CHAPTER EIGHTEEN — CAUGHT IN THE ACT!
Brent
She’s above me, sopping, breathless, riding with a rhythm that feels like the last seconds before the world ends.
My sheets are a war zone—twisted, damp, perfumed with her and me and the musk I can taste in the pit of my throat.
Her hair is everywhere, wild and sticking to her back in gold wet ropes, swinging down to brush my chest every time she grinds harder.
The light is low—lamps, not overheads, never overheads—but it’s enough to turn her skin molten, her breasts bouncing with every surge, her face a mask of hunger.
I can’t get enough. I don’t want to get enough.
It’s been like this for weeks, but tonight, I want to brand Marnie into my memory.
I want her to walk out of here every day with the imprint of my hands, my teeth, my cock still inside her.
I drag my palms over her hips—so fucking soft, so full—and dig in, just to watch the little shock in her eyes as I jerk her down harder.
She doesn’t break stride. She leans in, nails raking my ribs, and moans.
“You’re so big, daddy. Mmmm, yes! Give me more.”
I thrust up with a grunt, driving deep, and she keens, a sound that could bend steel. That’s my girl. My dirty, perfect, sassy, sexy girl.
The bed is a monument to bad behavior: sheets peeled halfway off, the comforter somewhere on the floor, an upended glass of whiskey bleeding into a dark stain on the mattress.
My knees are starting to cramp, but I can’t stop, because Marnie’s about to come and when she does, it’s the most beautiful sight ever.
She trembles, thighs clenched, head tossed back, big tits slick with sweat and swinging above me, and I clamp down on her waist and let her buck, let her take what she needs.
I love the way she uses my body. I love that she’s here one hundred percent, and that I have all of her attention.
“Fuck baby, yes,” I growl. “Fuck yes yes.”
I erupt like a fucking geyser at the same time Marnie ascends to climax. Her back arches, long golden hair in a wave, as she lets out a keening wail.
“Ooooh, Brent, mmm!” she screams, big breasts swaying. “Mmmph!”
Her pussy clamps down on my dick hard, before coming apart in violent tremors, and I lose it.
My cock spurts and jerks in her wet twat, spraying virile cream all over those fertile fields.
I let out a massive roar, but then realize that the roar’s gone on too long.
In fact, I’ve stopped shouting and yet there’s still a howl going on in the room. What the fuck?
When I look, I see that it’s James is standing in the doorway, expression ablaze with a vein pulsing at his forehead.
“Fuck!” he rages. “What the fuck!”
“Oh my god!” Marnie screams when she sees him, even as her pussy continues to milk my cock. “Oh oh oh!”
James isn’t dressed for war. Just jeans and a t-shirt, but his face says murder, and his hands are already balled into fists.
“Get the fuck off her,” he shouts, spittle flying from his mouth. For a split second, I think he’s talking to Marnie, but no—his eyes are on me, and there’s nothing in them but pure hate.
Marnie freezes, mid-thrust, her back to the door. She starts to turn, but I push her aside—maybe too hard, but it’s instinct, protect mode, rage mode. She lands on the other side of the bed, tangled in the wreckage of sheets and pillows, big boobs bouncing, wide-eyed and gasping.
In a flash, I’m on my feet, cock still dripping, adrenaline already burning through the dregs of sex. I don’t bother with modesty, not now. “Get the fuck out of my bedroom,” I snarl. “Find your own woman.”
It only enrages him further. James crosses the room in three steps, and suddenly there’s nothing between us but the sick, crazy thrill of violence.
He’s bigger and heavier, but I’m faster and pissed off in a way that adds ten pounds to my frame.
He grabs me by the throat, shoves me back against the wall so hard a picture frame falls and explodes against the floor.
“You had to fuck her huh? You piece of shit!”
I wrench his hand off, slam my palm into his chest, and shove him backward. “She’s not yours, asshole.”
“She’s not yours, either,” he spits, and then he punches.
It’s not a wild swing—he never fights wild—so it connects with my jaw and snaps my head to the side.
I taste blood. That’s fine. That’s what I want.
I drive my fist into his ribs, feeling the shock of it all the way up my arm, and we lock together, a chaos of elbows and knees and curses.
Every time I hit him, I see Marnie’s face, flushed and needy, eyes rolling up in pleasure.
Every time he lands a blow, I see her with him, on her knees, mouth wide open, and I want to gouge his fucking eyes out.
We roll over the bed, slam into the headboard. Marnie scrambles out of the way, clutching a pillow to her chest, but she’s not screaming. She’s frozen, likely horrified and unsure what to do.
