I am a slut.
I can feel the coolness of the marble floor seeping into my skin. I raise my eyes to stare at him standing above me, his raging erection so close to my face.
“Now open your mouth for me.”
As I open my mouth, I can feel a shameful flush covering me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Mortified, I close my eyes as he grabs his dick in his hand and begins to push it inside my mouth.
“Open your eyes. I want to watch them as I f**k your face.”
When I do, we stare at each other as he fills my mouth with his throbbing erection. I wrap a hand around his dick and begin to lick the head, swallowing the pre cum that makes the tip glisten. My body is instantly aroused, and my ni**les pebble under his gaze.
“Bite it,” Arsen orders, his breathing coming fast and short. “Let me feel your teeth around my cock.”
I shake my head no and I’m about to let go of him.
His h*ps push forward until I feel him hit the back of my throat. I’m kneeling and trying not to gag with his thrusts. Tears of shame burning my eyes, my vision is blurry as I look at his enraged face.
“I said to f**king bite it!”
He’s doing this on purpose.
Hurting me.
Humiliating me.
“Fuuuck!” he exclaims as I bite him. The sick and twisted side of me actually enjoys it. Physically hurting him.
His hands go to the back of my head, fisting my hair as he pulls me closer to him. Picking up the punishing pace, he thrusts into my mouth painfully and without mercy.
Faster.
Faster.
Trying to breathe through my nose, I fight my gag reflexes as my own saliva and tears cover my chin and face.
“This mouth,”
He thrusts deeper.
“is,”
He thrusts harder.
“mine.”
He explodes inside my mouth as he pumps a few more times until I have swallowed him clean. Arsen shivers and pulls himself out of my mouth with a popping sound. His shoulders and chest contracting with deep and heavy breathing, he looks down at me still kneeling on the floor with stormy eyes. “Remember that the next time you f**k your husband,” he states and leaves his bedroom.
I’m na**d and sitting on the tile floor of his shower stall with my arms wrapped around my legs as scalding hot water pours down on me, stinging my skin and turning it a bright red.
I’m so numb.
So lost.
I shut my eyes tightly as I try to make the images of what happened back in the bedroom disappear. When I lean my head on my knees, feeling the boiling water burn my back, I hear Arsen opening the door to the bathroom. Not wanting to face him, I turn to look at the wall.
“Catherine…” he whispers huskily.
I ignore him as I feel a knot on the back of my throat. I can’t cry in front of him, he doesn’t deserve my tears, so I shut my eyes tighter and scoot closer to the wall.
I sense the moment Arsen kneels in front of me, his cool hands touching both of my knees. I open my eyes as he grabs my hand and moves to lie down on the floor, bringing me down with him and climbing on top of me, shielding me from the scalding water as it pours down on us. Face to face, chest to chest, beating heart against beating heart, both of his hands cupping my cheeks as we stare at each other.
Never this close.
Never this far.
I put my arms in between us to push him away, but he stops me when he begins to desperately kiss my lips. Between broken murmurs, Arsen whispers frantically against my lips. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please, stop. Don’t cry anymore. Don’t cry…I’m so sorry. I’m not worthy of your tears. Fuck. Fuck.”
Sitting on the floor, Arsen lifts me on top of him and holds me in his arms. My legs wrapped around his hips, I cannot bring myself to reciprocate the embrace, so I stare at his golden beauty as water drips down his face. I cry harder when I see the mistiness in his eyes.
“Oh, Arsen…” I whisper against his mouth. “Don’t you understand? I feel you on my skin, I feel your taste in my tongue, I feel your hardness inside me, and it’s never enough.”
“Fuck, Catherine. Please forgive me, forgive me, forgive me,” he repeats brokenly. He points to his chest with a closed fist, “This belongs to you. Only you, Catherine. It’s been yours since the day I met you, and it will be yours until you don’t want it anymore.” Growling, he pulls me closer to him, “I just want your hands on my body, your lips on my mouth, and your heart to be mine. Only mine.”
