Perv (Filth #1)

by Dakota Gray

  She chuckled the entire time and tried to reel me back into her revenge plot. I wasn't falling for it anymore. Hence, my week of contemplation.

  Five seconds have passed, and neither friend offers up any words. “I'm starting to think you guys are about to give me a facial. Say something, or call me pretty first.”

  Duke's squints harder. “Are you over her?”

  “Yup.” I pull my knees up and start to do crunches, tapping my elbow on the opposite knee.

  Tarek takes a turn. “What changed?”

  “I had too much free time on my hands. I've decided to build computers. The website is in the works. That's what I've been doing for a week.”

  And I've also been jacking off about twice a day. The time Stealth and I spent in the hotel plays on a loop. I swallow, and there's her taste again. Over and over. My dick refuses to get the message it's just over.

  Duke says, “Fuck someone else?”

  Nope, but I tried. Fuck me, I tried. “Talked a woman out of her underwear so I could sniff them.”

  She smelled wrong, and I couldn't bring myself to be the pervert that I am.

  Tarek snorts. “You know that's weird, right?”

  I shrug. “You just wish you could talk a woman out of her underwear.”

  “The right woman.”

  “My condolences.” I grin at him and pause to hold the position for a five count. I relax on the mat to rest before my next set.

  Duke bends down. “Tell me now if you're done.”

  I know that tone. It's I'm-bracing-you-for-some-news-you-won't-like voice. I sit up and glare at him. “You did fuck her?” Violence whips through me, hot and hard. The foreign emotion forces my hands into fists before I can take a rational step back.

  Tarek scoffs and waves to me. “There's your answer.”

  Duke has fucked her, and that means he knows everything I don't. Everything I've told myself to not crave. “What's her name?” I'm not trying to sound irrational or jealous, but the words have bypassed my brain.

  “Robyn Hayes.”

  “Spell it.”

  He does. I let that roll around in my head. Yeah. She looks like a Robyn, acts like one. I could—I shake my head. I promised myself I wouldn't fall for her shit any more. She can revenge fuck someone else. I have her name now and can let her go.

  I glance at Duke. His face is back to a mask of worry. There's just a roar in my head because he knew her name. “You never said if you fucked her or not.”

  “I asked around when you disappeared like a hermit after seeing her. She's a paralegal. Worked for a competing firm. I never fucked her. Never met her. I'll send you everything I have if you want it. Not much. And honestly, you should let her come to you.”

  I try for a moment to lie to myself. I don't want to know anything else about her. I'm going to forget this whole episode and move on with my life. I need to work instead of obsess.

  Only the last remains true. “Send the info to me. And we're going out for drinks since you're here.”

  Duke smiles, big. “It's already in your inbox.”

  That's what makes him an evil bastard. He looks kind, but he's always twelve steps ahead of everyone with a trap ready to go off. He also knows me well. I was never going to say no.

  “Tarek?” I ask.

  “I'm against this whole thing.” Pause. “Where are we going tonight?”

  “Let Duke pick. He's the workaholic. We can celebrate my self-employment.”

  Tarek nods in agreement. “I'm off in an hour. Duke, try not to take any emergency calls from work. And you,” he says to me, “consider letting shit go. She sounds as fucked up as you.”

  That's the appeal.

  I shake my head both at him and myself.

  Duke straightens, fluffs any wrinkles out of his suit, and tilts his head at me again. “You're checking your email as soon as we leave, aren't you?”

  To prove him wrong, I dig my phone out of my sweats then and there. He leaves me alone. Or rather, I'm left alone to linger in the cesspool of my life. Semantics.

  I pull my knees up to rest my forearms on my thighs. I read about the woman who has turned my life into something unrecognizable. I'd like to say the picture fills in better.

  Robyn Hayes graduated with a Bachelors, pre-law, NYU, but she grew up here in California. She came back home. She has roots, family here—her parents. Her father is a school teacher and her mother is a doctor. Only child. Good credit. No criminal record, not even a parking ticket—ever. There's a smattering of articles about her law firm—her name and picture only crops up in two.

