by Unknown
Synthia’s eyes widened, and something akin to concern crossing her pretty face as he dropped to one knee, holding his side. Wooziness swept over him. If the spreading ruby stain on the carpet was any indication, he’d lost more blood than he realized. The wound must be deep.
His vision blurred a little as Synthia approached, carrying Janis’s purple mesh top. It cleared enough he got a spectacular view of her tearing the mesh away from her hips and tits and tossing it aside. She stood before him, feet apart and hands on her hips, eyeing him up and down. Without a word, she reached beside him and grabbed his pajama pants.
Mark blinked. He must be dreaming. The Black angel before him stood perfect in every way except one. Black ink covered Synthia’s right nipple, including her areola, and her pale left breast sported the same deathly color at the tip, but no nipple. Odd, even for a Black.
Synthia continued to watch him as shimmied into his pants, using the string to secure them on her shapely hips. She dropped the shorty top over her head and wiggled until it fell into place over her strange, firm breasts.
“I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is I chewed it off myself,” she said, the quiver in her voice nearly imperceptible.
Mark smiled, and he thought he saw the corner of her mouth turn up just a bit. Quite fetching. If he hadn’t lost so much blood, his cock would have joined the party.
“I have to get back to Dime,” she said, the determination in her sultry voice unmistakable. “And you’re going to help me.”
Dime? Who the fuck was Dime? And why did she keep bringing him up at the most inopportune times?
“Like hell,” he said, his side throbbing. Synthia didn’t bat an eye.
“You can lie there and die, or help me get back to Dime. We can get you fixed up. You can’t stay here. I imagine their bodyguard will be up any time looking for them.”
Very perceptive. The Dostens did have a bodyguard, Petey. Unlike his employers, he didn’t have a lithac addiction, but he did have a temper and a bad attitude, courtesy of enough steroids to kill Godzilla.
Mark didn’t have a choice, nor did he have time to respond before Hannah, long brown hair flying, ran into the living room and threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him over.
“Jove! Oh, my God!” she wailed, clutching him. “You’re hurt. Oh, my God!”
Thanks be to almighty Zeus the girl was petite, or she’d have torn his wound wider. Mark grunted as the sharp pain choked the wind out of him. The pain came with a benefit: Synthia colored nicely when she saw his beautiful young acquaintance in the throes of distress.
Good. Jealousy could be a useful emotion, one he intended to use to his advantage. He didn’t know who sent Synthia to kill him, but he knew one thing...
She was his now, no matter what.
Chapter Five
Mayflower maneuvered the ambulance to the ground in a smooth landing, contrasting sharply with her wrecked nerves. The last ninety minutes passed like flashes of a strange movie flitting from frame to frame in her head, from her discovery in the pleasure synth box to her hijacking the ambulance sent to pick up Jove, or whoever he was.
She should be grateful Janis stabbed him. Calling the ambulance gave her transport back to Dime, but the memory of Jove looking at her with such passion, even while bleeding, sent a jolt of fear through her she hadn’t experienced for a long, long time. Heaven only knows why.
Now her wounded prisoner and his little girlfriend—was she even twenty-five?—sat in the back, huddled together, whispering, and she sat up front, gearing the vehicle down into standby mode like a chauffeur.
She should have pitched both of them out when she knocked out the medics and left them in the alley behind Jove’s housing unit. Now she had to put up with the little tart fawning over him and his eating it up.
What a fucking gigolo. So what if he was good-looking? And strong? And the sexiest man she’d ever met? The sudden, unexpected memory of his cock plunging into her warmed her inside and out, cream dampening her pussy flesh and threatening to ruin the pretty jammy pants she pilfered from him.
“We’re here. Get out,” she said, trying to sound authoritative, as if being in charge meant she couldn’t possibly have a thoroughly drenched pussy.
Hannah, still weepy, tugged at Jove’s massive arm, trying enthusiastically to help him up though her sniffling made it impossible. Mayflower didn’t like the pallor of his skin or the amount of blood on the sheet. Dead, he was of absolutely no use. Alive, he might be the just the ticket she and Dime needed to get out of Old Long Beach and to safety, wherever that was.
