“You’re wrong, Sous. This cunt only gets wet for me, it only leaks in my mouth and hands. It only pleasures my cock.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” I nearly hiss, feeling him pull my barbell.
“Don’t worry. I’m about to show you.” As soon as the words have hit my ears, he’s grinding his mouth against my pussy, licking, biting, and rimming my ass. He grips my thighs, pulling me to the edge of the counter and dives even deeper. The pressure is too much, so ravenous and languid. He’s making me moan unabashedly.
He fucks me with hate.
I love him with the same.
Our bodies connect. The grunt he releases is like every other lie he offers. Fake. He hates me. He wants me. He can’t stand me. Lie after lie after lie after lie. I let him degrade me with them because, masochist or not, we all know I deserve it.
“You wilt under my fingertips like a dying flower, Sous. Just for me,” he breathes. “Just for me.”
Chapter Fifty
Present
Joey
“How do I love the hate out of you?”
He whispered it so low, I’m almost certain he didn’t mean for the words to escape him. I love so much about this man. His lips that are plush but not pillowy, his strong and sharp jaw that could slice glass, his eyes that are haunting while sad and darker than the starless sky when angry, and his body that is a goddamn wonderland.
But with love, hate follows.
The things I hate about this man are too many to list. But if I can’t understand and love the flaws, am I supposed to be allowed to love the perfect parts?
His heart is fractured. Way before I came along, it was broken and tattered, bruised in a never-healing kind of way. It was deep, the pain, and it never had a chance to heal.
His alcoholism. It’s the bitterest pill to swallow and he’s never actually admitted it to me. Yes, I know he’s an addict. I see it in his tells, how he goes to AA meetings but never mentions them, and how he looks at liquor as if it’d feed the unending loneliness inside.
That’s the biggest lie of any addiction.
They don’t fix or fulfill the emptiness.
They only grow the small hole into a massive cavern, then slowly, it tunnels into a wide systematic threat, and by then, it’s too late.
Toby’s damage speaks to mine. Maybe that’s how we found each other. Bound and destined by our troubles and thrown together in hopes we could fix and not further ruin each other.
He’s my disease.
I’m his addiction.
We’re a catastrophe, but in the chaos, it’s always him.
I love him more than I hate him.
But it’s not enough.
Not now when we’ve lost so much. Not when he took the easy way out. And definitely not when he walked out on me.
“You can’t,” I finally answer. It’s been a pause too long, but I needed that extra breath to think it through. He can’t love the hate out of me.
We all have choices in life. They are the make-up to what ends up happening. A domino, ready to tip the rest, even the ones we didn’t realize we stacked.
My choice for now is me.
“What are you saying?” His voice is small. Soft and kind, but so goddamn bereft of hope. I can’t be his fixer, and he can’t be my livelihood.
In all my life, I’ve always depended on someone to love me and me them. What if I took love out of the equation and wrote my own story? One where happiness isn’t a result of what someone could offer me, but in what I could offer myself?
“I’m saying, I need time. We were in this marriage for all the wrong reasons, Toby.” For the first time in our relationship, I see emotional build-up in his eyes. They’re wet and heavy, and it pains me not to kiss him better.
“We fell in love,” he tries, his voice cracking with the words. My husband’s biggest weakness isn’t alcohol and escaping. His biggest fault is abandonment issues. He’s never done well with people leaving him. Even now, as someone who is unable to fix this and us, I want to kiss his worries away.
“You weren’t supposed to fall in love, old man. Guess we both fucked up.”
“We fell in love,” he repeats, emphasizing the we part.
“We did. So deeply that our pain can’t be fixed with an apology. You breathe life into me, Tobias. You breathe love. You breathe hope. But when that’s gone, when you’re hurting, when you hate me because of your own pig-headedness, you steal those very things away from me. You don’t offer anything but malice and heartache.”
Emotions bleed from me as I cry to him. My voice, along with my lips, warble because admitting these words are painful in the most visceral way.
