AllFreeNovel
Share Us
6 months later
“Come on, sugarton.” Aston slaps my ass playfully in a way which both infuriates and deeply disappoints me.
“Ugh, fuck off,” I groan, rolling over in my bed and wondering why the hell my boyfriend is even in my apartment and waking me from a delicious dream of three sexy tattooed hunks who occupy my nights way more often than I’d like to admit.
“Get your lazy ass up.”
“Why?” I groan, still stuck halfway between a beach in Miami and the crumpled lines of my pillow. I swear I can still feel the sand under my fingertips, but that might just be last night’s cookie crumbs.
“I’m sick of staring at those three pieces of shit tattoos on your back. We’re getting them fixed.”
Dread, in the form of angry bile, immediately rises up my throat and I have to swallow hard to force it back down. Then I grind my teeth and count to ten before answering him as I roll over onto my back.
“I’ve told you before—”
“Yeah, yeah, you won’t get them lasered off.” Gaston — friends call him Aston — shakes his head in exasperation at me, like I’m being a petulant child over this. It’s an argument we’ve had many times. One of the numerous and frequent things we fight over.
“What are you planning then? A skin graft, Ass-ton?” I snap, looking up at him, wondering for the fifth time, in as many minutes, why the fuck I’m still dating this guy. Sure, his dick is a decent size, but more often than not — as in every time we fuck — I have to get myself off…
“Don’t be dramatic, Belle,” he sighs. “And I’ve asked you not to call me that, please. If you get up, shower your skanky ass, and get ready, you might actually find out what it is that I’ve taken great pains to arrange for you.”
I really should try harder to dump this guy. I know that probably sounds awful when he’s turned up at my apartment and has clearly arranged some sort of surprise for me. But he’s just called me lazy and skanky, and called my tattoos pieces of shit, which doesn’t sit well with me at all. On top of that, he seems to think that just because he put his dick in my pussy a few times that he has total jurisdiction over my body. Ha! As if. I wouldn’t even let someone who owned my heart have that kind of control over me, let alone someone I can barely stand. Why the fuck am I with you? nearly slips from my lips when the fire inside me dies out, and I give in like I always do.
“Fine, but as my skanky ass is so lazy, you better make me some breakfast while I shower and get ready. It could take a while.”
I’m climbing out of bed and pushing past him, finally awake enough to wonder how the hell Aston got into my apartment in the first place, when he stops me leaving the room with an arm across the doorway. I huff and glower at him. I hate this pseudo-macho controlling bullshit.
“Wear your hair up,” he instructs in such a demanding tone that I internally stick my finger up at him.
Fuck him.
I’ll wear it down.
I take my time showering, making sure to scrub every inch of my skanky ass, getting myself more and more wound up with every pass of the loofah across my sensitive skin. Damn fucking Aston. I should never have hooked up with him at all.
He’s definitely not my usual type, at all, but when I came back from Miami I was…well, a little sensitive and lonely I guess, and Aston wore me down in a moment of weakness.
I know him from work, but I’ve never really liked his over-the-top cockiness or smarmy flirting. I don’t rate him as a colleague either; he seems the sort to steal your ideas and throw you under the bus when things go wrong.
To be honest, he reminds me too much of Johnny: a bit of a poser and all talk. But a moment of too-much-tequila-weakness turned into a kiss. A kiss led to feeling a little less lonely, and then one mistake became two. Then my visa got held up. So I wasn’t going anywhere, stuck in the city indefinitely. Which is why that mistake became three, then four. Before I knew it, I’m several months down the line and in a fucked up relationship with a guy I still don’t really like, who isn’t that great in bed, but who doesn’t seem to take no for an answer. Believe me, I’ve tried to get rid of him, but he keeps coming back like a bad smell. Or like herpes — or so I’m told. If I was talking to Johnny, I’d text him to ask the best way to get rid of this particular virus.
The water runs cold, so I get out and wrap a towel around me, cross back to my room — thankfully without bumping into Aston who sounds like he is at least making himself useful in the kitchen — and set to work on blow-drying my hair. It would be a lot faster to put it up in a messy bun while it’s wet, but I vowed to wear it down in protest. Aston doesn’t get to tell me what to do, and he can damn well wait for me to get ready.
I deliberately tug on my short, frayed, denim skirt and a backless top. Aston hates denim, and my tattoos, thinking both are common and vulgar. Hence, why I make sure I have a lot of ink on show today. Even though he seems to hate everything about me, he still wants to be with me. I don’t get it at all.
To begin with, I think I posed a challenge as the only person to say no to him. Now I wonder if he’s made it his mission to try to change me…into what, though? I’m never going to be wifey, take home to meet your parents, material.
I don’t say anything when I join him in the kitchen, but his eyes scan over my body before he scowls, and I get a smug stab of satisfaction in my chest.
“Can’t you just do as you’re told for once in your life, Belle?” He sighs.
“No. I can’t, asshat,” I snap back. “Maybe if you tried asking, rather than telling, I could find it in myself to be more amenable.” He shakes his head and slides a bowl of granola over to me. “What the hell is this?”
“Breakfast.”
“It looks like budgie food,” I complain.
“You said I had to feed you, well, there you go. And what the fuck is a budgie?”
