Bait

by Jade West

  Oh God. Oh my fucking God.

  He positions himself behind me, lifts my dress and slides his fingers all the way back in. I know what’s coming when I hear his belt buckle. I panic when I hear the zip of his jeans.

  I struggle but go nowhere. My pleads feel thick in my throat as hot fear takes over me.

  I feel pitiful.

  Sad.

  Beautiful.

  Happy.

  Joyous.

  Out of fucking control.

  I’m surprised when the tears prick at my eyes. I’m embarrassed how I spread my legs even as the first sobs come.

  I flinch as I feel the head of him. He’s too big. Too hard.

  “Please…”

  And I’m crying as his cock rubs back and forth between my pussy lips. I feel the ridges of metal and know he’s going to fuck me up.

  “Please…”

  I let out a strange feral sob as he pushes the tip inside.

  “This is gonna fucking hurt,” he says.

  Phoenix

  It takes some serious fucking resolve not to slam my cock balls deep into Abigail’s beautifully tight cunt in one thrust, damned be the consequences for me as well as her.

  Luckily, resolve is something I’ve long cultivated.

  Still, I really do feel like a monster as I deliver the nightmare she begged me for.

  She’s a mess on all fours before me, her breath raspy with tears as her whole body trembles. Her adrenaline is off the charts and has been for a while.

  But she stays still like a good girl. Like she was born for this.

  Maybe she was. Maybe she was right all along and she really does need this. Maybe she always will.

  Like Mariana.

  Abigail is nothing like Mariana. Mariana was fiery and sensational and easy to read. Mariana liked to hiss and spit and go down hard.

  Abigail is a delicate blend of pure fucking crazy. Elegant and dirty and needy and vulnerable.

  Insane.

  Fucking insane.

  And I feel insane right along with her. This lunacy has been a long time coming.

  Maybe too long.

  Her legs stay nice and wide for me, even though they’re shaking. Her back is arched, her soaking wet pussy offered readily for the brutality she’s convinced is coming her way.

  I admire the way she thinks I’m going to tear her apart and she still doesn’t try to run.

  I admire the way she’s really all in with this, even though she must be fucking petrified.

  “Please…” she whimpers.

  I shunt my hips enough to sink the tip, and even though she’s sopping fucking wet, it still takes some force.

  She breaks enough to sob a little. It’s pitifully beautiful enough that my balls tighten.

  “This is gonna fucking hurt,” I tell her and she cries out as she braces herself for the impact.

  It doesn’t come.

  I wrap her hair around my fist in a heartbeat, the thick end of my cock still snug in her perfect cunt as I tip her head back.

  She’s close enough to kiss. But I don’t.

  Even though I want to, I don’t.

  She’s close enough that I could tell her she’s gonna be just fine if I wanted to. But I don’t offer any assurances.

  My breath is a whisper in her ear. “Don’t fucking fight it.”

  Her cheek is wet with tears. She nods again and takes a ragged breath.

  She holds it in and grits her teeth as I inch my way inside her. It’s slow. Tortured. Tight enough to burn. And she hisses as I crush her with my full weight, my legs pushing hers wide and holding them. I pull her hair into a high pony and brush my lips across the back of her neck.

  Her moan is divine.

  It’s even better when I bite her.

  My teeth nip and hold, my grunts low in my throat as my cock gains ground.

  In and out, claiming her slowly, firmly, as she hisses out a breath with each thrust.

  I’m steady with each barbell, careful as I edge them inside her, but there’s a desperation in the way I move. I can’t stop. Can’t hold back.

  She tenses and groans underneath me as her poor pussy takes it all, but this isn’t the assault she feared and we both know it.

  There’s no way I can bottom out in her, not in one go, and that’s a damn fucking shame. A real damn fucking shame.

  I just can’t.

  I take what I can, pushing for just a little bit more with every thrust, well aware this beautiful nightmare is speeding fast towards its closing act.

  Its only ever act.

  “I want that cunt,” I whisper. “Give it to me.”

  I change angle just enough that the metal inside hits the right spot, and she can’t fight it any more than I can.

  She squirms and moans.

  Wriggles and whimpers.

  Bucks as much as she fucking dares.

  Her legs part wider of their own accord, and I know I’m going to give her the most painful fucking orgasm she’s ever had.

  “That’s it,” I grunt. “Good girl.”

  Her breaths are pained but needy.

  She wants more and I know it. I feel it.

  I fuck her as deep as I can without tearing her. She takes everything she’s given.

  Her hair smells like coconut.

  Her neck smells like a beauty counter.

  She tastes like I never want this to be over.

  “Please…” she whimpers. “More…”

  And I smile against her skin. I smile at the crazy.

  I smile at how two random strangers can be a million degrees of fucked up and still feel so right.

  “Come for me,” I hiss. “Come for your monster.”

  And she does.

  I let go of her hair, grab her tits hard and fuck her like the nightmare she wanted me to be.

  With my beast of a dick stretching her pussy to gaping and metal bars grating her deep, she comes for me as she cries out.

  It’s wild. It’s hard.

  And it’s fucking everything as she jerks and whimpers.

