Chapter 4 #3
I look around the bathroom I’m in. It’s not the guest bathroom, but the one Jace directed me to is being used.
My curiosity got the better of me, and I moved through Jace’s house, silently, eager to learn more about the man.
I also needed a break from watching his sister eat, licking the BBQ sauce off her finger and the corner of her mouth.
Those lips pursed around her thumb, sucking the flavor into her mouth, the way they would if she collected a drop of my cum to taste it.
So I disappeared, and the moment I walked in and smelled the floral fragrance, it felt like her.
Confirmation came when I opened the cabinet and found a brush with a few long black strands in the bristles.
More evidence came when I picked up the bar of soap in the shower, which smelled like her, and damn it, there was a wet thong hanging around the shower head. An icy blue lacy scrap of fabric.
She washes her panties by hand.
I pictured her naked, scrubbing the fabric between her fingers, against her palm.
I want to fuck her and then pull that thong back in place.
I want them filthy with the cum that leaks out of her.
Follow her to the bathroom and watch as she peels them down her legs.
Watch as she steps into the shower. Watch her rewash them, rinsing my cum down the drain, then stare at the wet silk hanging in my shower while I fuck her one more time.
Better yet, use the fabric to gag her while I pound into her.
I indulged like a fiend, bringing the lacy gusset to my face, breathing in her floral scent. I rinsed them again, running the fabric through my fingers, fascinated by the spot that would rest against her folds. Reluctantly, I put them back.
Now, I stare at them as I scrub my hands, my dick rock hard. The need to fuck is agonizing. I press against my cock, holding the edge of the sink, wanting to rut into her so badly I can taste it.
Finishing, I dry my hands on a pretty pink towel and turn to open the door, but before I can turn the knob, it opens and someone rushes in.
A soft, sweet-smelling woman bumps into me, and for a split second, I think it’s one of the women in the grotto, who snuck in to find me, but the smell hits me immediately.
I recognize it. Her hands go to my chest, and mine automatically go to just above her hips, holding her trim waist in my hands.
Her fingers spasm on my chest, and I wish it were my naked chest, wish her fingernails were digging into the tattoos etched into my bare skin, digging so deep they draw blood.
“Oh shit.”
I can see where her skin has burned from the sun.
A faint smell of chlorine and coconut wafts around her.
There’s a small patch of freckles on her nose.
The pulse at her temple jumps beneath her skin.
Her chest heaves, and just like before, my eyes are drawn to her nipples.
It’s my favorite part of a woman. Yes, pussy is delicious, but nipples in your mouth?
Perfection. Nipples grazing the tip of my dick.
Magic. Nipples being circled with the sharp point of my knife. Unbelievable.
The size of a thumb tack, they push sharply out, projecting through the white fabric of her bikini top.
They look poutier than before. I wonder if it’s because of the quiet hum of cool air circulating in the house, or me.
I wonder what color they are and how they would taste.
They would look beautiful with a bit of blood dripping from the tips, and taste even better.
I’m salivating thinking about sipping at those blood-stained nipples.
She doesn’t try to extract herself from my hold, and I step closer, unconsciously needing just a moment to cuddle her hips to mine, feel the mound of her pussy against the fly of my jeans.
My fingers caress the tied bow on her bikini bottoms. I look down and spot her tan line.
The area around her pussy and ass would be tanned too, and I want to see the contrast in her skin color.
I want to trace the tan lines while her legs are over my shoulders, or better yet, while she’s on her knees, thighs spread, bracing for my thrusts.
She looks down too. One quick flick of my fingers and the bow would come undone.
Then I’d know what her pussy looks like.
I’d see if she’s bare or covered in soft crinkly hair. My tongue wouldn’t care either way.
She’s the perfect height, too. Tall enough that those sleek, long legs could easily wrap around my waist and lock, hold on while I unbuckle my jeans.
She exhales, fanning my neck. I smell the savory, spicy sweetness on her breath.
She’d taste like BBQ sauce, and I know I’d enjoy the transfer of flavors on my tongue.
