by Amarie Avant
“Let me finish, and your father is nothing like the next man, and so on and so forth. You’re in marketing, you don’t offer the same promotional plan to each of your clients.”
“Absolutely not,” I reply as he presses the remote control for my front gate. “Each client receives a plan catered to his or her company’s needs. Albeit, not many of the companies I work with are in the same field.”
The car jolts over a few pebbles in the road, making a smooth stop in front of my home.
“Well just like you deal with different categories of businesses, I deal with different people.”
I scoff, opening the door to my car. The topic of his father tossed in the wind, again. “You sound as if each person you encounter is an enemy of the state that you’d gladly go to war with. It’s a good thing you aren’t my enemy.” I get out at that, needing to have the last word.
Lincoln gets out, planting his forearms on the roof of the car. “Nonsense, Siobhan.”
“Nonsense?” My head tilts just so.
He steps around the car, groceries long forgotten. My eyes are reading that there’s so much more to this bullheaded belief of his.
“Yes, nonsense. There’s no bloody way I’d allow you to be my adversary.” He fists my ass with one hand, pressing me hard against him, dick grinding against me. “I would beat it out of you.”
His eyes are the deepest black, the towering green pine trees reflect off the depths of them. He bites his lip and my pussy quivers. Lust sparks deep inside of me, throat tight, I murmur, “Oh, you’d beat it out of me.”
“Yes.”
“Whatever, Mr. Zager.” I smirk, though the truth is all over my face. Beat it out of me.
He chortles. “Whatever? You just said, whatever?”
My glare implies that I don’t even need to repeat it. Lincoln grabs the keys from my hand. He moves to the door so fast, that I have to stalk just to keep up.
I taunt, “You’d beat me?” Mouth moist with desire at the innuendo of it all.
“Fuck yeah.” Lincoln pushes the heavy front door open with ease. He picks me up and sets me on the marble console against the wall of the foyer. Never mind the fact that the front door is wide open. Lincoln’s hand cups the mound of my pussy. “I’d beat you and you’d take it.”
In any other world, a man declaring “beat” and referring to me in the same sentence would send me running. Or fighting for my life. But his thumb is rubbing harshly through the thick jean fabric of my pants.
“Fuck me, Lincoln,” I say twirling my hips as he gazes in my eyes. His skin is so hot, burning through my jeans, sparking a barbaric craving.
“You want me to tear you out of your trousers, to fuck your brains out, don’t you?” Lincoln unbuckles his belt. He shoves down his pants, the heel of his foot forcing them off one leg at a time. He’d gone commando today, so his king-sized white chocolate cock is high and at attention.
I do a double-take at his manhood. Every encounter, his dick seems to have grown larger and larger. He fists it in one hand. The thickness of it hardly fits in my own hand, and my palms are itching to touch it, but Lincoln continues to stroke himself.
“I’ve stroked and killed you softly, Siobhan, but now I’m gonna fucking pound your pussy in, beautiful,” he says. His steely voice mad with desire.
I start to unbutton my pants. Leaning to one side, I slide the stretchy thick material over one hip, then the other, before settling back on the counter. “Pound my pussy, beat my pussy, Lincoln, do whatever the fuck you want. It’s yours.”
He nods his head, stroking his dick with one hand. A clear liquid begins to seep at the crown of his erection. I eye him hungrily. We’re both naked from the waist down, having neglected our upper half. I want to reach out, grab him by the collar, but he stays just out of my grasp.
“I’m wet, I’m so fucking wet for you, Lincoln,” I beg, tossing my thong at him. He’d said that he hadn’t fully entered me. There’s a rage in my eyes, imploring him to go hard.
“Spread your legs wider, baby,” he orders. The ledge of the accent table barely supports my voluptuous ass, leaning against the wall, yet I do as I’m told. “Place your fingers at your pussy lips, let me see how wet you are.”
He isn’t really asking, and of course, I consent to every command.
“You wet?” His eyes are on the moist petals of my flower, and my eyes are locked onto his hard erection.
