Ronan pushes me away forcefully, our hands separating. “Enough, Blaire … enough.”
I ignore him and keep going. I want to open his eyes and shatter all his illusions so he can finally see me for who I am.
A monster.
“I’m a gold digger, you know? I fuck for money.” I stare at him, rejoicing when I notice his taut jaw because it means I’m finally getting to him. “And frankly, it doesn’t look like you could ever pay my price. So, Ronan, let me ask you again. How much do you like me? How special do you think I am? Do you still think I’m blind? Because in my book, it looks like you’re the blind one.”
There. I hope that shuts him up.
I feel completely dead on the inside. And if I wasn’t before by my own doing, the way he’s looking at me in this moment finishes the job. Like a coward, I’d like to lower my gaze and not be an unwilling witness to his judgment, but I don’t think I can. There’s something magnificent, awe-inspiring, when you watch a man lose his way in anger … in hate. You can’t help but wish to be part of the wreckage left behind by his ire.
Silence fills the space between us, stretching like a never-ending ocean. We’re standing in front of each other, our bodies close enough to touch, yet we’ve never been farther apart.
“I take that back. I take everything back that I said earlier.” He eyes me up and down, disgust carried in each syllable he utters. “You’re not worth it.”
My breath is shaky. My palms are sweaty. A tempest of tension, desire, fury, and pain roars inside me.
“I’m glad you finally realize it,” I say as I unlock my apartment, walk inside and close the door behind me, shutting Ronan out of my life once and for all.
After I strip naked, I stand in front of my mirror and take in my appearance. With the back of my hand, I remove the remaining ruby red lipstick from my bruised lips, smudging it across the left side of my face. My eyes sparkle with tears that won’t fall. Ronan’s words spin inside my head like a revolving door, paralyzing me. But at least he knows now what kind of person I am. He finally sees me the way I see myself.
I continue to stare at my reflection as I ignore the soreness between my legs. I wasn’t born a monster, though my choices certainly have made me one. But I can’t stop myself. I can’t. Causing pain to others when I’m suffering soothes me.
I wish I could cry, but nothing happens. I hate myself. I tell myself I'm worth it, but I don't believe it. The vicious cycle continues.
Over …
And over …
And over …
Lawrence
AS I WAIT FOR MY DATE TO JOIN ME FOR DINNER, I think of Blaire and chuckle. She’s a walking contradiction without a doubt, but maybe that’s part of her charm. A femme fatale with the eyes of an old soul and a playful smile that is sure to rob a man’s heart. This morning before I got out of bed, I spent a couple of minutes watching her sleep. I wanted to touch her again. I wanted to pull her close to me and smell her feminine perfume, maybe wake her up and fuck one more time, but somehow I knew that I shouldn’t. She isn’t mine. So I contented myself with staring at her like a lovesick puppy while she slept in my bed. Without an ounce of makeup on her face and her black hair spread across the pillow in wild abandon, she appeared so young and carefree. Innocent almost. But then my eyes drifted to her naturally red tinted lips. No innocent girl could suck a man off the way she did.
Her memory alone makes my cock stir.
But it’s not her body I crave; it’s her. I crave the way she makes me feel. She makes me forget. She has brought back laughter into my life after so many years without it, and like a starved man, I want more—I need more. And if I have to pay for each kiss, each touch, each smile of hers, so be it. I don’t care. At least she’s honest enough to admit that all she wants from me is my money.
I chuckle because a slip of a girl with soulful blue eyes is turning me into a pathetic son of a bitch. I’m about to reach for my glass of wine when I hear my date speak.
“Hi Laurie.”
I place my napkin on the table, push the chair back and stand up.
“When will you stop calling me that?” I ask, our eyes meeting.
“Never, silly man.”
She smiles as she leans forward and kisses my cheek. The moment her lips touch my skin, the same feelings that have haunted me and been my only companions for close to ten years return in full force.
Sometimes I think that I’m finally free of her.
But I know that my freedom is just an illusion.
THERE’S SOMETHING TO BE SAID ABOUT BEING LAWRENCE’S SHINY FUCK TOY AND GETTING PAID TO BE ONE. LAWRENCE DOESN’T FUCK OR SCREW.
He fornicates … like an animal.
It’s dirty.
Wild. Unrepentant. Possessive.
It’s pleasure and pain all at once.
And me? I’ve seen him twice since our first night together and I can’t help but want him more after each time. I crave the way he numbs everything with his hard, gorgeous cock. I crave the way his hands worship me after they’ve punished me. And his tongue …
God have mercy on my vagina.
My cheeks burn just thinking about him. I should be ashamed by how much I like being used by him, but I’m no hypocrite. I love it. And the fact that our feelings aren’t involved makes it that much sweeter. Who doesn’t like a fast, angry fuck without the obligatory niceties? And let’s not forget about the expensive and frivolous gifts he leaves on the nightstand table waiting for me after a night spent on my back.
Or knees.
“I’m almost done!” I shout, hoping that Lawrence hears me. I was supposed to meet him in his Park Avenue townhouse an hour ago, but he got stuck in a meeting that ran longer than expected, making him late. Since he was already in Midtown for business, he decided to pick me up on his way home.
When he first walked in, I wanted to laugh out loud. It was quite difficult to watch such a masculine and rugged looking man being surrounded by all my frilly things. He looked like a fish out of water. I smile, shaking my head and dismissing the memory.
Where the hell are my shoes?
After I locate my crystal-encrusted pumps under an old Louie bag I haven’t used in ages, I put them on. I grab a clutch that matches my shoes, and fill it with cash, I.D., lip-gloss and keys.
“I’m ready,” I say, walking out of my bedroom. I hope he likes the simple, but very sexy little black dress I’m wearing. It clings to my curves seductively, showing off my legs and hourglass figure without being too slutty or screaming that I’m looking to get laid.
His head is down and I watch him as he types away on his—
“Oh my God. Is that a Blackberry? I had no idea people still used those ancient things,” I say, incredulity ringing in my voice.
He stops typing and looks up at the same time. “Yes, Blaire. People still use the—”
He stops talking, an arrested expression on his face, the moment his eyes land on me. “Them.” I walk toward him, pleased by how affected he seems. A small smile plays on my lips as I watch the way his eyes darken with desire. I watch him hungrily roam my face, breasts, hips, every single part of my body without any shame. The obvious admiration written in his every feature makes me feel wicked. Daring. Playful. Makes me feel like teasing the man who looks like an orgasm on legs.