  According to the information, she should be normal. She should have been disgusted with me, and every filthy thing that turns me on. My memory offers up her soft expression as she swipes her come from my face and feeds me. A woman like that and her father is a school teacher?

  Nothing about Robyn makes sense.

  The picture the facts draw only make her that much more confusing. With every woman I've taken to my bed, I can draw a direct line to how they ended up there. I appeal to them for X, Y, Z reason. With Robyn—nothing.

  For once I'm going to take Tarek's advice and leave it—Robyn—alone.

  *****

  Four scotches and a few hours later, Gabby is grinding her ass into my crotch in an offbeat way. She's cute so I'll forgive her, especially when she throws her hands over her head and really gets into the bass-thumping song.

  The J-Lo look-alike has curves. The black dress painted on her body shows off every one. Her dark-olive skin shines with some kind of body glitter that I'll find for weeks, but she's wearing a perfume that smells like cotton candy. It's different and has piqued my interest.

  And you guessed it—I'll let her sit on my face.

  Who cares I'm probably too tipsy to make good decisions. I'm swaying my hips to keep up to hers. I like to think I'm more on beat—I did dance erotically for a living.

  Tarek is sweet talking a woman at the bar. Duke is trying his best to not look like an evil douchebag. Life is good.

  Fuck, Robyn.

  I'm sweating out the liquor I have in my system. This won't do. Sober, I think too much. I might notice that Gabby's ass isn't like Robyn's. I don't get hard when Gabby smiles. If she gave me head, I wouldn't think about marriage afterward.

  But... Fuck, Robyn.

  I lean down to her ear so she can hear me over the music. “Gabby, you want a drink?”

  She stops dancing and whirls to face me. There's a pout to her mouth. “Did you just call me Gabby?”

  Shit. “What's your name, Sugar?”

  “I just told you, twice. Five minutes ago.”

  My alcohol buzz dims with the mini-interrogation, but I try to remember through the fog what she told me. I am sure her name starts with a G, and all I have to do is catch the second—okay, the rest of her name. “Grace?”

  “Deidre,” she throws at me and then stomps away.

  She walks like she needs to take a shit. I could have fixed that if I had just stuck with Sugar. Fix broken things like my father used to—the only thing we had in common.

  I need another scotch.

  I weave around the couples and lurch my way over to the counter. The night is busy, but it only takes a few minutes for Elton to bring me another. He hovers his hand over the cup. “Your last one. Savor it.”

  I'm not that drunk, though usually I stop at two. I snatch up my drink and slink off into the shadows—the couches. The music doesn't scream as loud this far back and my thoughts can hear themselves.

  I scan the club. Just shy of one in the morning, the rainbow-colored strobe lights pitch at full twirl. Still I can find Duke in the crowd, dancing. His tie and suit jacket are missing. That will be tomorrow's complaint from Duke.

  Closing my eyes, I rest my head. The moment I do the furniture bounces because someone needed to sit on the same damn couch despite the other three available. Annoyed, I open my eyes to slits and glare. My hand twitches against the cold glass. The r
est of me is numb with shock.

  A red dress flirts with her mid-thigh. Doesn't help she's crossed her legs at the knee. It's just miles of brown skin, not covered in body glitter. She left her curls out and they brush well below her shoulders.

  “No,” I say, and I have every intention to repeat the single word until Robyn disappears.

  She laughs at me. “And here I thought you'd be happy to see me.”

  My heart's hammering. If someone based my answer on my reaction, I am. “No.”

  “What happened?” She slides a hand into her hair and props her elbow on the back of the couch. Her body's facing mine.

  I'm distracted by the way the skirt of the dress flutters at the small shift. “What are you talking about?”

  “You were dancing, and the woman left, looking a little pissed.”

  My brain tries to process that she had been watching me, but I'm sluggish and warm and my heart is still galloping with her so close.

