21. Shane
21
Shane
I used to be stupid enough to trust gut feelings. The kind I could almost hear stirring in my insides, alerting me to some sort of archaic structure built within me. An alarm system, screaming from the membranes of my flesh, trying to reach the innermost workings of my brain and raise the blood-soaked flag that something was off. But gut feelings are so often blurred in their messages when intoxication is at work. And nothing is more potent, more malevolent, more iniquitous than infatuation.
As much as I hate this woman for all that she’s caused to crumble in my life, the magnetism that pulls me into her trap threatens to disarm me every time. It’s my own weakness that brought me here, to this party, high as fuck on pills and coke, knowing I’d see them together. Knowing she’d see me watching. But I couldn’t keep myself from it if I tried.
I wanted to feel that pain. Wanted to dissect and then harness it.
I studied them together. His hands molding to her curves, his drooling, slob-filled mouth planting on her once sweet flesh. He owned her in a synthetic way, a slippery sheen to their relationship that scuffed upon abrasion. He owned her in a way that I never would. Never wanted to. What we had existed in a different world that could only be reached through endless lines of platonic codes and mindless data.
But as I watched her meander through the packed house, squeezing through the masses to find a space for them upstairs, presumably to make up for the exposing video, her sweet, docile boyfriend found himself in the company of Camile Davis—a drooling freshman with tits that screamed maturity. The perfect offset to distract even the most humble of men.
She touched his arm, and he turned to flex properly. He leaned against the counter and told a joke to appear witty and charismatic. Her overexerted laugh could’ve made her eyeballs pop straight from her skull. His phone was practically begging to escape his proximity when I stole it from the other side of the counter, making my way to the back of the house.
His jersey number and birth year are easy enough to guess, and I unlock his phone on the second try.
Montana: Come take what’s yours, Wes. Black hair tie.
I happen to know that their sex life is simply jock load dumping. Zero substance, even though she tries to portray to the world that she’s got enough sophistication to rival the high and mighty. So the idea that they are trying new things aggravates the fuck out of me. She’s simply inspired by the dreamt-up illusion that was once us.
I scale the stairs, pushing through bodies and checking random open doors, some rooms occupied, until I come upon one at the end of the hall—a shut door with a black hair tie wrapped around the knob. She snuck into a spare room, expecting he’d follow. I grin to myself, feeling the blood begin to swell in my cock at the devious plan. I drag my teeth over my bottom lip as I peer back down the empty hall again. He has no idea she’s here.
Taking out Wesley’s phone again, I text back.
Wes : I found you.
Casually peering back down the dark hallway and back, I knock twice. A few seconds later, the door clicks, unlocking. I slip inside the room, quickly relocking it behind me.
I can barely see in here. Darkness swallows me, but a street lamp outside the window provides the most beautiful scene. There she is, on the edge of a four-post bed on all fours, the faint outline of her curvaceous ass in the air, awaiting him. She laughs a hauntingly evil laugh, wiggling her bottom at me as she slides her arms out straight, her bare breasts against the comforter and her cheek lying flat against the bed.
She can’t see me. There’s no way her eyes can perceive who just entered this room in the shadows, but maybe that’s just how she wants it. I could’ve been anyone—entertaining mysteries with her sexual aura, just as she used to.
Feeling my back pockets, I pull out my bike mask and slide it over my face. Slowly lurking forward, heat floods my jeans simply at the sight of that creamy exposed flesh. I keep my breath steady, making my way to the post, still encapsulated in shadows. The past flashes before my eyes, and it’s her again. Toying with me, teasing and taunting in the same alluring way she did in another life, another realm. She was my toy. Mine to play with. Mine to love.
And now again, mine to fuck.
“Touch me, Wes. I need to feel you,” she sighs softly into the blankets.
A blanket covers her lower back, her feet poking out from the bottom. She arches her back, jutting her ass out to me, and handfuls of that soft, milky flesh spill out from beneath it. Christ. I’m just a man—a man who can only handle so much, especially when it comes to my greatest toxicity.
“C’mon, please,” she begs, her tone lingering with a semblance of self-doubt. “Come touch me. I’ve been waiting all night.”