  It takes my all not to flip her over and fuck her eye to eye.

  It takes every scrap of restraint not to plant my mouth on hers and kiss her like I mean it.

  And I’d mean it.

  I realise that she’s inside me as deep as I’m inside her.

  She’s supposed to cry no, not yes, when my balls tighten and I thrust in hard.

  I’m not supposed to finish off in her pussy.

  I’m not supposed to come inside her.

  I’m not supposed to grunt and shudder and unload deep as she pants for me.

  It shouldn’t feel like heaven as her sweet crazy cunt milks me dry.

  She shouldn’t make me feel the way she’s making me feel right now.

  My black swan is supposed to be fighting to get away, not lying sated underneath me with her cheek on the tarmac as I pull my barbells free one by one.

  My breaths are heavy on her neck as I lift myself free.

  I’m reeling as I shove my cock back in my jeans.

  She still doesn’t move. Not even an inch.

  She’s a wreck in the shadows with her legs spread wide, glancing over her shoulder as though she wants round two.

  But I’m already retreating. Already backing away into the darkness.

  I register her confusion. The disappointment in the way her eyes search, until she moves enough to feel the mess she’s in.

  She’s taken enough. So much more than enough already.

  She winces as she rises. Cries out as she registers how rough she just had it.

  I watch her ease slowly to her feet, so slowly. Tenderly.

  I watch her find her bearings and come to her senses.

  She staggers before she finds her balance – a few precarious footsteps before she’s on her way barefoot, her heels lost in the dark.

  I watch my black swan back through the trucks and out the other side. I watch her feel her way along the building and b
ack to the main road.

  I watch as she finds the handbag she didn’t even realise she’d dropped earlier.

  I watch her all the way back to her car and out of my life.

  There’s a terrible knot in my gut as she drives out of sight.

  And a terrible sense of regret that I’ll never see her again.

  Twelve

  Whenever a thing is done for the first time, it releases a little demon.

  Emily Dickinson

  Abigail

  I’m knickerless and barefoot, my clammy fingers trembling against the steering wheel as I head back to familiarity. My heart is still racing, my brain is fried, and I feel like I’ve just been donkey-kicked in the ovaries, but I’m smiling. Grinning from ear to ear, in fact. I feel like a caged animal seeing sunlight for the first time in years.

  I find myself laughing, high on relief and euphoria and the crazy urge to turn the car back around and do it all again.

  My thighs are slippery and my knees are stinging. My toes feel cold and clumsy against the pedals and my hair is a tangled mess. And as far as my pussy goes, I’m a burning mess down there.

  But it doesn’t matter.

  None of it matters.

  I did it.

  I met the monster and came out the other side.

  I met the monster and I loved it. He was everything I dreamed and more.

  He was everything, everything, EVERYTHING.

  I wish I had someone to blurt it all out to, even just so they could call me crazy. I wish I had somewhere to scream out my overflowing endorphins.

  I have neither, so it’s just me and my tumble of thoughts and the memory of his brutal touch against my skin. Inside me.

  I was reckless. Irresponsible. Asking for trouble. Crazy as all living fuck.

  But the risk paid off.

  Fuck, how it paid off.

  I indicate into a layby once Malvern is behind me and turn on the interior light to check out my injuries. Grazed knees, a scuff on my palm. Filthy feet. I think I’ve cut my heel, too.

  Even tugging my skirt up my thighs makes me wince. Ow, fucking ow.

  This is going to hurt tomorrow. Bad.

  Insanely enough that feels like a good thing, the memory worth clinging onto just as long as I can. It was really real. More real than anything I’ve ever done.

  I’m brave now, so much braver than I was back there. Brave enough that I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

  And then it hits me like a punch in the ribs.

  I won’t be doing this again in a heartbeat. Or ever.

  I don’t have the slightest idea how to contact him again if I wanted to. Wouldn’t recognise him in a line-up. I don’t even know his name.

  I force that unwelcome thought aside for the time being. Why ruin a great experience with practicalities? It’s not as if they’ve worried me so far.

  No. Now’s the time to revel in the beautiful aftermath.

  My demons are running free, dancing with the devil on my shoulder. My sensibilities are long put to bed, and in their place is a wildness I don’t yet recognise as me, but I want to.

  I hope this wildness stays. This freedom stays.

  I want to feel this high forever.

  And before I’m even safely back across the Herefordshire border I’m already praying I’ll see the monster again.

  Phoenix

  I locate one of Abigail’s shoes under a truck. The other is upturned on the gravel nearby.

  I find her torn scrap of knickers on the ground by the shutter doors. The discovery makes my cock twitch all over again.

  I stuff the mementos in my glove box for safekeeping, then open up the warehouse to clear the security footage before anyone else finds it first.

  She’ll never have any idea that we were playing on my turf. Never know how meticulously I planned this.

  It’s almost a shame. Almost.

  I watch the recording through before I hit erase. Just as I planned, there isn’t so much to see from that angle, just me and a figure in my arms before I slam her into the shadows.

  It’s still enough to ensure I have my dick in my hand before the recording is done. I can smell her on me. Taste her on my fingers.