She looks at my mouth, and I see the flare of desire, hear the telltale hitch in her breath.
I want that hitch in her lungs when I push my cock inside her.
She’s his fucking sister. The reminder intrudes, and I grind my back teeth. She’s not someone you fuck in a bathroom.
I step away from her quickly, and she stumbles. I resist the urge to reach out and bring her into my body again.
“Hi.” Sorry. I—didn’t mean to— What are you doing in here?”
Her soft, sweet voice brings me out of the fantasy of my cock deep inside her while I fuck her on her brother’s bathroom sink. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and she stares at me.
“Think I’m stealing?”
“What? No! I—”
“You what?”
“That’s not what I meant. I didn’t think you were doing anything. It’s just that um... no one really uses this bathroom and my stuff—”
She points to the wet panties hanging over the curtain rod.
The same pair I just touched and smelled.
A sexy pink flush starts to form on her cheeks and travels down to the middle of her chest, between her bouncy breasts.
She’s embarrassed, and I want to tell her that her wet panties are the highlight of this bathroom.
I need to get the fuck out of here. I ignore her statement because it reminds me that I don’t belong here, and I shouldn’t be touching her.
I wait for her to leave, hoping my lack of conversation will help.
I need her to go and take her sexy voice and delicious smells with her.
“No worries, there’s not much I’d want to steal in here. ”
That pretty pink blush dies, and her face pales.
She’s smart enough to know it’s a dismissal, the way I need it to be.
“Anything else?” I bark, curling my damp fingers into my palms, holding onto my control.
She looks uncomfortable and licks her lips.
Realizing I’m not going to engage, she mumbles another sorry and walks out, closing the door with an angry snap.
Good. Her anger will keep her away from me. Safe from my dark desires.
Opening the door, I walk out expecting to see her there waiting, but she’s gone.
I head towards the hallway and stop when I look up and see a huge canvas.
It must be eight feet long. The subject is a man, but his face is somewhat fragmented.
I step closer. His face has a mixture of acrylic brushstrokes, thick and heavy, with softer, gentler strokes of watercolor.
There are bits of metal in the paint. The craftsmanship is exquisite.
As I move closer, I discover that there are more miniature paintings within the larger paintings.
Small images. But when you step back, his face comes into focus.
My fingers itch to recreate it in ink and put it on clean skin.
Whoever the artist is, I commend them; that level of skill isn’t for the weak.
Leaving it behind, I walk down the steps and turn the corner.
Viciously, I bite back a curse because Jace’s sister is right there, standing by the refrigerator, her ass on full display in that skimpy white bikini.
A sound must escape my mouth because she spins around, staring at me again, holding a platter of fruit.
Twenty-four years old, motherfucker. You’re 20 years her senior.
And I need to stay away, at least as much as possible, since her brother is always trying to get me to be social.
Fucking his sister into the ground while her hands are bound isn’t what he meant by ‘Come meet my sister.’ I can still hear the frustration in his voice when she would kowtow to the monster who fathered her.
She doesn’t need to trade one monster for another.
And that’s what I am, a monster. I wouldn’t do anything sweet to her.
No sweet words. I’m a savage who embraces pain, finding it pleasurable.
I walk past, forcing my mind to dismiss her and the sight of her plump pussy in her bathing suit bottom.
Stepping through the door, I wish I had a glass of whiskey and not the beer that’s been flowing all night.
Spotting the same beautiful woman in yellow, sporting the tattoos all over her body, I head over to her. I need to do something, anything, to get my mind off her. Heading to the woman in yellow, I sit next to her on the bench, studying her tattoos. “Can I?”
At her nod, I pick up her arm, turning it back and forth in the light of the firelight and citronella candles that Jace lit around the seating area to keep the mosquitoes away.
“It’s good work, but I can add some shading.
” I touch the vines on her collarbone and shoulder, thinking about the changes I would make.
“I was thinking of doing it some time in the fall. I want to add some color to the one on my hip.”
