I think back to our last night together where love was covered in lust. It was that night, years ago that I learned how to use lust to save my emotional myself.
I was coming in from a long day of fighting vicious client deadlines and all I wanted to do was kick-off my four-and-a-half inch heels, but that respite would have to wait. My day might have been long because of clients, but it was hard because of the texts from the night before; texts that told me about a man who wanted more than me. More than my time and love. More than the future I had planned for us. So much more, than just me.
I wasn't two steps into the door before I was yelling at the top of my lungs at him, declaring that I was done and I couldn't get past it. Throwing jabs about how I had been there for him through the death of his grandfather and his financial fuck-ups. I was there. Not his careless mom or reckless dad. Me.
He threw counter blows about how he never asked me to do those things and that he had been there for me too, like when I lost my job for a month and my car broke down.
After an hour or so of our best verbal match, I went to the room and broke down on the bed.
I was exhausted mentally and now physically, all because he had decided I wasn't enough. In a last-ditch attempt to make light of the situation, he came and kneeled down in front of my tear-soaked face, lifted my chin up and smiled, biting his rosy lips.
And it pissed me off more.
So much so I went on attack mode. It was like “Dominique” was instantly resurrected. She was once his favorite dominatrix and that night all those years ago, I brought her back for her farewell performance.
I pull him over and throw him onto the bed. He is lost yet loving it. I demand that he take off all his clothes and he quickly disrobes. I peer at him, expressionless. He probably thinks I am going to choke him out because he deserves it, but I have something better in mind.
I jump on top of him, trapping his hips with my thighs. I hold him tighter than I ever have before. Then a dark, demanding cloud grows over me. I grabbed his throat, watching my nails claw into his skin, rethinking for a second about a choke hold, but instead passion consumes me, and I throw wet kisses on his neck. I drench him in pleasure driven by my pain.
Throwing his head to one side and then to the other, I begin inching my way to his chest, licking it slowly from left to right. His small groan pisses me off again.
"Shut up." I tell him. "This is NOT for you." He needs to understand that this moment is the conclusion of our chapter. This is solely for my dying heart. I do it for me, and only me and if anyone is to speak to any pleasure, it is only to be me.
I sit up upright, clinching my thighs tighter, as a black widow would before she devours her prey. I look into his eyes and remember our first day, then yesterday’s text.
Fire burns through me. Tears stream off my face as I embrace every ounce of this power. No longer will I allow myself to wonder about his absence. Late nights. Dead phone. Lies about his location. I can’t take anymore without being on the next episode of Snapped.
I push off of him and stand on the bed. I watch him wait and want. I pull my blouse slowly up over my head, never taking my eyes off him. His shock isn’t satisfying, but at least it tells me I have his attention.
Good.
Then I pull up my olive-green skirt, reminding him of the nude underwear he had picked out that morning for me to wear. I start to take them off, but I notice he is enjoying the view too damn much. I place my hand on my waist.
“Take them off.” I bark. He smiles and reaches his hands for the lace. “What the fuck are you doing?” I scold.
“I’m taking them off, Mistress.”
“Not with your hands, Sub. With your mouth.” He first grits his teeth, I tilt my head, demanding he do as I say. He does. Without his hands touching me, he lifts his face to my waist and peels my underwear off, one tug at a time. I watch him move back and forth from one hip to the next, then to one thigh to the next. He tries to hold my leg and I slap him in the head. “Don’t fucking touch me. I touch you.”
He continues pulling them off me and the heat from his breath makes me fill with nectar. I try to control my urge to moan. This isn’t that moment.
I step out of my panties and he holds them in his mouth. I bend down, close enough to where he can taste the mint left from my gum, slowly-moving towards his mouth. His glance races toward to my cove. I move in close to his lips, tug my underwear dangling from his mouth, then ball it in my fist and stuff it right back into his mouth.
He jumps, gagging from the pressure of the lace on his uvula. I push him back down with my fury.
My transformation continues. Dead is the temptress who lived to give him pleasure in his own way. Long lives the queen beast that no longer cares for his desires just her own. She now feeds on his confusion and is eating up his willing apologies. Her hunger can only be satisfied with the death of her prey—or at least the death of his pride and ego.
I reach my hands back, between his warm thighs and pulled up what is mine for that moment. Its smooth texture begins to grow firmer in my palm.
