Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84533 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84533 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
I licked from his sac up to the tip of his erection, which was definitely hard now, then sucked him back into my mouth. Taking Crow deep, I swallowed when his prick hit the back of my throat. My hand joined in, jerking him while I blew him. Pleasuring Crow gave me pleasure. I didn’t always have to come, didn’t need it right now, just wanted to see the bliss on his face, wanted to swallow his release because I loved knowing I had some of Crow inside me.
He groaned deeply, hand fisting in my hair, his hips thrusting so he fucked my willing mouth. Sex with Crow was always indescribable, this energy that would pulse and throb inside me for hours and days afterward. I had never been the type to believe in destiny or soulmates, but that was before Crow. Sometimes it felt like the whole world was only created so the two of us could find each other, like we were the point of it all. It was selfish thinking, but there were parts of me that had and would always be selfish.
His hot, hard cock throbbed against my tongue. I could feel the tension in him, could tell he was about to come by the quickening of his movements and the wildness of his eyes.
Crow arched up, dick in my throat, and spurted. I was ravenous for his cum, wanted to drain his balls every single day because his cum was all mine. I swallowed until there was nothing left, then rested my cheek on his thigh, suckling his soft dick.
“We will do whatever you want. It’s all I ever want to do.”
I smiled around his dick and sucked. We lay there like that, Crow playing with my hair for at least an hour before I kissed his soft prick and sat up. “First, breakfast and medication.”
He nodded and followed me up. We didn’t get dressed, the two of us heading into the kitchen. I took my pills while Crow decided what he wanted to make. He settled on French toast. I sat on my stool while he made the food.
“Your pills…they don’t always work,” he said, brows furrowed. “Why?”
The question surprised me, but then, I’d had a down day not too long ago. Sometimes I forgot he had no experience with doctors or mental illness. “Nothing is ever perfect. But I have way more good days than bad. There are times when the bad days beat the good, and then the doctor will up my dose or change my medication. I would be…a mess without them. I mean, I’m a mess with them, but it would be a million times worse.” It had been worse many times—mood swings, self-harm, suicidal ideation, feeling the hopelessness of it all weigh down on me.
“You’re not a mess.” He surprised me by reaching over and playfully smacking my arm gently with the spatula. It was so rare for Crow to be playful, so I soaked it up when he was. I was likely the only person in the world who had ever seen this side of him.
“Well, that wasn’t very nice. You might have to kiss it and make it better.”
He came over and did just that, then returned to cooking.
Without looking at me, while flipping the French toast, he said, “My mother…she would get sad sometimes.” I didn’t move, tried not to breathe. Crow was incredibly protective of his mom. I’d asked about her more than once, and he always shot me down. “Chosen would…he would get angry. He would flaunt other women in front of her, tell her she wasn’t worthy of him, that he and God should be enough to keep her happy.”
My hands fisted. I waited a moment, wondering if Crow would say anything else, but when he didn’t, just plated my food and handed it over, I said, “She might have had some kind of mental illness, or maybe life was just hard and she had bad days. There are so many things it could be. Even with me, I’ve been seeing doctors since I was a teenager. First they said I had depression, then that I was bipolar. But I never had the full manic periods, so that didn’t really fit me. They said you can present differently when you’re a teenager, so maybe that was why. Then they wondered if it could be a personality disorder. They tossed around borderline personality disorder. I did DBT—dialectical behavior therapy—where we focused on mindfulness, distress tolerance, interpersonal effectiveness, and emotional regulation. Medication for borderline symptoms is similar to bipolar or even treatment-resistant depression, so that’s what I take. I often just say I have depression or mental illness, but who knows, really.” The actual diagnosis didn’t matter as much to me. I just needed the help to fight my symptoms and try to have some kind of life.