I enter my house, tossing my backpack and work bag onto the floor in the entryway. I make my way down the hall into the kitchen. I grab a bottle of Pedialyte out of the fridge and throw it back, some running out of the corner of my mouth and down my chin to soak my shirt.
I’m dying of thirst.
It’s the ecstasy. It’s a little after three in the morning, and I’m starting to come down. The fuck session I had with the stranger took everything out of me when I was fucked like a cheap whore in the Fountain room. He didn’t pay me like I was cheap, though.
After he came inside me, he got up, zipped his cum-covered jeans, and tossed some money on my shaking body. He and his friend walked out, leaving us satisfied and five thousand dollars richer. I still have his belt; he left my arms tied behind my back. Sadie had to untie me while I lay there waiting for my body to come down from the high. I offered for her to take it. Give it to her boyfriend. I sure as fuck wasn’t going to give it to James. She told me to keep it. That it was a clear sign he was going to come back and see me again to get it. Like when a woman leaves her underwear at a guy’s house so she has a reason to contact him again. I couldn’t disagree with her, so I stuffed it into my bag. I just pray that if he does come back to Glass, he wears his mask again.
I walk toward the primary suite and come to a stop when I see the back sliding glass door wide open. Sighing, I walk over to it and pull it closed, locking it. James must have left it open. I won’t let him smoke his weed in my house. And he always has to have one before he goes to bed. When he pays the bills, he can make the rules. Until then, he has to follow mine.
Entering the primary suite, I see him sitting up in bed, watching TV. His eyes meet mine, and he smiles. “Hey, how was work?”
“Good,” I answer, heading to the bathroom. I need a shower.
Just as I shut the door, it opens. I pick up my toothbrush and cover it with toothpaste, and he comes to stand behind me. His hands go to my hips, and I stiffen. “I’ve been waiting up for you.”
“Why?” I ask, running my toothbrush under the water and begin to brush my teeth.
He gently pulls my hair off my shoulders and twists it around his fist, tugging on it. I go to pull away, trying to brush my teeth, but he yanks it back. “James.” Spit and toothpaste flies from my mouth and covers the mirror in front of me. The toothbrush falls from my hand, hitting the countertop before dropping to the floor.
He reaches around and slides his hand into my cotton shorts. “Your pussy is soaked, Brittany. Did grinding your cunt on men who pretend to want you get you all worked up?”
I’d never tell him that the reason I’m so wet is because a man came in me a few hours ago. I don’t answer. Instead, my eyes hold his in the mirror. He smiles, thinking my silence means he’s correct.
He shoves my cotton shorts and underwear down my legs, pushing my chest and face down onto the counter and kicks my legs farther apart with his. He grips his cock, sliding into me, and my eyes fall closed on their own. We may be broken up, but sex was never our problem. He doesn’t have a useless cock; he knows how to use it. It’s the rest of him that needs work.
He pounds into me, my hips hitting the edge of the counter, and I hate how unsatisfied I feel. My body is drained; the guy from earlier fucked me so close to death that I don’t have any energy left. Plus, the drugs have started to wear off. I’m crashing hard.
“Come on, Brittany, come all over my cock, baby,” he groans.
Four years I’ve gone by my new name, and I’m still not used to hearing it. A part of me died when I shot Saint. And Ashtyn was one of those things. I’ll never be who I once was again, and I’ve come to terms with that.
I close my eyes as if I’m close, but I’m just exhausted. I’m going to have to sleep in tomorrow and most of the day to be ready to work the extra shift at my second job tomorrow night.
“That’s it,” he speaks, his cock slamming into me. “Get ready…” he warns.
I know the drill. I’m on birth control, but he refuses to use a condom, and I’ve never let him come inside me. The last thing we need is a child. He’d probably use my job against me, get the kid, and make me pay him child support.
Just my luck, he’d win.
He pulls out, yanks me up off the counter, and spins me around, where he pushes me to my knees. I look up at him, mouth already open, and he places the tip of his cock between my lips while he jacks himself off onto my tongue.
I look up at him through heavy eyes as he closes his, and his warm cum fills my mouth. I swallow the best I can, and he pulls out. “Leave it open,” he orders, and I do as I’m told. He runs his hand along his shaft once more, squeezing what’s left out of the tip and onto my tongue. I wait until he pulls away before I close my mouth and swallow.
I can taste the stranger’s cum from earlier. It was all over James’s cock. It makes me wonder how many times James has fucked another woman before he fucked me, and I wasn’t aware. I’ve never been the jealous type with James. I’d actually be glad to catch him cheating. I’d make a big deal out of it and use it as an excuse to kick him out.
