F*ckboy Psychos

by Stunich, C. M.

  Bohnes pushes me forward, so that my hands are braced against the trunk of a tree. He continues his careful exploration of my body, this reverence to his touch that doesn’t translate to anything else. We never hang out. We never text. We don’t even race. He won’t accept any challenge from me, and I hate that.

  I can’t decide if he’s afraid of racing me—which would make him a hell of a lot less attractive in my eyes—or if he’s afraid that he will beat me. If he thinks he’s sparing my feelings, well fuck him on that also.

  Then again, why would he do something like that?

  We’ve been going to school together since seventh grade, but—with the exception of our business dealings—we’ve never spoken more than a single sentence to one another until recently.

  Actually … we still barely talk to one another.

  But we fuck.

  Bohnes reaches around to pop the button on my always-too-tight leather pants, sliding his hand inside and stroking a careful finger along my bare cunt. Not only am I going commando right now—in anticipation of this moment, to be honest—but I’ve also freshly waxed.

  “Oh, this is new,” he breathes against my ear, the carnal excitement in his voice raking over my skin like needles. He’s sharp like that, Bohnes is. He terrifies me a little, too, because I know what he’ll do for money.

  Anything.

  Literally anything.

  My girls and I paid him once to take care of an ex who wouldn’t stop stalking one of our own. He ended up in the hospital in a coma. That was last year, and Bohnes never got caught either.

  He’s good. Very professional.

  Except not like this. Like this, he’s anything but professional. He’s a monster.

  Bohnes grabs a handful of my hair and yanks on it, sliding his tongue along the side of my neck as I dig my nails into the trunk of the tree. He collects the wetness of my own arousal on his fingertips, bringing them up to the hardened nub of my clit and squeezing it between two fingers.

  “I didn’t do it for you,” I lie to him, and he laughs at me again, biting down so hard on my neck that I actually try to pull away. Unfortunately for me, Bohnes is too strong. If I want to get away from him, I’ll have to play dirty. I could stab him right now, make him bleed thick syrupy crimson strands across the forest floor.

  But I don’t want to do that.

  He’d probably stop fucking me if I did that.

  Or … actually, I’m not sure that he would. He might consider it foreplay.

  “Don’t fucking lie to me, Scarlett,” he grinds out, licking the side of my neck like a cat. I think he made me bleed a little, but I don’t care. It feels so good, good enough that my knees turn to jelly, and I end up leaning forward more, my weight on my palms. “I can handle all sorts of things, but not lies.”

  “Fine. I made Basti wax me, but I told him it was for a new bikini. I lied to him.”

  “Lie to whoever else you want—just not me.” Bohnes works my clit as if it’s a cock, pulling the hood back with his fingers, exposing the raw nerves as I pant, my head hanging low. This is the most we’ve ever spoken and, considering his voice sounds like secrets being whispered in the dead of night, it’s a huge turn-on. “But Basti? Another man saw this perfect cunt?”

  He yanks my hair even harder and then proceeds to suck and bite along the exposed side of my throat again.

  “You’re just a fuckboy, Bohnes,” I groan, and he punishes me by shoving three fingers in all at once, stretching me and making me rise up on my toes a bit. “I don’t owe you anything.”

  “Don’t think I’ll ever forget the sight of your virgin blood on my dick,” he murmurs, fucking me hard and fast with his hand as I swallow past the tightness in my throat and try to remember how to breathe. “I’m the only man that’s ever touched this. Don’t think I’m unaware.”

  He slips his fingers out of me and steps back, leaving me to stumble and sag against the tree. I glance back to see him sucking those same fingers into his mouth, his tongue swirling around them to clean off the shiny wetness.

  Bohnes’ hood is down, revealing his perfectly white hair—a color that’s notoriously difficult to achieve. Most people end up bleaching their hair to death in pursuit and end up with brassy blonde instead of snow-white.

  Not Bohnes.

  He reminds me of a Japanese anime character sometimes, with that white-white hair, those pale blue eyes, that fresh cream complexion. Not that I can see much of it now, but I know he has an anatomically correct skeletal tattoo that goes from his neck down his back, down both arms, both legs.

