When I finally did call, I noticed that something was off.

Her voice was cold. I could hear the edge behind every word.

“I thought maybe you forgot me,” she said flatly.

“Of course not. I told you. Work's just been—”

“Yeah,” she cut in. “Work. Got it. ”

We said the right words, but they didn't land. A few days later, it exploded. A stupid fight - who called who, who didn't, what was said or not said. The details didn't matter. What mattered was the silence that followed. Two weeks of it.

By the time we finally spoke again, I could hear it in her tone - rage, frustration, anger.

I left early Saturday morning, the Beemer making light work of the long sweeping bends of the N3 freeway. When I pulled up to her place, she didn't say hi. Just walked around the car, opened the door, and got in. Her little roman nose up in the air in a haughty position.

We drove to a popular franchise steak ranch. It was still early, the kitchen wasn't open yet, so we ordered coffee and sat by the window. As the waitress walked away, I could feel the heat coming off her like a storm brewing in her bones.

“You could've called,” she snapped.

“I know. ”

“You should have called. ” Her jaw tightened. “You don't just disappear on someone like that. ”

“I fucked up,” I said, trying to hold her gaze.

She stared at me, breathing hard. I think she expected me to argue, to make excuses - but I didn't. And maybe that cracked something open because the edge in her hardened expression started to quake.

Then, without warning, she shoved me - hard - back against the booth. Not playful. Not flirty. Just raw emotion.

Tears welled up in her eyes, her voice caught in her throat. “My ex. .. ” she managed to whisper, then covered her face with both hands like the words were burning on her tongue.

I didn't move. I let her sit in it, in her pain, in her fury.

After a few deep breaths, she wiped her face, sniffed hard, and continued.

“He's contesting the divorce. He wants primary custody now. Says I'm unstable. ” Her eyes flashed with wounded fury. “And I swear, when you didn't call. .. it just - it felt like him all over again. Like I was going down the same road. Like I was being erased again. ”

I reached across the table and took her hand, firm and steady. “Emma, you're a good mom. He has no case. You should know that. ”

She didn't speak, but she didn't pull away either.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I wasn't trying to disappear. I just got. .. lost in everything. ”

She nodded slowly, her jaw still clenched. “Just don't make me feel like that again. ”

That fire was still simmering in her eyes, but now I saw something else behind it. Not just anger - hurt. Abandonment. And a desperate, furious need not to be discarded again.

After having a light breakfast, we made our way to check in at the bed and breakfast. While I was sorting out the paperwork and payment, she walked around the place taking in the fresh air and stunning views of the dam in the distance.

I opened the door and spread my arm to the left indicating for her to go in. she stepped over the threshold, turned around and with remarkable swiftness pulled me in, closed the door, and shoved me against it. Her mouth was on mine in a second, angry and messy, all teeth and tongue. She bit my lip. I grabbed her shoulders and effortlessly swung her tiny body around and pinned her against the door. It was at that point that I realized that I too was angry with her. The animal in me took over, I heard clothes tear and buttons popped. I yanked my belt open like my life depended on it. Spinning her around, I pushed her face first into the door and pulled her leggings down in one move.

“No teasing, asshole” she snapped over her shoulder as the first slap landed squarely on the right cheek of her ass. She yelped not expecting that. I remember the angry red mark, the imprint of my palm and five fingers. Then I heard her faint whisper, “Again …please…, again. ”

After a good few smacks, that perfect little round ass was angry as a hornet's nest. As I stood there admiring my work, she tried to move. I quickly pinned her against the door. I got back to admiring my artistry, when I noticed the slight movement. Emma was busy fingering her pussy.

She was already soaked. Angry and wet, a dangerous combination. I slid a finger down her crack and unceremoniously pushed my finger inside her un-lubed asshole, and she gasped, back arching as she came on her fingers in her pussy and mine in her ass. Juices flowed freely down her thighs. Thick white slime on her fingers and hand.

I swung her over the arm of the closest couch. I gripped her hips and drove into her hard - no rhythm, just need. Her nails clawed at the couch. She pushed back onto me like she was trying to hurt me. I returned the compliment; I pulled out and slowly but firmly slipped my cock into her tight asshole. She wasn't resisting, she loved it.

“You think you can just disappear? ” she hissed.

I grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. “You missed me. ”

She laughed - dark and breathless. “You have your cock in my arse, and you can't tell, you fucking asshole. ”

I slammed into her again and again, feeling her tense up, then melt. Her muscular ring clenched down hard, holding me in. Her anger didn't die - it transformed. Into something feral. She came like she was trying to shake it off her skin. Her tiny body jerking uncontrollably, like a scarecrow in a storm.

It took her a long while to come down from the clouds.

As she began to register where she was, she dropped to her knees. A glint of anger still visible in those dark brown eyes.

She grabbed my cock, spat on it, and shoved it into her mouth. No warm-up. Just hunger. Her throat opened, and she used her mouth like she meant to leave a mark. Wet, rough, no mercy. Yeah, I felt her teeth a few times.

She looked up at me, eyes wild. “You gonna come for me, asshole? ” just the hint of a smile.

“Fuck, yes. ”

She looked up at me, eyes wild and glinting with something wicked. “Oh, I will make you come for me, asshole? ” she said, that crooked smile creeping onto her lips.

“Fuck, yes, make me” I growled.

She moaned and went harder, her mouth working me like she had a score to settle. Then, just when I was about to lose it, she pulled off with a loud, wet pop. My cock bobbed, spit-slick and aching.

Without warning, she dipped lower and took one of my balls into her mouth - gently at first, then with a slow, steady suction that crossed the line from pleasure into something else. I flinched. It wasn't pain exactly - it was precision.

She locked eyes with me as her suction grew tighter. The dull ache spread like heat through my core. Before I could try to stop her, she moved to the other, just as deliberately. Her lips sealed, her tongue swirling, her cheeks hollowing slightly with pressure. I gasped. Delicious torture is the best way I can describe it.

“Getting even? ” I managed to mutter through clenched teeth.

She pulled off just long enough to murmur, “That's for not calling me. ”

Then she reached between her legs and scooped a dollop of cream from her sopping pussy. She smeared it on my cock and started manipulating just my head with her slick hand. At the same time using her mouth to suction one ball at a time. Her hollow cheeks pressured them just enough to remind me who was in control. Her fingers slid up the shaft, her grip twisting over the head, milking every raw nerve.

When she popped a nut in her mouth again, it was too much - the teasing, the heat, the lingering ache in my nut. The orgasm built fast and sharp. When I came, the first blast nearly knocked me off balance. She held on, watching it spurt across her hand, her chest, her mouth.

Even after I was done, my cock kept twitching like it didn't know the fight was over.

She sat back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, smug and glowing.

“I'm still mad at you,” she said, cocking her head, “but I felt you coming right from your nut. ”

I exhaled hard. “Your mouth's a fucking weapon. ”

She smirked as she stood up. She kissed me slower this time, a trace of tongue, a flash of softness. “Next time, don't make me use it like that. ”

I pulled her close, wrapping my arms around her warm, still-buzzing, little frame. My limp cock nestled against the cleft of her ass, both of us breathing heavy - spent, but far from finished as I felt the heat still radiating from those glowing red ass cheeks.

We spent the rest of the day in bed, enjoying each other's bodies. The edge was still there. Emma seemed deeply troubled inside. I tried to speak to her, but she didn't want to get into it. We didn't talk much after that.

I reached into my overnight bag for the lotion. Flipping her onto her belly, I warmed some between my palms and started massaging her - slowly, from her feet upward. There was no rush. She moaned and whimpered softly. I remember thinking: if she were a cat, she'd be purring. But as I reached her buttocks… she actually was. Snoring. Fast asleep. Totally relaxed.

It left me in a bit of a quandary - should I stop and let her rest or keep going and risk waking her? I kept going. My hands brushed near the zones I knew could arouse her, but never enough to wake her. She made small noises in her sleep, especially when I got to her scalp. That's when I paused. Hmmm, should I or shouldn't I.

I took a good dollop of lotion and massaged it into her scalp. She stirred, blinking at me groggily.

“What are you doing? ” she mumbled.

“Relax,” I said, still working her head. She smiled and murmured something about it being the best head massage of her life. (Her words, not mine. )

As she slept, I admired her cat-like build - streamlined like a cheetah, built for speed. She did everything fast. Even the way she walked - nose forward, mission-focused. I watched her often, wondering: why did she leave her husband? Why was he fighting? Was it to keep her? And was that a fight I wanted to be part of?

I knew my job would keep pulling me away. I wasn't the cheating type, but could she handle my absence?

Would she?