  I can still feel her pussy around my cock as she strained to take me.

  And I’m wanting more.

  I’m already wanting fucking more.

  One-time-only never felt so tragic as it does right now.

  I hit delete and shove my dick back in my pants before I go any further with this insanity.

  It’s done. Finished. One filthy splurge to fulfil a stranger’s fantasy and nothing more. I just hope it was everything she was hoping for.

  I lock up and head home. It’s both very late and very early when I slide my key into the porch lock and step inside.

  My jeans are filthy on the knees, my cock is slick with everything she had to give me. I feel gloriously fucking filthy and that’s enough to bring a smile to my lips.

  A big fucking smile.

  Crazy girl. She really is a fucking crazy girl.

  I’m heading upstairs for a shower and bed when I notice the bottle on the coffee table. It stops me in my tracks.

  No glasses, just the bottle of vintage scotch from our drinks cabinet. My fucking finest.

  Serena doesn’t drink scotch.

  No sign of a glass, which means some asshole was necking it straight from the bottle. But that surprises me none.

  I find an ashtray outside the back door. Five butts mashed inside.

  Well, fuck.

  My first fucking night away from this place since Mariana passed and that sonofabitch comes calling. Waltzing in like he’s still fucking welcome here.

  I take a breath before I clear the cigarette butts into the trash and put the scotch back where it belongs. I take another as my pulse races and the anger spits in my gut.

  I’m fierce in the shower, scrubbing away every trace of my beautiful stranger while I simmer at the thought of the motherfucker who used to be my brother being loose in my fucking house.

  So close to my sleeping boy. My sleeping boy. Mine.

  Because it was my fucking girlfriend who died in that fucking fire. My fucking life that burnt up with her.

  There’s enough tension for a whole fucking lifetime in my wrist as I jerk my cock and force myself back to happier moments from this evening.

  So many pleasures to sample and not nearly enough time. I didn’t taste her, didn’t pin her legs high and feast on that wet cunt of hers until she screamed. I didn’t get to see the whites of her eyes as I fucked her face to face. Didn’t feel her moans against my lips. Didn’t stretch that tight little asshole until she begged me to stop for real.

  Fuck.

  I’m out of the shower just as soon as I’ve shot my load.

  It takes everything not to reactivate my profile and thank her for a good time. I’m tense in bed and thinking of her, of her sweet sad soul and the train wreck of baggage she carries on her shoulders as the whole damn world plays ignorant.

  Just like they do with me.

  She’s a fractured mirror reflecting my own fucking brokenness.

  A beautiful demon in the darkness whispering my name.

  Her tragedy could eat me up and hold me tight, but mine…

  Mine could bury her alive.

  Burn her alive.

  Light is breaking on the horizon outside, but it’s fading on the glorious distraction I’ve been living these past few weeks.

  I know how the story ends if two fucked up souls play at life together. I know how the story ends when two people’s demons hold hands.

  Abigail Rachel Summers is everything I need, all at once.

  And absolutely nothing I should ever do again.

  It’s bright when I open my eyes; so much for hearing the alarm.

  It takes me a moment to register I’m not alone. The tiny body next to me is barely a lump under the covers. His hair is a dark little nest on the pillow.


  He’s pretending to be asleep. He’d have fooled me if I hadn’t seen the twitch of his head.

  “Morning, bud,” I greet, and scoop the lad under my forearm. He’s smiling as he presses to my chest, giggling silently as I tickle him under the arms and pretend to be a monster for the second time in recent hours.

  I can’t remember the last time I stayed in bed long enough for him to join me. I’d forgotten how good it felt to have his tiny body so snug against mine.

  Tiny fingers trace the ink on my chest then rise to beep my nose. I know this game.

  “Want some breakfast?” I ask, but he shakes his head.

  I wish he’d just find the words to tell me what he’s thinking. What he’s feeling. What he wants from me.

  I take a chance on it, wrapping him in arms that could crush him to dust but would do anything to protect him. It’s the right call. Little arms wrap around my neck and squeeze right back. My fingers tickle his scalp and I breathe in the smell of his sea monster shampoo.

  “I love you,” I tell him, and I’d give anything in the world to hear it back.

  What I get instead is another beep on the nose.

  That’ll have to do for now.

  I know the twinkle in his eyes when I ruffle his hair. I know he’s ready to get up when he kicks the covers up in the air to make a fort out of them.

  “Ready for breakfast now?” I ask, and he nods.

  I grab a t-shirt and tug a pair of jeans on over my boxers while he looks at the picture of himself on my bedside table. He’s so small in that picture, barely more than twelve months old.

  I wonder how far his memory goes back. I wonder how much of the horrible shit that went down last year really managed to go right over his head.

  Not enough, that’s for sure.

  I check him for wetness before I scoop him up and head downstairs. There’s nothing there. It’s a good sign.

  A good sign things are finally getting better.

  They won’t be getting better for Serena as I catch her eyes across the kitchen. She’s already drinking coffee, the morning news blaring in the background.

  I put Cameron in his chair and hold up cereal boxes for him to point to. I keep the smile on my face even though I’m fucking seething.