Devious Resolutions

by Ashleigh Giannoccaro

  “Henry.” His voice is deep with a slight northern accent.

  Pushing to my feet, I round the desk. The world spins, but he is perfectly in focus. Every bulging muscle, every chiseled line.

  “Strip, Henry.” Temptation gets the better of me. I just want to see him. Just a look. Without hesitation, he unfastens his trousers and pushes them down his legs. He has no underwear on, and his cock hangs, half erect and heavy against his thigh. He’s an Adonis, all golden hair and dark eyes. Tanned skin and a body that looks as though God himself sculpted it…or the Devil. After all, isn’t he the master of temptation?

  Henry moves closer, one tentative step at a time. He’s almost shy. Submissive. And that does something to me. I want to own him, dominate and choke him, force him to suck my dick.

  “Get on your knees.” The words leave my mouth without permission and he falls in front of me as though worshipping me. His fingers fumble with my belt, and before I know it, my dick is in his mouth, and any notion of restraint or righteousness flies out the window. He works over me, his mouth hot and warm, and so damn good. My head swirls and my body rejoices. Grabbing his hair, I fuck his face, thrusting forward until he gags and chokes. It makes me even harder, until I’m swelling in his mouth, hitting the back of his throat with every thrust. Just when I feel that first tell tale tingle of an orgasm, I pull away, my chest heaving on ragged pants.

  “Get on the desk.” He goes to the desk and bends over it. “No, I want you to look at me while I fuck you.” My words are slow, disconnected.

  He seems unsure of himself as he gets on his back. I strip out of the remainder of my clothes. When I broach him, he looks nervous. I spit on my dick and work my hand up and down before repeating. When I grab his thighs and wrench them upward, his abs pop out. So beautiful. So strong. And laid before me, so subservient. There’s a power in it, in having a man like him submit to me so easily. I press my dick to that tight hole, knowing exactly how good it will feel when I’m inside him. He tenses for a moment, fighting me, but the moment I push past that wall, it’s like heaven.

  His head falls back off the edge of the desk, a low moan trickling from his lips.

  “Hold onto the desk,” I instruct, and he does, gripping the edge either side of his hips.

  I grasp his strong thighs, using them as leverage, driving inside him. There’s nothing gentle or romantic about it. It’s brutal and raw in a way it never could be with a woman. His hard dick slaps against taught abs, and it drives me mad.

  “Stroke your dick,” I grit out. He releases the desk with one hand and start furiously tugging on his cock.

  It’s dirty and sordid, and everything I deny myself. It’s wrong, but in the moment it feels so right, so perfect.

  “Ten, nine, eight…” The crowd in the club below shout, counting down to the new year, to my pending orgasm.

  Henry lets out a long groan, his abs tightening and rolling as he strokes himself faster, harder. Pleasure tears over my body, and every muscle tightens as something monumental builds within me.

  Henry snarls, and his cock twitches as a thick stream of come hits those glorious abs. Every muscle pops out, tensing as the pleasure grips him in its clutches. The sight of it is enough to send me over the edge.

  “Three, two, one.”

  I come inside him, throwing my head back and allowing the orgasm to wash over me with mind blowing euphoria. It’s everything I need, and everything I hate. People cheer in the club below, no doubt kissing and smiling as they celebrate the beginning of yet another shitty year. Glittery confetti and balloons fall from the ceiling as though signaling the start of something great, but it’s not great. It’s the same bleak, grey shit as always. Another year where nothing will change and I will exist in a state of borderline misery. As the orgasm eases away I’m left with that hollow, sick feeling I always have. Like a drug addict coming off their high of choice, I crash head first into the low. The shame and disgust creep back in. I’m disappointed with myself, but more than anything I hate him, the man who’s body I’m still inside. God loves the sinner but he hates the sin. I hate everything he represents. I hate that he tempts me, that he wants this as much as I do, but more than anything I hate that he probably walks out of here without an ounce of regret or shame. I am utterly alone in my torture.

