Page 31

31

Raya

The buzzing of the gun fills the small room, a low, droning sound that vibrates through my spine.

This place is weird. The walls are painted black, the lights are all way too bright, and the workers are all young and alternative looking—heads shaved on the sides, septum piercings, unnatural hair colors, Doc Martens as far as the eye can see.

But everybody’s so sweet. This is my first tattoo, and I’m super nervous, but they really put me at ease. Marlie, my tattoo artist, gave me a book of designs to look through, but I didn’t need it. I already had a pretty good idea of what I wanted when I got here.

Now, I’m facedown on the table, the sharp sting of the needle biting into my skin. It’s oddly satisfying. Reminds me of when I used to cut myself. It’s a pain I chose. A pain I control. That makes it special.

I watch in the mirror as Marlie works, admiring her focus and the way she keeps her gloved hands steady as she executes my vision.

An A, elegant and slanted, with a small heart nestled beneath it. The way it looks—exactly like the Ace of Hearts playing card—makes my lips curl into a slow smile.

It’s perfect.

“Halfway there,” she says, wiping excess ink away. “Sure you wanna keep going? It’s permanent.”

I chuckle at that.

So is my man.

“I’m positive,” I say.

She nods, dipping the needle back into the ink. The pain flares again, but I don’t flinch. I lean into it, loving the way the needle cuts through the chaos in my head, grounding me.

Ace will love it when he sees it.

It’s been eight days since he left me, but he’ll be back. I know it as sure as I know my own name.

When Marlie finishes and hands me a mirror, I angle it to check out her finished work. My tramp stamp sits perfectly on my lower back, exactly where I wanted it.

By the time I get home, the stinging has lessened a bit. Now it’s just an occasional nagging twinge. I have my instructions. I know what to do. In just a couple of weeks, it will be ready for me to reveal it to Ace.

That should be a fun night.

Faith is in Daddy’s room when I enter, scrolling through something on her phone. He’s in the window, like always.

“Hey,” I say. “How’d it go today?”

I don’t care, really, but I’m going somewhere with this.

“It was fine,” she says with a smile. She’s such a sweet girl. “How was your day?”

I sit on the edge of the bed. “The usual. Listen, I wanted to ask you something.”

She puts her phone in the pocket of her scrubs.

“How many other clients do you have right now?”

She frowns slightly, caught off guard. “Um…just a few. Why?”

I pretend to think about it. “Well, I’m wondering if you’d be okay if we had to let you go.”

The air in the room shifts.

Faith blinks, looking between me and Daddy. “Let me go…permanently?”

Daddy’s head turns toward us. Full attention now. A small, strangled sound gurgles in his throat. It’s faint, almost imperceptible, but I hear it. I notice the way his eyes dart between me and Faith, his fingers gripping the arms of his wheelchair.

The fear in his eyes sends a warm sensation through me.

“I’m not sure yet,” I say. “I’m only asking because I may be moving.”

Faith’s sad eyes make me feel bad. Kind of.

“I’d give you plenty of notice,” I add.

“So it’s not a sure thing?”

I shake my head. “But you’ll be the first to know. I promise.”

Daddy’s breathing has gone shallow, his shoulders hunched, his knuckles white. Oh, he’s terrified.

Good.

My hot shower had to be warm tonight. I’m tough, but I have my limits. The film over my tattoo did nothing to lessen the discomfort.

Now, I’m on my side in bed. The house is quiet. Too quiet. I pick up my phone and navigate to Ace’s Instagram. He blocked me on my real account, so I go back to the burner account he never knew was me.

No new posts since a few days before he left me.

I’m torn. On the one hand, good. Suffer. On the other, I want my fix.

I have no choice but to stare intently at my wallpaper of him in the pool, drifting off to sleep with him on the pillow next to me.

It’s dark when I wake up. I’m not sure how much time has passed. Something woke me, but I don’t know what. My ears perk, but there’s only silence.

Then—

Creeeeeak.

My stomach drops.

The sound is distant and outside my door, but I know exactly what it is. The stairs .

