Wanted: An Outlaw Anthology

by Lane Hart

  “Show me. Show me your fingers inside your eager little hole, just the way you touched yourself this morning.”

  Ass propped high, face planted against the mattress, she stares down at me and reaches between her shiny black thighs, pushing two fingers into the open gap of her suit.

  God help me.

  The sight of her is pure pornography, stirring my loins with a primitive need to fill her. To glut her with years of pent up release and watch as the evidence of my sin spills down the back of her thighs. To cloy this insatiable lust so I can get through my day without imagining this very moment in repetitive torment.

  With a level of restraint I can barely contain, I watch as her fingers disappear knuckle deep inside of her and shine on the withdrawal. Squeezing my cock sends a new spurt of wetness across the tip, and I spread it over the head and down the shaft.

  “I dreamed … oh, God, I dreamed … you were inside of me. Fucking me.” She keeps on with her fingering, hastening her pace as she works herself up to climax. Sliding her knees outward spreads her legs wider and stretches the hole of her suit, giving me more. So much more.

  Bending forward, I push my slacks down to my knees and set my tongue alongside her buried knuckles, licking her, pussy to asshole. I stop to bite her plump flesh, and at the bucking of her hips, I nab her wrist, tugging her fingers from her hole to suck them clean. “I absolve you of your sins.”

  Cock in hand, I drag my tip over her entrance, watching her grip the blankets with both hands, as if preparing herself for my intrusion. “And is this where you touched yourself just before I arrived, pécheresse?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Yanking her backward, toward me, I push into her, and the outcry that follows skates down my spine with a harrowing pleasure I can’t even begin to describe. The latex suit rubs against my thighs, the zipper teeth set at each ass cheek scraping across my groin, adding an exquisite bite to the pleasure. “You’ve touched yourself so much. Can you even come for me?” My words carry the grit of a tightly clenched jaw.

  “Yes, I promise, I’ll try, Father. Please.”

  My whole body shudders as her tight walls suck me in then glide across my shaft as I pull out. Head tipped back, I close my eyes, focusing on the torment, and grip her latex-clad hips, digging my fingers into her bones. In and out, slow and easy, I savor the feel of her, the scent on the air, the taste still lingering on my tongue. Everything is as I imagined it would be—irresistibly gratifying and excruciatingly fucking good.

  “Ivy. Ah, fuck.” Eyes still clamped, I tug her hips back into me on a hard thrust that rouses another belly-deep cry, and I grind into her ass, stirring my dick so deep inside her, it feels as if I’ll drill right through the woman. “Why does sin feel so good?”

  She doesn’t answer, but at the firm squeeze of my balls, I look down to see she’s reached beneath, massaging them as I draw out of her, my shaft glistening with her arousal, and I drive into her again. In a steady rhythm, I thrust in and out of her, each drive smoother with the slickening of her pussy. Faster and faster, I hammer against her ass, while the sticky slap of her suit beats across my thighs.

  Moans muffle into the pillows, while she rolls her head and claws at the bedding as if possessed by demons. Maybe she is. Surely, God isn’t present here, while I fuck her with the kind of reckless abandon that’ll land my soul in hell.

  Ignoring her screams, I pound with the fervor and dedication of a blacksmith molding soft metal into a sword. A sword that’ll ultimately slice my heart right out of my chest and leave me a bloody fucking mess afterward. But I don’t care, I’m too far lost to the sensation, the exquisite ecstasy that promises a spine-tingling finale.

  “C’mon, pécheresse, let me hear you scream.”

  Head kicked to the side, her moans heighten, become intense, bouncing off the walls with every slam of my dick. “Oh, God!”

  “There is no God here, Ivy. Only me.”

  “Damon! Please, Damon!”

  Sliding out of her, I flip her over, watching her tits jostle as I hike her leg over my shoulder and enter her again. I pound out the final seconds, muscles tight. Tighter. Holy fuck, I’m so wired I could snap.