“You hurt me in more ways than I can count,” I finally let out on a sigh. “I never knew what pain was until you were the one behind the blows.”
He bites his bottom lip as tears of anguish flow freely down his cheeks. His eyes are devastating right now. A pale green that just hurts my heart.
“I never meant to hurt you... at first. I mean, I know what I was doing after I thought you broke us, but before that, my intentions were never set out on making you hurt.”
“Then why did you do it?” I wonder aloud.
“You closed yourself off.” He grips his head, twining his fingers through his hair and pulling. “You reminded me of Lo when she’d shut down and nothing mattered. It scared the fuck out of me.”
He’s pacing now, his body full of something—adrenaline, maybe fear, something that’s keeping him from being still.
“I couldn’t be him. Not him. I couldn’t ruin you like he ruined her. I couldn’t,” he mutters, pain lacing his words. They’re not cohesive, almost garbled, and he keeps repeating, I couldn’t. The pain inside him, the demons he holds and shelters, they’re eating him alive.
His actions were terrible, but who doesn’t fuck up at least a hundred times in any marriage?
“Who? Who are you talking about?” I ask, trying to calm him. He hasn’t stopped shuffling. I reach for his face, the contact making him shiver. His wild expression meets mine, it’s harried and desperate. He comes closer to me again, pinning me against the wall.
“My dad. I can’t be him. I won’t. I couldn’t,” he rushes out, the words short and sharp. As he brings his face to mine, I hope he sees the honesty in my words.
“You’re not your father, Toby. You’re my husband. A loving man. Someone who fixed all my jagged pieces, putting them together to make something beautiful. You are such a wonderful man.”
“I’ve fucked up, Joey. I’ve fucked it all up.”
“No, you haven’t. We both made decisions that damaged us. We. We’re a team. When one makes a choice, it affects us both.”
“I fucked other people,” he hisses, moving away. “I fucked other women, and all while you stayed home and cried. I cheated when you were suffering. It wasn’t a team effort or a choice you made, Joey. It. Was. Me. I picked everyone but you.”
A choked sob leaves my mouth, and I cover it with my palm, hoping to hide how much those words physically strike me.
He comes closer, seeing my pain.
“It’s better that you left. I’d have just fucked up even more. Probably slipped inside another hot cunt and got them pregnant.”
I smack him. It’s a gut reaction, but I do. I slap him so hard that there’s a red mark forming on his cheek. He doesn’t mean these things. He can’t. He wouldn’t do this to me. He’s always hurt me when he’s upset, but this?
“You know it’s true, baby.” A strangled noise escapes me at that word. I fucking hate that word, and he knows it. “It’s inevitable. Me fucking you over.”
“Fuck you, Toby. Fuck you.”
His eyes darken, but I see the chip in his armor. He’s saying these things to make me leave. And the thing about choices is I’m not scared to make the one that finally saves my heart.
“Goodbye, Toby.”
He shuts his eyes as if he’s both miserable and elated that I finally said it. H
ow can he go from trying to win me back to what he’s doing right now? It’s not right.
Not fucking okay.
He reaches for me, but when I flinch, he drops his hand. After saying goodbye to Lo, Jase, and their kids, I leave. I rush out of the house and to my car, knowing that from now on, I’d be selfish.
I’m choosing me.
We were the consequence of circumstance.
That’s all we were. Everything else was lost.
He was mine.
Until he wasn’t.
I stayed for so long because fighting for him over a misunderstanding mattered to me. I love him; he hates me. Everything fell apart with one simple mistake—a miscommunication. With honesty, a little trust, and understanding, we could have lasted. We could have conquered. We could have loved.
But he chooses hate.
I think it’s easier for him. Rather than accepting that he messed up—didn’t trust me—he threw us away. It’s fair. I met Lo. I know what she did to him. What she held over his head. What kept him with her.
Guilt.
Such a cunty little emotion.
