Page 60 of Fragile Twisted Vows

Deep, deep shit.

nineteen

Lucy

I really was studying marketing. As soon as I got back from the university, I opened my laptop and tried to refresh myself with my old Powerpoints and essays, but my mind was still reeling from my run-in with Megan.

The only thing that could quell both my anxiety and nausea was thinking about Damien. Thinking about fucking Damien. Thinking about how to please him because I feel guilty about having to lie to him about talking with my older sister.

Oddly enough, finding ways to give him the perfect blow job was both distracting and arousing.

Look, I’ve watched my fair share of porn. A lot of it actually.

But then I met Damien when I was eighteen.

And then I bought a vibrator.

And then I didn’t need porn anymore because pleasuring myself to the thought of my sister’s current husband at the time was enough for me. It was risky, forbidden, taboo. Everything that porn couldn’t really provide.

And it’s been enough for me for nearly seven years.

But after today, I realized that apart from the actual act of fucking, or really even that, I’m inexperienced. This man is both rich and gorgeous. He’s probably been with countless beautiful women before and after my sister. And although that knowledge fills me with a jealous rage, it also fuels me.

To do better. To be better, for him.

Even though I have every reason not to be.

But with the way he’s looking down at me now, with his thumb tracing the outline of my lips, I want to be every perfect thing for him. I want to make him forget every woman before me, including my sister.

Especially my sister.

I’ve been ignored my entire life, until now. Feeling ignored can leave a deep, aching emptiness. It’s as if your presence doesn’t matter, your voice is lost in the void, and your value is overlooked. When you start to believe you’re not good enough, it’s like carrying an invisible weight that drags your spirit down. The pain of thinking you’re not worth anyone’s attention or respect cuts through the core of your self-esteem. It’s a harsh, isolating experience that can make even the strongest person question their worth. I’ve been questioning my worth since I was a little girl.

Which can be an intense inner battle. Doubt creeps in and whispers that you don’t measure up, despite your accomplishments and strengths. I’ve always found myself comparing everything to my sister, amplifying feelings of inadequacy. I wasn’t thin like Megan. Wasn’t smart like Megan. Wasn’t good like Megan. And every attempt I made to measure up to her was worthless.

My parents never cared. No one did.

It’s as if every effort was met with skepticism, and every success felt like a fluke. This constant internal questioning overshadowed the unique talents and qualities I could’ve had, I should’ve had.

But right now, I don’t feel like a comparison to my sister, oddly enough.

I feel seen, I feel desired.

And when Damien unzips his pants, when he unveils his hardened length that now presses against my lip, when he tilts his head back and moans just from that small movement, I don’t feel inadequate. I’ve succeeded in one thing.

I’ve driven Damien Reed wild.

He cups my jaw still and I can’t help but smile before I open my mouth and drag my tongue slowly up and down his length. He hisses in response, which only makes me do it again and again. I don’t follow what any of the articles said or what the porn showed, I just feel the moment. I feel him.

So when I wrap my hand around his hard length and suck him slowly into my mouth until he hits the back of my throat, I know all I can do is lean into his hold. I can only feel his body, and listen to what he likes. I can let him guide my movements and please him in the way that I feel is appropriate.

“Fucking good girl,” he hisses and I beam beneath him as I start to suck him harder and faster, drinking down his essence for all it’s worth,.

Years of longing can create a powerful, almost palpable tension. For me, every moment without knowing what his touch would be like felt like an eternity. Would he moan for me? Would he tilt his head back and sigh my name because my own touch felt too good?

He is right now.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t dream about moments like this with Damien Reed. I have. I’ve dreamt of the day when I could finally feel the warmth of his skin, the strength of his hands. The taste of his cock. Each passing year only deepened my desire, making the thought of him almost unbearable.

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