Page 23 of Ricochet

“Rev lets me use the back.” The equivalent of a rotating door for limp dicks falling for the same sorry sob story. She turned to face me, pushing herself against my body and stroking her hands along my shoulders. “So strong,” she whispered. “You must look good enough to eat without all these clothes on.” When she stroked my face, I flinched away, catching a twitch of her eye. She reached for my hand, pinching the tip of my finger as if to remove my glove.

I curled my hand into a fist to stop her. “They stay on.”

“Am I so dirty?”

In truth, I hadn’t touched a woman in three years. It was my penance. The price I’d opted to pay for feeding my craving. I wished I hadn’t thought about sex as often as I had, that I didn’t crave tangling my fist in the woman’s hair, having her ride me with reckless abandon. I wished women with curves and big tits like hers didn’t incite some primal urge inside of me.

I stroked a gloved finger down her cheek. She was a pretty girl, probably could’ve gotten into something slightly less dangerous, like modeling or television. With her porcelain skin and ruby lips, she reminded me of Scarlett Johannsen, or something; one of those classic beauties that belonged in some kind of noir film. “I wouldn’t know. Are you a dirty girl?”

The flirtation put a smile back on her face. “You have no idea.” Pushing up, she closed her eyes and gripped my nape, drawing me to her lips.

I turned my head to the side, resisting the pull.

I didn’t kiss, either.

“Not one for much affection. I get it.” Her jaw shifted, as she lowered herself from my face, and her hand slipped down the front of me, tugging with some haste as she unbuttoned my jeans. “You’re about the sexiest thing I’ve seen in my whole life.”

She reached down inside my briefs and her eyes widened when she grabbed my already-stiffened dick. After a couple of strokes that had my muscles tightening, she yanked down my pants and fell to her knees in front of me, like a sinner looking for forgiveness.

“Sweet Jesus, you’ve got a beautiful cock.” One long lick up my shaft had my face pinching with the urge to slam myself into the back of her throat. She spat on her hand and grabbed hold, like a fucking pro, twisting up and down as she pumped me while her tongue swirled over the head.

My knees damn near buckled, and I braced a hand on the wall.

Two of her fingers dipped into her mouth before slipping between her thighs, where she shamelessly fingered her pussy, while jacking me off.

That was how it had to be for me to come. A dirty storage room that stank of mold and garbage, in the dim lights, with an eager hooker. Couldn’t get hard any other way.

“I can’t wait to have you inside of me. And just so there’s no confusion, I love taking it in the ass.”

Her words punched my skull, and I stiffened.

“You love this dick in your asshole, don’t you, dirty little cunt?”

Lena screams into the mattress, while the masked man fucks her from behind.

“Richie, get my gun. Let’s see if this bitch likes it from both ends.”

Pain exploded inside my skull, swarming my mind with an inky blackness that I couldn’t see past. Red splotches dripped into the black, like blood in water, and the cramping of my muscles subsided as the scene slowly sharpened into view through the oily red.

I had the blonde pinned by her throat against the wall. Mascara had smeared down her cheeks as if she’d been crying. Her body trembled in my grasp, and I released her, eyes scanning her for any blood or signs of attack.

She sniffled, rubbing her neck.

“Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head. “No.”

I looked down to see my pants pulled up and fastened. The painful hard-on that’d bulged inside my briefs only moments before had gone slack.

I’d no idea what the fuck just happened.

Pulling my wallet, I removed three hundred dollars and placed them into the palm of her hand. “I’m … sorry.”

For what? I didn’t even know. I didn’t even want to know, because then the encounter would turn into the one thing I’d wanted to avoid—guilt. It couldn’t have happened for long, and she didn’t have any marks that indicated I’d put her through physical pain, aside from pinning her. Those tears, though. Tears told a story, and hers told me I’d said or done something despicable enough to smear her once-flawless face.

That was me. Mister fucking despicable.

Her lip quivered, and she looked away, nodding her head. “I promise … to do as you said. I won’t come back here.”