“I learned from the best.”
“Are you going to tell me why you’re here? Or are we just going to go to the bathroom and hate-fuck?”
“Maybe after.” I shrugged.
“After what?”
“After I ruin you.” She opened her mouth to speak, but the kid returned with my drink. I swallowed it down before he left the table, and asked for another.
“I think I’d much rather you ruin my vagina. Sounds more fun, and a hell of a lot more believable.” My hand flexed over the envelope between us. It was time to rub the smug look off her face. Her eyes darted to the envelope. “What’s that?”
“I’m glad you ask. I meant it when I said I learned from the best. You inspire me, really. You could teach a class on revenge…actually you kinda already have.” I unclasped the tiny silver prongs on the envelope and dumped its contents on the table between us. A paperback landed on the old wood with a low thud.
“A book?” she asked, thumbing through the pages. “What’s Anarchy?”
“My autobiography.” I grinned. The bartender returned with the second round, and paused, waiting for my next move. I took a sip. “We’re good for now, thank you.”
“Autobiography?” Simone threw her head back and howled with laughter. Her amusement was like a shot of adrenaline directly into my blood stream. “What does it detail your obsession with cocaine and hookers?”
“It’s a coming of age tale about a young boy who spends twelve years of his life in school only to have it all stripped away by a vengeful slut… There’s also cocaine and hookers.”
Her eyes widened. She stopped leafing through the pages and started reading aloud. “Simone smelled like vanilla, sluts loved vanilla.” She looked up at me, enraged. “You didn’t?”
“I did. Aspen. The Standard. Meadowbrook. The bonsai tree. The broom closet. All of it there in black and white.”
“No one will publish this.” She tossed the book on the table between us, and chugged her martini, her face red. She was pissed, and I was about to make her day a hell of a lot worse.
“Turns out, in this day and age, you don’t need a publisher. All you need is a strong internet connection.”
“No one will read it. It will be buried in the bowels of Amazon, and in the Barnes and Noble bargain bins.”
“I’m sure all your fans would love to read about how their fearless leader manipulated one of her readers into leaving her husband, so she could spend two months fucking him in dirty broom closets, then wrote an allegory about it for profit.” I countered. People would read it. I had a provocative story and a connect at NBC. Simone was the slutty JK Rowling after all. It would be an instant best seller.
Her voice cracked, lips quivered, and tears pulled in her big blue eyes. “You’ll ruin me.”
“I know, right?” I laughed. “I would have told you two weeks ago, but the damn paperback proof took forever to arrive.”
Simone shoved her computer into her bag and stood, dumping the leftover ice from of my glass on top of the book. “This isn’t over.”
I arched a brow in challenge, “Bring it on, bitch.”
* * *
An hour and four celebratory gins later, I found myself stumbling to the restroom. “You okay, Coop?” the bartender called after me.
My fingers were numb. So were my lips. My legs felt like I was trudging through a forest of Jell-O. “Never better,” I said. Never better. I had avenged the good doctor, and banished the devil back to hell. I was fucking elated. I also needed to take a leak.
The restroom was one of those small, single toilet setups. I never understood why bars did that. I didn’t want to wait in line to piss. Give me toilets or give me death. After I expelled the liquor pushing on my bladder, I washed my hands. My gaze drifted up to the mirror and bleary eyes stared back at me. Maybe all the gin wasn’t such a good idea. Cupping my hands together under the stream, I splashed cool water on my face, then blindly reached for a towel.
I vaguely registered the sound of the door opening and closing. I must have forgotten to lock it in my drunken state. “I’m almost done,” I grumbled, patting my face dry. The lock clicked, and whoever it was walked further into the restroom. “I said, I’m almost—” My mouth snapped shut at the sight of Simone, standing before me, a long tan trench coat hung from her shoulders.
“Hello again, Dr. Cooper,” she purred seductively. Her hands tugged at the belt, and the coat swung open to reveal smooth skin and red lace. “It’s a little cliché, I know, but judging from the look on your face,” her eyes dipped down, “and the bulge in your pants, I’d say cliché works.”
