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in my life, a man wanted me. Even in anger, there was a deep, dark, and raw need in his eyes that couldn’t be confused for anything else. I have never seen it before, never felt it before. It will leave a scar.
    I turn and look at my ass because, as promised, I still feel the sting of his hand. The red mark on the left cheek and the one on the right both point up and outward. I study them. They could be angel wings or maybe even a heart. They will fade, but the memories won’t fade as quickly.
    I think about the words he used with me and how degrading yet incredibly hot they were. It was like he thought he was teaching me a lesson … with his dick. God, his dick is beautiful. I try to remember the others, but I can’t. Billy’s big dick overshadows them.
    I cringe when I think about him smirking when I let it slip out that he was so well-endowed. I hope he was drunk enough not to remember that part. Hell, I hope he wakes up and doesn’t remember a damn thing.
    I think about his lips, his hands, his touches, both pleasurable and painful.
    My head spins as I wash the makeup off my face and then brush my teeth. I consider showering, but I smell like him, and he smells so good.
    I walk out and grab an STD T-shirt, one with all their pictures on it. Billy is on the far left, his hoodie on and up. It has always been my favorite picture of him. He looks the most relaxed in it, like he is a carefree, wild rocker and not an uptight, righteous ass.
    His ass, Christ on a cracker, it is beautiful.
    I lie down in bed and stretch my limbs, wondering what it would feel like to have a man in bed who actually fucks like he did: all pent up feelings and emotion, loss of control, and then pure and unadulterated reckless abandon unleashing on you. Then, after it was all over and both bodies were spent and sore, rubbing out the kinks until you both fell asleep in a beautifully tangled mess.
    I grab my body pillow that I may have named after him and lay it beside me. I wrap an arm around it and squeeze it.
    Someday, I will have that. Someday, a man will look at me and touch me with the passion Billy exuded tonight; except, it won’t be an angry, resentful passion. It will be two lovers tangled.
    I close my eyes and picture how that would feel, but all I see is him and the moments he looked at me with hunger. I open my eyes and silently scold myself for that.
    It was a fuck, and a drunken fuck at that. It never would have happened if two people didn’t need to unleash hatred toward each other.
    How stupid am I?
    I need to sleep off this feeling and wake up tomorrow, continuing to despise him, because I know damn well he will despise me. Although, he’s always trying to correct me, acts as if he is teaching me manners, or just seems like I am a bother. Just like he did last night.

    I throw outfit after outfit on the floor of the closet. The ones I want to wear are ones that will hide me, shield me from feeling vulnerable. They would all make me look weak. When I run into Billy today, I don’t want to look weak. I want to look strong, confident, sexy, and unaffected by what happened between us.
    I grab the pale yellow T-shirt dress that is almost too short and pair it with gray leggings and gray boots. I turn to look in the mirror when I am dressed and start to put my hair up. But then I lean in, hoping the mark is on the bathroom mirror and realizing it’s not. It’s on my neck.
    “Son of a bitch!” I pull my hair back down and plug in my curling iron. “Hair down today.”
    I reach into the makeup drawer and grab foundation to try to cover the purple hickey on my neck. Covering it isn’t going to work, though. Lessening its darkness is all I can do.
    “Damn you, Billy!”
    After spending way too much time on my hair and covering Billy’s bite marks, I look at the clock. I’m an hour behind my normal schedule and not happy about it.

    I unlock the door, walk into the office, and nearly jump when I see Billy sitting in the