Felony Ever After

by Helena Hunting

  Verity had never been to a VIP room. She half expected it to have beds covered in plastic wrap for illicit fucking. Instead, Hudson ushered her into a low-lit room with a couch and two plush chairs. A table in the middle boasted fake candles and a chilled bottle of champagne. So this was what people with money to burn did on their nights out.

  She turned to Hudson with her arms crossed under her breasts. He hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the door and closed it. As his eyes swept over her, anger and hunger seemed to fuse. Verity remembered what he’d done with all that hunger the last time they’d been together, and her vagina whimpered through the lips on her face.

  But first they needed to clear the air.

  “Why are you a bike messenger if you’re an MIT graduate?” Verity asked. Might as well cut to the damn chase.

  “Why are you dressed like… like…” Hudson gestured to her outfit.

  Verity propped a hand on her hip. “Like what?” She dared him to offend her with his assessment.

  “Like that.”

  Verity smoothed her hands down her hips, checking that her skirt was still R-rated and not X-rated. “It’s my going-out outfit.”

  “Is it now?” Hudson took a step closer. He looked every bit as dangerous as she’d originally thought he was when he stole that cab. “Well, let me tell you something. Once we manage to sort this out, we’ll either re-categorize that as a staying-in outfit, or I will burn it until it’s nothing but a pile of ash.”

  “I paid good money for this. And now that I’m out of a job, I might need to start hooking, so you can’t burn it.”

  “I’m thrilled that you’re out of a job, and I’m sorry it took a sex doll to get you there. I know that had to have been a horrifying experience. I… um, I might have overreacted to your questions.” Hudson looked intense, then his eyes darted to the floor.

  Verity hugged herself, relieved, but looking for courage. “Tell me more, then. I need to hear it from your face that Larold Lay doesn’t know you better than I do. And please don’t lie to me.”

  Hudson jammed his hands in his pockets. “It’s my uncle’s company, but I don’t work for him. He’s my mom’s brother, so I get along with him a lot better than I do other parts of my family. I know he takes pride in what he does and wouldn’t betray his clients, but HoneyBee is his business. I stay out of it. And anyway, I’m not good at sharing stuff about myself. I just need you to trust me.”

  Verity scoffed. “Trust has to be earned. You can’t get mad because I’m asking questions to look out for myself. If you’d stuck around to talk to me about it, I’m sure I would have believed you. But when you run off, it looks like one more thing you’re hiding.”

  Hudson ripped off his beanie and ran a hand through his hair, making it look like a chaotic cornfield. He stepped into her personal space, popping it with hot, masculine aggression.

  Verity was hopped up on booze and adrenaline, both of which made her want to get him naked and ride out her frustrations.

  “Lay said the company hired an MIT grad to design realistic vaginas, and you’re an MIT grad.” He was so close, all she could manage was a whisper. “And you’ve performed many very thorough explorations of my vagina with both your tongue and your fingers. So, so thorough.”

  “And you think I did that so I could do what—make a Verity pocket pussy?”

  “I—I don’t know. I don’t think so, but—”

  His chest brushed her nipples. “You think a lowly bike messenger could design something as sophisticated as that? You think I could memorize every dip and curve of your pussy? That I’d know two fingers is tight and three makes you moan my name? That there’s a tiny mole on your right pussy lip, and that your clit peeks out just a little when we get started and then swells like it’s been stung by a bee when I lick you?”

  Verity stifled a moan and clenched her hands at her sides, exhaling a harsh breath right in his face. It probably smelled like Fireball. Standing here now, Lay’s accusations seemed ridiculous again. Her brain had just been scrambled before. It was kind of scrambled now. Instead of answering, she fisted Hudson’s shirt and dragged his mouth to hers.

  He remained frozen for a second before he responded. Then one hand went into her hair, and his tongue shot angrily into her mouth. The other hand went to the bottom of her skirt. It wasn’t a far reach. Verity moaned. They were supposed to be arguing, not sword-fighting with their tongues. But God, she was so frustrated with the entire situation, and now she was horned up. They could argue with words later.

