by Arie Lane
I step back slightly to push him off my backside, turning to a huff and a gaggle of giggles. Giggling, really? I wait for him to acknowledge the woman he nearly trampled, but it seems he is busy texting and admiring one of the women pawing at his arms. I use the term woman loosely, since she could be eighteen, but more than likely she is in her mid-teens playing dress up with her mom’s makeup, and he’s too dumb to realize. Feeling my anger intensify, I open my mouth and let my poison tongue get the best of me.
“You know, if you weren't so busy checking if your life-sized Barbie has hit puberty and if her tits are plastic or not, you might have noticed it wasn't a damn wall you just tried to dry hump."
I swear, the shit eating grin that came across his face is something just begging to be smacked off. With what, I had yet to decide. My fist? My purse? Or maybe a good old fashioned cast iron frying pan like grandma used to use. Yeah, definitely something that would leave a mark. Hell, if I wore high heels I might even be tempted to bitch-slap him with one of them.
Of course, while I'm standing here imagining the demise of his Colgate smile, he's actually opening his mouth and starting to speak. Clearly annoyed I'm not listening, he clears his throat for effect and starts again, eager to earn my attention.
Seeing that he has, his voice half-catches in a laugh, "I can assure you, you’re anything but a wall. Maybe a speed bump, or a hurdle, but definitely not a wall."
I stand with my arms crossed waiting for some form of an apology for the near trampling, instead I get some back-handed compliment.
“You are rather tiny, or maybe I should call you fun-sized. I could definitely see myself having some fun with you. I mean you’re pretty hot in a naughty librarian kind of way. You know, the kind with the nerdy glasses and hair in a bun, but once you take them away you're left with a pretty face and a body you could bang for hours.”
My mouth drops for a second before I collect myself and give him a piece of my mind.
“Well naughty librarian or not, you’re the last thing I would be banging. In fact, I bet you aren’t banging much of anything. Judging from your body mass, I’m betting you’re overcompensating with all of those muscles. I’ll wager the muscle your sporting below your belt probably isn’t big enough to accommodate even my fun-size, as you put it.”
His eyes sparkle and I realize this is a losing battle. This man doesn’t know when it’s best to just shut up.
“I don’t need to overcompensate, baby. I can promise my dick is more than adequate to take you for a joy ride. I can’t promise you’ll be able to walk once I’m done though; you might have to crawl. Mm, yeah the idea of you on your hands and knees, now that sounds like my kind of fun.”
Hmm, yeah he thinks he's clever. As I get ready to retort with something less than savory, the girl behind the counter informs me she needs my ID and credit card. I hand it over and she runs it through, then passes it back with a smile while stating my name, much to my chagrin.
I hear the audible gasps and whispers from the idiot's harem behind me. His confusion is apparent since he didn't catch it. Not that I’m surprised, I’m pretty sure in this moment he is too busy taking a picture of one of their asses.
I try hard not to listen, but I still manage to hear a few of their lingering questions. Is that really her? Do you think she'd sign something for me? Isn't she supposed to be agoraphobic? Do you think the rumors are true? I am silently begging the counter girl to hand me my damn room key so I can get the fuck out of this lobby. Didn't their parents ever teach them common decency? I mean really, shut the fuck up. I'm not sure how much more of their incessant questions I can endure.
I finally snap, and the words come flooding from my mouth, "Yes, I am really her. No, I'm not signing shit. My books sure as fuck aren't meant for little girls. I am more than capable of leaving my home, I just prefer to be left the hell alone, and lastly, I'm sure many of the rumors are true. Now, if you don't mind,” I state, while grabbing my room key, “shut the fuck up and mind your own damn business, or his.”
I nod toward the ass still sporting the smirk.
One of the girls, obviously the leader of this little clique, steps forward and quips, "I'll talk about whomever and whatever I want, and if I'm old enough to fuck then I'm sure as hell old enough to read about it.”