  With his eyes locked on mine, he reaches down and undoes his black jeans, taking the alabaster perfection of his cock in hand. He strokes it a few times as he looks at me, running his tongue across his lower lip.

  The only other tattoos that Bohnes has are right there, on his dick. He’s got what looks like a black spell circle around the base that covers his balls and climbs up the sides of his shaft.

  I can only imagine how much that it hurt.

  “You got my little gift?” he asks me, and I nod. On Wednesday, Bohnes paused next to my desk during the only class we share together—fourth period—and dropped a piece of paper onto the surface.

  His STI test results showing me that he’s clean.

  Since he knows I was a virgin prior to him, and I’ve been taking the pill since I was fifteen to deal with some skin problems … well, here we are. I’m going to let him fuck me bareback for the first time.

  “I’ve been dreaming about this all week,” he tells me, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes like he’s in dark bliss. “Thinking of that blood, of how tight and hot you’ll feel wrapped around me …”

  He opens his eyes again as I turn away. I don’t want to look at him. This whole encounter feels cheap and dirty anyway. Might as well keep it that.

  Part of me wonders if maybe this wasn’t the best idea, to have sex right before a race in a brand-new car with an opponent that I would absolutely hate to lose to. Not only would my pride be irreparably wounded, but I’d have to let that Aspen dude fuck me.

  No way.

  I cannot let that happen.

  “Shut your fucking mouth and—” I start, but then Bohnes is right there, grabbing my pants and shoving them down my hips. He isn’t nice or considerate or kind when he takes my pelvis in one cruel hand and forces his cock in past my tight muscles. I bite my lip to hold back any involuntarily sounds as he slams his hips into me, burying himself balls-deep.

  I’m barely able to stay standing, the hot, velvety feel of his skin against my silken insides is almost too much to bear. The whole encounter seems different this way, more personal. I should’ve made him use a condom.

  He grabs my hair again, using my head as leverage to pull my back to his front as he pushes us both against the trunk of the tree. The bark scrapes my bare belly beneath my half-shirt as he uses the tree’s distinct lack of give to push deeper, harder. Doesn’t help that my pants are caging my legs, keeping them fairly close together.

  Bohnes pauses briefly to reach up with his right hand, forcing my head to turn to the side. He drops his own head down, capturing my mouth with dizzying force and knocking our teeth together. The move is purposeful as he takes advantage of my prone position to plunder my mouth with his wicked tongue.

  He kisses me so fiercely that I can’t help but wonder—not for the first time—if he has a thing for me beyond sex. Doesn’t act like it most days, that’s for damn sure. The first night we hooked up, I remember standing here with legs like jelly, my panties torn off and tossed to the pine-needle strewn ground.

  There was blood on my thighs, a delicious soreness at my core, and a sense of feeling … lost. Bohnes looked down at the condom, blue eyes flaring, before he stripped it off and put it right in the pocket of his skeleton-patterned hoodie.

  “Stay safe, Force,” he breathed out, and then he left.

  He left, and yet, the next night, I found myself waiting out here just
in case. He came to me then, too, and I told him my rules.

  “If you’re going to fuck me, you better not be fucking anybody else. The moment you do, it’s over between us. Permanently. And if you lie to me about it, I will cut your balls off.”

  I’m sure that Bohnes understood me. We ride on the same wavelength, this dark twisted siren song that makes us both just a little unstable, a little bit violent.

  So does he like me? I don’t know. I don’t even care.

  I’m such a sucker for a fuckboy psycho.

  When Bohnes releases my mouth, I suck in a huge chestful of air as he shoves my face against the tree, the bark scraping my skin raw. Even as he’s doing that, I’m pushing back against him, meeting his deep, wild thrusts with my own.

  He doesn’t worry about making me come. Not sure that he even cares. I reach my own hand between my legs, working my clit with angry, violent thrusts. I’m not even nice to myself. I don’t like nice. Nobody around here does.

  This is the southside, bitches.

