Review: Saviour

Saviour by Natasha Thomas

My rating: 3 of 5 stars



UPDATE: 2018
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Over the course of the next few years Priss became my best friend, and the woman I yearned for day and night all rolled into one fucking delicious package.

It’s been more than a year, fourteen months if I’m in the mood to be specific since I’ve spoken to Priss.

Charlee and I ended up at a local courthouse with a marriage license in hand and half an hour later we were man and wife. And all this after only knowing each other for three weeks, just.

By the time I met Priss we’d been married for ten years,

“What I want is for you to give me a fucking divorce. It’s been nearly sixteen years Charlee. For fucks sake, you don’t even have to change your name back to your maiden name if you don’t want to. Just sign the papers I sent you last month, and we can be done with this shit.”

There’s nothing for Priss to move on from other than our friendship. And as much as I hate the thought of her doing that maybe it’s better for everyone if she does. We’ve never been anything more than that to my bitter disappointment.

If it wasn’t for seeing him three weeks later with a woman crushed against the brick wall in the back hallway of Rough Shod, Tank’s deliciously huge cock driving in and out of her frantically I would have called a truce sooner.

I knew that I didn’t have any claim on Tank, but knowing he was fucking other women, and seeing it were two totally different things.

What’s he sorry for? My eye? Not telling me he’s married? Ignoring me for fourteen months? What?

Tank might not have cheated on me because we were never officially together, but I can’t help feeling like he had in fact cheated on me. And I can tell you now it’ll be a cold day in hell before I let him back into my house to talk to me. He’s broken my trust.

Most of the time I pick up a woman at a bar or club in Boulder when I’m on a run. I don’t believe in shitting where you eat and the last fucking thing I need is for some woman to pull the bitch-card out and get in Priss’ face about what I’ve done with her.

My motto for the last fourteen years has been ‘One and done’. I won’t deny it and I won’t fucking apologize for it. I don’t care where I fuck a woman as long as my dick gets wet and I blow my load.

“If I could give her the fucking moon I would, but she wouldn’t ask me for it. She’d tell me she was happy to look at it from a distance, and ask me to sit with her while she does.

Eleven inches isn’t anything to sneeze at, and for a lot of women it’s more than they’ll ever see again.

Knowing that one day Priss would be mine; that she’d have to come face-to-face with a whore that had sucked my cock, or I’d fucked one night when I was so drunk that I finally gave in, was enough to turn me off the idea altogether.

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