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45
How Can I Change
HUDSON
Parker rolls off me just after an amazing round of sex. The rush of the orgasm is still thrumming in my veins. Fucking her is the best thing ever and I don’t think I’m going to stop anytime soon.
“Thank you,” she whispers after a long beat of silence.
“What for?” I ask as she rests her chin on my chest and runs her fingers across my abdomen.
“For always pleasuring me,” she says.
Well, I was lucky that I swooped in and got the chance to take your virginity before anyone else,I silently thought.
That dick ex of hers, Ryan, would never have made Parker come as many times as I have.
That’s one of the advantages of being me. I know that I’m good in bed. I know that I can eat pussy well and I know Parker loves it when I suck her clit carefully and dive deeply inside of her with my tongue. And then I use two fingers—always the middle and index—to finger her until she’s squirting all over the place.
That’s when she grabs my hair tightly in her fists and then comes just for me.
“You please me too,” I tell and it’s true.
I love how she gives me head. She always deep throats and circles that tongue of hers around my cock.
We have good chemistry. But, there is something about Parker that’s proving to be a big fucking problem.
See, when I sourced her out, it was for the chase and the thrill. I saw that vulnerability of hers that first night I saw her at that rager. She was in tears and that gave me easy access to her and the fact that she’s fucking hot is a plus.
I know that I essentially fuck up every relationship that I’m in but along the way, I need to have someone by my side because it really does get lonely. Especially now that Diana was gone, my loneliness was tenfold. When I told Parker, I don’t want to be alone anymore, I was telling her the truth.
It was lonely growing up in my family. Matt and my sister Cass were never there and my mom was busy “seeing” her therapist. And yes, by seeing I meant fucking. There was absolutely no filter when it came to my parents.
I was eight and my mom had just come back after her midnight session with Dr. Cameron. My father slapped her and then all I could hear were the earsplitting screams coming from their bedroom as Tom and Jerry played on the television set in front of me.
When my father was done forcing himself on her, he’d walk into the living room where I was, his white shirt disheveled and blood dripping from a scratch across his face.
He’d glare at me with those narrow green eyes, the same eyes I have and I’d look away.
That was the very first time, I had thought of murdering him. I know it’s absurd to think of an eight-year-old plotting murder, but the anger was there then. And it’s ever-present now.
Later that evening, I found my mom sitting on the floor in the bathroom. I couldn’t comfort her, because I didn’t know how to. If Matt was there he could’ve helped her feel better, but when she saw me, she started crying and I didn’t like it, because I didn’t understand it.
She held me close and I stayed with her that night. I suppose looking back at it now, she just took comfort in the fact that she could hold me close. I didn’t have to understand love to understand that.
Besides, why do people make a big deal out of love? It’s just a word that could be said by anyone for any reason. I bet there are millions of normal people out there that use the word for some kind of benefit.
The way I view it is like a transaction. I give and she takes. She gives and I take. Things are better this way.
I may not love the people I date, but I value the benefits of a relationship because I’m a human being too. Which is what most psychiatrists don’t get. I’m not a fucking lab rat with no emotion and zero conscience. I know things, I just don’t feel like the rules apply to me.
And I’m definitely not going to turn into Patrick Bateman from American Psycho overnight with a lust for murdering random people. Well, on occasion, I can’t be responsible for my anger.
Parker wants me to change. Like all of them do. I hate looking into her eyes and seeing the judgment. She thinks I’m psychotic and crazy for being possessive. It’s just the way I am.
I can’t stop the urge to raise my fist and I suppose that is something I inherited from my bastard of a father. Or maybe it’s just me.
How can I change? I can’t change for someone even though Parker is an exceptionally amazing woman. She’s fun and smart, but she doesn’t understand me and how I work.
