The Broken Puppet

by Amo Jones

  He snorts, leaning back, his ab muscles tensing as he does it. “Don’t take it to heart. No one knows anything about me.” He closes his eyes and reaches out. “Come here.” Two simple words but so commanding. I don’t fight it. I scoot up the mattress and snuggle into his warm, hard arms. His familiar scent starts to smell more like home and less like Bishop. Running the tip of my nose against his chest, I draw lines across his pec, over the tattoo that is inked into his skin. It’s an eagle, soaring freely. “This is cool.” I yawn.

  He grunts. “Yeah, but I bet you could draw something better.”

  That makes me smile. “I could.”

  My eyes drop heavily, and I can slowly feel myself slipping into sleep.

  “Will you draw one for me one day?” he asks in a tired voice. The sexiest sleepy voice I’ve ever heard. I sound like a man when I’m tired, so I clear my throat.

  “Yes.”

  He squeezes me into him softly, and just like that, I slip into a deep sleep.

  Cool air drifts over my legs, goose bumps breaking out over my skin. I reach over blindly to grab the blanket when Bishop tosses and turns. “No!” he yells. I shoot up and look at him. Sweat is dripping over his skin, his arm thrown over his eyes. He starts punching his head. “No! Leave him alone. Leave her alone!”

  “Bishop!” I grab onto his arm, wanting to stop his assault on himself. “Bishop? Shhhh….” Lava builds in my throat as tears threaten to surface. What’s he dreaming about?

  “Bishop?”

  “No! Leave him alone, leave him alone, leave her alone…!”

  Rolling over, I straddle his waist, clearing the sweat from his chest. “Hey,” I whisper, leaning into his ear. “It’s me.”

  His jaw clenches before he finally opens his eyes and looks straight at me.

  “Hey,” I repeat, running my fingers down his cheeks and swiping away the sweat. “You okay?”

  He stares at me, unmoving. It starts to get awkward, so I swing my leg off him but he clenches down on my thigh. I look back at him. “Bi—”

  His fist comes to my hair and he wraps it around, pulling my face down to meet his.

  “Well,” I mutter under my breath. “Good thing my graze in on my temple.”

  I don’t say another word. I go with it. Something has happened, something inside his head, so I’ll do what I can to help. Kissing me, his tongue slips between my lips. I open my mouth wider, giving him more access. Gripping onto my thighs, he flips me onto my back and spreads my legs wide with his, pinning my arms above my head.

  His eyes skim over the side of my head. “Are you good to go?” I know what he’s asking. He’s asking if I’m ready to fuck—fuck Bishop style.

  “Yes,” I answer truthfully, because I am. Aside from a little headache, nothing else hurts, and if it does, whatever, I’ll pay for it in the morning, and I’m sure it’ll be worth it.

  “Fuck,” he growls, his voice unrecognizable.

  Looking over his face, his eyes slam closed as he pulls his bottom lip into his mouth. “Yes, Bishop,” I repeat softly. “I promise—no limits. I can take it. I can handle it.” I’ll probably regret that,

  I reach out to swipe the bead of sweat that’s about to drip off his chin, but he hits my hand away. “Don’t.”

  “What?” I murmur.

  “Not now.”

  He pins my hands above my head, his palms gliding up my thighs until he gets to the waistband of my sweatpants then tugs them off. His fingertips glide over the lining of my underwear before slipping underneath to press inside me.

  “Get up.”

  “What?” I whisper, confused. He gets to his knees just as “Escalate” by Tsar B starts blasting from Nate’s room. The song has a heavy bass line, and it sounds so clear that it’s as if it’s playing in here.

  Bishop pulls down his jeans, getting to his feet at the side of the bed and tossing off his boxer briefs. I stare down at his cock and watch as he slowly pumps it, his eyes locked on mine. Grinning, he nudges his head. “Get up, baby.”

  Crawling, I tilt my head. “But why?”

  “Because you’re going to do what I say.”

  “Bu—”

  His hand flies up to my neck, and he instantly squeezes, tugging my head up to look at him. His shoulders are square, his stance stiff, strong, and thick like always. This is Bishop, and always will be Bishop. He’s alpha out there; he has to be because of who he is. But in the bedroom, his alpha tendencies have no bounds. The song must be on repeat because it plays again.

