Beautiful Things Evil People Do

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  I savor her.

  My hands grip the tops of her thighs as we collide on a like-minded mission—her orgasm. I thrust into the air, imagining she is wrapped tightly around me as I explore her terrain in detail. I must log every freckle, scar, and identifiable point with meticulous detail.

  I remove my left hand from her thigh and palm over my cock—rock hard and ready for more than this will be. I pump but a few times, unwarranted, without conviction.

  I am sorry to disappoint you.

  I am sorry to fail you, Echo.

  After releasing the beast I’ve become enslaved to, I grab the frozen banana and penetrate her warm shelter. She’s slippery with hot dew pulsing out of her like flowing nectar. I don’t hesitate, fearing the thaw, as I vigorously maul her with irritating frustration—a barricaded lasciviousness waits to bust through the dam of our desire.

  Her body rolls, finding the groove, and surrendering to the fruit within my hand.

  The banana—my cock.

  A mind is a dangerous tool.

  I stay affixed to her unsullied clit with my suckling, hungry mouth. I steal in the night what is not mine. I’m a robber, a soul stealer, an extortionist—a paradigm of mischief.

  A troublemaker, a nuisance, a criminal—a man no woman should ever covet.

  But yet, here we are—having fruit salad.

  Her teeth sink into the kiwi, much to her surprise. Her eyes widen and the juice pours, trickling from the sides of her lips. I yearn to lick every saccharine infused inch of her skin clean. Part of the green fruit crashes to the floor as she garbles, “Jynx! Please!”

  With one hand on the banana, I mount the other to my cock as we soar to a place where nothing else matters—where she and I exist—alone without interference in the transmission, disruptions of the past, or miscommunications that all too often end lost in translation.

  Here—we speak the same language.

  Here—we fight together.

  Here—we are one.

  “Jynx,” she loudly announces. “I’m going to come!”

  She isn’t alone, but I hold out, waiting until her quake passes, and she succumbs to the storm bringer’s fury. “Take off the mask!”

  I leave the banana inside of her shelter and step onto the spindles of the barstool. Rising above her undulating torso, I come, marking her flesh, icing the fruit.

  With my elbow propped on her knee, I lick my lips through the hazy delusions that will fade all too soon. The intoxication is so profound, demanding my subservience to its reign.

  Her body serves as the chalice and the bread—the communion in my kink.

  She is the hallucinogen holding the rigors—the craving of my habit.

  I don’t know normal. In the process, I expand her wings, unraveling with zestful energy, and encourage her by perpetually pushing the boundary to further the limits. Through my lessons, I’m teaching her compulsion—and I’m ruining her for anyone else.

  But I can’t stop.

  I’m an asshole.

  I step down to wrap my lips around the banana and siphon it from her body. Walking to her side, I run my fingers through the drizzle of me. I place a piece of fruit on her lips. She readily takes it in and closes her eyes.

  “Blueberries and cream,” she whispers with watery eyes. She is as high as I am; the plummet will kill us. “More, please.”

  Glossing her sticky lips with her cum glazed banana, I order, “Eat.”

  She does.

  And I devour her.

  24

  Blow Out the Candles

  Jynx

  “What are we doing?” she asks as we drive into Columbia in the early morning on the last day of July.

  “We’re purchasing items for the special day ahead.”

  “What special day?”

  I glance over to her eager, smiling face. “It’s my birthday.”

  “Jynx!” She excitedly squeals, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I just did!” I grab her hand, wishing she would move back into my bedroom. I could push the issue, but we’ll both do better if I lure her out on her own volition. “I thought we would grill some steak and shrimp, have a bottle of wine, and spend a quiet evening together as I ring in thirty-seven.”

  We are now fifteen years apart by the numbers.

  “Mine is February 9. I’m an Aquarius.”

  “I know,” I smirk, recalling hours of research I poured into this girl before ever crossing her path. The girl. Not her family or her past. I should’ve known about the viper pit I was treading into with Colton’s suicide and her father’s biker history. My faux pas. My fuck up. “Leo. The day is actually a present for you.”

