Fortune Teller

“It’s hot as fuck,” she whined. The windows were thrown open wide and the fans rattled on high but there was no relief. Hot air blew over the bed like an insult. The damn heat pissed us off. Ice melted in the glass before I could walk from the kitchen to the bedroom with a cold glass of water. Everything felt wrong, but I’d missed her too much all week to hold back.

I’d been alone the night before and fell asleep before she made it home around 2am. She was up and gone again at dawn. I’d wanted to fuck her as soon as she got home this afternoon but the heat was too much. Too sticky.

We read in bed together, not talking, trying to enjoy the calm. One or the other would get up for more water. I couldn’t relax next to her. She was stripped down to her bra and panties, lying there on her belly. Every page she turned distracted me. She kicked her feet up behind her and I’d stare at the backs of her thighs, her calves. Damn, this girl. She always turned me on. No matter what was going on, I wanted her.

I wanted to fuck. I was angry. I was hot and tired. She was oblivious and way too sexy.

I tried to be still. I tried to read but kept going back over the same sentence again and again. There were her feet, kicking. There was her belly as she rolled over and out of bed for another glass of water. “You’re mine,” I whispered as she crawled back into bed. “Always,” she replied and rolled her eyes. Her smart mouth. Her attitude. It was hard to tell when she was serious. She could be a brat and I fell for it every time. Hard.

“It’s too hot to fuck,” I said. She didn’t bother with a reply, just turned another page and sighed. This is what gets me. I cannot stand being ignored. I can’t stand the desire rising up in me with nowhere to go. She loves this. She watches it build. Some nights she can’t wait for my anger and prompts me. “Use me, baby,” she’ll say, “do anything you want.” Tonight I bit.

“You’re mine,” I said and crawled over her. I felt the sweat on my thighs as I straddled her ass. I grabbed her hair in one fist and jammed my other hand between my legs. “You know what I like,” she said. Her mouth stayed open. I watched her lower lip quiver. I shoved her head harder against the mattress. “Fuck you,” I managed, intending a stream of insults to follow, but I was going to come too fast. She knew it and laughed. “Fuck you,” I said and curled over her like a fortune telling fish.

She laughed louder now. Laughed harder as I smashed against her. Laughed at my struggle to shove her further beneath me while I jerked off. Passion is passion. Anger, love, jealousy. Everything was mixed together in this moment, but it was jealousy I felt most. The jealousy rushing through me wasn’t angry. I wasn’t nursing a wound or some slight. It wasn’t the thought that she wanted someone else. I felt jealous of her easy way. The book she held. Her ability to turn away from me and think of something else for even a moment. I was consumed. I wanted her always. Now. In this heat. Always.

I heard myself scream before I felt the pleasure of it. Coming. Coming on top of her. Holding her down. Wrapped around her. Her lazy laugh floating in the room. “Oh baby,” she sighed. It took me losing all control for her to give me that glimpse of herself, her sweetness, her relief in seeing me exposed.

I fell asleep after that and slept for hours, a deep sleep I hadn’t felt all through the long, hot summer. “You’re mine,” I said when I opened my eyes. The room was pitch black. I felt for her next to me. “Mine,” I said and grabbed her. She rolled over and pet my face. “I’m all yours,” she said, “Tell me what you want.”

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