by Anthology
I rolled my eyes. I didn’t need this shit. “I never lied for him and I’m not now.”
“He’s not taking my calls,” she exclaimed, sounding emotional and anxious.
I pulled my cigarettes from my pocket. “He doesn’t have to take your calls. He’s not married to you anymore, Shyla.” I almost lit up before remembering I couldn’t smoke inside the bar.
“Is he with her?”
I laughed, which probably wasn’t a kind thing to do, but this conversation was stupid. “Her? You really think I can decode that one?”
“Don’t make me say her name,” she screamed hotly.
“I haven’t any interest in making you do anything. You called me, remember?”
She sniffed loudly through the phone and there were quite a few minutes of silence that gave me hope this call would be ending soon.
“What are you doing?” Her voices was soft, a sexy kitten purr this go-around. As irritating as she was, that subtle change of timbre was enough to make my dick start pulsing. She was beautiful—dark brown hair, hazel eyes, tall, lean, gorgeous breasts, very Angelina Jolie—and depending on my mood, her hotness level either compensated for her disposition or it didn’t.
“I’m sitting in a bar around the corner from you, drinking alone.”
The second the words were out, I groaned and did a silent oh fuck, why did I tell her that?
“That doesn’t sound very fun,” she whispered.
“It suits my mood.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Not bad. Just sort of nothing.”
I heard her breathe in and out several times before she spoke again. “I’m sitting around alone feeling just sort of nothing, too. It’s really awful, isn’t it?”
I lifted my glass to my lips. “I don’t know. I kind of like my downtime.”
Which was total bullshit, but Shyla didn’t need to know that because her shift into sweet and hurting, vulnerable female made my cock thicken more and my frame of mind was such—
“Why don’t you come over?” she asked huskily. “I could really use someone to talk to. And I trust you, Dillon. Alan likes you. Trusts you. That means I can trust you. You don’t know how hard it is for someone like me to find someone they can trust and depend on.”
No, no, no, I told myself, but the pistol in my pants was rapidly loading. “Interesting criteria you have for selecting the people you trust.”
“I’ll let the doorman know to let you in and send you up,” she countered quickly and before I could respond she’d clicked off the phone.
*`~`*
I stood outside the luxurious Central Park West high-rise apartment building, running through my head every reason not to go in and unable to stop myself.
Once I stepped toward the entrance, the doorman gestured me in, took me to an elevator, and used his key to send me to the penthouse floor.
Shyla Donahue.
Alan’s ex-wife.
I was clear of mind and fucking out of my mind simultaneously.
I didn’t usually do stupid things unless I was in the throes of a PTSD fog. This was definitely the wrong move for my employment situation. Even though Shyla could give a dead man an erection, she didn’t do much beyond that for me and, in fact, I could never quite figure out why Alan married her. They’d always seemed an odd couple.
Alan could have any woman he wanted and did.
Shyla was drop dead gorgeous, but vacuous.
Alan was even more beautiful than her, and anything but vacuous.
Maybe she was just a great fuck and that was all there was to it. The way my cock ached without having even seen her yet told me that I’d be solving this mystery before long.
The ding that preceded the elevator doors opening made me jump and the sight of her standing half-dressed, smiling as she waited for me, ended my internal debate whether I’d let her beauty win over disposition long enough for my dick to spend some time between her legs.
I was fully hard before she even offered me a drink.
*`~`*
I sunk my cock as hard as I could into Shyla’s warm, tight pussy and it still wasn’t enough for her. My breath was ragged, my flesh dripped of sweat, and I was ready to come. But she wouldn’t climax until she wanted to, deliberately held herself back, and after four days of putting it to her I knew if I let loose a moment sooner than she wanted me to there’d be hell to pay.
Not that I minded.
Shyla’s tantrums were like an aphrodisiac for her. The angrier she got, the fiercer she’d suck my cock. She had no gag reflex and the suction of a Hoover. Pissing her off was a win for my dick.
I paused for a moment, fighting to hold control over my throbbing cock as selfish Dillon screamed that I should ejaculate and move on to the next round of fucking her.
That was a win for my dick as well.
Variation was an art for Shyla, and as annoying as she was, it was worth sticking around to see what she’d bring on next. She didn’t shy away from her sexual wants, and it was exciting even if at times it moved in directions I wasn’t sure were wise for me to go.
Like her hitting, biting, and scratching. Each round a little rougher. This time she’d bloodied my flesh. And the sight of blood always brought the flashing slideshow back into my head…
“Harder,” she growled in my ear, her nails digging into my back as the viselike grip of her legs tightened around me. My teeth captured a nipple and as I sucked fiercely on it I heard her rapid intake of breath. I eased out and slammed hard into her again. A ragged moan came from her lips and her fingers clutched my hair, dragging my lips back to hers.
Her cunt pulsed and contracted around me. “Fuck me harder, Dillon,” she rasped. “Fuck me until I can’t take it. Until I beg you to stop.”
I bucked inside her again and again and she continued to scream for more. The woman was insatiable. She was also rough, which I usually liked—to a point. Her soft moans had turned to lusty groans, every cut she made to my flesh and bite on my shoulder intensified the heated rhythm of her hips flexing upward as I repeatedly buried myself in her.
