Authors: Xyla Turner
He pulled back from my mouth and murmured, “Your name.”
He did not ask.
“Why?”
His eyes were searing holes into me, but I would not buckle until he said something that warranted the right response.
“You know why.” He nipped at my upper lip.
Turning my head was futile because he already caught me.
“Name.”
“Lauren,” I replied. “Yours.”
“Zach.”
“Nice to meet you,” I tried to be formal, but he was having none of that, as he pressed me against the side of my truck in a hot sizzling kiss.
When he pulled away, letting my feet touch the ground, he said, “Nice to meet you too Lauren.”
He pulled out his phone from his back pocket, and then looked at me like I knew what he wanted without him articulating anything to me. This dude was from another planet.
“I’m not sure I want you to have my number.”
“Now,” he said, losing patience with me.
Exhaling, I give him the number, which he immediately calls. “Save my number.”
“Yeah, fine.”
Zach pulls me towards him, opens my car door and as I climb in, he pats me on the ass twice. “Until next time.”
Yeah, until never. This man was trouble with a capital T.
Spanking my ass
. The man had mirrors, ribbons, and handcuffs all in plain sight in his room. So not only was he a playboy sex machine, he was not ashamed about any of this. Man, I wonder what real_zhays would say if he even knew I entertained the idea of letting another man tie me up. Almost positive, I wrote something about hell freezing over before I’d ever let that happen.
After arriving home, I called Gab and told her exactly what happened at the restaurant. Apparently, Sheree got to her first because instead of Gab being appalled, she said, “Well, maybe she was just concerned about your health.”
Taking the phone away from my ear, my brows scrunched up, as I looked at the treacherous receiver in confusion. Did she actually just say that?
“Gabrielle, did you not hear what I just said, that bitch called me a gluttonous pig, among other things, threw water in my face and totally embarrassed me!” I exclaimed.
“That’s not how she tells the story, she said you verbally attacked her, before she even got her coat off. Said, you were pissed that the guy from last night didn’t want you and then when you saw her, you flipped.” She rushed out.
Was I in the
Twilight Zone
?
“Gab,” I exhaled, “Wow, I never would have thought you and I would be here, especially over something as petty as this. I’m going to say this and this will be my last conversation with you because clearly after three years of friendship, you do not know or care enough to know about me.”
“Laur -” She tried to interject.
“No, let me finish. Among the three of us, I would expect you to know that I do not pick fights with Sheree. Shit, I don’t ever get mad over one-night stands, and if it was so bad, I would have called you. I called her because we needed to talk. She was a complete bitch towards me the other day and on several other occasions. Then she was flirting with my date, who by the way, saved me from pummeling her ass. He was there and pulled me off of her after she lunged at me. You do not have to believe me, ask anyone in the damn restaurant. She is jealous of me and I have no idea why and when she saw that same guy from last night, holding me, she flipped her wig. So I will never hang out or talk with someone like that. I also will not be hanging or talking with you because if you really knew me, like you should, you’d know I don’t even get down like that. I don’t lie, I don’t exaggerate. The last physical altercation I had been in, was as a teenager. What the fuck do I look like fighting in a sports bar? So you and Sheree continue to bust it up, but do not call me when she goes psycho bitch on you.” I put the phone back on the charger to officially end the call and hopped in the shower.
Gab could kick fucking rocks.
The past few days have been a damn roller coaster. I have gone from having two friends to none.
Zach
:
The woman had a fight in a bar and left without a scratch, just some wet clothes. I clocked her as soon as she walked in, shit; I even saw when her friend came in. One thing about Bowie, it is big and small enough to run into the same sort of people. I had no clue I would see her in a sports bar since she did not seem overly interested in the Sports Channel last night. The only other reason she could be here was the food or she knew someone here. It had better be the food, which was top notch, and all I could handle at that time.
Her mood seemed somber when she entered the well-attended bar, but I did not want to alert her to my presence until she was leaving. That’s when I planned to corner her about sneaking out this morning. Part of me was concerned that she was afraid after I nearly smothered her. The other part of me tried not to care why she left, as this was the purpose of a one-night stand, no names, no attachments, just do the deed and keep it moving. There was definitely a desire to get in her again; I should not be overly concerned about why she left. She had trouble written all over her and at this point in my life, I didn’t need more of that.
Yasmine was already threatening to expose my face to the media, but it was an idle threat because she knew what I had on her. In addition, she signed a non-disclosure agreement, courtesy of Jeffrey, my lawyer. She did not even blink when Jeffrey gave it to her. She merely signed it, like she had done this before or maybe she thought I was her ticket out of whatever hell she was buried in. Amazing how some women could hear something entirely different than what was being said and displayed. There was no hidden message in being a fuck buddy. We would have sex when I felt like having it. No more, no less.
