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|Without Me(Men of Inked #7) by Chelle Bliss|
I’d led a selfish existence.
I’d never hidden that fact.
Pussy was the name of the game. I wanted it without attachment or complication. Getting women was never a problem for me, but keeping them away after they’d had their first taste became harder over the years. I was a male slut and fucking proud of it. Every pussy was so spectacular in its uniqueness that I couldn’t imagine settling down and fucking the same woman every day.
Watching my siblings fall in love over the last couple of years didn’t soften my heart. They changed during that time, growing soft in my opinion. My brothers, whom I’d always thought were tough, became a pile of pussy-whipped humanity in a short time. Their badassness went down a couple of notches in my mind.
It’s not women who ultimately change someone, but they affect the actions of the person they love. Why would I want to be different?
I liked who I was.
Fuck, I loved myself.
I wouldn’t apologize. I didn’t need to be changed.
Perfection’s pretty hard to top.
I steered clear of anything that resembled a relationship, including fucking a chick more than a couple of times. Relationships were for pussies or lonely-ass people who needed to feel complete. I wasn’t them—the weaker people in the world who craved their second half.
Relationships weren’t for me. I loved my time alone, and I wasn’t needy enough to require someone to constantly reaffirm how awesome I was. I just needed to look in the mirror, which was a hell of a lot cheaper. Why would I pay for a compliment, whether it was with dates or a fee of the heart, when women openly hurled catcalls in my direction?
Was I cocky? Quite simply, the answer is yes. I had every reason to be. Besides having a plethora of pussy offered to me on a silver platter, I was the complete package. I was handsome and wealthy and could fuck for hours.
My days were spent tattooing clients at my family’s tattoo parlor, Inked. During my free time, I sang. I wasn’t a rock star by any means. It was a dream I had, one I’d been striving to make real since I was a kid. The years had slipped by. Now that I was older, I thought of it as more of a hobby and enduring passion than a personal goal.
The one thing that singing had given me was an unending stream of pussy. It was like a buffet every night. Women of all colors and sizes offered themselves to me. What man on the planet with a functioning cock would turn that down? Not me—I wasn’t stupid.
My upbringing was Italian Catholic. My parents didn’t practice their faith weekly, but it always lurked in the background. When I was a kid, my mother would say, “Don’t do that or you’ll go to hell, Anthony.” We all learned to ignore her, and eventually, she dropped the self-righteous bullshit.
I had known I was different since before I could talk; I liked that term more than “special.” Being the oldest male had its perks. The worry of many families is the name—would it be carried on? When I was born, the worry vanished. I thanked God every day for three brothers to take that stress off me. Without them, it would have been hopeless. Children weren’t in the cards for me. Unless they were the illegitimate type born from a night of passion. Daddy material I was not.
Was I a good person? I thought I was. My family meant everything to me. Family, pussy, and work were my top priorities—and in that order too.
Nothing else mattered.
Women came and went.
Everything and everyone had changed, yet I tried to remain the same.
I sank my teeth into life, holding on to the bitch like everything depended on it.
The one thing I’d learned was that, no matter how hard I tried to fight the inevitable, it would sneak up on me when least expected.
The second I let my guard down and released the hold I had on life… What was my award for such carelessness?
A love so spectacular and heart-wrenching that it threw me for a loop. God had to be playing a wicked trick on me. I’d bet he was laughing his ass off the entire time it played out and sucked me in deeper every day.
When I was in too deep to escape, my greatest fears became reality.
This is my story.
And my love.
The Beginning of the End
I propped myself up on the bar, studying the only woman who hadn’t bothered to make eye contact with me. Not even a smile or a sideways glance. Nothing.
“What’s your name, beautiful?” I asked, trying to get her attention.
Her body inched away as she turned her head to look away from me.
What the fuck was her problem?
I stole a quick glance at the mirror behind the bar. My hair was perfect, just the right amount of stubble was on my face, and my smile was killer. I shrugged and called the bartender over. I needed something cool and smooth after the set.
Singing tonight had set my throat on fire. The change of season wreaked havoc on my system. Even though it had been difficult to sing tonight, it had given me the greatest high. There was nothing like standing on stage and belting out a song that meant so much to me.
“Double Grand Marnier, please,” I told the bartender when he came to a stop in front of me.
He nodded and headed to the other end of the bar.
“Can I buy you a drink?” I asked the woman, who was still ignoring me.
“No,” she replied without giving me the light of day.
Well, damn. Talk about a cold shoulder.
As the bartender placed the drink in front of me, I motioned to her drink.
“She’ll take another too.”