by BL Mute
His lips leave mine and trail down my jaw to my neck, until they hit my collarbone. He flattens his tongue against my skin, then runs it up, only stopping when he licks my cheek. “Sweet.”
That one simple word has my panties dripping, my knees wanting to squeeze together, and my mouth wanting to whisper his name, only I don’t even know his name. “Wh—what’s your name?”
A question I should have asked before I came all the way here, or let him chase me, or touch me, or kiss me, or lick me.
“No names. Call me whatever you’d like.” He moves further down my body, kissing every inch as he goes.
“What are you going to do to me?” Normally, I could do without the talk, but I want to hear his voice. I want the rough, gravel whispering dirty things into my ear since I have nothing else of him. I don’t know his name, his address. Nothing. All I get is his body and voice.
He stops and hovers over me, his hair falling into his face making him look scarier than before, and undoes the belt buckle on his black jeans. “I’m going to fuck you.”
It’s a statement, not a question. “And if I say no?”
He shakes his head lightly as he leans back down. “If you didn’t want this, you would have already stopped me—tried to run away again. Or you wouldn’t have come here in the first place.”
My chest heaves, and I can feel our breaths synchronizing. “You said you’d catch me again.”
“I’ll only catch you when you want to be caught.” He moves his face closer and runs his nose along the bridge of mine, then brings his hand to my throat and squeezes.
This is it, you dumb bitch. This is where he kills you. Only the pressure isn’t… terrible. It makes all the nerves in my body more sensitive. I’m more aware of his weight over me than I was before. I can practically feel the ridges of his fingerprints on the tips of his fingers squeezing me, and the heat building in my core is reaching a new temperature.
“I’m not going to hurt you. Trust me, okay?”
I almost laugh. How can anyone trust a stranger? I know I shouldn’t, but at the same time, I’m not moving. I’m keeping myself under his weight and moaning every time his fingers bite harder into the sides of my throat.
I like this.
He thrusts his hips, digging the tip of his cock into my center, and suddenly, I just want our clothes off. No barriers. No thoughts. Just rough, dirty actions and filthy words. I fucking need him, and I realize maybe this is taking the whole distraction tactic too far, but it’s too late to turn back now.
I move my hands down and unclasp the button to his jeans, then lower the zipper and push them, along with his boxers, down his thighs. When his dick springs free, I ache to look at it, but he keeps my head locked in place with his hand around my neck. I hook my fingers into the elastic of my shorts and panties, then shimmy them down too, hoping once we’re free of our clothes, he’ll lose it, letting his primal need for pussy take over.
His lips crash back to mine as his grip becomes more punishing. His cock pokes at my entrance, teasing me, coating itself in my arousal, and all I want to do is scream. I buck my hips, trying to eliminate the space between us, but with every upward thrust, he moves back.
Finally, he drops his arm, then moves down me. Reaching for the hem of my shirt, he lifts it up until it rests right above my breasts. With his eyes locked onto mine, he leans down and captures one of my nipples between his teeth.
My eyes squeeze shut as my mouth parts. “Fuck.”
“You like that?” His voice is deeper than before if that’s even possible.
I nod and move my hands to his head. I cup my opposite tit with one hand, then use the other to clasp his hair. I pull him up lightly, only enough to guide his mouth to my other nipple. Right now, I need more, and if he won’t give it to me, I’ll do it myself.
He flicks his tongue out and licks, then blows. Cool air has it pebbling immediately, and the rest of my body shivers. “More,” I moan. “I need more.”
With lust-filled eyes, he flashes me another smirk. If I were thinking logically and not with my pussy, it would scare me. Eyes that dark and a smile that screams danger only means heartbreak, but my dumb ass doesn’t move. Instead, I give him a smile of my own before thrusting my hips upward one last time.
Still, he doesn’t give me what I want. Instead, he moves down my body further, kissing every inch of flesh along the way, until he reaches my pussy. My breath hitches, knowing exactly what’s coming. He licks his full lips again, then dives between my legs.