I feel the Cheshire grin pass over my face. Silly girl, she seemed to be under the impression that her comeback was clever, instead she sounds like a two-bit skank. I stand there, twirling my room key for a few moments before turning and walking toward the elevator. As I hit the up arrow, I twist back in her direction, my grin still evident.
"If you so desperately need something useful to do with that mouth of yours, I'm sure pretty-boy here can offer you something much more fulfilling than charming conversation. That is, assuming he's big enough to fill a mouth as large as yours."
As the elevator dings, I enter, while the sound of his laughter permeates through the lobby.
Tristan
Damn, my night just took a serious fucking left-turn. Who the fuck is this woman, with her sassy ass mouth? I need to get her to follow her own advice, and wrap those filthy lips around my cock. Now that I've set my sights on that tiny ball of hellfire, the two girls undressing me with their eyes while licking some sticky shit off of their lips, have my dick crawling up inside me afraid of being swallowed.
I search out an escape route, finding it as my phone chimes. I lie and tell them something important came up and I'll have to take a rain check, making sure to leave before either gets my phone number. Truth be told, I've lost all interest, and I have no intentions of looking them up.
Now I'm on a mission, and I need some intel that I’m hoping Ele can deliver. It shouldn’t be too difficult since she’s here for the author signing. I don’t usually come to these things, but after doing Ele’s fourth cover, she begged me to come along as her cover model. I’m fucking thrilled I accepted, especially knowing that sweet little piece of ass is one of the event authors. I’ll have to find out who she is, because I have every intention of claiming her rocking little body. Yeah, I know it might sound conceited, but that little ball of sunshine from downstairs will be mine- it's just a matter of when and where.
Getting into the elevator, I adjust myself. Just the thought of the things I’d like to do to her tight little ass has left me with a serious fucking hard on. That little hell-spawn’s dirty mouth had a direct reaction on my dick, and now I’m stuck sporting major wood that I’d rather Electra not see.
Last time she caught me hard, we got into a very awkward conversation about her being willing to scratch any itch I need tended. She did back off though, once I told her I don’t see her like that. Electra is more like your best friend’s little sister, fun to flirt with but deadly if you cross that line. I respect her friendship too much to ever jeopardize it.
Approaching her door, I debate how the fuck I should ask about some random woman, when I wasn’t even paying enough attention to hear her name. I mean, what the fuck am I going to ask, hey do you know some tiny little hot chick with a dirty mouth in need of some serious sexual punishment?
Yeah, I'm sure Electra would love that-asking a chick who offered sexual favors about a woman I’d damn near beg for them. Truthfully though, I know she’d help me out anyway. I'm sure if I was able to give her a name she might be able to tell me something, but I was too busy responding to Aggie's text to catch it.
I pace in front of her room, not sure what the hell has come over me. Hearing voices from inside, I move in closer wondering who she’s with. Whoever it is, sounds really pissed off about something. I move even closer to the door- my ear practically up against it, listening as the voices get louder. I should have realized they are growing louder because they are right on the other side of the door.
Before I can comprehend what’s happening, the door opens and it's too fucking late. I'm falling forward, about to smash my face. Instead of falling to the ground, I land in some very nice cushioning
.
Of course once I look up, I realize that cushioning belongs to one sexy, foul-mouthed hell-spawn who looks like she is ready to tear my balls off and feed them to the alligator the hotel keeps as an attraction. I pick myself up, but before I can even apologize she’s pushing past me and into the hall.
Once she passes the doorway, she turns back to me, "So what, assault isn't good enough, now you’re stalking too?"
I am too stunned to even reply. Shit, now how do I approach Electra about this girl without sounding like a complete douche bag?
Electra utters a groan. Turning to face her, she looks like she’s ready to tear my face off, "Shit, we've been here less than a day and you've already managed to piss someone off Tryst? Do I even want to know what she means by you assaulting her, aside from just now when you tried to devour her breasts? And why are you creeping outside my door eavesdropping? You aren’t really stalking her are you?"
The way she said that last statement with vehemence, makes me wonder if she really thinks I am capable of such a thing. Am I capable of going to such an extent? Man, I fucking hope not- I'd seriously have to turn in my man card if I needed to chase a girl who doesn’t seem to be interested.
