by Max Henry
I reach out, and twist my hand in her hair. She grins, and lets me pull her up until her mouth hovers over mine. I let her think I want a kiss, but tug her head back when she tries.
“My turn to taste you.”
Untangling my hand, I let her fall to the side, and move to kneel between her legs. She smiles, eager as sin. Taking a pillow from the top of the bed, I lift her hips with a hand to the small of her back, and jam the folded pillow under her butt. The result is one fine looking cunt on display for me to play with.
Her eyes are positively glowing as I run a lazy finger through her wetness. “Fuck, you look decadent.”
Her knees move to close, and I whip my hands to them, pushing her legs apart.
“Uh, uh, uh. No getting shy now.”
Sonya giggles, but her breath catches in her throat when I lean forward and suck her clit into my mouth. She gasps for air as I insert two fingers and gently stroke her to life.
“Oh, God.”
“Right here, baby.” I chuckle.
She bucks into my hand as I thrust my thick fingers into her tight hole. Muscles pull and contract around the movement of my hand. I slip another finger in, and she gasps again.
Jesus, that looks good . . .
I swear if she moans any more than she is I’ll lose my load. The sound is so uninhibited, so raw, so primal. It’s her and her body, letting go and surrendering to my whims. It’s sexy as fuck.
“Another,” she pants.
“Another what, sweetheart?” I lean over my pumping hand, and suck on one of her nipples.
She moans and writhes. “Another finger. Fucking fill me.”
Fuckin’ okay . . .
Keeping close watch on her facial expressions, I slip my pinkie finger in, and gently push deep. The moan she gives me in return has me twitching and dripping pre-cum over her leg.
Slowly, I build back to my previous pace, watching as she plays with her breasts, pinching her nipples, and groaning with her eyes screwed shut.
I’m fascinated, mesmerized by the sight of my hand—almost my whole hand—moving in and out of her glistening pussy. She’s wet as all hell, enjoying everything I give, and still pushing back for more. I begin flexing my fingers on the outward stroke, widening the pull and preparing her for more.
“God, yes,” she cries. “Fuck it feels good.”
“You like being stretched, baby?” And by fuck is she stretched, because my hands are by no means small.
Her eyes snap open, dark and hungry. “It’s hot,” she breathes, “seeing how intrigued you are.”
She’s right—I’m transfixed. I push my thumb in and she grits her teeth. I immediately pull back, and pause. “You okay?”
“Why did you stop?”
“It looked like it hurt.”
“A little,”—She reaches down, and guides my hand back to her pussy—“but I’ll say when to stop.”
I start again with three, then four, and finally nudge my thumb in with the others. She’s up on her elbows, watching my hand fist into her, struggling to keep her eyes open through her groans of pleasure. Her gaze shifts to the steady stream of pre-cum I have, and she licks her lips.
Fuck.
I reposition myself at her side, and resume fucking her cunt wide with my hand as she leans over to take my cock in her mouth. Sweet heaven . . . Sonya takes long hard pulls, working me as her muscles work my fingers. I look between her legs at my hand, disappearing right to the knuckles each time. She pushes against me, trying to crest that last bit, and good God do I want to.
Her fingers wrap around the base of my cock, and she strokes with every suck she takes. The combination of sensations drives me to overload, my balls tighten and the tingle starts at the base of my spine.
“Baby, I’m gonna . . .”
She works harder, and I fall apart under her touch. Assuming she’ll pull away, I get ready to blow over her body but she takes me by surprise, drinking back every last drop I have to offer. Her face scrunches and she cringes as she does, but all the same, she’s drinking my cum like it’s a fuckin’ life source.
I give her cunt short, hard thrusts with my hand, and she drops free from my still pulsing length as she orgasms, hard and loud. I remove my thumb, and two fingers, curling the remaining two around to find her sweet spot as she climaxes. She cries out, laughing as her body gives in to the rest of what it has in store, drenching my hand, the sheets and her thighs with her cum.
My baby likes.
“Holy shit, Vince,” she cries as I work the last drops from her, and withdraw.
