The Drazen World: Release (Kindle Worlds Novella) Read Online Free Page B
Author: A. R. Hadley
It would be my trouble. My fault alone. How could I be a real man if I couldn't spread my seed? A basic rite of passage. Normal. Except, he wouldn't know. I didn't tell Declan things. We didn't speak. I had managed to avoid him for years, but it didn't stop me from hearing his voice on rotation. The strange bed, the strange place, his voice reminding me of my mistakes, all of it was making me especially vulnerable to my typical early morning nagging and the pitfalls of my conscience. I was falling all over myself here, tripping on the garbage I invented as reality.
I turned onto my side. The numbers I had been avoiding shot out at me like a laser beam. 4:12 a.m. Well, I had managed three hours. Somehow, my body could function on only a few hours of shuteye a night. It was a strange phenomenon. I never needed sleep the way other people seemed to crave it. I required a few hours. Minimum. Four or five. I wasn't a god. I needed something. I didn't know what was ideal or recommended by doctors. I didn't give a shit either. I knew my body. Something was off, though. I hadn't been getting the dose I required. Maybe it was the vacation. The relaxation. Too much of anything made a person want more. More sleep than you needed made a person extra tired, lethargic. I didn't do lazy. So I made the most of my insomnia. I pounded out messages in the middle of the night to Europe and Asia. I looked into Orlando just as I had intended. I caught up on dozens of emails. Personal and business. My sister, Sheila, was having a birthday party next week for one of the kids. My mother had been complaining about my absence, even though as of late she rarely saw me. Six of my seven sisters were discussing the merits of my father attending the celebration.
He wouldn't dare.
Work was fine, but I still needed to get back to Los Angeles. I needed to keep my finger on the pulse. I needed routine. Riding bikes each morning, eating the same variation of breakfast, checking out local art galleries and mom-and-pop restaurants, fucking, I mean, making love to Jessica in the afternoons on the bed in the same position — none of those activities were my idea of routine. Not the routine I wanted. Or craved. When did my life become so predictable? So boring? So vanilla? I laughed. There were terms. I was learning them. I had been doing my BDSM research on the Internet. At night mostly, when I couldn't sleep.
Vanilla...
Conventional sex. Plain sex. No kink. No fetish. Unadventurous. The opposite of exciting. The term was subjective. Sure. Mostly though it spelled out in very brash, flashy letters:
No variety. No risk. No hurt. No complications.
Vanilla sex equaled an emotionally safe escape route.
Jessica's name may as well have been filed underneath the definition or explanations. Even her skin matched the flavor. I had to start pushing her, telling her what I needed. Soon. Did I need it, or only want it? Would she deny me? Maybe I was being too harsh on her. She always hid her desires. Her emotions. Better than me. Maybe I just needed to fuck the vanilla out of her and pound the kink in.
ten
JONATHAN
She stepped into the room after having had a massage. She had one each afternoon. Fucking routine. Vacation necessity. I asked her to join me at the window. People watching had become my routine.
"What are you humming?" she asked as she approached. "That's not like you?"
Was I humming? Jesus. What was like me anymore? I was growing, shedding the skin of victim and replacing it with permanence. A man I wanted to face in the mirror. Every day.
The sky looked amazing after rain. It wasn't a sight I was accustomed to seeing. I had stood at the window for a long time that afternoon. The rain had mesmerized me. Most of the people below didn't even vacate the beach during the storm. They huddled under brightly colored umbrellas. A few remained in the water, frolicking. Living. Apparently, I was humming. The rain tapping against the window
I turned onto my side. The numbers I had been avoiding shot out at me like a laser beam. 4:12 a.m. Well, I had managed three hours. Somehow, my body could function on only a few hours of shuteye a night. It was a strange phenomenon. I never needed sleep the way other people seemed to crave it. I required a few hours. Minimum. Four or five. I wasn't a god. I needed something. I didn't know what was ideal or recommended by doctors. I didn't give a shit either. I knew my body. Something was off, though. I hadn't been getting the dose I required. Maybe it was the vacation. The relaxation. Too much of anything made a person want more. More sleep than you needed made a person extra tired, lethargic. I didn't do lazy. So I made the most of my insomnia. I pounded out messages in the middle of the night to Europe and Asia. I looked into Orlando just as I had intended. I caught up on dozens of emails. Personal and business. My sister, Sheila, was having a birthday party next week for one of the kids. My mother had been complaining about my absence, even though as of late she rarely saw me. Six of my seven sisters were discussing the merits of my father attending the celebration.
He wouldn't dare.
Work was fine, but I still needed to get back to Los Angeles. I needed to keep my finger on the pulse. I needed routine. Riding bikes each morning, eating the same variation of breakfast, checking out local art galleries and mom-and-pop restaurants, fucking, I mean, making love to Jessica in the afternoons on the bed in the same position — none of those activities were my idea of routine. Not the routine I wanted. Or craved. When did my life become so predictable? So boring? So vanilla? I laughed. There were terms. I was learning them. I had been doing my BDSM research on the Internet. At night mostly, when I couldn't sleep.
Vanilla...
Conventional sex. Plain sex. No kink. No fetish. Unadventurous. The opposite of exciting. The term was subjective. Sure. Mostly though it spelled out in very brash, flashy letters:
No variety. No risk. No hurt. No complications.
Vanilla sex equaled an emotionally safe escape route.
Jessica's name may as well have been filed underneath the definition or explanations. Even her skin matched the flavor. I had to start pushing her, telling her what I needed. Soon. Did I need it, or only want it? Would she deny me? Maybe I was being too harsh on her. She always hid her desires. Her emotions. Better than me. Maybe I just needed to fuck the vanilla out of her and pound the kink in.
ten
JONATHAN
She stepped into the room after having had a massage. She had one each afternoon. Fucking routine. Vacation necessity. I asked her to join me at the window. People watching had become my routine.
"What are you humming?" she asked as she approached. "That's not like you?"
Was I humming? Jesus. What was like me anymore? I was growing, shedding the skin of victim and replacing it with permanence. A man I wanted to face in the mirror. Every day.
The sky looked amazing after rain. It wasn't a sight I was accustomed to seeing. I had stood at the window for a long time that afternoon. The rain had mesmerized me. Most of the people below didn't even vacate the beach during the storm. They huddled under brightly colored umbrellas. A few remained in the water, frolicking. Living. Apparently, I was humming. The rain tapping against the window
Readers choose
Nadia Nightside
Kate Wilhelm
Candace Shaw
Gordon Bickerstaff
Rebecca Royce
Scott Nicholson
Tiffany Truitt
Beth Neff
Teresa J. Rhyne
Shirlee Busbee