Chapter Fourteen
Savage
W hen Micah leaves, it’s like he takes all the air in the room with him. My body gives me a split second to decide between raging out or hyperventilating, and it feels like all I’ve done recently is have meltdowns, so there’s really no choice.
I flip the coffee table immediately. Popcorn scatters everywhere and a glass shatters, making me feel a fraction more stable. But it’s not enough.
Pacing up and down the living room, I try to wrestle the anger throbbing in my chest into submission before I do any real damage to Micah’s living room.
I just don’t understand why he’d be so willful. All I’m doing is trying to protect him, and he throws it in my face? How am I supposed to let him go out doing fuck knows what with some stranger, without knowing if he’s going to be safe?
It’s intolerable. Just the thought of someone touching Micah— hurting him—makes me want to rip my skin off strip by strip. After I’ve ripped off theirs, obviously.
And the fact that he doesn’t understand that and listen to me makes it all worse. I’m here, watching out for him, and he doesn’t give a shit. All he cares about is his dick. Telling me I’m like my father was a cheap shot, and he said it to hurt me.
Well, he doesn’t know who he’s fucking with. Just because he’s my Bambi doesn’t mean I’m going to let him get away with treating me like shit when I’m the only one looking out for him.
If he thinks he’s bringing his date back here to get off, let’s see how well he does when I bring a date home first. There’s only one bed in this apartment and I’ll be fucking someone in it before I let my little brother get bent over just to prove a stupid point to me.
I told the guys I was going to be spending my sabbatical fucking my way through the local girls, after all. It was a lie at the time, but now my dick’s working again. As much as it ever was. I can power through one night. Maintain my reputation with the Banna and show Micah what he gets for being a slut.
My head feels jumbled; all my thoughts racing so fast, I can barely pick out each individual one. Distantly, I think a part of myself is screaming that this is a bad idea. But I refuse to listen.
I’m too angry. Rage is quivering through me, and it’s not leaving space for any other thoughts or emotions.
Punishing Micah for what he said and what he’s about to do is the only solution.
The dumbass left his car here as well, presumably because he plans to get shitfaced on this date and leave himself even more vulnerable to danger. At least it gives me a way out. Grabbing his keys, I head to the parking lot, and the only thing I can think about is getting a girl back here as quickly as possible so I can finally make Micah pay.
It’s more crowded than I expected. I don’t know why I came to The Feral Possum, but it’s basically the only place I know around here, and I would still prefer not to run into any of the Banna if I can avoid it. Even if I’m doing something that they’d approve of, for once.
“Sav?” Gunnar looks up at me from behind the bar when I walk in, because the man seems to notice everything immediately.
I went with Sav when he asked me my name the first time. I shouldn’t spread the name Savage around if I can help it, in case it gets to the wrong ears. Plus, it sounds dumb as fuck to anyone who doesn’t know the Banna or isn’t already afraid of me.
I could use my real name, and it was on the tip of my tongue, but… Micah’s the only one who calls me that.
Sav was a good compromise. It could be short for lots of shit, probably.
“You know you’re not working tonight,” he continues.
“Yeah, I just came for a drink. If that’s cool.”
I don’t know when I turned into this simpering, uncertain thing, but I hate it. I take a deep breath, stand up tall and roll my shoulders back, and then look at Gunnar with an expression that fits Savage the fucking gangster, not Tadhg the loser who has temper tantrums about fights with his stepbrother.
Gunnar gives me a slow, steady once-over, just like he did when we met. I get the feeling that he can see the shift in my demeanor and isn’t impressed, which makes me feel like even more of a dumbass than I did before.
I already hate this and want to go home.
“Is everything okay?”
I can tell by his tone he knows he’s not getting an answer, but it was nice of him to ask anyway. He’s a nice guy. This is a nice place, full of normal people. I really don’t belong here, but it’ll do for what I need to get done.
“Can I get a beer?” I ask instead of responding to his question.
Gunnar just nods, pulling me a draft and leaving it in front of me. He doesn’t linger, which is good because I can’t handle someone that observant right now. I already feel like all my thoughts and feelings and rationality have jumped the track; I don’t need the most stable, reasonable man in Possum Hollow standing next to me as some sort of demonic juxtaposition to really hammer home how fucked I am.
My fingers drum on the bar without me being totally aware of it, and my heart is already hammering in my chest.
Picking up girls should be easy for me. I’m tall. I’m hot. A lot of girls, especially the kind of girls you can pick up in bars, love an alpha male type. But for me, it’s always been layered in all this stress about what’s gonna happen when I finally get her naked and whether my worthless dick is going to cooperate this time, or if this will be the time word gets back to my father about yet another one of my failings.
