Cutslut

by Kim Jones

  “Eh…” I shrug my shoulders. “I’ll pass. Besides, this show is pretty damn good.” I pick the creepy chicken up with my finger tips and sling it across the room then settle back into the couch and press play.

  Jinx, in all his half-naked, sexy as shit glory, blocks the T.V. with his big body. “You’re goin’.”

  I give him a hard look. “No… I’m not.”

  Ignoring me, he turns off the T.V. then saunters over. My breath hitches. Panties dampen. Heart does that weird shit it’s been doing lately.

  “If you’re hungry…” I trail off, licking my lips as he parts my legs and sinks to his knees between them. Pushing my shirt up my stomach, he trails a finger across the hem of my panties. When those bright, gray eyes peek up at me, I nearly come.

  “As delicious as you are, baby, a man’s gotta eat real food every now and then.” Baby… It just… gets me. And he’s been saying it so much here lately. And I’ve been swooning like crazy every time he does.

  “Then I’ll cook for you.”

  He lifts a brow. “You cook?”

  “No… but I can figure it out.” My hips buck. He smiles.

  “Tell me why you really don’t want to go.” He turns his head and places a kiss on my right thigh. Then my left.

  “You know why,” I breathe, my eyes already falling closed. Ready for him to do what he always does—fucking devour me and leave me wet and sated and floating.

  “I really don’t.” Damn his serious voice…

  Cracking open one eye, I glare at him the best I can. “They don’t like me. I don’t like them. Why the hell would I want to spend my holiday with them?” Settling back, I dig the heels of my feet into his ribs, urging him closer. “When I could stay here with you and do something a lot more exciting.”

  “Well, I’m going so that’s not possible.”

  “You can stay,” I fire back. He chuckles. It’s deep in his chest. The echo vibrating my pussy that’s so close to his mouth, I can feel his breath on me.

  “Sorry, sweetheart.” Sorry sweetheart…ugh. “I’ve gotta go. Which means you do too. Get up. We leave in twenty.”

  I narrow my eyes. “I’m. Not. Going.”

  Pulling some Chuck Norris shit, he flips me to my stomach and swats my ass hard. Then he’s on top of me. His cock digging into my still-stinging ass. His lips at my ear. “How about this,” he whispers, rocking his hips against me. “We’ll have dinner with them...” His tongue traces the shell of my ear. I shiver beneath him. “And I’ll have you for desert.”

  Done.

  36

  JINX

  I’m sitting at the table smoking a cigarette. It seems I’m always waiting on Winter for something.

  In the shower, I have to wait for her to shave her legs before I can rinse the burning fucking soap from my eyes, because she needs the hot water and refuses to shower alone.

  In the morning, I have to wait for her to wake up before I can eat breakfast, because she likes to eat with me.

  At night, I have to wait for her to get sleepy before I go to bed, because she doesn’t like sitting up alone.

  When we fuck, I have to wait for her to come at least three times before I do—that one is my preference, but still. I’m waiting. All the time. That’s not the most annoying part, either. I actually like it. That’s what’s so fucking crazy.

  I like that she needs me. That my day consists and revolves around nothing but her. That every-fucking-thing I do is done with her in mind. With Ten’s out of the state and eyes on Cain confirming he’s still in Vegas, I’ve been able to let my guard down. So for the past two weeks, we’ve been acting like a couple on their honeymoon—hidden away in some romantic retreat in south Mississippi without a care in the world. It’s unnerving. But I guess I fucking like that too.

  She’d asked me if we were taking the bike. When I told her no, she looked a little disgusted. Shook her head. Then said, “You’re the only fucking biker I know who doesn’t ride a bike.” Now I want to prove it to her. Put her on my Harley, ride off into the sunset, stop for gas, fuck her on my bitch seat and then keep heading south. Just me. Just her.

  I’m losing my goddamn mind.

  “You ready? I’m hungry.”

  “I’ve been ready,” I snap, keeping my back to her. Making her wait as I finish my cigarette. I’ve never waited on a bitch. I don’t know what makes this one so special.

  Movement catches my eyes as I stub out my smoke. When I glance up, what I find has my anger dissipating—immediately replaced with a raw, primal desire to pound into her until she’s screaming my name while she comes around me.

