by Roxie Noir
“Say it again,” he says. “I can’t hear it enough.”
“Say what?” I ask, just to taunt him, because I know what he wants me to say.
The tip of his cock is just resting at my entrance and I can almost feel myself gushing around it, I’m so ready.
“Say it,” he says, his voice lowering to that dangerous pitch, the one that means he’s about to lose control. The one that makes my heartbeat pound through my pussy like it’s an echo chamber.
“Fuck me, Alex,” I whisper. “I need you inside me.”
He slides inside me slower than I thought possible, just the head of his cock, but it pushes against the plug in my ass and I gasp, squeezing my eyes shut, barely able to breathe as I swear to God my vision sparkles around the edges.
“Jesus, Alex,” I whisper.
He’s breathing hard, his tattoos shiny with sweat. In the mirror I can see him kneeling behind me, all that pure hard muscle and his long, thick cock just barely inside me.
I look like some kind of ruined, wanton harlot, like I’m so desperate for him that I’d do anything, but I don’t care because right now it’s true. He slides in a little more and then pulls back, like he’s being careful with me even though he can barely control himself, and it’s the absolute hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
“You don’t have to be gentle with me,” I say. My eyes are half-closed and my hands are clutching the sheet so hard I might tear it.
“I know,” he says, and then he bends over and kisses my back. Gently. Still thrusting carefully in and out by millimeters, moving the plug in my ass and sending a shower of sparks through me every single time.
“I can fuck you however I want,” he says. In the mirror, most of his cock has disappeared inside me. “And right now, I want to feel every millimeter of you, and I want to feel the plug filling your ass, and you want that too.”
I just moan as he fills me more and more, and even though it feels like it takes forever it’s a good forever, like time might have stopped.
At last he’s all the way in, his hips flush against my ass in the mirror and I just groan with this feeling of being so satisfied and full. I reach back with one hand and stroke his hip because I feel like I have to touch him.
He takes my hand in his and then the other one and somehow I’m even more helpless than before, stuffed in both holes and now I can’t even push myself up because we’re holding hands behind me.
Then he pulls out a little and as he thrusts back inside me he pulls on my arms and slides in deep and we both groan at once.
“Do it again,” I manage to say, and he does.
“You’re fucking unbelievable, tiger,” he whispers while he fucks me. He’s slow and he’s not exactly gentle, but he’s not rough. “It’s like you were custom made for me.”
Every time he thrusts and pulls back on me it moves the plug in my ass and the shiver of that slides down my back along with the pure molten heat that’s at my core.
“No, I think you were made for me,” I say, and this insane possessive feeling washes over like he belongs to me, like he’s mine, and we’re fucking a little harder now, his hands gripping mine tight.
“Dirty,” he says, a grin in his voice.
“You’re the dirty one,” I gasp. “I was nice until I met you.”
“Good,” he says, still thrusting slow and deep, pushing me closer and closer. “I fucking love that you’re only a filthy sex tiger for me.”
He fucks me deep and I groan, whatever I was about to say flying out of my head.
“I love the way your cock feels inside me,” I whisper.
He goes it again.
“Like that?” he growls.
“Yes,” I gasp, and he does it again and again. “I love the way you fuck me, Alex.”
We lock eyes in the mirror and he gets this look on his face like he’s about to say something, but then doesn’t.
“Say it again,” he orders.
“I love the way you fuck me, Alex,” I say, and I’m almost at the boiling point. I can’t stop. “I love the way you fight me,” — thrust — “and I love how you lick me,” — thrust — “and I love how you groan when your cock is in my mouth and I love how you touch me,” — thrust, deep breath — “and I love how your bare cock feels when it’s deep inside me and FUCK!”
Then I’m just shouting as I come, Alex still fucking me slow and gentle which isn’t the way I wanted it but it’s the right way because it feels like I come in slow motion, sparks breaking over my head as I shatter, totally overwhelmed.
“Alex,” I gasp. I’m still coming, still riding the slowest, most perfect wave. “Jesus, Alex. Fuck. Fuck.”
“I love watching you come,” he whispers. “I love how your pussy feels when you come.”
I’m still coming. Somehow.
“It’s because you make me come so hard,” I say, and then another wave washes over me and I squeeze his hand and push my face into the bed.
“Fuck, Alex,” I moan, my voice muffled by the bed. “Oh my god, Alex.”
It’s not eloquent, but give me a break.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says.
I take a deep breath and turn my head to the side, then gasp as another wave overtakes me. I whimper. I feel like I might be dissolving into this bed.
“Come inside me,” I beg.
He growls, and a fresh wave breaks over me, this one so intense it brings tears to my eyes.
“I need to feel you come inside me,” I gasp, barely aware of what I’m saying. “Please.”
“God, Tessa,” he whispers, and then he thrusts again. He drops my hands and bends over me so his chest is against my back, so nearly every part of us is touching.
I’m still coming as he whispers, “I love how you fuck me too, tiger,” and then I can feel his cock throb.
“Come for me,” I say, and then he explodes inside me so hard I can feel it.
