Angry God

by L.J. Shen

  Her skin was milk and honey, smooth as freshly fallen snow. She blinked, looked up at me.

  “Still not turned on?” I asked.

  “No.” She enunciated the word venomously, waiting to see what I’d do next.

  I laughed. She did, too. The crazy, humorless laugh of two people who understand each other perfectly, yet are stuck in a world that makes no sense to them. I never thought I’d have this with a girl. Or a guy. Or any fucking human, for that matter. Not even my parents fully understood me.

  I pushed her shoulders, and she slid over the bench, lying down.

  I put the chisel to her jeans and used it to pop the three buttons free, tugging the denim down her thighs with my free hand. Still looking her dead in the eye, I clipped her panties from each side, letting them fall beneath her, and put the pointy end of the chisel to her pussy, waiting for her to stop me.

  “Not horny for this blade, baby?”

  “Not even a bit.” Her eyes leveled with mine, daring me.

  Show me more of your crazy. My veins hummed with exhilaration. It’s turning me the fuck on.

  I was so hard I didn’t even have time to be worried about what I was about to do to her. With her.

  I looked down and again noticed her tattoo.

  Ars longa, vita brevis. I could finally read it, and I knew exactly what it meant, why she’d put it there. Something inspired me to kiss it. I did. She shuddered.

  “There will be other pleasures worth chasing, and they’ll have nothing to do with art,” I whispered into her skin, unable to pull away from it.

  “Show me,” she rasped.

  I slid the chisel into her pussy, stopping a quarter of the way in. I wasn’t going to hurt her, not really, no matter how much she craved it. I found her hot and wet and ready. Drenched. Her cunt produced wet sounds that drove me mad and made my dick so hard I got dizzy from lack of blood to my other organs. The slightest stroke of her hand and I was going to jizz like a broken sprinkler system in a country club. This wasn’t going to be a twenty-minute session of virtuous lovemaking. I’d be lucky not to come in my goddamn jeans.

  Len braced herself on her forearms and watched my hand sliding in and out of her with the chisel, keeping the penetration shallow. She closed her eyes, her head falling back, and shivered, her entire body blossoming in goosebumps.

  I wrapped my injured arm around her neck, bringing her closer, kissing her slow and hot and deep, getting her all sex-crazed. Her mouth slid across my wrist, like I knew it would, and her eyes rolled back in their sockets the minute her mouth touched my blood.

  “God…” Her voice cracked like an egg, spilling with lust.

  “God, what?”

  “God…have sex with me.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t do,” I lamented. “Say the magic word.”

  “Please?”

  “Fuck. Fuck me.”

  I was buying time so I wouldn’t come prematurely before my briefs were shoved down to my ankles. She closed her eyes, drawing a shaky breath. I slid the chisel half an inch deeper into her pussy. She was so wet I doubted it was enough for her. She couldn’t squeeze around it, choke it with her walls. No. My cock was the only thing that could do the trick, and we both knew it.

  “Please fuck me.” The words fell from her mouth, which tasted salty and warm, like my blood. I kissed her again.

  “Why?” I asked, my lips moving down her neck, sucking. “You’re not turned on. Seems pretty pointless.”

  “Vaughn,” she moaned.

  She was so close to coming, and suddenly, I realized I wanted her to. I wanted her to walk out of here satisfied.

  Not because of my sculpting tools. But because of my cock.

  I pulled away, dragging the chisel out of her pussy. My mouth disconnected from her neck. I got up and left her to fall against the bench with a thud, staring at me, sober-eyed, mouth agape.

  “You say you don’t like blood, but I tasted your lips, and you’re a little demon. It’s on your breath. I think you’re far from normal. I think you’re every shade of screwed-up in the coloring book, just like me, and I knew—saw it—when I gave you that brownie all those years ago. But the biggest lie you tell yourself is that you’re not mine. Get a clue, Astalis.” I threw the chisel at her feet, turned around, and walked out of the cellar, leaving her there alone.

  I wasn’t worried for one second that she was going to peek at my work, see my statue.

  She was a liar, yes, but she was my liar.

