The ugly housedress is the least of it. She’s wearing a black bonnet and mismatched socks.
“No champagne for me. No strawberries either. I don’t like them.”
“Really? I find that funny since you ate about five pounds of them at my mother’s the other night.”
She ignores me and puts a hand on her belly. “I avoid alcohol that time of the month.” She makes a face. “Aunt Flo just crashed this party.” She sits on the bed and lies back, all while groaning like an old woman. “Would you mind warming up myheating pad?” She points to a plastic bag in the corner. “Just put it in the microwave for a minute. I’d do it myself, but the pain is at a ten, and I don’t know where the kitchen is in this mausoleum.”
She puts a dramatic hand to her forehead and moans again, only louder and more exaggerated this time. “I don’t like this house. It’s too big and impersonal. I still want it, though. I can sell it to an idiot, megalomaniac like you.”
“You have your period?” No part of me believes this performance.
“Yeah. When you’re downstairs, can you make me some tea? Chamomile, if you have it. And I think it’s best if you sleep somewhere else. I get night violent on my period.”
“Night violent?”
“Yeah. I kick and punch in my sleep. Sometimes I bite and scratch. It’s called menstrual psychosis syndrome, or MPS for short.”
“I’ve never heard of this.”
“Why would you? Are you a woman? Have you ever menstruated, Daxton? Do you release an egg each month? Do your uterine muscles contract to shed their lining?”
“No, sweetheart. I’m not a woman, therefore, I don’t have a uterus, but I’m not ignorant about how things work.” I rub my hand over my face. “And this performance is not convincing. Not in the least.”
She rolls onto her stomach and winces. Her house dress rides up, and she’s in a pair of faded gray shorts. “My heating pad and tea, please.” She waves me away.
“I don’t care if you’re on your period. I still want to make love to you.”
“Sorry, but no. It looks like a crime scene down there. You’ll have to wait a couple of weeks.”
“Weeks?”
“Yeah. That’s how long my period lasts. Sometimes longer. You have no idea how hard it is to be a woman. I can’t even get a cup of tea from the asshole who promised to be a good husband. Do I have to do every God damn thing myself around here? Sheesh.”
I open the door and slam it shut. Cori jumps out of bed and looks stunned when she sees me still standing there. I approach, grab the hideous house dress, and yank it open.
There’s an even uglier one underneath. I lift that over her head, and her breasts bounce. I pull the waistband of her shorts. She does her best to move my hand, but I don’t let go.
While I have the waistband pulled, I stick my free hand into her panties. I rub her pussy from her clit to her opening. There’s no tampon or pad. I pull my hand out and wave it in the air.
“No blood. Imagine that. Once again, you’ve proven that you’re a little liar.”
“At least I’m not a psychopath.”
I lift her off her feet and toss her on the bed. Before she can get situated, I climb on top of her and smother her protest with my mouth.
It takes her a few seconds to kiss me back, but when she does, I manage to pull my pants down with my free hand and kick them off.
“No,” she says against my mouth.
“No, what, Bella?”
“I don’t want to fuck you.”
“Really? We’ll see.” I drown her protest again and pull down the ugly shorts along with her panties. “I want this pussy, and you’re going to give it to me.”
“No.” She shoves at my chest. “Get off.” The kiss deepens, and when she opens her mouth to breathe, I slide my tongue inside. My hand slides underneath her. I cup her ass and pull her onto my dick and grind.
“Mmhmm,” she moans.
