CHAPTER 2
BLAZE
Bathed in moonlight, the velvety soft skin of the three women were seamless. Impossible to determine where one ended and the other began, I gave up trying hours ago.
We danced together on the bed as one, all tongues and hands and raw nerves, our hunger endlessly feeding our urge to continue.
After meeting at a bar in Malibu and quickly retreating to a nearby apartment, we’d been at it since dusk.
I’d already forgotten their names.
One of them might have been a Brittany or a Madison, and another other was named after a state, I think. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember which one after all these hours. Perhaps ‘Montana’ or ‘Dakota’ or ‘Georgia’ — something forgettable, indistinguishable.
What I did remember was how each of them tasted…
How each of them felt writhing beneath me…
But the rest of them? Their faces, hair, voices? The common shape of their surgically enhanced bodies? Practically identical.
That didn’t stop me from tearing through them like a kid in a candy store, of course.
Look, I adore women, okay?
I live and breathe women.
The more women, the better — that’s my motto.
Which is what leads us here, with my johnson sunk ten inches deep inside some random Brittany clone and two of her very eager friends with no end in sight.
A tongue rolled over my nipple, sending an electric shock straight to my hips, my cock sliding deep inside the warm, moaning woman below me. I turned my head, my lips colliding with a pair of hot, plush pillowed lips, which promptly parted, welcoming my tongue. Silky fingertips reached around from behind, scraping sensually against my skin as they glided down, wrapping around the base of my shaft and gripping tightly, pulling it away from the pulsing warmth and slipping it between a pair of waiting lips, a warm tongue swirling around the tip.
My eyes rolled back in my head, my body opening up, allowing them to slide over and around and under me, the dance filling us up with the music of our singing bodies.
Moans turned to cries of ecstasy. Cries turned to shouts of joy. Shouts turned to low, grueling growls that turned into savage, beastly screams of passionate release.
Our symphony finally drew to a close, the soft sounds of our lungs gasping for oxygen and the rhythmic rise and fall of our chests a joyous heaving celebration of the divine and absolute meaning of connection and existence.
This is why I lived.
This is why I woke up every morning.
This is why I kept going.
Life’s greatest purpose is love.
It’s not work, or family, or faith.
It’s love, pure and simple.
And I believe there’s no greater way to access love than through sex. Pure, open, uninhibited sex breaks open every barrier we’ve foolishly erected as humans. That’s why I seek such an abundance of it.
I fall in love ten times a day.
Because I can.
Because it feels good.
Because it gives me fuel.
Without these three beautiful women wrapped around me, and countless others before and after them, I would simply cease to exist. As a human. As a man…
I know this. I accept this. I accepted it long ago, choosing to feed my addiction with indulgence, instead of starving it and suffering the deadly consequences.
Not everyone understands, but that’s okay.
Most people think it’s because of my job, because I’m around women all the time, but that’s not it. I adhere to my rule about not mixing business and pleasure and I leave my work at the club.
Most women I fuck don’t even know what I do for a living and I prefer it that way.
My friends — Richie, Daine, and Fox — they don’t understand, either, but they accept it. I’ve always been like this. Sure, they laugh it off, but I don’t care.
They can call me a man-slut or a playboy or a pussy hound or a sex addict all they want.
I call it essential.
I call it survival.
I call it life…