Her teeth latched with piercing sharpness on my ear.
That biting shit needed to stop real soon.
I froze and her eyes flew wide as she shuddered.
“Don’t fucking draw blood on me again,” I ordered harshly, and no sooner had I warned her than her lower muscles shrank like ClingWrap around my nearly bursting erection and another sharp trek of her pointed, manicured nails left more marks on my arms. Her mouth closed around my shoulder then her teeth cut into me.
I took a handful of her hair, carefully, and pulled her head back until we were eye to eye. “I said enough. Don’t cut me again.” To add emphasis to my words I tightened my fingers and she winced but in a strangely heated way that betrayed she enjoyed that.
“Ah, so you can play rough,” she crooned and this time she tried to bite my lower lip.
My pulling her curls made her lust-filled eyes gleam darker and instead of asking me to stop, she was even more turned on, willing, and excited.
“I’m done playing. You better come now or you’re going to have to wait.”
The words were barely out of my mouth before I lost myself in mindlessly plunging into her dripping walls toward my goal. As I emptied into her, she started biting and scratching again, then her muscles began to violently quake and her cunt tightened even more around me, her hips taking control, as she worked to squeeze every last drop of spunk out of me.
When we finally lay still, fighting to catch our breaths, I noted the droplets of blood running down my biceps and wondered what the hell my back looked like.
“You’re fucking crazy,” I growled, rolling off her, but the flash of my temper only made her laugh.
“You bring out the best in me,” she whispered, kissing my chest. “If you were willing to let go I could take you someplace you’d never been before.”
Oh fuck. Not this again. “I’m not doing anything that involves r
opes, whips, clamps or any other shit like that. I’ve never hit a woman and I don’t plan to start today. Don’t bring it up again.”
She curled into me, but now that we were done all I wanted was space from her. “You’d love it if you tried it. I can tell. You have a dark side begging to run free. Let me help you free it.”
Free it? I tensed in alarm. I’d been fucking fighting to contain whatever was locked inside me for five years. The last thing any woman should want is to unleash whatever was buried in a guy like me. Didn’t she comprehend where I’d been, what I’d done, and was capable of? She was goading me to give in to what even I was afraid to explore since I didn’t know, not completely, what it was inside me I wrestled to contain each day.
There was a memory of a woman.
Sex.
A cloud of dark hair.
Blood.
Ear-piercing female screams.
Bullets.
But no complete memory—except the part where I’d fucked the girl—of what happened on my last deployment. My arrival in Afghanistan and the girl. After that some random scenes, disjointed and without meaning. But my life didn’t roll in a continuous story again until I woke up in the States in a hospital with Graham waiting and ready to try to piece me back together.
Serious shit had gone down. It was bad and was most probably my fuckup. That’s all I knew and the only logical explanation as to why no one would tell me the details. What part I played, what I did, would remain a mystery until either the powers who knew informed me or my memory would let me remember on my own.
Instinct told me it was nothing I wanted to remember.
The panic attacks that overcame me whenever I got too close to decoding the foggy snapshots warned I’d done something I wouldn’t be able to live with.
Fear commanded me to leave it alone since it already had cost me too much. I was never going to be completely myself again, not the guy I had been before that final deployment, so what was the point in trying to recall those missing hours of my life? I’d lived just fine without them for five years.
And here was Shyla wanting to bring forth the darkness in me. The bitch sure liked to play with fire. I looked at my bloody arm, the small flesh wounds she inflicted all over my upper body, and told myself I should probably head out. I was feeling inside me all the shit I didn’t want kicked up, all the stuff I fought to keep at rest.
It was almost a relief when I heard my phone ding from the bedside table. It was probably Graham and I didn’t doubt he was ticked off, but I was ready for an excuse to cut out of here and Shyla wasn’t the kind of girl I could just disappear on before morning without igniting a shitstorm.
I reached for my phone, swiped it on, and as I suspected it was Graham. I read the text: We’re free to go 1100 tomorrow. UAL gate JFK. Consider this your last paid flight on the company.
Shit. I wasn’t sure whether to believe him—Graham liked to be dramatic—but I did cut out on him so I resolved not to risk it.
It was time to go.
Shyla lifted her chin. “Anything wrong?”
I shook my head as I shot off a fast reply to Graham. “I’ve got to head out, Shyla. Work.”
She leaned around me to check the clock and then frowned. “It’s 2 a.m.”
“I told you, I’m on standby. That was my call to go back to work.”
OK, so it was lie, but a harmless one—or so I thought—and the cleanest way to get out of there.
I tossed the blankets aside, intending to climb out of the bed, but she didn’t waste any time grabbing hold of my dick. It was an easy target since, before her hand was even wrapped around it, my nine-inch cock had a nice bit of early morning wood going on.
“I don’t want you to leave,” she said as her fingers started to expertly jack me off. “Not yet.”
