Cutslut

by Kim Jones

  I pound into her with the voracious drive she begs for. She screams so loud, the windows on my car rattle and shake with the vibration. She stills a second. Then comes hard. Her orgasm as violent as my thrusts.

  It’s her third one since I put her on her knees in front of me. Pushed her pants down her thighs. Pulled her panties to the side. Spread her open. And sunk my cock deep inside her dripping cunt.

  I figure it’ll take at least one more to sate her long enough for us to make it home. If not, I’ll have to give it to her another way. My balls are already stretched to the point of pain. Heavy and swollen and demanding I find my own release.

  Where she finds her strength, I don’t know. But no sooner has she caught her breath, she’s looking over her shoulder expectantly. Her fingers gripping the door. Back arched low. Ass high. Those green eyes half-mast and telling me, “More.”

  I oblige.

  Sliding my hand over her hip, I reach between her legs and roll her clit with my finger. Loving how her eyes close and mouth parts at the contact. “Just like that,” she pants, rolling her hips and squeezing her thighs around my hand.

  “When we get home,” I start, my voice a low, demanding growl. “I want you in the shower. On your knees. Your lips around my cock.”

  “Yes! More! Tell me more!”

  “I’m gonna fuck your mouth hard. Bury my dick in the back of your throat. Make you take all of it—“

  “What happens if I’m a bad girl and bite you?” she asks, cutting me off. I smirk. Dirty girl. Guess the kink’s out of the closet…

  Fisting her hair, I slow my thrusts and pull her back so my lips are at her ear. My voice deepens. “Bad girls get punished.”

  “I’m so bad…”

  I tighten my hold on her hair to silence her. “Yes, you are. That’s why I’m gonna drag you to the bed. Bend you over. Take my belt. Wrap it around my hand and spank that pretty little ass of yours…”

  “Ah!” She stiffens around me. Squeezes me so hard I groan. Then she’s pulsing. Coming on my cock. And this time, it’s my undoing.

  I pull out of her and work my shaft with my fist. Watch her fingers between her legs, rubbing her pussy as she stares at me over her shoulder. I move my eyes on hers as I bathe her ass in ropes of fiery come.

  The sensation is overwhelming. The sight a sexy fucking thing to see. And just like her, I can’t get enough. Already I’m thinking of the next time I can have her. How I can make it different. Better. Even more perfect—if that’s even fucking possible.

  34

  WINTER

  I remember the Viagra commercials. I know what they said. According to them, I should call a doctor. My lady erection has exceeded four hours and shows no sign of decreasing.

  Jinx fucked me at the bar. In the car. Gave me at least twenty orgasms. Promised to sate my hungry appetite for as long as it takes. I took him up on his offer. Now, he’s fingering me in Waffle House. My eyes on the syrup bottle. My hands fisted on the table. When it becomes too much, I bury my face behind his shoulder. My teeth biting down hard on his leather cut to stifle my moans.

  “Come for me, baby,” he says, his voice a low, desperate demand. His use of the word baby sends tingles to my chest while his fingers have me tingling in other places.

  I come apart. Somehow managing to find the decency to twist further into him and hide my reaction. Smother my cries. Do my very best to not bring attention to myself in the packed restaurant.

  When the fire inside me dies down to only a simmer and I catch my breath, I tentatively ease my head from behind his shoulder. His hand slides from my pants. When he puts them in his mouth, I’m ready to go again.

  Shaking away the thought, my eyes scan the restaurant to find the drunken three a.m. crowd paying us no attention. Thankfully. But my relief is short-lived—replaced with a fiery, jealous rage when I notice the waitress making them pathetic googly eyes at Jinx. I’ll annihilate that bitch.

  “You don’t have a girlfriend, do you?”

  Jinx lifts a brow. “You fuckin’ serious right now?”

  “Yeah.” I shrug, averting my gaze.

  “If I had a girlfriend, I wouldn’t be finger fucking you in Waffle House, sweetheart.” Relief. Unwanted relief floods through me. “Hey…” He tips my chin to look at him. His eyes are narrowed and serious. “You think I’m that kinda guy?”