Lauren would need to sign one if I had to reveal who I was to her and with the way I was feeling about her. I would need to get Jeffrey on that now. It was not clear to me what turned me on more, the fact that she nonchalantly reached over and pounded that bitch’s head in, or how she redirected her lunge, like a Jedi master. There was no doubt, she could handle herself, and it was sexy as shit. I would never admit, I could have stopped the fight before it started. The blonde had it coming. Little did I know, Lauren would execute it like a professional. She was definitely my kind of woman.
Although I was proud of her at that moment, I was equally frustrated because that meant in a three-day span she was getting under my skin. The first night, when she openly watched Yasmine and me. The second, when she did exactly as I instructed, came all over my fingers, took me deep and gave it to me rough right back. And now today, methodically handling herself in a way any man would be proud. Any army man that is. Civilians might be turned off by that, but the guys in my platoon would have fought me over her no questions asked. I could hear Tank now, “I will beat yo motherfuckin’ ass if you don’t snatch that up.”
Rest in peace, man.
Blinking away the memory, the loss of my family, my platoon, and whatever heart I had left would be my demise. The mandatory therapy helped to give me coping skills to deal with that loss. Writing was a method that came from therapy, as well as the study of BDSM. My therapist, Susan, thought that if I explored the practice, I could incorporate ways to manage my controlling tendencies. Turns out, this was excellent research for my books, but I did not engage fully in the lifestyle as I was not determined to be called Master, as much as I would be one in the bedroom. Susan was still attempting to get me to explore it more in depth, as she felt it would open me up to the kinds of people that would be able to handle me. My diagnosis was not PTSD, but undeniable guilt.
After I had watched Lauren drive off in her sweet, gold-tinted Land Rover, I went back into Sal’s. The owner, Rafael, was giving Lauren’s friend all sorts of hell. Made her pay for the food and tip the waitress for the damage that needed to be cleaned up, including her blood. Every patron in the bar had eyes on this. After she had cussed out everybody, she stormed out, so I held the door for her.
“What the fuck are you looking at huh?” She sneered.
She really was sad.
“You could have had someone like me. What does she have that I don’t?”
I shook my head, “Let it go. You don’t deserve to be a pimple on her ass. She was doing you a favor by giving you some light because all you are is toxic. Fuck out of here with your shit.”
“Fuck you and your fat bitch,” She snapped back.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that, I will. Get a fucking clue! You are lost bitch. Go find yourself.” With that, I shut Sal’s door and left her on the sidewalk, screaming about something.
The football, basketball, and hockey games were all playing at Sal’s, but my mind was on Lauren. A woman sidled up to me, asking if she could buy me a drink. She was pretty, but too skinny. My bedroom manners needed someone who could take a hard thrust and keep on ticking.
“No.” I held up my half empty drink and saluted it to her.
She scoffed and walked off. Okay, no one ever said I’d receive an award for my personality, but it was to the point. My father was a nasty son of a bitch too, just ask my mother, Carol Hughs. That was another reason why on the day of my 18th birthday, I hightailed it to the recruiter’s office in Charlotte, North Carolina. I was known around town as the Hugh’s boy because Ma made it a point to know everyone around town. We lived in a small house that she inherited from her mother and almost lost seven times because she did not pay taxes. She kept a job working at the box factory for thirty years, but she was a mean and nasty drunk. She did not hit me or physically abuse me, but she talked so badly about my father, that it would make a rattlesnake fall back. I never met the man, though everybody in town thought the Sheriff might have been him. He was married, but that never meant a thing to Ma. She did not care too much for the man or the police force for that matter, but nobody on the force messed with her or me, so it stayed like that. If he was, he never stepped up to say so, which meant I didn’t have one. Carol Hugh’s did not have another child because she said I was more than enough and she meant that in a bad way.
While in the army, my mom wrote a letter cussing me out after the first time I sent her money to cover some bills. I always send her money, every month like clockwork. She cashes the check, but never calls and neither do I. There is no love lost between us and that was fine, especially when I had my brothers. Now they all were gone, so there was just me again and their memories. Annually, I attended a memorial and would hang out with some of their family members, but that was the extent of my contact with them. Initially, I had a hard time dealing with the guilt. Moving to Maryland was the best drunk decision I had made in county lock up. The Sheriff of all people was giving me ‘a talking to’ about sobriety. It was not the ‘talking to,’ it was more of an accusation that I slugged him for. He said, I was turning into my drunken mother.
Pop. Right across the eye, even in my drunken state, I hit my target. The man did not even retaliate, fine, or charge me. He looked at me and said, “Get your shit together young man, before it gets you.”
I yelled after him, “Fuck you, Sheriff, you won’t have to worry about me, I’m moving to Maryland,” I shouted my parting and last words to him.
