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"I usually don't give a fck, but you bother me, and I hate that you do."
"What do you plan to do about it, then?"
"What can I do about it?"
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When a devastating injury threatens the career of Terence Ti...
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Morning, noon, night. They all look and feel the same to me. I've created a small hell for myself, and I'm too numb to get out of it. Everyday became some sort of monochrome since the accident that took mom and some vital things from me, but today, today is the first day something of color passed my eyelids. And fuck. Nothing prepared me for it.
I am not going to lie, my attention was immediately drawn to her captivating presence. Dressed in an all-black ensemble that molds to her slim-thick frame, she exudes an air of confident allure. Her every step, accentuated by silver heels, resonates with a poise that demands admiration.
The curve of her hips, accentuated by the perfectly tailored dress, is nothing short of mesmerizing. It's as if each movement is a carefully choreographed dance, highlighting the subtle symphony of her silhouette. The silver heels add a touch of glamour, emphasizing her stature and the subtle strength in her stride.
Her dark skin, bathed in a natural glow, holds a magnetic charm. It's a canvas that amplifies the richness of her ensemble, creating a stunning contrast that's impossible to ignore. Delicate jewelry adorns her, adding a touch of refinement without overshadowing her innate radiance.
Her hair, a crown of textured beauty, frames a face that tells a story of confidence and grace. Those deep, captivating eyes seem to hold secrets, while her lips, painted in a shade that matches the depth of her outfit, curve in a way that suggests both mystery and warmth.
"I love neck kisses, and my nipples a like little teeth."
The legendary Ivy Martins. The woman that makes grown men cry just by the sound of her heels. She stands here in my own personal hell, observing the dreadful atmosphere I've built for myself. She must hate it. She must be disgusted by me.
"You stink." Her lips read. She's not wrong. But I don't care. Zero fucks at this point in my life.
"How about a shower?" Her lips read again. She dared to ask. I've never met a woman so bold. Who tells a grown ass man to shower? Ivy Martins, that's who. I know I look like shit, but that's what the goal is, isn't it?
"Out." I get the word out. My throat hurts to speak.
She stands there, unmoving, but I've seen that face long enough to know that she's not just static, she's observing me, looking for weak points to attack. She comes closer and I don't move or blink. The sudden expression on her face tells me she's already noticed. Her brows arch and she takes a few more steps closer, oh fuck, I really stink. Then she dips her hand into her pocket and she gets out an item I thought she'd thrown out by now.
My old hearing aid. I'd given it to her almost two years ago, does it still work? Did she get it fixed or something? And more importantly, why does she still have it after all this time? Back then she looked like she was going to dispose of it the moment I turned my back, or so I thought, maybe I judged her too harshly.