  He grabbed a handful of her ass, and Verity pressed her hips into his, seeking the hard, pierced lump inside his jeans. He wrenched his mouth away from hers. “Why did you come here?”

  “To tell you not to lie to me, and not to leave when we have things to discuss.” She could feel the moisture in her eyes. She was due a good cry. Instead Verity said through several panted breaths, “And to give you a piece of my mind.”

  “A piece of your mind or a piece of your ass?” He smacked her bottom and she gasped, pushing on his chest. Hudson tightened his grip, using her ass cheek as an anchor. “Answer the question, Verity.”

  “A piece of my mind.”

  “Then why the hell did you wear this?”

  “I don’t know. Angie thought… So you’d see what you were missing. To make you mad.”

  “You mean so everyone else could see?”

  His fingers dug into her skin, his pinkie finger getting close to her desperately hungry vagina. She flexed the muscles down there, as if it would draw him in.

  “You ran away.”

  “You believed Lay.”

  “He designed a creepy sex doll of me! I’m a little weirded out!”

  Hudson released her and held her at arm’s length for a moment. Then he nodded. It was enough of an admission for her. Verity stumbled forward and hugged him.

  Hudson dropped his mouth to hers like she was his last dinner before the Titanic sank. He shoved her skirt up over her hips. “If you ever wear this skirt anywhere but your apartment I’m going to take it out on your ass,” he threatened.

  “With your dick? Because I’ve never done that before, and I’m not sure it’ll fit,” Verity asked, her butt clenching at the thought.

  “With my hand, Verity. Don’t give me ideas.”

  They started tearing at each other’s clothes. Well, Verity tore at Hudson’s clothes. Hudson didn’t have to do much other than find and flick open her bra to get her mostly naked. The skirt he left where it was. Her panties got caught on her ridiculous heels and hung there as he lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist.

  His pants halfway down his legs, he carried her awkwardly across the room to the couch. They dropped there, Verity under Hudson. She wondered, briefly, how many other asses had been pounded into these cushions.

  Hudson shifted, his fingers slipping between her legs, and groaned. “Fuck, Honeybee, you’re all wet for me.”

  Verity doubted he meant for it to rhyme, and she still wasn’t sure how she felt about that nickname, but she couldn’t argue. Their mutual frustration was horny-making. He rubbed frantically at her clit, then slipped two fingers inside her, pumping hard and fast. Verity grabbed his man stick and nudged his fingers out of the way. She wasn’t interested in foreplay. All she wanted was pierced dick.

  He pushed up on his arms so he could look at her. “Does me threatening mass murder turn you on?” He moved her hand and took hold of his cock. Verity looked down, watching his tattooed hand stroking slowly before he pulled a condom out of his back pocket and dressed his dick for business. He rubbed the pierced head around her clit in a circle.

  Verity moaned rather than using words. She wasn’t sure what it said about her that she kind of got off on that. And the sex in a semi-public place where other people had likely also fornicated didn’t hurt either.

  She lifted her hips and tried to get his dick closer to where she wanted it to make a home, but Hudson whacked her clit with it instead. “Answ
er the question and you can have my cock.”

  “You threatening to murder people gets me hot, and just you in general, and you being angry and threatening those guys—and you being a bike messenger-MIT graduate from the craziest family ever also makes me irrationally hot. Now will you fuck me? Please.”

  Hudson cocked a sexy brow and smirked. But it wasn’t an amused smirk, it was a dark one. He sat back on his knees, picked her up, and flipped her over so she was ass up, taking care to avoid the spikes of her shoes. He rearranged her to hold on to the back of the couch. She looked over her shoulder, gasping as he slapped her clit with the head of his cock. “You asked for it, so get ready, Verity.”

  She gripped the horrible burgundy velour and groaned when he pushed into her with one swift, hard thrust. “Oh God, it’s pierced cock magic!” she cried.

