Pretty In Ink (8 page)

“Should have stayed down,” he said as he grabbed a handful of my hair.

“You gonna fuck me this time, or dick around like you did last time?” I asked.

He pulled my hair tight, causing me to arch my back and tilt my head rearward. As he pushed my chest into the glass, he pressed his lips to my ear and exhaled sharply.

“Pardon me?” he breathed.

The strain on my hair was almost enough to make my eyes water, and I fucking loved it. I clenched my teeth to ease the pain and responded.

“You gonna fuck me this time, little boy?” I grunted.

The inside of each of my new Red Bottoms was quickly smacked with the edge of his dress shoe, causing my legs to go wide. Still pulling against my hair, he pressed his other hand against the center of my back. I eagerly bent at the waist and hiked my little ass in the air.

I knew he had every intention of teaching me a lesson. If I kept my mouth shut, and was a good girl for the next thirty minutes, I felt I may be able to walk to the car when he was done with me. But my personality wouldn’t allow it.

After all, I’m Stevie Satterfield, and I’m a smart-assed bitch.

As I felt his cock begin to slide inside of my throbbing pussy, I worked my feet from my heels and kicked them to the side.

“Slipped on those heels earlier and fell on my ass,” I said through my clenched teeth.

“Now fuck me this time, or lose me forever,” I growled.

An hour and a half later, when he was done with me, he carried me to his room and carefully placed me in the master bath.

Not because he was kind. He
was
kind, but that wasn’t the reason.

I couldn’t walk.

Or talk.

Or feel my legs.

And I loved him for it.

WILSON

I studied her for some time before she woke up. Seeing her sleeping was comforting, but I found the motionless pose strangely out of character for her. Stevie was an extremely animated and very energetic woman, and when she wasn’t moving, she was constantly speaking, giving her opinion or bringing up a new random topic to speak of. Seeing her lie still provided proof that although she lived her days more active than most, her nights were spent no differently than mine.

“Did you sleep well?” I asked as she rolled to her side and opened her eyes.

She nodded her head. “I did. You fucked me into a coma. Were you watching me sleep?”

I closed my eyes, grinned, and nodded my head once.

“That’s creepy,” she said.

“What’s creepy about admiring a beautiful woman?” I asked.

She situated the pillow behind her head and rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers.

“Nothing as long as she’s not sleeping,” she said.

I shook my head and rolled onto my back. I completely disagreed. Seeing her sleep was rewarding in many ways. Her face was unaltered by emotion, leaving her true beauty unchanged and natural; as God intended for it to be. She was certainly graced by the hand of the almighty himself when it came to natural beauty, and I had yet to see another woman who was capable of challenging her in that regard. In her state of slumber, she was simply breathtaking.

Still lying flat on her back, she lifted the edge of the comforter until it was several inches higher than her chest and peered inside. “I’m naked?” she asked.

I rolled to my side and nodded my head. “I carried you here after the bath.”

“I don’t remember shit,” she said as she pulled the comforter tight to her chin.

“You fell asleep fairly quickly,” I said.

She closed her eyes and after a short moment, smiled. “I barely remember the bath. Bits and pieces. I gotta pee. Be back in a minute.”

Completely naked, she walked to the bathroom. As she walked back to the bed, she did so without an ounce of expressed concern or embarrassment. I doubted many women would be completely comfortable walking around naked, but Stevie sure seemed to be.

“Walking around yesterday in all of those high heels must have worn me out,” she said as she climbed under the comforter.

I chuckled and rolled onto my back. “The high heels?”

“Mmhhmm,” she responded.

I turned my head to face her and grinned. “I think that smart mouth of yours might have got you into a little trouble last night.”

“Smart mouth? Moi?” she responded.

After a short moment of silent reflection I responded. “
Oui, vous êtes assez difficile à traiter à temps
.” 

She rolled to her side and stared. “You speak French?”

I nodded my head. “I have to think about it, it’s been a while, but yes, I do.”

“So if you didn’t go to Harvard, where did you go to school?” she asked.

“Home schooled,” I responded.

“Wow, smart parents, huh?” she said.