  “How so?”

  I exit the highway and stop at the light. “You said I didn’t understand what it felt like to be you, so we’re altering that. For one day, you get to take the lead—within reason. No sex.”

  She giggles, “Hard limit?”

  “Very,” I warn, snarling. “Don’t push me on this, Ek.”

  “I won’t,” she whispers. “But does this mean that every birthday I get to play Mistress Echo?”

  I snarl, trying not to think about the future, which is almost impossible. One minute I want to hitch the girl to the altar, and the next, I want to liberate her innocence with an insidious act, only to ghost out.

  I don’t know what I’m doing.

  I’m fucked up, and she isn’t much better. So we take it, one day at a time, and I pray for a solution, knowing it may never come as a clear, concise answer.

  Not clean or neat.

  But very real.

  Like she is.

  Echo

  I spend over two hours getting ready for our dinner date. Jynx is cooking and preparing to see what I have to bring to the table.

  I’m fucking nervous.

  My hands are shaking. My knees are wobbling. And the butterflies in my belly are on some amped up, rocking steroids, sending tremors throughout my core.

  I admire the outfit I selected in the mirror—a sexy leather one-piece with a straight bodice and thin straps leading up to a collar with an o-ring complemented by a skimpy skirt, teasing with a hint of ass cheek. Jynx bought me a pair of scandalous thigh highs to go with the outfit, but he also said I could borrow any of Clementine’s things.

  As soon as we got home, I rushed to her room and carefully opened the plastic bins with yesteryear items. I found the boots in the picture. The ones I loved so much. They end at the top of my thigh, near my crotch, and I feel like a sexual Goddess in them.

  I want him to fuck me in these boots.

  I practice, pacing around the room as my blown out, tangled mess of hair bounces high up on my head. The five-inch heels give a much-needed boost, but I’m accustomed to that.

  Walking in heels is not a concern.

  Her feet were slightly larger than mine, so I’ve shoved a few tissues into the toes. She was a size seven. I’m a six in running shoes, but in most heels, I wear a five-and-a-half.

  “It’s just Jynx,” I whisper, staring at my reflection. “And he likes you a lot.”

  Stepping out of the bedroom, I spot him outside. He’s grilling my dinner in jeans and a loose long sleeve workout shirt.

  What the hell am I doing?

  I take a deep breath as my lip trembles. I make no sudden movement, tiptoeing like a cat silently crossing over the edge of a fence. I open the door, and he immediately twirls toward me.

  “Hi.”

  “Hello,” he oozes with a low rumble as his intense blue eyes scan from my face down and back up again. “You look amazing, Mistress.”

  My heart stops.

  “I have no idea what the fuck I am doing,” I admit, anxiously. “You’re right. It’s not easy from the other side, and I haven’t even done anything.”

  “Give me a command,” he suggests. “Name it!”

  “Wine!” I shout way too enthusiastically, and he laughs. “Maybe that was too much.”

  “Relax.” He p
ours the wine as I notice the outside dining table formally set with a lace tablecloth, fine china, and silver he’s brought out for our special date—his birthday. He hands the glass to me. “You look stunning.”

  “I’m falling in love with you, Jynx Monroe.”

  “I know,” he says, kissing my lips. “And I could say the same.”

  I take a seat at the table and enjoy the evening. It’s warm, but a light breeze is keeping the temperature at bay. “This is going to end, though, isn’t it?”

  “You’re asking for an answer I don’t have,” he replies, putting the steaks on. “But what I do know is I have a dinner date in Columbia tomorrow night with Theodore Dower from the Phoenix project. I’m not sure what he wants, but I’d like you to join me.”

  “Are the other wives going to be present?” I blurt out, stepping in a heaping emotional shit pile.

  Fuck.

  He smirks as his eyes spark with mischief. “Don’t tell me. Freudian?”

  “Fell right on in it.”

