Dirty Whispers: A Dark Bad Boy Romance

by Paula Cox

  Brody calls me his girlfriend in public now. The guys at the fire station even joke that we’ll be getting married before we know it. I don’t know about that. All I know is that I’m happier with him than I ever was alone. We go to the movies, dinner, the theater, but sometimes we just lie in bed in each other’s arms, looking up at the ceiling and not talking, just being together. Every now and then, I bring up Tracey, her fate, wonder how she’s doing in prison. “She nearly killed you three goddamn times,” Brody replies. “I don’t care how she’s doing.”

  Life falls back into a steady routine and the madness of a few months ago starts to feel like events from someone else’s life. The fire, the bomb, the confrontation with the pixie-cut madwoman—all of it seems unreal. The only thing which is immune from this feeling is my relationship with Brody.

  One of my co-workers, Angela, taps me on the shoulder one afternoon whilst I’m folding napkins. Angela is a fifty-eight year old woman who stated plainly in her interview that she was scared she was too old to get back into the workforce. She’s recently divorced and her husband is being a real jackass about it, apparently. I gave her a test run. She took to the operation well, but more importantly, she’s kind and has an easy smile; people take a shine to her immediately.

  She gestures at the window. “Looks like the hounds have arrived.”

  I giggle. She calls them the hounds because they come in whooping and jostling with each other like a pack of excited dogs.

  Brody and his friends come into the coffee. Some of their faces still have the sooty remains of a fire, their skin marked around the eyes. Luckily, the place is empty apart from a couple of old men in the corner who seem oblivious to everything but their game of checkers.

  Brody swaggers up to the counter.

  “I’ll let you handle this one,” Angela smiles, backing away.

  I look up into Brody’s face. When he grins down at me, I know he’s doing his cocky routine. He does this every so often, perhaps to remind me that he’s still the arrogant prick he was when I first met him, just not all the time.

  “Hey, sexy.”

  “Hello, sir,” I say stiffly, forcing a smile from my face. “How can I help you?”

  “Whoa, why so cold?” he laughs.

  “I’m sorry, sir, if I don’t seem friendly enough for you.” I gesture at the clock. Half past five o’clock. “It’s been a very long day and there’s somebody I’d like to see later.”

  “Oh, so you have a boyfriend, is that it?”

  “I’m afraid so.” I nod.

  “And this guy . . . is he handsome?”

  “Not particularly. He’s a bit of a jerk, really. Way too cocky. Thinks he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread. But he has a big cock and he’s not completely inadequate in the bedroom, so what’s a girl to do?”

  “And that’s the only reason you’re with him?”

  “Absolutely,” I shoot back, cheeks burning red with the desire to smile. “He doesn’t have any other good qualities, unfortunately.”

  Brody holds his hands up, pretending to be offended, and then gives me his order in a cold voice. He goes to the table with his firefighter friends. When they’re done and it’s time for them to pay their bill, he rushes out of the door before I have a chance to see that he didn’t tip me. Instead, he wrote at the bottom of the receipt: I can’t tip you if you’ve got a boyfriend. And also, why don’t you take better care in your looks, baby? A little mascara wouldn’t hurt.

  I make a noise somewhere between a laugh and a growl. He thinks he’s getting away that easy, does he?

  I march out into the street just in time to grab him by the wrist. He turns, that wicked smile on his face, the smile that drew me to him in the first place. We’re near the back of the firetruck. The rest of the guys are up front. Brody grabs my hand and then pulls me out of view right at the back of the truck.

  “What are you doing, sir?” I say, trying to make my voice haughty and outraged. But I can’t suppress the undertone of laughter.

  “Enough with the sir,” Brody breathes. He grabs me by the arms and shoves me against the truck. He’s strong, muscles like steel, and there’s nothing I can do as he leans over me. “If you really want one,” he goes on, pressing his groin into me, his rock-hard cock, “I’ll give you a sturdy tip.”

  I look up at him, body alive to the idea, wanting him to take me right now, right here.

  When we kiss, we moan so loudly I’m sure the guys in the firetruck hear us, but I don’t care. The pleasure of Brody is too great, too absorbing. It’s the pleasure I’ve only ever felt with him, the pleasure of being with a man with whom I am completely comfortable. He breaks off the kiss when Marco shouts: “Hey, lover man, we need to get going!”

  Brody groans and takes a step back. “I’ll see you later?” he sighs.

  “If you’re lucky,” I respond, kissing him on the cheek.

  With another groan as Marco presses down the horn on the truck, he leaves me.

  I return to the counter. Angela, as she carries the discarded dishes and mugs of the two old men, leans over and whispers: “You’re a lucky young lady, Boss. I wouldn’t say no.”

  “Get out of here, you disgusting old woman!” I snap, and we both giggle like little girls.

  Chapter Forty

  Darla

  Another week passes and life is so good I often wonder if I’m in a dream.

