Sympathy For The Devil

by King, Asha

  “Would you like to?”

  Oh hell, she couldn’t answer that. Couldn’t tell him that she could barely take her eyes from where the crop met the redhead’s ass, imaging how that would feel. Couldn’t tell him that she imagined him doing it to her.

  “Because I’d like to see that sometime,” he continued. “See you bent over a bench, your pretty ass in the air, and your knees tied to keep you down. Feel how hard I am just thinking about spanking you?” He rubbed his erection deliberately against her ass again. His body pushed closer to hers, urging her nearer to the half-wall. She felt deliciously trapped, her control lost and all she could do was give herself over to sensation.

  His fingers pushed past her panties, pressing directly against her sensitive skin. She moaned even as she tried to clamp down on it, part of her wanting to deny how he made her feel. He slid one digit into her, thumb stroking her clit.

  She was panting, leaning forward heavily and using the lattice bars to keep her upright. Her hips moved to meet the thrusts of his fingers, her body shamefully taking over. He touched her smoothly, surely, like he read her every breath and movement and knew exactly what she wanted.

  His other hand left her and a moment later she heard the parting of his fly. Her own name hovered on her lips. Natasha. Touching her was one thing; fucking her was another.

  “You just have to say it,” Archer whispered, still rubbing her, sending sparks of pleasure through her lower half each time his thumb brushed her clit.

  Say it. Her lips parted. “Condom.”

  “Right here.” And perhaps deliberately the plastic crackled.

  It assuaged her worry though if he’d said no, she wasn’t entirely certain in that second if she’d have objected.

  He drew up the back of her skirt, rubbing her ass and grasping a handful of her silk panties. “I hope you’re not attached to these.” Before she could object, the fabric tore, exposing her ass to him. Feet between her ankles, he urged her legs even farther apart.

  His hand abandoned her pussy, positioning her better instead. She sensed a moment of hesitation, giving her a moment to object, to scream her name, to run. Her lips were trembling, breaths panting, and she couldn’t even think straight—her pussy ached, wanting him inside her, and nothing else in that moment mattered.

  “Fuck me,” she whispered.

  “One thing,” he said in a low, dark voice, “you’re going to figure out pretty quickly...” The broad head of his cock rubbed up and down her slit from behind, eliciting a groan from her. “...is that I don’t take orders.”

  She was shaking, craving him in her. “Please. Please.”

  “Better.” And he thrust into her, all of him driving into her slick channel in one swift movement.

  She nearly collapsed, hanging off the bars, body acclimating to his length and girth. She’d seen him last night, imagined this, but had never guessed it would feel this fucking good, stretching her, filling her.

  Archer pulled out and then surged forward again. His thrusting lit a fire in her and she rocked with him, finding a rhythm. The people below were forgotten, the bare asses raised, exposed breasts, the sucking and the fucking. The world narrowed until it was just him and her, his cock in her pussy, his hands roaming her body.

  His arm came over her shoulder, hand diving down into her camisole, past her bra, possessively grasping her breast, squeezing. “Tell me. When you were watching me last night, did it make you wet?”

  When she didn’t answer, he abandoned her breast, grasped her hair, forced her head to turn, neck craned, until she could see him. See his dark blue eyes glassy with lust, his mouth so near hers, his breath rasping against her check.

  She couldn’t look away from his fierce, dark eyes, no matter how she tried—and she didn’t think, either, that she could lie to him. “Yes.”

  He gave no sign of surprise, just a knowing look as he continued to thrust his cock into her. “Did you get yourself off after?”

  Oh my God. Again, her eyes wanted to close, her mouth wanted to lie, but she couldn’t. And when the floor didn’t open up to swallow her from embarrassment, she admitted, “Yes.”

  “Do you want to know what I was thinking about last night? When you were watching me in the shower, stroking my dick?”