My gaze dropped, and wouldn’t you know, my dick was hard. Fucking traitor. “What the fuck do you want?”
She moved closer, her tits jiggled with each step. “I’ve had time to cool down, and realized I want what I’ve always wanted. I’ve burned you, you’ve burned me, we’re even now.” I grunted a response, because I didn’t trust myself to speak. I hated her. I hated myself for not being able to resist her, still, after everything, I wanted her. “I know. It’s crazy—but that’s what obsession is, crazy.”
“Simone.” It was a weak protest. In truth my feelings regarding Simone were confusing at best. I hadn’t decided if I wanted to fuck her or kill her. Maybe fuck her then kill her. Better yet kill her then fuck her corpse.
“Come on Damien, this is what we do, this is how we love.” She took another step forward. The points of her stilettos grazed the tips of my loafers.
I scanned her body. No denying her allure, soft curves, pale skin, and pink nipple’d perfection. Too bad it was all attached to the damn devil. “I maybe have—at one point—been fond of you, but now…” I shrugged, letting the sentence trail off.
“You’re lying.” She fisted my tie, tugging me forward. Her chest flushed against mine. Her heart pounded, reverberating through my body, like it beat for the both of us. It felt as real and as raw as my cock against her belly. “You’ve never been indifferent when it comes to me. I make you feel things no one ever has.”
“Anger, annoyance, hate—”
“—love,” she said, shooting me a defiant glare, almost like she dared me to object.
I didn’t. She was right of course. “What does love look like between two monsters?” I asked, pushing the coat over her shoulders. Her skin radiated heat and warmth and magic.
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to find out together.”
“Together?”
“You and me Dr. Cooper, forever.”
“Forever requires a physical exam.”
Simone laughed, her sexy, slutty laugh, “Well in that case, point me towards your examining room.”
Wrapping my hands around her throat, I whispered, “I’m still publishing the book.”
“Over my dead body.”
“That can be arranged, Ms. Boudreaux.”
—Epilogue—
New York- Five years later.
“Crawl.” I smirked, leaning against the bedpost as I eyed my wife exiting the bathroom.
Simone paused mid-step. Her eyes found mine and her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “Really, you want me to crawl…right now?” She waved a hand in front of her stomach in an, I’m pregnant, asshole gesture. Water dripped from the ends of her hair, and vanilla scented body wash lingered in the air. Sluts loved vanilla. That line was golden, to bad my book never saw the light of day. After Simone and I had angry sex in the bathroom at Hudson’s, we had make-up sex at her apartment in The Springs. I returned to New York a few days later, and Simone followed a few days after that, and since then we’d had all manner of sex under the sun—hence the baby bump.
“Yes, right now, and lose the robe,” I added, mostly because I am an asshole, but also because my wife was too beautiful to be covered up by a godforsaken leopard print robe. I think she only wore it because she knew I hated it. The damn thing was indestructible. I’d left it on the balcony in the middle of a New York snow storm. I�
�d tried shrinking it in the dryer to no avail. I’d even put it in the oven once, which earned me a firm tongue lashing from both Linda, our housekeeper, and Simone. All that and there wasn’t a scratch on the gaudy bastard. It’s true what they said, you can take the girl out of Colorado, but you can’t take Colorado out of the girl.
“You’re a jackass, you know that, right?”
I shrugged. In spite of my jackass status, I was rewarded with flashes of pink nipples and smooth skin as the robe slipped down her shoulders and landed into a pool of terry cloth at her feet. Simone sunk to her knees and the sight was enough to rouse the dragon from his cage. The dragon didn’t come out much anymore. He still lived in my brain, but I didn’t rely on him like I used to. Love did that. Simone did that.
“Says the bitch who sent me to jail for a year.” Domestic bliss was nice. Living in The City That Never Sleeps, with a woman as untamed as Simone was magical. Not unicorns and butterflies and shit, but real magic, the kind of magic that makes a monster like me believe in happily ever afters. I enjoyed the chaotic life we had built from the ashes of our time in Colorado. I enjoyed the normal everyday shit, like waking up next to my equal, and falling asleep with my dick buried in her cunt, but there were times—times like tonight—when I craved anarchy. Thankfully my wife was just as crazy as me.
