4 comments/ 11411 views/ 10 favorites Women of the Night: Miescha & Simon By: combinedtalents Simon stared at the number on his cell phone, chastising himself. "I shouldn't do this anymore," he murmured to no one. The gap between his index finger and the call button was only paper thin as his hovering hand slightly fidgeted. "I can't do it." Simon flipped his phone closed, proud of his resistance. He continued to get ready for work. It was Monday, which meant he wore his navy blue dress shirt and black pants. After he tied his red tie in the classic Windsor knot, he glanced at his phone. It seemed his soul was yearning to make the phone call to Miescha, the love of his life. His brain, ever his soul's antagonist, reasoned she's only doing her job. "I need to put an end to this." 'I don't even have to tell her. All it takes is not calling. Not dialing those familiar digits. Well, maybe just one last time,' but Simon said that before, too. He grabbed his phone and resigned himself to his fate. Shakily, he hit the call button. It always made him nervous to call her. He'd seen her every Monday for the past eight months. He knew he loved her and it scared him. Miescha sat curled on the love seat, a sheer slip of candy apple red for a nightgown, and watched with vacant eyes as a garden spider wove its web outside her window. Minutes ticked by, steady seconds clicking in her head, and she pursed her pretty pink lips. Every Monday, he called later and later -- soon, he'd be gone. But what did she expect? A good guy like him wouldn't stick to a whore for long. It was a miracle that he scheduled to see her every week as it was. Maybe Simon took pity on her. She knew he did: she could see it in his eyes as he kissed the bruises left by rough, inconsiderate clients. No other man touched her like he did, and at twenty-seven, still working the streets... she was getting old to be a call girl any more. Most of her favorite musicians were gone by this age, and her friends were trying to forget their old life, settling down into marriages with abusive husbands that reminded them of former clients. At the big three-oh, she'd have to quit. She would remind the men too much of their dowdy wives, no matter what tricks she played with their bodies. She shivered. 'Call me, Simon, just one more time, indulge your whore.' Pinching the bridge of her nose between painted nails, Miescha sighed and got up, unable to deal with the melancholy feeling. If he didn't come, she'd find someone else for the spot. Besides, why the fuck was she getting up so early in the God damn morning to fuck? 'Because it's what pays the bills. Because you sell your body.' Angry with herself, she went to the mirror with shaky hands to apply her make up: the thick mascara and eyeliner for her classic cat eyes, a little bit of blush on her cheeks, and gloss on her full lips. In a last minute effort to fill waiting time, she tousled her curls, and was pleased at the sexy result. She felt silly. When the phone rang, Miescha jumped, but remembered to walk slowly, to pick up on the third ring -- 'don't appear eager, ever' -- and answered in her quiet, genteel voice, "Hello Simon." "Good morning," Simon shyly responded. "Sorry for calling so late today, I lost track of time," he lied. He had given the same excuse to her the past five weeks. "I know it's only in twenty minutes, but is the usual 6:30 am still okay?" Simon hated lying to her but he didn't want Miescha to know he was debating with himself about not seeing her. Maybe she had an inkling of his inner turmoil as his calls kept coming later and later despite their meeting at the same time every Monday. Any later would disrupt his routine. Miescha held the phone from her lips momentarily as she breathed in relief, but returned quickly to keep the pause nearly inconspicuous. She tried to sound nonchalant about it when she spoke again, "If you can still make it, you're always welcome, doll." "I assume the same motel, what room number?" The first month Simon had to wait until he arrived at the motel and then call again for the room number. Since then, Miescha gave him the room number right away. "306, love. And don't be late. I have a surprise for you," she hinted with a coy, playful tone. "Really?" Simon was briefly stunned by Miescha's admission before continuing in his usual inauspicious voice. "Okay, I'll be there shortly." Standing at the appointed door, Simon nervously looked in each direction. He always feared the police might be nearby and suspect what was going on. As he knocked on the door, he remembered every encounter with her. The first time he walked into the motel room, a dozen stargazers in hand, her beauty amazed him. Miescha was reminiscent to a fifties pin-up girl with the generously curvy body, husky voice always an intimate whisper in his ear, and bedroom eyes that held his like there was no one else in the whole world that mattered, a true vision to behold. But what truly enchanted him was her soft demeanor. She somehow knew what he needed that day, and it wasn't sex. They just lay down in the nude with her holding him. Every meeting after, Simon brought her various gifts. Today it was an expensive bottle of her favorite fragrance, something he noted was on her nightstand during a previous engagement. In return he was treated with kids' gloves. Miescha had sex with him, of course, but it wasn't rough. It was gentle and tender. What really made Simon feel special, happened on his birthday. He let it slip to Miescha the week before that his own annual personal holiday was the following week. When he arrived, she gave him a red tie. It replaced his black one and he wore it every day in remembrance. No one had ever given him a gift other than his parents. He often wondered why she randomly had one. Was it left by another one of her clients? He dismissed that thought immediately, preferring to believe she just cared. Simon fell head over heels for Miescha that day. If only things were different. If only he met her at work or a bar or anywhere else other than this. The door opened and he suddenly felt dry in the mouth. Miescha's eyes twinkled with the smile that curved her lips at the sight of the silk tie she'd given him on his birthday, remembering the special shopping trip she'd taken to Dayson's and the way she'd debated on the color for nearly an hour, bewildered by the outstanding, snobbish citizens surrounding her. She held out her hand for his, murmuring for him to come inside. But as she noticed the standoffish way he held himself, the nervous energy that caused him to twitch, her smile faltered. Miescha leaned up to kiss his cheek, her arms slipping up around his neck, and she pressed her warm body against his. "You're cold," she mumbled against his neck, "Let me warm you up. The gifts can wait. I want you, Simon." And when Miescha said it to him, it meant something. With other clients, she whispered about how hot they made her and how much she wanted them inside her... but the fumbling sex did nothing for her, except pay her rent and put food in her mouth. When his hesitant, sweet touching came along, she couldn't help it. She broke the golden rule: 'don't fall in love.' Simon kissed Miescha. As always, it was tentative but with passion. The combination gave a tender quality to the exchange and it portrayed his emotions for the beauty in front of him. His hands went to her waist and began to rub in a slight up and down movement at her negligée, not trying to remove it, just captivated at touching her. No matter how many times he saw her, he never was presumptuous that sex was a given. It