Two fucking weeks of fucking being around Delilah, and I was a fucking madman. The beast was uncontrollable, banging on his cage, trying to force his way out and into her.

I was reduced to nothing more than a monster ruled by my cock.

Every inch of me wanted to be sucked into her pussy, every drop of come splashing inside her.

I hated her. Absolutely fucking loathed her.

It could have been the situation or just the proximity to a pretty pussy, but every five seconds my dick twitched at the thought of bending her over her desk and fucking the shit out of her.

Annoying as fuck, cock teasing woman.

Every day women practically threw their breasts in my face, but the ones I wanted to titty fuck were always conservatively concealed. Somehow, Delilah made conservative sexy. The four-inch heels she wore every day drove me insane, and her skirts just had me clenching my fists to keep from pushing the hem to her hips.

Fucking hard as steel and unable to do a damn thing about it.

Want, the beast said, his pupils blown, exaggerating the wild look in his eyes as his hips rocked against the bars.

Fucking unbelievable. Even your imaginary self is out of his fucking mind.

“Could you not destroy that paperwork?” Delilah asked, her eyes glancing down toward my hand. “I need it.”

I looked down to find a stack of stapled papers crumpled up in my hand. “Why is it on my desk if it’s yours?” I snarled at her, my eyes slits as I glared at her.

My anger didn’t stun her, but her expression slipped to the blank look. That fucking blank look that said so fucking much and nothing at all. That blank look I wanted to fuck off of her. Watch her mouth part, her expression soften before scrunching up as she clenched down around me.

Fuck!

She didn’t say anything, just stayed steady under my glare as she held out her hand. I stared at her small, delicate hand and slender fingers, and wondered if she could fist my cock, or if there would be a gap between her thumb and fingers.

I snapped my wrist, throwing them toward her, and moved my attention back to my screen. I could feel her staring at me, probably wondering what was wrong with me, which was something I wanted to know too.

“I’m going to lunch,” I said as I logged out of my computer.

I couldn’t stand to be in that suffocating space with her any longer.

 

 

I woke with a start, my eyes wide, drawing in a large, deep breath. Falling down on my side, I attempted to breathe, to force my lungs to fill with air.

My eyes were open, but all I could see was red. The steering wheel off-center. The door was partially gone, and there was a strip of metal in its place. There was blood pouring from my abdomen, from where the metal sliced through me.

Grace.

As my breath calmed, my vision cleared and I stared at the blank, white wall in front of me. It was just a dream, but there seemed to be truth to it. I could feel the weight of her head on my shoulder, could see the car completely crumpled in on her. I didn’t know if the vision was real or a product of my imagination, but it felt real. It felt like a genuine memory.

The problem was, I didn’t have memories past the semi delivering a hefty blow. The next time my mind recorded memory was when I awoke months later from a coma.

A sterile hospital room, completely alone. I couldn’t move, and panic set in, confusion over what the fuck was going on spiking my heart rate and setting off alarms. My mouth was so dry it felt like it was coated in sandpaper. When the nurse came in, eyes wide in surprise, I tried to ask what was going on but was having trouble getting any sound out, let alone forming words. I was able to raise my right hand, tubes strapped to my skin.

“Where’s Grace?” I had asked.

“Who?”

“My wife.”

The nurse’s expression dropped. “I’m so sorry… she didn’t make it.”

The most damaging four words I’d ever heard.

My dream opened the floodgates and memories pouring in, washing over me, drowning me.

Down for months, I missed everything, including seven surgeries to fix my body, and I would need more in the months to come. The doctor came in, but I only caught some of what he said. Tibia and femur displaced fractures, which accounted for the brace. Apparently, I got a knee replacement as well as plates and screws to hold all the broken pieces of bone in my leg together while they healed. Basically, my leg was fucked, and even they weren’t sure if it was going to heal right.

Plates and screws had been placed in my arm. Part of my colon was removed and other sections repaired. There was a nick in my hip bone and my pelvis was out of alignment, but besides needing some chiropractic help, my hips overall were fine. Punctured lung and four broken ribs.

Most of the injuries were reserved for the left side of my body, though my right leg had been dislocated at the hip.

My father told me about the car and how the driver’s side was so smashed in they were surprised I survived. But I knew he was hiding something. Inside, I knew I had died, but he didn’t want to tell me. It was a fact that still haunted me, stared at me every time I looked in a mirror.

My heart should not have been restarted.

Touted as a miracle by the medical profession. They said it had to be my will to live, but the problem was, I had no will to live. I wanted to die, to join my wife, and instead I was stuck between the living and the dead. A purgatory of my own making.

It was all my fault, and no matter how many times someone tried to tell me differently, it would never change the fact that I was responsible. My actions brought down the anger of a very powerful, very dangerous man.

After a few minutes I was able to sit up on the edge of the bed, my vision clearing while I tried to calm the pounding of my heart. That was when I noticed the overwhelming suffocation of the silence.

The sun had barely crested the horizon, so I doubted there was much activity on the streets below. The condo had also recently been updated with energy-efficient, dual-pane windows, leaving the only sound being the blood that pumped through my veins.

I got up and left my room, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water or maybe some vodka. It was Saturday. Nobody could fault me for wanting to get shit-faced at seven in the morning. The vodka could help drown out the nightmare that still had a hold on me.

