Tiffany, and Karina."

  "Karina!" I say. "That's the name I couldn't remember. Yes, that day."

  "And you wrote this one after moving back in with your mom?"

  "Yes, but I—"

  He slams the Kindle Fire onto the couch.

  "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he says.

  "I've... uh... been asking myself the same question," I say.

  "You were living with Isabella. What happened?"

  "We had a fight."

  "Over what?"

  I take a sip of my drink and look out at the ocean. Storm clouds hover between dramatic rays of sunshine, setting them free then re-blocking them again.

  "My... mom," I say.

  Damien leans forward and looks at me with a hard stern squint.

  "You're all blocked up again," he says. "I can see it. You were free the last day I saw you. In Happy Slut Land. Now the old fearful you is back."

  "Well, see—", I say.

  "Don't tell me!" he says. "I don't want to know. Save it for your shrink! I don't focus on problems. I focus on solutions. Apparently we didn't unblock you the other day."

  "Yeah," I say, "I was going to talk to you about that. I'm a... uh... little, uh... uncomfortable with all that. I think I should just focus on writing your book."

  He doesn't say anything. There's the evil stare again. God, that's not a good one. He looks off at the now gray ocean. Flashes of lightning join water and sky off in the distance.

  "Maybe I was wrong about you," he says. "I thought you had something special. Something that could bust through the blocks. But you know what? You're a prisoner of someone's control just like everyone else."

  Hey, wait a fucking minute here!

  "Prisoner?" I say.

  "Yes," he says as he turns and looks straight at me. "You were free when you were here last but you're more comfortable in your prison. Hidden. Unseen. It scared you to enjoy being such a slut the other day. But instead of accepting it and pushing through it, you let your fear get the better of you."

  Everything skews a little. I feel a grinding sense of irritation building up within me. I put my drink down and move my hipster satchel closer to me.

  "You know," I say, "I think I'd better go."

  "You go and it's over," he says.

  I get up. The room wobbles a little.

  "I... uh... " I say, "I just can't be your personal writer and your personal sex experiment at the same time. It feels creepy."

  "Sex experiment?!" he says. "Creepy?! You think what we did the other day was a creepy sex experiment?!"

  I look down, remembering how fun and free I felt.

  "Um... no."

  "What we did the other day was beautiful and fun. Personal sex experiment?" He laughs. "Are you joking? Is that what you think I've been doing with you?"

  I just look down.

  "Answer me!" he says.

  "I don't know, Damien," I say. "I'm just... going through a lot lately."

  "You started to love yourself the other day. You weren't seeking anybody's approval or permission. You were the true Annika. The free Annika. The Annika who wrote an amazing article. The imprisoned Annika wrote this piece of shit."

  He stands up and faces me.

  "You walk out that door and we're finished," he says.

  I tell my feet to move but they don't. I just stand there.

  We face each other for what feels like an eternity.

  "It's your fault!" I say.

  Oh no, Annika, what the fuck are you doing? You'll ruin everything!

  "What?" he says.

  The Grey Goose opens a door in my head, letting it all out.

  "You won't let me get close to you!" I say. "You fuck all those girls but you won't fuck me! You say I look hot in glasses with nothing else! You show me your cock, but you won't let me suck it!"

  We continue to stare at each other, his arms folded as he dissolves me with his cruel gaze.

  "Keep going," he says. "Let it all out. There's more."

  Fucking smug bastard. He's enjoying this.

  "I don't know if I can go on without..." I say.

  "Without what?" he says. "Fucking?"

  "No! It's not really that. It's sort of that. Well, that's part of it. God, I'm so fucking confused! I just want to know why you treat me so differently from everyone else. Tara, Tiffany, and... uh..."

  "... Karina..."

  "... Karina... have all been fucked by you. But not me!"

  I see a flash in his eye. He walks ac
ross the room. Rain starts gushing down in torrents outside the window. The ocean disappears. Thunder and lightning flash from above in thick cracks.

  "You want to be treated like everyone else?!" he says as he turns back to face me, fuming now. "Like all those mindless groupies at my shows who wait around hoping to suck my cock, throwing their lives away all hopped up on coke and heroin? You want me to treat you like them? You want to fuck, bitch? Okay, fine! Let's goddamned fuck!"

  He undoes his belt and drops his pants.

  But he's clearly mad.