was the closeness for the one he wanted, desired, needed, loved that spurred him to be in her presence. Miescha's own kiss was soft in its hunger, and as she pressed him back with a light touch, her hands found his buttons. Just as his hands skimmed the lace covering her bottom, the shirt was tugged off and the kiss broken as they reached the edge of the bed, her smile disarming his tension. "Take off your pants, Simon." Simon fumbled with his belt as he watched Miescha hang up his shirt. He was always grateful that she was so thoughtful of him to do so. Just another action of hers that fueled his fantasy of what he wished they could be. The distraction proved too great and his foot got caught in his pant leg. With a gasp, he landed on the bed. He tried to be suave about what transpired a mere moment ago by removing the irritating attire along with his underwear in a smooth manner, all the while berating himself for his clumsiness. He stood quickly and then tentatively walked the short distance to Miescha's enticing form by the closet. Miescha relished the way his fingertips tickled her sensitive skin as the silk was gently discarded, but before he could take off her sexy underwear, she took his hand. Firmly, she pressed his fingers against the arousing package before him, and the damp material between her thighs. "Feel that, love?" she whispered softy in his ear, "That's me, wet for you already, just in anticipation." Simon stood in awe, mouth slightly agape at Miescha's admission. He loved that about the woman who stood before him. Her ability to make him feel like the man that she was destined to be with was why he kept coming back every week, why he loved her. Miescha smiled at her shy lover -- client -- and slipped his hands back to the lace, "Take them off." Simon knelt, and with that, he pulled the satin garment down slowly. He treasured the sight of Miescha's body. He let her panties fall to the floor and immediately began placing tender kisses on her thighs. He assumed most clients of hers wouldn't bother with trying to please her, wanting nothing more than their own release. Simon wanted to be different. He wanted to be able to convey all those feelings Miescha instilled in him and give them back to her tenfold. He made his way up, alternating between each leg before coming to his destination. He flicked his tongue and it barely punctured her slit. He followed that by lightly expelling a puff of air on her pussy. He was teasing her -- again, trying to prove he was different from anyone she has been with. He dove in, slicing through her folds with his tongue. He licked all around, a soft exploration of her inner depths. Simon wondered how long he had today. He was conscious of each second as Miescha never let him be too long to manipulate her body. Simon moved one hand up to her mons, his fingers massaged the delicate fiber of her auburn curls while allowing his thumb to wander down to her clit. With an easy counterclockwise stroke, he gently rubbed her precious pearl. Miescha moaned and tugged Simon's face back up for another kiss, not wanting him to become distracted with her body when his own was the focus; she tasted herself on his lips -- the slightly tangy, slightly sweet, all feminine taste. She pressed on his chest lightly until he fell back onto the bed, and smiled at his surprise. Leaning over, Miescha opened her bedside drawer and found a blindfold. She waved it in front of him as she straddled his hips. "Do you mind, darling?" "Not at all," Simon answered with a curious, comfortable grin. "Lift your head up, babe." As he did so, Miescha wrapped the silky tie around his head, and gave him a small kiss as she leaned over again to reach into her drawer once more. "I hope you're not allergic," she murmured in his ear. "I know, it smells a little girly, because it's mine, but I don't want to use the oils on you before you go off to work. But you're so tense... you really need it." "If it is a scent of yours, I could never mind," Simon's reply was barely above a whisper as the blindfold had his nerves on sensory overload at the anticipation for whatever Miescha was preparing to do. The sweet scent of vanilla filled the air as Miescha poured a generous amount into her palm, and rubbed it in before she trailed her fingers down his arm. She was firm and diligent, thorough in her exploration of his body. His arms led to his broad shoulders, and after loosening those, she felt his chest and flat stomach. Her lips followed her petite fingers' trail, and with each soft kiss, she felt his cock stir beneath her. "I want to fuck you. You're driving me crazy, and you're just fucking laying there," Miescha admitted in a casual, offhand sort of way as she touched his cock finally. His moan made her smile. "But I don't know, darling. You're still so fucking tense. Everything's so hard," she giggled, a fingertip tickling along the underside with a lazy interest. "What do you think? Do you think I can have your cock or should I keep giving you the massage of a lifetime?" Her tone was playful and light as she pumped his length while watching him. Simon wanted to yell,'Fuck, I need you now!' But he was going to say,'Whatever you would like works for me.' What actually escaped his lips was a loud groan as his hips began to buck in Miescha's hands. "Oh, all right," Miescha sighed," I suppose..." For the third and final time of the night, she slipped her hand in her drawer, this time for a condom. "They say depriving one sense only exaggerates the others, and in sex, it increases the pleasure... but I want you to watch me, babe." Her lips found his for another kiss as she slipped the latex over his hard cock, and the silk from his eyes. Miescha smiled at Simon as she took him deep within her, but soon, the smile was gone, replaced by a continuous moan. "Oh, fuck me, Simon. Oh God, your cock is so fucking hot." Simon's shyness evaporated and transformed into need and here was the woman he loved trying to fulfill it. He put his hands on her hips and thrust into Miescha, matching her speed as she slammed down on him. Their moans echoed and the tiny room shook from where the bedframe was slapping against the already cracked drywall. Miescha leaned down and put her hands on the bed for support, and her breasts fell before Simon. His hungry mouth latched onto the nipple as a newborn would and began rolling the nub with his tongue. His arms enveloped her body and the loving contact was more than enough to send Miescha over the brink. With one final infiltration of her pussy, Simon buried himself and joined his love in ecstasy. Simon lay on the bed, Miescha secured in his arms. After eight months, he was still surprised she let him do this. For Simon, it was never about sex. It was always the intimacy afterword that he craved. Miescha let him love her. At this point, he always expected her to kick him out. She had her money and he had his service. And in the service industry, time is money. In the silence, he noticed the cheap bedside digital clock showing a bright red 7:30. He had his hour of fantasy, of wishing he was just staying in bed late with his wife before rushing to work, but now reality set in, no wife and he still had to get to work. He gazed once again at the beauty wrapped tightly in his arms. He hated this part, as he never knew what to say. How to truly express in words his gratitude without Miescha laughing at him because she deduced he fell in love with her while she was just doing her job? "You were phenomenal, as usual." It's not what Simon wanted to say. He desperately wanted to tell Miescha you are