The Alpha Alternative: JZB Sex Scene

Sex either blows your fucking mind, or it’s not good enough.

Women have been repeating the same mistake since time began: falling for a man’s potential. We rarely see it the same way, and even more rarely care to achieve it.

I have no desire to sleep with you. I want to fuck you. And there is no such thing as perfectly good sex. If it’s “perfectly good,” I mock in falsetto, “he should be shot in the head and put out of everyone’s misery. Sex either blows your fucking mind, or it’s not good enough. You want me to blow your fucking mind, Ms. Lane? Come on. Do it. Be a big girl.

Actions talk. Words are worthless. You think to discover in me a vein of vulnerability, a marbling of sensitivity glimpsed only by you because you’re special, so you can proclaim, “Look, Barrons’ torturous past has made him a monster but only because he’s suffered so much. It’s understandable that he lives by no law but his own—a violent, bloody, conscienceless law—but the healing power of my love will restore his demolished humanity!” Restore means to return a thing that was taken. Mine was not.

A woman who’s lived in a cage all her life. And hates it. Bored in there, aren’t you. Waiting for life to happen. And when it finally does, it steals from you what you loved most. So take back. Explode. Lash out. Blow up

I have found there to be little distance between the unlatching of a chain and the spreading of a woman’s legs. As if they can never unbar only a single entrance. It’s a disease called hope. Women suffer from it greatly.

Does she, like most women, lose a part of her soul in sex? Leave it lying there for the taking? Fuck.

Lust is a thing of the blood. Doesn't need head or heart.

I have studied humans for a small eternity. Intent infuses their every movement. Road maps to their inner navigation, plastered all over their skin. Born to be slaves.

She's chiffon and satin ribbons. I'm raw meat and razor blades.