I’m embarrassed by the direct questions he asks me about sex. He is so comfortable with all things sexual, but me? Not so much…
“Just tell me,” he demands.
“Well, you’re big down there and if you go too fast or hard it hurts.”
“Do you like it?” He asks me in a tone that suggests he is actually concerned and wants me craving his sexual deviance.
“Yes,” I mumble, hating that I do and hating that I can’t lie without him seeing right through it.
I’m suddenly overwhelmed with feelings of inadequacy. “Do you like your other women better than me?”
He chuckles, “Why do you ask that?”
“Well, I don’t know. You have access to so many beautiful women.”
“Look at me,” he commands me. “I like no one better than you.”
“Really?” I ask, inwardly pissed off at myself that I feel flattered to some extent.
“Roxanne, could you ever love me?”
“Oh no, I can’t fall in love; I’m broken.” I reinforce my statement when I see he doesn’t get what I’m saying. “No really… I’m broken and fragmented so people only get pieces of me.”
“Then I want the biggest piece, Roxanne. I’m selfish, especially when it comes to you.”
He takes one of my breasts in his mouth and roughly applies suction. He pulls out of me and moves to position himself between my legs. He smacks the inside of my leg and orders, “Bend your knees and spread those legs, girl.” He places his finger in me and moves it in a ‘come here’ motion, stimulating something inside me that I have never felt before.
A loud growl resonates from somewhere deep in my chest cavity and my body raises and slams back down. Who is this woman who is so vivid with a man who was so recently a stranger to me? Once again, my body convulses as I scream out, exploding in ecstasy. If the dancers weren’t aware of our presence in here before, they sure as hell know now.
The look on his face tells me he loves knowing he can bring me the pleasure no other man has ever given me. With each day that passes, each time he takes my body, his talons sink deeper and deeper into me. He acts as if he is completely enamored with me. I see the rage and turmoil on his face when anyone else looks at me or gets near me. I know he has a dangerous temper. Someone could get hurt or even killed. I’m not certain how deeply the darkness in his soul goes.
He makes his way back on top of me. His hands caress my face as he slowly moves in and out of me, studying every detail of my body. He stares at every freckle, every muscle, every inch of my skin, and I wonder how long it will be before he commits it all to memory.
His thrusts become more demanding, more aggressive, and he never takes his eyes from mine. The connection I’ve been trying to avoid goes much deeper than one of a physical nature and I don’t like it. I set my mind to resist all that he offers me. I refuse to care about this man. It is imperative that I escape before I develop feelings for him. The threat of death is actually less dangerous than the threat of caring about a man who is a Colombian gangster. Yes, it’s time to get the fuck out of here…
All of my life, I have run from place to place with each new problem that arises. I have raised myself due to negligent family members who cared more about their next drink or drug of choice. I escaped group homes and foster care by fighting professionally. It’s all I know.
The instinct to run rears its ugly head again when I think about the very real possibility that this man will break my heart. I would rather suffer the blows from my worst enemy’s fists than a broken heart from the only man I have ever known intimately. My will to survive is all I have left and I am damn sure going to use it to my benefit.
Antonio Wayne
I gather my bearings and position myself on my side next to her, holding my head up with my hand as I begin talking. I know that while she’s in this post orgasmic state, it is the best time to
“Just tell me,” he demands.
“Well, you’re big down there and if you go too fast or hard it hurts.”
“Do you like it?” He asks me in a tone that suggests he is actually concerned and wants me craving his sexual deviance.
“Yes,” I mumble, hating that I do and hating that I can’t lie without him seeing right through it.
I’m suddenly overwhelmed with feelings of inadequacy. “Do you like your other women better than me?”
He chuckles, “Why do you ask that?”
“Well, I don’t know. You have access to so many beautiful women.”
“Look at me,” he commands me. “I like no one better than you.”
“Really?” I ask, inwardly pissed off at myself that I feel flattered to some extent.
“Roxanne, could you ever love me?”
“Oh no, I can’t fall in love; I’m broken.” I reinforce my statement when I see he doesn’t get what I’m saying. “No really… I’m broken and fragmented so people only get pieces of me.”
“Then I want the biggest piece, Roxanne. I’m selfish, especially when it comes to you.”
He takes one of my breasts in his mouth and roughly applies suction. He pulls out of me and moves to position himself between my legs. He smacks the inside of my leg and orders, “Bend your knees and spread those legs, girl.” He places his finger in me and moves it in a ‘come here’ motion, stimulating something inside me that I have never felt before.
A loud growl resonates from somewhere deep in my chest cavity and my body raises and slams back down. Who is this woman who is so vivid with a man who was so recently a stranger to me? Once again, my body convulses as I scream out, exploding in ecstasy. If the dancers weren’t aware of our presence in here before, they sure as hell know now.
The look on his face tells me he loves knowing he can bring me the pleasure no other man has ever given me. With each day that passes, each time he takes my body, his talons sink deeper and deeper into me. He acts as if he is completely enamored with me. I see the rage and turmoil on his face when anyone else looks at me or gets near me. I know he has a dangerous temper. Someone could get hurt or even killed. I’m not certain how deeply the darkness in his soul goes.
He makes his way back on top of me. His hands caress my face as he slowly moves in and out of me, studying every detail of my body. He stares at every freckle, every muscle, every inch of my skin, and I wonder how long it will be before he commits it all to memory.
His thrusts become more demanding, more aggressive, and he never takes his eyes from mine. The connection I’ve been trying to avoid goes much deeper than one of a physical nature and I don’t like it. I set my mind to resist all that he offers me. I refuse to care about this man. It is imperative that I escape before I develop feelings for him. The threat of death is actually less dangerous than the threat of caring about a man who is a Colombian gangster. Yes, it’s time to get the fuck out of here…
All of my life, I have run from place to place with each new problem that arises. I have raised myself due to negligent family members who cared more about their next drink or drug of choice. I escaped group homes and foster care by fighting professionally. It’s all I know.
The instinct to run rears its ugly head again when I think about the very real possibility that this man will break my heart. I would rather suffer the blows from my worst enemy’s fists than a broken heart from the only man I have ever known intimately. My will to survive is all I have left and I am damn sure going to use it to my benefit.
Antonio Wayne
I gather my bearings and position myself on my side next to her, holding my head up with my hand as I begin talking. I know that while she’s in this post orgasmic state, it is the best time to
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