My breath catches in my throat.

For a moment, I’m not here. I’m younger, small and afraid, curled up in bed with my dolls as I hear the same slow, deliberate creaking. My body locks up, heart hammering in my chest, fingers curling into the sheets.

The creaks get louder.

The footsteps move closer.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t move.

I’m shaking so much, my blanket is vibrating.

And then my bedroom door swings in.

I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. Only air.

I can’t look.

But I have to.

Only two streetlights work on my block, and one of them sits outside my window. Its light illuminates the man standing in my doorway.

And I’m stunned.

It’s Ace. Dressed in all black.

My stomach twists. A tidal wave of emotions surges over me—relief, confusion, anger, and want, all tangled into knots so tight, I can’t separate them.

“What are you doing here?” I manage, my voice barely cracking a whisper.

He steps inside, closing the door behind him.

“Ace—“

“Shut up.”

Something inside me shifts.

The command ripples through my body and lands between my legs, sharp and pulsing.

He’s in shadow now, outside of the ray of light, and it feels fitting for him to be shrouded in darkness. This, what he’s doing, is not like him. This is someone else.

I swallow hard, sitting up slowly. “Baby—“

“I said shut the fuck up.”

The roughness in his voice makes my breath hitch. He stalks toward me, and I shrink backwards, flinching when my back hits the headboard, irritating the Ace on my skin.

He yanks the covers off me. “Take that off.”

I don’t understand what’s happening, so I hesitate, waiting for him to say something that makes sense.

But all he says is, “Now.”

A shiver rolls through me.

I stand, moving slowly. Deliberately. My fingers trail over the hem of my tank top before lifting it over my head. The cool central air hits my skin, tightening my nipples.

His gaze drops, tracking my every movement. His breathing gets heavier.

This feels wrong, but also very right.

I slide my pajama shorts down next, letting them pool at my feet before stepping out of them. I stand there in my panties, watching him, waiting.

My eyes have adjusted. I can see his face clearly now. The wild, unrestrained look in his eyes. The set of his jaw. His fists clenched at his sides.

Then he’s on me.

His hand clamps over my mouth as he pushes me backward onto the bed, and I'm grateful it doesn't smell like Palmolive. A muffled moan escapes my throat as his weight bares down on me. His other hand trails down my body, rough and possessive.

“This what you wanted?” he growls in my ear. “You turned on yet?”

That’s the moment my words come back to me and I remember how smug I was. How I downplayed his feelings.

I brought this on myself.

I deserve it.

I whimper against his palm, desperate to free myself, to regain control. His fingers tuck into the side of my panties, finding my clit, and I lift my hips, arching to chase the pleasure.

He sucks in a breath. Leans down. Scrapes his teeth across my neck. Then, a ripping sound.

He’s torn my panties off.

“Turn over,” he orders. “And don’t say shit.”

My mouth is free, but my lips are numb from the prolonged pressure. I’m disoriented, but turned on, ready for whatever he wants, however he wants to teach me this lesson. But I’m confused. This doesn’t feel like Ace to me.

Nevertheless, I do what he says.

He puts a firm hand on my upper back, stilling me. The other hand brushes my lower back.

“What the fuck…” He runs a light finger over my tattoo, almost like he doesn’t believe his eyes. His breathing turns ragged.

“Is this real?”

I nod.

He exhales sharply, mumbling, "Crazy bitch.”

I hear clothes rustling. I feel movement. The bed shifts, then his knee presses between my thighs, forcing them apart. My breath catches as I sink into the mattress, waiting. His hand is on my back, fingers spread wide around my new tattoo. His touch is heavy and hot, searing my skin just like the ink beneath it.

“So you marked yourself for me,” he mutters, tracing the heart beneath the A. “Sick in the head, you know that?”

His words are cutting, but his voice is thick with desire.

My stomach flips.

I knew he would love it.

His weight shifts behind me, and then *whap!*

A sharp slap stings my ass, branding me with his emotions. I cry out, my back arching on instinct, but his hand finds my nape and presses me back down.