  I close my eyes, nodding. “What do you want me to do?”

  His grip loosens and he steps backward, grabbing his pack of cigarettes off the chest of drawers, the moonlight sneaking through the cracks of my patio door, outlining him perfectly. His face, his profile, that body, that… dick. He’s perfection wrapped in a case of C4. He puts a cigarette between his lips, flicks his Zippo, and looks at me after lighting it, a grin on his face. Sucking on his cigarette, he tilts his head back to blow out the smoke, his neck straining at the movement. I look down at his hand, still holding his dick, slowly pumping it, and my mouth waters. Holy shit. I’ve never seen something so erotic in my life. Sweat beads on my flesh as my clit throbs between my thighs. I want him.

  Fuck. I want him. The way my nipples feel, as though they’re getting whisked with the breeze, and the way my hips start rolling to the rhythm of his pumping, tells him how badly. He chuckles, leaving the cigarette between his lips, and walks toward me. His legs hit the side of the bed, and he takes the smoke out of his mouth.

  I look up at him, my hands running up his muscular thighs. Pulling in my bottom lip, I run my tongue over it and reach for his cock.

  Blowing out a cloud of smoke, he looks down at me, our eyes entranced in each other. Locked in a cell that’s sealed with lust. “Suck.” His lip curls slightly, the grin still on his face and his smoke between his thumb and pointer finger.

  I look down to the tip of him, licking my lips again, and lean forward, wrapping my mouth around him securely. His precum hits the back of my throat, and I moan slightly, my tongue dancing up his long length. He grips onto my hair, piling it all on the top of my head then tugs on it, yanking my head backward. Again, I’m thanking whoever it was that saved me that day for the bullet skimming the side of my temple, and not anywhere near where any hair pulling happens.

  I look up at him, my lips wrapped around him while my head bobs. He sucks on the last bit of his smoke, then turns toward the porch door and flicks it out before turning back to me and shoving me onto the bed. “Lay down.”

  “Like I have a choice.” I roll my eyes.

  He pins my hands above my head, spreading my legs wide open with his, and runs his nose down the side of my neck. “Mmm,” he groans, and it vibrates over my flesh before sinking into my bones. I quiver, goose bumps rolling over my skin. His grin presses against my flesh before I feel his tongue slide down my collarbone then down over my nipple. Pulling it into his mouth, he bites down roughly, and I wince.

  “Bishop,” I warn, remembering how rough he can get.

  “Not your place to say, Kitty. Remember that.”

  “Safe word.”

  “And I said fuck your safe word.” As he circles my nipple with his tongue, my eyes close and my hips rise to grind against his, needing more. More friction. Needing him inside of me, filling me until I can barely take the pain of his size.

  “How will you know if it’s too far for me?” I ask, circling my pelvis into him. He raises slightly, not letting me gain any more friction or pleasure, and I have to fight just putting my hand down there and taking care of the ache myself.

  He continues his travels, leaving a warm trail of goose bumps in his wake. “Guess if you die, that’s a sign.”

  My eyes snap open and I lean up on my elbows. “Bishop!”

  He peers up at me, hovering just over my pelvic bone, his arms rippling from holding himself up. He grins, his eyes darkening. “I’m just joking.” His tongue
comes out and licks over my clit. “I think.” Letting go, I drop onto my back, my hair sprawling out everywhere. He grips onto my thigh and pushes me open wider, while his other arm hooks my thigh over his shoulder. He licks me at a perfect rhythm, never stopping, never changing. Never too fast and never too slow. Just as my stomach clenches and sweat trickles over my abs, I’m grasping onto the edge of sanity, about to fall off into my orgasm, when he stops. Everything turns cold, my entire body dropping to an icy temperature instantly.

  “Agh!” I scream, getting onto my elbows. He crawls up my body, licking his lips while his eyes fuck every inch of me.

  “Mine.” His hand comes to mine and he flings them over my head again, pinning me down. “Don’t fuck with me, Madison. You’re mine.” He squeezes roughly, rough enough to leave marks on my wrists, and I flinch. He smirks and then releases, flinging me onto my stomach, he rubs my ass cheek softly before whacking it hard, the loud slap breaking through the song I can still hear. Moving my hair to one side, he grabs onto my thigh and hooks it onto his hip before I feel his weight fall over my back and his cock press at my entrance.

