Black Obsidian(38)

“Calloway.” She looked into my eyes with a wide-open mouth, her eyes holding the satisfaction I loved to see on a woman.

She finished, and now it was my turn. I exploded onto her stomach and chest, hitting her right below the chin and in the valley of her breasts. I kept squirting like a geyser, trailing all the way down to her belly button. My tip pointed into her navel, and I deposited the rest there.

My handiwork was a turn-on in itself. She was covered in my cum, her bra stained with my semen. I wanted her to stay like that forever just so I could look at her. I didn’t go inside her, but I felt like I claimed her in an even more sexual way.

And I wanted to claim her like that again.



Instead of wearing the clothes she arrived in, she borrowed a pair of my boxers and a t-shirt. She looked sexy in my stuff, sexier than I ever did. She sat across from me at the kitchen table and sipped her wine.

I put the plates in front of both of us and began to eat. It was chicken caprese with ravioli and a side salad. It was more food than I would normally make for myself, but since she always ordered a salad, I wanted her to load up on some calories. She probably didn’t want to eat what I made her, but I knew she was too polite to let it go to waste.

She cut into her chicken and ate slowly, taking her time as she enjoyed the two different sides. She sipped her wine intermittently and stayed quiet. After sex, I was usually tired and in a quiet repose. She seemed to be the same.

“Do you like your dinner?”

“It’s amazing,” she said. “You’re a great cook.”

“I’m glad to see you like other things besides salad.”

She held my gaze but stopped eating. Her gaze was unreadable, but my words clearly meant something to her. She turned back to her plate and kept eating, not making eye contact with me again.

Did I hit a nerve?

She took a few bites of her ravioli, eating so slowly she reminded me of a sloth. Slow and steady, she continued the race and eventually ate everything on her plate, not leaving a single crumb behind. When one of the tomatoes fell off the chicken, she stabbed it with a fork and placed it in her mouth.

I was impressed. “You must have been hungry.”

“I don’t like to waste food.”

“So you weren’t hungry?”

“I was. I just don’t normally eat that much.”

Tension hung in the air, and instead of letting it continue to grow, I decided to cut through it. “Is there a reason why I hardly see you eat?”

She directed her callous eyes on me, her defenses coming up. I could tell when she was provoked. There was a metallic gleam in her eyes. Methodically, her brain worked to find a suitable answer. The question was simple and nearly harmless, but she absorbed it like it was a question under oath. “I feel guilty.”

I hadn’t finished my dinner, but now I lost my appetite. Without knowing exactly what she meant, I knew she was opening up to me, revealing an aspect of herself she’d never showed me before. The careful choice of her words and the strength of her voice told me it was a serious matter. “Why?” I set my fork down and gave her my full attention.

“I feel guilty eating when there are millions of people who are starving.” She held my expression like a ruthless queen, absorbing every single reaction I made with my features. My house was unnaturally quiet. The sounds of traffic couldn’t even be heard from outside. It felt like just the two of us in the known world.

“Starving yourself isn’t going to change anything.”

“I don’t starve myself. I just consume as little as possible so nothing goes to waste. There’s a difference.”

This was a tense subject. I could tell by the tightness of her shoulders and her jaw. Instead of speaking my mind, I had to tread carefully. “You grew up hungry.” I didn’t phrase it as a question because that would feel like an interrogation. I would put my curiosity on the table and leave the door open, inviting her to elaborate or end the discussion altogether. Her mystery and majesty intrigued me, obsessed me, but I wanted her to confide in me because she wanted to, not because she was pressured to.

“Sometimes, I was locked in a basement without food or water for days. The longest I’ve ever gone is five.”

I held her gaze but immediately felt my spine prickle with destruction. A kind of pain I’d never experienced washed through me, burning me with satanic fire. My sympathy only extended so far, but with her, she took all of it. She told me not to pity her, but I did. I felt terrible for her, so bad that I wanted to do everything I could to fix it. I wanted to buy her a new apartment, a car so she wouldn’t have to take the subway, and anything else she could possibly want.