She pushed Hannah aside, placed Jove’s arm over her shoulder, and heaved them forward. He fell into her, knocking them both into the side of the ambulance, where Jove’s body came to rest against hers. Jove leaned on her, and, even in his weakened state, embers of desire glowed in his eyes.
“Do you know what you do to me?” he said, his voice low and hoarse.
Mayflower stared at him, hypnotized, until Hannah, sitting in the ambulance, sucked in a ragged breath and blew her nose. Her resolve restored by the reminder of his little girlfriend’s presence, Mayflower steadied herself and dragged Jove forward, not really caring if the movement hurt his side or not. He winced. Good.
“I’m not a customer, so save your bullshit for someone with money,” she said, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he dropped to the asphalt, pulling Mayflower with him. Hannah burst into another round of hysterics.
“Chilly, damn it, get out here and help me,” Mayflower yelled, straddling Jove and trying to shake him awake. Unconsciousness was definitely not a good sign.
She should have been thrilled to see Chilly in the doorway, but her relief was tempered by the reality of what she owed him for taking care of Dime. She’d promised him whatever he asked, but she’d known before he answered what the price would be.
Her.
* * * *
He wasn’t asleep. The idiot junkie stitching up his wound hummed some odd techno-pop song, and he obviously didn’t notice Mark watched him with interest from his position on the upright gurney. The pain would have been too intense for anyone else, but Mark had been through too many skirmishes for it to be anything except routine. Over the years he’d developed a high tolerance for pain. At least, that of a physical kind.
The spiky-haired, leather-vested thirty-something started whistling as he finished up. His nostrils, eyebrows and bottom lip sported silver rings, giving him a youthful but dangerous appearance, while the dog collar around his neck set off the narrowness of his face, making him seem learned and wise.
His violet eyes and black hair matched Synthia’s, except the whites of his eyes were stained yellow, a sure sign he was a lithac user. Sitting, the young man appeared to be about five inches shorter than Mark.
Was this Dime?
Mark glanced up. Synthia stood in the doorway, leaning against the old-fashioned jamb, arms crossed and watching. His cock hardened at the sight of her curves, slightly raising the ratty blanket covering his lower half.
His would-be surgeon still didn’t notice. Synthia didn’t move or speak, but he thought he saw her blush.
“Where’s Hannah?” Mark asked, sudden sincere concern for the younger Blue Honey’s safety replacing the fuzziness in his brain.
He didn’t know these people, and a beautiful young woman like Hannah, with her creamy skin and big brown eyes, could fetch a hefty price in the Black underground, as if there were various levels. The whole culture, as far as Mark was concerned, belonged underground. Forever.
“So, you’re awake, are you? Hannah is keeping busy.” He poked Mark in the side and he flinched. “Must hurt like a son of a bitch. Good. I don’t have any painkiller except lithac, and it’s mine, as is our mutual friend. Mayflower.”
The young man spoke, in a voice much deeper than Mark would have expected, while busying himself with the task of cleaning up.
“Name’s Chilly. I closed the wound and treated t
he scratches on your back. Next time you have rough sex, I suggest you leave the knives in the kitchen.”
“So I’ll live?”
The doctor held up a scalpel and eyed it with unusual interest. “Unfortunately.”
Mark ignored the man’s obvious rudeness. “Who’s Mayflower?”
Chilly gave the scalpel one last glance before he met Mark’s gaze, his yellowed eyes showing nothing but contempt.
“Your savior,” he answered, tilting his head. He glared at Mark for a long time before continuing. “Yes,” he finally said, his tone caustic. “Your savior and my payment. This will help you sleep. See you later.”
Chilly pricked him with a small needle and tossed it across the room, missing the trash can by a mile. Mark clenched his fists and tried to get up, but he found his wrists and ankles bound to the gurney.