  I didn’t need a trust fall. I’d dive headfirst and know she would catch me.

  Len galloped toward me, out into the hallway. She spun me by the shoulder and frowned. “You have sex with me now, Vaughn Spencer, or I swear to God, I will leave this place tomorrow morning and never see you again.”

  “There she is,” I murmured, “the girl from the fountain, all grown up.”

  I crashed my mouth down on hers, lifting her by the backs of her knees and shoving her against the wall, my lips on hers throughout the process. Her shirt was in tatters, and she was spread wide and naked from the waist down, tugging at my jeans with intent.

  “Condom,” I mumbled into her mouth, reaching for my back pocket to grab my wallet.

  I’d believed Dad when he said he was going to rip me a new one if I made them grandparents before retirement, so I’d visited a local Boots a week ago to stock up on rubbers.

  Also, I was stalling.

  Okay, mainly stalling.

  “No condom,” she pleaded into our kiss, grabbing me through my briefs once my jeans fell off, in a vise grip that surprised me. Girls were usually more timid than that. “I’m on the pill.”

  I unglued my mouth from hers, frowning. “It’s your first time, right?”

  “Yeah,” she panted, her lips unbelievably swollen and pink from our bruising kisses. “You?”

  “Why are you on the pill, then?”

  I was kind of hoping my choke-count would stay at one with Rafferty Pope, but knew damn well I was about to finish every motherfucker who’d touched her if I didn’t like the answer coming from her mouth.

  “To regulate my periods, arsehole.” She rolled her eyes, annoyed.

  I laughed when I kissed her again, plunging into her without analyzing what I was doing.

  I didn’t expect to moan so loudly into her mouth. Almost like a plea.

  But she was so tight—much tighter than a mouth or my fist—and warm and wet and delicious. A tremor ripped through me, and I felt my balls tightening so hard, even my ass muscles were clenched.

  God. Fucking. Damn.

  I counted to five Mississippi while inside her, taking a few labored breaths to regulate my pulse and the premature-spunk situation, and then I began to thrust, my desire so achingly prominent I couldn’t help but squeeze my eyes shut.

  In. Out. In. Out. How could something so simple bring so much pleasure? It didn’t make sense. She moaned into our kiss, and I tugged her ribbons of gold hair to extend her neck, before deciding that watching her beautiful, infuriating face was distracting altogether and flipping her over so her back was to me.

  I angled my wet, hard dick into her, plunging again. Much better.

  “Ugh!” she cried out, even though I went slow, and I dropped my lips to her shoulder, refraining from kissing it, but just barely.

  “Should I go slower?”

  “I’ll die if you do. I think I’m going to come. It just hurts a little.”

  “I’m sorry.” For some reason, I still hated saying those words.

  “I expected it.” She was talking to the wall, bracing her hands against it, and I felt like such an asshole for flipping her.

  I kept thrusting, tool that I was, knowing I was going to blow my load. It became excruciatingly painful not to come, like trying to hold back a sneeze halfway through.

  “Oh, fuck, Len…”

  “Hmm…” She was into it, slamming her ass against my groin, begging for more. Her ass cheeks were completely wet from her ju
ices. So were my dick and balls.

  “Keep going. I’m close.”

  “I can’t, baby. I’m sorry.” I cringed. It’d been…what? Three minutes? And I was being generous with myself here. Oprah-gifting-people-cars generous.

  “Damn.” My head fell back as I came inside her, emptying my entire three gallons of cum into her sweet pussy. I hadn’t realized just how much I needed my body against hers until I came.

  We stood like that, both of us facing the wall, for just a second before I spun her around. She stared at me with those blue-green-hazel eyes of hers, which always fucked me up like no other rival ever could.

  “I’m sorry,” I told her.

  “Yeah, you said.” She flashed me a mischievous grin.

  She didn’t look mad. I mean, not that she should be. But she didn’t come. I wanted her to come.

  “I’ll make it up to you.” Fuck, I hated myself more with each apology.

  “You can start by getting me some tissue. I’m leaking.”

