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“This is for you.” I hand her the note, not going back on the promise I made to myself, although I know without a question of a doubt, that she’d get up on this desk right now with no hesitation. She needs that note first. I told myself for years that if ever I were to see her again, she needed to have it back. There’s dried blood on the edge of one side although it’s turned a dark brown now. There are other stains on the once clean paper as well. I can still see right where she’d cried and the paper took in her tears, seeping into the crisp creased folds and warping them. It’s harder to see it now though. It blends in with all the other evidence that the paper has existed for far too many years.
I watch her eyes as she unfolds the note. I watch her pupils dilate and note their glossy sheen as she rips her gaze away and looks anywhere but at me.
Her inhale is ragged and sharp.
“This isn’t for me.”
“It is. It’s for you to read. I’ve read it enough.”
The paper crinkles in her hand. The creases are so soft; I didn’t think it could crinkle anymore.
She needs to be reminded that she told me she’d love me forever.
She promised me she would. She can read it and know it every day of her life like I have since she left me.
“I want you to read it every day. It’s only fair—it’s what I did for years.”
Her voice is raw when she answers the command with, “At least you had a note,” and then tosses it onto the desk. Like she doesn’t want it.
I didn’t want it either. It would have been so much easier without it. If she’d just left me because she hated me.
“Is this what you want?” she asks as a tear rolls down her cheek, unable to hide it any longer. She angrily wipes it away.
“Partly,” I admit out loud and shock myself. Her disgust shows and she grabs her purse this time, as if she’ll leave.
“Sit down,” I command as her ass lifts from the seat. She stills where she is. Debating maybe. “We aren’t finished, Babygirl.” I meant for the word to get to her. Not to me. But it settles in my chest, spreading the ache I’ve been doing my damnedest to suppress.
She’s slow to take her seat, but she does.
“Want to know what I missed?” I ask her although at this point, I’m just speaking my mind. No filter; I let it all out. “The way you say my name,” I say and close my eyes, focusing for a moment on the motions of my thumb. Tap, tap. “I missed it.”
Even with my eyes closed, I can feel hers on me. I swear my body knows hers. The vulnerability of it all wanes as I flick through the scenes of what happened when she left.
“I missed the taste of you,” I comment lowly and tilt my head when I look back at her. Her skin is a gorgeous blush color and her pale blue eyes are rimmed with a pink that matches her complexion. Desire dances between us. My cock hardens and her thighs tense as her inhale skips.
“I remember thinking one night,” I say and point to the desk, “as I read that note, is any pussy that good?” Hardening my voice, I remind her of the anger.
She needs to be punished. She has to be.
Her red-rimmed eyes fill with lust. There’s an undeniable heat.
“I want to taste you, Laura,” I say and then realize it’s not a command. She needs to be told what to do though. And every action reinforced.
Desire outweighs the rage. It outweighs everything. The image of her under me, her thighs parted, enters my mind. It’s all I can focus on. With my zipper pressing tight against my erection, I get up from the chair and tell her to strip. I add, “I want you down to nothing.”
I think, for a moment, there’s no way she’ll do it.
“Say please,” she retaliates, although it’s softly spoken and submissive, laced with a sadness too. A new roar of fire ignites inside of me.
“Please,” I say and my voice comes out deeper, from a raw place inside of me as I lean forward, “Get your ass up here.”
The hesitation in her expression is clear, but that doesn’t stop her from toeing off her heels. She’s quick to obey me. The hope that blooms from that knowledge is unwanted.
“I want you here,” I say and splay my hand on the space to my left I cleared moments ago. All but the notebook and my laptop, which I move now, keeping my head turned as I go and pretending like I’m not obsessed with the peripheral image of her doing exactly what I tell her to do.
