F*ckboy Psychos

by Stunich, C. M.

  “You’re not ready for that, I don’t think,” he says, dropping his mouth to my neck again. Even though he’s getting me messy, tangling my hair in dirt and leaves and pine needles, smearing that wetness across my skin, I don’t care. “You’re not ready, but I want to eat you, Scarlett. I want to bite you. I want to devour you.”

  He nuzzles against me and then drops his hungry mouth to my breasts, biting my nipple so hard that I actually scream again. A real scream. Long and loud and echoing. My hips buck up against his body, asking for more as he purposefully grabs my arms and slams them into the ground.

  Bohnes takes his time, lapping at my nipples, grazing them with his teeth, pulling on them and sending violent shivers of pleasure through me. I specifically chose to come down here after I had a couple of races beneath my belt for the night.

  I won them both and walked away with some juicy favors, a little bit of sordid gossip, and a handful of twenties. It was nice, to reassure myself that I’m as good as I always thought I was.

  But I missed the challenge of Aspen Kelly.

  I want to race him again.

  This time, I’ll do it in my own car, and I won’t lose.

  Not tonight though. I knew Bohnes was going to wreck me, seeing as I blew him off last Saturday. I could practically feel him all week, watching me from the shadows, waiting for his opportunity to strike.

  I’ll hardly be able to stand after this, let alone get behind the wheel.

  “Who says I’m not ready?” I challenge after a minute, after several hard swallows and deep breaths, finding my voice even though my body’s humming with dark pleasure. I’ve been spelled by Bohnes and his annoyingly deft hands, his ardent mouth, his filthy tongue.

  My dress is now a simple fabric tube around my middle. I may as well be naked but for my heels. Still, it seems to annoy Bohnes as his tongue slicks down my bare skin. He growls at the fabric of the dress, skipping over it and then shoving it out of his way as he teases the slight valleys in my belly. It’s not like I’m ripped or anything—I have that soft feminine curve to my stomach—but I’ve got some definition, enough for him to trace with his mouth.

  When Bohnes finds his way back to my inner thighs, he bites me so hard that it actually hurts—for real this time.

  “Bohnes, stop,” I snap, my voice an authoritative whip that causes him to go still. He waits there for a minute, his mouth still latched to my skin, and then he pulls away with a popping sound. His lips are shiny and full, his lids droopy, his eyes dark with the promise of sex. “That hurt.”

  “Did it?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know. He looks down at the red mark, and then swipes his thumb gently across it. I’m surprised to feel a tingle of pleasure at the touch. “Should I do it again?”

  “Fuck me,” I demand, and he laughs again, sitting up and reaching down for the fly of his leather pants. They’re just barely clinging to his muscular hips, threatening to slide down and reveal more of that dark hair leading down to his cock.

  “Isn’t that what I’ve been doing, Scarlett Force?” he queries, his eyes lifting up in the direction of the track. He pauses for a single heartbeat before he drops his gaze to mine again, opening his pants and taking his already swollen erection into his hand. Blue veins stand out along the ghostly whiteness of his dick, the shiny pink head glossy with pre-cum. “You have a very narrow view of fucking, don’t you?”

  “Shut your mouth and put your dick in me.” It’s a command, something that I’m generally used to giving. Bohnes doesn’t like it. I can see it in the way his lip curls, the way his fingers tighten around his dick as he gives it several hard tugs.

  “Don’t talk to me like one of your lackeys,” he warns, shaking his head, white hair feathering across his forehead. His eyeliner is thick and dark tonight, almost ghoulish. He truly looks like something that, while pretty, is also possibly undead. “You can call me your fuckboy if you want—I’ll even be one for you. But I sure as shit am not going to be bossed around.”

  He drops his palms down on either side of me, thrusting his hips forward so that his warm shaft slicks along my wet folds.

  “So you don’t want to fuck me with your dick then?” I say, reaching up and putting my palm on his chest to shove him back. Our eyes meet, his narrowed to slits, his breath panting out between gritted teeth. He’s normally calm—almost disturbingly so. I’ve seen him pick up a Prescott kid by the neck and toss him across a table in the cafeteria without so much as a blink. No smile, no frown, zero expression of any kind.