  I leave the coffee shop and walk down the street. It’s sunny, California-sunny, and I have a spring in my step. I’m going to meet Brody at the fire station and then we’re going for dinner, maybe a movie afterwards. I’m happy and content as only a person who’s done a full day’s work and now has the promise of a full evening ahead of them can be. I’m about ten minutes from the station when Carl, who I haven’t seen for half a year, jumps into my path.

  I don’t mean to scream or take a step back, but I can’t help it. He appears from nowhere. A few pedestrians glance at me; one man has an expression like he thinks Carl is a mugger. I nod at him, shrugging and wincing with embarrassment. He goes on his way.

  I turn back to Carl. He looks healthier, less strange. At first, I don’t know exactly why this is. Then I realize that his horn-rimmed glasses, which always made his eyes look so big and insect-like, are gone. In their place are stylish hipster-type glasses. He doesn’t wear a weirdo’s overcoat, but a smart shirt, jeans, and shoes. On his wrist is a digital watch and he’s shaved his head all over, getting rid of the balding look and going instead for just bald.

  “Uh, hello,” I say.

  He smiles at me. But it’s not a perverted smile, not a weird, off-putting smile. It’s just a smile.

  “I hope I didn’t frighten you,” he says. “I just saw you across the street and knew I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I didn’t say hello.”

  “Right . . .” I let it hang, waiting for him to go on.

  “I just wanted to apologize,” he says. “For the way I was before, I mean. I’ve been seeing the doctor a fair bit over the past months. A head doctor, you know. They’ve diagnosed me with social anxiety and schizophrenia, which is why I thought I was your boyfriend that day at your apartment.” He cringes visibly at the memory. “Anyway, I won’t take up any more of your time.”

  “Wait,” I say, before he leaves. “So you’re okay, are you?”

  He nods. “I’m on medication and I’m going through therapy. Things are looking up. I have a job in a factory. It’s good, I can keep to myself. But I’m seeing someone, too, a woman from one of the art classes the hospital runs.” He nods again. “I’m doing well. I just wanted to say sorry.”

  “If it wasn’t for you,” I say, “that bomb would’ve killed me.”

  “I guess fate moves in mysterious ways,” he says. “Anyway, I better get going. I have an appointment.”

  I can’t help but smile as Carl, a changed man, walks down the street.

  I watch him for a few moments until he turns a corner, and then I continue
on my way.

  See, Tracey, I think. You tried to ruin us all, didn’t you? But you failed.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Brody

  I sit alone in the canteen, waiting for Darla. She’s coming by straight after work and she should be here any minute. I sip my coffee and I think.

  I think about the past months, about how often Darla and I see each other now, about the connection which has formed between us. One question returns to me again and again: Is it stronger than the connection I had with Julia? The answer comes quickly, bluntly: Yes. I don’t have to ponder it for long. Julia was a high school sweetheart. Julia was a woman—a girl, really—I lost myself to when I was too young and naïve to know better. It’s different with Darla. Darla is a real woman. Grownup and mature and independent and yet sexy and playful. Perfect. I never thought I’d use that word about a woman, but it’s the truth. I think it all the time: Darla is perfect.

  The shifts in the station change, and as soon as the night guys come in, they’re called out on a job. Most of the trucks tear out of the station. I hear them, sirens blaring, wheels screeching, from where I sit. Only the backup trucks will remain in the yard.

  I wonder out to the yard now, watching the entrance and leaning against a truck. I know that, at any moment, Darla will walk through the door. Despite the time which has passed, I still feel a boyish excitement in my chest at the thought. Darla, sexy as all hell and mine. The jerk I was months ago never would’ve believed the man I am now, sitting here like a teenager excited for his date, heart beating, palms moist, and cock rock-fucking-hard just at the thought of her.

  When she finally appears, wearing her skirt and tights and shirt from work, it takes a huge effort for me to stop myself from charging at her, scooping her up, and fucking her right there.

  We meet in the middle of the yard and kiss. I place my hand low down on her back and press her into me. My cock pushes against her and I feel her lust. I don’t have to listen to her breathing or the quick beating of her heart or even feel her hands roaming over my body. We’re so close now I can scent her lust on the air like perfume.

  We break off, both of us panting.

  “I need you,” she moans.

  “I need you, too,” I reply, taking her by the hand.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Darla

  Brody drags me across the yard toward the firetruck in the corner. From the direction of the gym, I can hear a couple of men working out, but Brody pulls me by the hand around the truck so that we’re hidden from view. A little corner of our own, I think, as we step into the shadow.

  Brody is liked a wild animal, lust surging through him. I can see it in the way his eyes, wide and hungry, look up and down my body. It’s been months but every time he looks at me like that, I lose myself. It’s a look that tells me I’m the sexiest woman he’s ever seen, the only woman he wants, the only woman he’ll ever want. He grabs both my hands and pulls me toward him, our bodies squashed together.

  I look up into his strong face, my body alive with lust, burning. Then I stand on my tiptoes and smash my lips into his, open my mouth, and push my tongue into his. He grabs my ass and lifts me up, pushing me against the truck. The metal is cool through my clothes, but Brody’s body warms me. We kiss for a long time. Brody takes one hand from my ass, holding me up easily, and brings the other down between my legs. He presses his palm down on his pussy, vicious, hard, so powerfully that I’m lifted even higher from the floor. The pleasure shoots through me; I feel like I’m floating on his hand.