Chilly snorted a laugh and stumbled into his equipment. The instruments he so carefully put away clattered to the dirty floor. He righted himself and pointed both index fingers at Mark.
“No problem. It’s good. I’m fine,” he said, a sloppy grin on his face. “Stay! Down boy!” he whooped, and staggered out the door, kicking it shut behind him.
Mark’s side stung like a motherfucker and his temper flared, but he tried to keep calm. He was in some kind of old-style warehouse, circa 2015. No signs of technology; no signs of the Black lifestyle other than Chilly’s clothing and nasty attitude. This must be in Old Long Beach.
Mark’s anger rose. How could Syn – Mayflower – fuck such a loser? He couldn’t be her handler. Bag chick handlers had to be alert. Lithac addicts barely possessed the cognitive function to take a piss, let alone plan a hit.
This guy had to be a stage three, two stages below Janis, who was close to the end of stage five and just short of dying on her own when Mayflower helped her down the last few steps to eternity.
Mayflower. What a pretty name. Much prettier than Synthia. Much prettier than Niobe. And much easier to yell than Aphrodite. Mark said it aloud, enjoying the sound of it as it rolled off his tongue. “Mayflower.”
He said it again, and again, and again, until it became a mantra. He spoke clearly at first, but as the sleeping drug took effect, it turned into a mumble and finally a garbled mess as he drifted off into nothingness.
* * * *
“Suck it, May, suck it harder.” The doctor’s agitated voice filtered through the fuzziness from the sleeping drug, along with the sounds of a woman sucking a man’s cock.
Mark opened his eyes long enough to glimpse Chilly standing against the wall, naked from the waist down, with Mayflower’s head in his crotch. His hands placed on both sides of her head, he forced her to and fro along his semi-flaccid cock, his hips gyrating. Mark grit his teeth before closing his eyes and willing away the effects of the sleeping drug.
The crisp, fleshy thwack of a hand connecting with a cheek brought him back. He expected, maybe hoped, he’d see Chilly spanking Mayflower, but his disappointment turned to rage.
Mayflower sat back on her knees, holding her cheek, her face red and her lips puffy from sucking cock. She glowered. Chilly sneered.
“You’re not getting me there. Come on, I know you can do better than that, or we’ll have to try something a little more drastic,” he threatened, his hand massaging his semi-limp cock. How ironic. A useless prick playing with a useless prick. Mark’s anger flared.
“If you weren’t hopped up on lithac all the time, your dick would work and I could pay you,” Mayflower shot back. With his free hand, Chilly slapped her again.
“I took care of your retard. You need to be a little nicer. ‘Please Chilly, don’t kill the gigolo, he can help get us out of here. Please Chilly, let’s not fuck here, Dime and Hannah will hear us. Please take care of Dime Chilly or Chico might hurt him to get to me. Dime, Dime, Dime’,” he mimicked.
As quietly as he could, Mark struggled against the leather straps holding him captive. He didn’t quite succeed. As Mayflower dropped to her hands and knees to shift herself to a standing position, she caught his gaze. Chilly didn’t seem to notice.
“What about me, Mayflower? What. About. Me?” Chilly barked at her rising form.
“Lie down, Chilly,” Mayflower said, turning away from Mark and giving the doctor a shove.
He slid down the wall, flattening himself out when he reached the floor and shimmying onto his back. Mayflower stripped, offering full view of her luscious curves, and Mark’s shaft lengthened three inches.
She strolled to the makeshift counter across the room, her hips swaying and tits jiggling, and grabbed a bottle. She flipped it open, removed a small orange pill and re-capped it.
“This will counteract the effects of the lithac long enough for you to get rid of that frustration. I can’t fuck a limp dick,” she said, and Mark recognized the determination in her tone. He’d heard it before at his apartment. She meant business.
Mayflower straddled Chilly. He didn’t attempt to stop her when she pulled open his mouth and dropped the pill in. Chilly swallowed reluctantly, and Mayflower kissed his chin.
