Page 103 of Parrish

Chapter Thirty-three

Jack Parrish

Someone pounding on my front door forces my eyes open. Rubbing my hands over my face, I try to make sense of my surroundings and will myself to lift my pulsing head from the couch.

“Fuck,” I growl as I move my fingers towards my temples. Massaging my head, I spot the culprit behind my headache out of the corner of my eye.

Sitting on the coffee table lies an empty bottle of scotch.

I hit old Johnny hard after I returned from the hospital. It wasn’t my intention to get inebriated. I came home, took a shower and made my way towards my bedroom, laid in the bed I shared with my wife and lost my fucking shit. With her scent on our sheets, I wrapped my hand around my aching cock and envisioned her face.

Before I shared all the dark days of our marriage with her, Reina shared her smart mouth with me. It was all the ammunition my neglected cock needed and instantly I started thinking about ripping that ridiculous hospital gown off her body and fucking her until one of us cried out for mercy. Maybe she’d fucking remember who she was if she had my cock shoved deep inside her cunt.

It might jog a memory or two.

Thinking about it now, I probably should’ve gone that route instead of the one I took. But I was done playing that fucking game of truth and lies. As much as I wanted my wife back, I knew I was a man living on borrowed time and nothing scared me more than the thought that Reina might remember all the bad before she remembered the beautiful. I didn’t want her to hate me for all the ways I wronged. I wanted her to know all the ways I loved her, all the ways she made my life worthwhile, and I wanted her to fucking hang on to that.

I wanted her to hang onto me.

So, I ignored the yield from my maker when she told me I was digging my own grave, and I laid our truth at Reina’s feet.

All our battle wounds.

All our fucking scars.

I gave her everything and then I prayed our love was as strong as I believed it was.

That it had the power to conquer all.

That it fights in the dark and burns in the light.

With every harsh truth I gave her there were tears, there was shock too and I’m fairly certain both our hearts broke a little more last night. But what there wasn’t was hate. When I was finished laying every bit of ugly between us, I stared into her eyes and she was still Reina. She was hurt and I’m sure she was disappointed too but there was a flicker of light in her brown eyes.

She was still my sunshine.

But she wasn’t.

Not really.

To her I was still a stranger, a man a piece of paper and gold band bound her to. A fucking monster who shit on her happily ever after. While my mind knew that, the rest of me didn’t and if I stayed there with her, I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself. I was a starving man who would do just about anything to have his wife put her hands on him, branding me in a way only she can.

Instead of treating myself to a slow death, I left Reina with the truth and came home to our empty house.

To our empty bed.

I fisted my cock and jerked it to the memory of us. All the nights we spent tangled in the sheets and the mornings we spent sweating and coming. Every time I fucked her in the shower and ate her out as she sat on top of the washing machine pretending to fold my shorts. The times I took her on the kitchen floor and my personal favorite was the night before the accident when I bent her over my bike. It all ran through my mind like a movie reel and it wasn’t long before I shot my load on top of my stomach.

Coming didn’t sate me. Hell, if anything it riled me up.

I didn’t want my fucking hand, I wanted my wife’s tight cunt.

I wanted her fucking perfect tits in my face as she rode me.

I wanted her long legs around my waist and her soft blonde hair draped across my chest.

I wanted her.

Just her.

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