  I moan at the sudden intrusion, and his other hand comes up to the back of my neck, pressing me into place as he sinks farther and farther into me, pushing every single limit I have. Gripping onto my thigh, the tips of his fingers dig into my flesh as he pulls out of me, thrusting over my G-spot every single time and then launching into me again, my body almost flying forward. His grip on the back of my neck tightens and then loosens as he brings his body back over mine while still gripping my thigh up against his hip. He thrusts into me, circling and rubbing me deep. My pussy clenches around him, clinging on and not letting go. Every extraction, I clench harder. Lost in the way his cock presses against every single inch of my core. Owning me from the inside out.

  “Yes,” I moan. “Bishop, fuck me.”

  He lets go of my leg, pulls out, flips me over, and picks me up, rolling onto his back. I climb on top of him, slowly dropping my weight over his hard dick. Leaning on his chest, I roll my hips, his cock thrusting inside me as his pelvic bone collides with my clit. I swing my head back, and his hips buckle as he clenches onto mine.

  “Come.”

  As if on cue, I let go, sweat dripping off both our bodies. I clench around him, throbbing as the orgasm smashes through me and I jerk through the ecstasy.

  “Fuck!” His hips slam up, pushing my body up faster and harder, plowing through my orgasm to reach his. He sets me off again, and wave after a wave, another orgasm collides into me, my clit swelling, my nipples cool. Bishop leans up, catches one of my nipples in between his teeth, and bites down on it. It stings, but the sting with the pleasure is too much. His hand comes up to my throat while his other stays on my hip and he lies back down, a touch of blood on the corner of his lip. I don’t have to look to know where that’s from; the stinging of my nipple says enough.

  His fingers dig into my hips, his grip around my throat tightening to the point where air is coming in and out slowly, like I’m breathing through a thick cloud of smoke. He pounds into me, his balls slapping against my ass as I try to regain control being on top of him, but there’s no point. He is always in control no matter what, so I let go. Dots dance in my eyes from being choked, my thighs throb from his grip, and now my hips are stinging too. He slams into me harder, and I feel it again, the build-up. My head swings back. I’m exhausted, but I’m not able to stop the pleasure. He’s fucking the life out of me, quite literally, because I can feel myself losing consciousness every now and then, but I notice how he loosens his grip every few seconds too, as if to give me little cracks of air.

  I’m just about to hit the tip of my orgasm when he comes, his dick throbbing and pulsing inside of me. He lets go of me instantly, and I ride it out with him slowly. I wanted another, but I know I’m being greedy, and I can already feel how sore I am, not only everywhere where he’s physically hurt me, but down there too. Wincing, I swing my leg and get off, feeling his cum drip down my thigh.

  “I get the depo shot,” I say sleepily, dragging my sore and severely fucked self to the bathroom and pulling down a towel to clean myself up. He still hasn’t said anything, so I look at him. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” he answers through a dry throat. Getting up, he tugs on his boxers and walks toward the little bar fridge I have in the room. Surprisingly, even though I just had rough sex, my head doesn’t feel bad. Or I’m just that sore everywhere else on my body that my pain threshold has sort of tilted this way.

  Bishop gets a bottle of water and twists off the cap, taking a drink while looking at me.

  “Wanna talk about it?” I ask, throwing the towel into a hamper and going back to bed. Fuck the rumpled blankets; I can’t even be bothered remaking my bed, so I just slip under, sliding onto the side I sleep on. When Bishop doesn’t answer, I look over to the little alarm clock that sits on my bedside table. Fucking 5:00 a.m.? Mother fuck.

  “It’s 5:00 a.m.!” I yell, honest to God shocked at the time.

  “Then we fucked for three hours.”

  “How do you know that?” I ask, watching as he slips back into bed with me.

  He stretches his arms out, pulling me into him. I don’t know why, but I smile, my heart calming at his touch, his smell, his flesh pressing against mine. All those things are why Bishop is home to me.

  He kisses me on my head. “Because the terrors happen at the same time every night.”

  “Why?” I whisper, yawning and beginning to feel more and more pain all over my body. I’ll hate to see what I’m going to look like later in the morning.