phenomenal, but fear of ridicule won out. Amazing how one little word, syllable even, could make such a difference in a sentence. Simon's lips softly kissed the back of Miescha's auburn locks followed by a brief graze over an all too familiar sight, a fresh bruise on his love's collarbone. With a shake of his head, he held back a tear and removed himself from the warm entanglement their bodies created. He got dressed and then grabbed the small elegant bag from Array of Aroma's and set it delicately on the flimsy wooden table that tilted to one side at the added weight. He stared affectionately for a succinct moment before putting a hand to her cheek and affording her a tender smile. "I have to leave now. I hope you like it." Blushing at the intimacy of his soft, lingering touch and sweet gaze, Miescha slipped her hand into the pretty silver bag. His choice was perfect, as always, despite her never mentioning for a moment anything so personal as her perfume preferences. With careful fingers, she folded the bag and began to slide it into her bedside drawer, but at the sight of the toys her other clients preferred, she felt nauseous. She felt like scum to put anything so lovely with the bullshit of her life. Leaning over, the sheet slipping from her bare breasts, she slid it beneath the bed to keep safe. 'Grab onto anything beautiful in this life and never let it go -- Simon, stay, just this once, let's spend the day together.' Simon turned to leave but was halted by a gentle hand being placed on his arm and her quiet murmur, "Wait, Simon." Gathering her emotions, she tried to appear as though she wasn't about to cry, and managed a saucy smile, a coy tone as she presented a simple, red bag, "I told you I had a surprise for you and now you're running off before I can give it to you. Tsk, tsk, naughty Simon." With a playful grin she wasn't feeling, she leaned over to kiss him again, and pressed the bag into his hands, but her nervousness led to halted rambling afterwards, "It's not... I don't know if you'll like it... but it's my personal favorite. If you want... if you want, I have the receipt and you can just pick something else out..." With a press of her fingers to her lips, she found silence again. Simon pulled out the book, "Just Kids" by Patti Smith, from the gift bag. His eyes darted between Miescha and the gift several times. Twice, his mouth opened to speak but closed before words could come out. Finally, Simon's eyelids closed and he took a deep breath. Reopening his eyes, he saw an anxious Miescha, her lip taken between her pearly teeth, fingers twisted in the sheets across her lap unconsciously, in anticipation of his delayed reaction. He gave a smile full of comfort and in a sincere but barely audible voice responded, "Thank you. It's wonderful." Simon clutched the book during the entire ten minute drive he had for work. Why did Miescha give him a gift? When she gave him something for his birthday, he understood. A forgotten tie that she had no use for in which she gave away to one of her regular clients. But this was planned. She spent her hard earned money that she needed for basic necessities on him. Did she feel for him the same as he did for her? No. She probably realized his fretfulness about seeing her and didn't want to risk losing her $200 a week. Why can't he just break it off? With a sigh, he exited his silver Acura and entered the financial world of Arden Acquisitions. Simon worked furiously throughout the morning and into the late afternoon. He was desperate for clarity over what he called the "Miescha dilemma" and prayed throwing himself at the numbers of a land site his firm was considering investing in would help distract his mind from dwelling on it too much and therefore, keep him sane. It worked for sporadic periods at a time. His mind just kept going back to her. Simon was interrupted by his intercom and the voice of his secretary. "Mr. Harper, Mr. Banks has requested to see you in his office." "Did he mention why, Janine?" Simon was shocked. He was never called to see a member of senior management. He only ever dealt with his direct supervisor, Mrs. Wilkins, and she was tough as nails. He couldn't imagine what Mr. Banks would be like. "No, sir. His secretary only said you were to report to his office immediately." "Thanks Janine." Simon rode the elevator up the five floors to the senior management's offices. The typical classical music playing did nothing to calm his nerves. When the door opened, he was greeted by a stereotypical blonde bombshell. "You can go right in Mr. Harper. Mr. Banks is expecting you." Women of the Night: Miescha & Simon "Thank you Ms. Jones." Simon replied in a friendly manner. He knew for a fact that Olivia Jones was nothing like his secretary. He could give Janine a mountain of work and it would be done by lunch. Mr. Banks, on the other hand, only gave Olivia one job to do, and she fulfilled it every day either during lunch or after everyone left for the day or sometimes both. "Good afternoon Simon." The elder, slightly overweight man held out his hand. "It's good to see you again." "Likewise, sir." Simon held in a chuckle as he shook the hand of his boss's boss. He knew he never met this man before but didn't say anything as he sat down in the leather chair in front of Mr. Banks' desk. "Simon, Mrs. Wilkens and I have discussed your position with the company. She tells me that through your diligence, you singlehandedly raised the real estate division of our company 28%. She says you come prepared and dominate meetings with great ideas complete with answers to all the hypothetical risks that could incur." Mr. Banks stared at Simon intently before continuing. "What do you think about that?" The praise from Mrs. Wilkens was astonishing to Simon. She never mentioned anything before, not once saying "good job" in the six years he's been under her. "I would simply say I was doing my job and I am glad I could help." "That's a great answer," Mr. Banks laughed. "There is no room for prima donnas here. Simon, I would like to offer you a promotion. How would you feel about leading your own real estate team?" "I would love to," Simon was ecstatic. "But why, is Mrs. Wilkens leaving or are we creating a second team?" "Actually, the job is in San Francisco. The west coast branch needs a real estate leader after the last one suddenly quit. If you accept, your flight leaves Thursday at 8pm. You'll have a formal meet and greet with your new team Friday, and then the weekend to settle in. What do you say?" Simon's thoughts immediately went to Miescha and his face went forlorn. "If you don't want this Simon, there's a woman in the Dallas office who is chomping at the bit for the promotion," Mr. Banks warned. Simon shook his head and gave a smile. "No sir, I accept and thank you for your confidence in me to do the job. I was just thinking about someone for a moment." "A girl?" Mr. Banks gave a knowing smile. "So you need two airplane tickets. We take care of families and significant others when a person relocates. Hell, it'll be good for you to have someone with you. Trust me, you'll be swamped at work until you train your people on how you want things run and it would be nice to have someone house hunting for you because that little apartment the company gives will be cramped. I know this from experience." "Thank you sir." Simon shook Mr. Banks' hand once more. In the short couple of minutes it took for the elevator to reach his floor, Simon wondered what life would be like in San Francisco with Miescha as his wife, living happily in a house they chose together. When the elevator door opened, he squashed that dream. 