Chapter 13 #3
“What would you say if I told you to touch her there?” I didn’t even hear him, too shocked by the situation, and my brain too fogged by alcohol.
The blond man’s eyes lifted to Hell’s, as if he was asking permission.
“She wouldn’t want you to, not really.” My chest rose. “Do you want him to touch you here?” he asked me. For the first time, he asked me, but I knew there was only one answer to give.
One acceptable answer.
A single finger dipped inside my folds and pushed its way inside me.
I shook my head as my internal muscles clutched and pulled him in deeper. My body betraying me again.
“Whose pussy is this?” Hell asked, enjoying my body’s response to him.
“Mine,” I breathed.
“Wrong, little doll. Have you forgotten already? It's mine. Not one part of you has belonged to you since we first met.”
He pumped once, twice. His breath on my neck again, the feeling too close to bliss. I leaned into it. Into him.
“Yours,” I murmured in my drunken state, not even caring that the man was still watching. Feeling no shame or embarrassment for any reason other than that the alcohol had me wanting this.
He pulled his finger out, and cupped me hard, in front of the man in the fancy suit, who still had his eyes on me. “Get the fuck out of here. Unless you want to stay to watch me fuck my wife.” He brought his fingers to his lips, not caring about the faint blood stains on them, and he sucked.
Hell released his belt and unbuttoned himself.
He pushed me against the cubicle wall, and lifted me up. His eyes stayed fixed on the man, challenging him.
But the man didn’t accept the dare, shifting from the room without even using the toilet.
Hell laughed in response. “Really, Jolie, out of all the men, that’s the loser you’d have chosen. Too afraid to even piss.”
“Well, at least he didn’t do it on the spot.” Like I had previously, in Hell’s presence.
“True.” I heard a derisive snigger slip out in the shadow of the single word Hell spoke, as my drunken brain tried to play tricks on me.
I glanced down as he positioned the head of his cock to my hole. I was wet, for once, and he was already hard, as usual.
Wedged against the wall, he dragged my head up to his, his fingers biting my skin. “Ah, you’re wet today? That’s new. Is that for me? Or for him?”
I didn’t answer; I just watched my underwear, still in his hand, move to his nose for a second. A short second to inhale me. To get high on me.
And then his hand was back on my face, the material of my underwear against the material of my mask, allowing me to scent my arousal before he tucked the lacy garment into one of his pockets.
“Did you like the idea of him wanting you? Getting hard for you?” His mouth came closer to mine. “Did you like the idea of his tip pushing into your cunt?”
I looked away, tilting my head slightly to the side, enough not to look directly at the sexy maniac in front of me, because not even the alcohol numbed me from Hell’s dirty words.
“Did you like the idea of him pounding into you, spraying inside you? Is that what made you wet?” His nose nudged me back to face where he wanted me to face.
“Were you wishing for his cock instead of mine?” he asked, dragging his tip and the little silver balls that dwelled there through my wet lips.
He let it dip inside me, and I let out a gasp. His eyes met mine, the prettiest shade of gray. My haze of alcohol brought a smile to my lips as I watched them twinkle.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“You asked too many.”
A savage smile spread across his lips, altering the smoothness of his face. He thrust up into me hard and fast, bringing me down with his hands at the same time.
Forcing me to take all of him.
He wasn’t gentle, but it didn’t hurt as much as every other time. Though I still winced, digging my fingers into anything they could grip.
“I’ll ask another one. Would you have taken him all? Taken him deep? Just like this?”
Hell rutted into me harder than ever. I felt the bruises forming inside me as his hips kept pistoning towards mine, his thick cock abusing the same internal spot.
“Answer me!” His growl drifted into my ear; his teeth pierced my skin, biting at my neck like a hungry vampire, desperate to either claim me or kill me.
I liked the bite. For once, the pain felt different, accompanied by a suckle that changed its meaning. That took away the last of my ability to think straight.
“No. . .” I whispered, leaning my face into his. “Not all of him. . .” Hell’s fingers tightened on my hips, his face twisted, hidden by my hair.
His thrusts somehow deepened as he jackhammered into my soaking pussy.
“Not at all.” I gave him what he wanted. “I wanted this.” My teeth found his neck, nibbling lightly, and my fingers shifted the collar of his brilliant white shirt away from his skin.
His fingers bruised me, as they pushed harder into my hips, reminding me of the damage I could do to him, but he didn’t stop me. He was testing me, and I wouldn’t fail. I wouldn’t hurt him. For once, I didn’t want to.
“Wanted you,” the whisper caressed his skin. “I just didn’t realize it.”
I pulled at his shirt and jacket, and I ignored the pinging of a button that went flying off to somewhere in the distance.
I latched onto his pale shoulder, teeth sinking through his flesh, trying to mimic what he’d done to me.
I sucked him into my mouth, and I enjoyed the taste of him a little too much.
And he enjoyed it, too.
Hell
Deep inside her, and then almost out entirely, I thrust at a savage pace. Her breaths pushed through her nostrils, and they tickled my skin, coming fast and plentiful. My own, bountiful.
She pushed her weight down on me as I thrust wildly into her. She suckled harder, sucked until purple marred my skin. A stain hidden amongst the tattoos of a story she was yet to read.
She pulled back, but it wasn’t enough.
“Bite me again.” A request, more than a demand.
I’d never realized how enjoyable cooperation could be.
She bit me again, grinding down on me until I was lost inside her. She kept me there, kept me deep, rubbing against my crotch to stimulate her little nub of nerve endings.
“It doesn’t have to be aggressive to be enjoyed,” she whispered.
No, you just have to be out of your head pissed, apparently.
