by Dani Wyatt
Come with me, I need you more than air. I’ll carry you through thorns and storms and the highest mountains until they can’t find us. I’ll make love to you until you can’t remember what it was like for us to be apart. I’ll put walls around you, choke with razor wire any fuck who comes near you until the world understands this is a bridge not to be crossed. I’ll taste you until your flavor becomes part of me, root inside you until your belly swells and your smile never leaves your lips. I’ll leave a path of destruction behind us with all the faces of those who made you what you are now . . . who caused your indifference, your heart to forget to beat, lest you feel anything.
“Two poison vials and we could be yet another star-crossed lovers’ tragic story. Only, we never got to be lovers, not really.” Lilly fisted the white sheets in her hands.
It became difficult to take a breath. The word ‘lovers’ coming from her rose-petal pink lips creating in him an entirely new level of need.
“Maybe I don’t scream.” Lilly’s voice turned flat. “Maybe we die together. You snap my neck like you did to that boy, then throw yourself off the tower onto the patio. That would be a fitting end, don’t you think?”
“Maybe.” Flynn locked his gaze with hers, his tension showing in the notch of his eyebrows.
“Could you imagine?” She shrugged. “What a war you could start; it would almost be worth dying for. Our fathers, once united in their pursuit of all things evil and profit-making, turning against each other in mutual blame and hatred. Neither of them able to claim the prize of fortune I hold inside my head. What a tale it would be back in Ireland. We would be legend. Folktales filled with angst and heartbreak, all about us. They would have to embellish, of course. Lovers have to be lovers, after all.”
The gentle lilt of her accent made Flynn think of running away with her, back to the stone cottages and fields of a world far away.
“If you love, you’re lovers.” Flynn looked at the floor, not sure he’d even said the words out loud.
“People like us don’t love. We don’t get happy endings. That’s what you told me the day you picked me up off the front steps. Remember? Colin came out, told the driver to let me carry my own bags, then showed me exactly how he would love me. You—as silent as you are now—watching as he split my lip and kissed my forehead. My future husband, the man I thought loved me enough to bring me halfway around the world and make me the happiest girl ever.” Lilly tipped her head and put her hands under her chin like a bad actress.
“You changed my mind.”
Lilly ignored him as she looked at the ceiling, then settled her jaguar-green eyes on his.
“I remember precisely what you said. You helped me up, then told me, ‘Did you plan on Prince Charming, Cinderella? This place ain’t no fucking fairy tale. There’s no love here. Welcome to hell.’ ”
“A lot’s changed since then. I changed. You changed.”
“No, nothing’s changed. You were right, about everything. I’m the princess in the tower, right? My own father abdicating my care to a man with hands and heart as cold as ice. Then, there’s you. What do you want from me? I have nothing for you. What we could have been was exactly what you told me not to believe in. A fairy tale. This is a tragedy. Everyone dies in the end.” Her smile, as dark as the sky, still lit up the room, and Flynn felt his own heart pound against the wall of his chest. He felt sick.
“I want to die.” Flynn fought to keep his voice steady. “I’ve seen enough people die, I’m not scared. Hell will be better than this. I know that’s where I’m going for the things I’ve done. I could have been everything to you, everything you want, everything you need. You fucking belong to me even if I never get to have you.”
A creak on the floor boards outside the door drew their eyes.
The slow, steady steps faded, and Flynn watched Lilly’s chest begin to rise and fall again.
She reached for the cut crystal glass on her nightstand, the resting vessel for the amber liquid she kept hidden in a shoe box on top of the mahogany armoire.
“I’m not going to scream.” Lilly looked out the window and took the last sip from her glass.
Flynn leaned forward, trying to catch his breath, imagining how it would have felt to be inside of her, two souls melting into a bliss only reserved for those willing to risk indescribable pain. He could smell her subtle scent in the air. It rippled his skin and made the room seem too warm.