  “Well…I don’t know. That’s why I asked.”

  He smirks. “Well…now you do know.” His tone drops. “I’m not that guy.”

  “Pecan waffle?” My gaze shoots to the waitress. She’s undeterred by my threatening look—batting her eyelashes and smiling suggestively and shit at someone who doesn’t belong to her. I mean, he doesn’t belong to me either, but… still.

  “Mine,” I snap, my emphasis on the word directed more toward the man sitting next to me than the waffle she all but shoves in my direction. My temper flares at her obvious dismissal of my warning. “The scent of my pussy is fresh on his fingers… his mouth… and his cock…” My hand flies out, gesturing to the room. “So find someone else to flash them crooked ass, cigarette stained teeth at.”

  Jinx drops his head to hide his grin. The waitress, Wanda, looks like someone just shit in her tip jar. And I’m three seconds from shoving her face in the deep fryer when she very quickly, very smartly, puts the rest of our order on the table and disappears.

  “Thirsty bitch,” I mumble, covering my waffle in syrup.

  “If I were alone, I’d have gotten her number.” I glance up to find an amused Jinx smiling playfully at me.

  “Yeah?” I fork a bite of waffle and pop it in my mouth. I’m still chewing when I tell him, “Well, if the rabbit hadn’t stopped to piss, the dog wouldn’t have got him.”

  He laughs at that—a loud, uncaring, genuine laugh. It’s infectious and I find myself laughing at my own joke along with him. “My Dad used to say that same shit all the time.”

  My ears quirk up at the mention of his dad. I’m hungry for knowledge about his personal life, but I don’t want to push him. Lucky for me, my silence works and he continues. “He hated excuses. And every time I’d say “if” an excuse followed it. By the time I was in high school, I finally understood that excuses didn’t work for him. It was better to just suck it up, agree that you were wrong and move forward.”

  I point to the NO EXCUSES patch stitched on the collar of his vest. “I bet he was proud to see you wearing that.” I know the patch means something different in the club world, but I want to find out what his family thinks about who he is. What he gave up. If they agree with his lifestyle.

  “Wouldn’t know,” he says so dismissively, I’m surprised when he elaborates a few moments later. “He’s never seen it.”

  Waffle forgotten, I turn in my seat to face him. Now who’s the thirsty bitch? “He doesn’t know about the club?”

  “You catch on quick.” He winks at me before turning back to his food. Cutting and chewing and making me wait for more. “My parents are simple-minded, hard working people. They’re also pretty naive. They’ll assume I’m out robbing liquor stores and killing people because that’s the kinda shit that happens on Gangland. I figured it best not to tell them about this part of my life.”

  “Part of your life?” I blanch. “This is your life. It’s who you are. Every day. It’s not some hobby. Right?”

  He points at me with his fork. “You’re two for two.” I’m not sure why he’s so passive about this. Maybe he really does have daddy issues or some sob story.

  “So what do they think you do?”

  “I own a company that provides security for wind energy towers.”

  I scrunch my nose up. “What the hell is that?”

  “Wind energy… windmills. My company protects the transportation and delivery of them from vandalism and theft.”

  “Who would steal a windmill?”

  “You’d be surprised,” he mumbles.

  “Wait, so you really do own a company that does that?”
He stares at me like I have three heads and nods slowly. “Have you always done that?”

  “No.” His short response coupled with the obvious tension in his neck piques my curiosity.

  “Are you going to elaborate?”

  “No.”

  “Butthole…”

  He grins and grabs the check from the corner of the table. “You finished?”

  “Yeah.” I rub my stomach and look down at my half-eaten waffle. “I’m full. I think it was the liquor.”

  “Well,” he starts, standing and holding his hand out to me. I take it and allow him to pull me into his chest. “If you get hungry later…” His hands move to button my pants I’d forgotten was open. “I got something to feed you.”

  Those dark, dirty, whispered words have me suddenly aware of that lingering, insatiable feeling that’s been hovering inside me. Immediately, my body heats. My control is lost. I want to fuck his leg. His face. This table. That ugly ass waitress who really isn’t ugly at all.

