Are you ready for Blaire?
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BLURB
Love is selfish...
My name is Blaire.
I'm the bad girl.
The other woman.
The one who never gets the
guy in the end.
I'm the gold digger.
The bitch.
The one no one roots for.
The one you love to hate.
I hate myself too...
Everyone has a story. Are
you ready for mine?
EXCERPT
Part I
Innocence
Past
What is love?
I don’t know.
I’ve never had it.
Is it even real?
No, I
don’t think so. I mean, how can I
believe in love when I’ve never witnessed it? When it seems to only exist in
books and films, or in the lives of more fortunate people than me? Trust me,
I know.
Love is my
personal chimera.
I am gazing at brown eyes, admiring the richness of the color, the
beauty of the man to whom they belong to.
“You’re so
beautiful, Blaire … so wet,” he murmurs, his hand going between my legs as he
begins to rub me. His fingers spread me open to their soft invasion, tuning my
body to his wants and needs, preparing me to be taken as the hot friction of
his touch lights a wild fire within my body. It’s not the first time he has
touched me like this, but each time feels better and better—the sensations
all-consuming and heady.
One
finger.
Two fingers.
One finger.
Two fingers.
Over and over again.
His invasion is fast and slow, deep
and shallow. His touch is soiled heaven.
As I open my legs wider for him, I
wonder if it feels this good because of him or because I’m taking something
that doesn’t belong to me and making it mine.
“Oh God … I love you, Blaire. I
love you … I love you …” he pants in my ear.
“Don’t stop … it feels so good,” I
breathe.
Okay, maybe it’s because at this
moment in time this man thinks he loves me and no one else but me,
however false his proclamation may be.
I close my eyes as his lips land on
mine. He kisses me softly as if I’m made out of gold, kissing me with that
familiar mouth I’ve seen smile tenderly at me so many times before. The assault
of his tongue debilitates me but doesn’t incapacitate me.
“It’s four
dollars, gorgeous,” the cute barista says, smiling
at me.
I’m about to pay for my cappuccino
when I hear a deep, manly voice say, “Let me get that for you.”
A man wearing a beige suit comes
forward, standing next to me as he hands the barista some bills. “I’ve seen you
around … you’re Paige’s friend.”
I smile, licking my suddenly dry
lips. “Thank you, and yes … I know Paige.”
The smile on his handsome face
seems to freeze as his gaze follows the tip of my tongue, the spark of hunger
brightening his eyes. Inwardly, I smile because who knew it was so easy to make
men desire me, particularly when I went without attention for so long.
“My pleasure. Are you,” he coughs, “here
with someone else?”
I shake my head and look at him
through fluttering eyelashes. “No, I’m here all by myself.” I pause, touching
his arm invitingly, and smile. “Would you like to join me?”
He looks around the coffee shop,
probably considering if he should, if it’s proper to do so, but less than five
seconds later, he’s staring at me once again. “Sure.”
Yes, just like that.
The beige walls are spinning.
The clock is ticking.
The
bedsprings creak as the moon cries
outside the motel window.
And the man above me kisses me
while he fingers me, preparing me for him. Gotta love such a thoughtful man.
I can taste his sweet saliva mixing
with mine, and I love it.
“Please,” I beg against his lips, reaching
for his hard cock and wrapping my fingers around it. “I’m ready.”
I feel his mouth leave mine as he
begins to make his way down my partially dressed body. “Are you sure, Blaire?
Are you sure you want to do this with me?”
I open my eyes to witness what I
think I want him to do. No, what I’m sure I want him to do. I can’t help
the smile I feel playing on my lips as I see him struggling with his
conscience. He asks me if I’m sure when he has already fucked my mouth with his
cock countless number of times, when his fingers have filled every orifice of
my body. Should I laugh? No … I decide to take pity instead.
“I’m sure, so sure,” I say, letting
my arms land like dead weight on the bed, the cheap fabric rough against my
skin.
“All right.”
When I feel the bed dip between my
legs, I instinctively open them for him and watch as he brings a condom package
to his mouth. As he rips it open with his teeth, I admire his perfect full lips
that emphasize how masculine he is.
