After eight years of estrangement, the untimely death of her father calls Keyser Gooding back to her family home, forcing her to relive the physical and verbal abuse she endured growing up at the hands of her foster brothers, Deon and Joel.
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I've lost track of how many orgasms I've had in the last 48 hours. Being back here, back home, It's...stimulating, that much I can say.
It's early and the steam of my hot shower comes to a stop as I step out from the tub, wrapping myself up in my towel. I look at myself one more time before leaving the bathroom to make my way across the hall, back to my room where Joel's sleeping.
Deon left me in a bad state yesterday, and after I told Joel what happened between us, he almost lost himself, to the point where I had to reel him back to reality... with my body.
I hadn't seen him that angry in years, back when I thought of myself as nothing but his personal punching bag. Back when he had power over me. When the words like 'fat' and 'ugly' he used to spit at me, crippled me to my core.
For a second, he scared me, and I thought the old him was coming back to haunt me. But I quickly reminded myself why he was reacting in the way that he was.
So instead of running away or shielding myself like I used to, I grabbed his face and told him to take his frustrations out on me and fuck, he gave me more than I was expecting.
His thrusts were fast, deliberate, fierce and the grip he had on me has me aching in the best ways possible. I told Joel what I wanted, and he didn't hesitate to give it to me.
That was last night, and now I'm back in my room, the dull morning light was trying to peek through the half-closed blinds of my window.
I quietly lock the door back, reaching for my jar of Shea butter to moisturize my body with. The soothing rain sounds the same as it did when it lulled me right to sleep, with Joel's sleeping form right next to me.
Joel must be exhausted, because he's knocked out. My body is still deliciously sore and I bite my bottom lip as I glance down at him, seeing that he's now on his stomach and his left arm is resting where I was laying, his other arm is curled underneath my pillow.
I observe how he sleeps, watching as his back lifts and falls rhythmically, the marks from my nails still visible on his lower back.
The way he moaned my name last night, instant chills started to run down my spine and my walls contract, and now I've got half a mind to wake him up, craving for another round.
But the sight of his calm state also makes me hold back. Because the thoughts of this past week, here at home, with Joel and Deon begin to cloud my mind again.
Suddenly, I need some air.
But what I'd like more than the idea of breathing right now, is to get out of this house, and when I walked past Joel last night to get to the kitchen, I noticed that we were getting low on food.
With a half of a laugh, I rolled my eyes, thinking that he and Deon would probably die if I weren't here to remind them of how perishables work.
The thought of leaving the house to clear my mind and do some grocery shopping just sounds too good to pass up.
