Page 41 of Lonely
And then I pushed off her and left the room.
Anna laughed, her toned legs tangled in the sheets, her skirt still around her waist and exposing her neon pink thong.
Jezebel.
When I returned to the office, I almost did a U-turn and walked back the way I came. What was worse? Anna’s angler fish of a pussy or the stench of my mother’s lavender perfume.
It was a tie.
At least Anna made me come. Mother made me want to feed her to the crows outside.
After she spanked my butt, of course.
“Mother,” I said, closing the door to my office. She looked over at me from the window with her chin tipped and her nose in the air.
“Have you gone to confession this week?” she asked.
I was sick and tired of her bullshit.
I glanced at the crucifix on the wall. The chair where Anna had ridden me. The desk where Carter had overpowered me and buried himself in my ass.
“Not yet,” I admitted.
Mother sniffed the air.
“And the girl? Is she still lurking around?”
I reached for my scarf and coat. “You mean to ask if I stuck my dick in her? Yes, I did. Right there on the chair.”
Mother looked at it like it would give her herpes just by standing near it.
“Turns out she likes to ride cock, Mother.”
Crossing the room with that look in her eye that promised a good beating, she came for me. But instead of smacking me with her handbag like I expected, she spat in my face. Then she tipped her pointy chin and walked out. “I’m cooking lasagna tonight.”
The drive home was silent, like always. Mother pretended I didn’t exist.
Dinner was quiet, too. My cutlery clanked on the plate. Mother ate, unaware that she was consuming minced-up pieces of Andersen’s spleen and parts of thigh muscle because I had wanted to fuck with her.
She dipped the garlic bread in the sauce and took a bite. My lips curved as I watched her chew. A piece of mince hung onto the corner of her mouth.
“Eat up,” she said, darting her tongue out to lick it up.
“I hate you.”
She shoveled more lasagna into her mouth. “Enough with the theatrics.”
“I’m going to marry the girl. Fuck her every day in every room. And she’ll be pregnant with my kid every time you come over. You’ll have to sit here and eat her food, knowing I screwed her on the table before you showed up.”
Mother pretended I didn’t exist, so I rose and swiped my plate off the table. “God made sex pleasurable, Mother.”
She scoffed. “Sure, with respectable God-fearing women. Not whores.”
“Funny you say that,” I mused.
Minced bits of Andersen squelched beneath my bare feet as I rounded the table.
“I never knew my father.”
