by LP Lovell
Ezra takes the woman's red hair, wrapping it around his wrist as he yanks her up from in front of him. He grabs her dress and hikes it up with such need—the need for release, and it makes me envious because I want him to need me the way he needs her. He is making this woman his sinner, but I want this man to be my sin.
When he slams her against the window, I actually hear the thud, and it echoes down the alleyway. I want that to be my bare back pressed against the cold window. My pulse hammers in my ears, shouting what a wanton slut I am for allowing this man to force such sinful thoughts into my mind, and I shout back for it to shut-up. I can only imagine that this throbbing between my legs and the tingly feeling buzzing over my skin would be ten-thousand times more pleasant if I were the one he had pinned against that window. I could have him fuck me, and then go at my back with his belt, and then I would be absolved for this wretched desire crawling over me like insects. Fuck is a dirty word, Evelyn.
That little, red headed slut is slapping at his chest, clawing at him. He leans into her neck, fisting her hair as he probably whispers something utterly wicked into her ear. I bet he’s telling her she will cry for him, and all I can remember is the way his hot mouth felt over me, how he replaced the pain with something so pleasant that made me feel the need to be beat all over again. And then he pulls her from the window, and for a brief second, he stares out of it. For a split-second I fear he sees me, but if he does, he would never be able to recognize me. Eventually, they move away from the window, and I make my way back down the fire escape, flushed, and dare I say, jealous of that Jezebel in the too-tight white dress.
Envy. Lust. Those are both sins, and they are waging like a rampant fire inside my body—my body, which is supposed to be a temple, but tonight it's a chasm that I fear if I'm not careful will open up into the mouth of hell. I clasp my keys in my damp palm, listening to the soft click-clack of my heels as the pound over the pavement. I walk past Ezra's car, and instead of crossing the street right here, I keep going. My eyes hone in on the shiny black paint of her BMW. My palm twitches as I stand next to it. Slut. I take the key and place it against the paint. The screech of the key I'm dragging over the metal provides me a sick form of amusement. Jezebel will not like this at all. But I don't like her at all, so it's a fair trade.
I don't take the time to admire my artwork. I go to my car and drive home. I say my prayers and climb into bed, and here I lay, unable to get the images of Ezra fucking that woman out of my head. It's like a porno reel on replay in my mind, and that makes me feel filthy. I close my eyes and then, I wake up, my clit throbbing, my hand pressing over my panties in ways no good girl should touch herself. He's infested my dreams, tainted my unconscious mind with his sins. I feel sweat bead on my brow as I yank my trembling hand away from my body. I swallow and immediately shove the covers off, dropping to my knees beside the bed to pray.
"Please forgive me for my impure thoughts, for the things I've allowed to seep into my soul. Please take away my want of unholy things. Amen."
The throbbing between my thighs won't stop, and all I want to do is touch myself while thinking of that man, of the way his large hands felt on me. The release he provided me. Tomorrow is Friday, and it can't come soon enough.
There's a soft knock at the door, and Dave jumps up, growling.
"Come in!" I shout.
The door cracks and a tiny figure steps into the office. Her black hair falls in waves around her shoulders. Evie.
Dave sits down in front of her, continuing to growl low in his throat. Her eyes lock on him, and she nervously presses herself against the wall.
"Dave!" I snap, and he turns away, grumbling as he lies back down.
She watches me for a second, those wide blue eyes meeting mine. There's something so beautifully tragic about her, that false innocence that draws me in.
I like to know everything about my girls because preparation is everything in business. At least, that's what I'm telling myself. I had Jonty follow her. I now know where she lives, where she goes to church, but that's it. I can find nothing on her, no social security number, no birth certificate, she's a ghost and even for a whore, that's suspicious.
She shrugs out of her coat. And my gaze is immediately drawn to the tight black dress clinging to every single fucking curve of her body. Just looking at her is turning the front of my jeans into a fucking wigwam. I lean back to give my dick some room and shift uncomfortably.
"You came," I say, resting my elbows on the arms of the chair and clasping my hands in front of me.
"You told me to come back..." she glances anxiously at Dave and clears her throat. "Phase two, remember?" I remain silent and stare at her. Her cheeks flush pink, and that makes my cock twitch.