I nod.
“Let me see how wet you are.”
I plunge a few fingers inside an ocean of wetness and assure him. “I’m so fucking wet, Lincoln, I’m dripping wet.”
“Taste it.”
I pull my fingers out, there’s a creamy coating over my dark skin.
“The sweeter it is, the wetter you are.”
My tongue dips out and travels up my finger from base to tip. Imagining it’s his cock, I murmur, “Tastes like sugar.”
“Fuck.” He’s bringing himself to his brink, and I stop breathing hoping he doesn’t explode, at least not outside of me, not outside of my mouth or pussy.
Lincoln smiles, and gets on his knees. He starts to lap up my honey like a hungry animal, with a flat, hard tongue. Head leaned against the wall, I position my legs over his shoulder so my bubble ass won’t go falling over the ledge of the table.
A tidal wave begins to build as his tongue, so methodical in eating me out, slithers deep inside, and then flattens all the way from my clit to the pucker of my asshole and back.
He grumbles something about stretching out my pussy as a finger extends into my virgin asshole. My hands reach out, one gripping the side of the console table, the other tugging his hair. His tongue soars deeper into my hollow and his finger explores further into my ass.
The sensory overload of it all forces me to come all over his mouth.
Dead weight against the wall, I have no time to recover. Lincoln is already placing a condom on his shaft.
The intoxicating scent of his cologne infuses in my nostrils just as Lincoln stands. His dick slides against the wet folds of my valley, and then he rubs the head of him against my clit.
“Look how different we are,” he says. Lincoln yanks one of my calves over his shoulder, then the other. First his dick slides halfway into my juices and pulls out. His creamy ivory dick glides across the roasted coffee color of my inner thigh, leaving a trail of wetness in its wake before his cock slams back into me.
“Ohhh fuck,” I scream.
He pulls his cock to the lips of my pussy, sliding the head of him around my labia.
“You want me to beat the pussy?”
I nod rapidly. “Please…”
Another jolt bolts through my entire body from head to toe as his member plunges in deep. My G-spot weeps, raining down on his dick and he hasn’t even fully inserted himself into the depth of my core.
Slam.
My fucking back arches. Lincoln has gone so deep, it is like I can feel him all in my tummy. This time he stays there. A rush of tears springs to my eyes. I bite harshly at my lip.
“I’m gonna break this beautiful pussy.” His voice is a harsh groan against my skin as his chest presses against mine.
“It’s okay if I break your pussy, Siobhan? I’ll kiss it, lick it and love it back together.”
“This pussy is yours, Lincoln.” My voice is but a tremble.
Lincoln reaches around, hand gripping my thick ponytail. He yanks down. Automatically, my body curves once more, hips and pussy out, breasts on display and for the first time, I take in the full length of Lincoln’s fat, long cock. His eyes roll back, he curses some British words that I don’t even have the cognition to decipher.
I begin to scream. My muscles clamp down on his swollen cock, coming in waves so hard that my world goes black for a fraction of a second. We stay in this position for what has to be a mere moment. He’s still hard as ever. Lincoln pounds in and out of my body like a piston. My head slams back against the wall on each pump.
What hurts
worse? The back of my head or the blood-rush thudding of my sex?
“Fuck…fuck... oh my God… fuck…” I gasp, core quivering uncontrollably as he releases inside of me.
“Damn,” Lincoln murmurs, his entire body is leaning against me, heavy as a crate of bricks, and drenched in sweat. His eyes are half shaded as he reaches over and kisses my mouth. Then the intense craze is gone. In its wake is pure sincerity. “Aw fuck, beautiful, are you all right?”
“What? I’m good.”
“Your head. I swear, if I were capable of stopping I would have, I swear, I’m a bloody wanker.” He holds me tightly.
***
Tamara has noticed a difference in my demeanor, and mentions it during our FaceTime meeting.
“Big boss, you have this glow about you,” she says, grinning brightly.
