Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
I’m only with Isla because she won’t leave me alone and insists that we’re a couple.
Whatever, she’s a good fuck and we have fun.
That’s all it’s about, right?
“There you are.”
Isla appears beside me, curling her fingers around my biceps and bringing her mouth up to my neck, where she kisses the skin. My dick twitches. I could use another fuck. I cup her ass, squeezing as she rubs her body against me.
“Do you want to take me somewhere, baby?” she murmurs into my ear.
“Yeah.”
We leave the party, her clinging to me and rubbing her hand over my cock. We reach the beach, and I have her down on the sand quickly. I pull her dress up, jerk her panties down, and bury my face into her pussy. I lick and suck, enjoying how she squirms and moans, how she tastes against my lips. Once she’s cried out twice from orgasm, I release her. I pull my cock from my jeans and ask her for a condom.
“I forgot one,” she says, her voice breathy. “It’s okay, though. I’m on the pill.”
Whatever.
I just want to fuck.
I bring my body down on top of hers and slowly inch my cock inside her pussy. She whimpers, clutching my back, putting her legs around my hips. Then, I fuck her. I fuck her hard and fast, my skin slapping against hers. The only thing on my mind right now is finding my release. I’ve given her her fun, now it’s my turn.
I’m selfish.
I’m cold.
I’m basically everything a woman doesn’t want in a man.
But this one keeps coming back for more.
I cum with a grunt, releasing into her. Once my dick stops pulsing, I roll off and use my shirt to clean up the mess. I can go without it. Isla uses it too, and then pulls her panties back on and her dress down. She snuggles in beside me, and I throw an arm around her shoulder, but the truth is I’d rather she didn’t touch me.
Can’t be an asshole all the time, though.
“I love you,” she murmurs into the darkness.
I stiffen.
Love.
What the fuck would she know about love?
We barely know each other. We’ve been dating less than a year, all we do is smoke joints, fuck, and go to parties. We’ve never had a serious conversation about our lives or who we are.
Love.
Fuck love.
“You don’t love me,” I mutter, standing up.
“Of course you’d say that!” she snaps. “Of course you’d act like I don’t matter.”
“Never said you don’t matter, Isla, I said you don’t love me.”
“How would you know?” she cries, launching to her feet when I take a step away. “Who are you to tell me how I feel?”
“What is there to love about me?” I growl.
Seriously, what the fuck is there to love about me?
I can give you the really quick and short answer—nothing.
“Is that honestly how you see yourself?” she asks, her voice softer now. “You think nobody could love you? Well, I do, Bohdi. I care so much about you it hurts sometimes to see you don’t care about me in return.”
Fuck.
She’s wrong. I do care about her. I like her a lot and we have fun. I don’t love her, though.
I’m certain I’ll never love anyone.
I turn and face her, pulling her in until her cheek rests against my bare chest. “Do care about you; I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
She exhales and wraps her arms around me. “I know you don’t believe it, but I do love you, Bohdi. Please, just let me.”
I don’t say anything.
I don’t want to let her love me.
People who love me ... They break.
I’m not enough to hold anyone together.
Just look at my mother.
I’m a damned failure.
She’s going to have to learn that the hard way.
“GOD DAMN YOU, BOHDI!” my mother screams, hauling a half empty glass of whiskey across the room at me.
My hands shake, because fuck her and these outbursts. They’re getting worse and worse. Eventually, she’s going to hurt me. I’m not having that. I can’t take her anymore, so, I called in some help. Two of her close friends. They’re good ladies, people who tried to support her after my dad left. They’re clean, sober and good parents.
They don’t speak to her a great deal anymore, but I knew they’d help if I asked.
It didn’t go down well.
My mother lost it, screaming for them to get out. She threw things and smashed lamps. She didn’t want them in our house. The problem is, I don’t want her in this house anymore. Coming home is a fucking nightmare, smelling her piss-stained bed and her vomit-covered clothes, along with unwashed dishes and dirty laundry, is giving me fucking anxiety.
I don’t want to be here, but she’s my mother.
She has nobody else.
On the way out the door, her friend Doris told me that I could come and stay with her if I was ever in trouble.