'Miescha wouldn't want to come with me. I'm just a client who can be replaced, who will be replaced.' On what should be a great day for him, Simon went back to work with a disconsolate heart. Simon fought with himself the next two mornings but he succeeded in not calling Miescha. It helped that it wasn't part of his routine those days to see her, but he couldn't help the ache in his heart knowing if the status quo didn't change, he would never see her again. His next appointment is Monday and his plane leaves Thursday night. Does he dare see her again? Could his heart take it? Thursday finally arrived. Simon was living out of a suitcase this morning as the movers his firm hired packed everything he owned into two trucks the night before and were making their way to the Golden State. He stared at his phone while getting ready for his last day at the office. In the morning, he was training his replacement and after lunch, there was going to be a congratulations/farewell party for him. He would go directly to the airport from the office, effectively leaving his current life. The problem was his heart would be left here as well and the phone seemed to be begging him to at least let her know. Simon grabbed his phone and dialed those haunting digits. He had to see her one last time and this time, it was certain to be the last. He couldn't leave Miescha after she gave him a gift, regardless of the reason. "Simon?" Miescha asked, voice full of sleep and surprise. "Hey there, sweetheart." At the slip of her tongue, she buried her face in the pillow. 'Fuck. Mondays, Simon. I'm prepared to act then. Now... not so much.' Simon hesitated. Hearing Miescha's voice was hard enough, how could he face her? He took a deep breath, "Good morning, can I see you at the usual time today?" It was his typical opening to her, but it came out downtrodden, not his typical shy voice. 'Something's wrong.' But Miescha wanted to see him -- she knew he could avoid her on the phone, but she wouldn't have to ask face-to-face. He was like an open book. "Always. I'm in 214 today. It's in the back of the motel." "Room 214. I'll see you soon." Simon hung up quickly, unsure his composure would maintain if he spoke any longer. Miescha bit back her goodbye and sighed in a delicate huff. 'Wake up, wake up. You can't disappoint him. Not sweet, adorable Simon -- that always pays and always leave, remember that.' Her next huff was much less delicate that time. She forced herself from under the warm sheets and into the shower to scald the grime off of her body. A quick blow dry left her hair only half damp and wavy, a tousled look that he seemed to enjoy. Her soft make up was applied with a trembling hand. 'This is going to be goodbye, isn't it, Simon? Can't play your pretty wife in the morning any more, can I? Or maybe he just likes to have a good fuck on Thursdays, too.' She yanked a satin robe from the hook on the door and slipped it over pale shoulders as though a blanket for comfort. Arriving at Aphid Motel, Simon felt like he was floating to the room. How did he get here so fast? His hand made a fist to knock, but the door opened suddenly before he had the chance. One look in Miescha's amber eyes told him everything. She knew something was amiss. The two gazed at each other in silence, each of them not wanting to start, Simon hating himself for the news he carried and her out of fear. Simon slowly entered the room, barely brushing past Miescha's arm as he did. The contact was more than he could handle. Simon slumped onto the overly firm mattress and brought his hands to his face. "This will be the last time I see you." It hurt to finally verbalize that truth. "I'm being transferred to San Francisco and I leave tonight." The click of the door sounded what felt like her heart shattering into tiny bits. Miescha knew it was a job. Knew not to fall in love... but she hadn't prepared for an end either. In her head, she kept pleasing him, and he kept coming for pleasure. Her answer was choked, "Congratulations, Simon. I'm... happy for you. This is a great opportunity. And San Francisco... it's beautiful there. You'll love it." Miescha's smile was fragile when she walked over, the sheer fabric shifting with each measured step, exposing her petite body. "I guess we better make this good, huh?" She didn't wait for his answer and leaned in for a deep kiss, glad for his closed eyes as a tear slipped down her cheek. His body was her anchor as her hands slipped down his chest, and pushed him back, her warm, smooth thighs straddling his lap. "I could hold you right now... could cuddle you... but I don't want to. Let me love you, darling. One more time before you go off to San Francisco and have to find a new whore." "Don't you dare call yourself a...a...that. It may be your job, but that does not define you." Simon stated sternly. Then much quieter, "I didn't come here for this. I came here because," He took a deep breath, "because..." "Shh," Miescha murmured with a small smile. "Relax. Let me do my job." With her final demand, her fingers found his tie and unknotted it. "Do you trust me?" Simon's eyes softened at the word trust. "More than you realize." It came out in a hushed, sincere tone. Silently, Miescha leaned above him, her breasts and tummy nearing his face as she attached his hands to the cheap bedpost with the soft material. "You'll wear this in San Francisco, as well. To remember me. To remember what I do to you? How I drive you crazy before I finally give you the pleasure you so generously pay me for? Will you miss it, Simon? Will you miss the way I warm your body with my kisses and caresses... and the way I know just when you need it most... and how I take you just then, slipping my high-priced cunt on your cock? Don't you enjoy that?" With each question, Miescha's fingers manipulated a button out of the hole, and with her final statement, she tugged the shirt out of his pants, "But tonight -- this morning -- you can't have that. No, this won't be so tender and sweet. I'm going to take you, a piece of you, before you leave this last time." "I enjoy being with you Miescha. What we did together was of no consequence to me. I just wanted to be near you." Simon couldn't help portraying his sadness. 'Is that the only reason she thinks I came?' "No more talking, love." Miescha's lips possessed his for a long moment before she pulled away, eyes glistening for a brief second as she reminded him to be silent with a finger to his lips. "Or I'll get out some of my toys this time to make you be quiet." With a girlish giggle and wink, she hid her face in his neck, her lips on his ear, behind it, down to his shoulder... her teeth were sharp on the sensitive skin, and her tongue soothing. Slowly, Miescha trailed down her love's chest and stomach, the dark line of hair nuzzled, until she reached his pants. Looking up at him, she tugged them off as well, her fingers brushing the already tented front of his boxers. Once those were gone too, her fingers wrapped around the only dick she ever fantasized about any more -- larger, thicker, it didn't matter, because this was Simon's, perfect and kind of adorable with that slight curve to the tip... that never missed a chance to rub her g-spot -- and she found herself trying to memorize the velvet feel and color of the swollen head, the way it glistened with a pearl of pre-cum. All for her, just for her. On a whim, Miescha leaned in to kiss it away, her tongue flicking across it for a taste. "Fuck, Simon." "Oh," Simon groaned in delight. Forgetting his feelings, forgetting about San