She watches me keenly as I lick my hand clean. “So sweet.”
“I’ve never . . . I mean . . .”
“You’ve never had almost all of somebody’s hand working you?”
She shakes her head frantically. “Or come that hard.”
“First time for everything,” I say.
She looks at me, eyebrows raised.
“Have I?” I ask, to clarify her questioning stare.
Sonya nods.
“Nope,” I reply, popping my ‘p’. “Never had anyone willing to try with these paws.” I hold my large hand up for emphasis.
Her eyes grow wide. “Far out. I can’t believe you fit that . . . in there.”
“Body can do amazing things when the mind’s not telling it that it can’t.”
I wiggle my cleaned fingers at her and she cracks up laughing, smacking me on the leg.
I love this woman.
RAMONA SITS on the porch with the girls, watching Mack play with Rocco. Callum rests in the armchair facing Sawyer, staring at him with the same ferocity the lunatic has for the wall.
“Busting for a piss yet?” he asks him.
“What do you think?” Sawyer answers, unmoving in his gaze.
“We untie your feet, keep your hands restrained, you behave. Got that?”
Sawyer finally moves his line of sight to Callum. “How the fuck am I supposed to hold it?”
“You don’t,” Callum answers. “You sit down like the fuckin’ girl you are.”
He moves to change Sawyer’s restraints and I go over to join him. Standing behind the sofa, I loop my arms over Sawyer’s shoulders, under his arms and down against the back of the seat. I’ve got him nicely pinned to the furniture, pressing down with all my weight so his range of movement it minimal. The smart ass moves his head to face me, his mouth brushing my jaw as he talks. “Fancy a kiss, sweetheart?”
I stiffen, fighting the urge to shake him off and back away. The kid’s simply trying to mess with my head.
Alice and Callum make quick work of the ropes, and stand Sawyer up once his hands are tied to his sides. The rope loops around his waist and in ‘cuffs’ about his wrists, penning his hands to himself like a death-row prisoner. His feet are tied together but with enough leeway to be able to walk.
I leave the guys to guide him to the bathroom after a knock on the door precedes Ty and Bronx. The men walk in, assessing the situation, and watching curiously as our prisoner shuffles to the toilet. Recognition flashes in Ty’s eyes, and he quickly ushers Bronx towards the kitchen. “Let’s grab a beer, eh?”
Take it Alice didn’t give them that much info when he rang.
I nod to Ty to step aside when they return, brews in hand. He moves away from Bronx who stands at the window, staring at the women.
“I see you recognize him,” I whisper. “But his old lady and kid are outside, so let’s keep this under control.”
Ty nods. “Yeah. We were all there that night. Fuck, Bronx is going to go off.” He shakes his head, and then calls to Bronx. “Over here a minute.”
Bronx re-joins the group, and looks between us. “What up?”
“When that hostage comes back,” Ty explains, “I can guarantee you’ll know his face instantly.” He looks quickly to me before returning his attention to Bronx. “I need you to keep your shit together and your hands to yourself, okay?”
“Um, okay. Who is it?”
&
nbsp; “You’ll know,” Ty says simply.
“His family are out there,” I say, pointing to the porch. “They don’t need to be wrapped up in this any more than they are. His old lady knows what he’s like, but his boy’s only four and to him, his dad is still his hero. No need to crush the kid’s dreams just yet.”
Bronx frowns, but nothing else is said as the others return with Sawyer. He looks over my shoulder at them all, and his jaw sets rigid. The muscles strain on his neck and under his shirt, but he stays in control like a true legend.
I pat his shoulder and nod. “Thanks.”
Sawyer gets seated, and within minutes, Callum has him cross-tied again. The door to the porch opens, and the women file in, still laughing about something. Ramona pauses with Mack on her hip, and her eyes narrow when she spots Sawyer again.
The minute she arrived with Callum and saw the asshole on the sofa, she stormed out the back. I could lay money on her having killed Sawyer if Mack wasn’t present. The girl’s about as scorned as they come. Being a useless father is one thing, but a murderer is a whole other kettle of fish.
