The Wrong Number

Chapter 2: Missionary Again

AVA'S POV

I stripped off the red dress and the black heels, letting the expensive fabric pool on the bathroom floor like a puddle of blood.

I stood under the scalding hot water, letting it hammer against my skin, trying to scrub away the feeling of the night.

I washed off the makeup, the red lipstick, the smoky eyes.

I wanted to wash away the memory of the waitress, the memory of Mark's laughter, the memory of how alone I felt.

When I finally got out of the shower, I wrapped myself in a towel and walked into the bedroom.

Mark was still on his phone, whispering softly.

I couldn't hear who he was talking to, but the tone was intimate.

My stomach tightened, but I forced the thought away.

Instead, I walked to the drawer where Laura's gift was hidden.

It was a small box.

Inside was a set of lingerie that made me blush just looking at it.

It was black lace, sheer and delicate, with intricate cutouts that left almost nothing to the imagination.

It was designed to be seen, to be touched, to be used.

I put it on.

The lace felt cool against my skin.

I looked in the mirror.

I looked like a goddess.

I looked like a woman who deserved to be worshipped.

I climbed into bed, pulling the sheets up to my chest, waiting.

When Mark finally came out of the shower, he didn't say a word.

He walked over to the bed, saw me, and his eyes widened.

"f**k, Ava," he groaned, climbing onto the bed.

"You look... I can't even..."

He kissed me, his hands immediately grabbing my breasts, squeezing them hard.

He wasn't gentle.

He wasn't romantic.

He was like an animal.

He pushed me back onto the pillows, his hands roaming over my body, tearing at the lace.

"Mark, wait," I whispered, my heart pounding.

"I... I was thinking we could do something different tonight."

Mark paused, looking down at me.

"What?"

I took a deep breath, my hands moving to his shoulders.

"I want to try something new.

I want to... I want to give you a blowjob.

I want to please you.

I want to do something... exciting."

I moved my hand down, reaching for him, but Mark jerked away as if I had burned him.

He sat up, pulling his hands away from me.

"Whoa, Ava, what are you doing?" he asked, his voice filled with disgust.

"That's... that's demonic.

You don't have to do that.

You're a good girl, Ava.

You shouldn't have to behave like a slut."

I felt like I had been slapped.

The air left my lungs.

"Mark, I want to," I insisted, my voice trembling.

"I want to try it.

I want to explore that with you."

"No," Mark said firmly, laying back down and pulling me on top of him.

"We're not doing that.

Just get on with it.

I'm not waiting."

I felt a wave of disappointment so strong it made me nauseous.

I knew exactly what this meant.

Missionary.

Again.

Fast.

Boring.

I positioned myself over him, feeling him against my stomach.

He grabbed my hips, guiding me down.

He thrust into me without any foreplay, without any tenderness.

"f**k, you're tight," he grunted, his hands gripping my hips tightly, leaving bruises that I knew would show up tomorrow.

I closed my eyes, trying to pretend this was what I wanted.

I tried to find some pleasure in it, but it was impossible.

Mark was pumping into me, his movements fast and mechanical, his breathing heavy in my ear.

He wasn't kissing me.

He wasn't looking at me.

He was just using my body to get off.

"That's it, baby, you're so good," he whispered, but it wasn't romantic.

It was patronizing.

"Just take it.

Good girls don't need to do those other things.

This is all you need."

Tears streamed down my face, but I kept my eyes closed, staring into the darkness behind my eyelids.

I felt nothing but emptiness.

This wasn't love.

This wasn't intimacy.

This was just s*x.

And it was terrible.

Within two minutes, Mark groaned.

He pulled away immediately, then rolled over to his side of the bed without another glance.

"Wow, that was amazing, Ava," he said, his voice already sleepy.

"You're so sweet.

I love you."

I lay there, staring at the ceiling.

I felt dirty.

I felt used.

I felt alone.

"I love you too," I whispered, my voice hollow.

I reached for a cloth nearby, my hand shaking slightly.

I forced a smile, turning to look at his back.

"It was... great."

But it wasn't great.

It was the worst night of my life.

I loved Mark, or at least I thought I did.

But our s****l relationship was dead.

It was boring, repetitive, and frustrating.

Every time I tried to suggest something new, something to spice things up, he shut me down.

He called me a "good girl," told me I didn't need to be a "slut," and insisted that what we were doing was enough.

But it wasn't enough.

I wanted more.

I wanted to explore.

I wanted to feel desired, not just used.

I wanted a partner who would listen to me, who would care about my pleasure, who would try new things with me.

Mark was already asleep, his breathing deep and regular.

I lay there in the dark, the black lace lingerie torn and discarded on the floor.

I felt a deep sadness settle in my chest, heavy and cold.

I loved him, but I was so unsatisfied.

I was so unhappy.

I turned away from him, pulling the sheets up to my chin.

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the reality of my situation.

I tried to tell myself that it would get better, that maybe tomorrow would be different.

But I knew it wouldn't.

As I slowly drifted off to sleep, the image of the waitress flirting with Mark, the feeling of Mark's hands bruising my hips, the sound of his voice calling me a "good girl," all of it swirled in my mind.

I was trapped in a relationship that was killing my soul, and I didn't know how to escape.

The room was silent, except for Mark's snoring.

I curled into a ball as tears slipped silently down my face.

Beside me, Mark slept peacefully.

I wondered why loving someone could feel so lonely.