by Lena Bourne
Tommy’s sent a bunch of texts too. I can’t believe Tara has him doing her dirty work for her. If she changed her mind about coming to meet me here, she should just tell me herself, not have him do it for her. Or give me this bullshit about coming as soon as they can. Tommy’s probably the reason she changed her mind. I never imagined my sister would turn into one of those women who forget everyone else in their lives for a man, but here it is. Or maybe he’s forcing her into it. But she should still tell me herself. And all that talk of getting someone to babysit me while I’m here…well hell, no. I can take care of myself. Have done for years. And if I mess up again, so what? Nothing can hurt me anymore. I was sure it couldn’t before. I was proved wrong by that scary guy who abducted me, threatened me, raped me, sold me off to be raped by others. But having survived all that, I am now certain nothing can hurt me. It’s a miracle I can even enjoy sex now. So maybe I should stay here with Brett. Though I’m so sore, I don’t know if I can even have that anymore.
The lock rattles and then Brett walks in, the smell of Mexican food preceding him. I get up from the kitchen table to bring the plates, wobble slightly in the mesmerizingly desirous way his gaze washes over me.
“You dressed for dinner,” he mutters, setting the food down on the table without taking his eyes off me. “Nice.”
I giggle and set out the plates, still feeling his eyes on me. “I cleaned the kitchen too. Though to be honest, apart from the dirty plates and glasses piled in the sink, it was pretty clean to begin with. Not so with the rest of this place.”
He chuckles, and starts taking the food out of the bags, the smell of burritos and taco meat growing stronger. I haven’t eaten in ages, but I’m only just realizing how hungry I am.
“That’s because I don’t eat at home much,” he says, sitting down in his chair. I sit too and unwrap my burrito, dig in before he even starts eating his.
We eat in silence for awhile, but at one point he stops and is just staring at me. Or, more precisely, looking at my lips as I chew. I’ve almost devoured my burrito at this point and am already eyeing the chicken wings neither of us touched yet. But maybe I should try to be more ladylike about my hunger.
“What?” I ask, setting the burrito down and wiping my lips on one of the flimsy napkins that came with the food.
“Nothing,” he says, averting his eyes. “I was just wondering where you put all that food.”
I laugh and pick up my burrito again. “I don’t normally eat this much. But you really tired me out.”
I think I see a slight blush under his tan, but that might just be the reddish light in the room and the spicy food.
He laughs, then takes another bite of his food.
“I try to eat a lot healthier than this,” I say. “I recently got into that whole raw food stuff, you know where you eat everything uncooked?”
“That explains it,” he says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “You must be hungry, if all you’ve been eating is raw food. I’d have brought more, if I knew.”
I laugh, eying the two bags of food. “You brought plenty.”
“Yeah, but I figured I’d be eating most of it,” he says, digging in one of the bags. “I also brought this.”
He whips out a bottle of liquor, which judging by the lack of a label is some homemade Mexican stuff. There’s even a fat, white worm floating at the bottom of it.
“That’s tequila, right?” I ask. “My favorite.”
That’s not strictly speaking true. But it can be my favorite for tonight. I haven’t been doing a lot of drinking in the last year, mostly just a glass of wine here and there. But that’s gonna change too now that I’m free again.
He nods. “Yeah, the best stuff you can get anywhere in Mexico.”
“If you say so,” I say, picking up the bottle and holding it against the light.
“That’s what the people who make it say,” he explains, chuckling. “But I pretty much agree. And hey, you can eat the worm. It would fit right in with your raw food diet.”
“Eww, no. What?” I say, setting the bottle down and snatching my hand away like I just got burned.
“It’s a great source of protein and pretty much tasteless,” he says, chuckling again.
“I’ll just take your word for it.” I like talking to him, almost as much as I like kissing him. But maybe I’m just high from all the mind-blowing sex we’ve had these last couple of days.
“Careful you don’t get any grease on that fine dress of yours,” he says, wiping some off his chin.
