11. Talon
TALON
The music from the dance floor vibrates through the walls of the private room, but it’s not nearly loud enough to drown out the breathy, incessant moans coming from the bitch riding my dick.
I close my eyes, tipping my head back against the leather couch and trying to create as much distance as I can from someone I’m literally balls deep in.
I try to focus on the way her cunt feels gripping my cock, and for a minute, it actually works.
The familiar tingle at the base of my spine builds, and I know I’m getting close.
Then she curls in on my chest, her warm breath skating across my neck with another nasally little whine that makes my dick want to retract into my fucking body.
“I’m close,” she moans.
That severs my final fucking nerve. My hand shoots up, fingers closing tightly around her throat. Her eyes go wide as I flip us over, her back smacking against the leather couch cushion.
I brace one foot on the floor, something sharp from the couch digging into my other knee, but I don’t give a fuck. Before she manages another sound– or I snap her neck– I cut off her air and drive into her ruthlessly, chasing what I came here for.
Her hands clamp onto my wrists, fingernails digging into my skin.
I look down, unable to tell whether the streams of azure light pulsing over her face or my grip on her neck is making her lips look blue.
She isn’t fighting back hard enough for it to be the latter.
She’s compliant in letting me do my worst, and honestly, it’s no fun without the fight.
I flex my grip, a flicker of fear washing over her features, brows pinching together.
There it is.
My balls start to tighten and I quicken the pace of my brutal thrusts.
Her nails pierce my flesh as the walls of her pussy flutter around me, the oxygen deprivation pushing her over the edge.
Tears slide down her cheeks, and I finally find my release, releasing my grip on her throat as I come with a groan, sinking back against the cushions.
She sucks in a sharp inhale and rolls off the couch, coughing and sputtering on all fours at my feet while cum still leaks from my tip.
Well shit, those noises do more for me than the shrill porno moans she was making earlier.
Rocking back on her heels, she kneels between my legs and stares up at me with red-rimmed eyes, still dazed from whatever she snorted off my cock earlier.
I shift to the side and pull out my cigarettes, flicking my zippo open to light one. Taking a long drag, I study her for a beat.
It’s unnerving how compliant this bitch is. I can’t help but wonder how much difference there is between a stripper and an Asset– beyond the whole choice, free will, and consent shit, of course. Maybe this whole despondent thing is just her vibe.
Is this what most men want? Is that the appeal of having an Asset– just a pocket pussy who does the dishes?
Smoke curls in the air around me as I exhale with a frown.
If that’s the pinnacle of satisfaction, I don’t want it.
I need the fight. The fire. That raw collision of instinct and honesty that strips everything down and anchors me to the moment.
The primal rush flooding my nervous system as I chase a euphoric release that satisfies something deeper than the need to drain my balls.
I take another drag and tip my chin at her. She shifts forward, crawling closer and nestling between my thighs.
“Now what, big guy?” she purrs.
So much for release erasing my annoyance.
I stab my cigarette in the glass ashtray beside me and tuck away my softening cock.
Leaning forward, I brush the blonde hair off her face that’s stuck to the tears and spit, tucking it behind her ear as my fingers glide down her jawline.
For the first time all night, she lets out a whimper that doesn't set my teeth on edge, looking up at me through her lashes.
I exhale my smoke in her face, but she doesn’t react.
So much for that.
“Get me a whiskey," I say, running a hand through my hair as I lean back.
“But you have me all to yourself for 20 more minutes,” she says, her hand sliding over the crest of my thigh.
“You sure you don’t want something else?
” Her palm comes to rest on the still unbuttoned fly of my pants, my dick twitching in fear of being subjected to more of the grating sounds she makes.
“See?” she murmurs, giving it a squeeze. “He still wants me.”
My boot comes up between us, the scuffed toe planting right between her fake tits before I straighten my leg and shove her back on her ass.
“Well I want a fucking whiskey,” I snarl.
Her face twists up in a scowl, bruises from my fingers already forming on her throat. Seeing the picture of Jersey with my marks sent blood rushing to my cock, but seeing them on this bitch has it as limp as her performance.
“But…” she starts to protest as she pushes to her feet and adjusts her shimmery thong back into place.
My lip curls in disdain, jaw tightening. “You fucking heard me.”