Lost in his words, we kiss, and then we fuck. But for once, it feels like he is making love to me.
Taste.
Sweat.
Feel.
Wetness.
Warmth.
Hardness.
Thrusts.
Fingers.
Slap…
Slap…
Slap…
Skin against skin.
Legs trembling.
Hair pulling.
Nails breaking through skin.
Arsen moving inside me.
My hands and legs wrapped around him.
His eyes boring into mine.
Aqua-blue fire burning me to ashes.
Nothing exists.
Nothing matters, but him.
It’s just Arsen.
And me.
Moving to the aggressive rhythm of his forceful thrusts.
Raw.
So Raw.
It hurts.
But I love it.
I love him.
His roughness feels like love.
His love is like a numbing drug.
He is my drug.
My numbness.
He whispers in my ear, “You belong to me...only me...I need you...we need each other.”
I close my eyes and get lost in mind numbing release, not hearing the last words he whispers in my ear as he comes inside me once more.
Sitting with my arms wrapped around my knees next to Arsen, I watch him sleep, looking so boyish and content. But even his perfection can’t stop the pain, the guilt, and shame from resurfacing. I’m disgusted by how low I’ve brought myself. I hate myself because I can’t let go of Arsen. And I hate myself for all the pain I’ve caused.
I lift a hand to caress his cheek feeling the stubble of his chin. Yes, I do love him. I love Arsen because he taught me to move on, live life, and forget. I love him because he makes me laugh. I love him because he opened my eyes to life and helped me heal. And I love him because he’s Arsen.
But he just isn’t my Ben.
The memory of Ben and the way we parted is pure agony. It hurts to breathe. But as I watch Arsen sleep next to me, knowing full well that I don’t deserve him, I don’t deserve anyone, I make a promise to myself. I will let Ben go and grieve for him in silence. I will do whatever is in my power to show Arsen my gratitude for having given me so much without even knowing it. If my life has taught me anything, it’s that you can’t hold onto anything that wants to go. Ben tried so hard to hold onto our relationship, onto our past, but it didn’t matter because I still cheated on him, I still planned on leaving him. So I will love Arsen while I have him with whatever I have left in me, whatever doesn’t belong to Ben, and that’s that.One month later.
The pain is still here.
I haven’t heard from Ben, so I’ve been able to pretend that everything is peachy and perfect with Arsen. He doesn’t ask questions and I don’t bring it up. The past month has proven to be one of the happiest in a long time, but there’s something basic missing, lacking…something that won’t allow me to be complete. There’s an underlying pain that I continue to ignore. I hope that someday it goes away and that the love I feel for him will disappear too, allowing me to love Arsen completely.
Love.
We haven’t said the words yet, but I know he loves me. He must. It’s written in the way he holds my hand when we sleep, in the way he combs my hair, in the way he feeds me strawberries while we drink champagne na**d on his bed, and the way he makes love to me. I know it’s there.
I love him.
When I’m with Arsen, I don’t think about Ben. Not once, not ever. It’s like Ben is an afterthought, a memory. Yet the moment Arsen steps away, thoughts of Ben swallow me whole. Melancholy fills me, and I can’t shake it until I’m in Arsen’s arms.
It’s not the perfect situation, but we are happy and somehow we’ve made it work. I never went back to work, so we keep each other busy during the days with museum visits, walks in the park, and at night we make love or fuck. I know we are both avoiding real life, but when we are together we can pretend that everything is perfect.
The paparazzi know about us now. At first they were obsessed and even dragged my divorce into the whole mess, but the attention has dissipated. I don’t know if Ben has read all the articles about us, but my dad won’t speak to me.
The last time I saw Amy, she told me not to confuse f**king with love when I told her that I had left Ben for Arsen. She said that it was easy to confuse physical gratification with the real deal, but at the end that’s all it was. Just plain old f**king.
I stopped talking to her. I don’t want to believe her words. I can’t.