It puts me too in my head. I think I’m good at disguising it, but still. Except right now it’s even worse, because I can’t focus on anything except where Micah might be right now and whether or not he’s safe.
Well, half of me is worried about him being safe, the other half is still so fucking furious about how he shoved his attitude in my face that I’ll do anything to one up him.
Including getting over my distaste for what’s about to happen.
A few minutes later though, a girl with a nice face and a low-cut shirt catches my eye from across the bar, and I swallow down all that distaste to focus on what really matters. Showing Micah who’s in charge here.
The girl is writhing and moaning underneath me, but I can tell she’s not into it. The fact that she’s faking it is only making things harder for me.
We’re in Bambi’s bed. It only took me a couple hours to pick someone up, and either his date is going well or he’s in the process of being fucking murdered, because he still isn’t back. Maybe he was all talk, and they decided to go back to the other guy’s house after all.
The thought distracts me. Which is annoying as hell, because this girl is a find. She’s got dark hair, big, pretty eyes that look even bigger with all the eyeliner she’s wearing, and a tight little body that fits easily in my hands. I could tell she was into me as soon as we locked eyes back at the bar, and she made it explicitly clear that she was also looking for a no-strings hookup. In theory, I was more than happy to oblige. But now that we’re here, everything’s falling apart.
She keeps pulling me into kisses, which is distracting and frankly not why we’re here. Kissing has never been something I enjoyed. Putting your mouth on someone else’s mouth is just kind of weird. I always feel like it seems like I’m about to eat them.
We finally got down to business, but now I’m on top of her and I’m already crawling into my own head. Maybe I shouldn’t have made her come before we started fucking. I thought it would be polite, but instead it’s making it harder to keep her interest. I’ve got one hand working her clit, the other propping me up and I’m pounding into her, but the slightly glazed look in her eye and the hint of fakeness to her noises is making me want to flee the situation, and my dick is getting the message.
It’s always ready to bounce at a moment’s notice. The second something feels off, it’s like all the blood abandons ship. I can feel the telltale start of nothingness that normally precedes it giving up on me, and I put all my concentration into keeping myself in the moment.
The tight, wet heat of her around me. How good it feels to touch someone’s bare skin. The rhythmic pumping, in and out.
I bury my face in her neck, trying to make the world narrow in so I can focus, but she’s wearing a super sweet perfume. It clashes with the lingering scent of Micah’s fancy, citrusy aftershave and makes things even worse.
The girl—Chelsea, thank fuck I remember her name—is giving an A+ for effort performance though. She digs her fingernails into my back, scraping them down hard enough to send pain radiating through me and jolt some life back into my sex drive.
“Oh yeah, that’s it, right there, fuck me harder, Daddy!” she moans in a cheesy porno voice.
Oh fuck. I appreciate that she’s trying, but not the Daddy shit. I can’t handle it.
To distract her, I pull out, quickly manhandling her until she’s on her stomach and then thrusting back in. I can tell she’s the kind of girl who likes to be thrown around a little, and I don’t really give a fuck at this point, but at least she’s little enough it’s not putting too much of a strain on my injury site.
I ignore the lingering soreness, focusing on the way she arches her back and pushes her ass toward me.
Digging my fingers into her hip, I stare at where my cock is tunneling into her and try to let all the sensations get through to me. I chase away every lingering anxiety in my brain and reach for that teasing trail of arousal that’s curling somewhere inside of me. It’s a slippery fucker, but I can grab onto it. I know I can. I just have to concentrate.
“Yeah, Daddy, harder!”
Fuck, Chelsea, shut up. I’m trying to concentrate.
The door to the apartment slams open, making me jump so hard I break rhythm for a second. Great. Just what I need: more distractions.
When I came up with this plan—in a moment of short-sighted anger, I’ll admit—I was having glorious, epic sex that was going to show him who the real man here was. Not this shitshow of borderline wilting erections and Chelsea running her mouth.
At least I know he’s not dead, I guess.
But based on the sounds drifting in from the living room, not only did he not get murdered, his date is going a hell of a lot better than mine is. I can hear the thuds of clothes and shoes being kicked off, and it never occurred to me that he wouldn’t even try to use the bedroom. He wasn’t even fazed by the mess I left in the living room, apparently.
Mother of fuck, I’m going to have to listen to my little brother get railed against the kitchen counter. This was a terrible fucking plan.
If he starts calling his date ‘Daddy’, my dick will probably crawl so far into my body it’ll never come back out.
“Sav?” Chelsea’s voice shocks me out of my thoughts. I realize I’ve slowed down to the point that I was only kind of moving. She’s still bent over in front of me, but now she looks annoyed, instead of the fake horny face she had before. I’m still mostly hard though, which is a fucking miracle, so I’m determined to try for an orgasm. It’s the only thing other than Bambi’s drugs that might get me to sleep tonight.
