Hard by Cheryl McIntyre, Dawn Decker Read Free Book Online Page A

and pretty much my entire vagina. I even feel a sting in my abdomen, and I worship every last bit of it.
    Jensen lifts his head, trailing his tongue up my neck and nibbling on my earlobe. “Thank you, Holland,” he whispers gently, just as he did before when he had blindfolded me. And just like before, I don’t reply, unsure what the correct response is. He straddles me, untying my hair from the railing. I rub my fingertips into my scalp, massaging the pain away as I watch him hop off the bed and dress himself. I should probably do the same. Now that I’m no longer intoxicated with lust, I feel very naked, exposed, vulnerable.
    “I’m going to go look at your photographs now,” he replies, reminding me he still has plenty to see of me. “Come find me in the studio when you’re ready.”
    He leaves, the door clicking closed behind him, and I sit in dazed silence for several long seconds. I experienced more firsts with a stranger tonight than I ever did with my husband. I’ve heard of sexual awakenings, but I never understood what it meant until just now.
    Jensen awakened a side of me I never knew existed. It’s terrifying and empowering. For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel completely miserable.
    And just like that, it all comes rushing back. Worse than usual, because I’m appalled with myself for doing what Darren did. Losing myself in sex to escape the horror of my child’s death.
    I stumble from the bed and dress myself as quickly as possible, sans panties, since they still remain inside Jensen’s pocket, and I get the hell out of there.

 
    11
    Jensen
     
    I believe the dictionary defines the word, obsessed, as a persistent disturbing preoccupation with an often unreasonable idea or feeling. Being who I am, I can see both an unhealthy and a soothing aspect to the dirty little word. Obsession isn’t always a negative thing. It doesn’t always have to be harmful or damaging. Sometimes it can be healing and constructive. As long as you know what you’re asking for.
    It doesn’t have to destroy you. But more often than not, it does.
    I scan image after image of Holland, trying to weed out the bad and decide which need editing. I’ve gone through this block of photos countless times, unwilling to part with a single one. I find something fascinating in each and every photo.
    The way her long hair hides part of her face in this one. The way the part is revealed in the next. Then the expression on her face, lips shining and parted in anticipation. The look in her eyes, eager, but emotionless. The way her back is arched, jutting her breasts forward. Her lips. Her pussy. All so flawless. So delectable.
    I want to keep them all.
    She never came to find me. She left last night without a word and I allowed her to go.
    I thought I would be fine now. Sated once I had her—owned her—mine to look at for as long as I can.
    But I was wrong.
    My thirst is not nearly quenched. I was so goddamn close to keeping her tied to my bed, giving into my desire, allowing myself to gorge on her until I was satisfied. The moment I released inside of her, and all I wanted was to stay inside of her , I knew then, I would never have enough.
    That’s where obsession gets you.
    Beauty—her kind of perfection—doesn’t come along more than once. Some men prefer thick women, some like a tight, lithe body. Some guys are into big fake tits, some like them small and firm. Some men like an ass you can bounce a quarter from, some want one that jiggles and shakes as they thrust inside. Some focus on the face or the eyes or the mouth or the hair. Some guys are leg men. Some have a hard-on for feet or toes or knobby knees. There are no rules when it comes to women and attraction. No rights. No wrongs. Just preference. One man’s trash is another man’s hot, wet treasure.
    Holland has everything I desire in a woman’s appearance. And because of this, she has fucked with something inside of me. Restored something I didn’t even