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“I feel you, Bry.”
“I know, Maggie May. It feels so good. Like we’ve never been apart,” I moan, kissing on her neck, lost in the pleasure. Everything else fades into nothingness. There’s only me and Maggie.
“Bryant, I feel you,” she says again, her nails biting into my skin painfully. My dick jerks that much harder and my balls hurt from the amount of cum she wrings from me.
“I know, baby,” I respond, my breath heavy, grunting as one last burst of cum leaves my body.
“Bryant, stop!” Maggie cries, and too late, I realize her body is tight, and she’s panicked.
“Maggie?” I ask, not understanding what’s going on.
“I can feel you come, Bryant,” she growls, already getting up off of me.
I have no fucking idea why that should make her upset. We both know what we are doing here. She can’t act like she doesn’t. But when she lifts off of me, it registers.
My cock is still hard, covered in remnants of our lovemaking, cum still sliding out of the head of my shaft and Maggie’s sweet juices painted all over me… The torn condom is a ripped and wrinkled wet mess around the base of my cock.
Oh fuck.
“Shit, Maggie,” I hiss, realizing what a fucking mess this is.
Maggie’s already out of the car, standing, her dress falling down covering her pussy from me. Even as I register how mad she is, I mourn the loss that her body is hidden from my view now, and she’s no longer in my arms.
“If I get pregnant, Bryant Matthews, I will cut off your damn dick,” she growls, giving me a mean look that would rival some of the best her mother, Ida Sue, could dish out. I sit there with my dick wet and hard, waving out in the open, and I watch Maggie walk away.
That, sadly, is a sight that is all too familiar.
Maggie
It Was A Mistake
Two Months Later
Bryant Matthews.
How it’s possible for one man to be the love of your life and the first thing you think of while simultaneously being your biggest regret? I seriously have no idea. Still, that’s exactly who and what Bryant is to me.
That and a lot more things.
I love him. I loved him when I gave him my virginity all those years ago. I loved him when I was a teenager, pregnant and scared of becoming my mother. I lost him when our baby died, but to be fair, I lost myself. I was so wrapped up in my pain, I couldn’t see anything but misery. Yet, even then, I loved him. I just couldn’t be near him.
Part of me blamed him for the loss of our baby.
Mostly, I blamed myself.
All I was really sure of back then was that Bryant and I were making each other miserable. He was trying and me? I felt like I was dying.
I was the reason we got divorced. I was the reason it all fell apart. I gave up.
Bryant never did—at least not until I made him.
Two months ago, after years of being apart, I should have walked out of that bar alone. I shouldn’t have flirted back with Bryant. I should have refused the drink he offered. There’s so much I should have done differently—anything but climb into his car and have sex like a damn teenager who didn’t know better.
If I had done that, I wouldn’t be here right now… terrified.
My hand is shaking as I reach up to knock on the door. It’s Sunday and after eleven. Bryant should be home from the gym. It’s weird how I know his schedule like the back of my hand. Heck, I probably know his better than my own.
My heart beats harder as I hear Bryant stomping across the floor to come to the door. I wring my hands together, wishing I didn’t have to do this, wishing things were different… wishing I could erase years and Bryant and I still had our beautiful angel.
So much would have been different if our baby was still alive…
“Maggie?” Bryant murmurs as the door opens.
His face is so precious to me. I don’t think I ever told him that. I have it memorized so closely that all I have to do is close my eyes and I can see it. If I’m honest, it’s the last thing I see before I fall asleep every night—and I realize how fucked up that is. Then again, I’ve always been fucked up. I used to be terrified that I would turn into my mother. That was my biggest fear as a stupid teen. Now, I know my mother is a hero—a crazy one—but a hero all the same. Turns out, I’m more like my grandparents—pushing people that love me away.
I force myself to stop twisting my hands.
“Hey, Bryant. I uh… I was hoping we could talk.”