In the kitchen, I popped open one of the many prescription bottles lying around, this one for Vicodin, and spilled a couple onto the counter. I pulled open the refrigerator and wrapped my fingers around the vodka. I was more than aware that I shouldn’t mix the two, but I didn’t give a shit. I wasn’t driving or operating heavy machinery. The most I’d do is order takeout maybe and push buttons on the TV remote.

I headed to the living room, bottle in one hand and pills in the other. After unscrewing the lid, I slipped the pills between my lips and bottoms up.

The alcohol burned as it slid down my throat. I was thankful for the feeling as I needed it to cover the oppressive numbness that consumed me. After I screwed the cap back on, I set the bottle on the floor and pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around me.

It was going to be a long fucking weekend that I just wanted to silence it all. Drown out the misery, drown out the attraction to Delilah, and drown out the world.

Maybe later I’d go to the club and see if I couldn’t find a girl to help me get off. I needed a pussy. Hopefully that would calm down the craving to bend Delilah over her desk.

 

 

The combo of pain pills and vodka did the job, sending me back into a blissful, dreamless state. I awoke around noon and ordered some food. One day I would find the grocery store and maybe make my own food, but ordering it to be delivered to my door was so much more appealing.

I didn’t leave the couch and spent hours just staring up at the ceiling. With nothing else to do and nowhere else to go, I sat in the emptiness. In the silence, the numbing minutes and hours, the loneliness sunk in.

I’d been able to keep it at bay for years, but for some reason the craving for the soft caress of physical contact was almost suffocating. That itch was the only thing that drove me to get my ass up. That, and the sun had gone down, the only light that filtered in coming from the streetlights way below.

Somehow, I managed to get in the shower. As the water rained down on me, I wondered if every weekend was going to be filled with the same nothingness. The answer was yes. It’d been the same for years, the only difference being that I was working again. I had a schedule, a routine.

That difference, though, was what created the stark contrast of my day-to-day. Constantly surrounded by people, women, talking, wore me down, but it also enhanced the nothingness that was my life outside the office.

By the time I was dressed, the club would just be picking up. I needed a fuck. A hot, rough, get-all-the-fucking-aggression-out-of-my-system type of fuck. A cleansing, mind-wiping orgasm.

The music was loud, the lights low, and the bar packed. As I looked around, there were lots of beautiful women, some even with their eyes on me as they sucked down whatever their fruity alcohol of choice was.

I ordered a beer and leaned against the bar, surveying the place.

“Hi,” a female voice rang out next to my ear.

I turned to find a pretty, petite blonde next to me. She had overdone makeup, over-bleached hair, but her full, dark pink lips were enticing. With a short skirt, a lot of cleavage, and on the curvy side, she was just what the doctor ordered.

All I had to do was smile at her, show some sort of interest, and I could have my dick between her thighs in less than an hour.

“Hey.” No smile, no look of interest. She wasn’t right. The beast was dispassionate, not even responding when someone pushed her from behind and her hand bumped right into my crotch.

Nothing.

“S-sorry,” she stuttered as a blush began to cover her cheeks.

Normally, I would have said something like “Trust me, baby, you’re all good. You can touch my cock however you want.”

Some bullshit to seduce her, to get her thinking about my dick, so it would be easier to get it in. But instead, all that came out was, “It’s okay.”

She backed away, returning to her pack of friends, and I looked back out at the crowd.

Fuck.

Something was off. Maybe it was me, maybe not. The drinks weren’t doing it, the women weren’t catching my attention even when they threw themselves at me, and I couldn’t understand why.

When the fuck did it become impossible to pick up a woman?

You know when. You’ve only had one fuck since you first saw her.

I hated that he was right. The weekend after I first saw her was the last time I had a one-night stand. After that, I was working so hard to change my life that the times I did try to go out, I wasn’t in the mood or no women enticed me. I was in the mood to fuck, but I did not feel like putting in the effort to charm my way into a pussy.

Seven months of nothing but my hand, and it looked like that streak would continue.

If my sex life had been reduced to my dick pining for Delilah, the next few months would make the first few weeks a fucking cakewalk. Delilah intrigued me more and more each day, which only served to piss me off. I didn’t want the pull to her, the attraction that had me waking up with a hard cock every morning.

“Fucking cock-blocking bitch,” I grumbled to myself as I headed out to the parking lot.

My fucking dick went from zero to hard in less than two minutes just thinking about her. As soon as I was in my car, I had my dick out. It was so hard, I contemplated going back in and finding that little blonde, but I had a feeling that I wouldn’t be hard anymore.

“Fucking Delilah.” I slammed my head back against the headrest and ran my fingers down the underside of my shaft.

I was thankful for the dark tint of my windows along with the low light of the alley as I fisted my cock.

Want her lips.

Yes.

Laid out on the desk, her pussy open for the taking.

The tempo of my strokes picked up.

Spear her, spread that tiny pussy. Watch the shine on our dick grow with each thrust. Make her cream all over it.

The fantasy took on a life of its own as I frantically worked my dick. I wanted to hear her moan, scream my name, fucking come all over my cock, forcing my come to explode out and into her.

“Fuuuccckkkk,” I hissed as my muscles tensed, my balls drawn up as a spray of white covered my dark shirt.

My chest expanded with hard, deep breaths as my dick softened and the droplets began to soak into my shirt.

I glanced at the clock and blinked in shock. Thinking of her was so powerful it only took two fucking minutes to come.

It was official—I was fucked.