She bit me again, in the most playful of ways, dragging at my skin with a shake of her head, just as a daisy-scented air freshener blasted into the air. The height of the shelf it stood on, had it spraying into my face. . . into Jolie’s hair, and it made her smell just like I remembered.
Like daisies.
And I laughed, as she nuzzled in, hair tickling my ears—something I’d never laugh at. I was enjoying her scent a little too much, enjoying memories of us I didn’t have. Feeling nostalgic and shit, feeling lighter, feeling wanted. Feeling nothing as I faded away.
Everything went black.
Woodrow
I felt like I was floating, being dragged underwater by the waves, and yet, somehow, being pushed to the surface.
I blinked through the darkness, feeling the tickle of her hair against my skin, feeling her warmth wrapped around me, and her wetness leaking down my balls.
I was subconsciously thrusting when I came to, but my pace slowed instantly when I realized what the hell was happening.
I was inside her. I’d never been inside her, not as myself.
“Don’t stop,” she murmured through a bite that had me shivering.
She pushed her weight down onto me, taking me fully, asking for more.
I moaned, desperate for more, too.
And I gave her everything.
I swayed up into her, having no real clue what I was doing when the realization hit me. . .
Hell had left, willingly.
He’d stepped down for me. Moved aside for me, letting me experience her.
Jolie’s head turned, and a breath tainted with alcohol slapped me in the face before she kissed along my jaw, bringing back so many memories.
I almost pulled out again, my pace faltering.
Almost dropped her to the floor.
She was drunk. Too drunk to consent. And, deep down, I knew she wouldn’t want this.
But I didn’t feel hate as she moved her mouth to mine, her fingers gently guiding our faces close until our lips came together and she whispered against my skin, “I told you not to stop.”
And her hands weren’t blasting against my chest, pushing me away. Her fingers were inside my shirt, on my shoulder, pressing in tightly for leverage. Her touch embedded into the blood that heated below. She wanted me closer. She wanted this.
In this moment, she wanted me.
And I couldn’t pull away from that.
I rocked my hips into her. Her wet pussy willingly accepted all of me.
She kissed me, and I tasted a concoction of alcohol on her tongue as it roved over mine. A second later, she was on my throat. . .
And it scared the shit out of me.
But I was still me.
Still trusting that she wasn’t going in for the kill.
My fingers splayed the wall, energy slipping from me as I struggled to catch my breath.
Her legs stayed barricaded around my waist. Her body stayed pressed against mine, and for the seconds I couldn’t breathe, a pacifying rub between my shoulder blades tried to calm me—she couldn’t help it, kindness was in her blood, as much of it as the scum that surfed through mine.
Perfect counterparts.
She was still sweet, still loving, even while trying to teach herself the language of hatred.
“You’re okay. You’re okay, Woodrow,” she soothed, knowing I’d switched. Her gentle rubbing decreased as my breaths came in. I swallowed my nerves, and she kissed my throat again, so tenderly, I barely felt it.
Again, I began rocking into her. I adjusted her position, wanting to enjoy this as much as possible. Wanting her to enjoy this more than anything she’d ever experienced. . . wanting our first time to be special.
My lips were on her neck, my fingers searching for the nub between her legs when she asked, “Why. . . why do you always have to torture me, even in nice ways?”
I found the nub, rubbing with a single finger. I enjoyed how wet that made her, so I wouldn’t dare move, even as I whispered back, “You’ve tortured me since the day I met you.” I kissed her cheek, nothing like my other kisses, no tongue, no eagerness. Just love. Safety.
And, as her eyes found mine, something happened. She got wetter and wetter and wetter. Her hand’s grip, tighter and tighter and tighter on my shoulders, and her pussy’s grip, tighter and tighter on my cock.
I continued playing with her clit; my cock continued sliding in and out of her wet folds. I pressed my lips to hers, and my tongue invaded her mouth, stealing all the whispers she was about to give me.
And then I was soaked.
Her shuddering body set me off, and I felt nothing more than a twitch before my eyes rolled, and I squirted inside her, filling her warm pussy with my cum.
Jolie
It felt different this time.
Different to every other time.
I felt him come, that wasn’t new. But I didn’t feel the vacant feeling of being used.
Because it was Woodrow.
But even before that, I didn’t feel that emptiness.
I felt wanted. . . maybe that was the alcohol convincing me lies were truths, but I couldn’t face that theory right now, because it was still in my system, still convincing me crazy things.
Woodrow kept me in his arms, kept me close, even as he lowered me to the ground.
He turned instantly, as if he needed a distraction. He clutched a hand full of tissues and turned back to me, rolling my dress back up into my waiting fingers.
He stayed low to the ground. My fingers were on his shoulders again, using a hand to steady myself as he brushed the tissues against my skin, cleaning the mess between my legs. His fingers were shaky in his comedown, my knees the same. . . almost buckling.
I dug my fingers into his jacket, trying to find a little more support, but he granted it, and not through his clothes.
His hand wrapped around my leg, longer fingers almost closing around a thigh much smaller than it used to be. He wiped again, taking more of the mess, but lots lingered inside me.
The proof of the dirty sex I just had with the man I hated. . . and loved.
He leaned in, beneath the frills of my dress, to the frills between my legs. He placed a gentle kiss there, against my well-fucked pussy, gentle and tenderly. Loving.
He stood, disposing of the tissues in his hand into the little bin near the toilet.
My mask was hanging off when his gaze landed upon my face, gentle hands following, cupping my cheeks. I reached for his wrists, circling them, pulse racing beneath my fingertips as his thumb brushed my scars.
He lowered, placing a kiss just off my mouth, just over my scars.
His eyes—pretty and twinkling and almost blue under these bright lights—said words he didn’t voice, maybe a message from another part of him. . . from Woody. I’m sorry for this. . . for the scars that hurt us both.