  Anger rises like a wave, uncontrollable, hot and volatile, and I clench my fists, squeezing my eyes shut

  Henry reaches for me, fingertips brushing my stomach. His touch disgusts me, and I snap. Opening my eyes, I reach for the letter opener on my desk, wrapping my fingers around it. With a snarl, I ram it into the side of his neck. Wide eyes meet mine as blood spurts across the desk. He clutches at his throat, blood pouring through his fingers. He chokes, coughing and struggling to suck in a breath. I just want him dead. Now. Lifting my arm, I stab him again in his chest, then his stomach. Over and over, my rage and disgust driving each blow. My teeth clench so hard that my jaw aches, and I stab him again and again, until my arm aches with the effort, and my chest heaves on ragged breaths. I finally pull away from him, stumbling backward.

  As I watch him die, there’s a strange kind of satisfaction, a peace of sorts. His lifeless body stills, vacant eyes staring at the ceiling as though he were looking skyward, begging for help in his final moments. God doesn’t help sinners. My mother’s words ring around my mind, or are they Saints words? I don’t know anymore. The blood spreads across the desk before spilling over the edge. Drip, drip, drip. My mind blinks in and out, flitting between the scene before me, and my fourteen-year old self standing in that bathroom.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  I slayed my sin, and I offer his blood as sacrifice. Stepping forward, I tentatively swipe my fingers through the warm blood. I paint it on my chest, one vertical stroke, then one lateral. A cross.

  I slayed my sin, and I will never be led into temptation again. Never.

  I take my phone and dial my brothers number.

  “Jase?” Saint answers.

  “I slayed my sin,” I say.

  “Good, Jase. You did well, my sinner.”

  THE END

  If you’d like to read Saint’s story you can one click it here!

  Bait

  Yolanda Olson

  Prologue

  The gravitational pull of the moon on the ocean’s dark waters lull the Carolina Blue lazily from side to side. I haven’t felt this good about being myself in such a long time. The only thing I honestly wish is that it could have lasted a little longer than it did.

  Maybe next time, I think as I place a watermelon flavored lollipop in my mouth. I cross my hands behind my neck and smile up at the night sky—the stars watching me curiously and hiding my secrets all the same.

  He’s my new favorite and it’s going to take a long time before anyone removes him from that coveted spot at the top of my list. I turn on my side, glance down at him, and pull the sour hard candy from my mouth.

  “Want some?” I ask, gently rubbing it against his lips. “No? Okay,” I reply with a shrug as I look at him for just a moment longer, then roll onto my back again.

  I close my eyes happily and relive the night we just shared. The way his sleepy eyes watched me—almost like he couldn’t look away for fear that I might disappear. It makes me smile to know that I was wanted so deeply by a stranger.

  So goddamn purely.

  I hadn’t experienced anything like this before him and while I know I never will again, it sure as fuck won’t stop me from trying.

  Chapter One

  I roll the lollipop in my mouth from one side to the other.

  Today was a hard, but rewarding day, which is something I’m always happy with. I grip the rope and tie up the boat to the dock, securing each dock cleat before I stretch my arms over my head and wave good-bye to my buddies that make up most of the crew.

  I think the plan is to meet up later at Schooner’s for some well-deserved drinks, and I’m still considering it. My body hurts a bit more than usual
today and I really want to stay home tonight, light up some meds, and puff the pain into oblivion.

  But they’ll give me shit like they always do because I’m an “excuse machine” as Koenig so eloquently put it once, and they’re tired of me bailing on them as soon as we dock. I watched as they disappeared down the dock, then turned my attention back toward the Carolina Blue, giving it a once over to make sure that it’s completely tied in place before I head into the building and gather up my belongings.

  “Hey, Denver!”

  I smile slightly at Dillon as I pass the front desk. She’s the boss’s daughter, receptionist, and all around sweet girl with a kind word for all of us. She also happens to have a massive crush on me. She’s not my type, but I don’t mind indulging her in a little flirtation when I’m in the mood for it.

