Cards of Love: Three of Swords

by Willow Winters

  He grinds his knuckles, pressing them against that sinful spot inside of me all while he stares down at me, pushing me closer and closer to pleasure.

  “You got in a cab three years ago and left me. Every fucking time you sit your pretty ass in a cab, I want you to feel this. Feel how fucking good it is to be mine.”

  I can’t move or do anything but feel the fire build inside of me as he rips the orgasm from me, gripping the back of my neck and pinning my face against the back of the seat as I cum.

  It’s not until I pull back, sucking in a deep breath of air and looking up at Madox, still dressed in a suit and tie looking completely unbothered, that he glances back down at me, and pushes his fingers in even deeper.

  Minutes pass in silence, and I struggle with the torturous need to moan, but I merely shove my face into the seat and focus on not grinding into his hand.

  Madox leans down, just as I’m so close to another release. So close to feeling that warmth spread through my body in a wave that crashes through me, destroying all rational thought.

  “I need to fuck you on a plane as soon as I fucking can. So fucking hard that if you ever think about getting on one without me again, you’ll feel me throbbing between your legs.”

  He drags out every bit of my orgasm, making it last impossibly long, rubbing my hard clit all the while. I’m left shaking in his lap, with my arousal slick between my thighs when the cab slows at the gate to Madox’s place, giving me only a minute up his driveway to pull my pants back up over my ass.

  “The second we get inside,” Madox whispers in my ear, “take those fucking clothes off. They belong on the floor.”

  Chapter 5

  Madox

  The Nine of Cups is the card of indulgence. Self-satisfaction and a dream come true.

  Beware though, because this card warns it’s all temporary and there’s absolutely nothing that will change that fact; there’s nothing that you can do.

  She was walking too slow; kissing, gripping me, and stumbling every which way.

  It’s been too long since her ass has hit my bed. Too long since I’ve tasted her from my fingers. And it’s too easy to lift her up, let those sexy legs of hers wrap around my waist and carry her up the stairs to my bedroom.

  “I want you on your knees first.” My words are accompanied by the hiss of my leather belt being pulled from the loops of my suit pants. The belt buckle clangs as it carelessly hits the floor and I can’t be bothered to look at it.

  I unbutton my shirt, all the while my gaze is focused on Sophie and how her hips sway slightly as she crawls to the middle of my bed – my bed – until she’s happy where she is, raising her ass in the air and lowering her cheek to the white comforter.

  With my chest rising and falling, my pulse picking up and the need to slam myself into her riding me hard, I memorize the sight of her flushed skin and the way she nuzzles into the bed with a soft moan, teasing me as she waits for what’s to come.

  It fucking kills me not to take her hard and rough and force her to scream my name the way she should have been for years right now, but I want this to be perfect.

  “Hands behind you,” I give her the command while I kick off my pants. She reaches her hands back, setting them beside her ankles, and I tsk. “Play with your cunt.”

  Her blush turns vibrant and travels up her chest and cheeks as she moves her hands slowly, teasing herself and letting goosebumps kiss along her bare skin.

  Her fingers still haven’t reached her pussy by the time I step up to the end of the bed and give her one hard slap on her ass. She gasps and jumps immediately. Her fingers fly to that greedy pussy of hers too, rubbing her swollen nub and running along her slit. It glistens when her back arches and she settles back down from the single slap.

  I admire the red mark, tracing it with my fingers and listening to her moan of pleasure from the simple touch that hovers over her heated skin.

  “Have you forgotten I like things done quickly?” I ask her, toying with her and leaning down to suck her cunt, even over her fingers, still rapidly moving in circles around her clit.

  “No,” she says softly. “Just making you wait even longer for what you want,” she tells me with a smirk playfully pulling at her lips.

  Stroking my cock, I climb on the bed behind her and then lean down, licking her slit and pushing my fingers back inside of her roughly. The tortured gasp and the way her back bucks are everything I wanted.

  “I’m done waiting.” Even though my words hold impatience, I want her to get off again. Every time she cums is a fucking victory for me. The next one drags out longer, it hits her harder, and it comes so much more easily. “I’m not going to stop fucking you tonight until you’re able to cum just from a single lick along your clit.”

  Her eyes close at my words, and as if I’ve commanded it, she cums on my fingers. That’s three in the last hour. I want more.

  “Arch your back; I want your ass up higher.” She listens and obeys, even though she’s still shaking. In bed it’s always easy between Soph and me. She knows I’ll make it good for her. And I know she’ll love me for it.

  With a hand splayed on Sophie’s hip, my fingers dig into her flesh as I slam myself inside of her heat.

  Fuck, she feels so tight. I struggle to hold back my sound of pleasure from feeling her heat wrap around my cock.

  Pushing myself deeper inside of her, I let the rough groan from my chest out of me. My lips graze the crook of her neck and then the shell of her ear.

  “Fuck, I missed you,” I whisper and it’s her undoing.

  She’s already cumming again. Spasming around my cock as her body shivers beneath me.

