Are
you ready for Blaire?
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Blurb
Love
is selfish...
My
name is Blaire.
I'm
the bad girl.
The
other woman.
The
one who never gets the guy in the end.
I'm
the gold digger.
The
bitch.
The
one no one roots for.
The
one you love to hate.
I
hate myself too...
Everyone
has a story. Are you ready for mine?
Part
I
Innocence
Past
What
is love?
I
don’t know.
I’ve
never had it.
Is
it even real?
No,
I don’t think so.
I mean, how can I believe in love when I’ve
never witnessed it? When it seems to only exist in books and films,
or in the lives of more fortunate people than me? Trust
me, I know.
Love
is
my personal chimera.
I
am gazing
at brown eyes, admiring the richness of the color, the beauty of the
man to whom they belong to.
“You’re
so beautiful, Blaire
… so
wet,” he murmurs,
his hand going between my legs as he begins to rub me. His fingers
spread me open to their soft invasion, tuning my body to his wants
and needs, preparing me to be taken as the hot friction of his touch
lights a wild fire within my body. It’s
not the first time he has touched me like this, but each time feels
better and better—the
sensations all-consuming and heady.
One
finger.
Two
fingers.
One
finger.
Two
fingers.
Over
and over again.
His
invasion is fast and slow, deep and shallow. His touch is soiled
heaven.
As
I open my legs wider for him, I wonder if it feels this good because
of him or because I’m
taking something that doesn’t
belong to me and making it mine.
“Oh
God … I love you,
Blaire. I love you … I
love you …” he pants
in my ear.
“Don’t
stop … it
feels so good,” I
breathe.
Okay,
maybe it’s because at
this moment in time this
man thinks he loves me
and no one else but me, however false his proclamation may be.
I
close my eyes as his lips land on mine. He kisses me softly as if I’m
made out of gold, kissing me with that familiar mouth I’ve
seen smile tenderly at me so many times before. The assault of his
tongue debilitates me but doesn’t
incapacitate me.
“It’s
four dollars, gorgeous,” the
cute barista says,
smiling at me.
I’m
about to pay for my cappuccino when I hear a deep, manly voice say,
“Let me
get that for you.”
A
man wearing a beige suit comes forward, standing next to me as he
hands the barista some bills. “I’ve
seen you around … you’re
Paige’s
friend.”
I
smile, licking my suddenly dry lips. “Thank
you, and yes …
I know Paige.”
The
smile on his handsome face seems to freeze as his gaze follows the
tip of my tongue, the spark of hunger brightening his eyes. Inwardly,
I smile because who knew it was so easy to make men desire me,
particularly when I went without attention for so long.
“My
pleasure. Are you,” he
coughs, “here
with someone else?”
I
shake my head and look at him through fluttering eyelashes. “No,
I’m here
all by myself.” I
pause, touching his arm invitingly, and smile. “Would
you like to join me?”
He
looks around the coffee shop, probably considering if he should, if
it’s
proper to do so, but less than five seconds later, he’s
staring at me once again. “Sure.”
Yes,
just like that.
The
beige walls are spinning.
The
clock is ticking.
The
bedsprings creak as
the moon cries outside the motel window.
And
the man above me kisses me while he fingers me, preparing me for him.
Gotta love such a
thoughtful man.
I
can taste his sweet saliva mixing with mine, and I love it.
“Please,”
I beg against his lips, reaching for his hard cock and wrapping my
fingers around it. “I’m
ready.”
I
feel his mouth leave mine as he begins to make his way down my
partially dressed body. “Are
you sure, Blaire? Are you sure you want to do this with me?”
I
open my eyes to witness what I think I want him to do. No, what I’m
sure I
want him to do. I can’t
help the smile I feel playing on my lips as I see him struggling with
his conscience. He asks me if I’m
sure when he has already fucked my mouth with his cock countless
number of times, when his fingers have filled every orifice of my
body. Should I laugh? No …
I decide to take pity instead.
“I’m
sure, so sure,” I say,
letting my arms land like dead weight on the bed, the cheap fabric
rough against my skin.
“All
right.”
When
I feel the bed dip between my legs, I instinctively open them for him
and watch as he brings a condom package to his mouth. As he rips it
open with his teeth, I admire his perfect full lips that emphasize
how masculine he is.