  “Hey,” I reply as I walk over to the old-fashioned time clock next to her desk and punch out. Larry likes keeping things old-fashioned when it comes to timekeeping because he says that this way, we can’t finagle numbers in a computer. I think he teased us when he said it, but considering that Dillon is a one-woman powerhouse, I’m assuming it’s really because he’s too fucking cheap to upgrade anything.

  “Did you guys have a good day?” she asks, turning slightly in her chair to look at me. I nod, rub the back of my neck and remember to keep the smile on my face. She rolls her eyes when the phone rings, and gives me an apologetic smile when she realizes that she’ll be preoccupied for a bit. It’s Larry; I’d know that loud ass voice on the other end of the receiver from anywhere.

  I give her a two-finger salute as I leave the front area and head back toward the lockers. It’s nothing like one would expect being part of a professional fishing crew, and usually when I tell someone that I’m a fisherman for a living, they imagine me standing on the edge of some pier with a little bucket by my feet and pole in hand.

  That’s nowhere near what I do.

  The ocean can be a merciless bitch, there are days where we barely catch enough to feed a small family let alone supply the markets that Larry is contracted with, but when we have days like today where I wondered if our hauls would sink the Caroline Blue, I can’t help but be proud of what I do. With a groan, I roll my shoulder before I fiddle with the padlock on my locker and tug it open.

  I don’t like showering here, and since I don’t live very far away, I tend to just wait til I get home. Something about having crush central out front knowing I could potentially be bare ass naked in the showers sets my teeth on edge.

  Once I’ve got my backpack hoisted onto my shoulder and the locker secured, I head out. I wave at Dillon on the way out the door, a genuine sympathetic smile on my face when I can still hear her father’s booming voice.

  Poor kid.

  I shield my eyes from the sunlight when I get outside and roll the lollipop from one side of my mouth to the other again. I take a deep breath, let out a long-suffering sigh, and go back inside.

  “Dillon,” I say loudly. She looks up at me with a raised eyebrow—I get it. Normally I don’t have more than two words to really say to anyone, but I can’t leave knowing she’s stuck on the phone with Larry bitching her out.

  I mime holding a phone and give her a nod when she realizes what I’m trying to do.

  “Dad, I have to go. Denver’s here and I think he needs to me to check out the Carolina Blue.” She rolls her eyes at the ceiling when he says something, “No, I’m sure it’s fine but I won’t know until I hang up will I?”

  She makes a face as soon as she hangs up the phone and I chuckle.

  “Have a good night, kid,” I tell her as I turn to leave again.

  “Denver?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Where are the drinks at tonight?” she asks thoughtfully.

  “Schooner’s.”

  “Can I come?”

  I shrug, “I’m sure they won’t mind.”

  “Aren’t you going?” she asks in confusion.

  “No, I’m heading home,” I reply with a tired smile.

  A wicked smile creeps across her lips, “Can I come?”

  I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes. But it makes my next decision pretty easy because there’s no way in hell I’m taking her home with me.

  “What kind of drinks are we having tonight?” I inquire as I force a smile onto my face.

  Chapter Two

  The dive bar is loud and full of sweaty drunks, frat boys that ended up in the wrong place, and some questionable young ladies trying to get the attention of anything in the place with a dick by the time we get there. Koenig smirks and makes an unnecessary and huge production of me walking in with Dillon and I give him a death stare.

  Of everyone I work with and happen to know in my life, he’s the only person I trust enough with my aversion to the “fairer sex”, but he still likes to give me shit from time to time. Dillon eats up the attention, though. She flips her hair over her shoulder and sits down in the seat pulled out for her, while Koenig claps me on the back.

  “Bummer,” he says under his breath.

  I shrug and suck my teeth.

  I tossed my lollipop out on the way to the bar and I don’t have any more that I’m aware of. It helps with keeping cigarettes out of my mouth and the only thing I smoke these days, I have a prescription for.

  Being a big guy fucking sucks sometimes. Pain with no reason and nothing really helps unless it’s a rolled up fatty—which is why I wanted to go home in the first damn place.

