I worked my neck, and rolled my tongue over his head, taking him deeper with every thrust until his deep groans echoed through the bathroom. His lower abdomen slapped against my face until he abruptly ripped his cock from my mouth and released my hair, shoving me slightly backward before he prowled out of the shower without another word. I was left on my knees, breathless and feeling lower than shit. I knew he was close. I could feel the throbbing on the flat of my tongue.
He left me here without getting off.
He’s making a statement.
Message received…I’m fucking this up.
CHAPTER 6
The Pawn
I guess it’s not a secret that I can be as soft on the inside as tapioca fucking pudding. I might look like a graffiti-riddled tank on the outside, and I’m hard around the edges, but when it comes to sex, I genuinely believe in the act as a gesture of something intimate that shows how much the person you’re sharing it with, means to you. I put everything into it, and I pride myself on taking the utmost care of my partner before I ever entertain the notion of satisfying my own needs. I was raised right. That doesn’t mean I can’t turn around and be just as sexually vicious as my lassie, though. Doesn’t mean that I don’t also enjoy the sick flame she ignites in me. Sometimes, I enjoy it too much and I thank Christ that she’s deranged enough totakeit. Tonight, though…tonight I toed the line and tried to do both. I tried to give her what she wanted, while also indulgingmyself…and all I could think about was her perfect round arse pressed against my cock in Witherle when she thought I was someone else.
I’m not getting off on that. For two reasons.
One, is the obvious. In Bridget’s mind, she spent Valentine’s Day in the wilderness, throwing herself at another man—one she doesn’t know, and one that still hasn’t rectified whether or not he’ll slit her fucking throat. There’s no feeling, however small, that’ll be good in that regard. How many times did she think aboutmystery mewhile my dick was cutting off her air supply? Hard pass.
Two…she doesn’t deserve my cum. Only good girls get the reward, and I know how Bridget is. That’s whatshetakes pride in when it comes to sex. She likes to get what she’s worked hardfor, and I know that leaving her in that shower without a belly full of me…is gonna burn her alive.
Happy Valentine’s Day, love.
She didn’t come after me when I left her in there, and still hadn’t when I’d dressed and pulled my hair back, stalking towards the door to leave her stewing for the night. I felt extra salty, and snatched a bag of her Bugles on my way out. At least I left her the new toy and a fresh pack of batteries. I’m nothing if not a dotingidiot. She’ll need something to soothe the burn later.
My chucks dragged the floor of the elevator, and I pounded my fist on the button, watching my blurred reflection as the doors closed. I’ll let her wonder whereI’mat, for once, and hope that it feels just as shitty…at least for a few minutes. I trudged out into the parking lot, startling when a loud bang sounded from my right. Dumpster Dan, our neighborhood homeless, pulled his ratty collar up to hide his face in embarrassment. My breath clouded in front of my face and I clutched my chest, trying to tame the small heart attack that ensued after hearing the lid to our dumpster crash on the metal.
“No luck, Dan the man?” I asked, nodding towards the rubbish. He cowered back, his head jerking erratically back and forth. I hate seeing this shit. I told you. Tapioca pudding. I approached, and reached Bridget’s Bugles out towards him and he flinched. “I haven’t opened ‘em yet. Take it.” It took him a minute, but he finally did, and I pulled my hoodie over my head, offering him that next. It’s too cold out here for this shite. He hesitated until he realized that I was refusing to take no for an answer, and then accepted that too. I nodded once and turned, walking towards my car. I try really hard not to look back when I do things like this…but sometimes…ugh.
My car is old and made up of several different colored parts. Malek calls it thePanty-Dropper, but it’s meant to bleedthe sarcasm. Jokes on him…and he knows it. I don’tneeda pretty Nova to get knickers to drop. It also has impeccable gas mileage, and on nights like these when the weather makes your prick crawl back inside your body? Any lass would be tremendously grateful that her panties are toasty warm, while the poor soul sitting in Mal’s ride is still waiting for the bitch to thaw out. Thus, the reason for breakin’ my rules and glancing across the lot to see Dan shrugging himself into my jacket as he leaned back against the dumpster and started prying open the bag of chips. I sighed, gripping my steering wheel and cursing myself.
Why do I have to be a fucking marshmallow with an occasional violent nature?
I shoved the car into gear and coasted over to the dumpster, watching Dan slow his eating when I stopped and rolled my window down. “You got a place to sleep tonight, mate?” He stared me down and his scraggly beard twitched. I know that look. “Don’t fuckin’ lie to me, Dan.” He slowly shook his head and stared down at his worn shoes. The sole on his left one was doing more talking than Dan, himself. “Hop in.”
He didn’t waste any time with that one. I’m sure he probably felt the blast of heat from where he stood next to the door. Once he was inside, I adjusted the vents towards him, and he leaned into them hard enough to shatter my tough-bloke demeanor. Reaching into the back seat, I grabbed a spare hoodie and started pulling it on…Dan stared at me, wide-eyed as I buckled my seatbelt.