When he raised his own emerald eyes, Lilly sat staring at her hands, playing with the gold band on her right ring finger, a reminder of the mother she wished would have protected her. But, still the one person in the world she loved.
“I want you to live.” The ice in her voice melted.
Flynn strained to hear as her voice softened until he could barely make out the words. “I want to keep you around as a reminder of just how close I came to real danger, the kind of danger that only comes when you allow yourself to be seduced by what could have been. By fairy tales.”
Flynn let out another long breath, both hands rubbing over his head before settling on his face. He felt the weight of their sadness, their obligations and secrets. The room felt like it was filling with ice water, both of them freezing and suffocating and unwilling to swim to safety.
“Did you hear me?” The cut in her voice brought him back to the moment.
“What?”
“I’ll let you live if you make me a promise.”
I’m not sure I want to live. I came here to die. I was ready—now my heart is beating again.
“What?” Flynn felt the wave of sick grip his gut.
“Don’t come back here. Don’t think of us. Pretend I’m dead . . . or you will be.”
The crystalline reflection of a single gathering of salt water in the corner of her eye wrapped wire around Flynn’s slowly thumping heart. His fingertips were cold and the room warmer with every second he let his eyes stay on hers.
She held his life in her hands. He’d come here to die. He’d already decided. One scream from her and it would be over.
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” Flynn didn’t bother to whisper. He was done playing.
The gathered tear found its way down the ripe warmth of her cheek, and a sardonic smile curved the fullness of those beautiful lips.
“I hate you,” she said.
“I know.”
Flynn closed the ten feet between them and took those lips from her, tasting the flavor that haunted his dreams every night since she took his hand that day on the front steps.
Her taste crashed over him. When he released her, the sound of her scream echoed inside the mansion loud enough to raise the roof. Within a minute, the room filled with the sound of footfalls from the hall and the click of the locks opening from outside her gilded prison.
And let it all be done.
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Chapter One
Colorado
Six Weeks before Thanksgiving
Cameron didn’t taste the blood. The metallic flavor so familiar, it didn’t register anymore.
“Can you keep going?” Ahmad asked even though he knew damn well Cameron was fine.
A kick to the teeth and the busted lip that followed barely a blip on his pain radar.
Cameron gave Ahmad a single nod of his head, drops of sweat burning his eyes, lips pulled back exposing the neon yellow mouthpiece streaked with crimson.
Finish him. Quit fucking around—get your head out of your ass. He made you fucking bleed dude. Unacceptable. Take your fucking pink panties off and kill him.
Cameron shook his head sending drops of sweat flying; tunnel vision blocked out everything but the face of his nameless opponent with the purple mohawk and a douche bag ‘TAPOUT’ tattoo over his chest. When the buzzing started in Cameron’s ears, the switch flipped, and the beast took over.
The next sixty seconds turned to a frenzied show of slapping fists, growling animals and the crunch of bone on bone as Cameron brought his shin aroun
d like a Medieval morningstar.
His opponent’s head cracked at a right angle to his neck, and he dropped like a crash test dummy onto the mat.
Sometimes, you just need to taste the blood to bring out the beast.
There she stood, all French manicured and highlighted, boobs like cantaloupes standing unnaturally high and hard on her chest. The life sized Barbie doll leaned against the cinderblock wall in the hallway outside the locker room.
“Hey, Cam.” She popped her gum and gave him as smile as fake as her tits. “You know they call you the Force? I didn’t know that until Tiffany told me—you’ve got the most powerful punch they’ve ever recorded.”
Her sing song Trixie tone made his skin feel like fire ants were crawling up and down his back.
“You ready?” He didn’t even bother stopping as he took the sharp right down the hall toward the ‘Exit’ sign.
“Yeah, I’m ready.” She toddled behind him on those ridiculous six inch rhinestone encrusted two-buck-stripper heels.
His cock ran the evening’s agenda even though every other reasonable part of Cameron wished he was somewhere else.
“Get in.” Cameron pointed to the passenger door of his 1967 Emerald Green Camero.
