Chapter Twenty
The first thing I hear, when I open my front door, is that fucking song from that goddamn movie.
You know what I’m talking about. You might have even guessed it already. The one about the big ass boat and the iceberg, with the rich bitch and gutter rat making googly eyes at each other. Draw me like your French whores, asshole. I’ll never let go. Blah blah blah.
Yeah, that one.
Saturday night—or well, guess it’s Sunday morning now, isn’t it? A few minutes past midnight. Leo is here somewhere with Melody. I know this, because she’s singing along, like this is Karaoke Hour on the RMS Titanic.
Sighing, I step out of the way for Scarlet to enter, wanting to smash my head into the wall in hopes that maybe I’ll go unconscious and won’t have to hear this for a second longer. Scarlet strolls right to the living room, stopping in the doorway, looking in.
After shutting the door, I join her.
They’re cuddling on my couch, my brother and his girlfriend, all tangled up together with a big blanket covering them. I’m not sure if they’re dressed, to be honest. Wouldn’t be the first time they fucked on my couch, just like this, watching some sappy love story.
I think it’s a kink.
Some people like spanking.
Others like voyeurism.
My brother likes to fuck his girlfriend as she sobs over fictional characters.
Me? I like a little bit of everything… with the exception of that last one. Stick a finger in my ass all you want, but the second you start boo-hoo’ing, I’m done.
They don’t pay us any attention, and I’m not even trying to interrupt whatever that is. Nudging Scarlet for her to follow me, I head to my library. I walk right in, but she hesitates before crossing the threshold.
“Shut the door,” I tell her, plopping down in my chair. “Maybe it’ll muffle the sound of that dying cat out there.”
Scarlet laughs, shutting the door. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Could be worse,” I say. “I could muffle her with a pillow, but I won’t. Don’t I get credit for that?”
“Nice try, but no,” she says, approaching. “You don’t get points for not killing your brother’s girlfriend when the only thing she’s guilty of is being a terrible singer.”
“She’s so damn emotional, and she’s always just… peppy.”
Scarlet gasps with mock horror. “How horrible!”
“Fuck you,” I mutter. “It’s exhausting to be around.”
“She’s still young.”
“She’s the same age as you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly normal,” she says. “I was forced to grow up quick when I was just a kid. But her? I imagine she’s had a normal life. Well, until you came into it, so cut her some slack.”
“I do,” I say. “She’s still breathing, isn’t she? Still out there singing. Still hanging around, eating my groceries, watching my television, getting her pussy played with in my house.”
Scarlet leans against the table beside me, shaking her head as she crosses her arms over her chest. “You’ll probably be saying all that about me… eating your food, using your electricity, showering with your hot water—”
“Getting your pussy played with?”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t deny it.
I grab her hips, pulling her between my legs. “Look, all I’m saying is if you’re going to sing, do that shit silently so nobody has to listen to it.”
She laughs, her hands on my shoulders. “Should we talk silently, too, so you don’t have to listen to that, either?”
“Preferably,” I say. “Unless it’s dirty talk, in which case, I’m more than happy to hear you.”
“Wow,” she says, voice flat. “You keep being so charming and I might start catching feelings.”
“I wouldn’t blame you,” I say. “Just, you know, keep them to yourself, in case they’re contagious.”
“Don’t worry,” she says. “I practice safe sentiment. I’ll be sure to wrap it before I yap it.”
I laugh at that. This goddamn woman. She’s got a mouth on her, without a doubt, the kind of mouth that’s destined to get her in a lot of trouble in life.
Already has, it seems.
Aristov, he’s the kind of guy who likes to break wild horses, and Scarlet is one of the most strong-willed I’ve ever encountered. She might not be broken, but it wouldn’t take much more, not with the way she buckles when it comes to him.
It’s uncharacteristic.
Sure, I haven’t known her long.
But she doesn’t flinch from me.
I don’t scare her.
So why does he?
My eyes narrow slightly, and damn if she doesn’t notice, because I see her stiffen in response to it.
“Tell me about Aristov.”
Her expression blanks. There she goes, trying to fade on me, shutting down.
“I’ve already told you about him,” she says. “He’s a cruel man.”
“One that stole from you.”
“Yes.”
“He stole the light from your life,” I say, recalling her words. “He stole your innocence.”
Her eyes close. It’s automatic. She can’t even look at me when I say that. When she reopens them, they’re glassy, but she doesn’t shed a single tear.
I’ve yet to see her cry.
“Yes.”
That’s all she says.
Since she’s not elaborating on her own, fuck it... I’m going to ask. “How?”