“How thoughtful of you to warn me,” I say, grinning at him. But that’s just it. He is very thoughtful and so naturally honest and protective. I always steered clear of guys like that. I prefer them rough and cold. Real type A personalities. Unburdened by emotions, in it only for the sex, so I didn’t have to worry about them blowing up my phone after it was over. But with Brett, he’s rough and he’s sensitive, and somehow he makes it work, because he’s pretty much irresistible to me.
“I just meant you don’t want to ruin your pretty dress. Not sure if I told you last night, but you look amazing.”
I think I’m the one blushing now, if the heat rising in my cheeks is anything to go by. I manage a choked, “Thanks”, since why the hell is he complimenting me now, after he already got laid. It makes no sense, but it feels nice.
“I’ll be taking if off again in a minute, won’t I?” I add winking at him and running my hand over his taut, coiled forearm. Arms and hands, those are my two favorite parts of a man’s body, second only to their cocks. And Brett has a winning combination of all three. He’s got a lot of tattoos, mostly haphazard ones all over his body, I think. I haven’t gotten a good look yet. His skin is a soft golden brown, and I really like the feel of his hairs against my palm. His brown eyes are almost completely black in this light, but they still glow warmer than the sun.
“I won’t say no to that. Though I have to admit, my dick’s pretty raw,” he says, grinning at me.
“I’m pretty sore too,” I say, smiling. “But a couple of shots will clear that right up. Besides, I thought we could do anal tonight.”
I’m grinning at him widely, not even sure why I suggested it so bluntly. But it’s been on my mind, and he seems like someone I can say anything to. Like a BFF kinda, only he’s a guy. A BFF with benefits. I never had one of those. Mostly because I never had a BFF apart from Tara.
Anal’s something I thought I’d never do again after being forced into it by all those clients who had no idea what they were doing, or cared whether I was in agony or not. But I think I can trust Brett to fix that for me too. For some reason. I mean he gave me all those amazing normal orgasms, so why not this too?
His lips curl up into a half smile, and he shakes his head slowly.
“Are you saying no?” I ask, since his reaction is confusing me. Most guys jump at the chance of anal. If anything his eyes should be glowing even brighter than before.
“You’re a very straightforward woman, aren’t you?” he asks, still smirking at me.
“So what if I am? I like what I like, and I’m not afraid to admit it.” That came out harsher than I wanted it to, but it’s true. “What are you, the only guy that doesn’t like anal?”
He laughs at that, but then fixes me with a soft, knowing gaze, which only annoys me more. I seriously don’t need to be put in my place by him. I hardly even know him. He has no say in how I live my life.
“No, of course not. Anal’s like a holiday for me. Like a birthday present or something. But I’m used to begging for it, not having it just offered, you know?”
I shrug and start picking at the burrito in front of me. “OK, suit yourself.”
“Which doesn’t mean, I’m saying no,” he says in a cheerier voice, grabbing the bottle of tequila and getting up. “Let’s continue this in the bedroom.”
His sudden excitement is contagious, my annoyance melting away at the prospect of moving beyond this stupid meltdown in the conversation and goin
g back to fun things.
He also grabs the lemons he bought, and leads the way to the bedroom, only stopping long enough to take two shot glasses from the cupboard, and a salt shaker off the counter.
He sets it all down on the rickety nightstand by the bed, and motions me closer. I come as bid, take his outstretched hand and let him pull me into an embrace, which quickly escalates into a kiss. Urgent and wet, but soft and sensual nonetheless. It’s easy to forget everything else while we’re kissing. So easy it takes no effort at all. It just happens, the doubts and fears I dwelt on for the past year just melting away, taking the horrors I’m trying to forget with them.
He pulls my dress up, and I wiggle out of it to hurry it up. Because I want his lips back on mine. My bra and panties follow, and he guides me down onto the bed, leans over me and starts kissing me all over, nibbling on my nipples, giving my belly soft little pecks. But he always returns to my lips. He’s doing it slower now that he’s done it so many times, and I can feel his wet, firm, soft, slightly chapped lips clearly each time.