  Even consumed by pleasure, a smirk forms on my lips. I leave an open-mouth kiss along her jaw and then her cheek, waiting for her orgasm to rock through her body. She’s breathing heavily, her lips parted and body still trembling when I pull out just slightly and then push in even deeper, fully seated inside of her.

  “I was going to fuck you slowly, to tease you and torture you for making me wait this long to have you again,” I whisper my words and slowly her eyes open. Her baby blues find mine, and I hold them in my gaze.

  “You’ve already cum though, and I’ve missed you too much not to have you like I selfishly want.”

  Sophie lifts her head just slightly, not speaking and only giving me a single kiss before falling back to the bed, barely able to brace herself with her forearms.

  And then I ravage her. Keeping my promise. The last time I touch her, she cums one last time with a single flick of my tongue to her clit and nothing more.

  Chapter 6

  Sophie

  The Five of Swords, like most swords, is an unfortunate card to be dealt. One of mind games and hostility. There’s pain. There’s conflict. And worse than that, defeat.

  Sometimes when people meet, they’ll never be the same again. There’s a piece of the other person that stays with you forever.

  I remember this bed, the way it feels, the way it smells like Madox. I remember his house and how it was freezing cold and empty in a way that always made me sad for him. I remember this room, his bedroom, how it was the only place that felt like him, with its dark, textured wallpaper and thick curtains that keep out all the light and sound.

  Last night, Madox gave me more than he gave me all the years we were together. He was quiet and reserved back then, and he never would have told me how he felt. I never knew how he felt. Let alone that he missed me.

  I always knew I loved him, but even so, I also knew he’d let me leave and never come for me. That’s not what someone does when they miss you, let alone when they love you.

  I really felt like he loved me back when we were together. It’s why for years we were off and on with seeing each other. I always went back to him. He was the only man I was ever with because deep down, I thought he loved me.

  That’s why I sent him a message the morning before I left. After he fucked me in the alley. After I fled back to my apartm
ent, after we fought, after I cried myself to sleep, knowing it was over for good. Even still, before I left, I gave him one last chance. I texted him before packing what little I had in my apartment for the flight, and I asked him to tell me if he wanted me to stay. I told him I was leaving with Trish, but if he wanted me to stay, I would. I just needed him to tell me how he felt.

  And he didn’t text me back at all. That’s who Madox is. Or at least it’s who he was.

  He never gave me any words of any sort that he wanted me. All I needed was for him to tell me he wanted me to stay, and he never did.

  Not until last night.

  Maybe I’m a fool to fall back into bed with him. But hearing those words, ”I want you”… it did something to me. Like finally having your wish come true.

  It took me back to the first night I met him and through all the years we spent together when those words would have changed everything. And to the first night, when I knew he wanted me to stay and I knew he cared for me. He didn’t even know me, but I knew he cared. He had to have cared, in order to do what he’d done.

  That night was both hell and a living nightmare. But for me, it was the start to what I thought could be a fairytale.

  I remember that entire month and the days after so vividly. I was only sixteen and I’d never heard the name Madox Reed before. It all happened because I had to pee, if you can believe that. Well, maybe not. Maybe it allhappened because my stepdad was a dick. I wouldn’t stand for it, not even when my mother would.

  I guess that was really the straw that broke the camel’s back. I’d reached my limit, and there was no going back. He yelled “cunt” when he punched the window as my mother drove away, weeks before the night from hell.

  My mom had left him before so many times. It was like a yearly holiday. They fought a lot, damn near constantly. And every once in a while my mother would have enough and leave, taking me with her.

  She’d always go back to him though, and after this particular fight she did just that. We’d spent the longest time at her friend’s house. Two weeks exactly, which was the most time she’d ever stayed away, but just like always, she’d gone back. She forgave him.

  I didn’t.

  I couldn’t get the fear out of me from that single moment. It lingered every time I got into my mother’s car.

  When she was leaving him and driving away, I was sitting in the passenger seat, looking straight ahead and trying not to show anything at all. No tears, no anxiety. My mother was a wreck and she needed me to move quickly, to pack my bag and get in the seat – just like we had before. Through the yelling, through the fighting, I kept it all bottled deep inside, where it shook and shook and shook. Like a can of Coca-Cola waiting to explode. My heart raced when I saw him come out of the house as the engine thrummed and my mother rubbed haphazardly under her eyes. Her mascara smeared, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t like she could see it at all. Her face was red and there was barely any makeup left from all the wiping she did.

  She put the car into drive as he screamed something at her. All the windows were closed, but my mother screamed back regardless. Still fighting, even though she was leaving.

  They did that to each other. They fought and pushed each other away. It even got physical sometimes. But as we took off and I stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the pain in both their voices, my stepdad punched the window – my window - and yelled “cunt” as my mother drove away.

  Even in the memory, my body jolts.

  The window was closed. Every time I remember it, I think about how hard he hit it. I can’t tell for sure anymore if it was as hard as it felt back then.

  I never cried when we left him every year. My mother needed me to be strong. But back then if I allowed myself to dwell on that thud of the window, the sight of his fist, even the word that romance novels have taught me to love so much because it’s used so differently… that four letter C-word, I cried and I kept crying. I couldn’t stop.

