Decadence Read Online Free PDF Page B

became a letter
O
and she quaked from crown to corns. Since my Sunshine days, I had watched a lot of women come. It was a fetish. Seeing the pleasure in others turned me on. Bret tried not to, but he came, his release powerful and copious. I watched his face as he came. I stroked his chin as he lost control. It was spiritual. The energy. The primal, barbaric grunts. Watched him transition from madness, strain, become fire and rock, and release, then watched him return to peace. He could barely breathe. She was barely able to breathe. It was like she had been killed, then resurrected. When he was done he didn’t withdraw from her. He kissed me as he was inside of her, and when our passionate kiss had finally eased, when it had ended, he looked down at her, asked her if she was okay, sprinkled soft kisses on her dank face. She smiled and they rubbed noses.
    An hour after she had arrived, she had orgasmed many times, and then fulfilled in both pleasure and curiosity, she showered, gave us kisses, and with her hair wet and back in a ponytail, she called a taxi and left to head back to the Four Seasons in Buckhead, reconnected with her Canadian friends. It was Bret and I the rest of the night. Until the break of dawn. It had been one of those nights when my need was so high it terrified me. I wanted to fellate, suck lingam because it turned me on. I wanted to suck because sucking made me feel good. I wanted to be fucked hard, wanted my ass smacked, wanted bites on my neck, wanted my skin sucked, wanted my nipples pinched, wanted come in my yoni, mouth, wanted come in my ass and on my skin, wanted a hard and unapologetic session, wanted to fuck a man the same way, wanted to fuck a man senseless while he fucked me without mercy, wanted to be lubed and fucked in my chocolate star after my yoni and mouth had been fucked. I had wanted Prada, he was familiar, he was tied to my emotions, we had known each other for many seasons, and we were lusty and cerebral together, our sex amazing and intense, romantic and lovey-dovey. Romantic and lovey-dovey was good, holding hands and flirting was good, but I was liquored up and hormonal and wanted strange; I wanted hot and hard, wanted hard and at that moment, wanted it nasty from a new lover, from a mystery, from a man whore who would be added to the zipless count, and the nastier the better. Then as Rascal Flatts played on the radio I had crept out of the room, purse over shoulder, shoes in one hand and my jewelry and car keys in the other, left him sleeping, my trademark red heart and smiley face drawn on the mirror in lipstick the hue of lust and love. I had been tempted to do something that I never did, leave my name and phone number, but I didn’t.
    But we had run into each other again by happenstance.
    Then on the Fourth of July we had hooked up at Lenox Square and run the Peachtree Road Race. We had been sharing heat in a different way ever since.
    As rain fell, I smiled and imagined that some lucky Southern bitch was waiting for him now, probably had a bowl of cheese grits, sausage, and eggs sunny-side up waiting for him at the table. While he ate his cheese grits, she would probably be underneath the table sucking his balls as she stroked his lingam.
    He was distracting without trying to be, despite how convoluted my life had become. I was glad that he was my friend. Or whatever we were now, I was glad. I enjoyed the energy of a man in my world.
    My situation with Prada, if it was a situation, was more than enough at the moment. Still Bret lived one exit away, no more than two miles, two moments from my bed. I took sharp breaths, tried to have power over what was beyond control, and swallowed. If we had continued being lovers, maybe I wouldn’t feel this fire that I felt right now. But it could have also ended up being a disaster.
    That was my track record.
    Once abnormal desires became the normal longing, not only was it incurable, it became preferred. I craved the absurd. I