I
feel pleased with myself.
So
fucking pleased because he wants me.
Mr.
Callahan wants me. Me. Can you believe it? Chubby Blaire. Ugly and
awkward Blaire.
Unlovable
Blaire.
I
guess I’m not that ugly
anymore. My body? What was considered fat as a child is now called
boobs and ass. Guys want it. They want me. They want to touch me,
grope me, feel me … they
want to screw me. And it feels good to be wanted …
so good. It makes me feel powerful, and like a potent drug spreading
inside your bloodstream, I want more.
I
need more.
“Hurry
up,” I say, not
bothering to be shy or coy about it. I mean, he brought me here to
have sex, right?
“Fuck,
give me a second, Blaire. Trying to get the damn condom on my
dick.”
As he rolls the rubber on his stiff dick, his eyes wonder over my bare chest, my face, my spread legs. Shaking his head as if trying to clear his mind, he mutters, “You’re so beautiful. I want you so much.”
As he rolls the rubber on his stiff dick, his eyes wonder over my bare chest, my face, my spread legs. Shaking his head as if trying to clear his mind, he mutters, “You’re so beautiful. I want you so much.”
That’s
not the first time I have heard those words come out of a man’s
mouth. Josh tells me all the time how beautiful I am, how perfect I
am, how much he wants me, how much he loves me. But he’s
my friend with benefits. The words kind of lose their meaning when
it’s the same person
saying them to you over and over again.
“Show
me.”
Those
two words are all it takes for him to spread my legs wider with his
hands and finally enter me with his throbbing dick. Pain shoots
through my body, and a groan escapes my mouth when he covers my body
with his. I feel his whole length inside me in one deep thrust.
“Christ,
you’re so tight.”
He
lifts both my legs, wrapping them around his lean waist and starts to
thrust. Hard. It hurts. But I like the pain. It sobers me.
And
that’s when reality
comes crashing down on me. It hits me with the speed and blinding
power of a torpedo, making me realize what I’m
doing. What I’m giving
away and the man doesn’t
even know it.
What
the hell am I doing?
Proving
that you are
your mother’s
daughter.
Making
her proud.
The
room is filled with the noises of the man grunting his pleasure and
the wet slapping of our skin; it makes me want to gag. I want to
throw up. Maybe it’s the
alcohol I drank.
Maybe
it’s self-disgust.
The
initial pain is gone and now I just feel sore. And strange.
His
beautiful face lowers, his lips about to connect with mine, and I
feel
the bile rise inside my throat. I turn my face to the side, his kiss
landing on my cheek. My eyes watch the way the lights in the bathroom
illuminate all its used and dirty ugliness.
“Oh
God, I’m going to come …
I’m going to come …
I’m going to come,”
he continues to pant in my ear, pumping in and out of my body. Before
I know what’s
happening, he
half-screams and half groans, his body going tense on top of mine.
And
just like that it’s
over. In less than five minutes I’ve
managed to kill a part of me.
Our
breathing evens and he pulls out, moving to stand up. I push myself
up on my elbows to see him inspect his condom. It still glistens. By
the time he lifts his eyes, connecting with mine, I’ve
already wrapped my body with the duvet cover.
Confusion,
shock, and pleasure reflect in those brown eyes. “I-I
didn’t know …
I …” His hands go to
his hair as we stare at each other. “I
didn’t know you were a
virgin.”
I
shrug my shoulder carelessly, causing the duvet to slide down,
exposing my bare breasts to him. His eyes immediately flare with
lust. “It doesn’t
matter … I wanted it to
be you.”
And
that’s the truth.
“But—”
“But
nothing. If it bothers you, then forget it happened. I already did,”
I say, ending the conversation.
This
is my body. I will have the last word. Not him. Not anyone. This is
my life. This is my decision.
Without
giving myself a chance to doubt my next words, I turn to look at him
in all his naked beauty, the gold wedding ring on his finger catching
my attention. “Don’t
worry, Mr. Callahan
… I
won’t tell your
daughter that you fucked her classmate.”
And
with that, I seal my destiny.
About
the Author:
Mia
Asher
My
name is Mia Asher.
I'm
a writer, a hopeless romantic, a wanderer, a dreamer, a cynic, and a
believer. And, oh yes…I might be a bit crazy - but who isn't?
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