I feel pleased with myself.
So fucking pleased because he wants
me.
Mr. Callahan wants me. Me. Can you
believe it? Chubby Blaire. Ugly and awkward Blaire.
Unlovable
Blaire.
I guess I’m not that ugly anymore.
My body? What was considered fat as a child is now called boobs and ass. Guys
want it. They want me. They want to touch me, grope me, feel me … they want to
screw me. And it feels good to be wanted … so good. It makes me feel powerful,
and like a potent drug spreading inside your bloodstream, I want more.
I need more.
“Hurry up,” I say, not bothering to
be shy or coy about it. I mean, he brought me here to have sex, right?
“Fuck, give me a second, Blaire.
Trying to get the damn condom on my dick.”
As he rolls the rubber on his stiff dick, his eyes wonder over my bare chest, my face, my spread legs. Shaking his head as if trying to clear his mind, he mutters, “You’re so beautiful. I want you so much.”
As he rolls the rubber on his stiff dick, his eyes wonder over my bare chest, my face, my spread legs. Shaking his head as if trying to clear his mind, he mutters, “You’re so beautiful. I want you so much.”
That’s not the first time I have
heard those words come out of a man’s mouth. Josh tells me all the time how
beautiful I am, how perfect I am, how much he wants me, how much he loves me.
But he’s my friend with benefits. The words kind of lose their meaning when it’s
the same person saying them to you over and over again.
“Show me.”
Those two words are all it takes
for him to spread my legs wider with his hands and finally enter me with his
throbbing dick. Pain shoots through my body, and a groan escapes my mouth when
he covers my body with his. I feel his whole length inside me in one deep thrust.
“Christ, you’re so tight.”
He lifts both my legs, wrapping
them around his lean waist and starts to thrust. Hard. It hurts. But I like the
pain. It sobers me.
And that’s when reality comes
crashing down on me. It hits me with the speed and blinding power of a torpedo,
making me realize what I’m doing. What I’m giving away and the man doesn’t even
know it.
What the hell am I doing?
Proving that you are your mother’s
daughter.
Making her proud.
The room is filled with the noises
of the man grunting his pleasure and the wet slapping of our skin; it makes me
want to gag. I want to throw up. Maybe
it’s the alcohol I drank.
Maybe it’s self-disgust.
The initial pain is gone and now I
just feel sore. And strange.
His beautiful face lowers, his lips
about to connect with mine, and I feel
the bile rise inside my throat. I turn my face to the side, his kiss landing on
my cheek. My eyes watch the way the lights in the bathroom illuminate all its
used and dirty ugliness.
“Oh God, I’m going to come … I’m
going to come … I’m going to come,” he continues to pant in my ear, pumping in
and out of my body. Before I know what’s happening, he half-screams and half groans, his body going tense on
top of mine.
And just like that it’s over. In
less than five minutes I’ve managed to kill a part of me.
Our breathing evens and he pulls
out, moving to stand up. I push myself up on my elbows to see him inspect his
condom. It still glistens. By the time he lifts his eyes, connecting with mine,
I’ve already wrapped my body with the duvet cover.
Confusion, shock, and pleasure
reflect in those brown eyes. “I-I didn’t know … I …” His hands go to his hair
as we stare at each other. “I didn’t know you were a virgin.”
I shrug my shoulder carelessly,
causing the duvet to slide down, exposing my bare breasts to him. His eyes
immediately flare with lust. “It doesn’t matter … I wanted it to be you.”
And that’s the truth.
“But—”
“But nothing. If it bothers you,
then forget it happened. I already did,” I say, ending the conversation.
This is my body. I will have the
last word. Not him. Not anyone. This is my life. This is my decision.
Without giving myself a chance to
doubt my next words, I turn to look at him in all his naked beauty, the gold
wedding ring on his finger catching my attention. “Don’t worry, Mr.
Callahan … I won’t tell your daughter that you fucked her classmate.”
And with that, I seal my destiny.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MIA ASHER
My name
is Mia Asher.
I'm a
writer, a hopeless romantic, a wanderer, a dreamer, a cynic, and a believer.
And, oh yes…I might be a bit crazy - but who isn't?
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