  This is something different, this primal rage that he’s displaying. Is it only me that brings it out of him? Has he behaved this way toward other girls in the past?

  “Guess I’ll go find Widow …” I start, and Bohnes leans down, biting me again between my neck and shoulder at the same time that he drives into me, bottoming out as our pelvises slam together, knocking the breath out of me.

  He doesn’t respond to my statement with words, just the sucking pressure of his mouth, the grazing of his teeth, the slick in and out of his body inside of mine. I’m still struggling to breathe past the stretch of him—he has a fucking monster cock—and digging my shoes into the dirt to brace myself.

  Bohnes could fuck me all the way across the forest floor, just send the two of us rolling and sliding through the debris. My fingernails do the same as my feet, digging into the dirt as I try to find purchase beneath his undulating, pounding thrusts.

  “Say my name,” he whispers, his voice slithering into my skull, digging needles into my psyche and making me wonder how crazy I must really be to have accepted this guy as not only my first, but also as something more than that. An experiment. My initial foray into sexuality. Of all the men I might’ve chosen, why this one?

  He feels like a terrible mistake.

  That makes me like him more, rather than less, further proving to me that this was a dumb idea all around.

  “Kellin.” It scrapes out of my throat on the end of a gasp. “Bohnes.”

  He chuckles again, rolling us over and putting me on top. I feel dizzy for a moment there, my dark hair falling in thick waves over my breasts and spreading across his chest like a disease as I dig my dirty fingernails into his skin.

  I lift my body up along the length of his shaft as he stares into my eyes with unnerving intensity, watching me as I slam back down into him as hard as he slammed into me. Keeping myself braced with my fingernails on his chest, I slide up and down, frantically rocking my pelvis into his to get my clitoris at the same time.

  “Harder,” Bohnes tells me, pressing his hands over mine. “Make me bleed, Scarlett Force.”

  I grit my teeth and then I rake my nails down his pale chest, leaving red welts that start to bleed in places as he locks his hands on my hips. His pelvis rises up to meet my downward thrusts, and then we’re melding together in this glorious messy twist.

  Bohnes rolls me over again, growling at me as he bites my lower lip.

  “Scratch me up, Scarlett. Tear me to pieces.”

  I do as he asks, scraping my nails down his back as our bodies thrust and writhe together. It’s probably a horrific thing to witness, as if we’re barely human anymore. We may as well be mindless animals.

  I tear my nails over his skin, again and again and again, until he’s actively bleeding, and I almost feel bad about all of it until he comes with this deep, guttural sound that vibrates me to my very core.

  It’s the sound of him, the feral moans he’s making, and the way he presses himself so hard against me that my ass digs into the dirt that really gets me. When Bohnes palms my breast and pinches my nipple in a mercilessly powerful grip, I fall over the edge.

  “Oh yeah, come on me, Scarlett,” he pants out, rocking his pelvis against mine, grinding his hips against my clit as the spasms take over my entire body. I lose myself for a minute there. The pleasure hits me so hard that I almost forget who I am, who I’m with, and what exactly it is that I’m doing here.

  The comedown is brut
al.

  When Bohnes sits up and pulls out of me, I’m lying there and finally feeling the cool breeze against my overheated skin. I’m dotted with beads of sweat, every square inch of me. My dress is still wrapped around my middle, my heels deep in the dirt, legs spread wide.

  I can’t even move.

  Bohnes slumps back onto his ass, not bothering to tuck his wet, flaccid cock into his pants. Instead, he digs out another cigarette and lights up. He offers it to me, but I can’t move. I’m just comatose on my back, staring up at the leaves above us.

  “Where’s the party at?” I finally ask, forcing my shaking body to sit up. I yank the dress up first, putting the girls back where they belong in the tight fabric. Bohnes watches me the entire time, smoking his cigarette with one knee propped up, an arm thrown casually across it. I can see blood dripping down his chest, but he doesn’t seem to care.

  “The speakeasy,” he says, stabbing his smoke out in the dirt and then rising to his feet. He tucks his junk away as I manage to find my own feet, stumbling just a little in my heels. He catches me by the elbow and then immediately releases me, as if he didn’t mean to do that.

  “The speakeasy?” I query back, thinking of the old building near downtown Springfield, just outside the technical boundaries of the Prescott neighborhood. It’s been there since, well, the 1920s when prohibition was in effect, serving illegal alcohol in a cozy basement setting.

