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Dirty Dom(4)

By:Willow Winters

He leans in and whispers against my ear, letting his hot breath tickle my sensitized neck, “Thanks for the payment, doll.” With that he turns his back and shuts the door without giving me a second glance. That’s the moment the lust-filled hope dies and my heart cracks and crumbles in my hollow chest.

I count the money and start pacing. I need her info from Johnny. I need to know who this woman is. Whoever she is, she’s going to end up being mine. Not five minutes after she’s gone, Johnny comes back. “The first drop just left. She came with everything, but the interest.” I pocket her panties so he won’t see them. “Twelve grand right?”

“We didn’t charge her interest; she didn’t know about her husband’s debt until yesterday.”

“Since when is that how we do business?” I don’t even try to keep my voice down. Blood starts pounding in my ears. “Why the fuck is she paying her husband’s debt? He doesn’t have the balls to come here himself? He sends his woman!” The words jump from my lips before I have a moment to think.

I’m usually more controlled, more thoughtful. If this job has taught me anything it’s that silence is deadly and being a hot head will get you killed. But I’m shaking with rage. Anger seeps out of my pores. Anger that she’s married to a fucking coward and a bastard. But more than that, I’m fucking pissed that she’s taken.

Johnny shakes his head in confusion and slows his movements as he takes in my rage. “No it’s not like that. He died last week, heart attack or something.”

The moment Sarah sees me, the last bit of my hardened exterior cracks. I feel my lips tremble and bite down to prevent the tears. “What did you do, Becca?” Sarah’s pleading eyes makes me feel even shittier. She knows, she can tell. I’m sure I look like I just got fucked. My neck is pulsing from where he was biting me.

Her eyes want me to tell her she’s wrong, they’re begging me to tell her she’s mistaken, but I can’t lie. I can feel his cum leaking out of me and running down my thigh. Evidence of my weakness and my betrayal. The tears well in my eyes and I can’t stop a few from leaving angry, hot trails down my cheeks. All I can manage to reply is the barest of truths, “I slept with him.”

“Don’t cry Becca. It’s alright.”

“Rick just died and I slept with a stranger.” I don’t keep my own disgust out of my voice.

“It’s not like you two were even together in the end anyway. You were separated for nearly two months.” My breath comes in spasms as I rest my head on the door of my car. I loved my husband, but I can’t remember the last time he held me, the last time we made love. A criminal who probably would’ve hurt me had I shown up empty handed gave me more compassion and desire than Rick has in years.

My breath catches in my throat. I took advantage of her in a moment of weakness, but I didn’t fucking know how vulnerable she was. I slam my fist against the window. I didn’t fucking know! A sick, twisted churning makes me want to heave. Fuck, I treated her like some random slut. She probably thinks I’m a fucking animal for doing that to her. Fuck! I knew she needed me. I fucking knew it.

I just needed to be held and feel like I was loved. This shattering in my chest, jagged pieces of glass digging into my heart, it wasn’t worth it. It hurts too much. The worst part is that a very large part of me wants, no needs, to crawl back to him and beg him to hold me again. Just one more time.

I wish I hadn’t let her go.

I wish I’d never had to meet with him.

I clench my teeth and close my eyes, wondering if I’ll ever see her again.

I breathe deep and steady myself to drive away, knowing I’ll never see him again.

I hate myself.

I hate myself.

I’m such a dirty bastard.


“Give me her number.” After I’ve had a moment to calm down, I finally take a seat and decide to work out a plan to see her again. I can’t fucking let her go; especially not after the way I treated her.

“It’s her husband’s number.” My jaw ticks and I grind my teeth at his words.

“The fucker’s dead right?” My eyes bore into Johnny’s as my words come out with enough bite to let him know I’m still on edge. He starts to answer verbally, but decides to just nod his head. I keep staring at him, letting him get a good fucking idea of how pissed I am when he refers to that prick as her husband. “So he’s not her fucking husband.”

“Alright boss. You got it. I just-” he looks at the floor before continuing, “I just have his number. Not hers.”