Are you ready for Blaire?
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Blurb
Love is selfish...
My name is Blaire.
I'm the bad girl.
The other woman.
The one who never gets the guy in the end.
I'm the gold digger.
The bitch.
The one no one roots for.
The one you love to hate.
I hate myself too...
Everyone has a story. Are you ready for mine?
Excerpt
Part I
Innocence
Past
What is
love?
I don’t know.
I’ve never
had it.
Is it even
real?
No, I don’t think so. I mean, how can I believe in love when I’ve never
witnessed it? When it seems to only exist in books and films, or in the lives
of more fortunate people than me? Trust me, I know.
Love is my personal chimera.
I am gazing at brown eyes, admiring the richness of the
color, the beauty of the man to whom they belong to.
“You’re so beautiful, Blaire … so wet,” he murmurs, his hand going between my legs as
he begins to rub me. His fingers spread me open to their soft invasion, tuning
my body to his wants and needs, preparing me to be taken as the hot friction of
his touch lights a wild fire within my body. It’s not the
first time he has touched me like this, but each time feels better and better—the
sensations all-consuming and heady.
One finger.
Two
fingers.
One finger.
Two
fingers.
Over and
over again.
His
invasion is fast and slow, deep and shallow. His touch is soiled heaven.
As I open
my legs wider for him, I wonder if it feels this good because of him or because
I’m taking
something that doesn’t belong to me and making it mine.
“Oh God … I love
you, Blaire. I love you … I love you …” he pants
in my ear.
“Don’t stop … it feels so good,” I breathe.
Okay, maybe
it’s because
at this moment in time this man thinks he loves me and no one else but
me, however false his proclamation may be.
I close my
eyes as his lips land on mine. He kisses me softly as if I’m made out
of gold, kissing me with that familiar mouth I’ve seen
smile tenderly at me so many times before. The assault of his tongue
debilitates me but doesn’t incapacitate me.
“It’s four dollars, gorgeous,” the cute
barista says, smiling at me.
I’m about to
pay for my cappuccino when I hear a deep, manly voice say, “Let me get
that for you.”
A man
wearing a beige suit comes forward, standing next to me as he hands the barista
some bills. “I’ve seen you around … you’re Paige’s friend.”
I smile,
licking my suddenly dry lips. “Thank you, and yes … I know
Paige.”
The smile
on his handsome face seems to freeze as his gaze follows the tip of my tongue,
the spark of hunger brightening his eyes. Inwardly, I smile because who knew it
was so easy to make men desire me, particularly when I went without attention
for so long.
“My
pleasure. Are you,” he coughs, “here with
someone else?”
I shake my
head and look at him through fluttering eyelashes. “No, I’m here all
by myself.” I pause, touching his arm invitingly, and smile. “Would you
like to join me?”
He looks
around the coffee shop, probably considering if he should, if it’s proper to
do so, but less than five seconds later, he’s staring
at me once again. “Sure.”
Yes, just
like that.
The beige
walls are spinning.
The clock
is ticking.
The bedsprings creak as the moon cries outside the motel
window.
And the man
above me kisses me while he fingers me, preparing me for him. Gotta love
such a thoughtful man.
I can taste
his sweet saliva mixing with mine, and I love it.
“Please,” I beg
against his lips, reaching for his hard cock and wrapping my fingers around it.
“I’m ready.”
I feel his
mouth leave mine as he begins to make his way down my partially dressed body. “Are you
sure, Blaire? Are you sure you want to do this with me?”
I open my
eyes to witness what I think I want him to do. No, what I’m sure I
want him to do. I can’t help the smile I feel playing on my lips as I
see him struggling with his conscience. He asks me if I’m sure when
he has already fucked my mouth with his cock countless number of times, when
his fingers have filled every orifice of my body. Should I laugh? No … I decide
to take pity instead.
“I’m sure, so
sure,” I say, letting my arms land like dead weight on the bed, the cheap
fabric rough against my skin.
“All right.”
When I feel
the bed dip between my legs, I instinctively open them for him and watch as he
brings a condom package to his mouth. As he rips it open with his teeth, I
admire his perfect full lips that emphasize how masculine he is.
I feel pleased
with myself.