“They’re not as intelligent as you may think. I must admit my father is, but my mother…”

“Which one home schooled you?” she asked.

“Neither,” I responded. “A woman named Claire. My parent’s didn’t seem to have the time or desire to be involved with my education.”

“Oh. Sorry,” she said.

I forced a smile as I rolled to the side. “No need for an apology.”

“Well, Claire seemed to do a great job with you. I’ve never met anyone as perfect as you,” she said.

“I’m far from perfect,” I said as I rolled onto my back.

“Brothers and sisters?” she asked.

“Neither, an only child,” I responded.

She sat up in the bed and pulled the comforter over her chest. As she turned to face me, her eyes widened drastically. “An only child?”

I nodded my head.

“The day we met, you said you were mailing your sister a letter. You lied to me?” she said in a harsh tone.

Son-of-a-bitch.

I sat up and extended my index finger. “Give me a minute.”

“I’ll give you as long as it fucking takes, but if you’ve been lying to me, I’m leaving and you’ll never see my happy little ass again,” she snarled.

I knew as much as I didn’t want to, I must tell her the truth. Keeping anything from her wasn’t something I would be able to do, nor did I wish to try. As embarrassing as it was to admit, maybe the truth would allow her to understand I was as much a human as everyone else, and all of the wealth in the world couldn’t fix the emotional state of someone who felt alone and unloved. I tilted my head back, gazed at the ceiling, and inhaled a deep breath of courage. As I exhaled, I turned my head to the side and pursed my lips.

“I told you it had been ten years since I had sex. That was true. And, it has been ten years since I was in a relationship. I have never, however, been in love. Additionally, I’ll advise you, I’ve never really felt that I have been loved, with the exception of Claire that is, and she has long since passed,” I paused and slowly inhaled another deep breath.

Speaking to Stevie regarding the matter wasn’t easy, but I felt immediate relief as I continued to speak. The thought of losing her was crushing, and explaining my concerns, thoughts, and feelings seemed to slowly provide the exact opposite feeling. As each word escaped my mouth, along with it went a small piece of each of the things that brought me to the day we met.

“So, in recent years, my only involvement with my parents has been for them to admire my financial statements and attempt to force me to move to another state and find someone to love. They’re of the belief that no one worthy of my love can reside in the Midwest, only in a major metropolitan area. As much as I love the thought of leaving them, they’re truly all I ever felt I had. And, for the last two or three years, I’ve felt alone. Terribly alone.”

As I paused and sighed lightly she pulled the comforter to her chin and relaxed into the headboard of the bed. After another deep breath, I continued.

“Everything came to a head the night before we met. I made a judgement call at work, and the decision cost me over a million dollars. By no means was it financially crippling, but I knew they’d make note of it when they reviewed my quarterly reports. I felt foolish for taking the risk, like a failure for losing the money, and I was certain I would expose myself to the wrath of my parents for having done so.”

Now came the difficult part. I bit my quivering lip and recalled the morning before my trip to the store.

“I had reached a point where I was extremely depressed regarding everything. It seemed every day that things got worse, and the pressure to continue became unbearable. After losing the money, I attempted to call my father but the calls were, as always, unanswered. The same with my mother. Several calls went unanswered, but she did text me after the last call. “Call me next week” was her response to the lengthy voicemails I had left her. And, once again, I was alone. More so than ever and at a time I really needed someone. It was the last straw. So, I uhhm. I decided….”

I pressed the tips of my fingers against my eyes and continued. “I went to my downstairs office and I uhhm. I made the decision…”

Speaking about it to Stevie was much more difficult than I expected it to be. She had asked, and technically I did lie to her the day we met. As difficult as it was, I owed her the explanation, and the truth. Honestly, I owed it to her anyway. As I studied her beautiful face, now washed over with worry, I decided to blurt out the key part of my speech.

“I was mailing a suicide letter to my parents the day we met.”

She released the comforter and covered her mouth with her hands.

I nodded my head. “It’s the truth. I had a pistol in the console of the car. I mailed the letter to my mother, and had planned on…”

The thought of it now seemed so far away, both in time, and in the amount of sense the decision made.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “But you’re okay now?”