“A glow? Are you sure you aren't buttering me up? Your birthday is around the corner,” I joke, happy that we are able to have a simple chat. If I close my eyes, I'm back in the office getting all the details on the latest happenings.
“Well, I could use a new purse, but you really are happy. Siobhan, it has been a while.” She nods.
I sigh. “Yeah, it has.”
We review the latest marketing strategy for “Mad Mangos,” a juice bar that has expanded across Los Angeles and the Inland Empire.
I rise from my suede papasan and pull in another deep breath. That almost felt good. But it has literally been two weeks since Regina and I had our Sunday wine session with guiltless reality television shows and crazy talk.
For weeks on end, I've been going through the motions. Shame on her for not answering me. Did I rub her the wrong way? My girl is not above the shade if there's some underlying truth to being nasty. But she throws them harder than she takes them.
I think back and can't recall saying something out of line.
I pick up the phone and text her.
“Girl, I've been screwed so good I’d say I had caught amnesia, but you're the one not answering my calls…” That's blunt enough. I press send.
“Tsk, whatever I did, she will get over it.” I bite my lip hoping so. For a short stint in seventh grade, we weren’t friends for almost the entire semester over something left unsaid. I'd reach out. Reggie wouldn't respond. But why didn't my mom return my voicemail either?
“Nope.” I grab my keys. “No pity party today.” Saying the words out loud have the added effect. I'm meeting with Lincoln tonight for dinner at his place. Bouncing the keys in my hand, I decide to take a trip to the grocery store. I'll purchase a dessert wine for myself, and I'll be his dessert.
Chapter Fifteen
Siobhan
A gray fog descends from the sky as I head home. I press the button on the remote to open my gate and smile at the big brown bag filled with goodies on the passenger seat. Truffles. Cheese. Strawberries. Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. A full-bodied red wine for tonight and a few more bottles just in case we hibernate for a few more days. I feel like celebrating. It’s been a month since I've known him, and I want him to know how good my life is now that he is in it.
Shoulders high, I feel confident. I shopped for myself today for the first time in months. It was nice doing such a trivial thing with Lincoln a couple of days back, but today, I was strong enough to go it alone. The basic necessities of life, and what others take for granted such as becoming annoyed over a trip to the store for a carton of milk, are things I wish I had the balls to do on a daily basis.
And I just did today.
Scooping the bag into my arms, I slide off the buttery leather seat and stand up. I close the door and walk to the entrance of my home with a pep in my step thinking that a nice hot shower, coupled with the new organic sugar scrub I just purchased, will do wonders before I head to his place.
I heft the bag onto my shoulder and unlock the front door. The twenty-foot, heavy wood door opens slowly as I push it in.
My vision narrows just a tad. I leave the key in the door, hugging the bag to my chest.
Something is off.
I’ve been waiting for this moment. My gut tells me that no matter how much security I’ve had, how much money I’ve put into surveillance and alarms, the stalker has been able to penetrate my defenses. Either that or I am losing my damn mind and there was no stalker to begin with. I’ve long waited for the day that he’d slip the fuck up, and I could catch him.
Now here's where some women would step back outside and call for help. My mouth lurches up and to the left.
He. Is. Here.
Conscious of how deafening the silence is, I deftly place the bag onto the accent table in the center of the foyer. I'm careful that it doesn't touch the vase of fresh lilies and make not one peep.
I slip off my shoes, one at a time. I'm tempted to take off my earrings but this won't be that type of fight. But being shoeless makes me quicker on my feet and further cuts out the sound of my heels clinking against the wood floors.
I have three, .357 magnums. One is in my nightstand table. The other is in the kitchen. The third, readily accessible in the top drawer of this accent table. I pull open the drawer, slip the box onto the counter.
It’s almost automatic, no trembling in my fingers as I adjust the numbers on the three-pin combination. This is where the anxiety training with Dr. Beck finally gets to shine. The quotes that Lincoln would give me when we were running comes to mind.
The gun is nestled in a suede holder. It chills the tips of my fingers as I pull it out. Its heavy weight adjusts as my palm and trigger finger get into gear.
