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“Oooowwww!”
Another piece of durian hits my thigh and falls to the ground.
Let me tell you, that spiky fucking fruit hurts like a bitch, and this is coming from a man who has been bitten by sharks before.
I pick up the fruit and throw them back at the vendor, slightly vindictively. I’ve got some shit going on, and he’s got no idea how much of a nuisance his little fruit is.
He ducks for safety and yells at me to stop attacking him.
I want to curse him out. Hell, I want to shove one of his durian right up his arse and see how he likes it, but if I stick around and cause any more of a scene than I already am, I’m likely to get arrested.
Mind you, I don’t have issues with handcuffs. Not at all. But I prefer them in the bedroom and not while I’m naked in the middle of Bangkok rocking a stiffy.
So for today, the fruit vendor gets a pass and I continue on my way.
I want to go back to Sammi’s hotel. I want to kick in the door to that suite and tell her how fucking badly I have, and will always, love her.
There’s just no escaping it. I’ve fucking tried. Time and time again I’ve tried.
Every year, it’s the same cycle.
I think I’ve gotten her out of my system—and then I see her. It’s like the first time I got to swim with a whale shark. It’s breathtaking and awe-inspiring and just an experience you don’t want to let go of.
Then we do this song and dance of arguing about just about everything. Her competitive nature makes her a fantastic shit-talker.
Instead of getting angry at her, though, it only makes me fall for her more. Her passion and determination is intimidating and admirable, like an unstoppable force that will never fall to an immovable object.
And then the drinking begins. We get into the tequila, and the tension between us festers. It builds and builds until this inescapable climax approaches, and we cave in.
Of course, that leads to the sex. The most incredible fucking sex on this planet we call Earth. She is every bit as passionate in bed as she is in everything else.
She knows what she likes and knows exactly what her partner likes. It’s like everything we do is what the other craves and desires and fantasizes about. It’s simply fucking magical.
And it makes me fall for her again every fucking time. It always convinces me that this is the time she’s going to remember it.
But then the morning comes, and she forgets it ever happened, that I evenexist, and the thought of fucking me makes her sick to her stomach.
That right there is fucking soul-crushing. To know that the woman of your dreams—the woman you love—gets ill at the thought of fucking you.
I’ll admit, my mind isn’t in the best of places right now when I step up to the hotel’s front desk. I try to explain everything to them as best I can, and they only agree to let me up if security comes with so that I can grab documents to prove I am who I say I am.
I’m glad to be off the streets and somewhere that I can take a shower. I feel—and smell—fucking terrible.
Security lets me into my room, and I retrieve my passport from my suitcase. They’re satisfied and leave me to my own devices.
I make a beeline to the bathroom before the door closes behind them. I don’t even care that the first rush of water to hit me is cold. Sure, my nipples are hard enough to cut diamonds for a moment, but it’s a nice reprieve from the heat.
I sigh as I rinse my body. I really just can’t shake this trip off.
Once I’m clean, I need to figure out my next move—and fast.
If Sammi doesn’t remember me, that’s fine.
But she will.
After all…a man never gives up on his wife.
