A Stormy Night

Why do I feel so fucking energetically

exhausted

?

I draw in long lungfuls of air, trying to clear my foggy thoughts. It takes a while for me to open my eyes and an even lengthier while to blink the sleep out of them. When that happens, in a blur I take in the mayhem that is my room, and impulsively grin mischievously. A tornado might as well have made an appearance. My clothes have been hurled into all corners of the place; my trousers on the vanity table and my shirt lying by the foot of the wardrobe and a shoe sitting on a corner of the bed and what I'm pretty sure are my boxers resting on the windowsill. And that's not all. All the bed sheets and covers have made the floor their new home, I can't locate one of the pillows and the bedside lamp has been toppled over. This scene is so chaotic that I start to chuckle to myself, again impressed by the unbelievable power of passion that suddenly blasts into existence whenever I'm with Sandra.

The whole dilemma with her friend was nothing but terrifying—even for

me

—but despite that plus being told to hide, curiosity convinced me go to the front door and eavesdrop on the conversation whilst staying out of sight. After hearing the immense disbelief in Jennifer's voice because—I hate to admit it—Sandra is a terrible liar when put under unexpected pressure, I just

had

to come to the rescue. I didn't even know

how

to, but when I suddenly remembered about her parents' line of work I came up with such a good cover story that Jen will never suspect anything.

Of course, Sandra was more than pissed when she came over to my place late last night about making her think that I was about to expose us but after a hell lot of sweet-talking and swaying kisses she finally managed to calm down, forgive

and

thank me for saving her ass by tiring my body and mind out to the point where I could barely twitch a finger and have a single thought not trained on the gift that is her stunning physique.

We really should have more escapades.

Even with that exciting notion lingering in my head, I begin to mull over how events would have unraveled if I hadn't intervened the way I had. We would have been fucked, yes, but there's a gnawing feeling in my chest that doesn't completely agree with that. So what if Jennifer found out about us? She's Sandra's best friend! I think a few excellent choice words would've persuaded her not to make a big deal out of it and tell anyone. It really wouldn't have been that much of a disaster.

But Sandra believes that it would've been. I know it. It's almost as if she's... I don't know...

ashamed

to let anyone know she has me in her life. We've certainly grown closer the last couple of months yeah but there's something that is still holding her back somehow.

The deal, you asshole.

Those four words enlighten me in countless ways. Of fucking

course

! The rules we had agreed to when we decided to be fuck buddies. She's not ashamed of me at all. She's just

afraid

of letting things go way further than we settled on—afraid of fucking everything up if one day either one of us just decided to end things. I saw that right after she gave that speech about how I make her happy, the instant fear that shone in her eyes when she believed that she took things too far. Maybe she did, I don't know, but I don't actually care either. What she confessed to me was one of the most moving things I had ever heard anyone say to me. I can't remember a time when I've felt so overcome with dazzling joy that it saddened me deeply at the same time, and I'm a thousand per cent confident that I never will experience that with anyone else at

all

.

In the beginning, all I thought I would want from her was sex, but now I'm crying for the littlest things such as her heartening smile or adorable giggle or even her scold that urges me to do everything I can to make her feel better. I also just wish that I could take her out on a proper date, just have dinner in a fancy restaurant or enjoy a sunny beach day, or hold her hand as we walk and give her gifts. I just... I just want to show the world that she's mine, you know? Even just for a split second. This whole creeping around in the dark business is really starting to get to me, and I honestly don't know how long I can handle it anymore.

My phone pings when a message comes through but I don't bother to check it. Every muscle fiber in me is acting as if gravity is ten thousand times greater than it is so lifting up just an arm seems to be an impossible feat right now. But when a second ping sounds then a third then four more go off in rapid succession, annoyance and interest cause me to grab the phone from the nightstand. The lock screen only hints that they're photos from my father, so naturally I wonder what the hell he's doing. Sending

pictures

? It's so unlike him, like a ravenous lion deciding to let an antelope run free. That's what eventually convinces me to unlock my phone to see what they're about.

