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Now?
Now, I’m not feeling much of anything because I’ve demanded that blessed numbness be my crutch for right now.
Gabe takes my hand and we walk together back out to the living room, where Marissa stands waiting. She at least gives him a warm smile and says, “I’m sorry to do this, baby. Mommy has to do something important, but you can see Daddy next weekend and he’ll take you to Coney Island then. Okay?”
My son isn’t so easy to forgive this right now, so he just glares at her and then turns to hug me. I kiss him on the head and as I pull away, I look one more time at Marissa. I go ahead and open my gaze to her so I can get another hefty dose of her bitterness and gloating hate that would normally come after a victory such as this.
Instead, she just stares at me passively, as if she’s trying to see something that maybe wasn’t there a moment ago. I quickly avert my gaze, because I don’t want to give her anything she’s seeking, and turn my back on them both, walking back into my kitchen. I hear the front door open and close, and then they’re gone.
Putting both of my palms on my kitchen counter, I hang my head down and close my eyes, trying to replay the conversation with Marissa in my head. Trying to figure out where it got out of control.
She told me I didn’t give her a chance to atone for her sin.
It’s true enough. No apology would have ever made a difference to me. But I’m thinking by the mere fact she brought it up, it may have made a difference to her. It may have absolved her of her guilt. It may have made things better for her.
Savage rage such as I have never felt except for one other time in my entire life, and that is when Cal confessed to sleeping with Marissa, rises in me. How dare she try to make me feel guilty after what she did to me? How dare she try to put any of this on me? The blood is pounding so forcefully through my veins that the light actually dim a bit in my eyes.
“Are you okay?” Mac asks quietly, and I realize she’s walked into the kitchen.
My head snaps up, and she flinches by what she sees in my eyes. That makes me feel guilty, and it seems like I can’t f**king win with women these days. I apparently do nothing but hurt them.
“No, I’m not f**king okay,” I snarl at her, and she flinches again. “How can I be okay after that?”
But between the two of us, only I know that the thing with Marissa was so much more than what Mac actually observed. She didn’t get to see the really juicy stuff that occurred after she took Gabe back into his bedroom.
“I’m sorry,” Mac says quietly and she’s saying that not only because she feels bad that Gabe was just stripped away from me, but she’s sorry that I’m obviously hurting and she’s sorry that I’m angry right now.
Fuck… appears everyone is just sorry.
Except for me, of course. I apparently don’t understand the concept of apology. Otherwise, I’d have let Marissa “atone for her sin”.
What a crock of shit!
I push away from the counter and look at Mac. Her face is lined with worry, she’s got her hands clasped tight, and she’s on edge. I know I must be putting off some seriously angry vibes, and I make her nervous. That should appall me but it doesn’t. It actually sort of pisses me off more.
Fucking women and their tender sensibilities.
The anger that pulses through me, coupled with disappointment and choking guilt, are too overwhelming and I need some way to purge this out of my system. And what better way than the fantastically amazing woman who f**ks like a goddess standing before me.
Stalking up to her, I wrap my hand around her neck and palm the back of her head, pulling her in close. I know my eyes are hard and bitter right now, my voice harsh with rage. “Do you see, Mac?”
“See what?” she asks quietly, almost fearfully.
“Do you see why I am the way I am?”
“Because of Marissa?”
“Yes… it’s all because of her,” I say, gripping her head tighter.
Mac stares back at me, completely confused and utterly worried. I watch her, wondering at what point Mac may lay the same guilt trip on me in our relationship. It’s bound to happen, right?
I’m startled momentarily when Mac raises her hands and lays her palms on my cheeks. Lifting up on her tiptoes, she pulls on me slightly so my head bends down. She touches her mouth to mine, lightly, and at first, I do nothing. Instinctively and immediately, my body wants her, but I don’t capitulate right away, holding my arms tight with pure refusal to embrace her.
Then Mac plays me… because she knows how to get me to react. She flicks her tongue out over my bottom lip and that one touch causes me to groan and my dick to get hard. Mac seizes the opportunity and plunges her tongue in my mouth.
She kisses me… almost frantically, but I still don’t make a move to hold her.
She’s not daunted though. She merely moves her lips from my mouth to my neck, murmuring, “I need you,” before biting at my skin.
Okay, that packs a punch right there, and lust seizes me.
My hands come up, not to grab ahold of her, but to grab ahold of her shirt and pull viciously at it, ripping every button from the fabric so they scatter across the tile floor.
See Mac… that’s how you rip a shirt open.
Mac merely gasps, not in outrage, but in desire. My hands frantically pull at her jeans, pushing, pulling, tearing at the denim, trying to pull them loose from her body.
I manage to get them and her underwear off, and drag her to the floor. I don’t even bother with her bra but do lean down and bite at one of her ni**les through the silk, causing her to cry out.
Fumbling for my own zipper, I get it down and pull out my painfully hard cock, while nudging her legs apart with my own. Desperation seizes me.
Frantic desperation to erase the last hour of my life and drown it out with something that I can understand. Something that is comforting to me.
Hardcore, dirty f**king.
Matt Connover style.
I settle my body in between Mac’s legs, and her hands come up to grip my shoulders. I use my hand to guide myself to her pu**y, and I start battering my way in. She’s wet, but not as wet as she could be. She’s definitely tight, whether from tension or because I simply refuse to take the time to get her worked up.
