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She changes positions, getting onto her hands and knees as she faces her ass toward me. Resting her head on the bed, she positions the bottle between her thighs and continues to fuck herself. I can’t keep my hand off my cock as I watch her. With every push of the bottle, my hand matches the speed and strength. But it’s not enough.
“Keep playing with yourself, but give me your mouth,” I command.
When she doesn’t move, I fist her hair and pull her face to my cock. Her upper lip curls in a snarl before she relents and opens her mouth. My skin sings with pleasure as I push my cock into her warm mouth, and I don’t go easy on her. I force myself to the back of her throat because a seasoned whore like her can take every inch of me. She’s a goddamn professional.
The writing along my dick disappears and reappears as I fuck her mouth. Her eyes water, and a tear slips down her cheek.
“Yes. Cry for me. Just like my dick says.”
Tears stream down her cheeks. I give her a hard smack, yet she hardly reacts to it. I’m confused by her lack of fight, but I don’t need it to get off. I’m a deviant, not a rapist. In fact, I love that she isn’t fighting me.
It won’t save her, though. I don’t have that power. I’m just enjoying her while I can.
She pulls away from me, and I allow it. “Are you going to fuck me or what? Just get it over with.”
“If you want to skip to the fun part, that’s fine with me.”
And it is. It doesn’t bother me that she’s treating this as a transaction. She doesn’t have to fight for me to enjoy it, but she doesn’t have to be into it either. It might be more pleasant for her if she was, but I don’t mind using her body if she’s not.
I flip her over, pull the bottle from her pussy, and replace it with my cock. The ink along my dick disappears inside her. I should use a condom with a whore, but I want to feel what the bottle felt. Something inanimate shouldn’t get to experience something I can’t.
She whimpers as my piercing rakes her pussy walls, and it's the first reaction out of her aside from her mouthy words. I grip her hair and lift her, and she screams out.
“Kane,” she whimpers.
I want to tell her Kane isn’t here and she should be glad, but I don’t. “You were the one who wanted to skip ahead. I’d tell you not to cry, but I like your tears. I like them so much that I inked it into my fucking skin.”
I wrap my hand around her throat and feel Kane behind the motions. His desire to kill rivals my desire to fuck, but I knock him back. I’m too close, and I won’t let him rob me of this.
I fuck her harder, thrusting into her with as much force as I can muster. She becomes a whimpering, screaming mess in front of me. There’s no way she’s enjoying this, but I sure as fuck am.
“Where do the other johns come?” I ask, because I know it’s coming.
Sweat and tears mingle on her face as she turns her head and answers me. “Inside me. But with a condom.”
I chuckle. “Well, I’m not using a condom, but I’ll still come inside you.”
“Don’t!” she cries.
But I do. I come deep inside her, with every word of my tattoo buried within her cunt. But I’m not done with her. I want to savor our mess.
I pull out and press the lip of the bottle to her entrance. “Push it out.”
She bears down and the come drips into the bottle. And it’s a lot. Her pussy was incredible, so I’m not surprised.
With a flick of my wrist, I swirl the mixture of beer and come around the bottom of the bottle as I go to the fridge and remove the empty ice tray. I’ve been meaning to fill this, but I’m glad I forgot until now. I put a little water into the bottle and swirl again before filling what few empty rectangles I can. Then I fill the right half of the tray with normal water.
As I slide the tray into the freezer compartment, a thought hits me. If Kane and Jax take any from the left side, they’ll kill me. Tobin, back at it again, fucking up our peaceful little system. I hate to tell them, but that ship has sailed. One third of the system is majorly homicidal, the other is a sexual deviant, and the remainder isn’t strong enough to bring the peace we need. Besides, with the way Kane kills, the least of our problems is some come-laced ice cubes in the freezer.
As the backs of my eyes begin to burn, I grab a bag of chips and return to the front of the truck. Now that my job is done, someone else wishes to take the helm for a bit. I wonder who she’ll have to deal with next. For her sake, I hope it isn’t Kane.
Chapter Eight
Aurora
I fix my skirt without shame, lowering the hem to its proper position and turning it the right way around again. Shame isn’t really in my vocabulary anymore, though I suppose it should be. How I use my body—or rather, how I allow others to use my body—is certainly deemed as shameful by a large chunk of the population. But I’m willing to bet those individuals haven’t been through what I’ve been through. They judge through rose-colored glasses. I stare through unprotected eyes.
We are not the same.
