Bang by Kendall Grey

Author:Kendall Grey [Grey, Kendall]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Howling Mad Press
Published: 2017-10-16T16:00:00+00:00

After-Apathy

Lying beside me, Lizzie bunches a thick wad of red hair on top of her head and stares at the ceiling. Her breaths churn in and out like butter, soft and smooth. Rich.

“You look like you could use a cigarette,” I joke. This would be the perfect moment for a kiss. Have we even done that? I’m too dazed to remember. But I’d like to do that.

She sits up, her perky breasts bouncing with the vertical jolt. God, those tits were made for my mouth. And the smattering of faint freckles across her chest need a thorough tongue bath. She bounds off the bed, trim hips swaying as she heads to the purse she threw onto the bar when we got here, either hours or minutes ago. My sense of time has melted into oblivion, along with the rest of me.

After rifling through her bag, Lizzie produces a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Though this is a nonsmoking hotel, like pretty much every hotel in the whole goddamn world these days, I doubt she cares much about the rules. She can afford to pay cleaning fees, if Banging Betties’ several hundred thousand Facebook fans are any indication.

Yeah, I checked after Dodge called. Just Breathe has close to a million. I’m confident in my decision to keep Killer Buzz Float right where they are tour-wise, but Lizzie’s testing my resolve with the barbs she dug into my skin. If I were a lesser woman who let emotions rule, I might give in and paint a pretty picture for KBF with Betty-inspired crayons of greener grass on the other side.

Lizzie grabs a nearly empty water bottle and sets it on the small round table beside a thickly cushioned burgundy chair. She sits, tosses its extra pillows to the floor, and draws a knee up. Her glistening pussy taunts me as if to motion me over. I lick my lips. In the lamplight, she glows like an eerie ghost when she rips the flint on the lighter and kisses it to the cigarette’s butt end. She inhales. Exhales a gray stream of smoke. My nostrils twitch. God, I love that smell.

Lizzie stares out the dark window to the city lights below us. She hasn’t said a word since we finished.

“Do you want me to go?” I ask, afraid of her answer.

She deigns to glance my way and shrugs.

She shrugs.

A blast of pain rockets through me—one I simply cannot weather in a moment that should be filled with tenderness.

Rejection.

I thought aftercare was an important part of submission. That’s what Miles and Toombs told me. Surely, they know about these things. Maybe Lizzie doesn’t.

Or maybe it’s not her way.

But I need it. I need her to hold me in the aftermath of all that transpired. My mind darts in too many directions. My body physically hurts, but my raw emotions flare under the deep cuts she inflicted with that simple flick of her shoulders.

I do not cry. Ever. But I do feel. And Lizzie’s apathy eviscerates me.

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