  Eyes rolled back, her mouth gapes, back arched up off the bed, as if she’s surrendering her soul to me. I want to frame this look, mentally capture it for the nights when I’m alone thinking about her. I want to remember the heat and the muscle cramping tension, the deeply rooted needs begging me to stretch this moment out for as long as I can. To savor every second of my debauchery, while her pussy milks my release.

  I can’t. I can’t hold it any longer.

  A flash of light explodes behind my eyes, rippling down my spine, and I pull out of her, directing jets of seed onto her tits with one hand as I pump my fingers in and out of her in the kind of rapid tempo that has her juices sloshing across my skin. Shuddering out the last of my load, I groan and clench my jaw, high on the rush that washes over me, rendering me dizzy and weak. Ready to pass out.

  She arches her back and screams, her nipples erect and shimmering from my release. Body trembling, she sags against the mattress again and laughs, throwing a sloppy arm across her forehead. “Oh, my God,” she says and giggles again. “First time in my life I’ve come during sex. And it’s with a priest.”

  This repletion doesn’t feel like salvation, though. I’m in purgatory, caught between heaven and the hell of knowing it won’t be enough. I’ve not had my fill of this woman, evident in the need to keep her close, the gluttony that burns inside of me for more of her. Like an animal, viciously guarding its next meal.

  Completely spent, I collapse beside her, drawing her body into mine, and angle her face enough to kiss her. Our heaving breaths mingle, my mouth dry, and I rest my head against her shoulder. “I absolve you of your sins.”

  An hour passes as we lie next to each other, my fingers threaded into hers. She twists toward the nightstand, nabbing an apple she’d set there earlier, and bites a chunk of it. The irony brings a smile to my face, watching the twitching of her lips as she chews, wet with the apple’s juices. The next bite is bigger, and she holds it between her teeth, enticing me to take it.

  When I lean forward, accepting the tart apple into my mouth, I also take a moment to lick her lips and kiss the temptation from them. The bittersweet flavor puckers my tongue, and I pause to chew the proffered fruit, savoring the taste of her lips still lingering on mine.

  “What did you want to be when you were little?” she asks, as I lay back against the pillows, arm tucked under my head while I stare down at her.

  I can’t take my eyes off this girl, this enigmatic, intriguing little creature who’s seized my attention. Commanded my body the way she has.

  “A fireman. I always thought it’d be cool to save people from burning houses.”

  “Well, in some ways you do,” she says around a mouthful of apple. “I mean, if you think about it, you save their souls from hell.” She holds an uneaten part of the apple to my mouth for another bite.

  “I think I just signed your soul over.” Chomping into the flesh of the fruit, I watch her lips stretch into a smile.

  Pressed against me, she steals another kiss, sliding her latex covered leg across my stomach, the brush of it against my groin tightening my muscles. “It sucks, you know?” Stretching back, she sets the apple onto the nightstand once again, her breasts too tempting with the bend of her body, and I flick my tongue against her nipple. Her body snaps forward with her giggle, and she clutches the nape of my neck, diverting my mouth to hers for a third kiss. “I mean, it’s not fair to you. Going all those years without sex. How can the church expect that? It’s a natural thing for humans. A beautiful thing.”

  “I honestly never had much issue with it until you came along.”

  “Why me? What makes me so different from all the other women who probably fawn all over you?”

  “I wish I knew.” I exhale a sigh, drawing her closer into me, and kiss the top of he
r head. “You’re hard to resist. Some women are just naturally sexual creatures and make it harder.”

  “It being the beast you keep locked away in those smooth, black trousers?”

  With a snort, I reach down to tweak one of her nipples, and she giggles again, slapping me on the chest. My smile withers, though, my thoughts turning sour as the gravity of what we’ve done settles over me. “Ivy …”

  Finger pressed against my lips, she silences me and pushes up onto her elbow. “No. Nope. We’re not doing this. That’ll just make me feel cheap, like you didn’t want this.”

  “You’re not cheap, but I didn’t want to do this. Not to you.”

  She crawls over top of me and backs herself down my legs. “You can paint this however you like, Father. But I think you’re incredible. And no amount of guilt, or shame, is going to change that.”