  I’ve seen old black-and-white pictures of the place when it was in its heyday, and it makes me long for some sort of romanticized version of mobsters in Fords and Cadillacs and Rolls Royce Phantoms, moonshine dripping from their lips.

  “It’s scheduled to be demolished. Figured we may as well use it while it’s still standing.”

  “Demolished?!” I blurt as I yank my skirt down and look around for my underwear, remembering too late that Bohnes has them stuffed in his back pocket. I frown and hold out my hand. “Also, panties. Those are worth fifty bucks, and they were incredibly hard to steal.”

  He looks at me with a stoic expression and then just gives a small shake of his head.

  “Those are mine now; I earned them.” He reaches out to run his knuckles along the side of my jaw, and I narrow my eyes back at him. “They’re my good luck charm for the race tonight. Isn’t that right, Widow?” Bohnes lifts his head up to look behind us, and my eyes widen as I turn in time to see Widow move out from behind the trunk of a large tree.

  This time, his dick isn’t out.

  He glares at the pair of us like we’re the crazy ones.

  “Were you watching us again?” I demand, but Bohnes is already chuckling beside me.

  “Nah.” He lifts his head up and his expression completely snaps, like every ounce of sex-sated pleasure and dark mirth is wiped away, and he’s one scary motherfucker. There’s a coldness to his expression that I’ve never seen before. My eyes widen, and then my gaze darts over to the spot where I dropped my clutch—the one that has my grandmother’s Glock 19 inside of it.

  I look back at Bohnes as Widow makes his way closer to me, pausing a good twenty feet back, as if he knows better than to cross that imaginary threshold.

  “Because I warned him last time, didn’t I, Widow?” Bohnes jeers, turning away with a scoff and a scowl. He yanks his shirt off the ground. I guess I just assumed he’d come here shirtless, but apparently, that was all for me. “Watch us without permission again, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

  He slips the shirt on as I spot the red panties hanging out of his back pocket. I reach for them and his hand clamps down on my wrist hard, fingers squeezing. Our eyes meet.

  “If I win, let me keep the panties. If I lose, you can have them back.”

  I feel a frown trace my lips. Bohnes and I are fairly evenly matched. It hits me then that this is exactly why I picked him. It’s also starting to piss me off royally.

  I yank my arm from his grip and steal the underwear back anyway. Bohnes sneers at me as I drag them over my heels and up my legs, ignoring the warm fluid between my thighs.

  “If you win, you can have them. Who are you racing?” I ask as Bohnes turns his head to look at Widow again. For his part, Widow’s expression is entirely blank. His amber eyes reveal nothing, his mouth in a thin, flat line, arms crossed over his chest.

  If he wasn’t tenting his pants, then I might think he was entirely unaffected by the situation.

  “You and me, Widow,” Bohnes says, inclining his head in a disturbingly gentle and noble way. It’s entirely bullshit. He’s strung tight and ready for blood. It stains the white shirt he’s wearing, all those claw marks that I left in his skin. “You must be thirsty to redeem yourself after last weekend’s utter embarrassment. Not only did you lose your ride on day one, but you interrupted the first race in Prescott history that Scarlett Force might’ve actually lost.”

  I bristle at that. In the moment, I was concerned. Now that it’s over, I’ve convinced myself I would’ve found a way to kick Aspen’s ass. It’s not entirely false bravado either. I’ve analyzed my performance, and I’m sure I could’ve done better—even in Widow’s car.

  “If I win, you stop fucking her for the rest of the school year,” Widow says, shrugging his huge shoulders as my eyes go wide. Bohnes goes so still that I actually wonder if I won’t have to grab my Glock and put him down.

  Instead, he throws his head back with wild laughter, raking his fingers through his white hair and grabbing a handful of it. He yanks on it for a moment, his ice-blue eyes sliding over to mine. His pupils are dilated, his lips swollen from kissing me. I’ve absolutely wrecked him; there’s so much blood staining his shirt that I’m almost ashamed of myself.

  Almost.

  Shame isn’t an emotion that I understand very well.

  “Take it or leave it,” Widow snaps, getting angrier by the second. Over what, and why, I’m not sure. “We could race or not. I don’t particularly care much either way.”