  She opened her legs slightly, and we both watched in the dim, faint light as thick, white cum slithered down her inner thigh, along the tattoo. There were traces of blood there, too. Not a lot, but enough to tint the liquid pink in some places.

  I swallowed. “Did it hurt a lot?” I looked at her. Not that she gave a shit. She liked pain.

  She shook her head. “Nah. I enjoyed it, for the most part.”

  For the most part.

  Silently, I backed her until her knees hit the bench, cradling her waist and head to lay her down gently, her ass perched on the edge of the bench, half in the air.

  I kicked her legs apart and kneeled in front of her, using my thumbs to open her pussy lips. More white liquid spilled from her. I brushed it aside with my thumb.

  “What are you doing?” she gasped, staring down at me with a mixture of horror and amusement on her face.

  Saving my goddamn pride.

  I put my tongue to her pussy. It was salty and warm—my cum, blood, and her juices swirled together. It wasn’t exactly Jamba Juice, but it was me who’d spunked her nice and good, so I couldn’t complain. Besides, the actual pussy-eating was kind of rad. Everything was pink and soft and warm. Not a bad pastime. I started nibbling on her lips, licking her crack to clit.

  If I’d been a little less of an idiot, I’d have asked Knight or Hunter how to go down on a girl. Or even watched a video or two. But no. I never had the slightest interest in pleasuring a chick.

  Yet here we were.

  Still, Lenny moaned, writhing in front of me, her eyes closed. I wanted to be better than Pope. Stupid, I know, but he’d had his mouth here yesterday, and when she’d come, she’d been loud enough to wake the dead.

  I rubbed her clit with my finger, diving into her pussy with my tongue, battling her tight walls. Her moans intensified, and she laced her fingers through my hair.

  Better.

  “Tell me how to make this good for you, Good Girl,” I mumbled into her pussy, licking her clean of everything we just did.

  I recognized that it was gross as fuck to 99.98% of the population, but I’d always been the rebellious 0.02%. I knew she liked it, that we were on the same wavelength.

  She purred. “Squeeze my clit.”

  I did.

  “Harder,” she gasped, her breath coming harsh and fast.

  I massaged her swollen clit in circular movements, fucking her with my tongue until it slipped down to her ass crack. That’s when she really moaned. Right. She was into ass play. I recalculated my internal GPS and started tracing the tip of my tongue around her crack.

  “Feels nice.” Her voice was thick and sweet, full of indulgence. I wanted to kiss her lips and tell her I’d always lick her ass. But I knew realistically that now wasn’t the best time to French kiss her.

  “Come for me, Len.”

  She came on demand, her thighs squeezing my face, her entire body jerking, her pussy chasing my mouth. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and I’d seen some sick shit in my limited time on Earth. Lenora coming with her ass and pussy in my mouth, her clit under my thumb, however, not only took the fucking cake, but the entire bakery.

  Three minutes passed before she came down from the high. After she did, we stared at each other, me still on my knees, her legs open in front of me.

  We started laughing.

  She slid down, holding her stomach, laughing her ass off. We rolled on the floor, getting covered in stone dust, with Len wiping tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes. I didn’t even know what we were laughing about. I wasn’t the laughing type. Nothing was particularly funny to me, even then. I think we were just…happy.

  “You need to wash your mouth before you kiss me again.” She coughed when she finally calmed down.

  I side-eyed her. “Why?”

  “Because you have arse breath.”

  “I would kiss the shit out of you if you ever ate my ass.”

  “Nice choice of words.” She tapped her chin. “Would you like me to eat your ass?” Her eyes widened, with surprise more than terror.

  I knew she’d do it. I knew her crazy ass would do just about anything. And I needed to calm myself down, because I was beginning to get ideas. Unlikely ideas, like taking Len with me on my quest to live on every island in Italy and France and Greece, like touring European museums together, and bungee jumping, and scuba diving—all the things I’d wanted to do alone after my business here was done.

  Because doing them with Len could be so much more fun.

  “Not particularly.” I shook my head, kissing her cheek and wrapping my arm around her on the cold floor. I didn’t want to be too adamant in case she had a weird, unexplained taste for ass, but it didn’t sound like my jam.

