Chapter Ten - Tyler & Maddie
TYLER
The car door opens. The car door closes. The car door opens. The car door closes.
It’s not doing this by itself. It’s not magic. I’m doing it. Because I am, it turns out, a gigantic pussy.
I open the door again. This time I manage to actually step out into the parking lot. One boot. Two boots. Just like the start of a Dr. Seuss story. If Dr. Seuss wrote stories about dudes showing up at strip clubs to basically stalk chicks who’ve given them blow jobs. Maybe he did. Seuss coulda been a freak. We don’t know.
What the hell am I doing? I’ve gotten my panties in a bunch over some Pole Artisan (I’m gonna keep using it until it catches on, I’ve decided) I met once. That’s insane. Unless it’s not. Unless the whole dream-to-reality thing is actually happening to me. Unless she is my destiny. Is that an overstatement? Who cares? Is she? I don’t know. But here’s what I do know: I’m gonna just go in and see if she’s there. And then I’m gonna see if she remembers me. And then I’m gonna see if she wants to go to a Halloween party with me and maybe be my steady lady friend. Because that’s how I feel right now and because that’s all totally logical and will tell me whether or not we’re supposed to be matched for eternity, in Heaven and beyond. Right? Right.
Fuck. I’m an idiot.
The car door opens. I step back inside. One boot, two boots, to hell with strippers in their birthday suits. (Damn, that Seuss shit is harder than it looks. Then again, dude was a doctor, so…)
FUCK!
I bang my head against the steering wheel. I think that if I hit it hard enough maybe it’ll shake my brain back into some semblance of order. But that’s a big ask from a steering wheel. Shit. I need to just go to a club or casino or something, pick up some skanky tourists, and pump some action into their coin slots. Here you go, baby. I got a one-armed bandit you can pull on. Ha. That’s not terrible.
I throw the car into reverse and pull out of the parking lot. They’re doing roadwork on Fremont (they’re always doing roadwork somewhere in Vegas—I swear to God those roadwork guys must be mobbed up. There’s no way there’s that much damn roadwork that needs to be done) so I pull around to the alley behind Pete’s so I can take side streets back to the Strip, and that’s when—bursting through the backdoor of the club—she appears.
I slam on the brakes and she looks right at me. Time slows for a second. The headlights wash her in an unearthly glow, painting her wings, halo, and milky, perfect skin in an incandescent amber. I might hear a harp playing. It’s probably just a synthesizer in the EDM I have playing on the car stereo, but I don’t care. It makes for a very dramatic moment.
I throw the Defender into park and jump out.
“Scarlett?” I say. Stupidly. Of course it’s her.
“Ford?” she replies. Oh, right. I’m still Ford fucking Aston to this chick. What was I thinking? Jesus. But she remembers me! That’s encouraging.
I take a step toward her to ask what she’s doing running out into the alley when, through the back door from which my angel emerged, two guys come charging. They’re both a pretty decent size. The one in front is dressed a little better than the one behind him, by which I mean he wears a button-down and a pair of brown oxfords with broguing on the toe-box, and the other guy just has on a t-shirt and sneakers, but still, it’s amazing how a collared shirt and nice shoes can dress up a pair of dark denim jeans.
For whatever reason, Evan’s voice is suddenly in my head.
But only for the briefest of moments, because then I see the gun and forget immediately about who’s wearing what as it becomes crystal-clear why she was running out into the alley.
“Scarlett. Come on, sugar. It’s time to come with us,” says the one with the collared shirt. The one who’s holding the gun. The guy behind him steps toward her as button-down keeps the gun held on my angel’s perfect tits. Which is a crazy fucking thing to be noticing right now, but it’s what pops into my head. And I have a really, really negative reaction to the barrel of that gun pointed at any part of her.
“Hey,” I say, stepping toward all three of them. “Um. What the fuck?”
Button-down snaps and turns the gun in my direction now. All four of us are standing frozen in the spotlight being cast by the Defender’s headlamps, the stars of a surreal little movie that’s unfolding very rapidly here in this alley. Man, I hate being the center of attention, but right now I don’t have a lotta choice.
“Get back in your car and drive away, pal. This ain’t got nothing to do with you.” This from a guy holding a revolver directed at my chest. Yeah, at this point it’s got at least a little something to do with me.
“I’m not your fuckin’ pal, and given the rocky start we’re off to, I doubt we’re gonna get there anytime soon.” Oh, shit! That was what I wanted to say to the bartender last week. I’m glad I held on to it. This is so much better.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Scarlett look at me with some astonishment. I think it’s astonishment. It’s hard to get a read on everything going on right now, and I need to keep my focus on the weapon in front of me.
“Man,” button-down says, “I’m not gonna tell you again…” He tightens his grip on the pistol and extends his elbow slightly for emphasis.
“No? You’re not gonna tell me again? So what are you gonna do?” I take another step toward him. Meanwhile, his t-shirted backup boy steps my way in return.