Francisco, forgetting it all, he wanted to relish this final time with his love. Simon's moan of ecstasy was reward enough -- she had to finish it, had to make this good for him. Miescha's thumb rubbed the mixture of saliva and arousal into the soft skin at the head, trailing down the sensitive underside with a gentle touch. When she reached the base, she wrapped her petite hand around his shaft firmly, and leaned down again to swirl her tongue around the already throbbing head. She couldn't help her giggle, that same girlish sound from before -- she loved how easily she could turn him on, loved the way he reacted to her touch. Loved the way she reacted, too, but she pushed that out of her head, her pretty pink lips wrapping around the thick cock before her, putting years of sucking skills to use. This was about him, her love, taking a piece of him to keep. But instead of letting him cum, Miescha slipped back up his body with practiced ease and filled herself to the brink with him. She gasped, and rocked her hips, a gentle grind against his, at the sudden fullness. Her hair tickled his face when she moved to kiss him, nimble fingers undoing the knot in the tie; her expression was intense as he twitched with each teasing roll of her hips. Simon was stunned with delight at Miescha's brazen attitude. It was the first time his cock was submerged in her soaked pussy without protection. Despite the possible repercussions, he knew she needed this from him -- and he from her. The warmth, the smoothness was absolute heaven. Her womanhood grasping at his shaft with each passing second. "Beg me to fuck you, Simon," Miescha murmured against his lips. Her own trailed along his jaw, behind his ear, a gentle nip to his earlobe. "Touch me. Remember my body." Simon engulfed her in his arms and pulled her even tighter to his body. One hand grazed the locks of her hair, while the other caressed along her spine. "I need you, Miescha." Miescha ignored the way the words touched a deep, wishful part of herself, and shut him up with a deep, passionate kiss. Her hunger spurred the abrupt, rough way she took him. Her nails scratched temporary lines on his skin, but in her despair, she wanted them to be permanent, and his groan at the light pain to be ongoing. When the deed was done, her body still tingling with a sweet orgasm, her last from Simon, Miescha lay tangled with him under the sheets for those last ten minutes. She wanted to memorize the way his chest only lightly moved beneath her cheek with each breath, the dusting of hair there tickling just a little, and how his heart beat slow and steady. She wanted to whisper her feelings, but she knew it wouldn't change anything. Except maybe his feelings for her, his used up cunt for the week. She wished she didn't care that he might never think of her again, never imagine her... 'no, what you really wish is that he would imagine you in his arms every morning, calling you honey and baby and wifey like a sappy new couple in the honey moon stage. You wish he would take care of you and love you and cherish you, like some fucking doll, but guess what sweetheart, no more pretending.' Miescha shut her eyes to hold back the tears, but the lazy circles her fingers drew on his hip were suddenly shaky, so she stopped, only holding it affectionately. 'Say you'll miss me, Simon. Say you love me, you'll take me with you, and we'll live happily ever after... please?' Simon was filled with so many emotions. He cherished this part, the post coital bliss with the one he loved, but it was different right now. Knowledge changes everything. Knowledge that he is leaving today. Knowledge his heart will forever be separated from his soul. Knowledge that this is good bye. "You asked earlier if I'll miss the pleasure you give me. I know it was a rhetorical question, but I want to answer it," Simon said solemnly. "I'll miss this the most. The comforting warmth our bodies share afterward. Thank you for being a part of my life, Miescha." Simon's eyes were glossed over; one blink would cause a cascade of tears. He leaned in and gave his love one final, emotion filled kiss. "I have to leave now." Miescha turned away from him as tears started to fall, a nod her only reaction as she buried her face in his pillow. "Leave the money on the table." It was a cruel way to end it, to remind him of the relationship status, but dammit, it wasn't fucking fair that he was leaving. 'Prince Charming has left the building, folks, and he won't be coming back. Not for you, never for you, never for the fucking whore.' And when the click of the door sounded that he was gone, she indulged her sobs, ruining what was left of his clean, male scent. "Goodbye, Simon," she whispered, and wished for the million things she wanted to be different. A couple hours later, Miescha scrubbed her body raw in the shower, washing the memory of their goodbye from herself as though she could take the pain away, too. She found a pretty little blue dress and shimmied into the clingy material. The make up was kept light and when she found the courage to touch the perfume bottle, she spritzed a little on her wrists and cleavage. A hidden purse was uncovered from the closet and pretty feet slipped into heels; when she looked in the mirror, she almost felt like a normal woman. And then her eyes found the bruise on her collarbone turning yellow, and the way her elbow throbbed from her client after Simon yanking her up from the floor like a rag doll. With a glance at the clock, Miescha realized she would miss the bus if she didn't hustle, and her heels clicked on the concrete sidewalk as she rushed to the stop a quarter mile away. It was humid with sweat and stuffy with morning breath as she rode the hour-long journey to the hospice on Turner Lane. For the whole time, she stared absently at a neon green wad of gum stuck on Governor Faye's face in the latest political ad. 'All that shit they spew, like a bunch of fucking neon green puke. The kid got it right.' She felt sick. "Miss Herzog," the pretty mixed girl at the counter greeted Miescha, a smile curving her lips, "Don't you look pretty today." 'Eat shit and die; as long as I pay, you're sweet, but I remember the one time I was late, you glared like I was the scum beneath your shoe.' "Thank you. You look..." Miescha struggled for a word, "Professional today." The girl's smile slipped, and returned in an icy remembrance of the first. "Your mother isn't doing so well today, but you can go back, if you like." The stab landed perfectly. With a brisk nod, Miescha clicked down the hall to room 207, and entered with trepidation. She always expected her mother to be frozen -- gone, eyes blanker than usual, skin even chillier. Miescha sighed a breath of relief this morning. 