Something inside Mark ached as he watched Mayflower inching her way down Chilly’s skinny body. Emotions he couldn’t identify descended upon him, just like they had the day he was taken into the darkness. Funny how those emotions were nowhere to be found the day he came back into the daylight. He’d been too weary to care by then.
Chilly moaned. By the time she reached his navel, his hands covered his face and his cock rose straight up. Mayflower mounted him quickly.
As Mark watched, still trying to free himself, Mayflower tilted her hips forward and back faster and faster, fucking the man beneath her with expert technique. Mark’s cock throbbed.
Mayflower rubbed her breasts, her eyes closed and head thrown back. Small sounds drifted from her throat, each distinct noise a hammer slamming into his soul. This woman had an effect on him like no other. He wanted her fucking him, not the idiot on the floor. And he wanted her right now. He strained against his bonds.
Mayflower dropped forward, supporting herself with her hands against Chilly’s chest. Her moans increased, but the louder they became, the hollower they rang. As Chilly neared climax, she gripped his arms, riding him hard, and Mark’s back stung from the memory of her nails digging into him. Mark realized Chilly wouldn’t have scratches, at least not the deep kind inspired by Mayflower’s untamed desire. He smiled.
She was faking it.
Chilly came, and two seconds later Mayflower shrieked, acting out the worst fake orgasm Mark had ever heard. His desperate need to pull the lovers apart morphed into a desperate attempt to not laugh his ass off.
The doctor relaxed beneath Mayflower, his hands falling to his sides. She slid off him without looking in Mark’s direction and gathered her mismatched clothing. The pieces fought harmonious coordination, not only color-wise, but Blue- versus Black-wise. The soft seafoam silk contrasted with the dark purple mesh, but when Mayflower held them against her smooth, pale skin, they somehow blended together. They suited her.
She suited him, and he wanted her.
Chilly sat up suddenly, as if he’d been jolted awake by a loud alarm. His eyes searched the room, roving over the counter until he spotted a glass containing filled with yellow glop. Lithac.
Mayflower watched him as he rushed for it, his torso sliding across the table as he fumbled toward the dope. A moment later, with a hefty dose of it soaking in his eye, Chilly cackled and walked heel-toe, heel-toe out the door. Mayflower lingered in the corner, trying without success to cover her nakedness with her mismatched outfit.
Nothing should ever cover her naked body except him, Mark decided.
This time, the worn leather snapped when he jerked his arms. Mayflower whirled in his direction as the bindings on his legs broke, and the straps holding Mark’s ankles fell away. He stepped down, the sheet covering him landing on the floor.
Mayflower bolted for the door, but Mark was faster.
* * * *
Fucking Chilly hadn’t done anything except clear part of her debt to him and frustrate the hell out of her. She could tell the real man in front of her wanted her, because he told her so.
“I want you,” he whispered, his voice husky. He pushed her thighs apart with his knee, and her pussy twitched.
And he would please her, too, if this morning had been any indication of his prowess. His crossed her wrists above her head, holding them with one large hand while the fingers of the other hand played with her, stroking her clit until she swelled for him.
How she wanted him to please her!
Bringing Chilly in here to have sex was a mistake. She’d used Dime and Hannah as an excuse, but the truth was she wanted Jove to see her fucking another man. She’d forgotten lithac’s effect on the libido. Things didn’t turn out quite how she’d expected, and now the gigolo had her right where he wanted her, which was, Heaven help her, right where she wanted to be.
His lips moved down the side of her neck, not kissing, just caressing, teasing, promising. He nipped the soft flesh under her ear, eliciting delicious shivers all over her body.
“So tempting, Mayflower,” Jove said, running the tip of his tongue along her sore jawline. “So much passion and no one to share it with except the rotting walking corpse who sewed me up.”
Ouch, that hurt.
Mayflower bristled, her desire dropping a notch, but only a notch. She wished it were more, the damn barbarian.
“What would you know about it? You’re nothing but Blue Honey, providing cock for every loser degenerate Black who has enough coin to buy your services,” she snapped.