What.

The.

Fucking.

Bullshitting.

Hell

?!

Cassandra. That's what the first photo shows. She's on the patio wearing what she had on yesterday, beaming down at who I know is me but just happens to be hidden quite well except for the top of my head that shows through. The picture was mainly taken from the back with her face slightly turned to the side, verifying to me that it's her—it's really her, clear as day. The second photo glides into frame automatically, this time a dead right-side view of her without her leotards, reminding me of the time she was stripping. The rest of the pictures pop up in the slideshow, the one after its predecessor revealing more of her nakedness until she's totally nude, each one forcing my eyes to blow wide open into the sizes of Jupiter and my heart to shrink into the size of an ant, barely unable to absorb the outrageous sight flashing before me.

How... how the damn

fuck

was he able to take these?! No one should be able to be on the premises without the code to the gate, and even if they had it there's no way we wouldn't have spotted them, and even if we

did

miss them the only place they could have taken cover was in the trees which were hundreds of yards away from us. Could the photographer have succeeded in sneaking in and hiding from our view with the world's most powerful camera on hand? None of this is making any sense!

Why

the shitting hell would my father do this? Why—

You know. You very well know, Shawn.

The universe starts to shrivel into nothingness, my ears hearing not anything but static, my lungs feeling like stone slabs, my limbs acting as if they might as well benefit another person, and my heart being weighed down by infinite sorrows and regrets. The only thing that keeps my mind moored to the earth is ironically the bringer of my grief—my phone that's now vibrating. I labor to focus my darkening vision on the screen, thinking that I might pass out at any second when I see that the call is from an unknown number that belongs to the devil.

Touching the answer button with a trembling thumb, I place the phone to my ear and plead with the clarity of a ghost, "Don't do this to her."

"I won't. If you finally come to your senses," my father simply states, his voice neutral yet I can still pick up the scheming glee that hints at him being over the moon right now.

I shut my eyes and try to breathe. Why did I have to be cursed with a father like him?

Why

?! "You

swear

you won't make these public?"

"If you join me, yes."

If he had taken nude pictures of me, I wouldn't have cared less. Hell, I even would've thankfully become a porn star since my chances of joining his company would have decreased a great deal that way. But with

Sandra

in the picture now... She will just be destroyed, nothing else. I can't let that happen.

I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I do.

"I'll be there tomorrow," I say miserably, darkness swallowing me up in triumph.

"You're coming today. There'll be a jet waiting for you at one."

Of course.

"By the way, she seems like a nice girl," he mentions, still with that flat tone. "I'm sorry you have to end things like this with her, but it was bound to be sooner than later."

With that the line dies, and I instantaneously sink to the floor of the sea that emerges from within the growing black hole in the center of my chest. Resentment, despair, dread, disbelief, loathing, shock all mingle and whirl inside of me, making my blood rush yet causing my body to be abnormally weak. I want to scream a thousand curses to the world. I want to smash and tear up every object in sight. I want to call back my father and tell him what a son of a bitch he is. I want to do so fucking

much

... but I can't. I need to pack up. I need to tie up loose ends for my short stay here. I need to ready myself for a lifetime of inconceivable torture.

And I also need to tell Cassandra that I'm leaving.

That last thought is sarcastically what gets me moving as I mindlessly get out of bed and grab my suitcase from the floor of the closet. I chuck in whatever my mind declares essential, going this way and that like a puppet, and then start to inform the people I've been working with about the sudden leave I have to take. A portion of my brain registers my hand grabbing a handle of the suitcase and hauling it behind me as I walk out of the room, my legs leading me down the staircase, my unoccupied hand turning the doorknob of the front door, tugging it open then locking it when I'm outside, getting into my car, and beginning the journey of deserting my newfound home for good like a robot, thinking about nothing except Sandra.

How can I explain

any

of this to her? Should I even tell her the reason why I'm going? The chances of her understanding and accepting my predicament might be higher—

if

she's in a good mood, that is.

