Spend Some Time (Eminem Fanfic)

7. A Thing For Crazy Bitches

I honestly don't know what he sees in her. It seems like all they do is fight. And he always looks so exhausted and miserable after hanging up the phone with her.

I strain my ears and listen some more. Honestly, at this point, I don't even have to try too hard to be sneaky because Marshall is so loud yelling on that phone that I'm pretty sure even the people staying on other floors can hear him.

Then, once he presumably finally ends his convo with her, I hear a loud bang, like he has thrown something against the wall or something.

I slowly sit up and debate whether or not I should go out there and see what's going on with him.

In a very short time I've known Marshall, I've learned the hard way, since I've been here, that it's best to just leave Marshall the fuck alone whenever he is in one of his moods.

At the same time, I'm stubborn as fuck.

I'm also irrational as fuck, apparently, cause even though I know damn well that Marshall gets real pissed whenever I try to poke my nose in his personal business, and he's totally right to be like that, I still can't help myself and do just that all the time.

My thoughts are then quickly interrupted by Marshall barging in.

Well, I guess, he technically didn't barge in, since it IS his bedroom, in his hotel suit, but y'all know what I mean.

He marches into the room, looking angry as hell, to the point where he honestly almost scares me.

I ain't never in my life seen anybody look that fucking pissed off.

I startle as I sit up in the bed, holding myself up by my elbows.

"Are you okay?" I ask him sheepishly.

He looks at me like I'm out of my damn mind.

"Do I fucking look ok? Take off your clothes."

Now that escalated quickly...

"What?" I ask, dumbfounded.

"Did I fucking stutter? Take off your damn clothes."

He pulls his own t-shirt over his head.

The dominant turn of his voice instantly turns me on... Until I remember that he was just on his phone arguing with his damn wife. Does arguing with her puts him in a mood to fuck or something?! I am not trying to be a reaction to that.

"Who were you just talking on the phone with?" I ask innocently, like I haven't just eavesdropping on the whole conversation.

"None of your business, yo," Marshall grubs my ankle and roughly pulls me to the edge of the bed.

And all I can think about is how good it would feel if I just let him do whatever the wants to me, but I just can't.

I feel... fucking jealous right now. And I know that that's stupid as fuck and irrational for me to feel this way, but I simply can't help myself.

I have no room to want him and want him for myself only, but I do anyway.

"None of my business, but you expect me to just keep opening my legs to you?" I ask with an attitude, pushing him off me just as he tried to push my legs apart and get in between them.

"Well, ain't it why you are here?" He asks cockily, and I am just fucking done.

Some time later, Marshall is in the shower, and I'm still laid on that bed, feeling sore as hell. Is it supposed to be feeling like this? It still kind of hurts whenever he fucks me, but it always kind of feels good at the same time.