Raw

Not a minute passes before he releases my hands to grip my upper arms behind my back tightly. He murmurs, “Hold on, baby.”

And then it starts.

He pushes as deep as he can once, pulls out a little, then thrusts into me. White spots blur my vision.

Driving into me with a steady pace, all I can do is hold on as I’m ridden. I’m so confused by the sensations. It feels amazing. But then, everything with Twitch feels amazing.

The edge of the desk works my clit with every thrust, and almost out of nowhere, I feel myself tighten as my breath heaves. I clench around him and he groans, “Fuck, Angel. Do it. Let go.”

Unable to hold it any longer, I let go.

My body goes rigid and I feel as though I’m falling. Off the highest mountain. Into an ocean of pure ecstasy.

I pulse with every thrust, and bite my tongue to stop myself from crying out.

Just as quickly as it comes, it’s gone. I’m left limp, resenting the person I’m being ridden by.

How does he do it? I’m so easily manipulated by him.

Eyes stinging, I close my eyes tightly, embarrassed by my want of him. Crying silently into the desk, my anger rises.

Suddenly, he stills. Groaning, warmth fills my behind and I bite my lip to stop myself from sobbing.

A moment later, he gently pulls out of me, handing me a bunch of tissue. Without asking, I hold the tissue where I’m likely to drip from, and walk over to his personal bathroom, locking the door behind me.

Taking my time to clean myself, once finished, I lower the lid on the toilet and sit a while.

Sniffling, I dab at my eyes and wonder why this man is doing this to me. My life was good before I met him. Now it’s chaos. And what’s worse is I’m letting it happen.

My mind throws a word out to me that I bury deep.

And although I don’t want it to be true, I know in my heart that for some fucked up reason, I want Twitch, regardless of how damaged he is.

I came here today to find some form of clarity.

Sometimes, when you look close enough at a person hoping to find said clarity, the image of that person becomes so hazy, so distorted, that all you’re left with is unclear thoughts and more questions.

This is what happens when I try to understand Twitch.

There is little to no predictability with this man. I know he is damaged. I know he is complicated. But I can’t help but wonder what would happen to him if I deserted him. But that’s just a thought.

A stupid one.

I can’t leave him. I won’t leave him.

He needs me.

You need him.

He needs me more. And I’ll be there for him.

Nodding at my internal pep talk, I make my way out of the bathroom to find Twitch back behind his desk, typing away as if nothing happened. I open my mouth to speak, when he utters, “Like I said, I’m busy. Next time, make an appointment.”

I stand there in complete silence. My heart cracks.

Was I just dismissed?

The more I stand there, the more my anger builds. Just when I tell myself to turn, leave, and never come back, I shriek unexpectedly, “God, you are such a fuck up!”

“God, you are such a fuck up!”

My head snaps up, brows knitting. She pauses, panting, then, “And I hate myself for loving you.”

What did she just say?

Her lips quiver and she chokes out, “Because I can’t give up on you.”

A single tear trails down her cheek.

Hold up. Back up. What did she just say?

Lexi loves me? Since when?

Standing slowly, I make my way over to her, searching her tearful face. When we’re almost toe-to-toe, I lift my hand to brush her cheek. But she flinches.

And it guts me.

His hand comes up to cup my cheek.

“Don’t, babe. Don’t look at me like that. Not go

I don’t know why, but somehow, I already know this.

He adds on a whisper, “I’d kill anyone who tried.”

Immediately, I respond with, “I know.”

What I don’t add is, ‘And it scares the shit out of me.’

Twitch’s eyes peer down into mine; knowing what’s coming, I tilt my face up as he lowers his to mine and takes my lips in a demanding kiss.

And that kiss conveys so much more than words ever could.

I hate myself for loving this man.

Kissing Lexi with everything I have, I can almost feel her love flowing through me.

I feel drunk. Love drunk.

Placing my forehead on hers, I whisper, “You gotta promise to never leave me. I-I…you just gotta.”

Her response is, “You have to promise to try to love me back. What you’re doing to me…that’s not how you treat a person you love, Twitch.”

I’ve loved you since you were six.

Kissing her once more, I tell her without hesitation, “If you promise to never leave me, I will love you. And be good to you. I’ll treat you like a queen.”

My queen.

I heard somewhere that a king only bows down to his queen.

And I’m bowing down to Lexi.

My chest aches. I don’t know if I like this love thing.

She whispers the magic words, “I promise I won’t leave you.”

And just like that…

…Lexi became mine.

Sitting at my desk, back at work, I chew on the end of my pen and recall the rest of our conversation today. I should be working, but my mind is trained on one thing. Twitch. Our talk was short, but it felt like so much was put out there in such few words.

He kissed me again and again, then asked, “You’re mine? Just mine?”

And the way he asked, with such insecurity in his voice, was as if he didn’t know the answer to his questions. And it calmed me to know he was as uncertain about this as I was. His questions lacked his usual confidence and sounded almost juvenile. I told him honestly, “If you let me in and you promise to try, for me, then yes. I’m yours.”

Pulling back and looking down at me, his eyes crinkled in the corners. “So we’re doing this? You’re my girlfriend?”