Unable to restrain myself, I take a step toward her. I grip the back of her neck, mashing her face into the mattress before she can get a good look at me. She screams something useless right before I raise my hand and quickly backhand the edge of her ass. Her body jerks in response, then almost melts into the bed.
“Fuck, I’ve been bad, huh?” she asks, assuming Wesley Hopkins would actually have something of this caliber in his arsenal. Fucking tool.
I refuse to answer her, simply flipping the blanket up and off of her body to expose her entirely, taking in the view of a thin strip of underwear running the line of her most forbidden parts.
So many days, I’ve dreamt of this. I couldn’t even really embrace the moment when I was recording us. Pure rage and retaliation were driving me then, but now… it’s different. I want to take what’s owed to me.
“I’m all yours, Wes,” she coos, her voice taking on that sultry tone.
My fingers gently mold to her curves, running a line down her spine. The sensation of her smooth skin beneath my hands has me salivating. I can’t resist the urge to grip her soft, shapely ass as my fingertips travel further down the sides of her sculpted thighs.
She hums, pressing back against my touch, her hips rocking in anticipation and her head lolling in the comforter.
Every inch of her demands attention, and if given a different scenario, I’d pay homage to that. However, my time is limited because my guise will only hold up for so long.
Leaning down further from behind, I caress the thin string of fabric near her hip before pulling her underwear to the side, visualizing the slippery sheen of her shaved sex. My mouth waters, and I sigh against her inner thigh. My mouth has a mind of its own, my lips trailing her soft flesh, dragging them against the warmed skin that almost meets her center. She adjusts on her knees, spreading her hips wide to open up further for me.
“Are you gonna kiss me there?” her raspy tone breaks me down. I feather my touch on her glistening pussy lips, and her hips jut back, all eager and willing. “Please, I’ve been waiting so patiently.”
I still for a moment, my face contorting beneath my mask at her words. Has this prick seriously never wrapped his mouth around this glorious clit? I scoff inwardly. Of course he hasn’t. He uses her as a portal for ejaculation. There’s no rightful attention given here to this delectable fruit, sopping with sweet juices that beg to drip down my chin. The shame of it all has me lifting the face of the mask to my forehead.
I stabilize myself behind her, gripping her ass with both hands and spreading her glistening lips wide for me. Her scent buckles my jaw, my restraint barely alive. I’m a man run mad by toxins captivating my insatiable desires, needing to breed this young, tight pussy before me. Needing her scent on me, my tongue slips from my lips and licks up the length of her sex, pulling back just before it reaches her taut little ass.
She quivers, moans erupting into the blankets, shaking for more as I savor her sweet, tangy arousal. After another slow stroke, I hold my tongue against her clit, applying pressure as I pulse, unable to hold back my rumbling groan. Impatience takes me, and with a fumbling hand, I unbutton my jeans, ripping open the zipper before plunging my fist into my boxer briefs and gripping my cock, needing to squeeze the maddening thing.
My lips surround that perfectly pierced clit again, and I suck hard before grazing my teeth over the sensitive bud. She practically screams out as warm fluid leaks down her inner thigh. Working my cock into a stiff spear, I lap up her arousal before pushing my tongue deep into her aching hole. A feral moan vibrates through her throat, her thighs quaking, and I know she’s there. I can tell she’s getting close by the way her body trembles, so I pull back, violently spread her apart, and forcefully spit on her center.
She moves to sit up on her elbows, but I push down on her spine, clamping my fingers around the back of her slim neck, rendering her escape useless.
“Wes,” she whispers, laughing lightly.
I swipe my finger through her wet heat, collecting my saliva and plunging it into her tight hole. Her pussy spasms around my knuckle, and she bucks her hips back, seeking more. My mouth drops open at the feel of her warmth and the tight grip she’s got me locked in. She’s so primed and ready, soaking me with her arousal.
But denial is something she’ll need to get used to with me. There is always pain before pleasure.
I withdraw my soaked digit, punishing her for working to achieve pleasure by applying more pressure with my thumb and fingers to the sides of her neck.
“What the fuck.” She tries to sit up, but my strength keeps her pinned.