The engine fired with a vibrating roar; then settled to a thumping hum as Cameron’s hand felt the smooth round head of the gear shift. He threw it in first, popped the clutch and barely noticed she didn’t have her door shut.
When she started flapping her gums thinking they were going to make conversation, he cranked up the volume on the Five Finger Death Punch CD until the rear view mirror shook.
The volume stayed at max until they arrived at the small, rented condo just ten minutes from the gym. Jerking to a stop in the parking lot, Cameron lurched out the car door, feet on the ground with the Trixie following behind like some brainless puppy dog.
“I love your pec tattoo. What does that mean? ‘Living Death’? Is that like a band or something?”
She threw her bag on the floor inside the front door and Cameron rubbed his forehead then cracked his neck.
Before he took his next breath, he heard the soft tapping of claws across the tile floor of the kitchen as Samson and Stoli came running through the pet door and into the living room.
“OH MY GOD!” Trixie screamed like they were damn tigers or something.
Holy fuck, I’d rather someone stuck a needle in my damn ear than listen to that.
The dogs were giving her a good ass and crotch sniff and Trixie backed away into the front door.
Good boys. I think that bitch is in heat.
Cameron remembered the day he couldn’t stand looking at the two emaciated pups anymore and cut the wire that held both dogs to a stake in the muddy front yard of a house back in Detroit.
The dog’s faces were covered in scars and he could count every rib. But they jumped up and licked his face like he was the damn coast guard pulling them in from a storm.
I guess they were born fighting too.
“Are they nice? Are they going—“ Her fake eyelashes fluttered and she held her hands high over her shoulders.
“Come on boys, you don’t want any of that.”
Cameron snapped his fingers then pointed to the back door. The two wagging, panting pit bulls made their way outside after Cameron gave them both a scratch behind the ear.
“So, you like dogs, huh?” The way she kept herself pinned against the wall watching the pet door with a nervous stare told him she wasn’t an animal lover. Big surprise.
“Are we going to fuck or what?” Cameron only needed her mouth for one thing, and the sooner she shut up and understood the single reason she was here the sooner this would be over.
“Of course baby. I just thought maybe—“
He walked into the bedroom and she followed behind snapping her gum.
“Get naked.” Cameron pulled his t-shirt over his head and had his jeans off before she thought to reconsider. He folded each piece of clothing into compact, perfect squares before setting them inside the empty laundry basket on the floor.
His cock struggled to rise to half mast, but he needed the damn release.
He would have kept his clothes on and freed just his dick from his zipper, but skin was far easier to clean than clothes. Anything she touched was getting a damn funeral pyre as soon as they were done.
“Okay, okay. Jeez, such a bossy boy.” She worked the button on her white Daisy Dukes as her eyes scanned the bedroom. “Gawd, your place is so neat. Do you even live here? You should see my place, like a tornado went through.” She snapped the gum in her mouth and smiled.
Cameron slid his hand low, gripping his thickening monster trying to convince it to rise to the occasion.
Trailer Trash Trixie here was new, and he hoped the variety would be enough to distract his thoughts from where he wished he could be. This ring-whore had been following Cameron around for a week or more, flashing those carbonized tits like that was some sort of incentive.
By the time naked Barbie turned around, Cameron’s boy stood at 80% and the eyes on Blondie popped out of her fake Elvira eyelashes.
“Oh, my gawd! Your cock is ah-maz-ing! That’s gonna hurt. What are you 9”—10”? Have you measured?? Thick too. Is it going to get bigger? Cause, that thing’s scary. It’s like a third arm you got there. But, jeez, you’re beautiful, I knew I wanted to hook up with you since I saw you fight—”
What the fuck? If you don’t stop the dip-shit-dick-worship, I’m never going to be able to finish. Fucking boner killer.
Cameron cut her off. “Shut the fuck up. Come here, down. Get me hard.”
He motioned her into position on the floor.