Unbidden, I touch her sternum tattoo. “This is the best I’ve seen in a while.” I lean closer and read the dates. “The lines are incredible.”
When she says, “Imprint Tattoo in Chicago,” something in me relaxes. Talking about Anna and Frank is easy. Memories of that early time in my life, when things were complicated, but the dark secrets of what my stepfather was doing weren’t in my consciousness yet. “Anna,” I murmur.
“How’d you know?”
Anna Delacourt is famous in the Chicago area.
At almost six feet tall, with pink hair, you couldn’t miss Anna.
She’d tattoo many members of the Legion Lords, including Onyx and Riggs, when we were teenagers.
She was an honorary member of the Legion Lords; her brother Chaca, a runner for the gang, was a considerable influence on me.
He taught me how to dismember a body. He was the one who named me El Búho when I was 17 and had just killed my stepfather.
We all grew up around Anna as a result of Chaca’s role in the gang.
“I’ve known Anna for years. I interned there for six months.
A long time ago.” Right before I murdered my stepfather and joined the Legion Lords, learning how to tattoo helped satisfy the craving in me to escape the desperate, drudgery of my home life.
The need to be creative and find solitude in the soothing sound of the tattoo gun.
“Her husband Frank taught me when I was an asshole kid.” Like his wife, Frank Delacourt was also a brilliant tattoo artist. They made an odd pair.
Frank was about 5’4 “, round and bubbly, with long hair that he always wore in a bun. “My shop is opening around October. Brooklyn. I’d love to have you come in. I can add shading and color to your hips if you’d like. I’ll give you my number.”
“She won’t be needing it.”
The violent tone has me looking up at the pissed off man from earlier.
He’s looking daggers at me, but it doesn’t intimidate me.
Standing, I step closer, widening my stance, wanting to feel his punch, wanting to return it and test his strength against my own.
It would be a bloody fight, and right now, with lust for Jace’s sister still riding me hard, a brawl would help soothe the beast inside me.
Looking into his hard eyes, I see what others might not recognize.
Horror, pain. I wonder what he’s done that gives him that brutal look.
A level of respect worms its way through a cloud of aggression between us.
“If she accepts my number, that’s all there is to it,” I utter, staying calm. My knife isn’t far away, but murder wasn’t on the menu tonight.
Silas moves even closer. His eyes are trained on me. “Get your fucking hands off her.”
“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want to do with my hands unless she tells me differently.”
Silas’s jaw ticks rhythmically. He moves even closer, leaving only millimeters between our chests.
“Move away from him, Dru.” His words are quiet, but I feel the rage in every syllable.
“Silas, cut it out,” the woman who is clearly his hisses, moving away from me.
“Cool off, Silas,” Jace barks, putting his hand on Silas’s chest. It seems to break some of the tension. I turn and spot Camryn staring at me. The worry on her face is clear; the horror is evident. Pulling my eyes away from her, I stare down at the woman named Drusilla.
“You good?” The woman, Dru, nods, and I smile at the fire in her eyes.
He’s a lucky man; all the fire in a woman can be an aphrodisiac.
To piss him off further, I add, “You can get my number from, Jace.” The growl behind shouldn’t make me like him more, but it does.
I look at the man one last time. He wants to kill me, and I don’t blame him, but he has no clue that the last thing I want is his woman.
No, my thirst isn’t for the fierce woman in yellow, but for her friend, standing off to the side, watching my every move.
I want to look at her one last time, but I resist the urge.
“Good night,” I manage to say, despite wanting to rip his head off. My mother would be proud.
An instant later, I walk off into the darkness to my bike parked on the side of the house.
Settling into my seat, I turn on the engine, opening the throttle, and enjoy the strong vibration between my legs.
I lean my head back, enjoying the sensation of the vibration through my hard cock. A cock that is hard for her.
Fuck it.
I’m not going to let her go that easily. I may not be able to touch her the way I want, but after tonight, I’m going to enjoy the chase from afar. I may not be able to hunt her the way I crave, but I can still watch.