No, I won’t write Spitfire off just yet. I decide she likes playing hard-to-get.
I look back to Electra assuring her that no, I am not stalking anyone. Not even realizing all this time that she has been holding her breath. Damn capabilities like that have promise. Sadly, she isn’t the one I picture while I think that to myself, with my mind nowhere near this conversation. Nope, it's totally lost in the fact that I went motor-boating in some very nice, slightly too large, all-too-real breasts.
I'm gutter-minded while thinking of how and when I will get to explore them again. Some men are ass men, some men are into thighs, but me, I’m a boob guy. I like them big and I like them real. No one wants to play with a pair of tits that are stiff and plastic.
A slap to the side of my head brings me back to reality. Now what the fuck is she asking me? Oh yeah, assault.
"Umm, well I kind of had a run-in with her in the lobby. I wasn't paying attention and damn near tripped over her. A better question is, who is she? How do you know her, and why is she so pissed off?"
I wait for Electra to start talking, completely missing her body language. She's shutting down on me. She starts shaking her head back and forth. Whatever is going on, she's not about to let me in. Fuck that! She's not getting away with that shit with me. I've only ever seen Electra shut down once before. Something about her best friend being murdered, and it being her fault.
She had convinced the girl that her stalker was just some harmless weirdo sending her letters, but he turned out to be a full-on psycho who chased her down one night after months of stalking. Electra had been out celebrating with her, but they went their separate ways at the end of the night. Electra was almost to her car when she heard the screaming. She said she ran for her but by the time she got there it was too late, and her friend was lying in a pool of blood.
I remember she said the dude had smashed her in the head with something, and before she could get up he had put her friend in the trunk of his car. They eventually caught the nut-job but her friend was never found. The guy never did tell them where to find the body.
Shit, now what the fuck was her name, fuck... damn it I can't remember. That’s the only other time I've ever seen this look on Ele's face.
When I look back up at her, she’s completely defeated- the tears are threatening to spill. Shit, what the fuck did Spitfire say to Ele? No one gets to be a bitch to her and not hear it from me. She's been through hell and back. I go to open my mouth, not really sure of what to say, when Electra cuts me off. Through sobs and hiccups, I try to make out her words.
“It’s all my fault, I never should have left Cora alone. I knew she was being stalked. I just thought it was one of the local boys being a dick. If she had reported it she might still be here. It's my fault I destroyed their lives, I destroyed her life."
I pull her close to my chest and ask who the she is that Ele is talking about. Who did she destroy?
Another sob, and she half-answers, "Because of me she lost her twin. Everything she has become, and everything she gave up after Cora's murder, it's all my fault. I never should have asked her to come back here. I should have known she wouldn’t be able to handle coming back to where it all happened."
I try talking her down, seeing if I can get some kind of answer.
“Ele, what happened back then wasn’t your fault. You can’t blame yourself. If she really thought she was in danger, she would have told someone else. You can’t keep holding that shit over your head. I don’t know whose life you think you ruined, but I’m pretty sure that’s a load of shit, too. Talk to me, Ele. Tell me what’s going on.”
With a final sob, she collapses in my arms and I carry her over to her bed, tuck her in, and shut the light off. As I walk out and cross the hall to my room, I wonder who the fuck she was talking about. What twin, and what the fuck does this have to do with Spitfire?
I enter my room and decide to search the internet for this Cora person. Unfortunately, I find only a few articles here and there. There is mention of a twin once or twice. But there is no name, and no picture. I have no one to compare to the tall blonde in the photos.
I know I should try and get some rest, but my mind is reeling from what just happened with Ele. Since I can’t sleep, I scroll through the loaded Kindle Ele gave me a couple months ago for my birthday. I start skimming through books when one catches my eye, written by some girl named Bentley.