With three hard pushes and pulls, I work my way in to her body, knowing I should feel guilty because I haven’t even kissed her or touched her intimately other than to bite her nipple once. But the guilt doesn’t come, only the unbelievably fantastic feeling of being immersed deep inside of her.
Mac’s breathing is harsh, and she hasn’t said a word, but she moves her h*ps against mine and that’s all the encouragement I need.
I start f**king her hard, and by my fourth full stroke, I feel her flood with wetness. Raising her legs up, I put them on my shoulders and lean into her, causing her to practically fold in on herself but giving me the deepest f**king angle imaginable for me to tunnel into her.
“Feels good,” she pants, and I would have to agree wholeheartedly with her.
I close my eyes so I don’t have to look at Mac’s face, because I know that even though this feels amazing, she’s worried about me… about what we’re doing right this moment, and whether or not she has the ability to help me get past this anger.
I f**k her, and f**k her, and f**k her, trying to drown out the torment that Marissa just laid upon me. With every thrust, it becomes a little more palatable.
When Mac seizes up underneath of me and starts shaking as she cl**axes, I purposely hold off my orgasm, not wanting to share that moment. I want it all for myself.
I heave and lurch against her, slamming my way home, again and again, and when I finally think I’m distant enough away, I let go and pour all of my frustration into her body with a powerfully quiet orgasm.
When I’m empty of every tremor and ounce of se**n I can unload, I roll off Mac and lay on my back, gasping for breath. I examine my feelings, searching for the guilt and anger that had me hostage just moments ago.
Gone. Vanished.
I feel nothing, and that is great.
Just what I was looking for, and apparently, it was nothing that a good rousing f**k with Mac couldn’t cure.
Standing up, I reach down and hold my hand out to her. She doesn’t hesitate but lets me pull her up from the floor. I lead her back to my bedroom, because I think I might need a few more sessions just to make sure that shit with Marissa is purged for good.
Chapter 30
“That smells fantastic,” I tell Mac as I walk up behind her. Putting my hands on her h*ps and resting my chin on her shoulder, I watch as she stirs the pot of spaghetti sauce.
“Why don’t you set the table? This will be done soon. ”
Turning away, I open the cupboard. “Sure. Will Macy be joining us?”
“She’s got a date, and by date, I mean she has a one-night stand. ”
“I thought I used that service a lot, but Macy takes the cake,” I say with a laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound as hollow as it feels.
Because I just had a little zap of longing that coursed through me when Mac referenced Macy having a one-night stand. Ever since Marissa came over on Saturday and told me all that shit about how she felt… about how she was pissed at me, making me feel as if I did something wrong… well, I’ve been thinking about a lot of things.
After I f**ked Mac on my kitchen floor, then took her back to my bedroom and f**ked her twice more, I left her passed out on my bed in an orgasm coma. I went into my home office and booted up my computer, went straight to my bookmarks menu and pulled up my One Night Only wish list.
Scrolling through profile after profile, I looked at each woman presented to me with dispassion and only vague interest. Not one of them could ever compare to Mac. But that’s not why I was looking. I was looking because ever since Marissa walked out of my apartment with Gabe, I had started longing for simpler times in my life. Such as when I was a one-night stand kind of man, with no strings, no connections, and no feelings other than the euphoria that comes with busting a good nut.
Those simpler times were simple because they were black and white. There was no guessing… no worry that some action I take today may cause me pain tomorrow. I didn’t have to look out for anyone but Gabe and myself.
It was just… simple.
Of course, I never did anything other than look at the ONO profiles because while I longed for the simpler times, I certainly didn’t long for anyone other than Mac. My feelings may be a hundred ways f**ked right now, but the one thing that has not changed is my desire for her. I still lust after her with a vengeance. She can’t be within my proximity for ten seconds before my mind is already calculating on how to f**k her, and if I can’t f**k her, how I can at least touch her in some way.
In fact, since Saturday, it’s like my sexual appetite for her has increased tenfold. After I closed out the ONO profile, I went back to the room, woke her up, and f**ked her doggie style. Then I went down on her, made her come twice more, and by then I was hard enough for her to ride me to a blistering eruption.
Sunday, I didn’t let her out of my bed. If I couldn’t spend time with my son, I’d spend it f**king away the pain and anger. I’d like to say Mac never complained once, but by Sunday mid-afternoon, she asked for a hiatus. She told me she was sore and needed to get home to do laundry. I had a tiny frisson of guilt course through me, but I didn’t ask her to stay. I could have. I could have asked her to stay and we could have curled on the couch and watch an old movie, but I had absolutely no desire to do that.
What does it say about me that my only interest in Mac, at that point, was just in f**king her?
I think it says a lot.
Now granted, things were a little brighter on Monday at work. I had a good night’s sleep, I put Marissa out of my mind, and I was looking forward to having Gabe for the upcoming weekend. Weirdly, I didn’t mention it or discuss the potential plans with Mac. I’m not sure if she’s going to come with us or not. I’m not sure if I’m extending another invite to her, or if she just assumes there is one. It’s all messed up in my head now… what level of involvement I want her to have with Gabe… because frankly, he has enough crazy stuff between his own parents going on that I don’t want to add additional confusion onto his young shoulders.