  “So tight, so hot, dripping all over my fucking balls,” he grinds out, hissing in my ear. “You’re the perfect fuck, Scarlett. You know that? Absolutely perfect.”

  It sounds like a compliment, but I’m not even sure that it is. Doesn’t matter. His voice is making me wild. I want him to keep talking, want his warm lips near my ear.

  “Tell me again,” I command, my voice whipping out between my feral moans in a very clear and distinctive difference. Bohnes pauses and then goes completely still. I’m certain that he’s wondering if this is worth it, if he wants to listen to me.

  He knows what’ll happen if he doesn’t: we will never meet up here again.

  As punishment, he yanks on my hair so hard that my scalp burns, and then he bites me again, like a goddamn vampire. It almost hurts; I almost tell him to stop, but then the biting sensation relaxes and he’s sucking on the sore spot and I’m coming so goddamn hard that I almost collapse.

  Bohnes’ right arm wraps around my waist to keep me upright.

  “You’ve got such a pretty pink cunt, and your nipples …” He trails off, yanking my top down so that my breasts spill out over the edge of the black sports bra. “Look at these chocolate-colored nipples. They match your smell: cherries and chocolate and leather and sex.” Bohnes releases my hair, pushing his palm against the side of my head as he fucks my sore cunt to completion.

  The feeling of him coming inside of me … the sound he makes …

  I groan, another orgasm threatening but refusing to break. Bohnes holds onto me as he finishes and then he follows me to the ground as I collapse. He manages to stay more or less inside of me, too.

  Then we’re lying there, him on my back, me sprawled in the dirt.

  “Oh yes, this is better,” he remarks, licking my neck and face. I slap him away, but he doesn’t move. He stops though. Good for him. He should know which parts of this are a game and which things will get him killed.

  Eventually, I hear the bullhorn signaling the end of a race and know that my turn to kick Aspen’s ass is coming. Bohnes hears it, too, and exhales with annoyance, pushing up and off of me.

  I roll onto my back, turning my head in the direction of my purse.

  Like I said, it’s Versace. Worth almost three grand. I stole it because it had a medusa face on the side.

  “Give me that bag,” I murmur, and Bohnes picks it up with a single finger, presenting it to me like he’s offering up a gift. He’s got such a pretty face, angelic almost. Most of the time, he looks nice, almost approachable.

  I mean, his actual aesthetic looks that way. Anyone who gets close enough to him will either sense his otherness or else they’re dumber than the most pathetic prey animal on the planet. Even a farm-raised chicken would have enough instincts left to know better than to approach Kellin Bohnes.

  He passes the bag over as I roll onto my side, digging through it to look for a tampon. Every ratchet ass bitch at Prescott knows you can deal with a bareback quickie this way; insert and deal with the mess later. That’s what I’m going to do.

  “You’ll be racing against Aspen Kelly with my cum inside of you?” Bohnes asks, cocking his head to one side as his blue eyes shine. “Oh, I love that. Your win is my win tonight, Force.”

  I ignore him, sliding the tampon in as he watches and wishing he would go away. I yank my pants up, button them, put my tits away, and then rise to my feet. Bohnes leans back against a tree to watch me; he doesn’t offer his hand.

  Why would I ever expect him to?

  “Try not to kill Aspen tonight,” he says, lighting up a cigarette and perfuming the air with the sweetness of cloves and tobacco. The smell always reminds me of autumn. Fitting, since it’s late September and all the leaves are starting to change. I rarely smoke but for before a race. It’s like a ritual of mine. What’s interesting, however, is that both Bohnes and I smoke cloves.

  “Do you care if I do?” I ask. He looks at me, really looks at me, and not for the first time, I start to wonder if I haven’t made a mistake here. He looks like he might stalk me if I refused to see him again.

  I don’t generally find men acting like violent, misogynistic creepers hot, but Kellin Bohnes is … well, he’s weird. He’s almost as weird as Widow.

  “Believe it or not, I do,” he tells me in his husky, sexy voice. Bohnes studies the burning tip of his cigarette as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. “Because I’d probably have to help you bury the body.”