“Fuck yes, Tessa,” he moans, and he says my name over and over again into my ear until he’s totally spent and I am too, finally, and he’s just lying on top of me naked.
We don’t say anything, we just look at each other, and at last he rolls off and I roll over, still breathing hard.
39
Alex
“Okay,” she says at last, and she rolls off the bed and gets up, going into the bathroom, butt plug still in place.
She closes the door and I grin.
I can’t believe how lucky I’ve gotten. I feel like I’m living a life that was meant for someone else, but then I wandered into it by accident and now I’m here.
Not that I’m complaining.
I exhale hard and then roll off of Tessa’s bed. I find my pants in the corner of the room and pull them on for the first time in seventy-two hours, and remember that this is what I was wearing Thursday.
Something about that strikes me as funny.
I wander into the kitchen shirtless, because even though there’s no possible way I can get another erection this weekend I know she likes having a muscled, tattooed man in her kitchen, and I like giving Tessa what she wants.
Especially since what she wants is me.
I fill a glass from the sink and drink it, vaguely trying to figure out what I need to do now. I’ve gotta go back to my apartment tonight, which is disappointing because I’d rather be here with her, but I can’t go to work tomorrow wearing the same thing I was wearing Thursday and reeking of sex.
As I’m thinking all this, Tessa’s phone buzzes where it’s charging on the counter, and I glance at it without really meaning to.
It’s a message from someone named Aidan.
I frown, and then look away from the phone. It’s not my business. Aidan is probably a coworker or something, or just a friend.
The phone buzzes again and it’s another message from Aidan, and now there’s a little ball of black fire growing in my chest, because who the fuck is Aidan and why is he texting Tessa?
I can’t help it. I pick the
phone up and read the messages, despite knowing I shouldn’t.
Still on for drinks Wednesday?
Can’t wait to see you! ;)
The black ball explodes and I grind my teeth together, looking through the message history. I’m snooping through Tessa’s life and I know I shouldn’t, but my raging jealousy can’t be stopped. She last texted him Thursday afternoon, to meet him for drinks at some bar downtown, and their messages are friendly and flirty.
It’s a date. Someone else is texting Tessa about a date and I might completely lose my shit right here in this kitchen, even though she thought I was dead when she set it up.
I text Aidan back because like hell is someone else going on a date with her.
Sorry, something came up and I can’t make it.
I put the phone back down, knowing full well I shouldn’t have done that, because Tessa is going to be furious.
She comes out of her bedroom, wearing a flannel bath robe.
“Who’s Aidan?” I ask as she opens a cabinet and grabs a glass.
“Aidan?” she says carelessly, furrowing her eyebrows a little. “Oh, I think he’s some guy from a dating app.”
Her phone buzzes again as she takes a drink, and she picks it up and opens the message.
It’s just a sad face emoji. From Aidan.
Tessa looks at it for a moment, like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing.
“Did you text him back?” she asks, shocked.
I just shrug, arms crossed over my chest.
“Oh, so maybe the ghost in my apartment texted him back while you just happened to be standing here,” she says.
“You’re gonna be busy,” I say, and I try to smile at her. The smile doesn’t take.
“You can’t cancel dates for me,” she says, her eyes flashing. She types on the phone with one thumb.
More than anything, I want to know what she’s typing.
“You’re not going, though,” I say. Now I’m exploding with jealousy, at the thought of someone else taking Tessa on a date, holding hands with her, kissing her.
“Yes, I am,” she says.
She tosses her phone onto the counter and glares at me again.
“It’s not like you’re my boyfriend,” she says. “We’re still dating other people.”
“I’m not,” I fire back.
I feel like she’s stabbed me.
“Well, I am,” she says, and takes another drink.
I think her hand is shaking, and I want to grab the glass and throw it against the wall. I want to punch a hole in the cabinet. Two years ago I’d have done both those things.
Now I just leave the kitchen and start pacing, even if I want to break shit more than anything.
“What was this, then?” I ask. “‘I love it when you fuck me, Alex’? That’s not a boyfriend thing?”
“It’s just fucking,” she says rigidly.
“That’s what this weekend was? Just fucking?”
“Pretty much,” she says, and there’s something hard and cruel in her eyes.
“So we’re just fuckbuddies,” I say.
She nods.
“That’s all you want from this. Fuckbuddies.”
She nods again, her whole body stiff.
“And you want to go on dates with other people. Nice guys,” I say, still stalking back and forth. The black fire inside me has grown and now I’m consumed by it.
“I thought you weren’t jealous,” she spits.
“I wasn’t jealous of who you fucked in the past,” I say, even if I was. “I didn’t fuck anyone either, Tessa, not for a year and a half.”
“I never asked that,” she snarls. “I thought you were dead and you never told me otherwise.”
“I couldn’t,” I say.
She rolls her eyes.
“You were a slut before this,” she says. “You bragged about it when we met. The guys you killed mentioned it, but I have never brought it up, not once, because it’s none of my business because we’re just fuckbuddies.”