Anger flashed in her blues, but she continued the journey forward on her hands and knees. Good. I wanted her angry. I wanted the She Devil, the crazy bitch who made me feel things I’d never felt. The woman who lived life on her own terms. The woman who took what she wanted without regard for anything or anyone, including me—the man she loved.
“I thought we were past that.”
“We are,” I said, scratching my torso, “but that doesn’t make it any less true.”
She grunted something that sounded like fuck you, and sat back on her heels, her hands on her thighs, eyes on mine. Submissive she was not. I may dominate her for both of our pleasure, but inside Simone was a fire that could not be contained. I had simply learned how not to get burned.
“On your feet.”
“But you just said to crawl?”
“Now I want you on your fucking feet, so I can tie you to the bedpost, and suck your clit until you beg me to stop.”
“Never,” she shook her head in earnest. Water flew in every direction. “I’ll never want you to stop.”
“That’s why I love you,” I murmured motioning for her to stand. My words bled sincerity, they bled love. So much so it was as if I sliced my chest opened and handed her my heart. Love. Something that had been foreign to me for most of my life. Something only Simone and our life together seemed to inspire in me. Real love. Everlasting Love. Crazy love. The kind of love even a man like me, a man who lived life in neutral, couldn’t run from. “Hands up, baby.” Simone shuffled into position, her back flushed against the bedpost, and arms held high above her head. “How does this feel?” I asked tying her wrists together to the wood. Her back arched. She was all round belly and pebbled nipples, a goddess. No, a devil. My She Devil.
“It feels good,” she moaned in anticipation. I pressed a kiss on her forehead, before dropping to my knees, coming face to face with a swollen clit. “What have you been up to?” I admonished, pinching the little nub.
“Nothing?” she breathed.
I pinched her engorged clit again, growling, “This doesn’t look like nothing. I gave you very specific instructions not to touch yourself.” My wife lived to test me, and I lived to punish her for it.
“No, you said, and I quote, don’t cum, and I didn’t. I just took the edge off.” A satisfied smirk rested on her mouth.
I wanted to bite it off. I settled for her leg instead. My teeth grazed the inside of her thigh. “Semantics, Mrs. Cooper,” I murmured against her soft skin. I nibbled my way up her leg, stopping just shy of her cunt. “What am I going to do with you?”
Her breath hitched, “Keep me.”
“Always,” I vowed with the same sincerity as earlier. Always.
My tongue brushed her folds, and her hips bucked forward. Her arousal dripped like honey from a spoon, slow, sweet, sinful. I was addicted to the way she tasted, to the way she smelled, and most importantly to the little sounds of pleasure she made when I parted her pussy lips and lapped up her wetness.
“Baby, stop,” she rasped out a strangled moan. I ignored her, continuing my assault, licking and biting and sucking. “Baby…Damien…the door.”
Her words hit me like a bucket of ice water. “Fuck.”
“Untie me.”
“No. I’ll take care of it. Stay put,” I chuckled as she pulled at the ropes that bound her hands.
Jumping to my feet, I sauntered to the door, opening it just enough to slip out, then closing it behind me. The little intruder stared up at me, rubbing his fists over his ice blue eyes—his mother’s eyes.
“Why are you out of bed, Chase?” I asked in my dad voice. When I envisioned my future, I knew it would include Simone, what I didn’t know is that it would also include a three-year-old son and a baby girl on the way. What I didn’t know is that I would love the little fuckers more than life itself—well, most of the time. This was not one of those times.
“Where’s mommy?” he asked in his sleepy voice. Kids where confusing little assholes. He was obviously tired and yet instead of going to sleep, he was standing there, cock blocking me.
“She’s tied up,” I said because she was, and I may have been a manipulative asshole, but I didn’t lie to my kid. “I’m here, what do you need?”
“I want warm milky.”
“No milk. You’ll piss yourself.”