I’m not giving up.
Outside my bedroom, I can hear furniture being pushed aside, things being knocked over and some breathy groans. I can hear fucking everything through these thin walls, but they’re obviously too caught up in each other to hear us.
A curl of panic starts in my chest. I hate this, and I have no idea why. I just want it all to stop and things to go back to normal. But I’m too far in to back out now.
I’m Savage fucking Moynihan. I can’t pussy out of this situation, or I’ll never be able to look myself in the face again.
“Yeah, take it,” I growl at her, cringing a little at my own cheesiness. But when I grab a hank of her hair and tug, she moans like she means it. I’ll never get why some girls like getting roughed up like that. It must hurt, right? But whatever works for you.
I start fucking her again in earnest, trying to block out the sounds from my stepbrother and his date.
But when I hear Micah’s voice, it’s not saying any of the things that I was expecting from him.
“That’s it, bitch. Get on your knees for me. Open that pretty mouth like a good little slut.”
Bambi?
I swear my brain goes offline. I was emotionally preparing myself to try and listen to some guy grunting away on top of him like I’m doing to the very patient Chelsea right now, not… whatever the fuck that was.
I can feel the heat under my skin, crawling down my neck and over my chest. My gut twists a little, maybe with embarrassment at my assumption. I try to ignore it and focus on the task at hand.
Chelsea. Her wet pussy, clenching around me. My stiff cock.
“That’s it, bitch. Keep that wet mouth open for me. Stay still while I fuck your pretty face,” Micah says, his voice sounding like it’s completely surrounding me, even from the other room.
Chelsea’s pussy is making wet sounds as I thrust into her, but I can barely hear them over the sudden sounds of choking and gagging coming from outside. Micah is keeping up his litany of dirty talk, with a surprising level of control to his voice, all while the guy sucking his dick sounds like he’s getting it rammed halfway down his throat.
Finally, I feel the first hint of an orgasm building low in my belly. My balls rise up and my cock is throbbing, and I refuse to let this opportunity pass, so I fuck her as hard as I can, still pulling on her hair. Chelsea wails in either fake or real pleasure, but I ignore it.
“That’s it. Are you going to beg for me to come on your face, like a good slut?” Micah asks.
God, I can feel it getting close. I’m almost there. I can’t lose it now, not after all this time. Ignore them all.
“Please, Sir,” the dude says in a voice like gravel, sounding like he’s crying as he talks. “Please come on my face. Please,” he sobs one final time, making it clear he’s totally released any sense of dignity in exchange for… whatever it is my little brother is doing for him.
“Good slut,” Micah says. I can finally hear him lose the edge of control to his voice, and then there’s a gasp as I’m assuming he comes all over the man with the surprisingly deep voice who must be kneeling in front of him. Probably with his mouth hanging open, too. If he acts like the desperate slut Micah’s treating him as.
“Fuck!” I choke on the word as my own orgasm catches me by surprise. It’s been so long to get here that it hits me like a freight train when it finally arrives. My cock flexes as I empty myself into the condom, buried balls deep in her. I hold Chelsea down because it’s coming in waves. Every muscle in my body is tense and there are more choked sounds coming out of my mouth as I ride it out.
My orgasm must last longer than Micah’s, because they’re quiet outside by the time I finally collapse on top of Chelsea in a sweaty, breathless heap.
As soon as I do, I feel like it’s too much, and I need her to be as far away from me as possible. Anyone touching me right now feels like too much.
“Sorry about my brother,” I grunt, hoping she doesn’t make a scene.
“Yeah.” Chelsea shrugs as she lets my dick slip out of her. I wince, oversensitive as fuck, but she’s been really patient tonight so I can’t exactly expect more out of her. “That was definitely something.”
She doesn’t look pissed though, only tired. There’s a little awkwardness, but it’s not terrible and I’m mostly too blissed out on oxytocin to care. She grabs her stuff and gets dressed, barely blinking before she slips out of the room to show herself out.
Normally chicks say something like, “ We should do this again sometime, ” but she doesn’t. I don’t blame her.
I wouldn’t want to fuck me again either.
I hope she interrupts Micah and his cum-dumpster’s afterglow on the way out. My orgasm high lasted about four seconds, and I’m already back to rage. It pumps through me, my pulse still racing from the activity and every injury on my body screaming at me that that was a mistake.
The familiar feeling of self-loathing washes over me. I have the urge to go out there and drag Micah’s date out by his hair so this day can finally be over, but part of me knows that would ultimately make things worse.
Instead, I’m left hovering by the door. I get rid of the condom, but beyond that, I have no idea what the next step in my grand fucking plan for revenge is supposed to be.