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Three of Swords (Cards Of Love)
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He was everything – irresistibly handsome, ruthlessly elite, and seemingly untouchable – while I was nothing.
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I didn’t know she’d left me until her plane had already taken off. That’s the shittiest part of it.
We fucked. We fought. We shared every part of our flawed pieces with each other. That’s the way it always was with us. Apparently, that wasn’t enough to keep her that night.
I didn’t get another word from her after the “fuck you” she spat at me and her front door slammed in my face. No matter how hard I banged on her apartment door, demanding an answer for why she’d done what she did. I can still feel the way the anger rolled off me as I stood there in the hall for far too long, wondering what the fuck I was even doing there. I didn’t belong in her world—just like she didn’t belong in mine. Shit, my Armani suit didn’t need to spend a second on that side of the bridge.
But I’d followed her there just the same. That’s what she did to me. We broke each other down to the raw bits that only acted on primal needs. Fighting and fucking. No one ever made me lose it like she did. No one ever made me feel as high, as needed… or as loved as she did, either.
Seeing her across the bar three years later does something to me I’ve never felt before. As I lift the whiskey to my lips, the ice clinks against the glass as the music fades to white noise. All I can see is the way her lips stay parted just slightly after she takes a sip of her drink.
It’s like slow motion.
All I can hear is the hum of satisfaction I know is about to slip from those pouty lips the second her glass hits the bar top.
She came back.
All I can feel is my cock getting harder by the second.
And I need her to love me just as much as I need to punish her for leaving me the way she did.
Some card meanings are obvious, like the Judgement card. It suggests exactly what you would expect; an impossibility of avoiding scrutiny and insurmountable obstacles waiting in the distance. But more than that, Judgement signifies a new phase is coming and it won’t wait for you—or anyone else.
There’s something about flying that makes me horny. Not full blown, not like that. Just… turned on a little. Like a smidgen.
Maybe it’s fear; the perceived danger, even though I know logically it’s the safest way to travel. Still, as the engine rumbles and roars in my ears, I feel the vibrations intensify under me. My eyes close, my breathing hitches, and I have to grip the edge of the seat.
Pathetic, aren’t you? Is your life really that boring? My inner voice is a bitch, but she’s not wrong.
The snide thought makes me smirk, even while my heart lurches as the plane finally leaves the safety of land. I almost laugh at my ridiculous response. Especially given I’m in the close confines of coach seating with so many strangers, all of us headed from San Francisco to New York.
It’s a long flight to sit this close to someone. I peek up after feeling the rush, offering a polite and tight-lipped smile to the elderly lady to my right, in the middle seat. The woman and the man next to her in the aisle seat, who I assume is her husband, are already preparing their neck pillows to nap and neither of them pays me any attention.
Leaning closer to the window to glance out, placing most of my weight on the armrest, I let the relief wash through me as my heartbeat slows back down.
Time ticks by, the droning sound of the pilot speaking muffled by the white noise of the plane, and as the plane settles, so does that feeling deep in my belly.
My grip goes from white-knuckled to loose, and my pulse returns to normal. The jitters that hit me for a brief moment, that tiny moment when I questioned if I would be all right, those jitters eventually subside. The desire fades too.
It’s not always like this.
I know part of the reason I feel this way is because I’m going back to his city. The hints of apprehension and thoughts of him make for a deadly concoction.
It’s odd to think of New York as if it’s dominated by a single man. But he’s the only one who’s always ruled it in my eyes. Even when we were just teens.
Madox Reed takes what he wants, he always has. Irresistibly handsome, ruthlessly elite, and seemingly untouchable, there was nothing that he couldn’t have back then. And so New York simply belongs to him in my eyes. Even if it’s an utterly ridiculous thought.
Although, I wish he’d stay in the past where he belongs. It’s fucking killing me that I’m letting the thoughts of a man I once knew bother me so damn much.