Crashing Down Into Flames

Chapter 13

Chapter Song: Rain- Sleep Token

Monday- Afternoon

-Evangeline-
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I fucking need a cigarette.

Or maybe some food and a nap after this shit since I've spent my whole fucking lunch inside a sweaty elevator.

My legs are hurting, my vagina is hurting, I'm sweaty, I'm tired, my back is aching, my head feels like it just jumped off a cliff, and I'm fucking hungry. What a way to start a Monday.

Plus, I just cheated on my boyfriend with, ironically, my ex-fiancé, whom I proscribe to hate so much. Not to mention, he probably cheated on his new fiancée- that Adele chick who I saw with Mr. James Winters.

HE... I can't even think about Mr. W anymore, or even think of his name.

But that's the thing though. I don't regret it. Sure, it was a mistake -a major mistake- but I don't regret it. Why don't I regret it?

I have to end our relationship now. It's going to be hard because I've planned so much for us in the future, and now it's all ruined because I couldn't withstand his fucking ridiculous resistance/charm.

I do regret fucking in elevator music. It isn't the most ecstatic thing to listen to when you're getting pounded into. I should have played something better like a Sleep Token song, or maybe a Bad Omens song. An Avenged Sevenfold song would be great, too. That would be perfect to hear that you're their worst nightmare while getting your organs swirled. Almost any song would have been better than classical elevator music.

I'm struggling to pull my dress pants up my sore legs while trying to cope with the unfamiliarity of not wearing underwear. The asshole stole my underwear and isn't going to give it back. I know that no matter how many times I can protest, he won't give it up.

I jump a little to jiggle it up my hips and rounded cake into the pants, and the elevator jiggles again.

"Careful, Little Flames, or you'll cause this elevator to go down with the way you're jumping," He lifts his head an inch -from laying back on the floor, and resting his head on his hands- to get a better look of me struggling and ass jiggling as I pull up my pants, "You keep jiggling, and there won't the rest of the work day to deal with."

His eyes stare at me hungrily as I button my high-rising black Spanx dress pants. These pants are tight enough to make it look fashionable, showing a little bit of my curves, but also not too tight as the trim of my feet to make it professional. It reminds me of hippy dress pants with the way the trims flow around my ankles and how loose it is around my calves.

It makes me wonder how the fuck he pulled my pants and underwear off my hips so easily. Then again, he's had a lot of practice he's said.

I try not to stare at his monstrosity raised in the air that was inside of me not five minutes long ago, still glistening with my and his cream, trapped away from each other on the condom. If he stays like that, his stream is going to slide out of the condom, but I don't think he cares.

The motherfucker looks like he just accomplished the biggest sales pitch with the way he's relaxing with the look of satisfaction against the elevator floor, not moving an inch to get dressed. I want to slap that fucking smug look off his face for making my vagina into churned butter in the sweetest way possible. I'm so fucking glad bruising my vagina is so satisfying to him. Even though it did feel good in the moment, it's not going to feel good for the rest of the day, or even days.

"Keep staring, darling, and we won't go back to work," I remove my eyes from his body, embarrassed that he caught me staring when his head hasn't moved from lying back, and his eyes are closed to the ceiling, still relishing in the moment.