  His grin expands to a full-blown smile. “Dammit, girl! You know how to make a man question his sanity,” he remarks, downing his wine and continuing to toy with me. “I don’t know if the other wives will be present, but I want you there, Mrs. Monroe.” He winks with a suggestive smirk gliding over his lips.

  My toes curl in the boots.

  God, I wish.

  “You’re a piece of work,” I mumble.

  “… Me?” His typical low tenor raises a notch with my seemingly outlandish accusation. He sticks the tip of his tongue out and laughs. “How do you want this steak?”

  “Rare.”

  He blinks like the idea is unfathomable that a woman would eat a bloody steak. “You’re serious?”

  “I do know how to eat, Mr. Maines.” I wink and stick my tongue out. “Dad loves rare steak. Mom wants it charred like coal.”

  “There’s my girl,” he praises. “Loosen up. This doesn’t need to be strict and demanding. It can be fun and playful.”

  “Until I decide that I like roleplaying and want to be a succubus sitting upon my hellhound.”

  “I will happily get on all fours for your precious, reddened, bare ass to sit upon.”

  I grin wide. “You mean that.”

  “I do.”

  “So everything we have done—from the flood to the fruit salad—is it real or fake?”

  He strides over and crouches in front of me. I avoid his penetrating gaze because we’re in the early dusk when there is light out. His monster is still sleeping.

  “Look at me.” Reluctantly, I do. “Life is all about experiences. And wherever we end up, wherever this leads, I want you to look back and feel how much I cared about you. I don’t do fake. Jynx…Jeremiah Monroe is as real as they come.”

  “I have more memories from this summer with you than I have from the twenty-two years beforehand.”

  “It’s new,” he says. “But no one knows how long it’s going to last. More than anything on my birthday, I want you to enjoy yourself, Echo. That is what counts. Make memories. Chase the happy.”

  “I like that idea.”

  “So rare?”

  “Yes!” I smile and nod.

  “I’m pulling them,” he says, standing up. I reach out, grabbing his balls and blinking up. He doesn’t move. “Can I help you, Ma’am?”

  “I like your games, Jynx.”

  “Good.” He devilishly grins. “I like partaking in them with you.”

  “I should make you feed me more often,” I mention as he cuts the steak. “You’re very good at it.”

  “Don’t tempt me,” he counters, smiling. “I’ll take all of your independence away just to care for you.”

  “… Is this a Dominant thing?”

  “My feeding you?”

  “Yes,” I mutter, understanding that even though I am supposed to be leading this night, I know he is. “Tell me the truth.”

  “I think it can be either way.”

  “You’re using it to garner insight into my head,” I accuse with a smirk. I snap my teeth into the meat, savagely ripping it from the fork. “Well played, babe.”

  “I can’t help it,” he excuses. “I have years of experience on you.”

  “Natural asshole,” I giggle, rising.

  “Where are you going?”

  I close my eyes to find the strength—the gumption I need—under his sensual stare. Rolling my hips, I flutter my hands along my sides and stretch them into the air as I let my body say what my mouth cannot. He backs his chair away from the table, and I hitch up the skirt, digging deep, and grinding my body against his leg. “You know you’re falling for me.”

  “Like you cannot believe,” he growls, laying his hand on the middle of my lower back as I give him a lap dance to remember. “I never knew I needed a filthy fucking girl.”

  “Oooh, baby,” I purr, sensually gyrating on his lap. “You have no idea how dirty I want to be with you.”

  He lowers his head to my cleavage, inhaling my scent. “Tell me.”

  “What was it you said when I begged for the same—I’d rather show you? Take me to the dungeon, cowboy.”

  With one move, he tosses me on his shoulder, grabs the bottle of wine, and sprints up the staircase. After setting me on my feet, he tugs off his shirt and reveals a black leather harness.

  I’m dumbstruck, drooling, and so out of my league. “You…”

  “You didn’t think I wouldn’t dress for the evening?” His tongue runs over his bottom lip as he unsnaps his jeans. “I’m not a poser or an imbecile.”