“Don’t worry, mate. It’s not real. Not too far off, though.” I winked at him and put the car in drive, making my way out of the parking lot. I could feel his eyes still glued to the front of my jacket—and the two words I realized he could read.
‘PSYCH WARD’
PT. 80478-224
I love this jacket. By far my favorite, and probably one I’ve owned the longest. Literally no one looks good in orange—except me…inthisjacket. I’ll die on that hill. A few miles later, I pulled up into the empty spot right at the entrance to Emerald Lotus and shut the car off. Dan stared at the storefront like it would grow teeth and bite. Made me wonder how many times he’s been turned away hungry, or worse. People piss me the fuck off.
“So, Dan…your ticker still tickin’?” He looked over at me like I was eight shades of insane. “Lungs still work? Pecker still get hard in the mornings? You ever cried over an old couple in a Pepsi commercial?” His bushy brows drew together, and I pushed my glasses up my nose, smiling as I pulled my key outta the ignition and opened my door to get out. “Exactly. You’re just as human as anybody else. Order whatever you want. Asmuchas you want. And don’t stare at your feet, mate. Rule number one…we all bleed the same, and you look down to no one. Got it?” He tightened his mouth and slowly nodded. “Good. Let’s eat.”
I’ll admit…if I were Dumpster Dan, I might be a little sketched out too, riding with a stranger in a tin can and watching him shove egg rolls into his gourd while belting out lyrics to the Backstreet Boys and pulling into a storage facility in the middle of the night. However, it’s gotta beat freezing his bollocks off and picking maggoty food out of a rubbish can. He, of course, said nothing as I hopped out and unlocked the door to my unit. I raised the door, switched on my generator and brought my little hideaway to life before heading back to the car to wave him in.
Two walls full of computer monitors booted up as Dan looked around my unit in awe. I pointed to the cot and stack of blankets while I unloaded the rest of our takeout on my desk. “Everything’s clean. Promise. I’m the only one that’s ever slept here.” I dragged the space heater from under my desk and cranked it to its highest setting while Dan took a seat. “I get that it’s weird, man…but make yourself at home.”
He watched me stalk back to the car, grab my backpack and lower the door behind me. His tired eyes watched my every move. I guess I can’t blame him. I feel like I owe him some kinda explanation, but…I also feel like if I were in his position, I’d be inclined not to give a fuck. He’s gotta know I have no intention of hurting him by now. I parked my ass in my desk chair and swiveled around, bringing up all my apps when the screens finally synced. I heard slurping and looked over, smirking when I spotted my new friend working on his egg drop soup. First thing I brought up was Bridget’s tracker…andthe mic that was still active and apparently sitting under a heap of her clothes in our apartment—where she still is, thankfully. Wasn’t getting much from that. I pulled a zipped baggie from my backpack and dumped it over the desk and was as equally pissed and intrigued as I was when I’d snatched this outta Bridget’s car earlier tonight.
“Alright, Little Doe…let’s see what we’ve got here.” I plugged the flash drive into the PC to start loading whatever secrets were waiting to be found and thumbed through stacks of cash. I immediately knew Bridge could recognize at least one of these just from being around Finn’s idiot arse and her dad. Euros and pounds. Not surprising, given who we’re dealing with…but the other stack…that got me. These are rubles. When Jonas mouthed off to us at the compound, I didn’t realize just how far outside Irish soil he really ended up getting to. Now, it’s obvious. I’d be lying if I told you my stomach didn’t sink intomy nutsack with a heavy feeling that whatever we were about to uncover…was astronomically bad. If there’s anything that Russians are just as skilled at as crazy Irish folk—it’s savagery. How deep does this shit go? And do we truly wanna find out?
Then there were the photos…
My Chinese was going sour in my belly. The fucker’s been watching us. For awhile. Us, and several others. I recognized a few of these young girls from various news reports I had to sift through just for my general occupation. Some things just stick with you. The O’Dell’s were up to some dark shit. Darker than murder, and so much worse. When I finally glanced up at the list of files from the flash drive, I wanted to puke. Endless correspondence, plans for a franchised pleasure house, bank transfers, invoices…and the holy grail itself—Jonas’s list of logins and passcodes foreverything. I tossed all the shit back onto the desk and grabbed my carton of sesame chicken, leaning back in my chair with frustration. I’m not ready. And I’m about to take it out on this…takeout. Har-Har. Dan cracked open his fortune cookie and raised another in his hand like he was asking permission to toss it to me. I nodded, catching it when it flew between us.
He read his, and scoffed, rolling his eyes as he relaxed against the wall. Yet another sign that he’s got a past, and whatever it is…he’s far from stupid. I opened mine.
