Black Thorns (Thorns Duet #2) by Rina Kent

My weight falls on her back as she sags against the wall. I don’t release her, my hand still lost in her hair and my dick pulsing inside her.

Our harsh pants and the smell of sex fill the air. It’s potent and familiar.

Just like when we used to remain in each other’s embrace in the past.

But we’re not in the past.

Gradually, the outside world filters back in. The music. The chatter.

Reality.

I slide out of her and take my time watching the line of my cum dripping down her inner thigh to her ankle. It’s one of my favorite sights—a sign of my ownership over her body. That cum means she belongs to me and not anyone else.

My vision darkens. Even though I just finishing fucking the living daylights out of her, it’s not enough to ward off the anger.

The rage.

The fucking reality.

I let her go and tuck myself in.

Naomi slowly turns around and pulls her underwear up. Even though I’m focused on buckling my belt, I can make out her hesitancy. I don’t have to see it to feel it.

I’m that fucking attuned to this damn woman.

And I hate it.

I want to fucking punish her for it.

She reaches a hand for me, her palm cradling my cheek as she goes up on her toes and seals her lips to mine. They’re soft and tentative yet full and damning.

Just like seven years ago.

Only, she’s not the same Naomi from seven fucking years ago.

I grab her by a fistful of her hair and yank her back, causing her to cry out.

“Why the fuck do you think you have the right to kiss me?”

She trembles in my hold and I shove her away before I change my mind and devour her lips and then conquer her mouth.

Before I kidnap her the fuck out of here so we’re no longer in this reality.

But even that won’t drive away the rage.

Even that won’t be enough.

A piercing sob echoes in the air, and just like that, Naomi slides to the ground, pulling her knees to her chest.

Her palms hide her face as she flat out starts bawling. There’s no other word to describe how her raw cries fill the air.

I’ve never seen her break down like this, not even in that fucking cell.

My gut twists and a feeling I never wanted to have again rushes to the surface.

Concern.

The fucking need to hold and console her. To wipe away her tears and tell her it’ll all be okay.

But that would be a fucking lie.

We’re not okay.

And never will be.

Still, I can’t force myself to move as her hollow, haunted sobs fill my ears. They’re different from when she’s orgasming or enjoying the lash of pain.

These are for another type of pain.

They’re emotional.

I reach a hand out toward her head, wanting to touch her, wanting to just…be there for her.

But she’s never been there for you.

I pull it back, jaw flexing. “Come to my apartment tomorrow.”

Her sniffles pause as she looks up at me through teary eyes. “Why?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll tell your husband about this.”

Then I turn around and leave, her fresh cries following behind me.

I close the door and remain there, making sure no one else hears or sees her this way.

Broken.

Vulnerable.

Desperate.

I should feel triumph, but all that lurks in my bones is resounding fucking defeat.





30





Akira





Dear Yuki-Onna,



You need to stop visiting me in my dreams. It used to be new and fun; now it’s just annoying.

And creepy.

You keep touching me, giving me blowjobs, and taking my dick to the highest levels of heaven just to drop him back in hell.

That’s not cool. At all.

It’s just torturous at this point.

You already dropped me out of your life, so how about you disappear, huh? Or, here’s a better idea, you can come back, explain yourself, and then fuck off.

Do I sound desperate? That’s because I probably am.

I don’t like you molesting me in my sleep and making me wake up with a hard-on that I have to fuck the mattress to get rid of.

I certainly dislike the way your fucking eyes look at me while you swallow my cum, as if you’re inviting me to a different place that I can’t find because you fucking disappeared.

What I hate the most, however, is that I can’t touch you. No matter how much I try to, you just vanish and haul me out of an uncomfortable sleep into an even worse reality.

Why show up when you never actually intended to stay?

Is this your invisible middle finger because you know I won’t be able to flip it back?

In that case, fuck you very much, Naomi. And, no, I’m not bitter or enraged or fucking dramatic.

I just want to sleep at night without obsessing about how I will come down your throat when you visit at night or how I will attempt to stay in that fucking imaginary world.

I just want you to go.

So do us both a favor and leave me alone.

Or at least stay after you exorcise my soul through my fucking dick.



You’ll never read this, but I’ll still sign it with as little love as possible and with the right amount of hate,

Akira





31





Naomi