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being too relationship-y and Zoe doesn’t do relationships. I’m not looking to start one either, so it’s fine with me. And it’s not like I was gonna throw a fit about our lack of making out when she started strutting towards my bedroom, discarding her clothes on the short way there.
    I yawn and huff a little when I catch a whiff of her lotion on my sheets. It’s not that I don’t like the scent, because I do. It’s clean and soft and reminds me of white cotton linens on a foreign shore. But sometimes when I come home and go to bed, then catch myself smiling when I breathe it in…it bothers me. Because Zoe is…she’s complicated.
    She’s a pain in the ass to work for, most of the time. But when we’re running some random errand or doing a bid on a house, she can also be a lot of fun. She’s smart, and she isn’t afraid to mess with me. I don’t even know if it’s the military that ingrained it into my personality, or if maybe I was always like this, but for a long time I’ve lived with the outlook of work hard, play harder. And Zoe plays like she fucks: hard. It’s one of the things I like most about her. Not that I like her… But you can’t help but to be drawn to a woman who is confident, especially when it comes to her sexuality.
    Her control issues don’t magically evaporate when she hits a set of bed sheets, and it’s not surprising a person who lives by getting what she wants prefers a partner who can actually deliver on her requests. But the thing that drives her completely, out-of-control wild? I fight her. And usually when I do, I win. I mean, it’s not like I’m hurting her, but sometimes she needs to be dominated a bit and made to be patient. Sometimes she needs to realize it’s fine to get what you want, as long as you give it back. So more often than not, sex is a war ; battling for who is on top and which is stronger: my hands holding hers to the bed or her nails scraping down my back, how hard I can slam into her before I feel like my spine is going to crack, or whether my headboard is going to give out first. It’s raw, primal and dirty, and she’ll never admit it, but when I have her pulled up on her knees, her hands pinned on the mattress and stretched out in front of her, those are the times when she comes the hardest.
    My eyes roll back in my head just thinking about it and I have to reach down and adjust myself, my dick instantly hard and still crazy sensitive. And even though she just left and I could probably sleep for three days, the truth is I’m totally addicted and have to remind myself why I shouldn’t text her and tell her she needs to come back because I’m not finished with her yet.
    Because therein lies the problem. I can’t ever seem to cut myself loose from her. No matter how much she pisses me off, despite how many times I’ve cursed her out and flipped her off before telling her I’m quitting, I always come back. And what really gets my self-deprecating temper flaring is she knows that just as well as I do, and not once have I ever called her to come over here. She’s the one who shows up without warning, and I have never been able to figure out if she’s sleeping with me because it’s what she wants to do, or if she’s blatantly screwing me into submission. Maybe a little of both.
    I huff and rework my arms around my pillow, scowling at the scent of her. Because maybe it started as one, and then became another. Maybe her intentions are just like all those couches she changes her mind on: it just got…swapped out.
    Whatever, because I know that for as tough and unaffected as she presents herself, I get under her skin in more ways than one and as twisted as it is, I can’t help but to like it. I can piss her off as easily as I turn her on, get her to glare at me and then laugh out loud immediately after. And usually she acts like she can’t stand the fact that I know her triggers, but I do know them and façades aside, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t