Page 13 of Mase
“I don’t want sex as much as you!” she screams, and guilt invades my veins, then I shake my head, refusing to acknowledge it. It’s another one of her tactics to manipulate me. I’ve never once pressured her into sex, and if she didn’t want it, she wouldn’t have it with other men.
The deep realization that my wife enjoys sex with other men and not me makes me want to whimper pathetically. I clear my throat to disguise the hurt.
“I just want a normal sex life,” she snipes, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“So do I!” I bite back.
Sure, I’ve suggested spicing things up over the years, but eachand every time, she’s shot me down like I’m some sort of predator. I even suggested couples counseling. Any-fucking-thing.
She stomps her foot. “You’re not man enough for me!” Those words slice through my chest, rendering me speechless. Each time she says it, a little part of me dies inside. The part of me that thought I looked good today, with the tattoos I added that helped me release the anger and pain inside me, the way I try not to wear my shirt unbuttoned at the top because it makes me look too casual for her when she likes me to remain professional looking around her friends. All the attempts to satisfy her and make her happy while trying and failing miserably to make me happy in the process.
Obliterated.
Rage builds up inside me.
“You go to the gym all the fucking time. It’s all you do! It’s like you don’t care what I think of your appearance.”
“To get away from you!” I clip back, ignoring her snide comments about how I look. She’s made it blatantly obvious, multiple times, she prefers someone with a smaller frame, someone who wears slacks and a button-down shirt. She wants one of the men who visit the country club her friends hang around at.
“I don’t like meatheads in jeans,” she sneers with a curled lip. I want to tell her she doesn’t like me either, but, in all honesty, I don’t want her to admit that to me. That would hurt more—all the trying, the changes, all for nothing. She scoffs. “What? Nothing to say?”
I shake my head solemnly, looking down at the floor, toeing it with my sneaker. If I say something now, I’ll regret it because not one damn word will be a kind one, and I refuse to be like my father.
“God. You’re pathetic,” she grumbles, snatching her purse off the counter. All of this over me not wanting to go on vacation with her country club friends.
“Did you hear me? I said, you’re pathetic!” She screams it louder this time. Yeah, I heard, but this time, her words slide off me. They don’t hurt as much as they used to.
“You’re useless.”
I bite back a retort, knowing how my mom felt when my fatherbelittled her. I itch to defend not only myself but every other person who has endured a partner demeaning them. Jesus, did my mom feel every word. I shake my head, unprepared to go there. “It’s a fucking vacation, Tara,” I snap, instead of saying all the things I want to say. Like, you’re being childish, acting spoiled, grow the fuck up, you’re my wife, act like it. “I have meetings; I can’t just go on vacation at the drop of a hat.” Even though it’s not my scene, I’d take her if I could. Evenings of black-tie nights and wine tastings are not on my agenda, but if it would stop her bitching, I would.
She draws in a deep, sharp breath. It’s calculated and full of raging fury, so I quickly glance around at my surroundings, making sure there isn’t a damn vase within her reach like the last time.
“Maybe we can fly out for the weekend.” I shrug, hoping it appeases her.
“I don’t see why I can’t go alone for the week. Scared I’m going to fuck someone better than you again?” Her words cut me deep. I try so hard to get past her indiscretions, but she brings them up, taunting me and recreating the feeling of being worthless, being nothing. Not good enough, never enough, a letdown. We agreed after our last therapy session that we’d only go on vacation together, and her throwing that back in my face is just another reminder of how she isn’t as committed as she says.
My head drops as the weight of devastation makes it difficult to hold it upright. “Do what the hell you want, Tara,” I whisper, then turn on my heel toward the door, hating the fact I said those words, yet praying she won’t act on them.
Resentment flows through my bloodstream, boiling it along the way, and I bare my teeth.
Each cruel taunt that taints my soul is being obliterated as I ravish the woman in my control.
I push my hips forward, surging inside her, and she releases a scream that rattles off the walls, turning me on further. My eyes roll with the satisfaction of finally fucking a woman’s ass. Me. I’m in control. “You belong to me!” I roar, pounding into her, my hips bouncing off the globes of her ass.I watch in sick fascination as my cock continues to push in and out of her tight hole, now stretched wide to accommodate me. “Fuck. Oh, fuck, that looks good, sweetheart. So good.”
She claws at the sheets with one hand while the other continues to play.
“Fuck, sweet girl.”
Her body writhes, as if my words turn her on. So unlike my ex-wife, who despised them.
“Do you like me talking dirty to you?” I groan, sliding in and out of her ass. “Do you like me fucking your virgin ass? Having all your holes taken in one night like a good little slut.”
She moans, then releases the most beautiful sound of sheer, choked pleasure, causing my orgasm to slam into me. It’s so profound, so powerful, it’s like a tsunami of emotions—exhilaration, anger, awe, rage. My mouth falls open and my head drops back, all while continuing to pump what feels like an endless supply of cum into her ass.
My head spins with intoxication and gratification after experiencing so much pent-up sexual frustration and finally being able to be me while releasing inside her. Inside this beautiful creature, who has endured my worst to allow me to become my best.
“You’ve changed my life, sweetheart. I just wish I hadn’t had to pay for it,” I whisper into the room, collapsing onto the bed beside her.