  I stare down my body at her, noticing my dick has gone hard again, and eyes on me, she takes it into her mouth. Literally biting my tongue holds back the protest cocked and ready at the back of my throat as I watch my shaft disappear between her lips. A harsh breath escapes me on a groan, the scent of our sex from earlier still seasoning the air, and I suck it in to my chest, letting it poison me with lust.

  “I can taste myself on your cock,” she whispers, before deep throating me again, and I arch back against the mattress.

  The fistful of bedding at either side of me sates the need to squeeze the fuck out of something as she sucks me, base to tip, circling her tongue over the sensitive head.

  “Ivy …”

  “No, call me sinner. I like it.” She strokes me up and down with her hand and spits on my shaft.

  “Pécheresse … please. This is wrong. We need to … ” The scrape of her teeth along my shaft sends a sliver of pain across my flesh, just enough to make me grip the back of her head as she bobs against my groin. “Fuck!”

  In a brief moment of mercy, she releases me on a pop of suction. “Yes, I agree. We definitely need to fuck again.” Her laugh brings a smile to my face, and I curl my fingers into her hair and tighten my fist.

  “You’re making this worse.”

  “Bad is good, though. Isn’t it, Father?”

  “Stop calling me that. Not while we’re doing this.”

  “Should I call you Daddy instead?” Cupping my balls in her palm, she squeezes just enough to make me moan and buck my hips.

  “No. Hell, no. Damon. Just call me Damon.” I don’t even recognize my own voice, strangled by whatever the hell she’s doing to my cock right now. Can’t even bring myself to look, for fear the sight alone will make me come hard and fast.

  “I want you to come for me, Damon. All over my face.” She bobs again, faster, and I can’t hold back as my balls draw up, and I give in to the climax that sends pulsing spurts into her mouth. The excess dribbles out of the corner of her lips as she takes it all, her cheeks engorged with my seed.

  In one gulp, she swallows it down, the sight of it sending another jet of release splashing across her chin.

  “Ivy …” Chest heaving, I slam my head back against the pillow and take a moment to catch my breath. “What the hell are you doing to me?”

  “Making up for years of abstinence, by the looks of it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man come as much as you in one shot.”

  I breathe a laugh and rub a hand down my face. “A lot of pent-up tension.”

  “And how do you feel now?”

  Good question. I should feel ashamed for what we’ve done, what I’ve done, tainting the very vows that brought her to me in the first place.

  Yet, I feel fantastic. Like the nights after a long workout and a hot shower, but better. More relaxed than I have in a long time.

  “I wish I could tell you that I’ll never want this again after tonight, but I’d be lying.”

  Crawling up my body, she licks her lips and falls onto the bed beside me. “And lying is a sin, isn’t it?”

  “Albeit a minor one.”

  Teeth scraping across my jaw, she stops to kiss my throat, like a wily little cat still pawing for my attention. “Maybe you should go to confession.”

  “I will. As soon as I’m certain I won’t be tempted to sin with you again.”

  “And when do you think that will be?”

  Wrapping my arm around her, I take in the feel of her lying beside me, the way her curves meld perfectly into my own, as if her body was made for mine. “I honestly can’t say.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ivy

  Sin.

  The word threads itself through my skull, wrapping around my recollections of the last two hours, while I lay beside Damon, listening to his steady heartbeat as he sleeps, so soundly. Peacefully. I wish I could sleep like that, but I know it’s only a matter of time before Calvin comes pounding at my door.

  My phone flashes with the third text he’s sent me in the last twenty minutes. WHERE ARE YOU? Is written in bold caps that tell me, the next time I see him, those letters will be branded to my ass with his punishment. The clock across from me reads just after eleven, and I roll onto my back, turning away from the reminder that I ditched him tonight and there will be hell to pay tomorrow.

  The darkness of the room lights up with another text, then dims and lights up again, an incessant flashing of his growing anger, until it buzzes with a call. Turning to silence it, though, I notice the number on the screen isn’t Calvin’s.

  It’s Mamie’s nursing home.