  “You came to Prescott with a souped-up ‘69 Stingray with no intentions of hitting the track?” Bohnes asks, cocking his head as he drops his arm by his side. “I call bullshit, my friend.”

  “I am not your friend,” Widow snaps back at him, stepping forward, dressed in a purple tee that’s missing its sleeves, and a pair of blue jeans over brown boots. “Yes or no.”

  “What do you care if I’m fucking Bohnes or not?” I ask, flicking my tongue against the corner of my mouth. I wonder if he knows that I rode my own knuckles against his leather seat, that I left my mark on his steering wheel and his gear shift? “How is that your problem?”

  Widow glances at me briefly before adjusting his attention to Bohnes.

  “If I win, you will never fuck Scarlett Force,” Bohnes says, and I start to wonder then if I’m not losing control over the situation. I need to make sure that I correct that error.

  “Really?” I ask dryly, flicking a mountain of dark hair over my shoulder. “You two want to swordfight with your cocks on the track? Over what? I’m the one who decides who I fuck or don’t fuck.”

  “Maybe,” Widow interrupts, his gaze intense as it lands on me, making me wonder if he really wasn’t watching us after all. Bohnes seemed convinced that he wasn’t, but I’m not so sure. “We can’t decide for you, but we sure as shit can decide for each other.” He turns back to Bohnes. “Fine. If you win, I won’t—”

  “Without my permission,” Bohnes adds, grinning wildly. “You won’t fuck Scarlett Force without my permission. The rest of the school year is implied—we don’t make bets that last any longer than that.” He turns to me, leaning down to put his mouth near my ear and making me shiver. “Watch me win for you, Scarlett. Watch me grind him into the mud.”

  I shove Bohnes back, scowling violently.

  “Done.” Widow shrugs again. “What do I care anyway? I never planned on fucking her regardless.”

  “You two are idiots,” I say, pushing past Bohnes and taking off in the direction of the track. I ignore Widow as I pass him, but his eyes s
lide to me, and we end up making eye contact for the briefest of seconds before I slip by.

  I find the old stone walkway, surrounded by overgrown grass, and walk back up it to the parking lot where Nisha and Basti are drinking around another bonfire. The way they both look at me, it occurs to me that we have yet to talk about the Bohnes thing.

  “Well don’t you look pretty and freshly dicked,” Basti murmurs, looking away from me, hurt clear in his dark brown eyes. I really fucked up by not telling my friends about Bohnes. Part of me wonders if that isn’t at least a small factor in Lemon’s most recent temper tantrum.

  I look down at my dirty dress, my even dirtier heels. My hair is decorated with leaves and twigs and tiny pinecones that I’m picking out even now, and I’m sure my neck is marked with red and purple hickeys, probably some fairly clear teeth marks, too.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you both about Bohnes,” I say finally, even though the words feel like needles as they scrape up the inside of my throat. I’m not used to apologizing to people. It doesn’t come easily. “And I’m sorry it took me all week to figure out how to say that.”

  Nisha glances over at me, wearing a pretty pair of gold chandelier earrings that she won in a race tonight. Her mouth is painted with gold today, too, a glittering jewel in the light from the bonfire.

  I look back at her, and she nods once, as if to say she accepts my apology but that she still isn’t happy with me.

  “He’s that good, huh?” she asks, and I shrug. I mean, I think he is. But who do I have to compare him to?

  “He’s good,” I agree, glancing over my shoulder in time to see both Bohnes and Widow coming up the path—that same twenty or so feet between them.

  I shiver as they pass by but, despite the fact that their race is centered entirely around me, they don’t acknowledge my existence.

  “I just can’t believe you’d do me wrong like that,” Bastian argues, looking at me like I’ve broken his heart. I reach out and give his hand a squeeze, and he squeezes it right back. He knows what he means to me. He’s the only penis allowed in our all-girl crew. And not just because he’s the gayest man I’ve ever met in my life, but because he vibes with us in a way that no other man ever could. I always tell Basti that he’s my friend soulmate. We have zero sexual interest in one another, but our hearts are intertwined. “You were supposed to tell me when you’d found the right guy, and I was supposed to either encourage you or talk you out of it …”