Run, Scarlett. Now is the time. Just fucking run.
“Bro, you don’t know what you’ve wandered into,” says button-down. “I’m giving you one last chance. You don’t know who you’re fucking with.”
I decide in for a penny in for a pound, so I take another step and say, “I’m not your bro either. And you don’t know who YOU’RE fucking with. Meanwhile you’re wearing brown shoes with a navy belt. Dude, I know EVERYTHING about you.”
The confusion on his face is goddamn priceless. I can’t see my angel, but I can feel her kind of smiling. I can just feel it.
Button-down gestures to t-shirt, who’s clearly supposed to be the muscle, and who starts toward me with some purpose in his stride.
Run, Scarlett. Run.
But she doesn’t run, and t-shirt is almost in my face.
So…OK… Here’s the thing about circumstances like these. The most powerful person in a conflict situation is one hundred percent, unquestionably, and without fail the one who is able to de-escalate the mounting crisis.
After that, the second most powerful person in a conflict situation is the one who’s able to land the first strike and put a motherfucker on his back.
I don’t wait for t-shirt to reach me. I have long legs so it takes less than two full steps before I’m on him. I’m ambidextrous, which I’ve learned is handy in lots of instances in life. Juggling. Playing basketball. Knocking bitches the fuck out.
I feint with my left, but I do it hard so it looks like that’s the punch that’s coming, which causes him to dodge to his left, which is incredibly helpful because that means his momentum is already carrying him in the direction of my right fist that lands square on his eye socket and the bridge of his nose. I’ve been using that shot for years, and I don’t give a shit who you are, when I land it as perfectly as I just did on this asshat, you’re going night night.
And so he does. He hits the ground so hard that I’m actually a little worried about him. But only for a second. Because button-down is still holding his goddamn pistol, and it’s now against my temple. Fuck me. I’ve been out of the military for too long. My situational awareness is for shit.
He cocks the hammer. “Buddy, I don’t know who the fuck you are, but you just walked into a world of hurt.”
I think about what I told Jeff last week on his birthday. The stuff about being a hero. The moment you try to play hero, you get yourself killed. But it’s also important to understand the predicament you’re in. It’s critical to be able to read the environment. And I didn’t do four goddamn tours in some of the most hostile environments on earth by being the kind of person who scares easy. So I assess what I can about this circumstance, glance over at Scarlett, who looks pretty freaked out (which is appropriate—I’d be concerned if she didn’t), turn to face the barrel of the gun, and look button-down dead in his weaselly eyes.
“Yeah… Man, I LIVE in a world of hurt, so anything you can do right now to help me find my way out of it will be a fucking improvement.”
We stare at each other. I press my forehead into the barrel of his stupid gun. Just do it, man. Just fucking do it. Come on. Just fucking make the sounds inside my head stop.
“DO IT!” I almost surprise myself by how loud I scream. I know I surprise button-down, because he flinches. And when he does, I grab the gun out of his hand and punch him as hard as I can in the stomach. He doubles over and now I press the gun against HIS temple.
“Ford!” Scarlett yells. “Don’t!”
I look at her with a look that says, I’m not gonna. Relax. And I wink. She doesn’t know what to make of that. Which, again, is fucking awesome.
I lean down close to button-down so I can whisper in his ear.
“So, since Scarlett asked nicely, I’m gonna do what she wants. But I swear on my mother’s soul, if you ever come near her again, I will beat you until you’re begging me to finish you and then I will take you and leave your bleeding body in the desert for the snakes and vultures to take their fucking turns. Do. You. Hear. What I am saying?”
Button-down looks like he’s about to choke on his own rage. Which I’m really grateful for because it means he’s got some fight in him. There is nothing more inexcusable than taking down somebody you know you can take down. There’s no honor in it. In fairness, I could’ve taken down both of these idiots with an arm tied behind my back while competing in a potato sack race, but it still helps to know he’s got moxie. (I’m gonna bring back moxie too. Just like I’m gonna make Pole Artisan a thing.) But finally he nods, grudgingly.
“Great. Now get up, get your girlfriend, and get the fuck outta here.”
I help him to his feet. T-shirt is out cold, still bathed in the lights from the Defender. I pick him up and hand him to button-down, who awkwardly takes him under the arms and tries to lumber with him down the alley and around into the parking lot. It takes forever. There’s a moment where I almost think I should run up and help the guy. (“Here. Let me give you a hand. It was me who fucked you both up and all. Sheesh. So sorry.”)
As they round the corner, out of sight, I turn around to see if Scarlett is still there. She is. Where she’s standing the lights are bouncing off her wings, casting a massive shadow that looks like a butterfly on the wall of the building behind her. I don’t know what to make of the look on her face. I really don’t. I’m expecting her to ask any number of questions, starting with ‘what are you doing here?’ That’s sure as hell what I would ask if someone showed up and pounded the crap out of two guys who were chasing me with a gun.
