Designed by: Jersey Girl Design
I was beautiful and didn’t know my real family.
He was strong and self-confident.
I was broken and never knew confidence.
He was everything to a girl who had nothing.
I was everything to a man who needed nothing.
He told me I would be his queen
Then, three years later, he stripped me of my crown.
Six months into our marriage, I “fell down the stairs” and broke my arm.
At the hospital, I found out I was pregnant.
One year later, I “ran into a door” and hid my black eye behind designer sunglasses and a fake smile.
A year after that, pregnant with our second child, we went to meet some of his old college friends in New York City. I took too long to get ready. He told them I had the stomach bug.
Nine years ago, I was an eighteen-year-old girl, married to her high school sweetheart turned tormentor.
That fateful night in New York City, a cycle was broken. Now, I am empowered …
Today, my name is
Gia…but only for six weeks out of the year.
Unable to sit there and watch her talk about her life, as if she had any control over any of it, I move to sit next to her. Putting my arm around her, I pull her into a hug. Her body is stiff, like she doesn’t know what the fuck to do when someone shows her compassion. But she quickly, easily becomes comfortable.
“I was so lucky to have two beautiful children. This house? I mean, really? Honestly, I don’t even dare ask for more.” She puts her hands on my chest and pushes but grips my shirt as she looks up at me. “I’m happy. I’m content. This is enough. This is everything.” She licks the tears that have fallen onto her lips.
Without thought, my hands go to the sides of her face to wipe her tears. Instead, her lips collide with mine, and all thoughts of taking this slow are lost.
She grips my hair tightly as she plunges her tongue into my mouth, she tastes like wine and want, not worry. She lifts her body off the couch and, within an instant, she’s straddling me.
I grip the back of her neck and tilt her head, pushing my tongue against hers, causing my cock to stiffen immediately and completely. She leans into me, her body molding against mine. The fit is perfection.
Her tongue is demanding, her touch near desperate, and Christ, she tastes so good.
Her hands fall from my hair, gripping mine, still kissing me so fucking hard that I fear she’ll bruise us both, but it feels so good that I don’t give a damn. She then guides my hand down her neck and over her shoulder as she moves the one anchored to her hip under her sweatshirt. Her skin is soft, so fucking soft, and hot, so fucking hot, as she moves it up her body showing me exactly what she wants.
Biting my lip, she groans as she uses my hands as extensions of her own, pushing them slowly, farther and farther up until I feel the material of her bra.
“Fuck,” she whimpers as she lets go of my hands and grips the side of my head, rubbing her tits against my body.
I unhook her bra with ease, and she arches her back as she releases my hair from one hand and grabs my hand again, pushing it up her body faster, more desperately, until it’s around her perfect fucking tits.
She sits back and crosses her arms over her body, gripping the hem of her shirt, and I quickly reach down, grabbing her ass and lifting her as I stand.
“Bedroom,” I pant, trying to catch my breath.
Her eyes meet mine, full of lust, and need. Desire doesn’t just dance in the depths of them, hiding, it’s as obvious as my straining hard-on that we both want this, and we want it now.
She nods before closing her eyes and kisses me just as hard as she did when this started.
I fumble my way up her stairs, her tits rubbing against my body, her hips grinding against me. I see the moonlight coming from the doorway and stumble toward it, one hand on her ass, the other between her shoulder blades.
Inside her room, I sit on the edge of a perfectly made bed, and she whimpers as I bring her down on my erection. She presses her nails into my scalp as she pushes her tongue against mine then sucks on it.
Releasing my hair, she runs her hands down my back and tugs at my shirt, bringing it over my head. I arch my back and lift my arms as she pulls it over my head then tosses it to the ground.
She skates her hands down my torso, outlining the ridges of my abs, licking her lips. I like the way she looks at me, even if it is a little like a piece of meat. I don’t blame her—she’s been used to chuck roast and not prime fucking rib.
Her style is raw, gritty and authentic.
Love an alpha and a strong heroine? She does too.
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