“Guys,” Alice says. “This is Ramona, and her son Mack. They’re friends of Dad’s.”
“Hey,” Bronx says with a nod. Ty just stares.
Sawyer chuckles from his position on the sofa. I step over and give him a firm clip to the back of the head. He shuts up.
“They’ll be staying for a while,” Alice continues, “so let’s all act like family, huh?”
“Sure thing,” Bronx says, nodding.
Ty still stares.
“Ty?” Jane prompts.
“Yeah . . . sure.” He turns away, and hustles into the kitchen.
Ramona exchanges a smile with Jane, and Alice shrugs. Ty wouldn’t be the first guy to be struck mute by Ramona; the girl is a stunner.
Callum’s phone starts ringing, and eight sets of eyes move to him. He smiles shyly and pulls it out, walking out of the room as he answers.
Mack wraps his little arms around Ramona’s neck and whispers in her ear. She sets him down, and touches his head before he walks over to where Sawyer sits. “Mommy said you’d been naughty,” he states.
Sawyer smiles, and leans down so his face is level with the boy’s. “I have, Son. So you make sure you’re good for Mom, okay? Because this is what happens to bad boys.”
The kid nods and climbs up to sit next to his father, resting his head on Sawyer’s bound arm. The rest of us don’t know what to do with ourselves. It’s such an intimate moment, but so gut-wrenching at the same time.
Ramona crosses a hand to the opposite elbow, and places her free fingers over her lips. There’s moisture building in her eyes, but she holds herself well considering.
“I’ll help you make some lunch,” Sonya says to Jane. She nods in return and the two of them move hastily to the adjacent room.
Bronx clears his throat, and drags Ty to look out the French doors at the yard. Alice’s eyes go everywhere about the room but on the father and son sitting quietly, oblivious to the commotion they’re causing.
“Can we watch some TV?” Mack asks.
Sawyer looks over his shoulder at where Alice and I stand. I shrug. “Don’t see why not.”
We swivel the sofa so it faces the TV, and Alice flicks through to find some old Looney Tunes cartoons. Father and son sit in silence, staring at the comedy, giggling every so often. My heart aches at the sight, knowing how much it’s going to fuck this kid up when his dad leaves for quite possibly the last time.
A gasp from my right catches my attention. Ramona claps her hands to her mouth, and rushes down the hall, tears streaking her face. Ty goes after her as Sonya pokes her head out of the kitchen.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “He’s got this.”
She nods, and returns to lunch duties. I follow her in to the kitchen and grab myself a beer, ready to drink myself out of the emotional state such an innocent interaction has put me in.
“It’s so sad,” she whispers, echoing my exact sentiments.
“I know. That poor kid.”
I catch Jane’s sympathetic stare before she returns to slicing tomato for the sandwiches they have laid out over the counter. Sonya nods, and picks up the cheese grater.
Resting my back against the fridge I watch the two women work in tandem to prepare lunch for everyone. The sight itself is so normal, so settled, but the whole situation we’re in here feels far too much like the calm before the storm. We’re all here under the same roof, and in another life this would have been a happy reunion of people, but not today.
Today it feels as if we’re on the precipice of our final change for the worse.
Today feels like the day that ignorance and innocence die.
RAMONA RETURNED from the bedroom almost a full hour after she disappeared. Whatever Ty said to her must have managed to put a field dressing on that wound she’s sporting, because the woman’s been a rock ever since. She sat in the armchair beside Sawyer and Mack, watching TV with them and stealing the occasional glance at the pair.
The somber mood in the house lasts well into dinnertime. King arrived shortly before Jane placed our meals on the table, and she managed to slip him in without trouble. As we sit around the table, nobody has the inclination to say a thing. All that we had to express has been shared this afternoon—in silence.
I pick at the meatloaf on my plate, my appetite stuck somewhere yesterday when I was busy denying the truth of the matter to myself, and now. Alice catches my eye, and nods toward the sofa. Turning, I see Ramona taking a place next to Sawyer, a plate of food in her hands. She speaks quietly to him, and he turns his head to look at her. Gently, as if she were feeding a child, she lifts a forkful of food to his mouth. He leans forward and takes the offering, his eyes never leaving her.
