28
“All I can be is me. Whoever that is.”
-Bob Dylan
<>Journey<>
Gazing up at the ceiling, I closed my eyes. “I hate that I love you.”
“’Cuz your mine,” he ignored me. “I walk any line.”
The best and worst thing about Cash Motherfuckin’ McGraw was he knew everything about me.
My heart.
My body.
My mind.
It was his. It’d always been his. He made sure of it.
I wanted to stop loving him as much as I wanted to save him. I surrendered to his sweet torture as he angled his fingers deep inside of me. His tongue felt so warm against my sex. He made love to me with his mouth, building me up higher and higher.
Wanting to prove I was his, no matter what.
He wasn’t letting me go.
My heart beat rapidly out of my chest, making it difficult to catch my next breath. My breathing became erratic, urgent, as intoxicated as he was. With each stroke of his tongue, he showed me how fucking weak I was.
Tears slid down the sides of my face, falling in a pool of resentment and shame on the linens.
“Why do you keep doing this to me?” I wept, breaking down in more ways than one.
“You’re my June. You’ve always been my June.”
He held my trembling body in his arms, consuming every last thought running rampant in my head. I’d seen myself in every form, disappearing more and more.
“I hate you, Cash. I fucking hate you.”
My body betrayed my words, starting to fall over the edge.
It was primal.
Powerful.
Burning in his ring of fire.
“Your pussy doesn’t hate me. In fact, it likes me just fine.”
“Oh God,” I panted in a voice I didn’t recognize, climaxing hard enough to see stars.
Before I knew which way was up or down, left or right, his large muscular frame was on top of mine. Making me feel so tiny, so safe.
It was a lie.
One. Big. Lie.
I opened my eyes, taking him in.
The hollowness and bags under his eyes.
His sunken cheekbones.
His pale skin.
“You don’t look good, Cash.”
“Yeah, well, you look fuckin’ beautiful.”
He rested his elbows along the sides of my face with my whole body lying beneath him. Slowly easing his way inside of me. He didn’t bother removing his clothes, still wearing his sneakers, his jeans, his gray hoodie that smelled of nothing but smoke.
“Show me what love is, Junie. Come on, baby...” he begged against my lips. Assaulting me with his whiskey and cigarette breath.
I tried to pull my face away, but he grabbed onto my chin. Locking me in place.
“Where’s my June, hmm? Where’s my sweet girl?”
His movements started off slow, thrusting in and out of me.
“You feel that? I’m showin’ you what love is, Journey.”
Leaning his forehead on mine, he looked deep into my soul. Our mouths were parted, still touching. With one hand he caressed the side of my face while the other gripped onto my thigh, angling my leg higher.
I sucked in a breath.
He wasn't fucking me.
He was making love to me. Taking his time to feel every last inch of me.
Memorizing my body.
My need.
My love.
His heady movements were almost as pained as the glare in his eyes. I wanted to fight him off. I wanted to yell at him and tell him to stop.
“Cash ... please...”
“Please what, darlin’? Huh? My girl want it fast or slow?”
“I want anything but this.”
“You want me to fuck you like a rock star?’
Lifting my leg higher, he put all his weight on his right knee, using the other for more momentum to thrust in and out of me.
Faster.
Harder.
Deeper.
“This what you want? Huh? Like this?”
I didn’t want him to stop, terrified of what would happen when he did. There’d be a price to pay, there always was when I didn’t give him what he wanted.
Showing me his torment.
His punishment.
His goddamn demons.
I felt it in every last breath from his lips, every last beat of his heart, every last thrust deep inside me.
My body betrayed my emotions. I started to come apart, clawing, gripping, moaning, panting, “Please, please, please,” again pleading for I didn’t know what. Climaxing all around his cock.
“Journey,” he growled from within his chest, pounding into me.
“I hate you. I fucking hate you,” I repeated it over and over again to let it sink into my skin, wanting it to become a part of me. To fuel my determination to leave him and not look back.
“But you love me even more.”
“Stop it. Stop telling me how I feel.”
“We’re connected, baby, and nothing can break us apart.”
Pound.
Pound.
Pound.
“Get off me.”
“Not until you show me