Maybe I’ll pay someone to come on to him, here in my house, and fuck him in my bed. I’d plan it so I walk in on him and kick them both out. I’d pay her of course. An actress deserves money for her time and performance.
But Saint? I’ll kill a bitch just for thinking she could have him. That man made me a psychotic fool. A sick and twisted part of me hopes I killed him because I couldn’t imagine him with anyone else other than me. The thought still makes me sick to my stomach. Most Lords don’t have social media accounts, and I sure as fuck don’t have one. When I do get on, I use another account from a girl at work. So there is no way for me to know if he survived or what he’s doing today. But whatever it is, I’m sure he’s got a wife. Lords aren’t expected to stay single for long. They have to reproduce. They are all required to produce an heir sooner rather than later.
“Fuck, babe.” James sighs, taking a step back. Reaching down, he grabs my hand and helps me to stand. He gently kisses my lips, and I don’t pull away although I want to.
He exits the bathroom to crawl into my bed and pass the fuck out. I finish getting undressed and start the shower, needing to wash the night off, ignoring the toothbrush on the floor.
I dig my cell out of my pocket, connect it to the Bluetooth speaker that I had installed in my shower, and pull up my Spotify playlist. “I hope ur miserable until ur dead” by Nessa Barrett fills the bathroom, and I remove the wedding ring on my finger. I place it in the glass dish on the counter before I step in the shower. Getting under the sprayer, I hiss in a breath at the sting of the hot water burning my cool skin. It feels so good. I close my eyes, reach up, and run my hands over my hair, pushing it back from my face.
My mind wanders to him. Saint is always on my mind. He has been ever since I left him lying in the hallway down in the morgue covered in his own blood. It haunts me more than any nightmare ever could.
Did I sell my soul for freedom? Of course, I did. Isn’t that how it works? In order to be free, a sacrifice must be made. I gave up my one true love and my only chance at happiness. I might have been his whore, but I never doubted that he loved me. Not many would ever understand what we had. How badly I burned for him and how much he loved me. Saint taught me that love is a sickness with no cure. It slowly kills you, but the only thing is that you don’t die. Not really. You can numb the pain, try to erase the memories, but no matter what, your body never forgets the way he touched you. The way he kissed you. The way he looked at you.
That guy tonight reminded me of Saint in the best way. He just knew what I wanted and took it. Do I put too much trust in men sexually? Yes. My mother’s therapist once told me that if I wasn’t careful, I’d find myself dead in a ditch in the middle of nowhere. That possibility didn’t stop me.
Tonight just proves how far I allow myself to go. Maybe I have a death wish. I don’t believe we live on in the afterlife. That doesn’t exist where I come from. There’s a living hell and an actual hell. Sins in our world aren’t forgiven, no matter how much time you spend on your knees.
The song comes to an end, and before it can switch to the next on my playlist, I hear glass breaking. “James?” I call out, staring at the white tiled wall ahead of me. Nothing. “James? You okay?” Silence. Sighing, I shut off the water and step out. Grabbing the towel, I turn off the music on my phone and put it back down so I can wrap the towel around myself.
I open the bathroom door and see he’s not in the bedroom. “What the fuck are you doing, James?” I bark, starting to get pissy. It’s almost four in the morning. I’m not in the mood for his shit. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s invited friends over at a late hour and got so fucked up, they broke shit in my house.
I exit the bedroom and march down the hallway to the living room. I gasp when I find him lying on the floor, covered in blood. “James?” I fall to my knees beside him. The glass coffee table is shattered as if he fell on top of it.
He groans, but his eyes remain closed.
“Hang on,” I tell him. “I’ll call 911.” Getting to my feet, I spin around to get my cell out of the bathroom but halt when I see a figure step out of the dimly lit corner. My pulse races, and my eyes widen when he steps closer to me.
I take a step back but scream in surprise when I hit a body. An arm comes out and wraps around my neck, holding my back to his front. I kick out my legs, trying to twist out of his grip, but the arm just tightens its hold, restricting my air.
The man comes to a stop as he steps into me. Reaching into his pocket, he removes a syringe. I try to scream for help, but nothing comes out. My fingers dig into the skin of the arm wrapped around my neck, but it does no good because he’s wearing something thick that covers his arms. I’m unable to get a good grip. My towel falls to the floor during my struggle, and I don’t even care that I’m still wet and naked.
The arm around my neck releases me, and I gasp in a breath. I try to run away, but his hands grip my arms, bringing them behind my back and holding me in place while the other one grabs my chin, holding my face as he shoves a needle into my neck.
The last thing I see are those red eyes on the devil mask before mine fall closed, and my body goes limp.