As soon as his tongue skates across my folds, my knees try to close. It’s sensation overload. Like I’m a fourteen-year-old virgin boy who’s never come before. Normally, I’m the best at keeping my cool, but this is different. Right now, I can be anyone I want. Stallion doesn’t know me, and I don’t know him. I can be nasty, and kinky, and scream as loud as I’d like. No one would hear me out here.
I let my knees fall back open as wide as they can, then reach above my head and fist the grass. I rip handfuls from the earth, letting the fresh smell of dirt fill my nostrils. His hands snake around my thighs and squeeze with every stroke of his tongue. It makes me moan and move my hips, forcing his mouth on me harder and his tongue deeper inside of me.
It feels so fucking good, but it isn’t enough. It’s never enough—the distraction of sex—but it doesn’t stop me from trying. I pull him back up my body by his hair. His face hovers over mine as his cock rests at the hole of my pussy. I close my eyes and crash my lips to his. I can taste myself on his tongue, and it makes me want him inside me even more. I wiggle as our lips drift apart, hoping he’ll get the hint. “Please fuck me.”
I hate how desperate I sound, but at the same time, who fucking cares? I’m about to be railed into oblivion by a hot as sin man, and he doesn’t even know my name. I can’t let myself be embarrassed because this is human nature. I. Need. His cock.
“Good girl.” He smiles again, this time showing me all the pretty teeth he’s been hiding behind all the closed-lipped smiles. And I swear to God I could come just from seeing that alone. Even out in the dark field, with him so close, I can see his beauty.
He slips a foil packet from his discarded pants pocket, rips it open, rolls it onto his length, then pushes into me, and it takes everything in me not to scream. His girth is unmatchable. I’ve never been with someone so thick, and it takes me a moment to adjust, but after a few still seconds and a light thrust of his hips, pure bliss radiates from me.
I lift my hips so his pelvis grinds against my clit with every thrust as his tempo increases. He pounds into me harder, touching places inside of me I never even knew excited, and it’s almost too much.
He places his hand back on my neck, the pressure more intense than before, and I swear I start seeing stars, but the pleasure pouring out of me out measures it.
“Come for me,” he demands, but his voice sounds further away than before. I try to ignore why that is and focus on my incoming orgasm instead.
Three more thrusts are all it takes before I’m shattering around him, and his hand leaves my throat for the last time. The blood rushes back into my head as my legs convulse, and my walls tighten around him. I’m in a completely different world, one of straight euphoria, until everything goes black.
CHAPTER FOUR
CARMEN
I’m dead. I must be. But when I run my hand up my body, feeling every sore spot on me under my clothes—clothes I passed out without—I realize I’m very much alive. I open my eyes and peer around the darkness, trying to see where I am or if I’m alone. When the bed shifts beside me, I shoot up and leap to my feet.
I swing my arms around the open space around me and scream as loud as I can. “Don’t touch me!”
When the light finally flips on, I’m facing the cream wall of the dingy motel, yelling at no one. I quickly turn around, keeping my fists raised, as if I even know how to fight, and see him.
“Are you okay?”
I tip my head and drop my fi
sts. He can’t be serious. “Okay? Seriously? You fucking choked me out.” I drop my fists, then move one hand to my neck and rub where his fingers locked onto me. The slight aching that dances behind my touch sends a jolt to my core, but I try to ignore it. Thinking with my pussy got me in this fucked-up position.
“You could have told me to stop, Spitfire. Why didn’t you?” He takes a step closer.
I raise my hand and step back, warning him to not come closer. In return, he raises his hands in surrender and waits for my answer, but I won’t give it to him.
“Answer me.” I shake my head. “It’s okay if you liked it.”
“Liked it? You could have killed me,” I shriek.
“But I didn’t, and I won’t.” He takes another step, and my knees start to wobble, but I can’t make myself move. I’m locked in his hypnotic stare again as I start to think. Really think.