But

... a large part of me is certain that she won't be. In fact, I'm actually hoping that she'll throw a hell of a tantrum. She might even think that I dreamt the whole damn thing up just because I can't simply tell her I want things to be over straight up—which is not something I want in the

least

. Yet if I

don't

tell her the truth and simply state that it's done, she may just let me go without a fight, and that will just obliterate my heart.

What should I do? What the fuck should I

do

?!

Before a solution can miraculously appear if it was going to, I draw to a stop in front of her gate in no time and rapidly experience a moment of tremendous hesitation and nausea and nearly use them as excuses to back out of this. Maybe it's best if I just leave without seeing her at all? I stare at the intercom for a long time as I ponder over it. No. I don't want to amplify the asshole factor by a thousand with cowardice. She also deserves some sort of closure, no matter how heartbreaking or twisted it is. I need to see her when I do this.

Even if it's the worst thing I might possibly go through.

Finally, regretfully, I press the intercom button. Eight seconds inch by before an answer crackles through. "Hello? Who is this?" Sandra's light, carefree voice sings to me, sending a quick premature stab to my heart.

"It's me," I say a little too hoarsely but hope that she doesn't notice.

Almost immediately, the gate rolls open and I approach my imminent doom. My vision tells me that the driveway has magically increased ten times its normal length but my brain registers me parking in front of the mansion in a blur. Stepping out of my car with jellylike legs, I watch the door open in horror and see her emerge from the house. The sun embraces her in a dazzling halo, her skin gleaming and her hair possessing streaks of light brown highlights, her figure accentuated by the white shorts and sky blue tank top. She grins at me as if all is perfect in the universe, and I vow that everything dimmed ten billion times.

Oh god. My life is ruined.

Walking towards her, she says, "You don't usually come at this time. Did you really miss me that much?"

I stop in front of her and nearly collapse when I feel her encapsulating, potent presence shroud me for the last time.

"Shawn, are you okay?" she asks when I don't say anything and also refuse to look at her in the eye. I just shake my head, a gigantic lump forming in my throat, my breathing labored. She places a hand on my chest and the other on my cheek, her thumb gently stroking it. "What's wrong?"

I know I need to say something. I know I need to get this over and done with already but my mouth seems to be glued shut, causing this to be unbearably longer than it should be.

"Shawn, you can talk to me, you know that right? You can tell me anything. I'm here for you."

The unmistakable care ringing in her voice is what causes me to finally look at her. As I gaze into her eyes—those riveting blue orbs that always sparkle and lift up my spirits except this one exceptionally shitty day—I forget the reason why I'm here. I forget that everything is plummeting towards hell fast. I forget that this is the last time I'll ever see her again. I just place my arms around her, yank her close as I bend down and grant her a kiss of a lifetime.

Taken by surprise, she impulsively yelps but then gradually lets me have my way, returning the kiss with just about the same amount of verve as me. I push her back into the house, kick the door shut with my heel, spin us around so that I can press her body against the door and trap her there, never breaking the kiss once the whole time. My hands and mouth roam over her entire impeccable frame, touching her exquisite face, sides, wide hips, great breasts and ass, incapable of staying in a single area for a moment long, greedy, wanting, desperate for any sort of solace that she can grant me. My kisses become increasingly hungrier, fiercer, my tongue almost overpowering hers as we taste each other. She can only accept my rough acts, barely able to keep up with my whirlwind desire, and she whimpers loudly in pained pleasure when I forcefully seize a butt cheek.

Oh god, I want her—

need

her. Why did hell have to get into the way?

Bending down, I place my arms underneath her ass to lift her up then take her up the stairs towards her room, breaking the kiss for only a couple of seconds before resuming. I move as fast as I can, the sounds of her delicious moans and image of her queen-sized bed my constant motivations. When we finally get there, I set her down on her feet and without delay start undoing her shorts, my motions hasty as I struggle to achieve my goal. Eventually I do, yanking them down to her ankles along with her purple panties before crashing my mouth back onto hers, unbuckling my belt and then shoving my trousers and briefs down just enough to reveal my ass and aching dick. Then I wrap my arms around her as I force the both of us to fall onto the bed, bouncing lightly when we land, and without much more wasted time I grasp the backs of her thighs, separating and lifting her legs up until her knees are astride my hips and spear into her deep.