It’s a simple question, but I know right away she’s not going to answer it. Her hands leave my shoulders and she steps back, out of my grasp, as she forces a smile on her lips, the fakest smile I’ve ever seen.
“I stink,” she says. “Do you mind if I take a shower?”
“Of course not,” I say, waving her away. “Help yourself to whatever. It’ll take me at least two weeks to start complaining about you, so make yourself at home.”
“Thanks,” she says, turning to walk out of the library. “I make no promises when it comes to singing in the shower, though. Sometimes I just can’t help myself.”
“Make that one week, then,” I call after her. “I’ll start complaining by next weekend, so enjoy these next few days.”
She laughs, disappearing from the room.
I stare at the doorway once she’s gone, drumming my fingers on the arm of the chair. She evaded like a motherfucker. She wasn’t even trying to be sly about it. She just flat out wasn’t answering.
Shoving up from the chair, I stroll out of the library, making my way into the kitchen for something to eat. There’s not much in here, so I just grab two slices of bread, pull out some lunch meat, and slap that shit together with a dab of mustard. Viola.
I take a bite, chewing, as I grab a Capri Sun from the fridge and walk out. My sandwich gets smashed as I stroll back down the hall, so busy tearing the plastic off of the small yellow straw that I almost drop it all.
“Hey, bro.”
I stop near the living room when Leo greets me. I look up at him before glancing into the room. Melody isn’t singing anymore, thank fuck. “Hey.”
“So that lady,” Leo says. “Morgan.”
“What about her?” I ask, fiddling with the straw, trying to poke it through the hole but I’m using the wrong end. Goddamnit.
“She’s back already, huh? Saw her walk by a bit ago.”
“She needs a place to stay,” I tell him, flipping the straw around. “Figured I’d be nice for once. Got a problem with that?”
“Not at all.”
I shove the straw in, impaling the fucking thing, putting it right through the other side of the little silver pouch, stabbing my hand. I’m three seconds away from just squeezing the damn thing and letting it squirt out, wherever the hell it wants to go, figuring at least some of it will make its way into my mouth, when Leo snatches it from me, fixing the straw before handing it back.
“Thanks,” I mutter. “These things are bullshit.”
Look, before you go thinking I’m incompetent, remember my world is two-dimensional. I’ve adapted to that, for the most part, but sometimes objects are assholes. I misjudge distances, can’t catch a fucking thing, spill drinks and bump into door frames. I also can’t seem to ever get a straw in a hole, which, as I’m sure you can imagine, makes sticking things in other holes a bit of a struggle.
Pussy is what I’m getting at, in case you didn’t pick up on that. I aim and sometimes miss like a virginal teenage boy who has never used his dick.
I take a sip, sucking through the straw.
“I don’t know why you keep buying those,” Leo says. “They give you trouble every time.”
“I like them,” I say. “Besides, no bitch ass little juice pouch is going to best me, Pretty Boy.”
I hit the stairs, making my way up them as I take another bite of my sandwich. It’s dark on the second floor. I flip on the light in my bedroom just as the water shuts off in my bathroom.
I sit down on the edge of the bed, kicking my boots off as I eat. They’re already untied, so it isn’t that hard. I shove them aside with my foot just as the bathroom door opens. My gaze shifts that way as Scarlet steps out, nothing more than a gray towel wrapped around her. She pauses, looking at me, so I hold out my half-eaten sandwich. “Hungry?”
I expect her to scoff, maybe laugh, but she plucks the thing right from my grasp and takes a bite, mumbling, “Starving.”
Well damn. I hand her the Capri Sun. She sucks the rest of it down as she finishes the sandwich.
Pulling my shirt off, I toss it across the room. I miss the hamper, of course, but it doesn’t matter. General vicinity. Scarlet watches me, tossing the empty pouch in the trashcan near my bed. She makes it. Doesn’t even look.
I shake my head.
“So,” she says, “I’ve got a problem.”
“No shit.”
She purses her lips. “I have no clothes.”
“That doesn’t sound like a problem to me.”
I grab the towel, slowly pulling it away, taking it off and tossing it aside, again near the hamper. Scarlet doesn’t move as my gaze trails her body.
I’ve seen this woman naked a few times now, but beyond the obvious, like those gorgeous perky tits, I’ve never really looked. You know what I’m saying? But I see it now, every inch of her petite body. Strong legs. Wide hips. Slim waist. My fingertips trail her collarbones before running down her chest, brushing across those pert nipples.
Scars pepper her skin. They’re not blatant, little marks here and there, healed burns and cuts, the most noticeable scar below her belly button, dangerously close to the Promised Land.