  He rubs me quickly, the way he rubs me when he’s insane with lust. We stop kissing for a moment and I look into his face. He’s like a crazed beast, a wolf with his mate, completely lost to the world.

  “Come,” he moans. “Come for me, Darla. I fucking love it when you come for me.”

  Just the word come is enough to heighten the pleasure. My pussy gets hot and wet. His hand traps the heat and presses it into my clit. I bite down on my lip, trying to stop myself from moaning. I can still hear the men in the gym room, but they seem far away. We’ve created our own little world here, a private world of pleasure. I bounce up and down on his hand. He’s so strong, I think. He could hold me up with his pinkie. Damn, fuck, fuck . . . he’s so strong!

  I move my hips, gyrating, as he rubs me.

  Soon, the heat is too intense. I close my eyes. Pleasure rolls through me. I feel like I’m flying as he lifts me higher off the ground. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I moan, not caring if I make any noise now. “Fuck, yes, fuck.”

  “I can feel it,” he groans, leaning into my neck, breath whispering over my skin. “You feel like you’re going to explode.”

  “That’s . . . because . . . I . . . am . . .” Each word is harder to speak than the last.

  When I come, I grip his shoulders and twist my body, riding him. When the orgasm passes, he sets me on my feet. I grab hold onto the firetruck, panting.

  “Take off your clothes,” he says in a commanding tone of voice. I love when he talks to me like that. It makes me feel so goddamn wanted. He tears at his clothes, pulling his shirt over his head. I never stop being surprised and titillated by his muscles. His torso is perfectly carved, bulging muscle, a sheet of hard ab muscles. I reach down and trail my finger down between his pecs and to his belly.

  Brody tears at my clothes, pulls my shirt over my head and yanks on my skirt. He pulls my skirt and tights down to my ankles. I step out of them and then busy my hands with undoing his pants. They fall down and his cock springs up. It’s the same with his cock; I never stop being surprised by just how huge it is. Each time we fuck, I’m surprised I can take it.

  He grabs me by the waist and lifts me off my feet. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss him, too horny to even aim my kisses. I kiss him on the lips and the cheek and the chin and even the nose, just wanting to be close to him.

  He holds me up with one hand. With the other he reaches down and guides his cock. He lowers me down and time seems to slow. I feel the tip of his cock push against my pussy, into my hole. He widens me and I let out a long, passionate moan. He pushes further, and his cock enters me completely.

  I can’t take it anymore. I throw my body down, sitting down on his cock until his balls touch my ass. He brings his hands down to my ass, squeezing the flesh so hard I know there will be red hand prints there later, and fucks me ragged. He fucks me so hard I barely have time to react. I tear into his skin with my fingernails, but we’re too caught up in the heat and the closeness to notice.

  His cock pounds into me, deep, hitting my sweet spot. He pulls it all the way out and then in again, over and over, smashing into me. This is Brody, I think, far back in my mind. This is the sexy fucking fireman Brody. This is the man I wanted for ages. And now he’s my boyfriend. My boyfriend has me against a firetruck and he’s fucking me like crazy.

  “You’re the sexiest fucking woman alive,” he moans over the sound of our flesh hitting together. “Fuck, you’re so tight. You’re so fucking wet. Come on my cock, Darla. Fucking come for me. I want to feel you come all over my cock. Fuck, fuck, yes. Do it. Fucking come for me. Now.”

  Sometimes, it’s like he’s magic. With other men, especially Charley, I would never be able to come if they demanded it like Brody does. But with Brody, his power and his confidence and—yes, and this, this most of all—his arrogance overrides everything. He is in charge. He is taking me. And it feels fucking incredible.

  My pussy goes super-tight around his cock. With a grunt, he pushes through the tightness, hitting my deep, warm place. I bring my face to his neck and bite down. I bite down as the orgasm rushes through me, touching every inch of me. And as it erupts deep in my pussy, I bite down so hard I taste blood. Brody doesn’t even notice. To a man who routinely goes into burning buildings a bite is nothing. I come for so long I feel myself squirting.

  Just as my orgasm ends, his begins. His hips thrust quicker and he pounds into me until he brings his mouth to my neck. He bites and
he comes.

  Then he lowers me to my feet and I loll back against the firetruck. Brody leans beside me. We stay like this for a long time until we hear the other firetrucks returning to the yard. We grin and giggle, both of us flushed and content after the sex, as we gather up our clothes and quickly get dressed. Then we walk through the yard and into the street.

  Walking hand in hand and not even thinking about where we’re going, I feel happier than I have at any other point in my life. My body is aching and there’s a smile on my face which nothing could get rid of.

  We come to a main street filled with restaurants and stop at the corner, sitting on a public bench. We don’t discuss this. It’s as though we communicate telepathically. We’re so much closer now, I think.