Page 156 of I’m The Worst

Before I even stop throbbing, he pulls out and roughly spreads my ass cheeks wide.

“Push my cum out, AJ. I want to see it dripping from your used cunt.”

Whimpering, my pussy tingles as I clench and push, feeling his cum leak and drip slowly down my thighs. He groans, spreading me even wider.

“Such a good fucking girl.”

He leans down and forces my head to the side before his mouth claims mine so viciously, I can’t breathe.

As his tongue pushes deep into my mouth, I moan helplessly into him, fingers knotting into his damp hair as I drag him closer, kissing him back with ugly desperation.

I want him.

God, I want him so badly, it makes me sick.

The heat of his body. The weight of him. The way he grabs me like he’s furious I exist. I’ll take all of it. Anything he’ll give me.

When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard, staring at each other. Like something cracked open between us, and neither of us knows what to do with it. His forehead drops against my temple, chest heavy against my back while his breathing slowly calms.

Warmth spreads through my chest. I close my eyes for half a second⁠—

“Fuck, I missed your body.”

My body…not me?

The warmth dies instantly.

He rolls onto his back beside me, and I stare at the ceiling, suddenly unable to breathe right. It feels like my chest is splitting open. Of course that’s what he missed.

Not my voice.

Not me talking too much.

Not the way I touched him.

Not the stupid stories he pretended to hate.

Just…my body.

Humiliation slithers beneath my skin. Because somehow—some pathetic, delusional part of me actually thought maybe this meant something.

Stupid.

So fucking stupid.

I turn my head slightly.

His dark hair is messy from my hands. One muscular arm stretches above his head. He’s already asleep, while my stomach twists so tightly I feel nauseous.

A familiar emptiness settles back in. That hollow feeling I can never seem to outrun anymore, no matter what I take, drink, or fuck. I swallow hard against the sting building in my throat and force myself to move before I do something humiliating, like cry in front of him.

The floor is cold beneath my feet.

Every part of my body aches as I pull on one of his hoodies, the fabric falling to my mid-thighs. It smells like pine and soap and him.

That almost breaks me more.

My purse and stilettos are tossed near the stairs. I grab both quietly and slip out the front door, texting for a driver.