James catches me around the neck, tries to pin me to the carpet, but I twist and break free, shoving my forearm across his throat and driving him back into the nightstand. The lamp topples, shatters, plunging half the room into darkness. We’re silhouettes, two animals, all instinct and fury.
“Fucking coward,” he hisses, spit flecking my cheek. “Couldn’t stand to lose, could you?”
“Like you ever gave a shit about anyone but yourself,” I shoot back. “She was just another notch on the bedpost for you.”
He slams my head against the drywall, voice rising. “You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know shit.”
“Funny, coming from someone I’ve known literally decades!”
That does it. He swings again, harder, but I see it coming and duck, and his fist sinks into the plaster.
He howls, and I drive my shoulder into his gut, sending us both crashing onto the bed.
We roll, knock over the last lamp, and now we’re fighting in the dark, blinded by rage and the static sizzle of blood in our ears.
Marnie is just a blur on the edge of my peripheral vision. She’s not screaming, not crying. She’s not even running.
She stands there, nude, her big bust heaving, blue eyes wide and haunted.
She’s the only thing in the room that’s real.
James and I break apart, breathing hard, circling, waiting for the next move. He’s bleeding from the lip. I’m bleeding from the nose. We look like we just walked out of a meat grinder.
From the corner, Marnie’s voice, thin and unsteady: “Stop it. Stop.”
Neither of us listen.
James feints left, then goes for a bear hug, trying to drag me down.
I bite his shoulder—fuck it, no rules—and he yelps, but doesn’t let go.
We tumble across the carpet, knocking over a chair and slamming into the closet doors.
The noise is insane—crashing, yelling, the sounds of bodies breaking things and maybe breaking themselves.
That’s when she runs.
I see her out of the corner of my eye—Marnie, fully nude, sprinting from the bedroom. She doesn’t bother with clothes, just books it down the hallway, hair flying, bare feet slapping the hardwood.
For a second, neither of us move.
Then I shove James off, stagger to my feet, and wipe the blood from my face. He’s on his knees, panting, hand pressed to his chest where I must’ve landed a good one.
“She’s gone,” I say, but I’m not even sure if I want to follow.
He glares up at me, then shakes his head. “You always have to ruin everything, don’t you?”
I want to punch him again, but instead I stagger to the closet, yank on a pair of sweats, and head down the hall after her. I don’t even know what I’ll say. All I know is the sound of her feet, the flash of gold hair, the echo of her breathless, desperate sobbing as she flees into the dark.
I follow, because what else can I do?
I catch up to her in the kitchen—bare feet sliding on marble, hair whipping a streak of gold behind her.
She’s breathless, pale, not even pretending to cover up anymore.
Her hands shake as she yanks open the fridge, slamming it shut, then attacks the drawers, one after the other.
Utensils scatter, a rain of metal clattering on the floor. She barely notices.
I try to get closer, but she wheels on me, eyes bright with terror.
“Don’t,” she says, and her voice cracks in two.
“Marnie, it’s okay,” I start, hands up, but she’s not listening.
She’s not okay. None of us are okay.
She rummages through the next drawer, and when she finds it—a chef’s knife, eleven inches of steel—her hands go so white they look bloodless. She holds it in both hands, blade trembling, and for a second she just stares at it, like she can’t decide if it’s real.
Behind me, the sounds of the brawl haven’t stopped.
James is cursing, maybe patching his knuckles, maybe just punching holes in drywall for the fuck of it.
The whole apartment is echoing with violence, like a building under siege.
I’m bleeding from the nose and lip, and the copper taste is all I can smell.
“Put that down,” I say, as gently as I can. I take a step toward her. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
She shakes her head, tears welling up, and backs up until she’s pressed flat against the pantry door.
“I’m not going back in there,” she whispers, and the words are razor-sharp.
I glance down the hall. “He’s not going to hurt you.”
“I don’t care!” she shouts, voice cracking again. “You two are insane! You can’t just do this kind of shit!”
I reach for her, slow, hands wide, but she jerks the knife up, the blade trembling so hard I half-expect it to snap.
“I’m serious!” she screams. “I’ll cut your balls off! I’ll cut both of your balls off. I swear, I’ll—”
There’s a crash from the bedroom. Something big. Maybe the dresser tipping over, maybe just a final, catastrophic loss of self-control. Marnie flinches, her breath hitching. She looks at the knife again, and her eyes flash again with pure fury.