  And there it is.

  His cock.

  Oooooooh so tempting.

  "Go ahead!" he says. "You want my cock? Fine. Go ahead. Suck it. Come on. Here it is, bitch. Then I'll pound the shit out of you and toss you aside like all the other girls. Just another fucked hole. That's what you want, right? You just said it. Come on, suck my dick!"

  He steps closer.

  "Here it is, Annika! Look, I'm treating you like everyone else! Suck it!"

  I get on my knees and open my mouth. I fake like I'm moving toward the head of his cock but at the last second I pull up his pants and zip them. Then I sit back down on the couch, never breaking eye contact with him.

  We just keep staring at each other, his muscular chest throbbing at me, hands on his hips. Me looking up into his cruel eyes.

  I take my hipster satchel off my arm and put it next to me on the couch.

  He folds his arms and looks down at me.

  "I'm not just Damien Cage, rockstar," he says in a voice full of anguish. "I'm not just a fuck machine covered in muscles and tattoos!"

  "I never thought that about you," I say.

  "Bullshit! You told me you had my poster on the wall of your room when you were younger. Was that me? No? It was an image. A goddamned piece of paper. This is the real me! And if I'm not ready to fuck you yet, maybe... just maybe!... it's because..."

  He stops, frozen and staring.

  Yes?............

  "Because when I look in your eyes I see something that I only saw once before. Something that perplexes me. That confuses me. That makes me want to howl at the moon in delight!"

  Oh God, did he just say that to me?

  "But it scares me to death!" he says.

  I don't say anything. He's on a roll... a pretty fantastic one, I might add... and I don't want to ruin it.

  "It scares me to death because I control everything. I get what I want. I'm rich. I'm a rockstar. People bring me whatever I ask for. When girls come here, they all want to keep me forever. But there was one... "

  His voice waivers. He tucks his right hand in his jeans pocket and hangs his head the same way he did at the party when he sang Far Away.

  "...the only other one with that goddamned... thing... behind her eyes."

  He pauses, staring out at the storm. Thunder, lightning, and rain crash down all around.

  He begins to say something. Then stops, scratches his neck, and stares at the floor.

  "You know," he says, "when you're as rich and powerful as I am, you sometimes get to the point where you start to believe your own lies. You think you're invincible. You think you can convince anybody of anything. Then, when reality pokes a hole in that bubble of lies it can be very... disturbing. And I'm not sure if I want to go through that again."

  I'm in shock. Can't move. Can't believe he's sharing with me like this. I want to wrap my arms around him, but I'm unsure. His arms are folded, his body language blocked off.

  Who was this girl? What did she do to him? Where is she now?

  "I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't realize..."

  He turns to me full on. His eyes are full of anger. His muscles flex and tense. He's breathing heavily.

  "Get out!" he says.

  I jump, startled. That's the second time in as many days a person has said that to me.

  "Huh?"

  "You're right," he says. "We're done. I can't go through this. I'm going to hire one of those other writers who begged me. I'll deposit another ten grand in your account to cover your expenses. Just get the fuck out."

  "But I--"

  "Get out!!!"

  He storms out of the room. I sit on the couch and cry.

  Chapter 25

  I'm in a full-on fit of tears as I run across the patio through the pounding rain and lightning to my car. They always say to never run in lightning. Lots of people die from lightning strikes in Florida every year. One just last week on Lauderdale beach.

  But I don't care.

  Let it strike me! Come on, God! Show me your best! I'm hopeless as a human being, anyway.

  I reach my car and get in, white flashes surrounding me. I scream while pounding the steering wheel.

  Instead of waiting for the storm to pass like a smart person, I start my engine and put my car in gear. I turn around in the big driveway but something is wrong. There's a loud squishy sound and the car feels weird. I pick up some speed but that only makes it worse.

  What the fuck?

  I get out in the drenching downpour and look at my tires.

  Shit, I have a flat!

  Goddamned ancient tires.

  I get back in my car.

  Fuck, what do I do now?

  Knock knock knock!

  I almost hit my head on the ceiling as I gasp. I look to my right.

  A thoroughly wet Jasmine Ryder is waving in at me, wildly gesturing to come with her.

  I breathe a sigh of relief.

  Grabbing my hipster satchel, I get out of the car. The rain is like an entire ocean falling on our heads. Jasmine is running toward the hedge.