  Madox used that word too, weeks later. He didn’t know what had happened and he said it in bed. But when he said it, it was with a reverence that singed the memory of what it used to mean into nothing but ash.

  The way he used it was sinful and decadent. It’s the only way the word should ever be used.

  Because of him and my books, I love the word now; I’m over the power that word had held over me, but back then it brought me so much fear. Just the memory of how it was used was enough to make up my mind.

  So when she went back to him, I didn’t.

  I was sixteen, and I had a car of my own, although it’d been at the shop at the time of the latest breakup. I told them I wasn’t going to live like that. I watched my mother break down in a way I’ve never seen, and I watched my stepfather’s eyes gloss over, although he eventually screamed at me when I didn’t accept his half-assed apology. Just like he screamed at my mother.

  All I had was a car, a part-time job on the weekends, and about $50 in cash. I figured I’d sleep in the car. It was spring, so it was warm. I could park a couple of blocks from my work at a vacant house for sale. No one would mind.

  I would make it work. Because there was no way I was going back home.

  Fifty dollars would last me until payday if I only bought stuff from the dollar menu at fast food places. I wouldn’t need gas, because I’d walk everywhere. I was so sure of myself and if I lived in a perfect world, I could have made it work.

  But life is no vacuum. There are other people existing, watching… waiting.

  The third night, I was so damn lonely. My mother called, but her voice was drowned out by the stern voice in the background telling her to put her foot down and not to contradict him. If I was going to make her choose between her husband and her daughter, then I was the problem. Maybe I was.

  After all of this happened, I never chose between them again. I came and went and simply saw my mom and stepdad for who they were. A couple who fought, and I wouldn’t stand in the middle any longer. It was easier to love them, and easier for them to love me that way. We were never the same though.

  The eighth night was my breaking point.

  The guys at the corner store knew I was coming in just to use the bathroom because the school was closed at night. They told me I couldn’t come in anymore unless I was going to buy something. I was down to less than ten dollars; it turned out three dollars a meal wasn’t enough. It was late and dark, I was hungry, and I needed to pee.

  A few streets down from where I parked was mostly vacant. It led to a few houses and a bar. I walked behind a house for sale, intending on just doing my business. I needed to pee or my bladder would burst, I was on the verge of maybe crying because I felt so stupid and so alone. It would have been just that, and then I’d go back to my car and curl up under the blanket and cry myself to sleep again, wondering how my mother could choose him when I chose her every time. It would have been, but I wasn’t alone.

  I knew something was wrong the second I squatted down in the darkest area behind the shed to pee as quick as I could. It was quiet; way too quiet until I heard their voices.

  There were four guys, each holding partially empty bottles. One had covered his in a paper bag, but the others didn’t care if everyone could tell they were drinking cheap beer.

  The pee dribbled down my leg as I pulled my pants up, stopping midstream. My heart hammered and I swear it tried to leave me, tried to climb up my throat and run.

  They knew I was there; that was obvious because they didn’t break their stride as they pushed open the gate of the fence leading to the backyard of the house for sale. Words escaped me, breath abandoned me.

  I just stood there full of dread, with the shed to my left and a privacy fence behind me.

  Four of them, and one of me. Their smiles were telling, even in the darkness. The wolf whistles, the coarse laughs. I thought I knew fear before that night. I thought wrong.

  “Yo!” I remember the word being shouted from my right, way down the road and I turned to look, bre
aking my gaze from the four intruders. Still not having moved, not having spoken, the true terror having turned every piece of me into a numb statue. Another group of people down the street fucking around and laughing were either coming or going, probably from the bar. But I could hear them too.

  “Help!” How the word came from me, I have no idea. The first time I screamed it, the expressions on their faces changed, these four young, drunk men who had waited for me to get out of my car so they could follow me and trap me. The second time I screamed out toward the stray voice I heard in the distance, I took half a step forward, feeling the adrenaline in my blood urging me to fight back.

  I needed help, and I knew whoever it was down the street could help me. If only they wanted to. If only they heard me.

  The closest man grabbed me, trying to cover my mouth and I fought the best I could. I bit him, scratched him, kicked out and hit his shin. The next time I screamed for help, the word was ragged and hot tears were streaming down my cheeks. He was so much bigger than me.

  I was tired and weak, and I was so fucking scared.

  I didn’t have to keep fighting though. There were only three guys down the street who had heard me, but they came.

  My knights in shining armor were older than me, but younger than the guys who’d tried to hurt me. They wore the same jacket and one of them threw it off as he saw what was happening and he ran. His muscles bulged under the streetlight and the asshole who still had his hands on me, released me to take off. He hopped over the side fence and I thought my rescuer would do the same the way he was running, but he stopped short as my shoulders jerked forward and I dry-heaved.

  Eight nights alone and living with anger and sorrow had been hell, but that night was disgust and fear in a way I’d never felt before. And with the shock came the need to throw up. I didn’t have anything in me though.