“I told you to shut the fuck up.”

I bite down on my lip, nodding into the pillow as wetness pools between my thighs, slippery and hot.

Two fingers spread my cheeks, then slide through the mess I’ve made of myself.

“Jesus,” he whispers, and I don’t think he meant to say that out loud. “It don’t matter what I say or what I do. You gone, ain’t you?”

Yes, you stupid motherfucker!

Ugh. He’s finally beginning to understand the gravity of the situation, here. I’m nuttier than squirrel shit over him.

His fingers press inside me, curling, stretching me open. My body clenches hard around him, trying to keep him there, but he teases me, pulling out, pressing back in, no rhyme or reason, just doing whatever.

I wanna beg, but he didn’t give me permission.

Instead, I whimper against the pillow, trying not to move too much. Trying not to displease him.

His fingers disappear, and now I’m empty.

I wait in the silent stillness, turned on and anxious. His body shifts behind me like he’s reaching for something, but I don’t dare look.

I hear him spit just half a second before something warm and wet hits my asshole. I barely have time to suck in a breath before there’s something pushing against it, something hard.

I close my eyes, grit my teeth, and brace for the getback. I earned it.

He presses it inside, slow but relentless, filling me inch by inch. I tighten around it, heat rolling through me in waves, my hands curling into fists, legs trembling in an effort to keep still.

It hurts so good.

“Stay just like that,” he says. “Don’t fucking move.”

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

When his dick enters me, I nearly fold.

I blow out a breath, my whole body trembling now. He’s filled both holes, and now I’m at his mercy.

When the first stroke hits me, my eyes roll back, my mouth drops open, and my whole body clenches. The pressure, the fullness, the intensity—it’s too much. I can’t help it…I moan quietly.

“I told you to shut the fuck up.”

I love this.

Why do I love this so much?

My eyes squeeze shut. I have to force myself not to move with him. It’s exquisite torture. So good.

“Yeah,” he says. “Take this fuckin’ dick.”

My hands fist the sheets.

“Pussy so fuckin’ good. I love the way she swallows this fat dick.”

I choke back a moan.

“Yeah, you know better,” he taunts. “This is what you wanted. I’ma slut your ass out tonight.”

His strokes are rough and fast, his breaths ragged.

“And don’t think this means something,” he grits. “It don’t mean shit. It’s just a nut to me.”

My head drops as I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering how I’m gonna make it.

“It’s gon’ be a fat one, too. This wet ass pussy. You hear that shit?”

I do.

I hear every stroke.

“That little pussy love this dick, don’t it?”

I say nothing, and he chuckles.

“You love me, Raya?”

My eyes fly open. It’s the first time he’s said my name tonight. The first time I’m a real person to him. First time he’s said the word love to me, even if it’s just to ask me a question.

“Open your fucking mouth.”

“Yes,” I rush out.

“Yeah.” He relaxes his pace, slow stroking me in a way that feels romantic. “Say it,” he moans. “Tell me you love me, baby.”

My heart swells.

So does my pussy.

He feels it, I can tell by the way his stroke stutters.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“Louder,” he demands.

“ I love you .”

“Yeah. Now say my fucking name.”

“ Ace . I love you, Ace.”

He stills his body, leaning over to get close to my ear, his lips grazing the shell when he says, “I don’t love you .”

Then he starts again, stroking me so hard, his balls slap against my skin.

“Only thing I love is this pussy,” he grits out. “This shit so good. Goddamn.”

I moan, feeling safe to do so, but I should have known better. I didn’t have permission.

His hand is on my nape again, pressing my face into the pillow.

“I ain’t gon’ say it again,” he says. “Shut the fuck up and take this dick.”

Pleasure surges through my nerve endings. I’m so full—of him, of whatever he put inside me, of his love. My body climbs toward its peak while I swallow my screams.

“Yeah, I feel that.” The sound of our skin slapping together echoes through the room. Wet. Obscene. Sexy as fuck.

“You bout to cum on this dick.”