I watched her work her magic on me, and my body began to respond with my hips flexing into her motion in spite of the fact I commanded it not to. But when her tongue joined in the party, running my length and twirling the head, I knew I wasn’t going anywhere until I’d dropped my load in that nasty mouth of hers. There weren’t a lot of women who knew what to do with a man’s foreskin before he was fully erect, but Shyla knew how to work it in her lips until it felt better to my cock than being surrounded by her pussy.
Whatever could be said about Shyla, she did know how to successfully get a guy fully erect in record time. When she squeezed my staff, pre-cum answered the call and that’s when she went to work with her tongue ring, lapping it up with slurping sounds that made heat shoot through my veins to lodge in my groin.
I collapsed back against the pillows. Her moaning made me open my eyes and over her head I could see her hand cupping her mound as she fucked herself with a finger. For a second—well, a half second—I considered rolling her over and burying my throbbing flesh in her dripping cunt, but instead my hand moved to her head and pushed her down until she took my full length.
“Come on, baby, take it all,” I ordered breathlessly. “Does that finger feel good? Sink it in like a cock ramming into your pussy. Oh yeah. That’s it.”
Her middle finger plunged faster and deeper into what I could hear was a very juicy cunt.
This probably wasn’t fair since I was still planning to get the hell out of here right after I filled her mouth with my cum. Yeah, I was being a prick, but only because I loved this—watching a woman swallow my length, making it disappear between plump lips—and if a woman coaxed herself into orgasm as she devoured my dick that only added to the unadulterated pleasure.
The moment she started to groan and grind into her hand with her own orgasm that was it. I felt my jets shoot into her mouth and my own ragged moans started mixing with hers.
She collapsed down against my body, hugging my hips, and her fingers gently ran my flesh in a way that felt really good now that my senses were sex-drained.
“I want you to stay until morning,” she murmured.
“I can’t,” I lied, but I didn’t make a move to leave and I knew it was going to be a while before I could rally my limbs to climb from the sheets.
She crawled up my body in a way that made her nipples and breasts tantalizingly tease my torso. “Stay until morning. You haven’t fucked me in the ass yet.”
I felt a jolt between my legs, though my cock wasn’t up to that job yet no matter how agreeable he was to the idea. It was wrong to stay and keep this going. I was already in deep shit with Graham and the longer I was with Shyla the more my nerves were on edge because there was something off-putting about how possessive and clinging she was becoming so rapidly.
It felt like something was not right about her. I wondered if that was why Alan had divorced her. It sure as hell wasn’t because the sex wasn’t good. After spending a few minutes trying to decipher what was troubling me about her and this, I let it go as part of my fucked-up post combat internal mechanism because for the most part she’d been the best sex partner I’d ever had.
In the span of four days, I’d fucked her mouth more times than I could count, her tits, her pussy, and come on her face and a lot of other places in a mind-blowing array of positions she directed.
I won’t lie. The top of my sexual preference list was sinking my cock into a tight ass. Still, I’d pushed the limits staying with Shyla this long. According to Graham I was jobless and, if that was just bullshit, I couldn’t afford to forget that a one-night stand and a four-day orgy were different things. On the off chance I wasn’t unemployed, I needed to remain cognizant that the fallout with Alan would not be good if he ever learned of this.
Even with those rational thoughts putting up a damn good fight with my lusty being, staying for another fuck with her was far too tempting. I was a high-risk kind of guy. A handful of hours more wouldn’t change what I’d already done and whatever fucked-up status I’d left my life in.
Try though I might I couldn’t think of a single reason to leave without running the table with her. Pound Shyla in the ass? No matter the con
sequences, it was worth staying another day for that.
*`~`*
Something was wrong. My eyes were open, but I couldn’t see anything. Shit, was I blindfolded? And what the hell was pinning my arms above my head? I’m tied up. I jerked my legs but after only a slight move something stopped them. Arms and legs secured.
That’s when my mind started to spin with flashing images that confused me and took me back to scenes of violence and combat. I struggled against the restraints, unable to break free, and through the escalating disarray inside my head echoed screaming and bullets all around me.
I needed to get free.
I needed away from here.
I needed to hold it together.
I tried to keep myself from straining against the ties by summoning my focus image and doing breathing techniques. There was enough of me still sane to know that my PTSD was playing tricks on me. That this wasn’t a war zone. There were no bombs and bullets. No danger—
“Dillon.”
My body stilled. Through the fog of my panic came a voice I knew.
“Why did you lie to me last night? I read your text messages while you were sleeping. The security company fired you. You weren’t leaving last night because you had to.”
She sounded sad and frighteningly strange, but I couldn’t let myself focus on that. I wasn’t through the fog and I was still jumping mentally into moments of the past then back to the present. Holding it together was the only way out of the darkness.
I breathed in. Breathed out. I forced myself through a mental checklist: Manhattan with Shyla, and that brought me to the reality of what was happening. I was naked, blindfolded and tied to the fucking woman’s bed. There was something, some kind of weight resting on my middle. Human? Yes, it felt like warm, naked flesh and it moved with breathing. Shyla was straddling me, sitting on my stomach.
After what felt like a monumental amount of time, I finally was able to gather my thoughts and speak. “Shyla, take the blindfold off. Untie me. We’ll talk. I won’t leave.”
“Do you promise?”