  Part of her was mortified, still, but she couldn’t say it, couldn’t think of how to apologize, if she even wanted to apologize now. The scent and sounds of their arousal filled the air, drowned out all rational thought.

  His free hand snaked around her waist again, hiking up the front of her skirt, going straight for her swollen, needy clit. “You,” he growled. “You tied up, bent to my will.”

  He could’ve tied her up right then and she’d let him, do anything he told her. When his lips came down on hers savagely, she yielded completely, giving her body over entirely to him. His hand tightened in her hair as he kissed her, mouth demanding and taking over. She was pressed almost entirely into the wrought-iron lattice now, one nipple exposed and rubbing against the cool metal as their bodies rocked. He thrust into her violently, punishingly, and she might’ve come even without the attention on her clit. The sensations were overwhelming, orgasm baring down on her. His mouth swallowed her cries as stark, sudden pleasure blasted through her body, spiraling from her spasming pussy and outward. Bliss echoed through her limbs, her veins, right into her bones.

  As she slumped with exhaustion, barely able to keep her grip on the bars, he held her hips and kept her upright. His mouth released hers and her head tipped forward, brow hitting the cool wrought-iron while she panted. Archer groaned next to her ear, slamming into her one final time before shaking with his release.

  She’d done it. She’d actually fucked a maybe-killer.

  God, what the hell was wrong with her?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tash sank down as he pulled out of her, nothing left in her to keep upright.

  Shame filled her as the shock of what had happened wore off, and her stomach bottomed out. What the hell was she thinking? How the hell did she get so damn hot and bothered that she let that happen?

  He’d given her a way out. Multiple times. But she wasn’t passive, didn’t merely let him do whatever he wanted—she’d told him. Begged him. She had wanted him so badly she couldn’t think straight.

  And there was no taking it back.

  She braced for him to walk away, to make some snarky comment, to embarrass her further. She managed to pull her bra and camisole up, shift them so they were sitting right, but was quite aware of her torn underwear and skirt hiked up lewdly. God, she just wanted to curl up and die, and she started doing just that, her spine curving and head bowing.

  “You want to stay for a drink, or are you ready to go?”

  Tash looked up at him, still standing there. He’d straightened up, zipped up, looked no different but for the post-orgasm flush to his face.

  She had no idea what to say. What to think. And when he extended his hand to her, she simply stared.

  When a heavy sigh, Archer dropped to a crouch next to her, studying her. “You keep following me, you come around my house again, and I won’t be so gentle next time.”

  “I wasn’t following you in the grocery store.”

  “You followed me here tonight.”

  She chewed at her bottom lip but didn’t deny it.

  “And you got in the front door—I’m guessing you knew what to expect. And given how hard you’re blushing, no, you’re not a regular. So you followed me another night. Wednesday? Last Friday?”

  “Wednesday,” she admitted.

  “Is this going to end up in the paper?”

  “No. Maybe a friend’s blog but that’ll be anonymous.”

  Archer rolled his eyes, shook his head. “Do you want a drink or do you want to leave?”

  She’d paid enough goddamn money to be here—a drink would be lovely but she wasn’t eager to remain. “Both.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” He didn’t leave, though,
instead remaining crouched there with her. “You know, I don’t even know your last name.”

  He didn’t—she hadn’t given it to him. And no matter how goddamn stupid she felt in that moment, he was the one who just screwed a chick whose last name he didn’t know. “Whitaker,” she said.

  “Natasha Whitaker.” Again he offered his hand. “Devin Archer.”

  Adam was going to kill her. The cops were probably going to throw her in jail and Keisha would disown her entirely.

  But Natasha took his hand, let him help her to her shaky feet, and accepted her purse when he handed it to her. His hand clasped hers and he led her back along the mezzanine for the stairs.

