Before I could ask him what he meant by that, he pulled my face close to his and kissed me.
He pulled up the armrest between us, and slid his hand under my dress, but I grabbed it and moved it away.
“I wish you had been there with me tonight,” I said.
“Why’s that?”
“I have the feeling it might’ve ended very differently…I honestly thought you were there for a split second…”
“If I was there, how would it have ended differently?”
“I’ll show you.” I moved down to the floor, between his legs. I unbuckled his belt, kept my eyes on his as I unzipped his zipper and pulled out his cock.
I sucked it into my mouth, slowly bobbing my head up and down his length, swirling my tongue around his shaft each time I came up.
He groaned and ran his fingers through my hair, as I arched my back and took him as deep as I could. I gripped his knees and moved a bit faster.
“I need to come in your throat,” he said, turning me on even more. “I need to mark it as mine and I want you to swallow every drop…”
He slid his hand under my shirt and gently squeezed my nipple.
He came in my throat at the end of the act, against the sound of the final song, and I swallowed. He stared at me in utter awe and pulled me up and into his lap.
“I think we should go back to your place now.”
“There’s one more act in this play…”
“We can watch it tomorrow.”
I see the man who ruined my life of crime a few times after that in passing. Out of fear, I always double check to make sure his number hasn’t crossed my screen and I’ve missed it somehow.
He smiles at me whenever we happen to be in the coffee shop I venture into for my boss, but the first time he saw me with Michael, his eyes widened and he immediately backed away and kept his distance.
It wasn’t until Michael went to the restroom that he walked right up to me and whispered seven final words before completely disappearing from my life.
“That’s one hell of a fucking checkmate…”
Michael
Now
Police Publicly Confirm that DNA Found in Trunk of Car Belongs to Meredith Thatchwood
Officials to Investigate Thatchwood Case as a Homicide
Leonardo Thatchwood Announces Memorial for Daughter, Starts Foundation in Her Honor
1-888-MER-TIPS line to be redirected to private firm; Reward Money Decreased
Residents at Meredith Thatchwood’s Condo Request Access to Her Condo; Claim She’d Promised to Give Away Several Pieces of her Wardrobe
Top Ten Reasons Why Meredith Thatchwood is Probably Dead (& Tips on How to Take on Her Old Job at Vogue)
I roll my eyes at the pure laziness in the recent headlines, giving up on the media entirely. The only thing they’ve done right, is make the next few weeks far easier for me.
Setting down The Washington Post, I wait for Meredith to join me downstairs for dinner, but she never does. Our latest chess game remains at a standstill, her bishop in danger of crossing the line.
It’s the third day in a row that she’s done this, and it’s driving me more insane than usual. Not fucking her for weeks was better than getting a taste of it and having it taken away, without a chance for a repeat.
The night that she was in my bed—taking me in as deeply as I could go, I realized one taste of her would never be enough. I was having intense withdrawals already. I was remembering what the hell got me into this situation in the first place, and I was feeling an uncomfortable and rather annoying emotion: Vulnerability.
I stood outside her door like a fucking sap last night, asking her to let me inside, waiting for her to come out. I was willing to open up about some of the reasons why she was here, if she could just give me one fucking taste of her mouth, but she never opened her door.
I turned on our wedding video on the living room TV during breakfast today, expecting her to come down and watch it like she normally did. To glare and scowl at me during all the sweet parts, but to sit there, with me, and start to accept and believe that there was a bit of a method to this madness. (And maybe also, so we could fuck at the end, but the aforementioned things would’ve been fine as well.)
The only thing she did was tiptoe down the steps and grab a few bagels. She poked her head into the room when I said my vows, and she rushed back to her room without saying a single word to me.
What the hell am I missing?
Michael
Now
Subject: Your wife’s memorial + WTF
I wore a turtleneck and gloves, and made sure to look very sad while playing you.
What happened to “We don’t fuck with the mafia? Ever.” Why the hell is Rio Warren currently in the hospital?
You’re welcome for my presence at the memorial.
--Trevor
Subject: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF
I’m sure you weren’t as attractive as I would’ve been, but I won’t hold it against you.
I have no idea what you’re talking about in regard to Rio.
Thank you for going in my place.
--Michael
Subject: Re: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF
Someone in a ski mask beat the hell out of him, out of nowhere several hours ago…The bone breaks and the M.O. of the attack from behind all sound like something you would do, in my opinion…
What the fuck did he do to you to deserve that?
I’m not doing any other favors for you.
--Trevor
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF
Did any cameras catch this “someone in a ski mask”? I don’t think there would be any around, if someone were bold enough to attack Mr. Warren in broad daylight.
I don’t have any other favors to ask of you.
Michael
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF
WHAT THE FUCK DID HE DO TO YOU TO DESERVE THAT?
Trevor
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF
I just happened to stumble across my wife’s old diary the other day and saw something in there about him that I didn’t like. That’s all.
Michael
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF
Meet me at The Reynolds Diner off 87. NOW.
Trevor
Michael
Now
The diner where Trevor wants to meet is not his typical style at all. It’s simple and cheap, and I’m sure it’ll only take thirty minutes for him to complain about the lack of a three-course menu.
Pulling out this week’s latest list of offenders while I wait, I run my highlighter over a few of the names that weren’t there last week. There are a few I’ll pay a free visit to in the coming months.
After half an hour has passed, Trevor walks into the diner—making the waitress do an immediate double take and drop her coffee pot to the floor.
Ever the gentleman, he helps her pick it up and strikes up a short conversation. He offers to brew his own coffee, and he tells her that he thinks she’s pretty. I’m certain he’s failing to mention that her manager is currently suffocating to death in the back of his trunk.