  I search my memory and then finally say, “Grace and I didn't see eye to eye.”

  “Grace? Is that really her name or are you just making shit up?”

  I think that's her name. Fuck if I know, and who cares. “What do you want, Stealth?”

  Her mouth tightens at the corners for a fraction of a second. If my head wasn't so heavy I would have straightened. That minute reaction is the first time I've put a dent in her armor. Well, a dent that didn't involve my mouth being on her.

  She says, “You left without saying goodbye, and we weren't done.”

  I had my ten minutes, and she had hers. I didn't see an end to us—not a good one. That's why I left. “Weren't you? You got your revenge.”

  “I did, didn't I?” Her shoulders rise up, she takes a deep breath and curves more into the couch. Whatever thought, mini-argument, that flashed in her mind is settled. She sighs. “I wasn't done with you.”

  That's interesting wording. I let my gaze coast over her, this time paying attention to the details. She's painted on dark red lipstick, and that should have been a crime. Her mouth doesn't need help to look full, biteable. Her curls are tight, true coils that are likely soft to the touch tonight. I refuse to test the theory. Two straps sling around her neck, holding up the red dress. She perches on the couch in such a way I know she's bare under the flirty material.

  This is my day. Robyn without underwear and sitting no more than two feet away. “Tell me more about the Broken Virgin,” I demand.

  She flinches. “How did you get that scar on your face?”

  I almost smile at the evasive maneuver. “Most people assume it's a dimple.”

  “God's not that perverse.”

  That sounds like a compliment. Despite common sense, I let the smile break through. “Broken Virgin?”

  Her shoulders pull up, and her gaze drops down between us. “She cried for a month after you broke things off. That's what she told me, and I believe her.”

  Wait. Back up. Robyn doesn't know the story behind my scar. I got too close to an IED on my fifth tour. Three or four nails ripped through my shoulder and one skated across my face. Robyn should have known that. Or, maybe I hadn't met the Broken Virgin after my last tour. That brings the list down to two women.

  I'd like to say I Sherlocked the shit out of the mystery, but four years or more is a long time to remember vague facts about a former lover, much less two. I can't count my first as the “virgin.”

  I lost my virginity at twenty, if you could believe that. I used the whole I'm shipping off in the morning ploy. Danielle shot down the lie before it could finish leaving my mouth, but then told me she wanted to fuck someone wet behind the ears. She was shy of thirty. I didn't leave for boot camp for a month. She taught me everything I needed to know about eating pussy. Broken Virgin reaped the benefits of my hardcore training.

  Robyn curves into the couch again in the silence. My attention shifts back to her.

  “How did you find me?” I ask.

  Though it's not the important question. Why did she find me?

  I'm not fooling myself into believing she's addicted to me now. Another important question could be when will she be done with me? What will have to happen for her to leave me be?

  She scoffs. “You mean after your diva flounce in the hotel room?”

  I choke down the laugh. “I marched out of the room after my ten minutes were up. I kept my end of the deal.”

  “Oh. I see.” We both know I'm lying. “As for how I found you, you're predictable. I came to this club every evening. I was kind of surprised you weren't here. Were you doing something productive with your life? Or were you off fucking a horde of women?”

  “I built three computers from scratch.”

  Tongue. Lip.

  Why that turns her on, I don't know. I just wish I couldn't see that particular tell.

  The deep red lipstick is glistening and it's all I can focus on when she asks, “You build computers when you're bored?”

  “I've decided that's what I'm going to do to generate money.”

  “Why not work for a company that could use your skills?”

  “I don't like having a boss.”

  “Or conforming,” she guesses correctly. Robyn leans forward to pluck the glass out of my hand. She knocks back a good half before discarding the cup on the table. “Do you have a ride home?”

  I check the club. Tarek's now dancing, too, with the woman he'd been flirting with at the bar. Duke has shed his dress shirt. He's down to a white tank top. I can catch a cab or call Uber to get home. It's the better option than climbing into a car with a panty-less Robyn. She wants my blood because I hurt someone she loves. I have no doubt she loves her. Women with pre-law degrees don't hunt down men like me to exact revenge on a whim.