'Momma made it another week.' "Hey Momma," she murmured and slipped into the visitor chair near the bed. "You look pretty. Did they do your hair?" It was nearly gone now, brittle, and completely white, but Miescha remembered when it was so soft and full, a gorgeous auburn that she had inherited. "How are you doing today? Are they treating you okay?" The only response was a slip of drool from the thin line of lips. "Are you hungry? Have you had breakfast?" Miescha looked around and found the menu for the day. "Oh, apple pie for dinner. That sounds good. But I bet you'll go for the cheesecake. You used make the best cheese cake, Momma." She dabbed at another line of saliva and sighed softly. "Momma. I fell in love. I'm sorry for not telling you earlier, but the thing is... well, it's a real 'The Student Prince' sort of situation. Remember that musical I tried out for in school? He's so sweet, though. Gave me this perfume -- doesn't it smell good, Momma?" Miescha whispered, and when she felt a tear, dabbed it away with the drool-covered napkin. "But he's gone, Momma. Left for San Francisco," Miescha sighed. "You remember when you took me there as a little girl? You were auditioning for some two-bit part in that prick -- I'm sorry, Momma, but you know he was! He was abusive and you deserved better. Anyway, you were auditioning for a piece, and you didn't get it. We were flat broke, but I played a little piece on that guitar Daddy left behind when he took that shotgun and..." Miescha took a deep breath to continue. "Well, you know that one. It was so pretty, silver and big, too big for a girl my size to play, but I tried. People said I had a pretty voice, too. I wanted to be a singer, Momma, you know that? But life's a witchy woman. And so anyway, I made us some money that night. You remember that guy, that big one with the hairy hands that liked to pet my hair? He took a liking to you, those pretty, long legs. They're still pretty, Momma. Once you get better, you just have to start walking a little more. And tanning -- you're so pale, it's deathly. You were always such a pretty color. "But Momma, I never told you. He took a liking to me, too. He showed me how a girl can use her body to get money, too. So while he pampered you with little gifts and we lived in a shabby apartment -- you remember it, off Broad Street? You thought it was so grand, but it was shit, Momma. Sorry, language, I know." Miescha's cheek burned at the memory of the way her Momma would slap her for using coarse language -- 'it's unladylike, how will you ever get a man like that? Ha, Momma. I had just as many men by fifteen as you had by thirty. Got more than you ever had now. And whaddaya know, still no ring. So I guess you were kind of right.' Women of the Night: Miescha & Simon "So like I was saying, he'd take me behind that club, and first it was just me slipping my hands around what I thought was a monster -- can you believe that, Momma? I was so naïve that I didn't even know what a dick was. That purple head, those veins... the little eye. I thought it winked at me, and I'd cry when they'd cum. I thought it was poison, Momma, and they always liked to cover my face. He'd spank me when I tried to pull away. Sometimes forced me to eat it for them too, and I hated it, hated the salty taste. Like when I had a sore throat and you forced me to gargle salt water -- I thought I was drowning on more poison, Momma, but you didn't know. I never told you." Miescha paused in her tale and looked at the veins lining the once elegant hand in hers. 'Someday, mine will look like that, too.' "They liked to pet my body while they did it, too, and I was such a late bloomer -- you know how it hurts when you're growing. They pinched and twisted and tugged my nipples like a cow's udders, Momma. They didn't care when I cried, really. And after a while, they complained that I wasn't doing enough. So Sam, that was his name, wasn't it Momma? Sam had to teach me how to blow them. He made it real simple: if my teeth scraped his sensitive dick, he'd beat my ass sore. And then he'd let those men pinch and grope it, me sobbing the whole time. They just loved my pretty face, though. "And my pretty, teenage body. Sometimes, they'd just pay to watch me pose nude. He'd use his hands to spread me apart in ways I never thought of before. Soon, they were putting their hands inside me, as I got a little older. Fingers ripping open holes that hadn't been explored before. I remember how Sam would sometimes squeeze my clit when I was good. It was such a jolt. "I started doing it, too. He caught me once, in the shower, when he was about to give me another lesson. He made me do it in front of people. The first time I came, two men were holding my thighs apart, and Sam was sticking a carrot up my ass. He liked to do that. After they stretched me with fingers, he liked to grab things from around the house. The guys loved it. They started cumming on my body a lot. "Especially my tits. Once they were big enough, they'd grip my nipples, slip their cock between them, and start thrusting real hard. I remember the cum often ending up getting in my nose. It was so awkward." Miescha rubbed the cold hand in hers affectionately with her memories. "I finally lost my virginity to a guy at school. The guys at school benefited from my skills, too. But only the ones I thought I loved. This one was real artsy, you know, and kind of pretty in a feminine way. Had that long, wavy, coal-colored hair, and those stunning blue eyes. Found out he used them on all the girls, and I was just a statistic, Momma. Still am, I guess. But Sam found out and beat me until I was black and blue all over. When I fell down the stairs, remember? He said since I was such a whore, I could start taking the customers' dicks, too. He'd bend me over and just let one after another cum inside me. It was extra for any other position, to take any time with it, so a lot of them didn't. "It'd run down my leg, and crust over. He'd scrub it off, real rough like, and shove a hose up... like I was some sort of fucking animal, Momma. Sometimes, when he was drinking, he was cruel like that. Wouldn't feed me anything but spunk, you know. Said that was what whore's ate, what else did I need? Or he'd offer me something but first I had to make him cum... and he'd cum on it and then force me to eat it. And then I had to thank him." "I used to think of you as I rode his dick, wondered how he fucked you. Did he make love to you? Was he nice? Or did he really hurt you too? I wondered if he even touched you much. I wondered if he ever called you by my name like he called me by yours sometimes. "And sometimes, he'd bring over other girls that he taught the same lessons. We'd perform together. Pose, blow, fuck... and sometimes, we had to do things together. I actually kind of liked it. They were sweet, gentle... I was so scared I was a lesbian, sometimes. And they soothed that fear, that pain, with soft hands and lips. I hated when I had to help teach a girl though. When I had to defile someone else for their entertainment. But I always did, out of fear. And those girls, they'd look at me, all scared and begging for help, and I'd look away and do as Sam did. Whisper for them to shut up, did they want us both to be hurt?" Miescha paused again and her breath rattled when she sucked it in. She needed a fucking cigarette. "When I finally realized what could happen to me, that's when I ran away. I didn't want to get pregnant. I'm sorry, Momma. I know you always wondered why and I never told you. I felt too guilty to talk to you any more... but when you needed me, Momma, I came back, didn't I? Momma, I need you to tell me you love me. That guy I love... he couldn't ever admit it, but I like to think he did, too. But I need to hear it from someone. And you love me, don't you Momma? Are you mad 'cause of Sam?" Miescha started sobbing when her mother only drooled in response -- did she ever even fucking blink? -- and waited nearly an hour for any sign of life. She didn't get one. And it was just another person in her life that couldn't say those three magic words. As Simon wondered how time sped up on him when he arrived at work, it seemed as if time was in a constant freeze that morning. His head was just not into training the overzealous former intern now apparently attached to his hip who was replacing him. When it was time for lunch, he wasn't hungry and he didn't hear a word from all the people who stopped by to say