by Voss, Deja
I reach for his face, but he pulls away.
“Come on, girl; I probably saved your life today. The least you can do is indulge me. Let me help you out of those shorts,” he says, tugging down my running shorts and panties in one quick pull, gingerly easing them off my injured leg like a real gentleman. I lay there before him completely naked, my mound dripping with desire, the tops of my thighs slick from this dance we’ve been doing ever since he walked through the door.
“Now, Molly,” he says, his voice stern, commanding, and dripping with the kind of sexy domination I had only dreamed of on lonely nights while rubbing my clit to climax. “Be a good girl and show me how you cum.”
He sits on the love seat across from the bed, unmoving. He’s so close to me, I can almost feel his breath on my body, but so frustratingly far away. “I want to touch you,” I sigh.
“I know.” He grins, cocky as hell. “There’s not an inch of my body you won’t be touching before tonight is over, but right now, you need to do as I say.”
The foreplay, the buildup, this game of control and power he’s playing with me, it’s not what I expected out of a guy like him. I expected him to fuck me the way he threw me over his shoulder this afternoon. Recklessly. Instead, he has me begging, performing for him like he’s some kind of powerful man giving orders to a high paid escort.
Except he’s not.
He is a powerful man, but it’s not in what he has or doesn’t have. It’s in how he is, and all of that is turning me on more than I’ve ever been in my life.
I start by cupping my breasts in my hands, heavy and swollen with lust, squeezing them together, pinching my nipples between my fingertips until I yelp.
“Oh God, girl,” he whispers. “That’s so fucking sexy.”
I let my hand travel down my stomach, closing my eyes as I trace the outside of my slit in a circular motion. I know the second I touch my clit I’m going to explode for him, but the man wants a show, and I’m happy to give him one. Maybe if I do a good job, he’ll give me exactly what I want. That bulge in his jeans is telling me he doesn’t exactly hate what he sees.
I spread my legs wide, exposing everything I have. His eyes trail back and forth from my dripping pussy to my eyes, like he’s trying to get a sneak peek into my brain.
“Show me how wet you are right now,” he commands, and I let out a little sigh as I slip my index finger inside myself, grazing my g-spot just the way I like. I pull out my slick finger and bring it to my lips, smiling at him innocently, the whole time.
“You are fucking filthy. I bet you taste so sweet,” he moans. He’s pulling off his belt, tugging down those tight fitting jeans and boxer briefs, and my eyes widen as soon as I get a glimpse of what he’s packing. He begins to stroke his big thick dick, a bead of precum running from the tip. “You want this cock, baby?” he asks.
I nod, biting my lip, sliding my fingers back inside of me, getting myself ready for him.
“Tell me,” he says, pumping his hand up and down his shaft, getting harder and bigger with every tug.
“I want your cock, Tucker,” I whine. “Please fuck me.”
“Show me how you cum,” he says, walking over to me, dick in his hand, stroking it right in my face. “Show me how bad you want this dick, Molly.”
I press my clit with intense need for release, and as the orgasm rips through me, I grab him by the back of his thighs, taking his cock as deep into my mouth as possible as I moan into it, holding nothing back.
The way he’s running his fingers through my hair, a low gravelly moan escaping his lips, his manly taste, everything about him, is making me a wild woman as I run my tongue all over his shaft, my body still twitching with orgasmic delight.
“Fuck, girl,” he growls, wrapping my hair around his fist, just hard enough to let me know who’s in charge. “You feel so good. You better slow down.”
I can’t slow down. I feel like I’m possessed by my slutty alter ego, desperate to make this stranger cum in my mouth, but he holds my head still and controls his thrusts, shallowly inching his length in and out slowly.
“You’re so gorgeous with my dick in your mouth, Molly,” he groans. I run my hands up and down those solid thighs of his, feeling his muscles ripple underneath my fingertips.
“Lay down on your back,” he urges, pulling out of me, his dick slick with precum and my saliva. It’s monstrous, the biggest and most beautiful I’ve ever seen, and my pussy clenches in anticipation. I need to feel him inside me. “Do you have a condom?” he asks, and I smile. He really is a good guy. Definitely more responsible than I am. It might be the heat of the moment, but the fact that he cares about our health and well-being makes him even sexier in my eyes.
“Nightstand drawer, probably buried underneath some stuff. It’s not like I do this all the time,” I say, rolling over on the bed. The ripping of the foil is like music to my ears, music to my needy slit, knowing that soon, Tucker will be inside me.
“I know you don’t do this all the time, Molly,” he whispers in my ear, his powerful and strong body hovering inches from mine. “I can tell by the way you touch yourself, you haven’t had a good fuck in a long time. I can tell by the way you’re drooling all over my dick like you’re a starving woman that you need this, and you know what? I fucking love it.”
He smothers my mouth with his kisses, warm and wet, and his body presses into mine. I feel him trace his cock up and down my slit, collecting my wetness, and I rock my hips, aching for him.
I feel the head of his cock line up with me as I stare into his blue eyes. “Please,” I beg, my whole body quivering.