“Sure, I fucked a whole lot of women,” I say. “I got my dick sucked a lot and left a lot of houses at three in the morning and I got into a lot of fights with angry boyfriends, and you know what? I didn’t know half their names. I never fucked them twice. I never spent a weekend with them, I never wanted to date them.”
“We can’t date, Alex,” she says, like it’s obvious.
“But you can date Aidan.”
“Aidan never kidnapped me,” she says. “I’ve never watched Aidan murder someone or break a guy’s jaw.”
“So Aidan’s a good boyfriend and I’m not,” I say. “Because Aidan went to the right college and has the right parents and probably has a consulting job somewhere.”
“We can’t be together,” she says, her voice starting to rise. Her arms are crossed in front of her, like she’s protecting herself. “You’re never not going to be the guy who kidnapped me, and the whole world knows it.”
“What do you want, Tessa?” I ask.
I walk over to her and put my hands on the counter behind her back. I’d never hurt her, not in a million years, but I’d fucking love to punch the wall behind her.
“You want me to be your dirty secret? The guy you call for dick after your real boyfriend disappoints you?”
“Don’t put it like that,” she says.
I snort.
“That’s how it is,” I say. “You think I’m not good enough for boyfriend material so I’m just here to fill your holes until something better comes along.”
“You killed people,” she says, and her voice starts to shake. “I saw you. You were professional about it. A shot in the chest and a shot in the head. You broke someone’s jaw after he was down, and I’m positive that there’s a list of shit you’ve done that’s worse.”
She swallows.
“You’re dangerous and violent and that’s how you are,” she whispers. There’s steel in her voice.
“I would never hurt you,” I say. “Never, Tessa.”
“We’re not dating,” she says.
Then she walks out of the kitchen and back into her bedroom, and I hear her pulling on clothes. I go in and pick my shirt up off the floor and put it on. I don’t know where my fake glasses are and I don’t care, because I feel like she stabbed me right in the heart and I just want to get out of here.
“I’m leaving,” I call to her from her front door. “Call me when you need just a fuck.”
“Ale—” she calls, but I slam the door behind me and stalk down the hall. For a second I imagine that she’s going to come running after me, say she was kidding, that she just likes me when I’m angry. But she doesn’t.
I go down the stairs. Her underwear is gone and above where it was is a note in all-capital letters that begins THE STAIRWELL IS NOT A DUMPING GROUND FOR UNDERGARMENTS.
I rip it off the wall and throw it to the ground, and then I leave Tessa’s building.
40
Tessa
Alex slams the door and my mouth snaps shut. I hold my breath and I can hear him stomp down the hallway and open the door to the stairs.
Then he’s gone.
I’m the world’s biggest asshole, and I feel so bad I’m almost nauseous. I slide my back down the wall and then I just sit there, covering my face with my hands because that’s not how I meant any of that to go, not at all.
It’s true that we can’t date but how the fuck can he not see that? He kidnapped me and the whole world knows that. I still have nightmares sometimes about the sound of that man’s jaw breaking, that sickening crack.
Even now I don’t know which one is really him. Every part of me, right down to my bones wants to believe it’s the one who told me about his brother and who kisses my hair and who swears he would never hurt me, the one who bandaged my feet and held me in the shower and taught me to throw a punch, but what if I’m wrong?
What if the other one, the violent one, is the real Alex? If I had any goddamn sense that’s what I’d bel
ieve. He pried into my life, after all. He texted Aidan back, and that’s pretty fucked up.
I just wish I didn’t feel like a monster. I wish I could stop seeing the betrayed, broken look in his eyes when I told him we were just fucking.
That’s what it was. Just fucking. If I keep telling myself that, it has to be true sooner or later.
I go to bed without cleaning the rest of my apartment, but I toss and turn all night.
I force myself to keep the date with Aidan, since my stubbornness about it was what caused all this in the first place. Monday and Tuesday I work late, watch TV, and then go to bed. The more I do, the less I can think.
Wednesday I work late again, and then rush out the door to meet Aidan. We’ve never met before, just chatted through Fizzlr, where he thought I was cute and I thought I may as well meet him.
I see him right away when I go into the bar, and he stand up from the table and waves at me. I walk over and he kisses me lightly on one cheek.
“Hi,” he says. “I’m Aidan.”
“Tessa,” I say, and look around the bar. It’s Portland hipster standard: refurbished wood everything, old-timey dim lightbulbs, bearded bartender wearing a vest with his sleeves rolled up.
“This place has really good gin cocktails,” he says. “They use a pre-Prohibition recipe that the owner’s great-grandfather had, and they’ve even re-created the gin recipe from back then.”
He’s excited about it, almost like a little kid, bouncing in his seat a little.
“That sounds great,” I say, looking at the cocktail menu. “Which one’s the best?”
He starts down the list, explaining each one in detail, and I can tell he just wants to please me, because he’s a nice person.
We drink our drinks and chat about what we do. I mention that I moved from Los Angeles six months ago, though I don’t say why. He’s a Portland native, and offers to show me around. He tells me about the best hikes to go on. He offers to make me a list.
He’s funny and cool and cute enough and nice in a way that I’m positive will make someone else very, very happy someday.