"I remember," I smirk. "I just didn't expect you to come back. Most don't." You shouldn't have.
Her eyes drop to her lap, and I think I can see a subtle smile on her lips. "I'm not most girls," she whispers. No, she's fucking not.
I stand, and Dave goes to get up, but I signal for him to stay.
"Follow me," I tell Evie, leaving the room. I walk down the same hallway to the same room, and again she follows me, the quiet tapping of her heels seemingly deafening.
This time, she doesn't flinch when I walk into the room and switch on the light. She doesn't give anything away. Her face remains completely impassive. With most girls, the second time is usually worse. They've experienced the first session so they assume that whatever is about to happen must be worse than that. It's phase two. It has to get harder. They fear the unknown. Not Evie though, she looks calm, as though she's come to terms with whatever awaits her. She surprises and fascinates me at every turn.
"Strip," I tell her.
She removes her clothes without hesitation, and I'm almost disappointed. Part of me wants her defiance so I can tear those fucking clothes off of her. Her submission is not nearly as exciting as her fight would be. She unzips the dress, and it drops to the floor, leaving her standing in a white lace thong and bra. My eyes trail down her legs to her red heels, and I'm forced to adjust my cock for what feels like the hundredth time.
"Kneel."
She does so willingly, lifting her head to watch as I circle her. "Why did you come back, little killer?" I grasp her chin and jerk her face up.
"You told me to."
I smile. She's a killer, a fighter. She didn't come back here because I told her to. She came back here because she wants to be here. I'm just not sure why she wants to be here. I move to the chest of drawers and pull out the flogger. I hate this shit because it seems so theatrical, but given what I'm about to ask her to do, a belt won't do. I run the leather tassels across my palm as I approach her, and her gaze is set on my movements, curiosity in her expression as I hold the handle out to her. She takes it from my hand and examines it.
"You are going to use this." Her eyes pop wide when I say that. They always think they are going to hit me. I laugh as her eyes drift from the flogger to me, and I shake my head. "You are going to hurt yourself, Evie." I hear her swallow. Her eyes lock on mine, and for a brief moment, I think she's going to cry. And I hope she does.
"Why do I have to do it? What's the point?" she asks as she fingers the leather strands.
"You do not ask questions. You are to be obedient, submissive." I spit that word because I hate it. "But, I will tell you because I like you, sweetheart. The point is discipline. If you can hurt yourself, and I mean, really hurt yourself, you can endure anything they might inflict upon you, and trust me, what they will do to you..." I don't know why I'm saying any of this to her, or why I'm pretending that she's still interviewing for the job. She's not training to be an elite whore. She's here because I want her here. No other reason.
She nods her head in acceptance. Those blue eyes of hers remain trained on me, her face without expression as she holds the flogger out, whipping it over her shoulder. The loud smack of the leather as it slaps over her skin echoes around the room. She doesn't flinch; she doesn
't move, and her eyes never leave mine.
"Again," I say.
Another loud lash rings out followed by another, then another. There are no tears, no screams. She is completely stoic, and it is making me hard as fucking cement. She stops, dropping the flogger to her side, and I shake my head, smiling. "I didn't tell you to stop."
Her eyes narrow and I can see resentment burning behind them. I crouch in front of her, taking her chin in my hand. "Harder..." I whisper.
She jerks her chin from my grasp and raises the whip, slapping it on her back again and again. I lose count of how many lashes she gives herself. But no matter how many times the leather strikes her, she doesn't break.
"Enough."
The black leather tassels splay across the floor when her arm falls to her side. She hands me the flogger and peers up at me through her thick, dark lashes. Her white teeth rake over those blood-red lips of hers. "I want you to do it," she whispers as her eyes drop to the floor. "Please." She doesn't give me enough time to respond, she simply turns around and waits. My gaze skims over her pale skin, tracing over the raised, red welts she inflicted on herself. That wasn't enough for her?
