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Blurb
Love is selfish...
My name is Blaire.
I'm the bad girl.
The other woman.
The one who never gets the guy in the
end.
I'm the gold digger.
The bitch.
The one no one roots for.
I hate myself too...
Excerpt
Innocence
Past
What is love?
I don’t know.
I’ve never had it.
Is it even real?
No, I don’t think so. I mean, how can I believe in
love when I’ve never witnessed it? When it
seems to only exist in books and films, or in the lives of more fortunate
people than me? Trust me, I know.
Love is my personal chimera.
I am gazing at brown
eyes, admiring the richness of the color, the beauty of the man to whom they
belong to.
“You’re so
beautiful, Blaire … so wet,”
he murmurs, his hand going between my legs as he begins to rub me. His fingers
spread me open to their soft invasion, tuning my body to his wants and needs,
preparing me to be taken as the hot friction of his touch lights a wild fire
within my body. It’s not the first time he has
touched me like this, but each time feels better and better—the sensations all-consuming and heady.
One finger.
Two fingers.
One finger.
Two fingers.
Over and over again.
His invasion is fast
and slow, deep and shallow. His touch is soiled heaven.
As I open my legs
wider for him, I wonder if it feels this good because of him or because I’m taking something that doesn’t belong to me and making it mine.
“Oh God … I love
you, Blaire. I love you … I love you …” he pants in my ear.
“Don’t stop … it feels so good,”
I breathe.
Okay, maybe it’s because at this moment in time this man thinks he loves me and no one
else but me, however false his proclamation may be.
I close my eyes as
his lips land on mine. He kisses me softly as if I’m
made out of gold, kissing me with that familiar mouth I’ve
seen smile tenderly at me so many times before. The assault of his tongue
debilitates me but doesn’t incapacitate me.
“It’s four dollars, gorgeous,” the cute
barista says, smiling at me.
I’m
about to pay for my cappuccino when I hear a deep, manly voice say, “Let me
get that for you.”
A man wearing a beige suit comes forward, standing next to me as he
hands the barista some bills. “I’ve seen you around … you’re Paige’s friend.”
I smile, licking my suddenly dry lips. “Thank you, and yes … I know
Paige.”
The smile on his handsome face seems to freeze as his gaze follows the
tip of my tongue, the spark of hunger brightening his eyes. Inwardly, I smile
because who knew it was so easy to make men desire me, particularly when I went
without attention for so long.
“My pleasure. Are you,” he coughs,
“here with
someone else?”
I shake my head and look at him through fluttering eyelashes. “No, I’m here
all by myself.”
I pause, touching his arm invitingly, and smile. “Would you
like to join me?”
He looks around the coffee shop, probably considering if he should, if
it’s proper
to do so, but less than five seconds later, he’s staring at me once again. “Sure.”
Yes, just like that.
The beige walls are
spinning.
The clock is ticking.
The bedsprings creak
as the moon cries outside the motel window.
And the man above me
kisses me while he fingers me, preparing me for him. Gotta love such a thoughtful man.
I can taste his sweet
saliva mixing with mine, and I love it.
“Please,” I beg
against his lips, reaching for his hard cock and wrapping my fingers around it.
“I’m ready.”
I feel his mouth
leave mine as he begins to make his way down my partially dressed body. “Are you sure, Blaire? Are you sure you
want to do this with me?”
I open my eyes to
witness what I think I want him to do. No, what I’m sure I want him to do. I can’t help the smile I feel playing on my
lips as I see him struggling with his conscience. He asks me if I’m sure when he has already fucked my
mouth with his cock countless number of times, when his fingers have filled
every orifice of my body. Should I laugh? No … I decide
to take pity instead.
“I’m sure,
so sure,” I say, letting my arms land like
dead weight on the bed, the cheap fabric rough against my skin.
“All right.”
When I feel the bed
dip between my legs, I instinctively open them for him and watch as he brings a
condom package to his mouth. As he rips it open with his teeth, I admire his
perfect full lips that emphasize how masculine he is.
I feel pleased with
myself.
So fucking pleased
because he wants me.
