Drowning

Twenty Nine;

I understood that she didn't understand it; why I had to do what I did. But there was no way I was letting Hunnaway get away with knocking me out because he was a pathetic little loser. It was childlike and petty- perhaps on both behalves, but still.

It wasn't hard to find out his whereabouts. My people spoke to his people, of course twisting the scenario to make it seem safe and okay, and that was it. Surprisingly easy. He wasn't far out; in a hotel just half an hour away from my home. The surprise on his face motivated me.

I didn't go too hard on him. I was angry, sure. But I wasn't a murderer. So, I left him unconscious after throwing a few hits for fun. Of course, he responded with aggression, but soon he grew weak and collapsed in the same way that I had. And there was nothing anyone could do about it because if they knew, we'd both lose our careers. Hunnaway wasn't willing to let that happen, neither was I.

When I got home, I knew I'd be in shit with Zahara. Which, in hindsight, did make what I did a bit dickish. But, obviously, I had my reasons. It was fair game; she was upset for valid reasons, but I had to hurt him for, also, valid reasons.

By now, it was 8pm. I'd spent my day nursing my wounds and watching shitty television. I didn't feel awful, considering the circumstances.

Taking me by surprise, my doorbell sounded. The surprise soon turned to dread, which turned into irritation. I really could not be bothered for that to be Hunnaway. I really did not have that sort of energy right now. 

With a heavy sigh, I pulled myself up off from the sofa. I made my way to the door, and peeled through the letterbox, like a crazy old lady. My surprise returned, irritation dissipated.

I opened the door, unable to wear anything other than a look of shock. It was Zahara.

"I've thought about it." Zahara says, stepping through to my home.

"And...?" I ask, voice skeptical.

"I don't like that you just left like that. I don't like that you went behind my back because you knew I wouldn't be okay with it." she says.

"I know, baby. And I'm so sorry-"

"But," she interrupts. "If you didn't go find him and beat him up, I'd think there was something seriously wrong with you," she says, cracking a small smile.

"So...?"

"So, I've spent the day missing you and wanting to kiss you." she says, matter-of-factly.

Without hesitation, after closing the door, I walked towards her, held onto her cheeks and pressed my lips to hers.

Zahara kissed back, placing her hands on my chest. But then, she pulled away, my eyes slowly fluttering back open.

"At least I can't say that my boyfriend's a pussy," she smirks.

"Oh, yeah?" I chuckle. "You don't like pussies?"

"Nah," she says, backing me up until my back was pressed against the wall. "So, show me that you're not one." she says seductively, looking up at me with her dark, sexy eyes.

Again, without hesitation, I picked her body up and pressed hers against the wall, instead of my own. Our lips crashed together in a state of passion and lust, tongues soon joining.

My head still hurt, to an extent. My cuts and bruises hurt, too. But, right now, my only concern was being as close as possible to Zahara, and fucking her pretty little pussy.

Keeping Zahara in my arms, I carried her off to my bedroom. I needed my bed for the things I wanted to do to her; standing, or the sofa, just wouldn't cut it. Not right now.