“God, even after eating Mexican food, you still taste delicious,” he says, slightly out of breath after an especially hungry kissing session.
“I’ll just take that as a compliment, shall I?” I ask, laughing.
“Yes, you should.” He sits on the edge of the bed, finally pulling off his t-shirt. He’s still wearing his jeans though. And I do want him to take those off too, but I’m also enjoying getting just my nakedness worshipped by him.
He pours a shot for each of us, cutting up one of the lemons with a huge knife he produced from somewhere under the bed. The sight of the knife makes my vision blur in fear, but he’s just using it to do a normal thing with, not anything scary, like getting ready to press it to my throat while he fucks me.
He turns to me with the saltshaker, and I offer him my wrist, smiling to hide the flash of fear, as he pours some salt on it. He hands me one of the shot glasses, but I shake my head. “You first.”
He needs no convincing, his eyes locked on mine as he licks the salt off my wrist and takes the shot, biting into the lemon afterwards. And then it’s my turn, and I love the feel of his coarse skin against my tongue as the saltiness explodes in my mouth, right before I wash it down with the burning liquid.
We kiss some more, drink some more. Everything gets very fuzzy soon, and I feel happy and light, like everything is just fine. So I should probably stop drinking, before I get sick. But he just keeps going, even after I start refusing the shots. I do keep offering him different parts of my body to lick the salt off. My breasts, my belly, my thighs, my butt. I’m so ready. He lost his jeans at some point, and his cock is rock hard, so he must be too. I don’t move from the doggy position once he slams the shot glass down on the nightstand after having just licked the salt off my right butt cheek.
Instead, I look at him over my shoulder and wiggle my ass, smiling. “Ready?”
“Hell, yes,” he says, grabbing both of my butt cheeks in his hands and squeezing. “I think I even have some lube somewhere.”
He rummages around the mess on the nightstand, opening the drawers and sending everything shaking, until I’m afraid the tequila bottle will topple over and make an even bigger mess on the floor. I don’t like to think of myself as a neat freak, but that’s what I am. Even at a time like this.
“Here it is,” he finally says, showing me the lube triumphantly, only barely managing to catch the tequila bottle before it falls to the floor.
“You do this often, I see?” I say, eyeing the scrunched up tube he’s holding.
“No, not really, like I already told you,” he says, squeezing out some of the thick white paste onto his finger. “Not as often as I’d like, anyway.”
He pulls me up by my arm and kisses me again, our tongues entwined as his finger finds my asshole. He starts teasing it open, applying the soft cream, and pretty soon I’m moaning into his mouth, yearning for him to push a finger inside me, yet fearing it. I gasp when he does, and he slows his advance immediately, but that’s not what I wanted, not at all.
“Keep doing that,” I whisper, and bite down softly on his lip as he pushes his finger further inside. He starts working it in and out slowly, opening me up.
He kisses me again as he adds another, begins pumping them in and out as his kiss grows fiercer, and I can no longer contain my moans.
“Oh, I can’t wait for this,” he whispers, pulling his fingers out and applying some lube onto his thick cock.
“Me neither,” I say dropping back down on all fours, and arching my back at him.
“You’re such a dirty girl,” he says, chuckling. “I love it.”
It sounds like a compliment the way he says it. Not degrading at all. Not even a little bit. Don’t know why I even care about that. I never did before. I am what I am. A bad girl. A slut. And a whore. But it’s a nice change.
I almost regret the decision to do this as he starts pushing his thick cock into me, but he’s doing it slow, giving me time to adjust, stopping after every one of my pain borne moans or jerks that I can’t help. Every time, the pain quickly subsides, blurring into the first inklings of pleasure. He’s still doing it slowly, working his cock in and out of my hole, not too deep, yet going deeper each time. I feel myself opening up to receive him, muscle memory working in my favor. I used to like anal back in the day. I liked it a lot.