their congratulations to him. Right at one o'clock, Simon entered the conference room, which for rest of the day was turned into a makeshift party area. Red and blue streamers adorned the ceiling and there was a Congrats Mylar balloon tied to the chair that was positioned in front of a white iced sheet cake. He grabbed a glass of champagne but once again, his head just wasn't there. "Hey boss!" Janine interrupted Simon's depressed state of mind. "Why so glum?" Simon went to answer but slightly shook his head instead. "Did she say no?" A state of confusion quickly swept through Simon. "And to whom are you referring?" "That girl you've been seeing for nearly a year now," Janine laughed. "I didn't ask. Wait, how did you..." "I'm your secretary, remember? I wouldn't be good at my job if I didn't know you were seeing someone," Janine playfully punched Simon's arm. "And if I wasn't good at my job, I would have to resort to what Olivia and some of the other secretaries do to keep it. No, thanks." Simon gave a lighthearted chuckle, "I'll miss you Janine. Thanks for not being like Olivia." "Yeah, by being promoted you just lost the best secretary you'll ever have," Janine stated with a hint of sarcasm but was completely serious. "And believe me, I know it." Simon tilted his glass in a salute. "So tell me, what are you doing here?" Simon was shocked by another one of Janine's statements. "What do you mean?" Janine slapped the back of his head, "Hello, the girl you love? Remember her? You should be wherever she is right now and doing everything you can to convince her the west coast is the perfect place for two people to have a life together." "Holy shit, you're right!" The room went silent at Simon's exclamation. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get your ass in gear." Janine smacked Simon hard on his backside. On impact, Simon sprinted out of the room like a horse stampeding out of the gate. He was half way down the hall when he realized he still had his champagne glass in hand, the liquid spilling out with every step he took. Passing the water fountain, he tossed the glass on it without breaking stride. It broke and he didn't care. He was on a mission to get to room 214 at the Aphid Motel. He tested the laws of engineering as he raced through traffic in his Acura. He would have most certainly qualified for the Grand Prix as the car came to a screeching halt in the motel's parking lot. The smell of burning rubber filled his nostrils as he got out and charged toward the love of his life's room. "Miescha!" Simon pounded on the door. "Miescha, open up!" Miescha's gasp was gurgled -- what was Simon doing back? Hadn't they said goodbye? Wasn't that enough? Or did he need another fucking going away present? Her client's grip on her throat tightened, and while her eyes pleaded, her fingernails scratched. "You fucking bitch," he snarled, "Who the fuck is that?" She shook her head, tears ruining her make up, and choked out half an answer, "Dun...no..." "Man, this ain't your business. You got the wrong fucking door, so you just fucking head on," the man growled towards the door, and turned back to her, "You fucking scream again -- you shriek, you cry, you make another God damn noise -- and I'll fucking kill you, bitch. And no one'll miss that shitty cunt, so don't press your luck." Miescha's nod was frantic; she felt faint. "Open up, it's the police!" Simon barked the order, trying to reenact every cop show he'd seen. "There ain't nothin' here for you guys, man. Just me and my old lady fuckin'. Is that illegal now?" But slowly, he dragged Miescha to the door, her painted toes skimming the cheap carpet. 'What are you doing Simon! What the fuck are you thinking! Just fucking go! You don't need to see this. Don't need to see me like this.' The door was wrenched open, and the man's hand held Miescha's hip tightly, fingers bruising the soft curve of flesh. She shivered pitifully as the cool air hit her nude body, mauled breasts sensitive to the tightening of her nipples, but she didn't dare move to cover herself, fearful of the thick muscles behind herself. 'Momma,' she thought, 'she needs the money, and you'll do whatever it takes. She needs you and you need this job, so don't be a picky little skank.' "Go away. Ain't nothin' to see here," Miescha whispered, her voice cracking with the struggle of talking with a bruised throat. Her eyes were vacant, a faraway stare that couldn't meet his gaze, or take in the champagne-stained shirt. "Man, you ain't the fuckin' pigs. Get the fuck outta here. You ain't no God damn hero, either." At this, the man straightened, his nude body pressed close to Miescha's curvy behind. The eyes were hard, but skittery, like an addict too cracked out to know reality. "Got me, bro? Or do I need to make you get me?" His hands twitched and fisted, like he was eager to prove his point. Simon completely zoned out the gruff loser and focused on Miescha. She was a shell of herself. Nothing like he was used to seeing. He crouched slightly just to see a glimpse of her eyes. And there it was. He saw the woman he loved trapped by her own mind so she could put up with... "Go," Miescha begged and started to cry again, "Just stay out of it!" "Shut the fuck up, bitch. I got this," he snarled again, digging his fingers into her ribs until she thought he'd break them, but he ignored the whimpers until he was sure the point was made. Simon looked at the pompous dick in front of him, still having not heard a word he said. 'So this is the asshole that beats my girl!' Rage consumed Simon and in an instant, the grotesque man was laying on the floor. Simon began unleashing his hate, kicking him while screaming, "How dare you treat my girl like that," over and over again. Dazed, the client ran away, forgoing his clothes for safety. All Miescha could focus on was 'all that, and I didn't even get my money. What will Momma do?' She didn't even notice her legs collapse beneath her, pale shins hitting the hard metal on the door way. And when her nose dribbled blood, she didn't think to wipe it away. 'Pretty bitches, they get the money. I'm too old, too old.' After several deep breaths, Simon stared at his hands. The only fight he had ever been in happened in the first grade, and there was no question that he lost that one. Since then, he avoided those altercations like the plague. Did that just happen? It was the sight of Miescha in pain that brought this out. 'Oh my God, Miescha!' Simon glanced down and saw his battered soul mate. He swiftly scooped her up in his arms and lovingly placed her in the depreciated tub of her motel room. Adjusting the temperature to lukewarm, he placed the stopper in the drain to allow the tub to fill. He grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom counter and began to delicately wipe at Miescha's angelic face. The warm water and his gentle hands pulled Miescha out of whatever had taken her away. She wouldn't look at him, her eyes on her bruised knees. "Why are you doing this?" Her voice was small and quiet. "I need you, Miescha," Simon admitted with a warm grin and slight nod. "Because I love you." "I'm just a used up fuck toy, Simon. I'm nothing special. I can't play your perfect little wife at high-cost social events, with the formal little dresses and fake fucking smiles. I'm a high school drop out that still struggles to spell simple words like definitely," and here Miescha laughed, a maddening scoff, "And fuck if I know math. I won't be pretty forever, won't be able to manipulate your cock with some hot body forever. It won't work." Simon moved the washcloth to Miescha's