Mr. Callahan wants
me. Me. Can you believe it? Chubby Blaire. Ugly and awkward Blaire.
Unlovable Blaire.
I guess I’m not that ugly anymore. My body? What
was considered fat as a child is now called boobs and ass. Guys want it. They
want me. They want to touch me, grope me, feel me …
they want to screw me. And it feels good to be wanted …
so good. It makes me feel powerful, and like a potent drug spreading inside
your bloodstream, I want more.
I need more.
“Hurry up,” I say,
not bothering to be shy or coy about it. I mean, he brought me here to have
sex, right?
“Fuck, give me a second, Blaire. Trying to
get the damn condom on my dick.”
As he rolls the rubber on his stiff dick, his eyes wonder over my bare chest, my face, my spread legs. Shaking his head as if trying to clear his mind, he mutters, “You’re so beautiful. I want you so much.”
As he rolls the rubber on his stiff dick, his eyes wonder over my bare chest, my face, my spread legs. Shaking his head as if trying to clear his mind, he mutters, “You’re so beautiful. I want you so much.”
That’s not the first
time I have heard those words come out of a man’s mouth.
Josh tells me all the time how beautiful I am, how perfect I am, how much he
wants me, how much he loves me. But he’s my
friend with benefits. The words kind of lose their meaning when it’s the same person saying them to you over
and over again.
“Show me.”
Those two words are
all it takes for him to spread my legs wider with his hands and finally enter
me with his throbbing dick. Pain shoots through my body, and a groan escapes my
mouth when he covers my body with his. I feel his whole length inside me in one
deep thrust.
“Christ, you’re so
tight.”
He lifts both my
legs, wrapping them around his lean waist and starts to thrust. Hard. It hurts.
But I like the pain. It sobers me.
And that’s when reality comes crashing down on me.
It hits me with the speed and blinding power of a torpedo, making me realize
what I’m doing. What I’m
giving away and the man doesn’t even
know it.
What the hell am I
doing?
Proving that you are your mother’s daughter.
Making her proud.
The room is filled
with the noises of the man grunting his pleasure and the wet slapping of our
skin; it makes me want to gag. I want to
throw up. Maybe it’s the alcohol I drank.
Maybe it’s self-disgust.
The initial pain is
gone and now I just feel sore. And strange.
His beautiful face
lowers, his lips about to connect with mine, and I feel the bile rise inside my
throat. I turn my face to the side, his kiss landing on my cheek. My eyes watch
the way the lights in the bathroom illuminate all its used and dirty ugliness.
“Oh God, I’m going
to come … I’m going
to come … I’m going
to come,” he continues to pant in my ear,
pumping in and out of my body. Before I know what’s
happening, he half-screams and half groans, his body going tense on top of
mine.
And just like that it’s over. In less than five minutes I’ve managed to kill a part of me.
Our breathing evens
and he pulls out, moving to stand up. I push myself up on my elbows to see him
inspect his condom. It still glistens. By the time he lifts his eyes, connecting
with mine, I’ve already wrapped my body with
the duvet cover.
Confusion, shock, and
pleasure reflect in those brown eyes. “I-I didn’t know … I …” His hands go to his hair as we stare at
each other. “I didn’t
know you were a virgin.”
I shrug my shoulder
carelessly, causing the duvet to slide down, exposing my bare breasts to him.
His eyes immediately flare with lust. “It doesn’t matter … I wanted
it to be you.”
And that’s the truth.
“But—”
“But nothing. If it bothers you, then
forget it happened. I already did,” I say,
ending the conversation.
This is my body. I
will have the last word. Not him. Not anyone. This is my life. This is my
decision.
Without giving myself
a chance to doubt my next words, I turn to look at him in all his naked beauty,
the gold wedding ring on his finger catching my attention. “Don’t worry,
Mr. Callahan … I won’t
tell your daughter that you fucked her classmate.”
And with that, I seal
my destiny.
About the Author:
Mia Asher
My name
is Mia Asher.
I'm a
writer, a hopeless romantic, a wanderer, a dreamer, a cynic, and a believer.
And, oh yes…I might be a bit crazy - but who isn't?
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