I tighten my grip on the wooden handle, warring with myself. She doesn't get to make demands here, but fucking hell, the fact that she wants it, that she likes it... Damn, do I want to make her cry. The problem is she won't cry. She has no fear, no threshold of pain, and fuck if that doesn't make my cock twitch; I don't know what on this motherfucking earth will. It makes me want to fuck her until she screams, and I'm not sure I trust myself not to beat her bloody in pursuit of those elusive tears.
I swing the flogger back, bringing it down across her shoulder blades. The leather bites at her skin and I clench my jaw. I hit her again and again, and the harder I hit her, the more relaxed she becomes. My cock's getting harder by the fucking second. I growl and hit her with enough force to draw blood. That lash causes her back to bow ever so slightly, and I swear I hear her moan. This isn't punishment for her; it's fucking pleasure.
I release the flogger, and it hits the ground. I can't take this bullshit any longer. With a few quick strides, I close the distance between us. Standing in front of her, I grab her hair and yank her head back. Her face is now level with my cock as she stares up at me with wide eyes.
"Do you like it when I hurt you, little killer?" Her eyes drop, her cheeks flushing. I stroke my free hand over her cheek. "Don't be ashamed, sweetheart. It's fucking beautiful," I whisper.
Her trembling hands lift to my waist, and she timidly pulls at my belt buckle. She's so unsure, so fucking innocent. Her eyes meet mine for a split second before quickly lowering again, and her hands fall back into her lap. I brush my thumb across her bottom lip before slipping it into her mouth—her warm, wet mouth. Her tongue flicks across my fingertip, and that simple action has my cock jumping up and down like a fucking puppy waiting to be petted. When she moans around my thumb, I hiss out a breath. Shit. I don't fuck whores, but it's just her mouth, right? And she's not like any whore I've ever met.
I rip my thumb from her mouth and yank my belt open, shoving both my trousers and boxers down. A small frown line mars her forehead. My other hand is still in her hair, and my hold tightens, slowly pulling her to me until her face is only an inch from my cock. Her short, hot breaths blow over my dick. Fuck me. I can't wait for the heat of her mouth.
"Take it," I growl. I have to restrain myself from shoving my cock down her throat and fucking her face until she gags. I want to watch the tears pour down her face as she literally chokes on my dick.
She timidly lifts her hand and wraps her delicate fingers around the base. I groan at the small contact, and then, her lips are on me, her tongue tentatively flicking across my bell end. My fingers tense in her hair as she explores me further. Her mouth sinks around me, and I watch as my cock disappears behind her red lips. Now my entire dick is in her warm, tight little mouth. My body is strung so fucking tight, my balls ready to explode down her throat. Her eyes flash open and meet mine. Even with my dick in her mouth, she looks fucking innocent. She drags her tongue over my length, moaning slightly. And I lose it.
I grip her hair and thrust my hips forward until I touch the back of her throat. I fuck her mercilessly, chasing release. I throw my head back and groan because nothing has ever felt as good as her mouth does right fucking now.
"Fuck, Evie!" I thrust harder, faster. My balls tighten, my muscles tense, and then I come deep in her throat. To her credit, she swallows, then drags her tongue over me to lick me clean. My cock pops out of her mouth, and there she sits staring at me silently. Fuck. I'm shaking, my breathing ragged. Her mouth is fucking magic.
After I've come back to my senses, I pull my boxers and trousers up, then quickly fasten my belt.
What the fuck did I just do? I turn and walk away from her, dragging a hand through my hair. Shit. First, I wanted to hit her, and then I ate her pussy, and now she's sucking my cock. I don't fuck whores. I don't hit girls unless they're going to work for me. What the fuck is wrong with me? This girl makes me lose control, and I never lose control. Everything I do is a conscious choice. What is it about her? She's turning me into one of the sex crazed fucking twats I make so much money from.
When I turn back around, Evie's still knelt, and still very fucking naked with her eyes fixed on the floor.
"Get dressed," I tell her, angry with myself for losing my shit.
She doesn't look at me when she stands to grab her clothes. She quickly dresses, keeping her eyes on the floor. "Phase three is when?" she asks as she smooths the hem of her dress down.
"There is no phase three." I pull a cigarette from the pack in my pocket, remaining silent as I place it between my lips. “You didn't pass phase two." I flip the lid to the lighter and hold it to the cigarette, inhaling the thick smoke before I flip it closed with a heavy snap.
