Albatross (Birds of Prey Book 1)

AlbatrossBirds of Prey: #1Karlee BerriosIndependent Publisher Trigger/ Content Warnings• Mentions of past assault• Anxiety Attacks/ PTSD• Violence & Gore• Torture• Alcohol Use• Sexual Harrassment (mild)• Misogyny (Religious in nature)A special trigger warning for people like me:I have spent years deconstructing my own religious trauma. Writing this story has been a part of that. If you are triggered by religious themes, including the rampant misogyny and violence against women due to it, maybe pick another book. I mention this not to deter you, but because I love you and want to protect your peace. Content Shopping ListOkay, we all know what we’re here for. Here’s your kink list, you sick freaks. I love you.• MFM & MMF content• Voyeurism• Primal Play• Orgasm Denial• Praise & Degradation• Squirting• Public Play• Sex Toys DedicationThis book is for you.Whether you’re here because you’re a romantic at heart, a spice fanatic, or just someone who likes Venom a little more than they should. Trust me, I get it.This book is also for the survivors. I see you. I love you. This is Why I Don’t Leave The HouseBel“Oh, fuck- yes, yes, right there!” Wow, really? “Oh, don’t stop, I’m coming!” No one comes that quickly, and from penetration only? Please.“He groans loud and long in my ear, filling me to the brim with his spend.” Oh, that didn’t last long. At least she got to come first, I guess.*Ring* *Ring*Is that my phone?I can’t even greet my caller before she begins to shout, “You better be dressed cuz we are going out!”“I’m on a deadline, I.”“That you gave yourself,” based on the rustling on the other side, Isla is scrambling to get herself ready, too.Before I can dignify that with a response, she blurts, “Do they fuck in this one?”“Yes, Isla. You called right in the middle of the climax, and now I’ll have to re-record the entire scene.”“I have a better idea. Instead of reading and talking about getting railed, you actually experience it.”I try and fail to keep from sighing. It seems like we talk about this constantly. She believes in trying everything at least once, while I think things can be experienced safely from a distance. My job gives me what I need without the risk. “My book and a toy can get me off better than any man could.”“Do you get off listening to your own voice recordings? I totally would.”Stifling a laugh, I ask, “Mine? Or your own?”“Both. Now I’ll give you 20 minutes to finish,” Isla cackles, “then I’m showing up and you better be dressed and ready to go.”“Where are we go—”“You know exactly where we’re going,” she tells me, “Put on your littlest dress and those killer heels, right fucking now.”* * *45 minutes later, Isla is dragging me out the door to a taxi, where the driver looks as happy to be there as I do.“Ladies, we gotta get a move on. Unfortunately, I don’t get paid to sit here and idle.”“I’m so sorry,” she tells him. “I’ll leave a good tip and a five star review, I swear.”“Alright, alright. But we gotta get goin’. You’ve got two minutes, then I’m outta here, with or without you.”Last chance. I open my mouth to protest again, but the look on Isla’s face has me snapping it shut. She’s usually pretty go-with-the-flow, but right now, she’s on a mission.Once we get settled into the backseat, she nudges me with her shoulder and says, “Tonight is the night, Bel. I can feel it in my bones.”“The night for what? To get frostbite? It’s colder than Santa’s tits right now.”“Babes, we live in the desert. It’s still 70 degrees,” she laughs. “No, tonight is the night we both find the loves of our lives.” I hold back an eye roll.Don’t get me wrong, I adore her enthusiasm and positivity. She’s seen more loss and heartache than anyone I know, yet nothing seems to hold her back. She gets her heart broken at least once a month, but every time she gets back on her feet, ready to try again.Meanwhile, I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’ll never let another man touch me again. My therapist calls it “avoidance,” but I think it’s just self-preservation. If they can’t get close to me, they can’t hurt me. If I have to be a bitch them first to keep them at a distance, I’ll do that too. And honestly, I’m comfortable this way. I like my life, my solitude, my freedom. I like living my life however I want, without restrictions.Of course, I can’t say any of that to her. She’ll just give me some platitude about how we can’t give up and that there’s someone out there for everyone. I keep hoping some of her glass-half-full thinking will rub off on me, but sometimes I worry her heartaches cripple me more than they do her. If she needs me to take the brunt of the pain of each of her breakups so she can keep her sunny disposition, I’ll do it.Tuning back into her monologue about seizing the moment, I stop her and ask, “Wait. I thought you were seeing someone,” and that was the wrong fucking thing to say. Maybe someday I’ll learn to keep my mouth shut, but I guess it’s not today.For a split second, I see the gut-wrenching look I’ve come to know so well. Then she waves a hand in front of herself as if dispelling the bad vibes and gives me her best I’m not bothered at all tone, “Yeah, well it didn’t work out. She said that I need to choose a side. Pick a team,” she emphasizes with air quotes.Now that I’ve taken the wind out of her sails, she redirects to another conversation we’ve had before. “People just don’t get it, Bel. It’s not about teams or sides or any of that. I just want to find a person. My person. He, she, they, does it really matter?”“It shouldn’t matter, no. You’ll