That was seven years ago. Why Maryland? I guess it was because Tank was from here. He and I were the closest of the five. He grew up in Suitland, which was a bad neighborhood at the time. Initially, he and I did not hit it off too well. He kept calling me white boy, so I called him red boy because he was light-skinned. We got into a fight, our commanding officer made us bunk, which led to talking. To this day, the officer said he knew we would be good friends because once Tank realized even though he was black and from Suitland and I was white and from Charlotte, we had very similar backgrounds. We were inseparable ever since. Tank introduced me to his crew, Shark, Tub, and Laser. My introduction included, ‘he’s white, but he’s cool.’ Apparently, that was all they needed, and we were a crew from that day on.
Occasionally, I’d get some grief from the other guys, white and black about being the only white guy in our crew - but they never pushed too hard. Some days, I thought it was my fighting skills, as I would often participate in the underground fight ring that ran in different cities. I was good, shit I had to be to survive Charlotte and my first 90 days in training. Other days, I figured it was because Shark was crazy and nobody wanted that heat. The man had been on probation so many times, but he was loyal and sold out to the army. That could not be denied.
Those days were over now.
******
After arriving at my home, I logged onto my computer and went to visit my favorite site that I love to hate. I must have spooked MzJames because she would not allow me to PM her anymore and no longer responded to my posts. There were no pictures of her anywhere. How she was nationally recognized and there was no picture of her? I knew she was on the East Coast, but that was all. Tomorrow, I would have Jeffrey do some research on her. For the past five years, she had written bad reviews for every single book that I’ve released. Now that she has so many followers, they were all on board with her ideas. She was not the only one, there was a group of critics that wrote bad reviews about my books. Her last review, however, seemed so personal that I thought maybe she was an old lover that was trying to break the non-disclosure and hide behind journalism. I would be sure to find out. In the meantime, I posted a message on my website blog about her, since we were playing that game.
MzJames, as an author, it takes a tremendous amount of time, energy, and resources to write a book. You keep referring to yourself as a journalist, but you do not respect my craft or genre. Yet, you attempt to demand that I respect yours. This is the definition of a coward, according to Webster: A person who lacks the courage to do or endure dangerous or unpleasant things. I have asked you to speak with me, tried to private messaged you, and you have shied away from unpleasant things. You lack courage, and that is something that I cannot respect.
Challenge: You speak with me or I will start a counterattack on your work as you have on mine.
Real_zhays
******
Monday morning came and went, which meant that I needed to get ready for work. I worked in Aberdeen on the army base, but not during regular hours. I did not even keep hours, just projects, as I had the combat and computer experience that was valuable to the army in their training facility. This annual salary on top of my writing proceeds put me ahead of the game, which mostly went towards savings and my retirement plan. My townhouse and truck were paid off, so I had no real debt. While I liked having the flexibility to write and work when I wanted, I also liked to keep to some sort of regiment. Probably the army in me, but I would always visit the base Monday, Tuesday and Thursdays from 12:00 PM - 5:00 PM. My mornings were spent writing, and on my off days, I took care of other business like publishing, marketing or signings.
As I left work, I called Lauren because she was on mind all day. She answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello.”
“Lauren.” I said.
“Zach.” She mimicked my tone.
This woman.
“Where do you live?”
“In Bowie,” she responded.
“The address, Lauren.”
“What do you need my address for?”
“Your address, Lauren.”
“I don’t give people my address, Zach. Sorry.”
“Are you going to have me ask again?”
“That’s the thing about you, you never ask. You just command or demand, like I should bow before you.”
“You already did that.” I decided to point out.
“Really, Zach, this is what gets you off.”
“No, you get me off, now give me your address,” I inhaled. “Now.”
“So damn bossy,” she exclaimed, but then she gave me her address.
She was in a sleek condo near downtown Bowie, about ten minutes from my place, 15 minutes from The Em and only five minutes from Sal’s.
Very convenient.
Knocking on the door, I rest my hands on the landing above the frame. Standing at 6’6, I do not have to be intimidating, but, in this case, I chose to be. The woman was feisty and fucking unraveling me. I did not visit women, I did not call them. They usually came to me, or I met up with them at a mutual venue. She was taking me out of my comfort zone, which had put me on edge.
Lauren slowly opened the door, standing there with white sweat capris, a loose fitting shirt, hanging off one shoulder, socks and her afro in two ponytails. Her smile was contagious, but I inwardly smiled back at her.
“Good evening, Zach. What brings you here?” She stood in the doorway, with it cracked enough to just see her body.
She was not inviting me in, so I assume this was her way of teaching me a lesson in asking for permission. Lifting one side of my mouth up at her, I push the door open with my left hand, grabbed her around her waist with my right hand to put her against the wall.
“You were saying?” I murmured against her lips, before I took them.
Her body melted right in my arms, as I lifted her, so she could wrap her legs around my waist. The front door was still open, but I kept kissing her, nipping her lips, waiting for her to give me entry so I could take her mouth fully. I kissed her jaw, her neckline and back up to her face, where her mouth was parted and I entered. At first she sucked on my tongue like a good girl, then she attempted to stick her tongue in my mouth. A constant whistling interrupted us and she froze.