I turn away, saddened by how similar it seems to watching a death-row prisoner take their last meal. Trading Sawyer is a gamble on his life, and we all know that. Carlos will either be proud his messed-up kid is following in his psychotic footsteps, or he’ll be ready to take out the years of frustration Sawyer’s been giving him by way of torture. With that crazed drug lord, you never know.
“How was the ride?” Callum asks King, breaking the tension.
He shrugs one shoulder. “Typical. Full of school traffic by the time I hit the city limit.”
Awkward silence returns with only the clink of cutlery and the mumblings of a four-year-old to break it up.
“Do you like baking?” Jane asks Mack.
He nods fervently, and shovels some more mashed potato in his mouth.
“I thought you and I could make some cookies for everyone in the morning,” she says.
“Can I join?” Sonya looks to Mack for an answer.
“Yep,” he replies, full of pure, untainted childhood joy at such a simple thing. It’s warming—a little piece of normalcy in an otherwise fucked-up situation.
I feel shit for what we’re about to do, and looking at the way King is eyeing the kid, I know he feels much the same. But sometimes you have to just swallow past the restriction of your morals, and realize that the person you’re about to throw to the wolves has been doing the same for so long that you forget who is actually at fault.
It’s not us that are the bad guys here; Sawyer penned his own sentence the minute he decided to ruin the lives of others to simply piss his daddy off. I need to remember that. I need to stop assimilating my guilt over abandoning Alice and letting him down with what we’re going to do with Sawyer.
“We have roughly an hour,” King says, staring at his plate, “so eat up, boys. We’ll have to be on the road within the next twenty if we want to start on good terms.”
Us men nod and eat like the dutiful soldiers we are. I take one last look over at Ramona, and the pain in her expression as she carefully feeds Sawyer is both saddening and irritating. Why she still feels so bound to him, after everything he’s done to her, I have no idea. It seems the woman is a glutton for punishment, probably
taking it upon herself for not being able to change him.
Then again, maybe she has in a way. Watching the maniac sit there, assessing her as she feds him—it’s the quietest he’s ever been. The way he watches her face, even when she’s looking down at the plate, he almost looks as if he adores her.
I shake the ludicrous thought away and resume my meal. If Sawyer cared for Ramona, there’s no way he could have treated her the way he has all this time. Surely not. “What will you lot do while we’re out?” I ask, addressing Alice and his friends.
Bronx looks at me, then to the others. Alice frowns, and Ty glances to King and Callum.
“What are you on about, old man?” Alice’s frown deepens.
“You’re not coming with us,” King explains.
Bronx and Alice seem to be the only two with a problem. Ty excuses himself from the table and carries his plate to the kitchen, followed close behind by Sonya. Ramona’s head whips around at the shift in tone and she quickly moves to usher Mack from our group.
“I get the fact you’re taking this thing over ’cause of him,” Alice says, pointing to Sawyer, “but for fuck’s sake, just how much are you cutting us out?”
“It’s not about cutting you out, Malice,” Callum says. “It’s about ensuring the safety of the target . . . you.” He points his fork at my boy.
Alice drops his cutlery on the plate with unnecessary clatter and leans back in the seat. His jaw ticks while he stares off to the side, ignoring us all.
Ramona scuttles past with Mack, ushering him down the hall and announcing loudly that ‘it’s time to read a book before bed’.
“I think what Malice is trying to express,” Bronx says forcefully, glaring at Alice, “is that we feel a certain commitment to this given what happened to Tigger—what we witnessed. We’re all restraining ourselves here by being in the same room as that asshole over there, and all we want is to see for ourselves he doesn’t get off lightly.”
Alice grumbles under his breath causing King to sigh, and scrub a hand over his face. “Sure, kid, I get that. But for fuckin’ crying out loud, how much unnecessary risk do you want to place on yourselves?”