Smug smile on my face, I unclick the safety and start through my house.
Just one shot.
One shot is all I need. Dad taught me well.
More than one shot will blow this motherfucker to smithereens, so please, pretty please with sprinkles, Siobhan, do not blow this motherfucker away—kill him, but not too harshly. A judge may have issues with relating to my plight while reviewing crime scene photos of the stalker’s mangled body.
Pop him one new one.
One fatal shot.
The kitchen is clear. The living room is too.
Crap, my mouth has been tense so long it aches. I silently wriggle my lips and my eyes adjust to the darkness. Right hand heavy with power, my left hand trails along the intricate wood design as I move up the stairwell.
The devil is in my bed.
This gut feeling slams right into me. The devil is in my bed, and he, the sick, nameless, faceless fucker has done more than watch from afar.
Stop it, Siobhan. I begin to chant the new defense mechanism Dr. Beck taught me not two days ago. He wants me off of Xanax. Soon as I catch this asshole, I'll stop popping pills cold turkey.
The light is on in my bedroom. That's not the way I left it this morning.
Frown deepening, I steady my right forearm in my left hand, holding the gun outward now.
I aim for the chest—
“Lincoln?” I gasp.
“Siobhan, bloody hell, what are you doing with that gun?”
“Last I recall, you weren’t given a key to my place and we’ve been at your house for much of this week. So why are you in my motherfucking house?” I inquire. It comes natural to him to sound omnipotent with that fucking voice. But my tone, my face, this not-lowered weapon speaks it all.
“Siobhan, put the gun down. We need to have a rather serious discussion.” He holds his hands out, palms up.
There's a slither of trustworthy in his stance as he slowly rises to his feet. But fuck it, I only trust me.
“Lincoln, there won’t be any asking you again—don't come any closer.” My left foot plants backward as he makes a measured few steps.
His hard, chiseled face breaks with emotion. Palpable disappointment in me.
“This is a load of tosh! Siobhan, I mean so little to you that you’d point a fucking gun in my direction?”
Frown set on my face, I nod. “The trust factor is down to zilch, Mr. Zager.”
He shakes
his head, muttering something under his breath. Lincoln then proceeds to enunciate every word. “We are being watched, Siobhan. Your stalker got his fucking kicks when that dog attempted to maul us. That arsehole wants to get the best of you, beautiful. Don’t give him a show.”
“A show? Just because you can fuck me stupid doesn’t mean I stay that way!” My trigger finger is nestled ever so softly against the lever.
“Put the gun down.”
“No!”
“You're not one for carrying firearms, Siobhan. You're good. You're too fucking good, too sweet to let some bloke beat you.”
“Sweet? My definition of sweet is survival. And I assure you, if I pull this trigger it's the end of you.”
A dark transference flashes in his eyes. I feed off his anger of my threat, and don’t give a shit how disappointed or angry he is. Like I said from jump, I'm my biggest asset.
“Well, sweetheart, if you were anyone else I would warn you to pull the bloody fucking trigger. Do understand that I have the means to disengage you. No, I wasn’t in the army, no law enforcement background, but I’d have your gun by now if I sought to. I could have done as well the second you stepped into this room. Turn around and look at your telley.”
The flat screen is bolted along the wall, parallel to the double doors, which is smack dab behind me. There'll be no averting my eyes. No blindly being led by a wolf.
“We are on your telley, Siobhan. Look.” Lincoln's jaw is tense.
We? He said we.
I'm a woman violated.
Lincoln mirrors my frustrations.
The two of us have been violated.
I turn around.
There the two of us are, on the television screen, in the flesh. I've been beat so badly, lying down and crying isn't the extent to how far I desire to give up.
The gun is gingerly removed from my grasp.
Lincoln is in my ear explaining words I have no need to hear. White noise further separates us. Giving up is best.
Next, I'm in his arms, body limp, lack of bone or muscle. The raging sea has every bit of the control. I ebb any which way he is willing to flow.