Playing the part of a helpless victim, she swings back, attempting to reach me. I grip her wrist in my palm, bringing it behind her back, and do the same with the other, cinching them in one hand to hold her hostage. She finally calms and resists fighting, so I remove my clamp from her neck and grip the string from my hoodie, pulling it free of my sweatshirt.
“Wes?” she hums, almost in question. “What are you doing?”
I come down hard on her ass, slapping the tender flesh close enough to strike the edge of her vulva. Her body jolts, the scream muffled by the bedspread now between her teeth. Her thighs widen, her greedy, dripping cunt craving more attention.
Releasing her arms, I take the hoodie string and tie it around her neck, pulling her head back. She gasps, the naked flesh of her back meeting my shirt-covered chest. One of her hands bats at the string, but I grip it tighter and twist it around my palm, stealing her air. Her full breasts bounce free, her tight little nipples in need of a tease. One of my palms glides around her ribs, cupping and lifting the plump flesh between my fingers, squeezing the enticing tit before promptly slapping the side of it and making it swing.
“Please,” she begs, voice hardly a whisper, as the string cuts into her windpipe.
My head rolls along the side of hers, my tongue evading my mouth, hungering for more as I lick her neck and then bite down on her earlobe. My chest heaves as I unbuckle my pants, needing to plant myself inside her again. To claim a piece of something I can’t ever seem to own.
I grip the strip of soiled fabric blocking my entry, ripping the thong near the hip and sliding it down one of her thighs, exposing her entirely. My finger trails up the inside of her thigh until it runs along the edge of her clit, consumed by the softness of her flesh. Her legs shake uncontrollably, her wants and needs craving to be met.
She exhales heavily, and I loosen the string.
“Fuck,” she coughs, spreading her thighs even wider for me, eagerly seeking more of my finger like an animal in heat. “You gonna torture me for posting that video? Is that what this is about?”
I want to drive my cock so deep into her ass at the statement, filling her cavity to the hilt for even insinuating she, herself, posted it for him. I wrap the string around my palm again, tightening it further.
Her throat fights against the barrier, and I know she’s losing air. Just before she completely passes out on me, I smear her sweet arousal on the head of my throbbing cock, gripping the base before swiftly pushing the tip inside her wet and warm center.
A hoarse mumble slips from her lips as she reaches up to grab at the string around her neck. It takes everything in me not to fuck her into a complete coma. I imagine thrusting so hard and deep that she would practically feel my cock in her throat.
But I refuse.
Instead, I slowly ease into her until every protruding vein of my stiff cock stretches through her accepting walls. My body ignites with a ruthless desire, shockwaves of pleasure stemming out from my spine as I slowly glide in and out, stopping to settle myself so deep and snug that my balls connect to her lips, kissing together so soft and sweet.
Loosening up on the string, she gasps for a breath.
“What the fuck? Wes!”
The use of his name while I’m inside her aggravates me beyond normal human emotion. I slap the side of her face with my free hand before gripping the string tightly in my fist again.
“Stop it,” I growl.
I allow her the pleasure of seeing who’s behind her now. Her lashes flutter as our eyes connect in the darkness, and her mouth opens to speak, but I’ve stolen her voice.
“You know goddamn well who’s back here fucking you.”
She chokes, batting her hands back to stop me, but the string isn’t tight enough to prevent her from breathing, just enough to provide the right amount of discomfort she deserves. She attempts to scoot forward on the bed and away from me, sliding off my shaft despite the restraints.
“Nah, don’t shy away from me now,” I say, grabbing a hip and pulling her back, seating her on my cock again. “Don’t run from it. Be that filthy whore you were gonna be with him.”
Batting at me again, one of her swings catches on my arm, and she scratches me with her nails. She’s pissed yet entirely too worked up. She loves and hates that it’s me; I can tell by the way she grips me internally.
Feeling the fresh burn on my flesh, wounded by the wild animal beneath me, I begin slowly fucking her. A languid and torturous rate that stops every so often when I feel her inner walls clench tightly around my cock. Her body eventually grows soft, accepting of the violent intrusion, as I force her to sit back on my thighs. Her ass drops mercilessly, the sloppy sounds of our sex lengthening my erection further as pulse waves of pleasure course through me. I loosen the string some, my breathless pants fanning her hair.