By the time I shut the Kindle down, the sun is fully up. My eyes are dry as hell, and I am totally mind-fucked. How can any female have such a violent imagination? I skimmed through three of her books, all having some seriously fucked up, psychotically deranged, horrifically violent death scenes. If I didn't know better, I'd say this Bentley has a serious hatred for men. On the other hand, there's that mind-fuck again where two chapters later she's writing some seriously kinky sex shit that left my dick throbbing and my balls ten shades of blue.
I wonder if she has done half the shit she writes in her stories. Well the sex anyway, I'd rather not think of some chick slicing some guys dick off and making him chew on it jerky-style before killing him horror-movie-style. Even if the dude deserved it. And believe me, he always did.
Chapter 2
Bentley
Stepping inside my room, I double lock the door, shutting myself inside. It seems trivial, yet it’s as much a necessity as it is habit. At home even the windows have a double-locking mechanism.
Stomping my way toward the bed, I pull my hair free of the clip that’s holding it, and let it fall in a knotted mess. I'm so infuriated with myself for allowing that asshat to get under my skin. First, he tries to grind my ass into the tiled floor, and then he decides to try and make my breast his next meal... What the fuck do I look like, KFC?
I kick my boots off, muttering more silent curses into the air. I swear if I had a few more inches on me I'd kick his lily ass. I don’t care how much muscle he's sporting under that white Henley, nor do I care that the rest of the man is a 6’4” solid wall of sex god. I damn sure don't care about those eyes that look like the color of a tropical ocean, his all too masculine chiseled jaw, or those slightly pouty lips just begging to be nibbled on, especially when that dirty boy grin lights up his face. And don’t even get me started on his thick chocolate brown “I look like I’ve just been thoroughly fucked” locks that my fingers were practically begging to run through.
Oh, and let’s not forget the ink lines that were peeking through his shirt. Damn if I don't want to trace every inch of every line with my tongue. I was practically salivating at the darkness highlighted against his shirt. When that man opened his mouth, it was like listening to liquid sex. I swear it went straight to my fucking panties, leaving them unbearably wet.
Letting out a deep groan of frustration, I come to one logical c
onclusion. The man is completely infuriating. How the fuck did I let this pompous dickhead get the best of me?
As I head to the shower, I can't help but let my imagination run wild. I think about what all of those taut muscles would feel like under my fingertips. I wonder if his cock is proportionate with the rest of him. I bet, knowing the kind of man he is, I could Google that shit and probably get a picture. Sadly, it likely wouldn't live up to expectation and would completely ruin my fantasy, which might be exactly what I need. I mull it over as I step into the steaming shower, allowing the water to wash away some of the day’s anxieties.
As my hands roam around my body, lathering my body wash, I think of how it would feel if it were his hands. Hell, I wonder what it would feel like to be any man’s hands. The thought quickly brings me to a dark place and I shudder, opening my eyes just to reassure myself I am alone. By the time I get to the bed I am bone tired, slightly less annoyed than earlier, and feeling relieved my anxiety meds are in full effect as my head hits the pillow.
The first thing I feel is his impressing weight bearing down on me, pinning me to the bed. His breath gently breezes across my neck as he places a light kiss behind my earlobe. Slightly rough hands take my own and pin them above my head. He keeps one of his there, securing mine in place, as the other languorously roams across my body.
His fingertips caress my skin, leaving feather soft strokes across my rib cage, and up the side of my breast. My body reacts to his every touch as he trails further down. He pauses at my hip, drawing small circles across the skin with his thumb. His lips and tongue trail down my neck, pausing to leave kisses and small nips at my collar bone. He spends several moments there before continuing his descent, trailing his tongue across my chest and using a tortuously slow pace to move down and between my breasts. He shifts his weight, moving his other hand away from mine and uses it to grope one breast. He tweaks the nipple until it’s hardened, then continuously rolls it between his fingers while sucking the other into his mouth. He is sucking on it hard, before releasing it with a pop, then swirls his tongue around it to mimic the movements of his hand. Shifting his weight again he settles more between my legs while drawing patterns across my stomach with his mouth. His hands make their way between the sheet and my skin, kneading at my ass as his tongue slowly trails lower leaving small bites across my pelvic bone. I moan at the sensation.