Black by T.l Smith

“…no one has made me come like that in my life.” She breathes hard.
    “I need more,” I inform her while placing on another condom. Her head shakes back and forth.
    “I can't move.”
    I grab her hips and turn her around. “You don't need to move.”

    She’s passed out. I picked her up and placed her on the spare bed. When I woke the next morning, she wasn't there. All evidence of her was gone. I have mixed feelings, I don't want to be attached. But somehow I think that's impossible now. How do you not get attached to someone that implants themselves in you? She's an enigma. Once you see her, you're drawn in by her. It was ten years ago. She changed me, some may say for the good, some may say for the worse. Either way, I wouldn't change that day for anything.
    I'm going to have to tell her, going to have to tell her the real story. The one she doesn't know, the one that could make her hate me. The one that could make her want to kill me. You’d think a man in my position would be more afraid telling her what I do for work. But in actuality it’s what I did to her a few years ago that will shatter us before we’ve even begun.
     

 

    If you could say pure bliss, that's how I’ve felt for the last two weeks with Liam. I see him every day. He waits outside my work and he takes me back to his place and fucks me into oblivion every fucking day. We hardly talk, and if we do it’s me talking. I've learned that he doesn't like to speak, but he does like to listen. There's nothing wrong with that, I think it's just the way he’s always been—listening and watching what everyone does. No one’s really wanted to hear what he has had to say. So he just takes it all in measure. But when he does talk, I see glimpses of the man that he really is, and it's a beautiful sight to behold.
    I'm allowed to touch his neck, his face, and his hair. He hasn't let me ventured further, I’ve tried. But when I do, he pins my hands above my head and slams into me with such passion that I forget everything that’s happened. Touching where he can touch me any way he pleases. I don't believe I’m a weak woman, I believe I’ve been dealt a bad hand. I believe I thought I was in love at a young age and that when a man told me he loves me, I should believe it. That every word he spoke to me was true. But it wasn't, I was naïve, I was young, and I was definitely stupid.
    Liam is the opposite. He doesn't tell me he loves me, but he does say I'm beautiful. And I believe that, I believe every word that comes from his mouth. I'm not being naïve this time, I believe what he says is true. When he puts his time into someone, he puts his all.
    When I leave work, he’s standing outside his truck. His hands are tucked into his pockets, and as usual he has glasses covering his eyes. The black suit he always wears that fits him like a glove is covering his body. I get butterflies just from looking at him. I want to run to him and wrap my arms around his waist, but he won't let me. My hands are allowed to go around his neck now, and his around my waist, usually on my ass. I don't complain though. He gives me pieces, pieces I think he doesn't show anyone. Last night we were on the floor, both of us naked, both thoroughly fucked. He said something after I asked him about his walls, why they’re covered in graffiti. It's an odd thing to see, no one has walls like him, but then again no one is like Liam Black.
    “They take me back to a time, a time when I was young and met a beautiful girl on the darkest night of nights. We had an indescribable bond and I would graffiti things to her. And she would sit and watch me. It was probably the happiest time of my life.”
    I shed a tear when he said that that time was the happiest day of his life. The only way to remember was to paint the inside of his house later. I sleep on the couch when I'm at his. I haven't seen the inside of his room, he doesn't leave me until I'm fast asleep. He waits, waits until I