Her eyebrows pinch together, and her eyes narrow angrily at me. "Why? What didn't I pass?"
I smirk and take another drag of the cigarette as I slowly step towards her, closing the space between us. "You don't flinch. You don't fear pain."
"I thought that's what you wanted," she whispers.
I take her chin between my thumb and forefinger. "Me personally, yes. My clients...." I lean in closer, dragging my nose across her throat, inhaling the scent of her one last time. "They want you to scream and cry. They want you to beg them to stop." I kiss her neck gently before pulling back to meet her eyes again. "They do not want you to like it. They want you to fear it."
"I... I can scream. I can cry if that's what they want." She nods her head as though trying to convince herself. "I can pretend, whatever you want." Her jaw clenches and she glares at me.
The thought of her pretending to cry makes me angry. I drop my hand from her face. Tears are merely a reaction to fear, and fear is not seen, it's felt. "Even if you could fake it, you're scarred. I can't charge thousands of dollars a night for flawed merchandise, sweetheart." My eyes flick over her perfect face. "No matter how beautiful you are."
"Why did you ask me to come back then? If being scarred means I'm flawed, why did you bring me back here? You just wanted to hurt me?" She's shaking, her nostrils flaring as she glares at me.
I laugh, inhaling another drag from my smoke as I thread a handful of her hair between my fingers. "Exactly that." I blow a steady stream of smoke in her face as I pull her against my chest. "I've never wanted to take a belt to anyone as much as I do you, little killer," I whisper, my lips brushing against hers as I speak.
Her breath hitches and her eyes widen. She attempts to push away from me, but I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, locking her in place. "You make me want to hurt you, to make you cry while I fuck you. But I don't fuck whores." Releasing her, I drag my eyes over her body. "Shame." I turn my back to her and head to the door. "Don't come back here, Evie."
"Please..." she begs.
I should keep walking and never see her again, but that innocence in her voice
halts me.
"Give me another chance. Please, Ezra."
I turn and face her. "Why?" A small frown line mars her forehead. "Why?!" I shout.
"I... I need this job."
I narrow my eyes at her, studying her face. "Get. Another. Job."
"No!" she shouts too quickly. "I can't... I need this job. I need the money."
I didn't get to where I am by being a fucking idiot. I can read people like a book. "You're lying." I should just throw her out, forget about her, but curiosity has me rooted to the spot waiting for her answer, yet she remains silent. I'm out of patience. I close the gap between us and slam my hand around her throat, yanking her toward me as I press my fingers into her soft skin. "I don't deal well with bullshit, sweetheart," I breathe in her ear. "Don't fucking test me."
She gasps as she struggles in my grip. "I..." Her pulse thrums against my fingers, and she squeezes her eyes shut. "I like it," she chokes out.
"What do you like, little killer? I loosen my grip as I press my cheek against hers, my lips at her ear. "Say it."
"I like it when you hurt me," she whispers, her voice breaking. I can't help but groan as the raw urge to fuck her up bubbles to the surface.
I adjust my grip, grabbing her jaw and pulling her close to me. My gaze drops to her full, parted red lips, and I brush my lips against hers. Her rapid breaths falter before she slams her lips against mine. The second her tongue sweeps across my lips, I'm done.
His lips are on mine, the rough stubble of his face scratching against my skin. He tastes like sin and heaven at the same time. My skin heats from that contradiction. This feeling buzzing through me must be what Eve felt as she plucked the bright, red apple from the tree; as she contemplated sinking her teeth into its tempting flesh. The taste of sin, the taste of something forbidden—it's unlike anything else in this world. And Ezra is sin, yet he is forgiveness, and I know that if I eat of his flesh, I will burn in hell. You shouldn't like this, Evelyn. But I do. I shouldn't, but I can't help it. And so I sink my teeth into the forbidden fruit. I claw at the back of Ezra's neck, scratching my nails through his thick hair as my mouth crushes over his. I press my body against his. I moan into his mouth. He may say I'm damaged, but he wants me. He wants me, and I will seduce him. I will make him sin; I will make him my sinner. I will let him lead me to the devil, and then, I will kill him.