  Exhaustion and drink tug at my eyelids. I doubt she plans to lodge a knife in my chest. If she does, it's my own dumb fault. I took a woman home who I knew didn't care too much for me.

  My silence is taken as a clear answer and acceptance. She rises from the couch before I can, and then she steps between my legs. She offers me a smile and her hands to help me up. I laugh. I have at least one hundred pounds on her, most of that muscle. Alcohol doesn't change that. I close my hands on hers and tug her into my lap.

  “Oomph,” she mutters as our bodies collide.

  She's sideways on my lap, her cheek a fraction of space from my mouth. Warmth spills into me at her smile.

  “I don't need your help.”

  She brings her gaze to mine. “Are you sure? You looked pretty broken when you left the hotel. How often did you think about me?”

  Too much. She's my every other thought. Doesn't matter if I'm hoping she falls off a very steep cliff—I'm thinking about her. I close my thumb and forefinger on her chin, forcing her mouth level with mine. Her eyes are bright, her lips soft, and before I can stop myself, I'm kissing her.

  Don't believe anyone who says eating pussy is like kissing. If a pussy licks you back, you should run.

  I get it, though. There's wet heat, lips, and an intimacy, but a kiss is about being in sync with someone. The decisions are often thoughtless. Without words, you are choosing which angle your head will tilt, to open your mouth, let someone take over with tongue and teeth or fight it out.

  I wasn't just kissing her.

  I want a wordless conversation. I want to be in sync with her. I want to be thoughtless with a woman who is intent on revenge fucking me.

  I shouldn't have had that fourth scotch.

  But I did down the liquor, and I'm kissing her. I swipe my tongue into her mouth. She tastes of the whiskey she's stolen, lipstick, and that Robyn-flavor I can't pin down. I cup the back of her head to bring her closer. Her fingertips brush against the pulse in my neck before she closes her hand around the collar of my shirt, her knuckles resting along my skin.

  I flick my tongue around hers, and within seconds she picks up my rhythm. She's moaning now, and that's the way it's supposed to be. I'm fucking her with my mouth. She's sitting
on my cock without underwear. If we keep this up, the club goers will start to rain dollar bills on us for the free entertainment.

  The problem is that I don't want to stop kissing her. I want our lips to stay fused and my tongue to be down her throat. I want Robyn moaning, soft in the right places and wet in my favorite place.

  I break the kiss. Her brows furrow deep as we hold each other's stare. I can't even begin to guess what she's thinking. I can only see her unhappiness. Yet her touch is tender when she wipes at the lipstick stains on my mouth.

  She looks thoroughly mouth-fucked, and I make no move to return her to perfection.

  “Let's get you home,” she says as she stands.

  I unfold from the couch. My heart and the bass of the music strums through me. I snag her hand and drag her through the club. Once again I search in the crowd to spot my friends. Both of their gazes are fixed on me. I'm not sure how long they've been watching me, but they both look troubled at my choice to leave with Robyn. I wave them off and head outside.

  Between the short dress and her legs, Robyn manages to get us a cab in less than two minutes. Despite common sense, I mutter my address with her paying rapt attention and try to stay awake during the ride.

  Soon enough she's ushering us up my steps, into the condo and then my bedroom. I throw my arm over my eyes and assume she's left until my kitchen cabinets slam shut. No money is hidden in the kitchen so I don't worry too much. Even if she does discover a sock full of Benjamins, the most she'll get away with is ten grand.

  Eventually she comes back into my room with a big glass of ice water and a ham sandwich.

  “Eat and drink.” She smiles. “Be merry.”

  I drag myself into an upright position because food and water is a sound idea. No matter what I do the night before, I'll rise at 4:59 a.m. “Why are you taking care of me?” I ask around a mouthful of sandwich.

  “I don't believe in unfair fights.”