  She’s naked.

  All long legs and tattooed arms.

  Bare pussy and big, fake tits.

  Curled hair.

  Perfectly made-up face.

  Hooded, bright green eyes.

  Painted pink lips part and her tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip. They’re full. Pouty. But I want them swollen from being kissed too hard. Her lipstick smeared. Her mouth around my cock. Hear her crying my name. Fuck.

  “Sometimes,” she says, her bare feet padding silently on the floor as she closes the distance between us, “I like to have dessert before dinner.”

  “Yeah?”

  She’s still nodding when I reach out and wrap my arm around her waist—pulling her on top of my lap. She straddles my thighs and moans when she feels my cock already stiff for her. The fucker sprang to life at just the idea of having her. Like I haven’t fucked her a hundred times already.

  “I want you,” I ground out, my hands on her waist. Thumbs circling the skin just below her breasts. She squirms in my lap and I have to choke out the next words. “But we don’t have time.”

  We should’ve left thirty minutes ago. If I didn’t have church, I wouldn’t care. But I do. And I can’t be late. Well…I can but then I’ll have to pay a fine. Penalty fee. Fucking five-thousand-dollar charge for being late without a legitimate excuse. And pussy, is not a legitimate excuse.

  Winter slides off my lap. I’m thinking she gets it and isn’t going to argue. Then she drops to her knees. Pushes mine apart. Worms her body between my thighs and starts working the button on my jeans.

  I groan at the sight of her on the floor. Licking those lips. Salivating for my cock. Hungry to have me in her mouth. I’ve never had a five-thousand-dollar blow-job. This would be my first. If I let it happen. I shouldn’t let it happen. But I can’t find the will to tell her no. The moment she frees me from my jeans and fists her hand around my shaft, I’m a goner.

  My fingers thread into her long, blonde hair. Hands tightening around her skull. Guiding her. Applying just a little pressure to encourage her to take me deep. She doesn’t disappoint. Her eyes flutter. She moans. Her fingers slipping between her legs. Playing with her pussy. Her other hand reaching inside my jeans. Cupping my balls.

  “Fuck…baby,” I hiss through my teeth. She mewls—loving it when I call her baby. I’d call her anything. Just as long as she keeps that silky, wet, hot mouth around my cock. That tongue of hers licking up my shaft. Those pink cheeks hollowing. Wide, watery eyes looking up at me.

  My balls swell in her hand. She squeezes just hard enough for my legs to stiffen. Then, with her lips on my zipper, my cock down her throat, she swallows—tightening those muscles at the very back of her throat around me.

  Hips jerking, spine tingling, fucking chest on fire…I come so hard I see spots. My head swims. Heart hammers. I’m fucking panting. And she’s still sucking. Massaging. Swallowing every. Last. Drop. This damn girl…fuck.

  When my eyes flutter open, they find her immediately. Hell, they have to. She’s the only thing I see when she’s around. Everything else is a mist. A dark haze. Overshadowed by her presence. Not just her beauty, but the whole fucking package that is Winter Tews.

  Tightening my hand in her hair, I have to pry her off my cock. She moans her disapproval. Her body rocking against her fingers. Cheeks flushed. Eyes so damn green and rimmed
in red. Lips still as perfectly pink as they were when she first parted them.

  “My turn,” I say, voice hoarse.

  Fisting her hair, I give it a tug. When her feet are planted, I wrap my hands around her slim waist and sit her on the table in front of me. Pushing my chair back, I toss her legs over my shoulders, grip her fat ass in my hands, pull her to the edge and dip my head between her thighs. “Watch.” Her eyes flutter at my demand.

  Leaning back on her elbows, she watches me as I spin my hat around and inch closer—her legs spreading wider to accommodate my broad shoulders. “Prettiest fuckin’ pussy,” I mumble, my eyes drinking in her wet, pink flesh. Her lips soft and bare. Clit swollen and peeking out at me from beneath its hood.

  Placing my thumbs on either side of the tiny nub, I expose it completely. I love how close I am to her. How I can see everything. How the pink stains her cheeks with embarrassment at me seeing her like this. How she pulls in a sharp breath, then exhales on a whispered, “Please.”