She rolls her eyes with a huff, swiping up her neon mesh top from beside me and pivoting on a heel. “The best dicks are always attached to the biggest dicks,” she mumbles as she stalks toward the bar.
Two compliments in one.
“Make it a double” I call out after her, zipping my fly.
“You really have a way with the ladies,” Slade remarks with a chuckle.
I glance over to see him peering over the back of the naked woman folded across his lap, one hand resting lazily against the back of her head as she bobs and gags on his cock. The other is buried deep inside her cunt, halfway to the elbow.
It’d probably be a jarring scene for some, but I grew up with Slade.
I saw the porn sites he hacked into when we were teenagers, have seen him grabbing medical supplies from the compound’s supply closet before escorting a bow legged girl through the halls, and this isn’t the first time we’ve shared a private room at the Eleventh House.
Fisting isn’t my thing, but I don’t really give a shit what gets him off.
“I thought ventriloquists weren’t supposed to move their lips,” I deadpan.
His mouth tips into a smirk as he pistons his arm. The girl moans around his cock, cum gushing down his forearm as she screams.
“That better?” he asks, raising a brow.
I shake my head and slip my phone from my pocket, right as the human squeak toy returns with my whiskey.
“Here,” she huffs. “Anything else?”
I take the glass from her hand, swirling the amber liquid before throwing it back in one swallow. The burn blazes through me, tamping my nervous system better than she did.
I hold the empty glass out to her. “How about another, since you’re still mine for the next eight minutes?”
Her eyes narrow as she snatches it from my grip and turns, pausing briefly at the sight of her friend laid out on her back, cheeks flushed as Slade eats her out. Then she stomps away, blonde ponytail swinging.
Turning my attention back to my phone, I navigate through the ghost door access Slade gave me and into the Vanguard’s security system for the fourth time today.
I didn’t even realize I could view the live camera feed of Jersey’s cell until I stumbled upon the link while waiting on the installation guy at my cabin.
Now, whenever my attention drifts, I somehow end up back here, staring at her.
She’s lying on the cot with her back to the camera, curled in on herself in the fetal position. I watch for a minute or two, but she remains motionless– likely sleeping– so I swipe the feed to the side and click into my notifications instead.
A few requests from Exchange, a new charge from Eleventh house pending on my card, a new music alert boasting Retrograde’s first album in five years...
Slade and I were contracted to work security for them at a concert downtown years ago to manage the political protests. Their music was decent. I tap to add the Transit album to my playlist just as the Vanguard feed I swiped aside suddenly flickers with motion.
An enforcer enters the frame, stalking toward the cot. Jersey startles, jolting upward as he approaches. The tip of my tongue traces my teeth as anticipation surges through me.
Here we go.
Maybe I’ll get to see some more of the little stray’s fire.
I zoom in as the enforcer crowds over her, hand lashing out to grab her by the bicep and yank her to her feet.
She stumbles as she finds her footing, tugging her arm free and stepping back to create some distance.
Jersey folds her arms over her chest, and thank fucking god for 4k video, because I get a perfect view of the thin material of her crewneck pulling tight over her tits.
I zoom in on them, then pan up to see her plush lips twisted in the same scowl she gave me in the alley.
There she is.
My cock instantly thickens behind my zipper, but then the enforcer lunges for her again, dragging her out of the room with more force than necessary.
“Times up,” the blonde bitch chirps, slamming a glass of whiskey down on the table beside me
Pocketing my phone, I pluck up the drink and take a sip, watching her out of the corner of my eye as she retreats. Slade’s done with her friend, and she slings an arm around the poor girl’s shoulders, giving her some much-needed support to hobble away.
Nothing about the blonde interests me. The little stray, on the other hand….
There’s an itch beneath my skin that’s steadily growing stronger, burrowing its way down and spreading like a goddamn infection.
My fingers drum against the leather cushion as I nurse my drink, the alcohol doing nothing to tamp down my lingering irritation. On the sofa across from me, Slade leans back with an unlit blunt hanging loosely from his lips, an almost tranquil look settling across his features.
Fuck it.
Pulling my black baseball cap onto my head, I shove to my feet, sliding my phone back out of my pocket. “I’ve got to take care of something,” I grumble. “I’ll see you back at the compound.”
He gives me a lazy nod and flicks open his lighter, the rolling paper crackling loudly as I turn and head towards the door.