Page 40 of Love is So Mean
My anger officially peaks as she callously reminds how my failed relationship got me to the point. Emily is the last person Iwant to think about not even three days since she left me. It was a cold move and the opposite of motivational.
“I hate you.”
“Good.”
Fuck it.We need to get this over with. I thrust underneath her to get the friction that I like. I want this over but she’s working against me. Yasmeena leans over and bites my chest, making me moan against my will. I smack her ass as a warning but it reminds me just how nice it looks. The image and the way her pussy muscles are squeezing me makes me cum so abruptly, all I can do is hold on to her hips and feed her pussy exactly what she wants.
She jumps off the moment I let go. I point out that she didn’t come and all I got was some cold speech about space then she disappeared.
Chapter 22
Enrique
Inever been fucked so rudely and disrespectfully in my life. It was like a sexual blitz attack. In and out in such a quick fashion that I’m torn between wondering if I imagined it or checking to see if there is money on my bedside table.
My thoughts and feelings are all over the place because how can a man mourn the loss of the love of his life while sleeping in his ‘wife’s guest room. Worse, Yasmeena brought up Emily during sex. How in the hell was that supposed to be helpful. I need a vacation, a drink, and probably a priest.
I lie back down and pull the covers up to my chest wondering what in the hell I’ve gotten myself into. There is no turning back, the deal is done and I can only go through the process. Maybe if I focus on trying to imagine what my future child will look like it’ll help.
My mind quickly abandoned the idea because this is a shot in a rigged game. The information Yasmeena’s doctor gave didn’t make me feel at ease. It’s like we’re racing against an armed bomb.
There is an underlying nervous sensation in my belly that hasn’t left since Yasmeena told me she had cancer. No, it’s not like I woke up and realized that I’ve been in love with her thisentire time, it’s different. I’ve gotten used to being annoyed by her daily, it will feel weird if she wasn’t around anymore. She’s been a fixture in my life for almost five years.
Still, I lie naked in a space she just vacated and I know that if she wasn’t sick, I would have followed her and demanded to be treated with more respect. For now, I’ll allow her to do things her way. There’s a hole in my heart that makes me feel like I’ve just cheated on Emily although she left me.
Pictures of us make up most of my gallery but I’m stuck on the most recent picture we took together. It was the Friday morning of the spa weekend after turning down Yasmeena, my smile was so hopeful then but I don’t even have a fake one to offer now.
Only thing I can give is my body in service to Yasmeena’s needs. Each picture I look at just pulls open the self-inflicted wound. The hurt doesn’t allow me to miss Emily as much as I’d like. It seems that it’s possible to like someone and be mad as hell. That’s where I’m at. For now, all I can do is shut down my emotions towards Emily, focus on work, and allow my body to be used.
While I know it wasn’t for the money or position, I still sold my body like a gigolo and this is the reality of my situation. The baby is her main goal but I’m just the vehicle to get her to that point. My role in Yasmeena’s personal life is disposable and that’s how I feel.
“I was doing this to be nice,” I murmur to myself as I climb out of bed. I find my discarded boxers and put them on so I can go make myself a drink. It’ll help me sleep. I don’t bother donning any extra clothing since Yasmeena seems to always walk around the house near naked.
For a moment, I even considered going into her room for another round. Not because I’m horny-I have another round but I’m not raring to go-but making Yasmeena agitated amuses me. Ineed to have fun where I can since amusement is the only feeling feasible.
I grab a glass and pour myself a double as I look around. Yasmeena really loves the minimalist look it seems. All of the colors are neutrals, just like her nails, and I cannot find one unnecessary or personal item. They all must be in her room.
Backtracking, I head in the direction of my room but beeline to her bedroom instead. If she can walk in my room whenever she feels like it, I’ll do the same. I push her cracked door all the way open and lean on the jamb.
As expected, she’s not wearing much of anything. Her hair is piled atop of her head as she lounges in bed and focuses on her phone. Yasmeena looks over whatever has her interest so intently that one would have never thought she’s pounced on me not a mere twenty minutes ago.
Coming out of a committed relationship, it’s weird not having some sort of intimacy before or after sex. In fact, I’ve received more intimacy from a one-night stand. Mywifewants no such thing.
Timing her, I stay put and continue to sip on my drink.
Not long after, Yasmeena slowly looks up from her phone, “what?”
“Nothing,” I say, pushing off the door and heading further into her room. I look around, expecting to see a picture or something. Nothing. “You don’t like things, do you?”
“Things? Like what?” Her eyes watch my every move.
“Pictures, trophies, or something.”
“Why would I have them up? They’re all stacked in my storage area… downstairs, if you’d like to go and see them.”
“The pictures or the trophies?”
“Both. Why would I need to hang any pictures up?”