I gasp as he pushes in too deep, and he stops. I don’t even have to ask.
“You OK?”
I don’t remember the last time a guy asked that while fucking me. It quite possibly never happened.
“Yeah,” I say, grinning at him over my shoulder. “Don’t stop.”
The invitation emboldens him, and he starts pumping his cock into me harder and faster. With anal, the line between pleasure and pain is always very thin, practically nonexistent. But the pleasure holds this time, and I’m moaning soon enough, urging him on, begging him not to stop. I stroke my pussy, as he thrusts his thick cock into me, my whole body one giant, fiery nerve ending now, bristling, igniting, heralding an orgasm that might actually make me pass out. As it is, I feel nothing but his cock deep inside me, and it feels huge, like it’s filling my entire body.
He takes over rubbing my clit as he thrusts deeper and deeper, harder and faster, and I’m screaming now, because the orgasm washing through me is wildfire, destroying everything in its path, burning so hot, I can’t even breathe. I see red. And then I see nothing at all.
Chapter Six
BRETT
The bright orange afternoon sun shining directly onto my face wakes me. Samantha is still sleeping, facing away from me and curled into a little ball, but pressed so close to my back it’s all sticky and hot. I don’t want to get up, I want to stay just like this, but I have to piss so bad it hurts.
The trip to the bathroom hurts too, as does the actual pissing. But it’s not an STD-related burning pain. And even if it was, I just don’t care. I’ve had too much fun with Samantha this past couple of days to care. And if the raw soreness of my cock is anything to go by, she won’t be able to walk today. The idea fills me with pride over a job well done. Though maybe we overdid it last night.
She’s sitting up in bed when I return from the bathroom, gazing off at the setting sun.
“This is my favorite time of day,” she says wistfully. “Sunset, I mean.”
“Yeah, mine too,” I tell her. “How are you feeling?”
She gives me the strangest look, something between incredulity, surprise and happiness.
“Yeah,” she finally says, rubbing her belly with both hands. “We sure had some fun last night.”
“Well, I know I did. You really are an amazing girl, anyone ever tell you that?”
She blinks a little, her expression once again all strange and not quite decipherable.
“Not the kind you bring home to mom though, right?” she asks wryly.
Not exactly, no. But that’s not the reason she won’t be meeting my
mother. “Sure, you can meet my mom. Just as soon as I see her again. Which will probably be never.”
Of all the things she could’ve said, she had to go bring that one up. But I won’t be spoiling this with any sappy story. Though judging by that weird, shocked look on her face, I already kinda did.
“Why?” she asks, then looks totally surprised she even said it once it’s out of her mouth.
“Never mind that. How about we go eat the rest of the food now?”
“Great idea,” she says, bounding off the bed, then moving a lot more slowly, once she’s on her feet.
“Sorry about that,” I say as she passes me, but I can’t help smiling.
She stops and gives me a bemused half smile, silently telling me she thinks I’m full of shit. She’s right. I like being the reason she can’t walk right.
I pull her into a hug, kiss her again. I can’t get enough of her skin against mine. Though I really should let her be for awhile now. She returns the kiss though, and it quickly turns into something much deeper.
She’s stroking my stomach and back as we kiss, taking my breath and making my dick hard again. If this goes any further, I won’t be able to contain myself, but I think we both need a little rest.
I give her another quick kiss, then let her go. “You get dressed, and I’ll fix the food.”
She looks disappointed and a little pissed, of all things. But she doesn’t put up a fight, just walks into the bathroom and closes the door behind her firmly.
I heated the food the best I could without a microwave, and she comes out just as I’m almost done laying everything out on the balcony table. Her hair’s wet, and she’s wearing her dress again, smelling fresh like new dawn. Or a cool winter evening.
“I should probably go back to my hotel room after we eat,” she says, sitting down at the table and not looking at me.