“Please,” she begs mercilessly. “Shane. Someone could walk in. Someone might—”
I wrap a palm around her mouth, silencing her, before shoving my middle and ring finger to the back of her throat, holding her jaw hostage.
“No talking. No shouting. I’m fucking you until I finish, and if you bite my fingers, I’ll bite your fucking ear off.”
A muffled cry vibrates from her warm tongue. Her body sucks me deeper, her round, perky ass arching toward me, practically begging to be filled so completely in order to erase the memory of anyone else before me. My cock stretches her wide as my weight comes down upon her. She lies flat on her stomach now, her neck still tied up by the string in my hand, the other shoved forcefully down her throat.
Harsh breaths leave my chest, fucking with only my pleasure in the forefront of my mind.
A deep guttural moan rumbles through her chest and throat, the sensation of her clit now pressed to the mattress giving her some sort of relief. But it’s platonic. I won’t allow it to happen. Ultimately, she won’t enjoy this.
This is me getting everything I should have from this woman years ago. Everything I am owed. More than my broken soul can manage.
Her body softens, becoming weak beneath me, thighs going lax and her arms not providing the fight they once were. The animal in her is succumbing to the beast within me with every pained moan that gurgles through her thin and fragile throat. She’s losing consciousness while her body still sizzles with unrelenting need, coating my cock with her slick arousal. She just keeps getting wetter.
Anger washes over me. Revenge and madness, returning, fueling the impending release. I release the string, withdrawing my fingers from her mouth, and she gasps for air. Her palms grip the comforter above her as I grab a fistful of hair and bite down on my lip. Toxic chaos emits from me as I thrash into her, her body limp and open for the taking.
“Do it,” she gasps, her body jolting at my mercy, submission in her tone. “Fuck me. Take it.”
My balls tighten, and electricity shoots up my spine, tickling its way up the muscles of my shoulders and back down to my thighs. I need to end this, to get as far as fuck away from this woman as I can before I become someone of my past. Lost, lonely, dependent on hope for better days. So I find myself again by forgetting her.
This woman beneath me is nothing but a warm hole to sink my cock into, ensuring my needs are met. I wring my pleasure from her, brutal and laced with insanity, demanding hers be disregarded entirely.
Gripping her neck with both hands, I hold her captive to my torment. I lose myself inside her, a mad, rumbling groan rising up my throat as my abdomen tightens and I spurt deep within her walls, filling her with the sickness she’s conjured—the toxicity she deserves. My body convulses and thrashes, emptying every last drop of my tarnished soul into her darkness.
With my chest billowing and her limp body beneath me, I slowly pull out of her. I squint my eyes tightly, shaking my head and attempting to right myself. My forehead is lined with perspiration, my drenched tip now dangling against her swollen and used lips as I hold myself above her.
Her body quivers beneath me, her bare ass reddened and raw. Her sensations are alive and led to the cliff where release and pleasure break beneath. Her thighs tremble as she absentmindedly tilts her pelvis, seeking more. A needy body left without as my cum slowly slips out of her abused lips, dripping onto the comforter beneath.
Standing and adjusting my pants, she turns her head to face me, a mash of sweat, tears, and dark brown hair masking her forehead.
A wave of unsuspecting feelings shakes the earth beneath me, and I’m forced to lean my body against the wooden post of the bed, my forehead pressed to the cool surface as the memory of the person I’ve lost seeps into the forefront of my mind. We don’t talk about it, but you know that you’re mine, right?
“Shane,” she rasps, her voice tattered and worn.
I shake my head, turning to leave, when her soft voice breaks through the tension in the air again.
“Shane,” she says again. “Don’t leave me here.”
It’s a plea. But a plea for what? Mercy? Disgust? Want?
I can’t bear to hear the softness in her tone. I have to get the fuck away from her before I slip. I’d be stupid to fall into her trap again. To think she’d be anything but a bloodsucking vulture, hoping that those around her die a quick death so she can feast on their tattered bodies.
I thought I could take from her, and it would heal me. That getting mine would feel like a proverbial slap in the face to the one who wronged me. But all she does is sink her teeth into those around her, ensuring that with every kill, she gets the last bite.
Madness finds me again as I straighten, backing toward the door.
“Death will find you faster than pleasure, pretty girl.”