“Do I pass inspection?” she asks. “Or are there some violations I need to work on?”
Glancing up, I meet her gaze. “You can work on that mouth of yours.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s running a little rough. Nothing a face-fucking can’t fix, though.”
Her eyes widen. “Big words for a guy who drinks Capri Sun.”
I try to keep a straight face, but I crack at that, letting out a laugh. “Got me there.”
Grinning, she does some bullshit little bow before turning, like she thinks she’s going to walk away from me. Yeah, right.
Before she can take even a step, I wrap my arms around her from behind, dragging her to the bed. I don’t climb in it, just shoving her down on the edge of it, her top half pressed into the mattress, my left hand planted firmly on her back, along her spine. I lean over top of her, my mouth near her ear as I say, “We’ll see how much shit you’re still taking when I’m through.”
Kicking her legs apart, forcing her wide open, my right hand slips down, stroking her bare pussy. There’s nothing gentle about it. Nothing tender. I rub hard, not fucking around. It’s mere seconds before she’s drenched, soft moans escaping that she’s trying to hold back. She doesn’t want me to see how turned on she is by this.
I slide two fingers into her, going slow at first, before I start really fucking her with them. Her eyes close as she fists the comforter, letting out a whimper. She’s trying so hard to be still, to not react, but pleasure is the most difficult thing to mask. You can bottle up your feelings and suck up your tears, put on a brave face instead of showing fear, but when that spine-tingling euphoria rolls through your system, there’s no denying it.
Bodies are traitors.
They wave red flags.
And those slick juices coating my hand tell me everything. The way her thighs tremble, her back arching, her knuckles white with tension as she clings to the bed, holding on tight. Goose bumps coat her arms, the fine hairs bristling, her cheeks flushed, lips parting, throat flexing as she swallows, but her mouth is so damn dry it does nothing. Her voice is raw, strained from trying to force back noises, so much so that it sounds like she’s growling, like she just wants to annihilate me, rip me to fucking pieces. I’ve got her eating straight out of my palm, but she’s the kind to bite the hand that feeds her.
Fighting and fucking.
Fucking and fighting.
Emotions heighten sensations. We all know that. But she can’t let herself be happy, she can’t let that guard down, so she gets real goddamn angry. It fuels the fire inside of her until she’s shooting off sparks.
So yeah, I don’t need her to tell me how she’s feeling, but fuck if I’m not still going to ask.
“That feel good?” I ask, my other hand sliding away from her back, around the curve of her ass, settling between her thighs. I start rubbing her clit again, and it throws my rhythm off, but not so much that I don’t make it work. Fucking. Stroking. In, out, around, and around... “You love it, huh? Love to have that beautiful pussy played with, to have it worshiped, getting fucked just right.”
She groans.
Her breathing is labored, the tension in her body growing as she shifts her hips, writhing. She’s damn close to orgasm.
“Open your eyes,” I say. “Look at me.”
She obliges, turning her head more, her eyes meeting mine. I stare at her, saying nothing else, and she stares right back, unyielding. I keep doing what I’m doing, watching her unravel and come apart right in my hands.
Fuck.
Orgasm tears through her, muscles pulsating, her entire body shaking as her mouth falls open and a cry of pleasure escapes. It’s beautiful, the way her face contorts, her eyes trying to close again, eyelids fluttering, but she keeps her gaze trained on mine. I ride her through it until she relaxes, the hand from her clit moving back to her ass as I pull my fingers out of her and pop them right in my mouth.
She makes a guttural noise.
I suck the taste of her off of me before pulling them back out, my wet fingertips tracing her lips. “You ever taste yourself?”
“Do you?”
I slip my fingers into her mouth and groan as she wraps her lips around them, sucking, her tongue caressing my fingertips. “All the time.”
Her eyes widen as she releases my fingers, pulling her mouth away. “You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“No.”
“Well, then, there you go.”
I sit down beside her. Slowly, she rises up, pushing away from the bed, and drops down to the floor on her knees.
She sits there, looking up at me, but keeps her hands to herself.
“Is there something you want, Scarlet?”
“Do you like how it tastes?”
The question bursts out of her, like she’s been dying to ask it. I laugh, taking a page from her book by flipping it around. “Do you?”
She shrugs, carefully reaching toward me, like she’s afraid I might bite. She unbuttons my pants and pulls down the zipper, her hand slipping inside. I groan as she palms my cock, stroking a few times in the confinement of my pants, before she pulls it out.
“Condom?” she asks.