  Parting my lips, I close my mouth over her bared clit. Knowing how worked up and oversensitive she is, I keep my touch soft. My wet tongue feathering her clit in a circle. When I suck slightly, her legs spasm and she releases a pleasure-pained cry.

  My eyes lift to meet hers. They’re half-mast. Focused on me. Mouth slack. Golden hair messy and draped over her shoulders. Elbows trembling to support her weight. Flat stomach rising and falling in harsh breaths. She’s fucking beautiful.

  I sink a finger into her dripping cunt. Curl the tip. Watch her head fall back as she cries out. Her pussy squeezing my digit. Juices soaking it. I pull out and drag the wetness over her ass. She tenses and I pause.

  When she doesn’t look up or relax, I flatten my tongue against her clit and press hard. That instantly has her body loosening and I take advantage. Pushing the tip of my finger past the tight barrier, I don’t stop until I’m knuckle deep in her ass.

  She stiffens again, but I just keep working her with my tongue until she slowly melts around me. Then, as my tongue works her clit, I pump my finger in and out of her. Not too deep, just enough to give her all the sensation she can possibly stand.

  Seconds later, I know she’s close. Her head lifts. Gaze centers on me. I flick her clit hard with my tongue, and she explodes. Crying out. Nails scratching at the wooden table beneath her. Her hips lifting to meet my face. Grinding against my mouth. Legs tightening around my head. Ass inching further down—forcing my finger deeper.

  I don’t stop until her strength gives out and she collapses. Her back hits the table and her breath leaves her in a whoosh of unmistakable pleasure.

  Kissing my way down her flaccid legs, I slowly unwrap them from around me. Leaning back in my seat, I take a moment to just look at her. Appreciate every inch of her naked body. From her hard, pink nipples to her pink painted toes. But a moment is all I have.

  Then I’m on my feet. Picking her up. Carrying her sated body to my room. Planting her in front of her clothes that are laid out on my bed. Pushing her hair over her shoulder. Kissing her neck. Leaving her to get dressed. Making my way to my safe. Retrieving the five grand for the most expensive pussy I’ve ever eaten.

  And not giving a single fuck.

  Because it was worth every cent.

  37

  WINTER

  Regg and Red’s home is located in the middle of nowhere.

  Literally.

  There are no signs on the narrow roads that lead us there. No other houses. No sign of life other than a few stray cows littering the endless, open fields.

  We’ve been riding for over an hour when we finally turn down a narrow driveway. At the end sits a beautiful, old, three-story, Victorian style house that looks like a picture ripped from the pages of The Amityville Horror.

  Bikes are lined in the yard out front. A massive porch surrounds the first story. In the distance, I can see row after row of chicken houses, an old barn and then nothing but pine trees. I might find it serene under different circumstances.

  “Let’s go, sweetheart,” Jinx says, grabbing the small black bag he’d brought from the house and climbing out of the car. With a deep breath, I follow him out and inhale the cold, fresh air that’s tainted by the faint scent of chicken shit.

  “Ugh. How do they stand that?” I ask, placing the cuff of my sweater over my nose.

  Jinx pauses his step to turn and look at me as I check the bottom of my boots—making sure I didn’t step in anything. “Regg says it smells like money.” I glance up at him to find his eyes roaming over me.

  “What?” I snap, following his gaze down my Tiffany blue, oversized sweater that hangs mid-thigh. Then to the flash of cream colored leggings before trailing down my brown, knee high boots. I don’t see anything.

  “Nothing,” Jinx whispers, a warm smile on his lips as he takes my hand and tucks it into his. “You look good, babe. That’s all.”

  Before I can respond, he gives my hand a tug and I follow him up the stairs to the porch, finding my lady nuts by the time we make it to the door. I’m most definitely going to need them with this crowd. The women hate me. The men don’t much like me either. And a pit of dread and nerves have my stomach tightening in anxiety.

  Without knocking, Jinx pushes inside and immediately I’m hit with the scent of something delicious. Whatever’s baking in the kitchen, has my mouth watering as we make our way through the foyer and up a flight of polished, wooden stairs.