For some fucked-up reason, I believe him. If he wanted to hurt me, he could have. He could have left me naked in that field for no one to find, but instead, he brought me back to his room and dressed me.
His eyes catch the motion of my knees wobbling even more and look down, then back up to my face. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
He holds up his hands as he continues slowly. With every step forward, I take one back until my shoulder blades hit the wall. It’s a different game than the one we just played. I push myself into it, knowing I can’t go any further. When he stops in front of me, his hands move up to my face at a snail’s pace. I flinch, squeezing my eyes closed tightly as he grips my chin between his pointer and thumb, then gently turns my head and angles it up.
“You’re probably going to bruise a little.” He sounds almost sorry. Almost.
“You don’t think?” I remark sarcastically, and it earns me a smile, the one I so desperately wanted to see in the light, and a laugh.
“You’ve never dabbled in breath play?” He says it like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like everyone is into kinky shit that can kill you.
I shake my head, letting his hand fall. “I don’t dance with death, Stallion. I enjoy living too much.”
Another laugh bubbles from him, and it makes the corners of my lips want to pull up into a smile. “I could argue that. You let me—a stranger—chase you…” He shakes his head and then changes the subject. “Ice and ibuprofen will help with the swelling. Vitamin K cream will help the marks fade quicker.”
I narrow my eyes. “You do this a lot?”
Another award-winning smile skates across his lips. “I told you, I’m into a few different things, but breath play is my favorite, although chasing a beautiful woman through a field in the middle of the night is a close second.”
“What else are you into?” I ask, not commenting on the game because I don’t know if I’m ready to admit if I liked it or not.
If I’m being honest with myself, I could say I loved it. The thrill, the adrenaline. The pure elation from someone wanting me enough to chase me.
No one ever chases me. They’re always running away instead.
“I like to praise.” He runs his fingers along my chin, pulling me from my thoughts.
Dropping his hand, he steps back, then walks to the table we sat at when I first got here, and it makes me feel empty. Like I miss his intrusive presence. “Why is it your favorite? Breath play?”
I can get behind the praising and the chasing. Being told “good girl” and hearing sweet pet names is fucking hot, along with being basically hunted in a lust-filled haze, but breath play? I don’t hate it, but it’s kind of scary. By the same token, something about what he did to me makes me want to know more. I want to keep him talking. I want to take all he will give me.
“Another time, Spitfire. I have work.” He tosses me an envelope and picks up a duffel bag I never noticed from the floor.
I pick up the purse I dropped on my way out, then walk to the table he’s standing at. Slipping my phone out, I see it’s 2:00 a.m. “How long was I out?”
“A couple hours. I don’t think it was all from me ‘choking you out.’” He does air quotations. “I think it was more exhaustion. Sex is draining—perfect stress reliever—but the rush you get on your first time from being chased along with the breath play can be exhausting too. It’s new feelings, if that makes sense.” He winks.
I shake my head with a grin because it does make sense. When he finally let me go, it was like peaking at the top of a roller coaster before shooting down. It was exhilarating, and amazing, and fucking terrifying all at once.
“Where do you work? It’s 2:00 a.m.,” I ask, abandoning my thoughts. Sex is the last thing I need to think about right this second. It almost just killed me.
“I’ll be in touch soon,” he remarks, ignoring my question, then leans down and kisses my cheek before walking to the door.
I see it close, and within a few moments, a car starts from somewhere downstairs in the parking lot, but I can’t bring my feet to move or chase him like he chased me. Even with him gone, his presence is still lingering. I can feel it.
Instead of leaving like I should, I open the envelope and see one-hundred-dollar bill after one-hundred-dollar bill along with a business card.
It’s practically blank with no header. Just thick, white, textured card stock. I flip it in my hand and run my fingers along the edge. His number is scrolled on the back with black ink, but nothing else. No name. I smile to myself and stick it in my purse with the cash, then exit the same way he did.
Maybe this could be good. A man who knows how to leave is exactly what I need.