His fingers touch my head, gather my hair, and jerk my head back so hard, my scalp burns. His grip forces me into a deeper arch, holding me taut and rigid. His for the taking. His to use. No escape.

Nobody is coming to save me.

A tear rolls down my cheek. I’ve never felt so good in my life. The mattress squeaks in agreement beneath us. The headboard knocks a steady rhythm of encouragement against the wall.

I’m unraveling fast.

“Yeah, take this dick. Take this fat fucking dick.” His voice is rough and gravelly, each word hitting me hard and deep. “You my little slut tonight.”

A deep, strangled moan rises in my throat.

“Yeah, don’t make me wait for this shit. Cum. Now.” He drives into me harder, pounding me into obedience. “Cum on this dick. That’s all you good for. Wet me up. Soak my shit. I’m ready, baby. I’m ready. Bust that nut for me.”

My toes curl until they crack, my body coiling tight until I’m ready to snap. But I don’t want this to end.

“You was talkin’ big shit on them videos, huh?” He pounds into me again, harder. “Where’s all that shit now? Out here following me, pullin’ up on my people, tattooin’ a nigga’s name. All that for this dick, huh?”

Yeah.

Kind of.

“You ain’t shit. You know that?”

I nod, clenching at the sound of his low chuckle.

He pulls out, leaving my pussy empty, then slams back in, causing a collision that sends heat licking up my spine. I’m close, so close, but I can’t let go. Letting go means letting him go.

He releases my hair, his fingers nudging my head away like he’s tossing something useless in the trash can.

“Ahhh… fuuuuck …” His groan is low and rough and reluctant, like it’s being torn from the depths of his soul. “I wish you could see the way you creamin’ on this dick, Raya.”

I almost moan at the thought.

I’m not gonna last much longer.

“Pussy so fuckin’ good. Too bad you ain’t shit.”

I nod again, clenching when I feel his fingers on my clit. Just a few flicks, then he drags them through my folds.

“Open your mouth.”

I barely get my lips parted when he jams his fingers in.

“Suck.”

I do. Of course I do.

He groans, his rhythm faltering just slightly.

“Yeah, suck on that shit, baby. Taste that sweet pussy. Your shit taste like honey.”

I fellate his fingers, dragging my tongue over the pads of them, desperate to please him, to secure his approval. I need it like I need the air I breathe.

“I know you’re holding back,” he says, dark and sinister. “Don’t piss me off.”

I suck harder.

“I told your crazy ass to cum on this dick. Cum on this fucking dick, Raya.”

I whimper, squeezing my eyes shut, feeling every inch of him, every inch of that thing, filled completely by the unbearable pressure. It’s too much. Too perfect.

My vision blurs as the pleasure coils in my belly, deep and unyielding. My body teeters on the edge, so precarious. So close. So…

He slaps my back, right on my tattoo, and I scream as the sting pushes me over. The orgasm consumes me like a tidal wave, pulling me under, dragging me down into pure, unadulterated ecstasy. Everything is cumming, clenching and pulsing and seizing. I can’t control it. I can only ride the wave.

“That’s it,” he says, his voice strained. “There go my pussy. There she go. That shit feels so good, baby. Let it all out. Cum all over this dick.” He rubs a finger across Ace. “My fucking pussy. Gimme all that. That’s mine, baby. That’s mine.”

I feel him stiffen behind me. His breath hitches. He grips my hips so hard, I feel the bruises gathering already.

Then he follows me under.

His hips jerk, his whole body shaking as he slams into me as deep as he can go, holding me in place as he empties himself inside me.

Well, then.

For a few moments, he doesn’t move. I don’t move. He’s looming over me, still buried in me, still holding onto me like he doesn’t wanna let me go.

But he does.

He pulls himself out. Pulls the toy out. The bed shifts as he stands, leaving me empty, alone, and wrecked.

I’m still trembling. Still gasping for breath. He stands over me, quiet. When I finally muster the courage to look up at him, I see something I’ve never seen on his face before.

Disgust.