After the usual pee in a cup, take down your weight, and check your blood pressure, I’m sitting on the bed in a paper gown opened at the front, exposing my br**sts as I wait for Dr. Pajaree. Three days ago, Arsen found a small bump on the left one. After freaking out, he urged me to make a doctor appointment. I’m sure I’m fine, but here I am at his insistence.
When my phone vibrates, I stand up and grab it out of my bag. There’s a text message from Arsen.
Arsen: I want you in the worst possible way. You’re the drug that offers me relief…that energizes me again…that soothes me…that delivers me sweet oblivion. You’re my drug of choice, Catherine. You’re my addiction. My euphoria.
I blush and recall the things he did to me last night with a bottle of champagne and the places he drank it from.
After Dr. Pajaree comes in and checks my br**sts for lumps, not finding anything but an enlarged lymph node, she tells me to meet her in her office once I’m dressed. I feel relieved because the small lump turned to be nothing, yet anxious because I think that she wants to ask me how I’m doing and about the magazine articles. How am I going to tell her that since she last saw us, Ben filed for divorce and that I’m currently living with a twenty four year old man?
Dressed, I make my way to her office. As soon as I’m sitting in front of her, I notice that she’s avoiding looking at me directly in the eyes. Worried that she found something, I’m about to ask her what the problem is when she interrupts me.
“Cathy. You’re pregnant.”
In a daze, I make my way to Arsen’s apartment. I can’t be pregnant again. I can’t. When the cab drops me off in front of Arsen’s building, I swear I see Ben’s black Maybach pulling away from the curb, but it’s not possible. I’m imagining things because of what I just found out, so I let it go and forget about it as I pay the cabdriver.
Fumbling with the keys to Arsen’s apartment door, I want to cry with happiness and apprehension. I grimace when I remember that I’m seven weeks into my pregnancy. Ben or Arsen could be the father.
When I step into the apartment, Arsen walks out the bedroom dressed in washed jeans and a light blue v-neck sweater. His blond hair is longer than usual. I’d mentioned that I love it long, so he’s letting it grow.
“Damn, Dimples, what the f**k did we do this morning?” he laughs, making his eyes sparkle with a devious light. “I mean, how could the sheets get that wet?”
He pulls me in for a hug, wrapping his hands around my waist and kissing my neck. There’s a desperation in his embrace that I haven’t felt coming from him since the day I left Ben.
“I missed you so f**king much,” he roughly whispers in my ear as he inhales my perfume. Moving his chest slightly away so we can look at each other, he brings a hand to cup my cheek. “I’m glad you’re home…Now, please tell me I’m a f**king psycho and there was nothing wrong.”
Oh.
How could I even begin to tell him what Dr. Pajaree found without scaring him? Will he freak out? I can’t believe it myself, and I’m still in shock. Is it even possible? I want to ignore the treacherous hope gathering in my chest, I want to smother it before it kills me again, but I can’t.
I can’t.
I can’t.
Upon leaving the office, my first instinct was to call Ben, but I decided I should write him an email instead. My chest tightens just thinking about the news and Ben. It’s not like it’s a big deal. Knowing my past history, this baby may never see the light of day. Would Ben even be interested?
Lost in thought, I hear Arsen talking, snapping me out of my trance. I focus my gaze on his face as questions swim in my head. I decide he needs to know. I swallow hard as I touch the base of my neck, preparing myself to deliver the best, and possibly the most painful, news in our short relationship.
“No, no. Um…uh…everything is okay. Arsen…I need to tell you something. Do you want to sit down?”
“What the hell is going on? You’re scaring me,” he whispers as he narrows his eyebrows.
“I’m pr—” I breathe once and finish the sentence, “I’m pregnant.”
Dumbfounded, he lets go of my arm and sits down on the floor, reclining his head and back against the wall.
Well, I guess that answers my question.
“Is that even possible?” he breathes. “I mean, not to sound like an as**ole but what are the chances of it even working out?”
Did he really just say that to me?
“I don’t know. Dr. Pajaree said that it happens…sometimes you just get pregnant without an explanation. I’m still considered very high risk. I think she was talking about a cream to help m—”