I remember the night I fell in love with it. I had never felt or seen anything so beautiful that I had to kiss it. He is lucky that I didn’t bite it off that night. I guess I could never destroy one of God’s masterpieces. I pull back from adoring what is no longer just mine to realize that my warm cove was inches away from his dick.
I move my hand up and down over his dick, gripping firmly to its long shaft. Once, then twice, faster and then slower, then up and over and back down and backwards. It is a new sign language for his body.
His body begins to rumble, building up an eruption. No, not this time.
I stop and take my hand away. I hear his groan words through my soaking panties in his mouth, something like "more," but I ignore it. If "more" was going to happen, it will only be to my liking.
I take my panties out and immediately snatch up his lips. I don't want to hear anything he has to say, ever again. Instead of letting go, I stand up once again, leaning over him and then dropping my legs against his ears, locking his head in a badly needed pussy grip.
I wonder how many men have died from being smothered by their woman’s pussy. He should feel honored to take his last breath with my clit on his lips.
Without direction, he takes his most conniving tool and carves out his name inside of me. He too seems to have a message for me; one that means he is sorry and won't do it again. His forceful apologies feel amazing.
I grind my hips into his face, guiding him through the motions I need to satisfy my beast. Flicks from his tongue send a message that I belong to him and he belongs to me. Too bad I had to return that mail to the sender.
I can feel myself starting to pour on him, around his lips and down his throat. I wonder if it is enough to drown him. If not, then let me try harder. I put his hands on my breasts and make them play in circles around my hard nipples. It’s working. I feel my waterfall run full and long on him as I let out lust-filled groans. The beast is almost full.
Fury is no longer lost in its eyes, and its hunger is subsiding. Beauty returns with my pride. I come hard and fast. I suddenly feel emotions rising again. I quickly get off of his face and sit on the bed, weeping.
He tries to console me and all that does is to immediately dry up my tears.
"Get out," I whisper.
"What?"
"Get. Out. Now! I am done.”
That was the last time we touched, that is, until today—until right now in this bistro.
I take my hand away from his yearning thumb and replace his face from our last night together with the one of this moment. Strength grows in my legs, so I stand up. Pride whispers to me, reminding me of the better place that I’m in now and I calmly whisper, "Thank you." Then maturity pushes me back to my table with my girls where I laugh with them for another hour. Joy is in my life and I will never let him take it away from me again.
I can see out my peripheral vision that he is paying for the check. About time.
"Y'all ready?" Gina asks, ready to get back for a dinner date. Mari is beginning to complain about her boobs and how she really needs to nurse her twins, so we all get our cards out.
"Hey," a raspy voice speaks in my ear.
As I turn, I already know it’s him and it’s ok. I am ready.
"I know we haven't seen each other in a while." Hearing him state the obvious only makes me wish he would hurry up and finish this meaningless conversation. "But it was nice seeing you." He stuck his hand out to shake mine.
I stick my hand out with a light grip on his. He kisses it, right in front of his girl. He's so damn ridiculous.
"Oh," he turns and grabs her by the arm. I prepare myself for more meaningless words, this time for the ex-to-the-new-boo intro.
I take in her dark chocolate completion; flawless in all the most beautiful ways. I may have been jealous, but only a little since I can tell she is younger than I am. Vintage wine will always be better, Sweetie.
"This is Jamie, my lil cousin. She just moved down here."
Eyes wide, I do my best to hold my laugh on the inside and just nod to her that it’s nice to meet her. She speaks about how pretty I am and that she loves my shoes. I thank her and they are on their way.
I might have been wrong about that situation, but I wasn't wrong about him. Still I bite my lip, disappointed that I did that to her. I was just going to stand by, break her down into the most unintelligent person there ever was and then watch another “princess” gets pulled into his beastly trap.
Maybe it is just me looking back at my ride-or-dies, or understanding how much I’ve moved on, but I decide then that the next girl I see with him, I will warn her. Not sure what I would say or even do, but I would have to figure it out. I owe whoever she is that, at least. I feel a calming spirit pour into me, as if God is placing a mission on me. Next time, I will be ready.
We pay for our checks and head for the door. Before I take a step out, I realize I’ve left my phone on the table. I run back, pick it up and notice a text from Da Beast a.k.a. Daniel.
2:34 PM: Da Beast: Can we talk, please?
I close my eyes, waiting for the want to go away. But it doesn't.
"You coming?" Gina spouts through the cracked door. After a minute of reflection, I know how to respond. It is so simple. I pull up the keyboard and answer back.
2:35 PM: Sam: Maybe. . .