Chapter 39: Between lust and fury

“Teasing with your ex, and right in my face too,” Zara screamed.

“What the hell?” he looked at her like she was a madwoman, struggling to make sense of her enraged fury.

“Danielle, or whatever, you calm her,” he said.

“Hey!” he pointed his fingers at her, his eyes wide open.

“You need to calm down,” he added, walking gently toward her at a slow, catlike pace.

“Don’t come near—or else—” she held a knife from the counter toward him.

“Stop. You’re being dramatic. Danielle is an ex. She’s in the past.”

Zara shrank. She dropped the knife and went toward the bed.

“I hate her,” she said. “She’s a bitch. She speaks with such subtle mockery.”

Nat watched her. Fear glared on his face. He went to her and took her hand.

“I get that. It’s okay to feel insecure. But throwing a glass? That’s insane.”

Zara got up angrily.

“You’re the one that’s insane!” She went to the bathroom and locked herself in for about an hour.

When she emerged, she had water on her face and her nightgown on.

She sank onto her bed. Nat came up, lying beside her, trying to kiss her, trying to make love to her, to solicit her. She waved him away. He persisted, now moving his lips around her neck.

“Go away!” she shouted. She took her pillows and propped them in the middle of the bed, a clear demarcation of space.

Nat laughed. It was all childish and dramatic to him.

“Wow… really… okay,” he resigned, picking up his phone.

Zara lay on the bed, her eyes open nonetheless, her mind drifting into the far distance.

“I want to make you dinner and serve you wine in your penthouse. Let’s have some time together.”

A message from Alicia.

Nat was simply exasperated. She would never learn, would she? he thought, sighing and ignoring the text. She rang his line twice. He watched his phone ring, feeling the urge to dance to his ringtone.

Zara had slept, snoring slightly. Nat held her nose up for a while, and when he released it, she shook her head and stopped snoring.

He hissed and went to sleep.

In the morning, the light of dawn through the opened velvet curtains created a rectangle of gold. The sun shimmered yellow. She went toward him and made coffee.

“Good morning,” he came up to her.

She yawned, took the coffee mug on a saucer, and replied,

“Thank you.”

Her brain hadn’t fully processed the morning, like a Windows 2000 desktop still booting. Later, she remembered her spite for him, the little fight, and tightened her smile into a frown.

“Sorry about last night,” Nat said. It all seemed funny and immature to him—her anger, even his apology, carried a hint of unseriousness.

She barely nodded.

“Alright… we leave soon. Let’s go to the city.” He stood up from the bed where he had been beside her.

“It’s quite early,” Zara said.

“Take your time. Don’t forget to wear a jacket. We leave when the queen is ready.”

Zara felt pleased and eclectic at the thought of exploring the amazing city that night.

Meanwhile, at home in Manhattan, Isla lay in bed, curled in sheets. Her eyes were slightly watery—not with pain or tears, but with longing, a muted yearning. Her hands were inside her silk panties as she looked up, imagining and reminiscing. Rodney was in Texas, gearing up for his concert. Zara was on tour with her rich boyfriend. No one was here with her. Her vibrator—the one that sounded like a hair clipper, or worse, a lawn mower—was left in the old apartment. Her dragon dildo, long and red with fiery marks, was missing.

She hissed a tired breath. Her horniness was exhausting; it crept up on her like mold, trying to pull her down until she crashed to the floor. She got up and walked downstairs to drink water.

“I miss you, Rodney,” she echoed aloud to herself.

A man, slim and dark, about 6’5”, knocked on the door.

“Carpentry services,” he said.

“Oh! Come in.” Isla had forgotten she had hired him to fix her door—the same door that Rodney had broken in a rush to open during a monstrous surge of sexual desire. Later, she chatted briefly with the man, who said his name was Slim Shag, though she could call him Slim.

She chuckled at the origin of the name. He whispered,

“I’m Slim, and I shag good.”

“Shag?” she laughed. “What does shag mean?”

The man smiled silently, the nasty truth hidden inside him. Isla realized, after battling her initial naïveté, that shag meant sex.

Then her went to the guest toilet. She tiptoed and watched. The door was half open, she could see him. His dick. It was extremely long. He held it like a dangling, flexible stick and shock it to release the last drop of urine and as she watched, a wetness like a flood flowed between her thighs. He was HUGE.

It looked unreal, like something from an Hentai Comic. She ran away when he was about coming out.

Isla propped him, while he was working on her door, she massaged his trouser patch, her eyes with full of want. He looked confused for a moment then he smiled as if he had been expecting it to happen all along. He gave in to her luring appeal.

“Show me how well you shag?” she said.

He took off his shirt. Isla bent down to unbuckle his jean. His dick was longer than her fist when she measured it with her fist. Only the cap fit into her mouth. She felt like a loyal puppy before a mammoth man. He smiled and held her ponytail hair. She looked innocent and humble, trying to deep throat him, but it felt impossible like

swallowing a large egg plant.

Slim shag thrusted deep inside her, shagging her. He didn’t go in slowly or gradually. He went fully in, until Isla’s muscles contracted and stiffened, and she was red with veins.

“Shuu,” he hushed her from screaming, fucking her now like a roaring lion.

“What’s my name?” he asked vehemently, mercilessly digging deep inside her.

“I don’t know you,” Isla said.

He chocked her neck and went harder now.

“Slim shag,” she said in between ecstatic moans. Her face flustered, numbed in orgasms with his erotic attentions.

Isla felt his dick going in on every inch of her clitoris. She was completely transported into another planet, one in which pleasure was exceeding and sorrows vanished. Slim shag smiled a smile of the accomplished.

The carpenter literally and figuratively screwing at the house in whom his services was needed. Slim felt like a crown of authority and dominance had been bestowed on him, further by the fact that he was privileged to have shagged a jewel like Isla.

She got his contact before he left, walking him outside certain that that wouldn’t be the last of it.