Finding Perseverance(3)

By: T. E. Black

“We’ll keep in touch. I promise. But we can’t date anymore. It’ll only complicate things. We’ll figure it out. All right?” I shrug.

Wrapping his arms around my shoulders, one hand cups the back of my head before he pulls it against his chest. I take comfort in his embrace, letting him surround me for as long as he’ll keep me. I won’t get this after he leaves, and it’s going to rip me apart. At least I’ll know I put myself through hell for the right reasons.

I took from myself to give to him.

Some may say putting a man first is weak, but forget them. Because those “some” who think there’s an ounce of weakness in my body are idiots. I have a newsflash for them.

When you love someone, you’re willing to go to extreme measures to make them happy. You will do anything to make sure they live the best life they can, and you will do this without them actually knowing.

It may be something they miss on a daily basis, and that’s okay. Because one day, they’re going to wake up and think back on their life. They will rerun every detail of it in an attempt to retrace the roads traveled. Do you know what will be on each of those roads? A person who loves them so much they do what is right instead of what they want.

Chapter One


“Holy shit. You taste delicious.”

I wind my fingers through spiky, chocolate-colored hair, and give the face between my legs some guidance, but there is still nothing.

Is this a joke?

I haven’t had a guy’s face between my legs in ten years, but there’s no way it sucked this bad in the past. From what I can remember, when Rook used to go to town, I loved it. He would have me screaming in a matter of minutes. So what’s this dude’s problem?

“How’s that, baby?” He growls against my clit.

I toss my head back in frustration, and it hits the headboard with a thud.

“A little to the left,” I instruct, hoping for something—anything.

He follows my command, but it still doesn’t do a damn thing for me. I don’t know if he just really sucks at eating pussy, or if it’s me. Maybe being straight isn’t for me after all. It’s the only logical explanation.

“Better?” he mumbles, swiping his tongue over my clit.

“Ah … go right. Try to the right.”

When he moves his tongue, he hits the spot I’ve been waiting for him to find the entire time. My back arches off the mattress, and a desperate moan slips from my lips.

“Oh God, yes. Right there. Yes. Keep going.”

He mutters something, but thankfully, I can’t make it out. I’m pretty sure his deep voice is screwing with my inner sexual diva.

It could be that I’m not used to hearing a male’s voice when I’m about to get off, too. That could very well be it. I’m used to hearing the sweet, soft voice of a female. Maybe the issue isn’t this guy can’t eat out a woman, but my love for a woman’s sensual touch.

The pressure builds in my abdomen, and the tips of my fingers tingle from gripping the sheets so tightly. I’m almost there. He just needs to keep doing what he’s doing, and I’ll reach my climax in no time.

“Fuck,” I moan as he sucks my clit into his mouth.

“You like that, sweetheart?”

Oh, no! Please don’t talk. You’re ruining this.

“No talking.”

My body is wound so tightly, if he can keep quiet, I’ll find my release easily.


“No talking,” I snap again.

I can’t decide if bringing this Brad guy home from the bar was a good idea. He’s attractive, and when he had the balls to hit on me in the bar, I figured why the hell not? I was in a taking mood, and Brad was interested in giving me what he had to offer. I’d be a fool not to take him up on it.

At thirty-one, I have to take what I can get. I’m not flawless by any means, but I get plenty of compliments on my incredible rack and tanned skin. Having blonde hair doesn’t do me any harm either.

Since deciding to try this whole exclusively straight thing again, I’ve been picky when it comes to men. Before I brought the bar guy home, it was looking as if I’d be sexually frustrated for the rest of my life. While the odds looked good a few moments ago, the way he’s lapping at me as if I were a bowl of water makes me give up. The amount of spit coming from his mouth is enough to kill what little progress we’d just made.