  The walls are all weathered, white wood scattered in pictures and paintings. Sixteen foot ceilings span over us. The banister is wrapped in garland decorated and lit for Christmas. For a moment, it reminds me of home. The home I had as a child before my parents were gone. The last time I remember being really happy. Then my brow wrinkles when I realize that’s not entirely true.

  Because when I think of happiness now, I think of Jinx. Of the past couple of weeks we’ve spent together in complete isolation. Of how he mindlessly held my hand in the car. Kissed my fingers. How comfortable the silence was and how happy it made me.

  Happy.

  I, Winter Tews, am… happy.

  Then, I hear the sound of women’s chatter and the memory fades when reality surfaces.

  I yank on Jinx’s arm pulling him to a stop. “Don’t leave me with the bitches!” I hiss on a whisper. An amused look claims his face when he lifts a brow at me.

  “You scared?”

  My spine stiffens. “Fuck no. But I’m not exactly looking forward to baking cookies and shit with them either.” He smiles at that.

  “Never know…” He winks at me. “You might even learn something.” I narrow my eyes on him and snatch my hand from his. I didn’t realize I could go from liking him to hating him so fast.

  Without any other option, I follow behind him—stomping my feet unnecessarily hard. By the time we reach the top of the stairs that open up to a massive den on the second floor, I’m wearing my best bitch face. Spine straight. Shoulders stiff. Eyes assessing the room that’s bare other than a few furnishings. Including the card table in the middle of the room, surrounded by three women—the same three women I’d called out weeks ago. Great.

  Jinx gives them a chin tip then turns to me and smirks. “Have fun, sweetheart.”

  “Eat shit,” I mutter. My words have him laughing as he brushes past me and back down the stairs. I listen to every stomp of his heavy boots. Keeping my eyes on everyone, but no one in particular as they all stare back at me.

  I drink them all in. Red and her fiery hair. The dust of flour on her left cheek. Tough demeanor that’s betrayed by her kind, hazel eyes. Dallas with her supermodel good looks. Aura of superiority. The confidence she possesses and portrays. Then Delilah. She looks happy. Maybe not in this moment, but the story in her eyes tells it all. She finally feels of value. Knows her worth. Of the three, she is most like me, yet there’s still a world of difference between us. And I can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy that this ex-clubwhore has a peace about her that I will never know.

>   When the footsteps cease and a door shuts from somewhere downstairs, Red speaks. “You play?” she asks, tone bored. Head titled. Brow lifted. Eyes studying my clothes. Hair. Face. Stance. Then finally meeting my gaze. “It’s three card poker. Loser matches the pot.”

  I glance at the pile of money and personals in the center of the table. A thought springs to mind and I shrug. “I’ll give it a try.”

  Dallas, looking overly confident, kicks a chair out. “Take a seat.”

  Taking the offered chair, I lift a brow at Red who offers me a glass of Scotch. The hair on my neck stands up when I notice it’s my favorite. No doubt information that Dallas got from her flight attendant, Shira. I shouldn’t take the bait, but I nod anyway. Because who the fuck am I kidding? It’s scotch.

  Red pours a glass and I accept, taking a sip as I cross my legs and lean back. With all eyes on me, I pull out the wad of cash stuffed in my boot. I make a show of removing the rubber band and flipping through the bills.

  Some of this money I lifted from strangers when Jinx and I went out the other night. The rest of it is what I stole from their purses when I first arrived—the last time I saw them. By the daggers they’re shooting me, they know it too.

  “You enjoy taking shit that doesn’t belong to you?” Delilah asks, her arms crossed over her chest as she glares at me.

  “I do,” I admit, meeting her harsh look. She’s taking this personally—even though it wasn’t her money I stole. It says a lot about her. My best guess is she’s struggled for money before. And my nonchalance about stealing pisses her off.

  For some reason, her anger pulls at my conscience and I find myself peeling off three one hundred dollar bills and tossing them on the table. “The thrill is taking it. Not keeping it.”

  “So that makes it okay?” Delilah scoffs, shaking her head. Her anger growing.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “What about putting our business on front street for the whole club to hear? Did you think that was okay?”