  “Because I’ve done bad things. And those bad things like to remind me every night that I did them.”

  I swallow, my eyes heavy even though my interest in this convo is piquing. My body and mind can’t keep up. “Did what?”

  “Killed and fucked.”

  I CAN’T MOVE. THAT’S NOT a figure of speech. I literally cannot move a muscle in my body, and I’m not sure if I should be genuinely concerned about this or not.

  “Bishop?” I croak. Gross, I hate my morning voice. I sound like a man that’s been lost in the desert for years.

  His arm is clenched around my waist, pulling me into him while his leg is over mine. So not only am I in pain and can’t move, but his heavy-ass weight is holding me down too. Surprise, surprise, he’s even possessive in his sleep.

  “Bishop!” I get a little louder, trying to pry his limbs off mine.

  “What?” he groans, letting me go and rubbing his eyes.

  I go to move my leg and… nope, that’s not happening. “Nothing. I just… I can’t move,” I laugh, shaking my head.

  He stops rubbing his eyes and looks at me, and fuck him. His ruffled hair is messy everywhere, his dark green eyes fresh, his skin pure, and his lips kissable and plump.

  “I think,” I murmur, tilting my head at him. “Nope, not think—I definitely want to punch you.”

  He bursts out laughing. “Well—” Lifting the blanket, he scans over my naked body. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, babe. I mean… you’re in a state right now.”

  He drops the blanket, and I pick it back up and peer down at myself.

  “Oh my God!” I gasp in shock and then narrow my eyes at Bishop. “Are you kidding me? I look like I’ve been beaten.”

  “Hey!” He throws his hands up. “You know how I get, and I’m pretty sure I went a little easy on you.”

  “Oh really?” I scold him, flicking the blanket off my body and walking toward the bathroom. “’Cause I’m pretty sure that’s my blood on your fucking lip!” I slam the door closed and then bite down on my fist, holding in my scream. My whole body throbs. My hips, my thighs…. My neck feels like there’s a massive ring still clenched around it, and my freaking nipple feels like it’s been torn off, and to make everything worse, my vagina feels fucking swollen, because oh no, he can’t just mark me in one place; he has to absolutely destroy me. Flicking on the faucet, I
slowly step into the hot, steamy water, and I scream before I can stop myself. “Motherfucker!”

  Nate bangs on his door, because I locked it. “Mads! What’s wrong?”

  “Leave me alone,” I yell out. “Pretty sure you knew what was happening too, motherfucker,” I mutter under my breath, grabbing the soap and sliding it through my hands. Now that the initial sting is gone from stepping in, the water pounding on my bruised flesh is actually comforting.

  Bang.

  Bang.

  “Madison!” Nate calls again through the door. I roll my eyes and flip him the bird, grabbing my towel and wrapping it around myself. “What?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m hungry. I’m going to get something to eat.”

  “I’ll do it. Go back to bed!”

  “Don’t—”

  “Madison,” he growls.

  “I want to see Daemon. Shut up and stop telling me what to do!” I go to grab my clothes when I realize I didn’t bring any in with me. Fuck.

  I walk out, but Bishop is gone. Looking around my room suspiciously, I check the closet, coming up short. Staying in the closet, I wiggle into some white skinny jeans, a black top, and some sneakers before grabbing a sweater. I remember the nurse saying I can remove the Band-Aid today, so I unwrap that from my head, feeling the coolness whipping over my newly exposed skin. There’s still a couple of butterfly stitches where my wound is, so I leave it there. The wound itself doesn’t hurt anymore; it’s just the light headache that throbs in the back of brain that does. Then again, that could be from Bishop’s hair pulling the night before. Though I know that he could have been a lot rougher with the pulling than he was.

  I toss the Band-Aid into the trash and grab my keys. I don’t care what either of them say; I want to see my brother. He didn’t do anything wrong. I just know he didn’t.

  I was wrong about one thing, though. I definitely regret nothing about last night.

  Walking into the local police station, I go straight to the front reception desk. “Hi.” The receptionist looks up at me from her typing, pushing her glasses down. She’s old, and by the looks of the scowl she’s giving me, she’s not having a good day. “I was wondering how I go about seeing my brother? He was brought in a few days ago after an incident.”