  I scramble to answer it, pushing out of bed, so as not to wake Damon, and take the call in the bathroom.

  “Ivy.” The familiar voice on the other line belongs to her long-time nurse, Anita, and the shaky quality of it shoots a stab of panic through my chest. “I’m sorry to call so late, but your grandmother … she, um. She suffered a massive heart attack. The staff are working on her now, but it doesn’t look good. She won’t survive transport to the main hospital.”

  I feel as if my ribs are cracking, crushing my lungs so I can’t breathe. “Wait. What?”

  “She’s not going to make it, Ivy.”

  “I’m …. I’m …. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” My lip quivers as I fight the urge to break down on the phone with her. “Please … just … keep trying, okay? Don’t give up on her.” I break on the last word, and capture my sob into the palm of my hand. “I’ll be there.”

  It’s happening. I knew it would come, the day when I would have to say goodbye to the only woman who ever gave a shit about me. The only one who took me in and raised me as if I was the one piece of her life she’d been missing and the only thing that made her happy.

  Clicking off the call, I scramble to my closet, tugging at the latex that clings to my body like a layer of skin refusing to peel off. Seconds tick off the time my grandmother has left on earth, and here I am struggling to take off this fucking suit that Calvin made me wear. Like an enemy refusing to give up the fight to keep its hold on me.

  “C’mon!” I shout louder than I mean to, but Damon’s already standing at the doorway.

  “Ivy, what’s wrong?”

  Still wrangling to get out of the suit, I hold back the cry of frustration that overwhelms me, but he bats my hand away, tugging the suit off my shoulders. “I, um … I have to …. I have to hurry …” I ramble, tugging a pair of jeans and a bra from my shelves. From the hangers, I yank down a blouse, holding it to my chest as I finally split from the pressure. “She’s dying. She’s dying, and I’m going to be alone.” The tickle of a sob flutters in my chest, and I surrender to it.

  Arms envelope me before I can stop him, as if I would, and I weep into his chest.

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “You’re going to get dressed. And I’m going to drive you there tonight.”

  It feels good to be given direction, so I do as he says, dressing quickly, all the while watching him slip on his white collar and tuck in his shirt. We race out the door to his car, and he drives us what feels like an eternity from my a
partment to the nursing home, only ten minutes away.

  The woman at the front desk recognizes me and ushers me along without signing in. The halls are quiet, and my whole body is shaking uncontrollably, noticeable when Damon takes my hand. We reach the far corridor, but Anita has tears in her eyes, shaking her head as she approaches.

  “I’m sorry, baby. She’s gone.”

  Body shuddering with a sob, I let her pull me in for a hug. “I need to see her. I need to.”

  With a sniffle, she nods and releases me from her embrace.

  “I’ll wait out here, Ivy.” Damon squeezes my hand and takes a seat on one of the chairs set in the hallway.

  The room is quiet when I enter, my stomach twisting with anxiety, as she remains concealed behind the drawn curtain. I round the footboard and find her lying peacefully in bed, eyes closed as if asleep. Heart racing, I focus on her chest. Did it move? Did her hand twitch?

  But I know my mind is so desperate at the moment, it has me seeing things that aren’t real. Things that’ll never be real again.

  She’s gone. And I’m alone. And all I want right now is to hear her laughter again. I want to shake her awake and beg her to tell me the stories of skipping school to go to the movies. To tell me not to hate my mother for being so selfish and immature, as she always did. To beg me to forgive my father, because carrying the burden of grudges is too heavy for a woman wearing three-inch heels, as she always said.

  I kneel down beside the bed and take her cold, wrinkled hand, wishing I had one more second, to tell her how sorry I am for being the pesky, petulant child she was forced to raise on her own.

  But I already know what she’d say. The same thing she always said to me when I was growing up. She’d tell me the most wonderful things in life are blessings we don’t see coming.

  I glance to the side, where her radio sits silent, and I flip it on to Les Feuilles Mortes by Juliette Gréco. With my head resting against her hand, the tears that slip down my temple dissolve into her skin below me.