Page 12 of Serenity
“Freeze!”
To the Arctic, my eyes had gone as I squeezed the life from him. Already frozen from the vessel in my chest outward, Paramour PD didn’t need to tell me to be fucking still. It was all I had left to do before I dragged that nigga to a fiery hell along with me.
Suffering the greatest offense, I was arrested. Thrown in jail. Justice denied. Now, unquenchable regret remained in the stains of our lives.
Fuck Mya.
Fuck Michael.
The M&Ms.
A pair genuinely made for each other. Gemini twins. The duality was lost on me. The insatiable appetites they held, I’d never comprehend. Too bad Piper didn’t know it. Far too sweet and undeserving of such cruelty, she was. I wouldn’t be the man to run and tell her the depths of how worthless her husband could be. It wasn’t my place. As far as Michael was concerned, he was closed casket dead to me. Mya was a mere blip in my rearview.
Stop looking back, Duke.
With Reed at the ready, armed with a Glock on his waist, I ambled down the driveway with my head high and heart low. There was one more deal that needed closing for the evening.
“Sin, Mr. Stepford?”
Just as my executive assistant did during the day, Reed maintained an agenda of my goings and comings. He’d been the closest man to me since the dissolution of my friendship with Michael. The synchronization of my activities with his mind aided productivity, granting me more time to focus on building my lonely empire.
“Yeah, Reed. Sin.”
We crept away from the mansion of horrors. A sound investment, it was up in value by several million. Placing it back on the market to obtain some semblance of a win against my sullied past would be good for me. I’d been holding on to that last bit of my former years, not for want. Selling the house simply fell last on a long list of priorities. It was well past time to let it go.
“Time to pack it up, Reed. We’re moving.”
“Heard, Mr. Stepford,” Reed confirmed.
SINFUL AMBITIONS
I could always tell how a man fucked by how he kissed. The need to take it further would swiftly diminish if he was sloppy. A sloppy kisser birthed a sloppy lover.
He can’t find the hole.
He’s not long enough.
He’s not thick enough.
He’s stiff.
Doesn’t know how to work his hips.
Doesn’t know how to stroke…
Eager and expeditious?
I didn’t even bother. He was likely unrestrained. Undisciplined. An impatient man would bust faster than a shaken-up can of Coke. Or he might fuck like an energizer bunny. Keep going and going and going, absent regard for my needs. Fissures of pain, deficient pleasure. Physical trauma absolute. Behavior bound to have me limping in the most insipid way.
But the meticulous, unhurried kisser studying my body’s linguistics, the unsanctioned sounds I made, being both gentle and confident—that was him. He caused the butterflies, the breathless sighs, the lusty eyes, the nectar flooding between my thighs.
I’d let him take me home. Let him stuff me with dick. Sing his name in a quartet of me, myself, and two other versions of myself that I didn’t know existed until the discovery of his existence. He’d make me come.
A stampede of butterflies was what I needed.
Not this nigga dawdling his tongue in my mouth as if he didn’t know what to do with it. As if he were awaiting me to take over.
After weeks of making decisions, I was tired of dominating. Of being in control. I needed a man to take control of me. Every thought. Every word. Every decision. Every sense. Willingly, I’d grant the keys to seize dominion over my body.