All I Want
Page 2
He was a cop.
He grew up in Canton, Alabama.
And he loved raw cookie dough.
Okay, so that last fact could be taken as something personal, but I only knew that tidbit of information because he always had packs of those pre-made, break-a-part, cookie dough squares in his fridge and he snacked on them when I was around. But that’s it. The most intimate detail I knew about the man I was completely crazy about was that he didn’t mind possibly contracting salmonella poisoning. Anytime I asked about his childhood or his family, he’d distract me with sex or dodge the question. But even though he kept me at a distance, I still felt more connected to Luke than any other man I’d been with. He’d give me this look, or he’d hold me a certain way, like he was scared I was going to bolt. Like he needed me as much as I needed him. Like he actually cared.
He didn’t. He didn’t care about me. Not like I did him.
Looking back on it now, I’m glad I had the pregnancy scare with him. It made me ask the important “do you ever see yourself having a family of your own” question. Which was what I wanted. And I thought I could have had one with Luke. But he hadn’t wanted that. He hadn’t seen himself having what my brother had. So I’d ended it, thinking I was pregnant but keeping him ignorant to that tiny detail. Hours later, when I’d discovered I wasn’t, I wanted to feel relief. Relief that I wouldn’t have to go through it alone. But I hadn’t. I’d wanted that baby, and I’d wanted it with Luke.
And while I’ve been celibate, not by choice, for the past twelve months, he’s been whoring it up around Ruxton, sticking his dick into anything with a pulse.
God, I hope his dick falls off. He deserves to never come again.
I rub my eyes and focus on the blank description box in the middle of my screen. It doesn’t need to be lengthy. It can be short and sweet, like me.
I’m Tessa Kelly. Twenty-four years old and living in Ruxton, Alabama. I like sex, but I want it with someone who isn’t just in it to get laid. I’m not looking for a one-night stand. If that’s you, don’t contact me.
There. Straight forward. No confusion. Oh shit. One other important detail.
If your job requires you to wear a uniform, keep moving.
I click the arrow button and the next screen pops up, prompting me to answer a few simple questions. What gender and age group am I interested in? How far am I willing to travel? I type in my answers and click the arrow.
TK12, you’re almost finished! Please describe your ideal mate.
Well, I’m not usually the type to sugar-coat anything, so why start here?
Marriage material, who would like to eventually have kids, and can fuck like a champion.
Yup. That should definitely catch someone’s attention. Hopefully the right someone. I’m sure there is a surplus of weirdoes patrolling this website for potential obsessions, but that doesn’t worry me. I can take care of myself. Just not in the way that is forcing me to create a dating profile.
Congratulations, TK12! Once you upload your profile picture, you’ll be added to our database and users will be able to contact you. Please follow the guidelines listed below for file requirements.
I minimize the window and scroll through my picture folders. I have a ton on here with files going all the way back to high school. But I need a recent photo. And my most recent ones are the pictures I took at Ben and Mia’s wedding. I hover the arrow over the folder, ready to click, when I see it.
The folder I forgot about.
I don’t want to open it. I don’t need to open it. But I do and I have no idea why. And then the photos are filling my screen. Ones of the two of us taken selfie-style, and ones that I took of him when he didn’t know it. Those were always my favorite. That comfortable look of his, so different from the look he had when he knew I was watching him. When he knew every girl was watching him. He has this cockiness that plays on his features, and when I see it, it drives me completely insane with lust. I swear to Christ, that look is directly connected to my pussy. One glance and I’m on my back, assuming the position.
Luke Evans knows how attractive he is, and uses that to his advantage. He can sit back and wait for girls to come to him if he wants to, picking them off like fish in a barrel. But that look isn’t the one that I liked to capture when I snuck pictures of him. It isn’t the look that had me thinking about things I’ve never thought of with other guys. It isn’t the look I’m currently staring at.
He’s concentrating on something, the TV I think, while I sit next to him. His one hand is tucked under his chin while the other rests on my foot that’s in his lap. His light hair is sticking up a bit, and he looks relaxed in a worn T-shirt.