No strings.
I won’t have to tell him about my shitty dad or fucked-up best friend. Strictly sex. Mind-blowing sex.
When I make it to the bottom of the stairs, I turn and head straight for my Bentley.
I stopped by a twenty-four-hour pharmacy on my way home last night, but staring at myself in the mirror, in the daylight, I don’t think Stallion is right. I don’t see how some cream is supposed to help the red marks on my neck. The edges from where each finger was is already getting darker and showing light purple hues. Luckily, the front of my throat isn’t too bad, but the sides definitely show what he did.
When my phone rings, I jump. My nerves are still on high alert, but for different reasons. I made it out of that motel alive, but now I have to try and conceal the evidence of it. What would William say if he saw my neck? He’d probably call my dad and start a manhunt for the one who hurt me, when in reality, I was everything but hurt.
I push the thoughts down as I move back into my room and pick up my phone. When I see it’s only Lydia, I breathe a sigh of relief and answer. “Hey, bitch.”
My voice is level and playful. Normal. The exact way she expects me to act. Only now the thoughts of Malcolm are far away, and the only thing occupying my mind is Stallion and the things he did to my body.
“What are you doing?” She’s lying in her new bed with nothing but a blanket across her chest, and I see the crook of someone’s arm beside her. No doubt it’s Carter. He’s the only man I know who would get a fucking butterfly tattoo on the inside of his bicep for his girl.
“Not a damn thing. What are you doing besides Carter?” The lack of clothes from them both gives her away.
She pulls the blanket up and tucks it under her chin with a laugh. “Sup, Carmen,” Carter calls out before moving his face into frame.
I roll my eyes. “Go away, Carter.”
He scrunches his nose and shakes his head. “Fat chance. I’m here to stay.”
“Oh.” I slap my hand across my chest. “In that case, maybe you can help. My period has been killing me—”
I don’t even get the long-winded response I planned out before he turns the phone back to Lydia and cuts me off. “That’s all you, babe. I’m going to shower.”
Her face is lit up with a smile as she waves him off, then turns her attention back to me. “I was calling to see if you’re busy tonight. I want to have a movie nig
ht! Just me, you, and Carter.”
I try to hide my eye roll. Ever since the Malcolm shit, she’s made it a point to have sleepovers like kids. At first, I think it was only to keep an eye on me and make sure I was fine bearing the truth about what happened, but now I think she just genuinely enjoys it.
When she left Bexley Falls after her dad died, we grew apart. Sure, we’ve mended our friendship after that, but it was never really the same. It isn’t now either, but I think the movie nights help her believe it is.
As much as I want to tell her no because hanging with her and Carter, being the third wheel, has never been appealing, I do want to tell her about Stallion. So, I agree. “Fine, but I have to do dinner with William first. I promised him.”
She squeals. “That’s fine. Just be here by six. I’m going to get our normal veg food. Any special requests?”
“Pistachio ice cream, please.”
Her lip curls. “Gross.”
“Fuck off.” I smile. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
I hang up before she can reply.
CHAPTER FIVE
CARMEN
I stare into my bathroom mirror and move my hair to cover my neck before walking out. Hopefully, that will be enough to hide the marks.
When I make it downstairs, William already has the counter overflowing with different foods. I see bruschetta, steak, mac-n-cheese, asparagus. “Little overkill, don’t you think, William?” I laugh, slipping onto the barstool as he grabs two glasses from the cabinet.
When Dad isn’t here, we don’t eat in the dining room. It’s too big and lonely. Here in the kitchen, we can actually talk without having to shout across the table.
“I just made all your favorites.” He smiles, letting the corners of his eyes crinkle up.
William is only a few years older than my dad, but his face definitely shows it. Or maybe it’s the lack of Botox. At this point, my dad’s DNA probably reads thirty-five percent artificial. Where my dad has dark hair, William’s is almost completely white, and the years he’s lived and how much he’s smiled are evident in every small wrinkle.