  I’m squeezing my thighs together. Inhaling his scent. Blatantly rubbing my nipples that are hard and visible through my shirt across his back. I don’t give a shit who’s watching either. No woman can blame me. Because I’m pretty sure, there’s not a bitch in here who isn’t wet at the sight of Jinx.

  We’re in his car. His cut is off. His forearms visible. Tattooed and tanned and muscular. He drives with his left hand on the wheel. His right elbow resting on the console. I’m breathing hard. Squirming in my seat. Watching him. Waiting… Impatiently willing him to look at me. Say something dirty. Do something even dirtier.

  “When we get home…”

  He hasn’t even finished and I’m whimpering. Fingers pinching my nipples. Legs opening and closing. Head back. Mouth agape. Eyes fluttering. He shifts to adjust his hardening cock and I start to cross the barrier separating us and put my mouth on him. Lick him. Tease him. Suck him. Take him deep.

  His phone rings loud through the speakers of his car. I want to smash the motherfucker into a million pieces. He must feel the same because when he presses the button on the steering wheel to answer it, his tone is clipped and angry.

  “Yeah?”

  “Either you’ve got a death wish, my sister has a twin or whoever sent me this picture is one talented, photo-editing motherfucker, because I know it’s not Winter I see getting trashed in a bar when she’s supposed to be locked up tighter than a nun’s cunt, secured and safe but miserable and alone and under your watchful eye. So which one is it, brother, because I’m two seconds away from flying down there just to kill you and do the job myself.”

  Jinx shoots me a lazy, questioning look along with a smirk. I roll my eyes and mutter, “Hello, Pierce.” I swear I can feel the tension radiating from his silence. After a few seconds, he speaks, but it’s through gritted teeth.

  “Take me off speaker, Jinx. Now…” he adds, the threat clear. Jinx doesn’t look the least bit intimidated but does as Pierce says.

  “What?” Jinx asks, bored.

  There’s a lot of shouting. A few unenthusiastic “yeah’s” from Jinx, then a more stern, “I got it” before the call is ended. The moment he hangs up, he looks over at me. “Too bad we don’t have anymore of that cush. I could use some right about now.”

  “Who says we don’t?” I grin, then pull the baggie I’d lifted off of Josephine without her knowledge from my bra.

  “Damn woman,” Jinx says, a playful growl in his voice. “I’m gonna fuck around and fall in love with you.” He’s only kidding. His smirk says so. But only one word comes to mind at the mention of him falling in love with me…

  Ditto.

  35

  WINTER

  Ding-a-ling-a-ling… Ding-a-ling-a-ling… Ding-a-ling-a-ling…

  “Answer that motherfucker or eat it!” I croak, groaning when my own voice has my head throbbing in pain.

  I keep my eyes closed against the bright light streaming through the curtains, but can feel and hear Jinx as he removes the battery from the phone and throws it across the room. It crashes against the wall with a satisfying, yet ear splitting, sound.

  He cradles the back of my head in his hand again. Softly massaging my scalp with the tips of his fingers as he caresses my arm that’s thrown over his stomach. When he kisses my hair, I think it’s unintentional. Which makes that butterfly-wing-flapping in my belly even more excited.

  After we made it home last night, he rolled us a blunt. It took him a couple of tries because I couldn’t keep my mouth off of him. He ended up stopping so he could feed me what I was hungry for, took his turn eating me until he was full and then we finally smoked that blunt neither of us needed.

  As if that wasn’t enough, we finished off a bottle of scotch. Watched the sun come up. Fucked like animals when we got in bed. Then I curled against his chest. My legs tangled with his. Naked and finally fully sated.

  Five seconds later, I was bolting from the bed. Hugging the toilet. Puking my guts up. He’d said he wouldn’t hold my hair. He totally did. He even helped me take a shower. Dried me off. Carried me back to bed—naked. Because my clothes were in the other room. And he sure as shit wasn’t letting me wear his.

  When I woke up only moments ago to the incessant ringing of his annoying fucking phone, I found myself in the same position I went to sleep in—tucked into his side. And once again, I’m drifting because the comfort of his embrace just does that to me.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  “Jinx!” Luke.