“Pease,” he begged, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. When he looked at me like that, with her eyes and my face, I’d give him the world.
“Fine, you can have a little milk, then I don’t want you to get out of bed again until the clock on your nightstand glows green. Deal.”
“Deal.” He nodded. I snagged his hand and we walked to the kitchen, our footsteps slapping the hardwood floor of our brownstone as we went.
We moved to Williamsburg when we found out Simone was pregnant with Chase. It wasn’t as bad as Colorado, but there were hipsters everywhere. I’d never seen so many artisanal cheese shops in my life.
The light above the oven illuminated the modern kitchen. I sat Chase on the counter, and grabbed one of his sippy cups from the cupboard.
“Not that one,” he frowned.
I looked down at the plastic green cup then back to my son. “Why the fu…uh…why not?” I asked.
“Mommy uses that one,” he informed me, pointing to an older blue cup with bite marks on the lid. I pinched the bridge of my nose but swapped out the green for the blue. Simone was tied to the bed, and I didn’t have time to argue with a three-year-old about the difference between BPA and Non-BPA plastic. I poured his milk, and put it into the microwave. “Five-five,” he added, watching as I entered the time. Chase was smart as fuck. The brightest kid I’d ever met. Way smarter than Natasha and Reed’s son who was two years older than Chase. A fact I rub in their faces when we make our annual journey to Colorado to visit Simone’s father.
Beep.
Chase shot me a skeptical look.
“I put it in for fifty-five seconds, if it’s not warm enough, tough shit.” He gasped dramatically, slapping his little hand over his mouth. Simone implemented a no cussing rule after Chase said fuck in front of her publicist. I was impressed with how clearly he enunciated it. No baby talk or mixing vowel sounds, just a good old-fashioned fuck. It was one of my happiest parenting moments. “That stays between us men, okay?”
“Otay,” he nodded taking the milk from my hand. He took a cautious sip then smiled his approval. I bit down the I told you so and stood him on his feet. We walked hand in hand back to his room and I laid him in bed, threw the dinosaur blanket over his little body, and triple checked the closet for monsters. He had a phobia of monsters, but little did he know dragon bl
ood coursed through his veins. “Goodnight Son,” I whispered, pressing my lips to his forehead.
“Night night, Daddy.”
Closing his door, I padded back to the master bedroom. Simone was still trussed up. “Everything okay?” she grinned. Motherhood suited her. It helped calm her. She was still the craziest bitch I’d ever met, but with Chase, she was an angel. He was lucky to have her—we were lucky to have her.
“It’s fine. Daddy has everything under control. Now, where were we?” My hand found her throat and I gave it a gentle squeeze. “I can’t wait until you have the baby,” I whispered against her lips.
“Why, because you’re so anxious to meet our daughter.”
“No, because I want to choke you. I want you gagging and coughing and begging for air,” I said, running my nails down the column of her neck, leaving faint pink lines in their wake. I kissed away the sting, and continued my journey down her body. My nails skated across her nipples, followed by my tongue. I repeated the move over to the other nipple. Kissing and biting and worshiping her. Down. Down. Down. Sinking two fingers in her still wet cunt.
Pregnant pussy was the best.
She moaned pulling against her restraints as I added a third finger. “Yes, God—” her mouth snapped shut at the sound of the door jiggling again.
“I gotta pee-pee potty.”
“Motherfucker.” I groaned and Simone laughed. “This is your fault,” I grumbled, yanking the rope from around her wrist.
“Me?” she squealed in delight, as she bent over to reach for her robe.
“Yes, you. You’ve ruined me.”
“You love it.”
I opened the door and Chase shot into the room and dived onto our bed, burrowing himself under our covers. “Yeah…I really do.”
The End.
Dear Reader,
Thank you for going on this wild ride with me. If you’ve been a fan of my work for a while, you know this is way different than anything I’ve ever written. Anarchy started as a short story, but these characters wouldn’t leave me alone, so I expanded it into a novella. I think Simone and Damien will always whisper to me, but their story is finished for now.
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