The casual use of another man
In a rush of discarded clothes it happens. His steamy love is inside me, a whole lot of thrusting and he finishes, hurriedly ejaculating and pulling out just as I cum. He's cold and avoids eye contact with me as I turn to face him.
"You k'?" Edgeworth's cold, hard voice rings out through the room. Each word hits me like a nail in my chest.
"Fine." I answer. He doesn't care; his wife-beater casually chucked on already, the zip on his jeans pulled up abruptly, cigarette hanging limply from the corner of his mouth.
"I'd be grateful if you didn't mention this to any of your clients, Wright." The shiny reflection of his leather jacket blinds me momentarily, piercing my eyesight the way he pierced my heart.
I grunt, "Right."
Smirking over at me, one half of his mouth quirking upwards a look of amusement works it's way across his face as he approached me. I lay on the bed, still unclothed and trying to locate my clothes and dignity.
His hand reaches into the pocket of his tailored jeans and he pulls out ten bucks, pennies of change getting caught up as he clumsily grabs. Throwing the money on the night-stand he smirks again.
"Keep the change, whore." and with that he leaves.
Wiping away a tear I approach the window that looks out onto the street where his awesome, shiny motor-bike sits, awaiting his touch again, just as I do. He mounts it, not bothering with the helmet he doesn't need. He didn't use a helmet during intercourse either; the chlamydia test on Monday awaits.
Speeding away without so much as a glance behind at me he's gone leaving a trail of cool in the trail of smoke behind him.