  With lightning speed, Jinx grabs the sheet and pulls it over my exposed back. Then his large hand is covering the side of my head—protecting my ear from the loud crash of the door as it hits the wall. Thank god he’s got good reflexes, because I’m too tired to even think straight, much less move.

  “What the fuck, man?” Jinx snaps, his voice quiet despite his palpable anger.

  “Why aren’t you answering your phone?” Luke roars. I cringe. Jinx’s hand rubs my head in a soothing gesture.

  “Keep your voice down. I was asleep, obviously.”

  The room is silent and I feel like they’re communicating in a different way. A look. A sign. Something. Anything to keep me from hearing the exchange.

  “You owe me,” Luke finally says, his voice soft as the light click of the door when he closes it.

  “Owe him for what?” I mutter, licking my dry lips.

  “For running Ten’s out of town. And for handling Pierce. He’s still pissed.”

  “Fuck Pierce.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  Jinx continues his tender rubbing. Fingers gently kneading. Touching. Soothing. Caressing. His lips kissing my hair. His words a whisper. “Go back to sleep, baby.”

  And I do.

  It’s been a week since we got hammered and stoned out of our minds. It took the first three days to recuperate from our hangover. Most of our recovery was spent on the couch watching T.V. Rehydrating. Eating food that we could actually stomach, like Jell-O and pudding cups.

  Our routine hasn’t changed much since then. But things between the two of us have definitely changed since that night. Like when we watch T.V. we do it curled into each other. When we shower, we shower together. When we sleep, it’s in his bed—together. And it doesn’t feel weird or strange but perfect and right.

  Worst part is, I can’t even blame our obvious attraction on the sex. Because since he fucked me seventeen ways to Sunday the night we went out, he hasn’t touched me. Well, not like that. It’s not that I don’t want him to, but we both seem to be satisfied with the intimacy that comes with cuddling, showering and sleeping together.

  Besides, yesterday was the first day I could walk without wincing. My aching pussy felt battered. Clit swollen and raw. Thighs bruised. Ass cheeks sore from his hard pounding when he took me on my knees. Breasts tender from his harsh kneading and sucking. But damn, I’d loved every second of it and my body ignited with every painful reminder.

  When I hissed out a breath as I crawled out of bed and
made my way slowly and painfully to the bathroom that first day, I figured he’d smirk. I was prepared to give him the finger and tell him to fuck off, but he wasn’t cocky about it. He looked uneasy. A little regretful. And my chest had tightened at his concern.

  I’d assured him I was fine. But he’d stopped me in the bedroom and held me at arm’s length. His brows had creased and worried eyes traveled across every inch of my naked body—the corners tightening every time they scanned a bruise. Eventually, he met my eyes. Stared at me for the longest moment. Then, he cupped my cheeks. Kissed my head. And every day since then, has treated me like I’m something precious.

  Now I’m terrified of this shit happening in my chest. This damn heart of mine that flutters every time he smiles. Swells when he walks in the room and deflates a little when he’s not around. The bastard skips a beat when he calls me baby. Yearns to hear it instead of the snarky sweetheart he uses when he’s being a dick.

  Yep. This heart of mine is fucking with my emotions. Destroying my plans. It’s forcing me to feel things for Devil’s Renegades Jinx….

  Not my dream guy.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” Jinx says, tossing a creepy rubber chicken at me. I nearly spill my scotch trying to catch the damn thing.

  “It’s Thanksgiving?”

  “It was Thursday.”

  “What’s today?”

  He shoots me a look that says I should know this. Like there’s a fucking calendar posted on the wall. Or I have a phone I can look down at to verify the date. “It’s Saturday. Get dressed. Club’s annual feast is tonight.” He sounds as excited about going as I feel.

  Another week has passed with it being just him and me. Fucking when we want to. Sleeping when we want to. Talking when we feel like it. Ignoring each other when we don’t. The last thing I want is to be cooped up in a house with a bunch of people I don’t like, who share the same feeling about me.