PROLOGUE
TWEETY HAS AN EXCEPTIONALLY TIGHT TWAT for twenty-five.
Try saying that five times fast.
Those were my thoughts as she lowered herself onto my cock.
A tiny chirping noise rolled from her lips as she buried me to the hilt and pleasure stole her expression.
The tweeting noise she made when she came was what sparked my nickname for her. That, and the slight speech impediment she had.
Something about the way she pronounced all TH words as if the H didn’t exist reminded me of how Tweety Bird talked.
My name wasn’t Sylvester, but Sebastian was close enough. And unlike the cartoon I so lovingly watched as a child, I caught this little bird. I’d even eaten her a time or two.
Tweety was my number three these days, running close behind Rainbow Brite, who had pink highlights and sucked a mean blow job, and Strawberry Shortcake, who literally tasted like strawberries.
What could I say?
I was having a nostalgic year when it came to naming my girls.
My way of doing things was fucked up. I was aware of that, but I refused to get close to any woman. And as far as I was concerned, knowing their real names was the first step.
I wasn’t always this guy.
I wasn’t always the asshole who named women after cartoon characters and kept them as pets until they bored me.
In my defense, they made it easy for me. Apparently, all you needed these days was dark hair and light eyes to make a woman agree to anything for a chunk of change in their checking account.
Luckily for me, I had both.
Looks and a massive chunk of change to give.
Because of that, my little black book was full of female cartoon characters ready and willing to meet my needs whenever I called. And I called constantly, sampling their goods every chance I got without the worry of becoming attached.
It was a good way to live.
Once Tweety unloaded the stress I was carrying in my sack, we said our goodbyes. Leaving the five-star hotel where I conducted my affairs, I waited just outside for my car to be brought around.
That was when I saw her.
She was crossing the street, her arm locked in the arm of another man … a man I knew was her husband.
She’d aged over the years, her face wrinkled with time, and gravity tugged on the body I’d once worshipped.
She was the woman who made me a man. She showed me the things the female body was capable of before turning my warm, naïve heart into cold stone.
Our relationship had been fucked up in every sense of the word. It had been wrong in all ways possible, but at the time, I hadn’t seen it that way.
It was sick.
It was broken.
It was black … just like I was.
I’d wanted her from the moment I stepped foot into her home, but I was just too young to understand my desires. Yet she took every chance she got to seduce my immature brain and starving body with her sweet words and calculated touches.
If I closed my eyes and let my mind wander to the memories I had tucked away, I could still remember the way her skilled hands had moved down my chest. I could still feel the sting of her red fingernails digging into my flesh.
“I want to be your first, Sebastian,” she’d whispered to me before moving her hips and shattering everything I thought I knew about women.
She was indeed my first—taking my virginity and leaving behind a black hole I’d never been able to fill.
Lust.
Heartbreak.
Murder.
That was my life, and she was the trigger that fired the first round.
I watched until she and her husband disappeared from my sight, but the damage had been done. Memories stiffened my spine, reminding me of my goals.
Business.
Pleasure.
All with a blatant refusal to love or have a connection with anyone or anything.
That was until Jessica Rabbit stepped into my life.
This was the story that brought me to her.
The story of becoming broken.
The story of how life’s darkest moments transformed Sebastian Stephens, marking his soul and dragging him into the depths of hell.
This was how I became the man I was today.
This was how I became Sebastian Black.