I nod my head toward the bedside stand, and she pulls the small drawer open, looking in. She keeps one hand on my cock, stroking, as she searches through my stash with the other, grabbing a plain condom. Nothing special about it. She uses her teeth, tearing the packet, and pulls out the condom, promptly popping it in her mouth.
In her fucking mouth.
The condom.
The entire thing.
Before I can say anything, she goes down on me, wrapping her lips around my cock, starting at the tip, and takes the entirety of it down her throat in one deep stroke, not stopping as she gags.
“Goddamn, woman,” I groan, my hands grasping the back of her head, my gaze flickering to the ceiling fan above as tingles flow through me. Round and round it goes, as Scarlet’s mouth works up and down a few strokes.
She pulls away then, way too soon, and I look down at the condom rolled on my cock.
She put the fucking thing on with her mouth.
Her mouth.
“Witchcraft,” I say as she stands up, shoving against my chest, pushing me so she can climb onto my lap. She straddles me, as I lean back, propping up on my elbows on the bed.
She sinks down onto me—warm, and tight, and wet… so fucking wet. Where I’m sitting, she doesn’t have much room, but she doesn’t need it. She rolls her hips, arching her back, slowly moving, my cock sliding in and out just enough to drive me crazy. Parts of me are tingling that should never tingle as she teases me. Teases me.
The woman is giving me a lap dance while I’m balls-deep in her pussy.
I raise up a bit, reaching out, my fingertips brushing across a tit, circling a nipple. I’m about to pinch that son of a bitch when Scarlet slaps my hand. SMACK. “No touching.”
The sharp blow stings, catching me off guard. I pull my hand back, stalling mid-air. She hit me. Hit me. And not just some love tap... a full on fucking slap. “Hit me again. I dare you.”
“If you don’t keep your hands to yourself, I will.”
She sounds pretty damn sure of herself. I lower my hand, propping on my elbow again as I stare at her.
Look, let’s be real here. It takes a lot of balls to lay a hand on me. I’ll cut the damn thing off and beat you to death with it, let you die by your own hand, since you must be suicidal to try that shit. I’m not even going to sit here and pretend the urge to lash out didn’t strike me the second I felt the sting, but being as my balls are aching for a release, that’s not really in my best interest.
So I do some meditative woosah bullshit and calm the hell down, since I’m not into necrophilia, and I’d rather be fucking her than killing her at the moment. I might be a bit screwed up in the head, but I’m not that far gone.
“I’m not paying for this shit,” I tell her.
A smirk turns the corners of her lips as she says, “Didn’t think you would.”
Scarlet fucks around for a little while longer, tits tauntingly in my face, slowly riding me. She’s trying to get a rise out of me. Figuratively, that is. I’m already as hard as a rock, but it’s the rest of me she wants heated.
I’m going to tell you a secret.
A big secret.
It’s working.
What she’s doing, the way she moves? The way her body fits on top of mine, forming to me, warming me? It’s got me feeling some type of way. I want to throw her off and pin her down, fuck her until she can’t even walk and then make her crawl out of my goddamn house. But then I’d just want to drag her right back, because she’s under my skin, and what she’s doing? It’s hot.
I can think of a lot worse ways to spend my time.
So I wait her out.
Eventually, she sighs, leaning down over me, bringing her face just inches from mine, as she whispers, “You’re good at this.”
“At what?”
“At being a fucking jackass.”
Laughing, I grab her, yanking her off and throwing her over on the bed before she can stop me. She lets out a loud squeal, startled, before she starts giggling.
She’s fucking giggling.
I crawl on top of her, shoving my way between her legs, forcing her knees up to her chest with my weight pressing against them, pinning her there. She reaches for me, but I grab her wrists, holding them as she struggles. “Wait! This isn’t fair!”
“You want me to let you go?” I ask, leaning down, pausing just shy of her lips.
“Yes.”
“Ask nicely,” I tell her. “Say ‘Lorenzo Gambini, I beg of you, please, let me go and I’ll suck your dick.’”
She laughs again, harder. “You wish.”
“I do,” I say. “No doubt about it.”
Her struggling is pathetic. She could break free if she really wanted to, but she’s barely even fighting.
I close the rest of the distance, kissing her lips, as I grind my cock against her, the tip of it rubbing her clit. She moans into my mouth as she stops struggling, relaxing into the bed.
Surrendering.
“Lorenzo Gambini,” she whispers between kisses, “I beg of you, please... fuck me.”
I kiss her once more before pulling back, shifting position, smirking. “Well, since you asked so nicely...”
I thrust hard, sliding right in first goddamn try.
BAM.