  "Come with me!" she says.

  "I got a flat!" I say. "I need to change it."

  "You're not changing it right now! Come with me until the storm passes!"

  I really can't argue with that. I feel like I'm underwater as I'm talking to her. Not to mention a white flash as bright as the sun hits somewhere near me.

  She disappears through the hedge. I follow her.

  I find myself running through a garden. Jasmine stays ahead of me. I have a feeling Jasmine could stay ahead of a gazelle.

  We reach a medieval-style wooden door with a big knocker and a rounded top. I recognize the design as part of Damien's house but I'm not sure where we are. This must be the other side.

  She opens the door and goes in. I follow her. She shuts the door.

  We're inside, breathing heavily. Thunder cracks. We both stand there, gasping and dripping.

  Jasmine is in another one of her tight dresses, this one orange. I can see her nipples through the wet fabric.

  "Gotta love South Florida," she says with a laugh.

  "No shit, huh?" I say.

  We're standing in a vestibule that looks like the set for the umpteenth movie remake of Hamlet. Gothic chandeliers cast warm glowing light from the walls. Little high windows display a blue light from outdoors through criss-cross bars. Welcome to the sixteenth century.

  "Take your clothes off," says Jasmine.

  Ummmm... really?

  "But I—"

  "You're sopping wet!" she says as she begins to remove her dress. "Take your goddamned clothes off!"

  Her commanding tone sends a few zaps through my nervous system.

  "There are a ton of clothes here," she says, now only in her startling pink underwear. "This is Damien Cage's house, remember? He has a virtual Forever 21 store built-in."

  With that, Jasmine Ryder is naked.

  Oh my God!

  Tingle.

  I can't help but stare.

  She's already come in my mouth once but I didn't fully appreciate how gorgeous she really is.

  At least six feet, maybe more, towering over me. Curly black hair pulled tight to her head then allowed to flow in massive curls behind her.

  Amazing green eyes. Thick beautiful lips. A gorgeous nub of a nose.

  Soft luscious black skin. Nice dark tone. Smooth and silky over taut muscles.

  Man shoulders with little s
triations. Man biceps and forearms, but not quite as big as a man's.

  Unbelievable breasts. Perky. Bouncy. Can't believe they're fake. Whoever did these is the Da Vinci of implant surgeons.

  Flat stomach with that damned dangling belly button piercing again.

  Tingle.

  And there it is!

  Second cock I've seen in the past hour.

  I hate to say this, but it's hard to say which one I like more.

  While Damien's is attached to him which makes it perfect, Jasmine's is a spectacular uncut work of art. Her foreskin has all kinds of ridges surrounding the slit on her head, which pokes out invitingly.

  But the sheer magnificence of it is the size. Holy fucking God! No wonder I couldn't get the whole thing in my mouth the other day. This dong looks like you could land an airplane on it.

  I want it in me, pounding me, taking me.

  Who said that?

  "Well..." she says with her hands on her hips. "Come on! It's not like I haven't seen you naked, girl."

  I take off my clothes, including my underwear. I notice my pussy is drenched. Not from rain.

  Oh my God, here we go again.

  I follow Jasmine up a set of stairs. Her man ass is at my face all the way. It's gorgeous. I want to sink my teeth into it, then climb up inside it.

  She opens a door and I follow her through.

  We're in an apartment, nicely decorated with modern furniture. A large sunken living room looks out onto the private garden through which we just ran. This must be where Jasmine lives. I never even pondered where she lives. Guess it's here.

  There is a kitchen to the right. Jasmine walks to it and takes two glasses down from a cabinet. Then she adds ice. Next she pours Grey Goose over the ice.

  More Grey Goose. Oh good, just what I need.

  I can't help but be fascinated by her every move. Her man body is perfect, like a sculpture. Incredible butt and thigh muscles.

  Her woman face is perfect too, a beautiful girl with drop-dead gorgeous feminine features. Thick eyelashes. High cheekbones. A dainty feminine chin.

  But that amazing fucking tool... I'm mesmerized by that tool. It has me completely under its spell. I want to wrap my arms around it, hug it, and climb to the top of it.

  To the vodka she adds... yep, you guessed it... Ocean Spray Ruby Red Grapefruit juice. Somebody tipped her off. This is too coincidental.