So fucking
pleased because he wants me.
Mr.
Callahan wants me. Me. Can you believe it? Chubby Blaire. Ugly and awkward
Blaire.
Unlovable Blaire.
I guess I’m not that
ugly anymore. My body? What was considered fat as a child is now called boobs
and ass. Guys want it. They want me. They want to touch me, grope me, feel me … they want
to screw me. And it feels good to be wanted … so good.
It makes me feel powerful, and like a potent drug spreading inside your
bloodstream, I want more.
I need
more.
“Hurry up,” I say, not
bothering to be shy or coy about it. I mean, he brought me here to have sex,
right?
“Fuck, give
me a second, Blaire. Trying to get the damn condom on my dick.”
As he rolls the rubber on his stiff dick, his eyes wonder over my bare chest, my face, my spread legs. Shaking his head as if trying to clear his mind, he mutters, “You’re so beautiful. I want you so much.”
As he rolls the rubber on his stiff dick, his eyes wonder over my bare chest, my face, my spread legs. Shaking his head as if trying to clear his mind, he mutters, “You’re so beautiful. I want you so much.”
That’s not the first time I have
heard those words come out of a man’s mouth. Josh tells me all the time how
beautiful I am, how perfect I am, how much he wants me, how much he loves me.
But he’s my friend with benefits. The words kind of lose their meaning when
it’s the same
person saying them to you over and over again.
“Show me.”
Those two
words are all it takes for him to spread my legs wider with his hands and
finally enter me with his throbbing dick. Pain shoots through my body, and a
groan escapes my mouth when he covers my body with his. I feel his whole length
inside me in one deep thrust.
“Christ, you’re so
tight.”
He lifts
both my legs, wrapping them around his lean waist and starts to thrust. Hard.
It hurts. But I like the pain. It sobers me.
And that’s when
reality comes crashing down on me. It hits me with the speed and blinding power
of a torpedo, making me realize what I’m doing. What I’m giving
away and the man doesn’t even know it.
What the
hell am I doing?
Proving
that you are your
mother’s daughter.
Making her
proud.
The room is
filled with the noises of the man grunting his pleasure and the wet slapping of
our skin; it makes me want to gag. I
want to throw up. Maybe it’s the alcohol I drank.
Maybe it’s
self-disgust.
The initial
pain is gone and now I just feel sore. And strange.
His
beautiful face lowers, his lips about to connect with mine, and I feel the bile rise inside my throat. I turn my face
to the side, his kiss landing on my cheek. My eyes watch the way the lights in
the bathroom illuminate all its used and dirty ugliness.
“Oh God, I’m going to
come … I’m going to come … I’m going to come,” he
continues to pant in my ear, pumping in and out of my body. Before I know what’s happening, he half-screams and half groans, his body going
tense on top of mine.
And just
like that it’s over. In less than five minutes I’ve managed
to kill a part of me.
Our
breathing evens and he pulls out, moving to stand up. I push myself up on my
elbows to see him inspect his condom. It still glistens. By the time he lifts
his eyes, connecting with mine, I’ve already wrapped my body with the duvet cover.
Confusion,
shock, and pleasure reflect in those brown eyes. “I-I didn’t know … I …” His hands
go to his hair as we stare at each other. “I didn’t know you were a virgin.”
I shrug my
shoulder carelessly, causing the duvet to slide down, exposing my bare breasts
to him. His eyes immediately flare with lust. “It doesn’t matter … I wanted
it to be you.”
And that’s the
truth.
“But—”
“But
nothing. If it bothers you, then forget it happened. I already did,” I say,
ending the conversation.
This is my
body. I will have the last word. Not him. Not anyone. This is my life. This is
my decision.
Without
giving myself a chance to doubt my next words, I turn to look at him in all his
naked beauty, the gold wedding ring on his finger catching my attention. “Don’t worry, Mr. Callahan … I won’t tell your daughter that you fucked her
classmate.”
And with
that, I seal my destiny.
About the Author:
Mia Asher
My name is Mia Asher.
I'm a writer, a hopeless romantic, a wanderer, a dreamer, a cynic, and a believer. And, oh yes…I might be a bit crazy - but who isn't?
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