Chapter Fifty-One
Past
Joey
He pushes me against the surface of the elevator we’ve used for years. His mouth hovers my lips as he breathes as raggedly as me. “Are you wet, Sous?”
“For you? Never.”
He chuckles darkly, his face masked with anger and hatred. It’s always one or the other, but tonight, it’s both. It sends chills up my spine, tingly, and zapping each inch of me like a little 9-volt battery.
He hates as strongly as he fucks.
Endless.
Brutal.
With every inch of him.
“If I lifted your little dress, would your cunt tell me otherwise?” I stare at him and his dirty mouth, hating him so much at this moment. How can he be so cruel and make me weak for him to the point I throw all my needs out the window? My pride doesn’t seem to be an issue. If anything, people see a spineless woman, but the pain feels too good to let it win. I use it instead, letting it breathe fire back into me with every pulse.
I’m not weak. I know the stakes and the rules. I’m just strong enough to fight him instead of give in to every demand.
“No. It’s wet for Francis.”
With those words, he flips me against the wall and raises my dress. The lace panties I picked cover next to nothing, but he growls anyway. A resounding slap hits my ears before I feel the sting against my ass. It’s harsh and brutal, but it has me clenching my thighs.
“He’s not here,” Toby barks.
“He’s right here,” I taunt, tapping my head, waiting for an explosion. Because with my husband, there’s always an explosion.
“Fuck him, you’re here. With me. Wet and soaked for me.”
It’s like he’s barely holding onto his humanity as he spits the words. They’re barely strung together as a proper sentence. His hatred brews in the air, suffocating me.
“Prove it.”
With those parting words, another slap echoes within the confines of the small box.
“Oh, wife, I will. I’m going to fuck you until your cunt knows nothing but the length of my cock. Spread your fucking thighs,” he demands, gripping the back of my neck and forcing my face against the glass.
That’s the hot part about exhibitionism, not knowing if you’ll get caught, not knowing if some freak is watching us from the little camera in the corner, or if we’ll get arrest for fucking each other without a goddamn care.
I try turning to him, and when I do, we’re face-to-face as I let out my next words.
“Right here in a dirty elevator?” I question, my voice breathy, revealing how much it turns me on to be degraded by him. It shouldn’t appeal to me—or anyone, for that matter—especially since he’s such a prick, but it’s an urge neither of us deny. His taut body boxes me in, the weight of his built chest pressing me into the wall. The glass clings to my skin like a film. Filthy, cold, and barren, heated only by my body. Just like this man’s heart. He presses his thick cock against me, leaving no room for me to move.
“Do you think you deserve better?” he hisses harshly, his mouth hovers over mine, taunting me like a snake does its meal.
I shake my head, even if it’s a lie. He’ll never stop punishing me, and I’ll never stop loving him. Seconds pass as his eyes scan mine. Heat flickers there, desire swirls, and that goddamn tongue licks his bottom lip. As fast as it’s there, it’s gone. His face morphs back into one of hatred and distaste, in an attempt to hide the lust that had oozed out only moments ago, reminding me his loathing always comes before my orgasms.
“Then turn the fuck around and show me that pretty pussy.”
This time, I flip of my own accord, making sure he sees every inch of my ass before spreading my thighs. The way the moisture is pooling between them lets me know he’s getting to me. He always does.
His finger dips between my folds, and when he brings it up to his face, I watch him suck it clean in the mirror.
“Just as delicious as always, sweetheart.”
My body shivers at those words, hearing their hidden meaning. He’s going to fuck me with his mouth. He’s never been able to resist after his first taste.
Gripping the lace, he slides them down my legs, sending chills all over me. I wiggle as he takes his time removing them.
He scrunches them up and takes a sniff, forcing me to watch, releasing a husky little groan that has my nipples poking through my dress from how hard and stimulated they are. Fuck. He’s so raw when we’re like this. We can lie all we want, but this passion we’ve always had hasn’t waned. If anything, it’s stronger with each hate-filled session of pure fucking.