  ****

  Devin half-expected Natasha to be gone by the time he’d obtained a bottle of booze after flashing some cash at the bartender. He held the neck of the small bottle of whiskey tight, rounded the bar and picked his way through the various remaining patrons again. About a third of them had gone off to the rooms, a few remained at their tables engaged in sex, while still others chatted and laughed like it was any other party. In another couple of hours, the club owners would roll out the buffet, but while he thought some food would do Natasha good—settle her nerves, help her regain her strength—he didn’t think she’d last that long here. She was perfect, every part of her—he had no complaints at all. But she didn’t belong here either.

  Not yet.

  Regrets, though, were another story entirely. He shouldn’t have gone near her, that much he knew, but for those glorious minutes upstairs, he was...free. His mind had, however briefly, relaxed blissfully as his body found solace in hers. It had been so long, too long, and why this woman, of all others...he still couldn’t answer. Why she lit a fire in him he couldn’t douse, making him feel things he thought dead.

  Still, guilt stabbed him, worry that he’d pushed her too far. But he’d taken a chance and, for the moment at least, it seemed like it might’ve paid off.

  She hadn’t left. She was huddled by herself on a sofa between two sectioned off rooms, her bare feet on the edge of the seat and her arms wrapped around her folded legs. Her strappy heels sat next to her with her purse.

  He tensed as he approached, ready for her to look up at him with accusations or revulsion. But when her dark eyes met his, he just saw sharp awareness in their depths, mind back solidly in her head after recovering from her body taking over.

  She let her feet fall to the floor, grasped her shoes and her purse. He’d led her to the washrooms before so she could clean up and she was brighter now, herself. Natasha rose and met him as he neared her.

  “We’re smuggling this out,” he said, indicating the whiskey.

  Understanding, she opened her purse and let him tuck the bottle inside, then slung the bag over her shoulder.

  His hand settled on the small of her back as they started for the exit, navigating her around to the stairs. Few people arrived this late and the women who had previously greeted people with drinks at the door were gone. They walked up the long dark flight of stairs and stepped outside into the humid air. It still hadn’t rained but at last Devin sensed it in the air—this weekend they’d be in for a hell of a storm.

  The bouncer paid them no mind as they headed for the parking lot. Devin glanced over the cars, couldn’t see hers, but she gestured in the direction opposite his truck.

  Smart girl.

  They walked in silence and it grew tense, awkward. And he wasn’t sure how to fix it. It had been awhile since...well, since a lot of things. And though part of him knew he’d made a monumental mistake here tonight, still another part of him wanted to be careful, not scare her off.

  If she was scared, she didn’t show it. Her steps were slow, feet still bare and they trekked across a parking lot that was unpaved. But she didn’t shy, seemed to lean into him instead.

  “I don’t do this kind of thing,” she said suddenly.

  “I don’t either.” The look she gave him practically screamed bullshit, so he amended. “Anymore.”

  She didn’t press and he didn’t offer more.

  Her pace slowed further as they went deeper into the parking lot until she froze completely.

  Devin gazed down at her. “What?”

  She nodded, eyes fixed ahead.

  He didn’t see her car, but realized they’d stopped in front of a car—one with HELL WAITS FOR WHORES carved into the hood, lettering jagged and ugly in the shadows of the lot.

  She was frozen completely and his hand moved from her back, over her shoulders to draw her to him.

  “That’s your car?” he asked, as if he didn’t know by that horrified look on her face.

  “M-my friend’s. I borrowed. Since you knew my other one.”

  His mouth twisted, but he bit back any comment he’d been about to make. Of course she’d get a different car, he’d have remembered hers.

  “Someone saw me,” she said softly. “In there.”

  With you. She didn’t need to say it but the implication was there.

  Devin released her, rounded the car, frowning. The tires were all flat as well—all four of them. Someone had been watching, all right. Someone who didn’t want her to leave, either.

  “I’ll drive you home,” he said.

  She shook her head, springy curls bouncing, as her expression sank. “I’m going to have to call a tow-truck. To come here. And see that. And tell M—my friend. I just...”