It was this look that got me every time. This settled-down look that made me imagine him on my couch several years from now, doing absolutely nothing and being perfectly content with that. But this look was just another one of his lies. Another way to manipulate me into believing what we had meant something to him. And I fell for it, just like all the other stupid fish.
I close down the folder and right-click it, bringing up my options. And I don’t hesitate. I click delete and confirm my decision, sending the folder out of my picture file.
I find a picture of myself that Mia took with my camera at her wedding. I’m smiling and it’s remarkably genuine, which is surprising considering who attended that wedding, and how nervous I was about seeing him. My auburn hair is curling over my shoulders, half up in an elegant twist. I choose this one because it’s the most recent picture I have of myself, and because I look really happy in it. Of course I was happy. My brother made my best friend a permanent part of my family that day. I’d never have to say goodbye to her again. She looked so beautiful with her finally noticeable baby bump that Nolan kept touching during the ceremony. And when my nephew didn’t have his hands on her belly, Ben did. Protecting. Claiming.
It’s how he’ll always be with her.
Love. It suits the two of them.
I saw it in Mia’s eyes when she tried desperately to ignore her feelings toward my brother at the beginning of last summer. When she tried to hold onto the hate she was so comfortable with feeling and not let herself feel anything different. And I would’ve supported that hate, but I knew Ben. I knew how great of a guy he had become and how perfect he was for Mia. I saw his affection for her. The way he looked at her like nobody else existed, and I knew that he would’ve done anything to prove himself to her.
Even going the friend route, which I honestly did not see coming.
But it worked. And once Mia got to know my brother for the man he had become, she opened herself up to all those other feelings that were brewing just beneath the surface. I knew it wouldn’t take long. Not with the undeniable attraction the two of them had for each other.
You can hate someone until you’re blue in the face, but that doesn’t take away the desire that brews in your gut at the mere sight of him or her.
I know a little bit about that struggle myself. Luckily, I’ve managed to keep my distance.
I upload my photo and the screen takes me to a list of possible matches. I scan their faces quickly. Some look promising, but I didn’t join this dating service to patrol for penis like some cock-whore. If someone’s interested, they can contact me.
I’m still a lady, Goddamn it, and I’d like to be pursued.
He grew up in Canton, Alabama.
And he loved raw cookie dough.
Okay, so that last fact could be taken as something personal, but I only knew that tidbit of information because he always had packs of those pre-made, break-a-part, cookie dough squares in his fridge and he snacked on them when I was around. But that’s it. The most intimate detail I knew about the man I was completely crazy about was that he didn’t mind possibly contracting salmonella poisoning. Anytime I asked about his childhood or his family, he’d distract me with sex or dodge the question. But even though he kept me at a distance, I still felt more connected to Luke than any other man I’d been with. He’d give me this look, or he’d hold me a certain way, like he was scared I was going to bolt. Like he needed me as much as I needed him. Like he actually cared.
He didn’t. He didn’t care about me. Not like I did him.
Looking back on it now, I’m glad I had the pregnancy scare with him. It made me ask the important “do you ever see yourself having a family of your own” question. Which was what I wanted. And I thought I could have had one with Luke. But he hadn’t wanted that. He hadn’t seen himself having what my brother had. So I’d ended it, thinking I was pregnant but keeping him ignorant to that tiny detail. Hours later, when I’d discovered I wasn’t, I wanted to feel relief. Relief that I wouldn’t have to go through it alone. But I hadn’t. I’d wanted that baby, and I’d wanted it with Luke.
And while I’ve been celibate, not by choice, for the past twelve months, he’s been whoring it up around Ruxton, sticking his dick into anything with a pulse.
God, I hope his dick falls off. He deserves to never come again.
I rub my eyes and focus on the blank description box in the middle of my screen. It doesn’t need to be lengthy. It can be short and sweet, like me.
I’m Tessa Kelly. Twenty-four years old and living in Ruxton, Alabama. I like sex, but I want it with someone who isn’t just in it to get laid. I’m not looking for a one-night stand. If that’s you, don’t contact me.
There. Straight forward. No confusion. Oh shit. One other important detail.
If your job requires you to wear a uniform, keep moving.
I click the arrow button and the next screen pops up, prompting me to answer a few simple questions. What gender and age group am I interested in? How far am I willing to travel? I type in my answers and click the arrow.