  Hudson slapped her ass like they were in one of those terrible music videos, and then he made good on the fucking. He pounded her until the hashtag was branded on her pussy. Leaning over her, he brought his lips to her ear, biting the lobe. “I’m so fucking mad at you right now.”

  “I know,” she moaned. “I’m mad at you, too.” She slapped at his thigh and grabbed his hair, trying to secure their mouths together despite the vigorous pounding. “But your prick is a miracle.”

  It wasn’t possible to kiss and angry-fuck without potentially biting each other’s tongues off. So Verity gave up on the kissing and held on as the couch inched its way from the center of the room to the wall.

  “You better not come before me,” she threatened. It was the worst threat, because she had no recourse other than possibly withholding her vagina from him, which was unlikely, considering how much she loved his dick.

  Hudson reached between her legs and started rubbing like he was trying to light her clit on fire. Verity came so hard she almost bit a hole in the couch. Hudson kept up the driving thrusts until his rhythm faltered and broke.

  He groaned into the side of her neck and collapsed on top of her. “I’m still mad at you.”

  “Me too. But that helped a little.”

  Hudson snorted and pushed off of her. He pulled his jeans up and tucked himself away. Verity’s panties were stuck to the bottom of her shoe. She wasn’t all that interested in putting them back on, but did so anyway, needing the limited vag shield they provided. Sequins had fallen off her shirt and sprinkled the couch, making it look like a burgundy night sky. She struggled to refasten her bra. When Hudson was fully dressed, he helped put her back together.

  “We still need to talk.”

  “I know.” Verity tried to pull her skirt down, but it was useless.

  Hudson regarded her for a long moment. “Come on, let’s get out of here. He grabbed the bottle of champagne and her hand, pulling her off the couch.

  Verity was still orgasm-uncoordinated and stumbled into him. Now that the sex was over, she felt a little dirty. A thousand asses had sat on that couch before her face was in the cushions. Hudson opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

  “I can’t go back through the bar,” Verity protested. “People will know we had sex, and they’ll think I’m actually a hooker.”

  “Now you admit this outfit is nuts?”

  “You sexed me hard, of course I can admit it now. Just like you can admit you kind of like it when I look slutty.”

  He nodded. “We’ll go out the back way.”

  “There’s a back way?”

  “There’s always a back way.” He winked.

  She followed Hudson the opposite way down the hall. They came to a stairwell, and Verity teetered down three flights, holding onto the railing like it was a cock make of gold. Her heels were going in the garbage tomorrow.

  They burst out the back entrance into a parking lot. “Are we getting a cab?”

  “We’ll take my ride.”

  “I can’t double on a bike, Hudson.”

  He produced a set of keys from his pocket. Somewhere in the lot, a car chirped and lights flashed. Taking his offered hand, Verity stumble-walked across the uneven pavement. When they reached the car, she stopped and shot a wary glance at Hudson.

  “Did you steal this?”

  He raised a brow. “Nope.”

  “Is it a rental?”

  “Nope again. Remember what they say about appearances.” Hudson opened the door of the grey Audi R8.

  Verity slipped into the passenger seat of the car that cost more than any she’d ever been in before. “If you tell me that room I can’t go into at your place is a Red Room of Pain, we’re going to need to stop to buy lube and some Fifty Shades wine.”

  Verity Michaels @VerityPics03

  VIP room couches are steam-cleaned daily, right? #CelebrityJizz #AssToMouth #SilkwoodShower

  Hudson Fenn @tatwhiteknight

  VIP — Very Impatient Pussy. #ThatWasNotARealSkirt

  Verity Michaels @VerityPics03

  Why don’t you just STFU and drive? #StillMad

  Hudson Fenn @tatwhiteknight

  #MadderThanYou

  Verity Michaels @VerityPics03

  You’re a #TwitterWhiner #LastWord

  Chapter 20

  Miracle Prick

  S.M. Lumetta

  Verity squirmed in the Audi’s passenger seat. “Don’t look at me like that, Tattoo,” she warned.

  He almost grinned.

