|◁ II ▷|
billie eilish — lost cause.
EBÉN HAD NEVER been one to like birthdays, especially his. He also hated celebrating them. The man was the Birthday Grinch; who felt apathetic at the thought of turning a new age.
He had his reasons as to why he was the way he was but the athlete had learnt the art of masking his scars — because he hated vulnerability.
He did not see a need to open up parts of himself with women he was reluctant to commit to.
He had grown up desolate, and with nothing — and was determined not to allow himself a pass; just because he had grown up with an absent, crack-addicted mother and an incarcerated father.
He had been dealt with a bad start; but knew that he wasn't one to sit and wallow himself in self-pity.
Years had passed, but he still couldn't escape the mental torment of finding his mother lifeless and blue in a tub of a low-rising crack house at the age of 37. He often shouldered that affliction to himself — and used women, like Ezra, as his punching bag.
She didn't much mind or neither did she give Ebén any reason to suggest that she might.
══════════════
His Porsche, that was being driven by Rhodes, slowly jerked forwards as the rims squeezed through the tight road. Ezra had saddled herself on Ebén's knee, her legs cross-linked with his.
Her whisper sounded thin like she didn't want anyone to hear, "Happy birthday baby"
Ezra knew that Ebén was outwardly glum because of his birthday — but she hoped (or more like wished) that her being in his company would wash out his obvious feelings of discontent.
He scratched the dip in his forehead crease trying to block out the impulse he had to overshare. Ezra had made herself the type that Ebén would fuck and then abandon; she wasn't long term.
"Thanks"
Instead, he reached over, guzzling half a glass of Patron in an attempt to force the issue — getting himself drunk, quick so he could feel numb and forget. She watched him, almost apprehensive at how quick he was lathering his lips with liquor.
She didn't understand what he had to numb especially when she had graced the apathetic man with her company when she didn't have to.
Her crimson-bled lips spoke slowly as her jade stabbers squeezed the top part of his thigh, hinting that there was something she wanted to do. Her eyes had a look, a dirty look, like let's-fuck-in-the-back-seat. Ebén was reluctant; as much as he wanted to — sex couldn't wash out this melancholy.
She, though, needed her body spots attended to and purposefully bent over to the black tint that offered the pair privacy, darkening it and planting her ass in his face so that he couldn't see anything else.
It seemed to work as Ebén gave her a gruff demand to come as his lewd-brown orbs were scouring intensely at her with his hands cupping her fat, medically-enhanced cheeks, "Come here"
She twisted her head to the side, "Is that an order?"
He nodded without any emotion; hands twisting her waist to face him as he didn't spare her a look but clawed his way down to her zipper, yanking it open.
She did the same too.
He was unconcerned with exploring her body in a sequence — he just wanted to come, and her body would be more than good enough to do the job.
YOU ARE READING
I'M NOT YOUR WOMAN. (✓)
Romance( BOOK COMPLETED ) A night on the town in West London causes Maya St Thomas to meet the rugged athlete and notorious philanderer, Ebén Jávier Cástro. Ebén isn't the type to commit to things long term, preferring drunk one night stands with women wi...
