38. Sage #2
“Don’t. Come. I want you to save it for my ass. I want you to fill my hole with your cum. I want you to fucking ruin me.” My choked gasp follows his words. My orgasm grows closer by these words alone. When his mouth steals any air I have, I almost spill my release between us.
I want to fuck him right now. I need it. I need it more than such silly things like air and money. I’ll hand over the last shard of my sanity to fill him with my cum. I’d sell my goddamned soul for it.
He kisses the edge of my mouth, looking at me with just as much lust as I feel. Goosebumps spread across every inch of me, hairs standing up with the intensity of his gaze.
“Can you do that for me, baby?” Another kiss to the corner of my lips, then my jaw, right above his hand on my throat. His kisses are a contradiction of their own, going against the tight hold he has on me. The force of his body pins me against the cold tile I can’t feel anymore.
“Y-Yeah. Yeah, I can do that,” I reply, swallowing down any embarrassment I feel over how weak he makes me sound and feel. One last kiss, then he’s releasing me, stepping back out of the shower.
“Good boy.” He winks. Motherfucker. Ok, so maybe I liked that more than I thought I would.
But fuck this asshole for calling me a good boy like a goddamn dog.
I move towards him, but he’s jumping back out of the open bathroom door.
Laughing and darting around collecting dry clothes, if they are clean is a mystery.
“You’ll pay for this, asshole!” I yell after him, shutting off the water that has long ago gone cold. I grab a towel and run it over my hair. My cock is still hard and bobbing between my legs.
“Gotta go, baby. See you tonight,” he says between laughs. He’s rushing from the shoebox, clothes clutched to his chest, wet boxers still plastered to his thick thighs.
Any motivation I had to go to work vanishes. Today is going to go so slow with the promise of finally getting inside Mac.
By the time I get off work, I’m exhausted. Sexually frustrated and pissed off. Work was a shit show. The schedule was a mess, with not enough guys to get shit done. The heat didn’t help anyone. Tempers ran high, and everyone was at each other’s throats.
Now I’m stuck in traffic. I hardly reach third gear before I have to shift back down to first. I caved and stole a pack of cigarettes from Jeremy before I left. I’ve been chain smoking for the past three miles. Three miles that have taken me forty-five minutes.
I quit smoking when I was seventeen. Mac’s constant damning of them got too annoying to justify the habit.
Repeatedly telling me it was disgusting and made me smell like an ashtray.
I started the habit again for a while after he left.
A small fuck you he’d never know about. But cigarettes cost money, and my pockets are consistently empty. But after today, I needed something.
This morning started off so good. Head, sex, and that hot-as-hell shower scene set me up for failure. The day had nowhere to go but down.
If Karen hadn’t burnt down my trailer, I’d be home by now. I passed the sign for Jessie James Trailer Park before the traffic hit. I mentally damn Karen once again, taking a deep hit off another cigarette.
Look, I’m grateful as hell for Henry and that tiny shoebox.
But I’m fed up with it. There isn’t enough room to think in that tiny room.
My thoughts knock against the walls. Not to mention the amount of money he takes from Mac to pay for that shoebox is ridiculous.
Ludicrous. No, we need to move. Either back to the park or somewhere new, I honestly don’t give a shit.
But I need to not have this hour-long commute to a job I hate.
I need to not spend more on gas than I get paid an hour.
I shift up to third, only for brake lights to flare to life once again, and I shift back down. I grip the steering wheel in tight fists, shaking it to no avail. A useless attempt to release some of the pent-up rage bubbling under the surface.
Goddamn Karen. Goddamn traffic. Motherfucking Jeremy and his inability to make a goddamn schedule. He never should have gotten promoted to foreman. He’s a moron who can’t add one and one together.
I should have gotten that job. Sit back in a work truck and pass judgment on people who actually work. Occasionally come out into the sun with a mug that’s probably full of booze, and bitch about how slow everyone is moving.
Life is honestly such bullshit. Opportunities pass by me like I’m not there. People steal, take, and burn the only things I have to my name. My life is fucking pathetic. I only have a bed to sleep in because some stranger saved Mac that night.
A stranger! I get offered scraps, and I’m supposed to be grateful. Supposed to take what’s handed to me and never expect more. I expect fucking more.
I want to buy Mac that houseboat he never shuts up about.
I want to live away from the trailer that haunts him.
I want to never see the burnt lot that haunts me.
I don’t want to work, and work, and work some more, only to be just as bad off as I ever was.
I’m always trying to move forward, only to be pushed back down again.
I light another cigarette. The nicotine is not doing a damn thing to help me, but it gives me something to do with my hands instead of going postal. The only thing keeping me from plowing into the dented bumper of the minivan in front of me is Mac.
Is this how he feels when he says his thoughts are too loud?
Because mine are raging. A full on Ramstein-concert-level volume.
Yelling so loud I can’t decipher shit. Just anger.
Just fury at everything. The minivan, the flashing lights telling me an accident is the cause of my misfortune. Karen. Especially Karen.
Yet another cop car flies past me on the shoulder. Speeding by so fast my Mustang rattles in the standstill.
Jesus Christ!