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I think I gasped or something, you know? Just hearing those words coming from the woman I thought had loved me my whole life.
"Oh, don't look so shocked," she said to me. "You're nothing like me. You're weak, soft, and stupid. You don't have the killer instinct."
"Is that why you didn't like Dad?" I asked her. "Because he didn't have the killer instinct?"
Lorna's face turned into a grimace. "I wish he'd never brought you into the marriage we had," she sneered. "If he'd just thrown you out on the corner, maybe he'd still be alive. I wanted him, not you. But when you came along with him, it sort of ruined the experience for me, you know?"
I remember shaking with fear and shock and loathing. How could one person be so cavalier about the dead? So hating toward the living.
"I cheated on your father every chance I got," she said, smiling as if relishing the fact that she was hurting me. "I made sure he found out about it each and every time. I fucked guys on our bed. I left panties soaked in other men's cum for him to find and see."
She went on and on. A litany of betrayals as I sat in horror.
"And then," she said, without a shade of remorse. "When he couldn't take it anymore, he took his own life."
I couldn't believe it. She laughed at me and said the final piece that made me realize I had to leave. "Just the way I'd planned it."
There was something very psychotically wrong with Lorna Lowell. And I needed to get away as quickly as possible.
Two.
That's how many weeks ago Lorna finally cut me off from everything. I was removed from her will. I lost my bank accounts. Even my cell phone contract was cancelled. I mean, she paid the penalty for early termination just to cut my phone bill and show me who was boss.
I knew what she was trying to do.
She was trying to assert her dominance over me. Trying to get me to realize that I had to come crawling back to her.
Don't worry. That's something that I'll never do.
Luckily, I still had a decently paying job as a Wall Street intern. Annualized, I made about $60,000 a year so I was able to open a bank account on the same day. I basically had the clothes on my back and the cash in my pocket, but with the help of a few friends, I was able to get by till payday. That's when I began saving my money and couch surfing till I finally found a one-bedroom walkup on the Lower East Side that I was able to move into.
"You should just stay with me," Mason immediately offered. But I knew that I didn't want to put him in that situation. I want him to have me over at his place because he wants to. Not because he thinks he's doing me a favor.
Six.
That's how many days out of the seven that I've had my new apartment that I've spent the night at Mason's place in One57. That's right, babe. I moved into a new apartment and my first week I only spent one night.
I mean, it's a pretty different world from what I was accustomed to. It's a walk up. No doorman. No elevator.
The view is of a brick wall. The faucet in the bathroom leaks. It's about the size of Mason's walk-in closet. It's definitely for people who are either starving artists or holdovers from the days of rent control. Nevertheless, I didn't mind staying there.
But there was one thing the apartment, with all it's independence from Lorna, couldn't give me
that Mason could.
Sex.
Three.
That's how many times a day Mason and I have sex when I'm able to have sex. Seriously, who would think that he was in his late thirties by the way he fucks. He's like a pile driver powered by some sort of Energizer battery. But whereas the bunny would tire out and nap, Mason just keeps going and is ready for more at the drop of a hat, or the bending of a waist.
Ever since the fist night in his apartment where I began to go all out and call him Daddy, I haven't gotten it out of my head. I love pretending he's my stepdad. I mean, technically, I suppose he was, even though at 21 I'm fully emancipated from a woman who bears no familial relation to me.
But it gets me so wet. I can't even begin to describe how filthy I feel when I think about him spanking me as I beg him to smack my ass harder. I moan out "Daddy, don't stop" as he puts his massive cock inside of me. I groan "Daddy, cum all over my face" right before he sprays a quart of cum all over me. And then I lick it up and swap it with him.
Just thinking about him right now has my panties drenched. You remember how Mason told you back in the first chapter to take off your panties before diving into the book? I wish someone had told me to stop buying thongs before I met Mason. Because what's the point?
I mean, for someone on a budget, it's more cost effective for me to go commando. Saves on laundry costs.