TK12, you’re almost finished! Please describe your ideal mate.
Well, I’m not usually the type to sugar-coat anything, so why start here?
Marriage material, who would like to eventually have kids, and can fuck like a champion.
Yup. That should definitely catch someone’s attention. Hopefully the right someone. I’m sure there is a surplus of weirdoes patrolling this website for potential obsessions, but that doesn’t worry me. I can take care of myself. Just not in the way that is forcing me to create a dating profile.
Congratulations, TK12! Once you upload your profile picture, you’ll be added to our database and users will be able to contact you. Please follow the guidelines listed below for file requirements.
I minimize the window and scroll through my picture folders. I have a ton on here with files going all the way back to high school. But I need a recent photo. And my most recent ones are the pictures I took at Ben and Mia’s wedding. I hover the arrow over the folder, ready to click, when I see it.
The folder I forgot about.
I don’t want to open it. I don’t need to open it. But I do and I have no idea why. And then the photos are filling my screen. Ones of the two of us taken selfie-style, and ones that I took of him when he didn’t know it. Those were always my favorite. That comfortable look of his, so different from the look he had when he knew I was watching him. When he knew every girl was watching him. He has this cockiness that plays on his features, and when I see it, it drives me completely insane with lust. I swear to Christ, that look is directly connected to my pussy. One glance and I’m on my back, assuming the position.
Luke Evans knows how attractive he is, and uses that to his advantage. He can sit back and wait for girls to come to him if he wants to, picking them off like fish in a barrel. But that look isn’t the one that I liked to capture when I snuck pictures of him. It isn’t the look that had me thinking about things I’ve never thought of with other guys. It isn’t the look I’m currently staring at.
He’s concentrating on something, the TV I think, while I sit next to him. His one hand is tucked under his chin while the other rests on my foot that’s in his lap. His light hair is sticking up a bit, and he looks relaxed in a worn T-shirt.
It was this look that got me every time. This settled-down look that made me imagine him on my couch several years from now, doing absolutely nothing and being perfectly content with that. But this look was just another one of his lies. Another way to manipulate me into believing what we had meant something to him. And I fell for it, just like all the other stupid fish.
I close down the folder and right-click it, bringing up my options. And I don’t hesitate. I click delete and confirm my decision, sending the folder out of my picture file.
I find a picture of myself that Mia took with my camera at her wedding. I’m smiling and it’s remarkably genuine, which is surprising considering who attended that wedding, and how nervous I was about seeing him. My auburn hair is curling over my shoulders, half up in an elegant twist. I choose this one because it’s the most recent picture I have of myself, and because I look really happy in it. Of course I was happy. My brother made my best friend a permanent part of my family that day. I’d never have to say goodbye to her again. She looked so beautiful with her finally noticeable baby bump that Nolan kept touching during the ceremony. And when my nephew didn’t have his hands on her belly, Ben did. Protecting. Claiming.
It’s how he’ll always be with her.
Love. It suits the two of them.
I saw it in Mia’s eyes when she tried desperately to ignore her feelings toward my brother at the beginning of last summer. When she tried to hold onto the hate she was so comfortable with feeling and not let herself feel anything different. And I would’ve supported that hate, but I knew Ben. I knew how great of a guy he had become and how perfect he was for Mia. I saw his affection for her. The way he looked at her like nobody else existed, and I knew that he would’ve done anything to prove himself to her.
Even going the friend route, which I honestly did not see coming.
But it worked. And once Mia got to know my brother for the man he had become, she opened herself up to all those other feelings that were brewing just beneath the surface. I knew it wouldn’t take long. Not with the undeniable attraction the two of them had for each other.
You can hate someone until you’re blue in the face, but that doesn’t take away the desire that brews in your gut at the mere sight of him or her.
I know a little bit about that struggle myself. Luckily, I’ve managed to keep my distance.
I upload my photo and the screen takes me to a list of possible matches. I scan their faces quickly. Some look promising, but I didn’t join this dating service to patrol for penis like some cock-whore. If someone’s interested, they can contact me.
I’m still a lady, Goddamn it, and I’d like to be pursued.
