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13
Ishould have stopped coming back weeks ago. Fucking Amy was meant to be a one-time thing. One night of relief, of release, and then I promised myself I’d be done.
But then I went back.
I knew I shouldn’t have. I knew it. But life felt sterile and bleak. Between work, Derek’s hospitalisation, and my home life, I felt like an infant being fed watered-down milk. Who can thrive on that?
Amy felt like the only good thing in my life, a place I could unburden myself – inside her – in all the ugly perverse ways Annie denied me.
Despite my brain making a million excuses not to cave in, I only ever needed one, and I clung onto it like a drunk on a railing.
So I went back again.
And again.
Until I didn’t have a choice about whether or not to go back. Amy kept me feeling alive, powerful and in control of something in my life. For the first time, I knew what it felt like to be an addict. To crave, to self-medicate on lust and forbidden desire.
But then, each time I left her apartment, I was left feeling empty. Hollow. Nothing.
All I had to show for giving in to my addiction was a fading smile that dissipated as soon as I got back into my car and made my way back to my real life. That was what my life boiled down to; a routine of highs and lows. I’d fuck Amy, feed my ego and depravity and try to stay away, but it never lasted for long.
I hated the crash. The all-consuming need to go back, to touch her, smell her, feel her and come inside her warmth.
There were daily reminders of all that could be lost in the small things – each time I bathed Savannah or kissed Libby’s hair, but the craving still took hold. I needed her, her body, her sweetness. It made me sick how much I wanted it and how weak I was, but still, I kept going back.
* * *
The rising sun cast a rosy hue across the morning sky. Golden fingers of sunlight clawed their way through the blue curtains, and I kiss her flat belly. She giggles, squirming beneath my touch, trying to get away from my mouth and my teeth and my obsessive need for her, but I clutch her hips and haul my body up over hers before taking her mouth, reminding her that she’s mine, erasing anyone else that’s come before. When we break the kiss, she pushes away and smiles. Fuck, I can’t get enough of her smile, of her body, of her. I watch as she rolls off the bed and heads to the bathroom shutting the door behind her.
Even after all this time, I cannot believe that she’s let me in her bed. She’s so young, so perfect. Why she settled for someone like me is still a mystery, but I try not to analyse it too much. I roll onto my back and listen to the sounds of the city leak through the open window. A cool breeze makes the yellow curtain dance and lifts her scent into the air. My body shivers as I inhale her, still covered in her cum and sweat. I scrub my hands over my face and groan as I think of her bent over the couch, her boots still strapped on and her skirt inching over her ass,. The way I pushed her lacy black underwear aside and fucked her hard, fucked her like the animal I am, fucked her like the beast she allows me to be without restraints, without a collar; not like with Annie. This girl has no limits, no boundaries, and she lets me be a freer version of myself.
My cock twitches back to life as she reappears, her perfect ass on show before she bends to pick up her robe. She slips it on and ties the knot, keeping the fabric loose and most of her body on display as she makes her way to the kitchen.
“Do you want something to eat?”
“Sure,” I say, pushing up on one elbow as I watch her walk out of the room again. I get up and find my boxers in the pile of clothes tangled on the floor, then pull them up and search for my phone.
Amy is spreading avocado over toast and sprinkles tomato on top as if it were cake decorations. She looks content, and for a moment I forget myself, forget what this is as I walk behind her and hug her body, snaking my hands around her waist and planting a kiss on her long neck. A subtle smile crawls on her face. She purrs as she pushes the plate across the counter. I release her, round the island and sit on the crooked bar stool that falls to the right before it settles each time I sit on it.
I watch her eat for a moment, her lips swollen and flushed, her skin glowing, the swells of her perfect fucking breasts peeking from beneath the fabric as crumbs fall on the plate.
“Stop staring.” She laughs with a mouthful, and I unlatch my eyes from her and take a bite of my toast. “How’s work going?”
She changes the subject abruptly, and the whole thing feels a little too familiar, too intimate; two lovers talking about their day. But I have no intention of letting her into my life. The only place where Amy has a hold over me is the bedroom and nowhere else. “How is yours going?”
She frowns a little at my diversion. “Fine,” she answers with her mouth full and swallows. “Busy.”
“Is it? You rarely talk about it.”
“You never talk about your work,” she retorts and takes another big bite.
“You know that I can’t.”
“What about your family? You never talk about them either.” My heart spikes at her words. There is no room for my family here.
“You never talk about yours,” I throw back at her.
“Not much to say.”