pained ribs. "You are most definitely not a toy. Toys don't bruise like this. And who said anything about playing my wife? I want you to be my wife, Miescha. Right by my side. All those other excuses you babbled are just that, excuses." He didn't have a ring, but he didn't care. All he knew was that he wanted Miescha. Miescha finally met his eyes, her eyes a frightening panicked look, and she trembled like a leaf. "Why, Simon? What could you possibly want me for?" "Eternity," Simon smiled sweetly. "I want you for eternity, Miescha. You are kindhearted, gentle, and thoughtful. Being beautiful is just an added bonus." "My momma. She's in a home. I have to pay for her, or they'll throw her out. She's sick, Simon. Real sick." It was a halfhearted response, and Miescha's eyes closed with exhaustion as she spoke. "I have a lot of baggage, sweetheart. You don't want that." "See what I mean about thoughtful?" Simon snickered, "Anybody else would have saw me as a way out and you're here trying to protect me." Simon waved his finger in the air. "That means you care for me, too. I love you, Miescha. Fell for you that very first day. Let me take care of your mother. Let me take care of you. Come with me to San Francisco and be my wife." Opening her eyes again, Miescha struggled to look at him levelly and managed a shaky smile. "You're sweet. Silly and maybe naïve, but sweet. Take me to bed so I can finish off this dream, love." Her arms found their way around his neck, her wet body pressing against him, and her lips and warm breath tickled his ear, "Show me. If you love me, show me, and I'll be your wife." She nuzzled his neck, wet face pressed close to his skin, and breathed in his masculine scent. Simon picked Miescha up in his arms again, carrying her through the threshold of the bathroom. He deftly placed her on the bed and removed his clothes, all the while not taking his eyes off the exquisite creature displayed before him. Her body smooth like silk, her eyes tender and soft, her hair splayed around her head like a halo, and a smile that could melt a polar ice cap. Her pose was playful as she looked up at him, one knee drawn up, offering the most teasing of views, and her arms stretched out above her head in lazy satisfaction, comfort. He knelt at the foot of the bed, receiving a curious look from Miescha as his head dipped out of sight. Before she could ask, his hands wrapped around first her left foot and then the right, massaging, caressing her feet. As Simon's hands roamed north, his body slithered from his position on the floor and in between Miescha's legs. His touches were soft and sensual as he added light kisses to her inner thighs. Slowly moving up, his grazing came right up to Miescha's sacred tunnel and then bypassed it. Miescha let out a moan of disappointment at the unexpected refusal, which caused Simon to smirk as he continued on his course. He arrived at her ribs and the bruises that were beginning to form. He continued his light seduction of kisses over what would be the last stains of Miescha's former life. Each peck acted to remove the evil inflicted upon her body, sucking the venom out and freeing her tormented soul. With precision, each blemish was touched before continuing on his journey. Simon finally reached Miescha's breasts, two luscious mounds of flesh. He used his fingertips to graze over one as his persistent lips landed affectionately on the other. Both were synchronized in uncoordinated assaults of their targets. By constantly switching which breast had which of his body parts attached ensured civil unrest from Miescha's pores and elicited whimpers of desire from deep within her very core. Reaching the summit of his trek, Simon found a pair of extremely hard points at full arousal to cause further pleasure for his soon to be wife. A flicking of his tongue was all it took and Miescha shivered in ecstasy, her pleasure filled squeals slightly muffled by her pillow. Simon gave Miescha a momentary pause to collect her breath and then began toying with each nipple, gently rolling each: one between his tongue and teeth and the other between his index finger and thumb. Moving upward on the wonderland known as Miescha's body, he arrived at her neck. Each nibble of skin caused a clutching of the sheets by his love, his passion. Her eyes clenched shut at the sheer thoroughness of Simon's seduction. He knew his destination. A perfectly placed peck right under her left earlobe caused Miescha's eyes to fly open. She grabbed Simon and kissed him with a combination of love and lust, her need too great to wait for him to carry out his mission. Their tongues entwined and the union was electric. But Simon planned for this as well. He skillfully weaved his tongue inside the allowed portal and spun a web of touches that intensified desire. Each stroke brushing against all things erogenous, causing Miescha to squirm even as he repositioned himself above her. Simon entered slowly, now feeling Miescha's lips anchoring to his body at two points. Miescha let out a muffled gasp at the insertion. She wrapped her legs tightly around Simon's waist, not wanting to risk even an accidental separation. Her arms also went around to his back, allowing the now full body contact to satisfy the yearning in her heart to feel as one with her man. Simon thrust slowly at first, and Miescha met him harmoniously. He withdrew his manhood until only just the head remained and then glided back inside her chamber, its home. The pace quickened and in between long, licentious kisses came grunts and moans from the coupling. Sweat trickled down from their pores from the exertion as their bodies tested their blissful sexual limitations. Simon was grappling at the sheet, as he was unrelenting in his attack, and white replaced the color of his knuckles. Miescha's nails unconsciously dug into Simon, seemingly begging to hang on to anything possible as each plunge was more forceful than the last. Miescha was the first to cry out, her secretions painting her walls and the piston-like shaft creating her euphoria. It was her most impressive orgasm, ever. It kept going. With every piercing thrust Simon made, it magnified in strength. Her wail filled the room and soon, Simon filled her with an equally impressive load being delivered straight to her womb. Blast after blast shot off deep into her abyss. After a few small strokes, Simon collapsed by Miescha's side, wrapping his arms securely around her lithe body. His legs entangled with hers and his foot began lightly sliding against her calf. Women of the Night: Miescha & Simon Miescha smiled against his skin, an exhausted pleasure reaching down to the very tips of her limbs, and nuzzled his chest. Her fingers slipped to his hip in a familiar, affectionate grasp and she murmured, "Yes, Simon. I'll marry you, baby." The voice in Miescha's head didn't whisper any insecurities or bullshit truths -- couldn't. She was happy and safe, for the first time in her life, and in love with a wonderful man, to boot -- and there was nothing to be said against that. San Francisco would be a fun contrast from cold Chicago, and spoiling Simon with more than sex, being free to express her feelings... 'I wouldn't change a damn thing. Not in a million fucking years.' So many emotions were coursing through Simon's veins: happiness, exhaustion, relief, but most of all, love. He knew he would remember this cherished moment for the rest of his life. Miescha was his. In a few hours, they would depart for a new life, together. No more seeing her only one day a week. No more clock. No more fantasy. Reality is so much better.