  “Are you okay to drive? You’ve been drinking for a while.” Verity tried to squint, but between her own pre-stalking, rage-drinking and the VIP pounding she’d taken, her physical responses were a bit disconnected. Hudson didn’t seem impaired, so she just prayed they wouldn’t get in an accident. She didn’t want anyone else, let alone cops and EMTs, to see her in this getup.

  “I’m fine,” he assured her. “I was pacing myself, despite what the tweets said. Plus I think I burned off anything I drank the second I saw you in that outfit.” He revved the engine.

  “All the booze went to your dick?” Put a cork in it, Verity.

  He rolled his eyes and peeled out.

  “Oh, Christ, do you even have a license?” she asked. “You realize I’m still kinda drunk, don’t you?”

  “I would never have guessed,” he said. “My miracle prick didn’t sober you up?”

  The thought of his miracle prick so close made her quiet. Just as she was ready to point out helpfully that he’d driven past his building, he turned the corner and pulled into an underground garage. The door shut behind them.

  “Is the torture chamber in the basement? Or is it just cages?” she asked, noticing the pounding headache that had developed during the drive. Ugh, more pounding. Wrong kind. “Will I be chained when you question me?”

  He shook his head when she looked over at him. “Would you like to be?” he asked, but got out of the car without waiting for an answer.

  She scrambled out and followed him to the elevator. “It’d either be cool or terrifying to have sex in here,” she mused as they ascended. Then she realized she’d spoken aloud.

  Hudson tried unsuccessfully to smother a smirk. “Pretty awesome, I’d say.”

  “I don’t want to know,” she grumbled. Jealousy made her feel whore-ier.

  “I mean,” he said, “that I think it would be. We can add that to the list of fun projects for later.”

  She vowed not to speak for the rest of the ride up to his floor, and when they entered his too-nice-for-a-bike-messenger place for a second time, she tried to reserve judgment. She needed an actual tour this time.

  “You want something to drink?” Hudson asked. “As in water? Or coffee?”

  They turned into a wide galley kitchen. She chose water and tried to crane her neck around the corner. Hudson pulled out a couple of pint glasses, filled them, and handed one to her.

  She eyed him. “So now what?”

  “Now I’m going to give you a shirt or something to put on, because I cannot talk seriously with your pussy glaring at me.”

  “She’s not glaring,” Verity offered. “She�
�s dazed. Decent sex and all.” No amount of adjusting could get her skirt to lay right after they’d bunched it up on the VIP couch.

  “Decent?” He raised an eyebrow at her in challenge.

  “Fine, mind-blowing,” she said with an eye roll.

  One corner of his mouth lifted as he turned and walked away. “I’ll get you that shirt.”

  She yanked her tiny skirt down over her butt as best she could and kicked off her shoes to wander farther inside. The apartment was shockingly well-decorated in an industrial man-chic kind of style. She touched the forbidden doorknob. It wasn’t locked, so she took a deep breath and opened the door. In the middle of a medium-sized bedroom, a vintage dentist’s chair had been screwed to the floor. Along the wall across from it stood an old medical cabinet and a makeshift drafting table. Along the other wall sat a seriously comfortable-looking sofa. She saw nothing that looked like doll-making materials. But still, this was not a room that came standard in anyone’s house.

  “What the hell?” she called. “Do you run some kind of fucked-up medical practice? Black-market organ removal? Bizarre, illegal surgical experiments?”

  Hudson exhaled as he came up behind her and thrust a well-worn concert tee into her hand. “Here, put this on.”

  Verity pulled it over her head, grateful that it fell three inches past the hem of her skirt.

  “Let’s sit down, okay?” Hudson urged. He walked over to the massive, badass couch and settled in.

  Verity remained standing. “Do you add some spider webs and fake blood for Halloween? Are you part of a haunted house tour?”

  The look on his face told her he was not going to answer. Again.

  Verity walked over to the dentist chair and plopped herself in it.

  “How about you answer my question?”

  He curled his body forward slowly enough that she was distracted by the way the muscles in his arms bulged and flexed as he pushed off.

  “I haven’t lied to you, Verity,” he said.