He slides into me with one primal thrust, filling me with his length, and I swear I see stars. He’s so huge but I’m so turned on, my walls adapt quickly to his invasion, squeezing him, milking his dick as he saws in and out ever so slowly.
“God, you’re so tight, girl,” he groans, as he begins slowly thrusting his hips, never fully pulling out of me, his controlled movements grazing my swollen clit every time he inches back.
My moans escalate, cries from the pleasure of feeling him sawing in and out, and the delicious and slightly painful intensity of how deep he’s driving himself inside me.
“Take it,” he moans in my ear, overpowering both my body and my mind, and I begin to unravel.
“Tucker,” I wail, “You’re gonna make me cum.”
“Show me,” he commands. “Show me how hard I make you cum.”
His thrusts quicken, harder, and he sinks his teeth into the crevice of my shoulder blade, sending a jolt of white heat through my entire body. I wrap my legs around him, no regard for the actual pain in my ankle, taking him as deep as I can as I feel my walls collide all around him.
His body stiffens, and he grabs me by my hips, hard enough to leave handprints. I feel him cumming with me, I feel his dick twitch deep inside my womb as I just hang there, a sweaty, screaming mess.
He presses his lips to mine, just like that first tender kiss we shared, as if the primal beast inside him is put to rest and the sweet and caring man who rescued me from a night on the mountain is lying on top of me. He rolls me over onto his stomach, still not exiting me, and I rest my head on his chest while he brushes his fingers through my hair.
The only sound in the bus is our breathing, slowly coming back to normal. I feel his heart beating under my ear, feel the rise and fall of his chest, and his strong arms wrapped around me, holding me tight like a child clutches his beloved teddy bear.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, breaking the silence between us.
I stare into his gorgeous eyes and run my fingers through that thick beard of his.
“Thank you?” I half ask, half tell. I mean, it’s not every day that Mr. Perfect Sex Machine throws you over his shoulder and takes you home and ravishes you. I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I am not complaining one bit, even with my black and blue ankle beginning to throb.
“You’re cute,” he sighs. I slide off him, resting on my back
with my eyes closed, trying to put myself back together.
“Is this the part where you throw me out?” he asks.
“No,” I laugh. “This is the part where I ask you what you like on your pizza. I’m starving.”
Chapter Eight
Tucker:
I feel really terrible for what I’m doing right now. Leaving her there alone, after the night we shared, after she let me inside her, let me share that gorgeous body of hers. She didn’t have to do that, and now I’m being a total dick by walking out on her.
Maybe my memory is gone, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about a woman before. There’s something about her that makes me feel like nothing in my life has ever made sense before. Before I stumbled across her, before I took her home, before I touched her all over and watched her body explode under my command. The sex was awesome. I’m hard just thinking about the faces she makes when she cums, when I make her cum, as I hike up the very hill I just drug her down a few hours ago.
Even more incredible was the way we talked, the way we laughed, everything about her is so adorable, so sexy but sweet at the same time, so everything I want in a woman. The more she told me about her goals for life, her hopes, her dreams, the more and more I realized I’m way out of my league here.
The sun is just coming up over the side of the mountain and I keep thinking I need to turn around and go back to that bus. Go back and give her an explanation of why I can’t stay there with her, but I’m sure she already knows.
Because as perfect as a woman she is, as hard as I’m falling for her, things could never work.
I’m incomplete.
And not only because I couldn’t provide for her like a traditional man could, take care of her financially and give her all the things that she wants, needs, deserves…
I’m incomplete because I have no idea where I belong in this world. I have no idea when the other shoe is going to drop and I’m going to find out that maybe in my past life I was a terrible person, a murderer or a dog strangler or something. She’s always going to want to press me to find out about my past, and well deservedly, but there are things about me I just don’t want to know.
I’m happy being a puzzle left in a box on the shelf. No need to put my pieces back together. She, on the other hand, has a need for knowledge. It’s her career. It’s her life pursuit. It’s better I just cut my losses now and set her free. She’ll probably forget about me long before I recover from her.
“Well look what the fucking cat drug in,” Mitch bellows from the campfire. “You get lost or what?”
He’s staring at me, a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Whatdya got there?” he asks, chuckling as he points at the little love bite she left on the side of my neck.
“Hey, I asked if you wanted to come with me before I left yesterday,” I tease him. “This could’ve been you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind the next time around. You’re the one with the head injury, though. For all we know you could’ve been going at it with an extra friendly raccoon.”
“Trust me, Molly is no raccoon. More like a wildcat with a perfect rack and a heart of gold.”
“Molly, huh?” He raises his eyebrows. “So when are we going to meet this broad.”
“Never,” I tell him. I sit down next to him by the fire, my legs tired from the hike, ready to go to sleep after an overexciting twenty-four hours with very little rest.
“That’s cool, too,” he says. “You want coffee?”
“Nah,” I say. “I think I’m gonna actually hit the sack. Didn’t really do much sleeping last night.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” He winks. He’s such a dirty old man, but I love the guy. Out of everyone in the crew, he’s the one who feels the most like family to me. Like a creepy uncle or something, he reminds me of something so familiar yet so far away.