  He throws his head back in howling laughter, and I leave him where he is.

  As I said: he’s weird as fuck.

  Not sure I want to be out in the woods with him unless we’re mid-coitus.

  “So this is what you do out here, huh?” a dark voice asks me, and I come to a complete standstill. I glance to my right to see Widow standing there with his back to a tree. His face is a terrifying mask of fury. “Have unprotected sex with a monster.”

  He’s mad, but … he has his dick in his hand? What the hell? I look down at it and then back up to his face. He frowns at me, turning his head away and closing his eyes. He does not stop jerking himself off.

  “I assume you came here to get your car back?” I query, and even though his eyes are closed and he’s fisting his shaft, he laughs.

  “You’re not as smart as you think you are, Scarlett Force.” Widow continues with what he’s doing, as if he doesn’t care that I’m watching him. Well, if he’s gonna be like that … I hold my ground, crossing my arms under my breasts.

  When he realizes that I’m not leaving, he opens his eyes and curls his lip up at me.

  “Get the fuck out of here. How dare you.”

  I blink back at him in shock.

  Wow.

  “Guess all those years in juvie have really messed with your head, huh?” I ask, and when I see him go for his knife, I’ve already got mine out. “Don’t mess with me, Adrian.”

  That gives him pause, one hand still wrapped around his dick, the other halfway down his thigh, going for the knife in his boot. He relaxes that arm and squeezes himself in a tight fist. I cannot help my gaze from wandering down and trying to figure out who has a bigger cock: Bohnes or Widow.

  It’d be close; I don’t think I could decide unless they were side by side.

  My eyes lift back to his face as he flicks his chin in the direction of the track, that ugly frown still tracing his mouth.

  “Go see if you can win against a Shelby Cobra with your stolen ride. All my best.” He looks away from me, his lip curling up even further in distaste. And then he proceeds to finish himself while I stand there and watch. He actually has a fucking handkerchief in his pocket that he uses to catch his cum and clean himself off with.

  Then he looks at me, just stares at me and … smiles.

  “Sorry to say, I won’t be sticking around to see who wins. Best of luck.” And then Widow’s turning away and stalking off like he didn’t just masturbate in front of me. I try to pretend like my body has n
o reaction to the idea, that I wasn’t standing here with liquid pooling between my thighs, my inner muscles quivering.

  “Shit.” I bite my thumbnail and turn away, heading quickly back to the track in time to see Nisha pacing and biting her own nails—which she never does unless she’s stressed and mimicking me.

  “Queen, what the fuck?” she growls at me, grabbing me by the arm and yanking me close. Her eyes go straight to my neck. I’ve been careful about this before; I haven’t let Bohnes mark me in any way. But tonight …

  I’m off my game.

  With Widow and the stolen car.

  With Bohnes and the sex.

  With Aspen Kelly, the horrible mayor’s son and his disturbing smile.

  Now, for the first time ever, I’m late.

  Almost late.

  I’m almost late.

  “I’ve got this, Nisha, don’t worry so much,” I say, trying to wave her off. Her eyes widen, but she knows better than to bring up my hickeys right about now. I slide into the seat of Widow’s Stingray, grab my rubber gloves, and then reach down so that I can hotwire the damn thing.

  “Sure,” she says, her voice acidic. “Get your butt down to the track and don’t embarrass me tonight.” Nisha slams the door as I curse her name, getting the engine to turn over with a gentle purr. I toss the gloves aside and tape the wires. Damn, I’m an idiot sometimes. I should’ve told Nisha about Bohnes when I had the chance.

  She’s bound to be furious with me.

  I take the car down and around to the starting line. It’s nothing more than a white line that we spray-paint over every time it gets dull. But it works. Also, our flag was bought and paid for with sex. One of the guys who frequents the track fucked a girl at a sporting goods store and got it for free.

  Aspen’s already waiting for me, his Cobra poised at the starting line.

  I pull up beside him, his left arm resting casually on his open window as he glances over at me.

  I shouldn’t do it. I shouldn’t, but I do.

  I roll my window down.