  It doesn’t take long before the look of misery is prominent on my face. Everyone at the table notices—hell, I think anyone in a ten table radius notices at this point. I wince and roll my shoulder, letting out a heavy sigh as I shift my backpack from one hand to the other.

  I haven’t had a drop to drink, nor do I intend to, and I think that’s fucking with my mood as well. Seeing everyone else drunk, or halfway there, and in a great mood is making me into the same grumpy-for-no-apparent reason bastard that my father was.

  “Hey, Denver—let’s go outside for a sec,” Koenig says suddenly as he gets to his feet. “There’s some shit that I saw on the log that I want to go over before we have to figure out how to explain it to Larry.”

  I look at him in confusion until I catch the look in his eye.

  He’s giving me an out and I can’t help but think he’s a way better friend than I take him for. Of course, since he’s the captain of the Carolina Blue, what he’s suggesting makes sense to everyone at our table. Sometimes, the books get fucked up and we have to fix them. It’s never intentional and we do our best to keep it from happening, but human error does rear its ugly head from time to time and as I follow him outside, I’m wondering if maybe I did fuck something up today.

  “Chill out, brother,” he says when we get outside and I smile slightly. “Give me a second to have a smoke and stop seeing double, then we can act like we’re walking back toward work and you can fuck off home from there.”

  I give him a grateful smile and do my best to maintain my patience. It’s really not Koenig’s fault that I have a low tolerance for being out in public—it’s mine. He always does his best to get me to go out after work, and since we don’t have weekends like a normal nine to five, so to speak, it’s hard to keep thinking of a reason to just go home.

  I inhale the scent from his cigarette and grit my teeth. It’s been three months since I’ve quit and usually, he’s much better about not smoking in front of me.

  A few beers, and Careful Koenig is out the goddamn window it seems.

  “I’m gonna start making my way back,” I tell him as I hoist my backpack onto my shoulder. “I’m out of candy and that smell is starting to make me antsy.”

  “Shit, man. I’m sorry,” he says with a sheepish smile. His eyes are glassy already and I grin because he probably won’t even remember any of this tomorrow.

  “Don’t worry about it, light weight,” I tease him. “I’ll meet you at the factory, okay?”

  “Hey, Denver!” Koen
ig calls out when I’m halfway down the block. I turn slightly, glancing at him over my shoulder, and raise my eyebrows when I see him jogging after me.

  “What’s up?” I ask curiously.

  “Would it be alright with you if I smashed the little princess tonight?” he asks in a loud stage whisper.

  I run a hand irritably over my face. He seems to have forgotten a lot of shit already. But I humor him, lean closer to him, and respond in his same loud stage whisper, “As long as she says yes.”

  He laughs, and as I turn away, he falls into step beside me.

  “You need to get laid, man,” he says shaking his head.

  “Is that an offer?” I joke, glancing down at him.

  “You’re not my type,” he replies with an eye roll and I can’t help but laugh. Koenig is as straight as an arrow, and while I never really cared for that term, I respect his choices like he respects mine. “Ever been with a chick?” he continues as he pulls on his smoke.

  I shrug, nod, and decide to let him in on that little experiment. “I just never saw the draw of pussy; no matter how hard I tried, it wasn’t for me, you know? Not that I tried very hard, but as it goes, prom night is when most teenagers lose their v-card and I hated the feeling almost immediately.”

  He nods. I know it’s not in understanding my point of view, but rather in letting me know that he’s supportive.

  “Different strokes for different folks,” he says with a laugh. I grin at him, “I guess so.”

  The factory is looming in front of us and the closer we get, the more something catches my eye.

  There’s someone standing outside, knocking on the door, and glancing in through the windows.

  “We’re closed!” Koenig calls out to him.

  And when he turns to look at us, I can feel my heart jump into my fucking throat. I almost stumble under the weight of his eyes, the way he licks his full bottom lip, and the grin he gives us when he crosses his arms loosely over his chest.