I wiped my eyes and nodded my head. “Better than I’ve ever been.”

“Has this happened before?” she asked.

I shook my head. “No. And I’m sure it never will again.”

“When did you decide…you know…not to?” she asked.

I wiped my eyes again and chuckled as I lowered my hands.

“You know, it’s funny when I think about it. It wasn’t raining when I went in the store to mail the letter. But when I walked out it was pouring. The skies were dark, and the rain was falling down in sheets. As I saw how the weather had changed, I saw it as a sign that my decision was the right one, and I was at peace with it. And then I walked out to the edge of the awning and saw you. And everything seemed to change. I think I really knew when I told you I’d go get the car.”

She narrowed her gaze and stared.

“My shoes. They were new. When I went to get the car, I hesitated at the thought of getting them wet. A suicidal man would care less. I knew then that my mind had changed. You saved me.”

“Don’t say that,” she said as she shook her head.

I shrugged my shoulders. “You did.”

“Is that why you bought me the car? Because you thought I saved you?” she asked.

I shook my head. “No, I bought it for you because I couldn’t think of you riding the bicycle in the rain. Well, that and I was extremely and immediately attracted to you.”

“I’ve only dated guys who use me as a punching bag – and only bikers – never anyone who has treated me nice. You’re the exact opposite of what I’ve always said I liked in men. But I kind of feel the same way. When you asked me out, I was all excited. I remember thinking it was weird, because you were like this rich professional looking dude, and I’ve always laughed at guys like you,” she said with a laugh.

“So you’re not going to leave me for lying to you?” I asked.

She shook her head. “But never again.”

I turned my open palm toward her. “I swear.”

“Okay, good,” she said.

I felt a huge relief after explaining everything to her. I suppose from a psychological standpoint, discussing my suicidal thoughts was paramount to my recovery from them, but my mother offered nothing in regard to comfort or willingness to listen when she came to the office. As always, she was too busy being important to allow me to be so for even one moment.

After a sigh of apparent relief, Stevie brushed her hair behind her ears and shifted her eyes toward the foot of the bed. A moment of deep thought followed, and she eventually turned to face me.

“So, we’re kind of getting it all out there, right?” she asked.

“I suppose so,” I responded.

“I have a question,’ she said.

“Alright.”

“Promise not to get mad?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I’ll never get mad at you for asking a question.”

“The night we ate donuts I gave you a blowjob in the car. And you came in my mouth. And then, that night in the kitchen when we forgot to eat dinner and we were looking for something to eat. I told you to fuck my mouth and you got all excited. Remember, you said you’d never heard that saying?”

I nodded my head as I thought of the night in the kitchen.

“Well, you fucked my mouth until my jaw was tired, and I started giving you a hand job and you plastered my face with cum.” She paused and sat up straight.

“But you’ve never had an orgasm when we have sex. Is there something wrong? I’m sorry but this is really bothering me. Am I doing something wrong?” she asked.

I felt terrible. The last thing on earth I ever wanted to do was cause her to feel inadequate or incapable. As I leaned toward her and wrapped my arms around her she rested her face against my chest and began to softly cry.

And my heart fell into my stomach.

“I’m so sorry. It’s not what you think,” I whispered.

“Do you not think I’m sexy?’ she blubbered.

I felt small.

Worthless.

And extremely selfish.

I placed my hands on her shoulders and slowly pushed her from my chest.

“Listen,” I said.

She wiped her eyes and nodded her head.

“Okay,” she murmured.

“You’re the sexiest woman to ever grace this earth. And you’re the only woman I find attractive. The only one,” I hesitated and attempted to mentally formulate my thought processes into words.

“When we started having sex, I wondered about condoms. And I wasn’t sure, but I felt if I wore one, you’d feel I thought less of you. My parents have strong beliefs against birth control, and they forced their beliefs on me. My father always said a man should only wear a condom if he’s having sex with a prostitute. My restraint was a combination of subconscious concerns, and a conscious precautionary measure. I guess you can say it was my means of birth control,” I said.

“That’s it?” she said as she wiped her swollen eyes. “You fucker. You made me think there was something wrong with me.”