“What? You’re not hard yet? Wow. I don’t know—“ Her eyelids fluttered as she stared at the monster in Cameron’s grip.
After a moment of hesitation, she smiled and did as instructed. His flavor-of-the-night dropped to her knees and opened her collagen injected lips, stretching them wide, leaving a bright red ring of lipstick around his shaft as she struggled to fit him in her mouth.
Cameron closed his eyes, the sound of her slurping and the sight of her looking up at him like some used up porn whore sending his cock in the wrong direction.
Fuck man, let’s get this done. Keep your damn eyes closed so I can get what I need. Dahmmmm, tho—bitch knows how to give head. She could suck a damn golf ball through a garden hose.
Cameron’s demanding as hell cock had a voice of its own that would not be silenced until it had its release.
The whore on the floor was no more than a blow up doll, a masturbation tool. The only image that pushed Cameron to the finish line was the face of his obsession that lived 1286 miles northeast.
Trixie did her thing until Cameron slammed every inch down her throat and she gagged until her lips damn near turned blue. Still, she came right back for more as his hand tangled in her brillo-bottle-blond Pamela Anderson hair as he face fucked her until he was bored of her mouth.
“Up. Over. Ass up on the bed.”
“Okay, maybe you could give me a little of your mouth on my sweet kitty cat.”
Yeah, that’s fucking funny. If you think my tongue is going anywhere near that, you’re even dumber than you look.
“Shut the fuck up. Get up on the bed, or get your ass out. You have four fucking seconds to get into position before you’re out the damn door.”
He heard her let out a soft ‘pffffst’ sound but she got her ass high and ready upturned on the bed, even giving him a little wiggle and a smile.
What the fuck am I doing here?
Just do her man, close your fucking eyes and get it done.
Cameron used the four seconds to roll on his Trojan. He sunk his fingers into her hips, getting her into fuck position and then, without a word he brought one hand down hard—smacking her ass as he slammed his dick home from bow to stern.
Yep, she screamed. They always screamed.
Cameron kept his eyes on her ass, the only par
t of her that he could look at and not need to fight off the sick. He churned his hips, barely feeling the pleasure of her being a woman; she was just another ring-sting-fuck-hole that didn’t give a shit if he used her and threw her away like his dirty rubber.
He would become just another notch on her belt. A story to tell the others of her skanky clown tribe.
The harder he slammed into her, the louder she got. Making crazy fake moans and yelling like a wet cat.
Damn, she’s fucking loud. That shit’s distracting as hell. Shut her up or we’re never going to get this done.
His hand left her hip, reaching around to cover her mouth without missing a thrust. The only sound in the room was their flesh slapping together like a freight train racing down the tracks to nowhere.
As soon as he got her mouth under control, his mind imagined the blow up doll below him was actually her. The object of his every wet dream, of every sense of purpose and worth in his fucked up life.
In his mind’s eye, he imaged her curves, soft and warm, her doe eyes fluttering as she looked up. The waves of her chestnut hair falling over her face as her mouth opened, and a soft, sweet moan came from her lips.
He let go of the blonde’s hip with his other hand, bringing it down in a loud ‘SMACK’ and filling the room with muffled screams. Her skinny ass turned bright pink morphing into stop sign red with the delivery of a series of harsh ‘smacks’.
Did she deserve it? Did she deserve for him to treat her like a useless piece of garbage? Did she deserve his hand on her ass until it welted and he knew full well sitting down wasn’t going to be an option for a day or so?
No. But what she deserved wasn’t his concern. He smacked Trixie because she wasn’t her. He punished her ass because she was the one here and because he hated himself for being right here with her.
He held onto the picture of the face that haunted him day and fucking night as his cock hammered in and out. Finally, he felt the tension rise and like a rubber band pulled too far; he snapped. His cock released a load into the tip of the condom, and he let out a long exhale.
Cameron felt his muscles relax, feeling relief for at least a moment. The flesh that surrounded him meant nothing. Now, he just needed her to leave.