  “It doesn’t have to be a local tow-truck company. I’ll call in the morning. And make sure it’s discreet.”

  Again she shook her head, her face shifting from shock to anger. “It’s not your—”

  “I think we both know it is. I’ll drive you home tonight but I would think long and hard in the future, if I were you, before following or being seen with me. You’ve seen my house.”

  “The police are looking into it,” she said.

  He snorted, grasped her forearm, and urged her toward his truck, leaving her defaced car behind them. “Sure they are.”

  “I spoke to them today,” she said as she caught up, letting him lead her back through the parking lot. “Not Perry. People I know. I’ll let you know what they find out.”

  So now they were working together? On the same team? Anger buzzed through him at the thought. It was stupid to let her be dragged through the mud with him, tainted by him. They reached his truck and he got her in the passenger seat before heading around to the driver’s side.

  She already had the whiskey out. Hadn’t bothered with her seatbelt, just took a long pull from the bottle and then cradled it in both of her hands, staring ahead.

  Devin climbed in and closed his door but forewent the ignition, instead turning in the seat to watch her. She didn’t look at him, but she extended the bottle nonetheless.

  “I’m driving,” he said, though he accepted it and took a swig.

  “Why’d you come back, knowing what it would be like?”

  He returned the bottle to her waiting hand and leaned back in his seat, staring at the truck’s felt ceiling. “It’s expensive to have a house just sitting there, even with the mortgage paid off. Property tax, for one thing.”

  “And you can’t rent it?”

  He gave her a look.

  “Yeah, that was a stupid question.”

  “Sold my condo in the city to come back out here just to get the house ready for sale. Still thinking I should’ve burnt it to the ground and just sold the land to whoever.”

  “That might’ve been an easier sale. Why’d you restore it?” Her voice had returned to normal, not so shaky. Calmer.

  But his nerves were all twisted and he gripped the steering wheel with one hand, flexing his fingers as he stared at the full parking lot ahead without really seeing it. He should just start the truck, drive away, get her home and safely aware from him.

  He needed a cigarette. Or more whiskey, except he still needed to drive. His lips were in a grim line and he wished he could think of some simple lie, some way to make the conv
ersation just...go away.

  “Because it was my wife’s,” he said simply, and at last reached for the keys in the ignition.

  “Devin?” Natasha said.

  He sighed. “What?” As he turned toward her, she met him halfway. She sank toward him, her small hand snagging on the front of his T-shirt. Though she leaned in to kiss him, she paused a breath away, her eyes darting back and forth between his. He felt her breath on his lips, teasing, beckoning.

  He kissed her, sudden and hard, sinking both hands into her hair and pulling her close. She whimpered against his mouth, the neck of his T-shirt pulling as she tugged on him. His previously sated body warmed again. He wouldn’t take her now, not here in the truck like a pair of idiot teenagers, but he’d have her again.

  Soon.

  Interlude II

  He loved hearing her screams.

  Sobs.

  Pleas.

  But when the moment of understanding came, and she realized she wouldn’t get away, that death was eminent, a wonderful thrill ran through him. That was his favorite part. He savored her whimper of defeat, her mumbled prayer to a God she’d probably never believed in. She’d given up fighting, just lay there in the flicker of orange-yellow light overhead.

  Her blood painted the blade of his knife, sprayed over her belly, snaked onto the floor. He hovered over her, watched, as she blinked slowly and the light in her eyes died. She went slack and glassy, chest ceased rising with breath.

  He stepped back, set down the knife on the bloody table to his right, then dragged over thick, crackling plastic sheets to wrap her in. This time she was mostly clothed but he left her that way. Let them find her like that, let them put together a timeline, realize how long she’d been missing.

  His gloved hands worked swiftly, expertly, as he rolled her in the plastic and tore off a piece of duct tape to keep everything together. If he was being honest, he was regretful ending this as swiftly as he did. He’d dragged the experience out as long as he could, but it never seemed long enough to satisfy him.