  I stared at her for a while.

  “Thank you,” we said at the same time.

  We didn’t have to explain why. It was obvious.

  I was her first.

  She was mine.

  The night was too good to be true, that was for sure.

  Still, I shoved the bad inkling to the back of my mind, thinking maybe karma was so busy fucking Fairhurst with a twelve-inch dildo, she’d forgotten about me.

  Len and I went up to my room, where I got my toothbrush and a towel. We went to the communal showers, I brushed my teeth, and then we took a shower together. I didn’t fuck her again, because I knew she was sore, but we kissed a lot and I bit her nipples, testing how far I could go before it became unpleasant (very fucking far, as it turned out).

  Once we were both clean, she said she was going back to her room.

  “Fine. Let’s go,” I heard myself saying.

  Even though I’d already pissed on every single rule I’d made concerning the opposite sex tonight, and I knew spending the night together was the final nail in my pussy-whipped coffin.

  She put her boots on, not looking at me as she asked, “You mean, walk me to my dorm?”

  “I mean…” I clenched my jaw, resenting her for making me say it. “To sleep in your room. Same bed and all that fucking jazz.”

  She looked up with a smile, tossing me a pack of gum she’d found under my bed. “Cute.”

  “Ain’t gonna spoon you, Good Girl.”

  “But you are going to fork me.” She laughed. “And yes, you were thinking of spooning.”

  “Don’t embarrass yourself.”

  Yes, I was. I was glad Knight didn’t have mind-reading abilities. He’d ride my ass until retirement if he knew I’d wondered how it felt to sleep with Len in my arms.

  We walked down the hall toward her room. Save for the owls hooting outside and the crackling of fire in the rooms, the place was silent. We rounded the corner leading to the staff area, where Edgar, Harry, Alma, and the rest of the fuckers resided. Len slipped her hand in mind, lacing our fingers together. Then she froze in her spot all of a sudden, her boots squeaking on the floor.

  I turned around to face her. She cocked her head toward her dad’s room. We listened carefull
y. Voices seeped under the closed door.

  “Arabella?” she asked voicelessly, her lips shaping the name.

  I advanced toward the door, pressing my ear to it. She did the same next to me. It was risky, but what did I really have to lose? Nothing.

  I wasn’t even that hot on the internship.

  I was close to executing my plan with Harry, and between pissing Edgar off and letting Lenora down, I knew which side I was on: the one that didn’t fuck someone thirty years their junior.

  We heard sniffling, whining, and shuffling, then the uncanny sound of Arabella moaning loudly.

  “Darling,” Edgar said, his voice tender and raw.

  Arabella moaned again.

  “Get off of me, please.”

  I unglued myself from the door, taking Len by the arm and dragging her away. She fought me on this, her legs heavy against the floor, trying to shake my touch off. She slapped my hand away when I tightened my grip on her.

  “Let me be!” she whisper-shouted.

  I turned around, baring my teeth. “So you can hurt yourself some more? The fuck I will.”

  “Vaughn.”

  “Len.”

  We stood like this for a moment before I scooped her up by tackling her midriff, flinging her over my shoulder, and marching down the corridor like a caveman. She pounded her little fists, clawing with her nails into my flesh through my shirt.

  “Let me down!”

  “Enough people have done that recently. I think I’m gonna stick to being the voice of fucking reason. My first executive decision is to leave.”

  “What about my father?”

  My father. Goddamn posh people. She very rarely called him Dad. Every time she called him Papa, I had flashbacks to an Oliver Twist musical my parents once dragged me to.

  “I’ll deal with him.”

  “He’s my problem.” She scoffed, still draped over my shoulder as I rounded the corridor toward her room.

  “Well, now he’s ours.”

  “Put me down, Vaughn. I mean it.”

  She was already walking the tightrope between deranged with anger and emotional, and I didn’t want her to feel more powerless than she already felt, so I lowered her to the floor. She looked away, refusing to let me see her tears. I pawed both her cheeks, relishing how small she was in my hands.