AllFreeNovel
Share Us
1
MACKENZIE FORD
Saturday Night
Mandarin Springs, Florida
Over Five Months Earlier
This was a mistake.
“Fuck, yeah. So fuckin’ good.”
The cords of his neck are taut, and I know he’s close to getting off, which pisses me off even more. If I showed the fucker a YouTube video on how to touch a woman’s clit to get her off, guaranteed he wouldn’t give a shit.
More than that, though, he closed his eyes the instant I insisted on getting on top, and I know why. I’m not a moron.
When you’ve got scars running down part of your face and the side of your body, it’s not exactly a sight to behold. They tend to put people on edge. It makes them uncomfortable.
I might have a fine-ass canvas of ink covering the bulk of it, from my left jawline down to my left ankle, but I still keep my shirt on. It’s easier; fewer probing questions to deal with.
But there’s no getting around the section of my face that’s visible for everyone’s viewing pleasure. Or lack thereof. Whatever.
The crazy thing is, if you take away my scars, I'm a solid nine—unless the guy hates tattoos, of course.
Looking at my right side in a full-length mirror, I know what men see. They see a woman whose curves can’t be concealed by jeans and a plain T-shirt. With smooth, perfect skin, a straight nose, and full lips that Botox fans would die for, it creates the illusion that I’m beautiful.
Until I turn. That’s when the guy realizes he’s getting a two instead of a nine, and disappointment sets in.
“Aw, fuck yeah.” His grunted words are punctuated by my pussy sliding down on his cock.
He’d rather do me doggy-style, so he doesn’t have to stare me in the face, but this position is better for me. And since he’s not the least bit concerned with anything other than getting his own rocks off, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
Why do I even bother going to all this trouble? Well, I’d deny it till my last dying breath, but deep down, there are times when I feel so damn lonely and isolated that I crave another person’s touch. A brief moment to feel connected to someone, even if it’s only physical.
That’s why, on occasion, I pick up an out-of-towner at the Freebird to scratch my itch. There’s no worry that I’ll have to face them afterward, and they consider fucking “the scar-faced chick” as something weird and different. But this whole deal has started to lose its luster.
If it ever really had a shine to begin with, that is.
I get that I’m a freak. That there’s not a chance in hell of finding someone who’d accept me for who I am and what I can do. I also can’t trust that another person wouldn’t try to use my ability for their own gain.
“Yeahhh. Just like that, baby.” He rolls his hips, and sure, it feels good, but he’s chasing his own goddamn O and not the least bit worried about mine. Which is why I have no choice in the matter. I need to take control of my own pleasure.
The instant I concentrate and press my thumb and finger together, everything goes still. Including the man beneath me. He lies there as if he’s frozen, and in a way he has.
Frozen in time.
No longer does a light breeze from the air-conditioning unit tousle the corner of the bedsheet. Now the material lies flat, unmoved. The near-lifeless bulb in the shitty desk lamp no longer performs its annoying off-beat strobe-light flicker.
Light from tonight’s half-moon drifts past the curtain’s edges, disrupting the room’s dark shadows. Its glow cuts a path that partially illuminates the man beneath me.
Face perfectly still, his mouth is parted. His chest no longer rises and falls, but he’s not dead.
An eerie silence has descended over the room, but I’m used to it. Used to being the only one impervious to the effect.
I shift on his hard cock and furiously rub my clit, eager to get off. My eyes fall closed as I chase my pleasure and dive deep into a place where nothing else matters.
Where my scars don’t elicit shudders or cringes. Where no one judges me strictly by my looks. Where it feels like I belong.