“How’d the raid go?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he says, his gaze turning serious. “I’m sure fine. Haven’t seen or heard from anyone since they left yesterday, though.”
“Is that normal?”
“I guess it depends. I wouldn’t worry about it too much. If we don’t hear anything in the next couple hours, we can always head downtown. You go get some sleep,” he says, shooing me off.
I shrug, patting him on the back as I make my way down the little footpath to my hammock, stripping down to my boxer briefs. I collapse into the comfortable swinging bed under the canopy of oak trees, and can’t help but smile as I run my fingers over that spot on my neck where Molly left her mark.
Before I can even close my eyes, the ground rumbles below me, the sound of four-wheelers pulling into camp.
Good, I think, knowing that my brothers are back safe.
“You’re fucking kidding me!” I hear Mitch yell. “Luna, put some fucking clothes on. We gotta go downtown.”
Chapter Nine
Molly:
I hear my cellphone ringing from across the room and my eyes snap open. I should’ve known better. It really was too good to be true. I might have fallen asleep in Tucker’s arms, but he’s long gone, without even so much as a goodbye kiss.
It’s not like I’ve never been ghosted before, but I thought there was something different about him; I thought we had some sort of connection. Maybe I was just being overoptimistic. It’s not like it would’ve ever worked out between us anyway. I totally fucked up any potential of writing a story about his clan because I couldn’t keep my legs closed, and now I probably need to start thinking about throwing a dart at a map and figuring out where I can park my bus for a few months waiting for the next big thing.
“Shit, phone,” I mutter, aching as I try and move from my bed. My ankle is swollen and sore, and the rest of my body feels like it’s been through the ringer. The type of ringer that leaves you wondering if you’ll ever be able to walk straight again.
I grab a cold piece of pizza from the box on the coffee table that didn’t make it into the fridge last night and hungrily begin to plow it down. My phone is lighting up, vibrating on the floor and I hobble my way to pick it up. It’s my agent. Fantastic, I think sarcastically. He’s probably calling to harass me about why I haven’t been responding to my emails in the last couple days.
“Molly!”
I choke down the bite of pizza in my mouth and try to return the enthusiasm. “Hey, Josh. You sound happy.”
“Are you sitting down?” he asks.
I already beat him to it, sprawling out on the love seat, propping my ankle up in the air. “Sure.”
“You know that story you pitched last week? The one about the weirdo mountain men?”
“Yeah, about that,” I say. “I don’t think I want to do that anymore. It’s kind of a dead lead.”
“Well, I think you might want to reconsider. I submitted it to Rolling Stone, along with your last piece about the veterans who started their own biker gang, and they loved it. Loved it so much they want to pay you three dollars a word for a three-thousand-word article.”
“The fuck?” I stammer. That’s insane. “That’s like, what real authors make.”
He laughs on the other end of the line. I know, technically, I’m a ‘real author’ because I get paid to write stuff, but most of the time I feel like I’m just feeding the meter. I make words so that I can eat, drink, and travel. The fact that someone wants to pay me top dollar for my work is something I never dreamed of.
“And if all goes as planned, and you do all that razzle-dazzle magic I know you’re so good at, there’s room for a more permanent kind of contract. Countercultures of Modern-Day America, from the girl who lives in a bus.”
I am speechless, my heart racing, my palms sweating. It takes everything in me not to say fuck it to my ankle and start jumping on my bed like a child.
Then it hits me. There’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to pull this off. There’s no way in hell after what I did last night that these people are going to let me into their world. I
t’s unethical.
“Molly, you made it, girl!” he cheers. “Are you still there?”
“Do you need an answer right now?” I ask him.
“What?”
Maybe if I can just talk to Tucker, explain to him my plight, offer them some sort of cut of the money, I mean, I can give them everything I make from this story if it’s going to be a long-term thing. The wheels in my head are spinning, but every road I turn down feels like a danger sign. Like a blinking red warning that this is a horrible idea.
I can get past the fact that I fucked him for the sake of writing a good story. But the fact that I know in my heart that I actually have feelings for him, that’s going to be a whole different challenge to navigate.
“It’s just, I have to talk to my source,” I say, trying to buy some time. “These people… they aren’t too into the idea of modern culture. They’re recluses. I need to make sure they know I’m only trying to help them, not exploit them.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself, Molly. You could charm the pants off anyone,” he says.
I wish I could laugh along with him, but the comment hits a little too close to home a little too soon.
“Give me til next week. If I can’t get it sorted by then, I promise I will have something equally as compelling for you.” The latter is unlikely, but I’m willing to say anything to give him the confidence in me that I need to try and summon in myself.
“Friday,” he says. “At the latest.”
“Fine,” I sigh.
“And check your email, please.” His tone has gone from thrilled to perturbed and I completely understand why. “I sent you a delightful assortment of stuff you can expect to work on for the rest of your life if you don’t take this job. How do you feel about comparing twelve types of bottled alkaline water and rating them based on their taste?”
“You want me to write about what water tastes like?”
“I’ll have them overnight the case for you.”
“I’ll talk to you soon,” I say with a sigh, kicking myself for not jumping all over this opportunity and letting the details work themselves out for themselves.