  “Fuck!” I bounce like a wild woman and shy away, covering my face with my hands. He chuckles as I plead, “Wait!”

  “Breathe, Echo.”

  “This is too much,” I whine, sneaking a glimpse of his muscled body showcased by the bands of leather. His taut guns and rippling abs seem even more pronounced within the confines of caging. “I’m going to scream.”

  He swaggers closer, slowly rocking those hips and taunting every sense in me. “No one will hear you scream.”

  “Fuck!” I yell again as he blows on my neck. “Dammit, Jynx! You’re too good at this!”

  His eyebrow arches high. “Practice.”

  “I don’t intimidate you in the same way.”

  “Incorrect,” he mutters, pressing his lips to my bare shoulder. “You bring waves of nervousness to me every time I see you. I just control my emotions better than you.”

  “Do I want to know what you have on beneath those jeans?”

  “May—be,” he teases, suggestively. “You need me.”

  “More than you can imagine.” I bite my lip as our eyes stay locked on one another. I slip my hands under the denim, over his hips, and discover that my heaven-kissed captor is wearing a thick double-banded black jockstrap with the harness. “Holy shit! You were serious.”

  “I don’t lie,” he mutters, kicking the jeans out of the way. “Birthday spankings for those thirty-seven bad boy years.”

  “Thirty-eight,” I correct, free-falling into his sultry tidal wave. “One to grow on.” I twirl my finger, and he shows off his backside, which is as irresistible as the front. “You’ll let me paddle you?”

  “Oh! Yes! Mistress!” Trying not to break character, he plays it up, placing his hands behind his back and standing correctly. “Please whip me.”

  I die laughing, unable to hold out any longer. When I finally get done dancing a jig in place, and all of the high pitched squeals have randomly spurted from my lungs, I point to the table and demand, “Bend over, Jynx.”

  It feels so abhorrent to say those words.

  Somehow, I manage to respect the night’s rules where I lead, and he follows—but only because he has a thing for me.

  I pace over to the wall of implements and select a relatively safe looking old-school style paddle. I test the weight in my hand and catch him looking at me. He’s bent over with his head propped in his palm as a smirk blooms across his cheeks. “Don’t be a
fraid. Bring it. I can take the blows.”

  “Should I get a different one?”

  “Are you asking what I would recommend blistering my ass with?”

  I giggle, “Yes!”

  “Depends. Do you want to spank me, or would you prefer to whip me, or even draw lines with a riding crop? This is on you, sweetheart. Decide what you think I deserve.”

  “If I did that, you’d have a ball gag, a paper sack, and a hockey stick.”

  With a captivating smile, he chuckles. “Whatever you fancy, but if you cover this mug, you’ll miss all the good stuff that makes you drench the lace tucked between your thighs.”

  “How do you know I have on lace?”

  “Because you’re hoping I go for round two of fruit cocktail muff diving.”

  I blush and bend over, laughing. “You’re right!”

  “So bring whatever you want, and I will make sure the sweetness on my tongue at the end of the evening is your scrumptious orgasm. Let’s blow out the candles and make a wish.”

  “Dear God…” I mumble as he innocently blinks with a deviant smirk. “I should’ve blindfolded you.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “I love the expression that manifests in your eyes,” I confess, hitting a tender nerve. “They bring me comfort, like now when I have no fucking clue what I am doing.”

  “What’s causing the nervous giddiness?”

  “You. Your words. And those lips get me.”

  “… Really? All this and you pick my fruit slurping mouth?”

  “Yes,” I giggle, picking a hefty looking ruler up. “I love your smile. This?”

  “Stings like a bitch in the right hands.”

  “Just what I am looking for,” I bravely say. “You need some pain in your life.”

  “Dare I ask, why?”

  “Punishment for all the shit you’ve done to me! Being a panty-melting motherfucker with no boundaries for weeks on end.”

  He subtly says, “I haven’t made you a mother yet.”

  With a scrutinizing eye, I rebuke, “You haven’t fucked the right hole yet, either.”