"

Aaaaahhhh

!" she screams as we join, curving her back as I start driving in and out of her like there's no tomorrow (which there isn't one for me), and clutches my shoulders tight. But then I take hold of her wrists and pin them down on the mattress above her head so that all she can do is lock her legs around my waist and emit piercing yells whilst she's fucked wildly and brutally. I lose a part of myself as I move inside of her, grunting and huffing and shouting consistently loud as my cock glides in and out of her searing pussy, quaking her form literally from the inside out. I try with everything I have to imprint the last precious moments I have left with her into my mind: the electrical upsurge of weighty passion that she ignites within the nucleuses of every little cell in my body, the breathlessness her gasps and abrupt cries instill in me as her hot breath slams against my face, the sweet, loving grasp of her cunt on my dick, the fragrant scent of her flesh as the sex fully brings it to life, the tangs of her sweat-slicked skin and honeyed lips that causes my soul to soar past the universes.

There's so much of her to take in but there's not enough time. I have so much to tell her but no voice to speak with. My only wish is to have her in my life—

permanently

—but reality has decided to position her just out of my fucking reach. All the anticipated emotions I should be experiencing right now engulf me, causing me to shove uncontrollably harder and faster into her than I ever have, shouts ripping out of both of our centers. I feel the muscles of her pussy contract as she steadily becomes more and more soundless, my cock twitching angrily as it comes dangerously close to the end.

"

Shawn

..." Sandra whispers, her voice thick with something I can't decipher yet.

I raise my head to look at her, and the sight of her absolutely

devastates

me. Her lips are slightly parted and her skin is blush-pink from the intensity of the sex, but it's her eyes that break the foundation of my strength. They glisten brightly with tears as she gazes deep into my own eyes, emerged comprehension and unimaginable heartbreak swirling within the indigo depths.

I smash into her one more time and let out the greatest roar on earth as I explode unexpectedly in anguish, the force of the detonation mighty enough to make my body judder violently. The only sound that escapes her is a hushed moan, her cunt viciously clenching me tight as her orgasm hits her only a second after mine. A lengthy moment of silence trickles by as we stay frozen in our positions, staring deep into each other's eyes, our breaths caught in our throats, our hearts still as we let the heaviness of our orgasm crush us. Then, as if an illness has suddenly taken over my body, I lose all feeling in my arms and legs and am forced to rest my body on top of hers, planting my head beside hers, and make irrepressible moans and groans and gasps. She follows suit, struggling for breath as my cum gushes into her vibrating pussy. It takes a while for my cock to jerk less ferociously and eventually stop ejaculating, and even then I'm still unable to lift myself up from her body. Postponing my departure is stupid and pointless I know, and yet no fiber in my body gives a shit about that.

Finally, when the tremors in our bodies have stilled and our breathing has calmed, I somehow recover sufficient will to leave her. Propping my body up slowly on my forearms, I make a move to completely get off of her but then she secures her arms and legs around my neck and waist respectively, keeping me close to her.

"Don't go," she begs, her bottom lip quivering, fear of what I'll do next shadowing her face. "Please, Shawn. Don't

go

."

Again, time freezes as we look at each other, both of our souls screaming for the same thing, my heart squeezing achingly as if a fist is trying to squash it in its grip. Seeing her plead with so much desperation for me to stay causes me to waver even more than I should, and I nearly give in to her, if it only means that I'll be with her a little longer.

But are you ready to ruin her life because of your selfishness?

That notion kills any hope and reluctance I might still possess. With the knowledge of the pictures and her future that's at stake haunting me, I somehow manage to free myself from her embrace and slowly start to zip up my trousers and buckle my belt. She doesn't make a single sound as I do so, but I sense the growing sob that's dying to break free from her chest.