I’m about to say something when he puts a finger to my lips. “Open.”
I do.
He smirks callously and shoves my panties in my mouth. It’s like he needed to degrade me in every way.
“Now when you scream, only I’ll hear you.”
Fuck.
He’s such a prick.
“Now widen and bend a little, I have dessert to eat.” I groan and adhere to his commands. We went from nothing to married, from being married to lovers, to lovers who hate each other’s guts. He hates me, and I return the fervor.
He fucks other people; I let him believe I do too.
We’re so fucking twisted; it’s going to kill us both.
I hate him.
He hates me.
We fuck anyway.
When I’m finally spread for him, he falls to his knees. “Your cunt is the only one I’ll ever worship, Sous. It’s mine to devour and taste and fuck. Just mine.”
He flattens his tongue and swipes from my clit to my asshole. It’s so hot and dirty. If anyone were to call the elevator, we’d be fucked. They’d see my husband kneeling behind me, eating my pussy and ass like it’s his career of choice. Devouring, slurping, and making noises that have me flushed and wanton.
I’m desperate for these moments, and they’re all mine. I don’t have to share them with anyone.
“You’re my favorite meal of the day, Josephine. Every time you bend for me, I never want to leave your thighs.” He grips both of my cheeks and spreads them, rimming me and biting on each cheek for good measure.
“So fucking delicious. So fucking mine,” he grunts and dives back in. I wiggle against him, wanting more friction, more pain, just more. He slaps my ass, hard. The sound making me wetter.
“Fucking greedy little pussy, isn’t it?” I moan around the fabric and watch in the mirror as he smiles devilishly. I feel his fingers slide from my ankles all the way up to my thighs. He rubs the spot he bit and sucked earlier.
“Marked up, imprinted, all mine,” he coos. It’s so tender and baritone. Like he’s a proud lover, making me come over and over again.
His fingers glide upward, finally hitting my sweet spot. He doesn’t enter me, just toys with the sensitive flesh around my hole, teasing, making me desperat
e. When I groan, complaining in the only way I can, he sinks it in and hooks it upward, making me see stars. I shake from the pleasure of his fingers and mouth.
He never ceases to bring me pleasure. It’s like he’s made it his mission to get me off as much as he can before he’s finally allowed to explode.
His one finger turns into two, and as he laps at my asshole, he starts stretching me there too. He’s such a dirty bastard, and I love it. I moan so loudly, not even my undies can silence the noise.
He stops all movement before making himself visible in the mirror.
“You were always a slut for ass play,” he taunts, and I whimper as he removes his finger.
“Has Francis been inside this tight little hole, Sous?” I shake my head vehemently. Knowing if he believes otherwise, he’ll plow into me.
“But he’s had my cunt. Maybe I need to reclaim both tonight. Good thing you don’t work tomorrow. After I’m done fucking him out of your system, you won’t be able to walk.”
I moan as he removes all his fingers, and the loss makes me clench. I want every goddamn part of me filled by him. He rises and leans toward me, removing the fabric from my mouth.
“On your fucking knees. We need to start here,” he says while tapping my lips. They have drool on the sides, wet with desire and desperation.
I lick my lips without hesitation, wanting to taste him. While Toby is a giver, he doesn’t let me suck him off often. He always tells me my pussy wants his cum more than my mouth, but I think it’s fair to say, I don’t care where it’s at, as long as it’s all mine.
He traces my mouth with his cock, spreading his bead of precum across them. I can’t help but lick my lips again and taste him.
He’s salty and sweet and all him.
I lick up his shaft, making sure to tease him just like he does me. He hates it, but when he fights my mouth for his release, I know he loves it all the same.
“Open,” he hisses, and I stare at him, seeing his disheveled appearance. It has me grinning, hot and needy for him. I widen my mouth and watch in fervor as he sinks his cock inside with a grunt.
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