Wait. Two guys were chasing her with a gun. That actually seems like the more important issue to address. WHY were two guys chasing her with a gun? A gun that I am now holding. Great. I’m holding a gun. Which means I have to get rid of the gun. I suppose I could keep it, but who knows what awful shit has been done with this gun? Nothing, probably. That’s the whole reason I felt like I could take it away from the guy. He threatened me like three times. I’ve been stabbed, blown up, and shot at more times than I can count and never once in any of those cases did anyone give me a heads-up. If your intention is to kill someone, you kill them. You don’t give them a chance to walk away. Most people don’t get that. In my experience, ninety-nine percent of all threats are hollow. Anyway… I think I’m rambling.
Scarlett (I have to find out her real name. I wonder if she’ll tell me now that I’ve saved her life and all) steps toward me, carefully. I reach into the cab, stick the gun in the glove box, and move around the front of the car to meet her. She shakes her head just the slightest bit, like she can’t understand what just happened. That’s fair. I can’t either.
I speak before she has a chance. “Are you OK?”
She nods and takes another step closer to me. She’s close enough that I can smell her now. She smells amazing. Different than before, but still amazing. Like perfume, and sweat, and fear, and salvation.
I ask the obvious question. “Who were those—?”
Or I should say I start to ask the obvious question because before I get all the words out, she’s on top of me, my back against the Defender, her tongue in my mouth, her hand down my pants, and the shadow of her wings flapping in time with the grinding of her body against mine.
MADDIE
It’s almost an out-of-body experience. That’s my theory. Because… because… it can’t be real. It just can’t be real. I can’t be doing this. I’m not running from a kingpin’s henchmen, Ford didn’t save me, my tongue is not in his mouth desperately kissing him and wanting him, and my hand is not on his dick, squeezing as I push myself forward looking for… more.
But all that is happening. And all this is happening too, because now his hand is pulling my costume down and the night air hits my nipple, making it peak and bunch up as his fingers brush across it. And then we’re walking—he’s pushing me backwards. And I don’t even feel the pain from my twisted ankle or wonder if I’m gonna trip or anything like that because… because he’ll catch me. If I fall, this guy is gonna catch me. And it’s such a relief to just let all the bullshit go and trust someone for once. I don’t even have words. Or the time to think them up. Because he’s got his hands under my thighs and he’s lifting me up, and holding me close, and I can feel the ragged edges of the brick building cutting into my back and I don’t care. I might be bleeding or fucking dying right now, and I just don’t care.
I close my eyes when he pulls back, wishing he wouldn’t do that, but then I forget about it and think about what he’s doing next. Because his lips are on my neck and he’s biting the skin behind my ear, and breathing into my hair, and he says, “I’m gonna fuck you now. So…”
And then he’s done too. We’re both just on some kind of collision course. We’re crashing into each other in a way that’s familiar, but new, and still dangerous. And then I see the gun again in my head, and the way he moved so fast and took people out. The way he hurt them and I know, I just feel, deep down in my filthy fucking soul, that he’s gonna hurt me too, and I don’t care. I just don’t fucking care. Because that hurt is gonna be worth it, and I’m gonna live for once. Like really fucking live for once. And when we spin out of control later—next week, or next year, or next lifetime—I will look back and say, “I’d do it all again.”
And it’s stupid.
But I don’t care.
So I say, “Do it.”
TYLER
The way she says, “Do it,” sends me into a frenzy. It’s almost an order. And maybe it’s my military training kicking into gear or more probably it’s just that her rasping, anxious voice is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard, but every single part of me is at full command and ready to follow orders.
I lift her higher and press her wings harder into the rough wall. I raise her so I can get my mouth around her gorgeous breasts. Wrapping my lips around the right one, I allow my tongue to skitter over her nipple. I draw my mouth back, sucking as I go, letting my teeth graze her skin just lightly enough so that she can feel the edges. Careful not to tickle, not to bite, just torture in the best way.
I can taste the sweat and the fear and the relief. I can taste it all. And I immediately wonder how the rest of her must taste. She’s still pumping my dick, reaching, straining, almost like she’s afraid to let go, and that has popped open the top button of my jeans so that my cock is throbbing in the night air, urging me to thrust myself inside her now. But I can’t. Not just yet. I need to know what the rest of her tastes like first.
The pool of light from the Defender’s headlamps is behind us, leaving us hidden in the shadows. Known only to each other. Cast in the faint, blue glow of an October desert moon.
I look up at her through my eyelids and she stares back down, swallowing, chest heaving, gulping for breath. I don’t say anything, just begin to lower her slowly to the ground, allowing her long legs to land on the concrete.
With her shoes on she’s almost as tall as I am. We stare at each other nearly eye to eye and she swallows one more time, her eyes closing as I bend my knees to lower myself down her stomach, kissing lightly as I go. I stop for a second and tickle her belly button with my tongue. She shudders as though a bolt of electricity has shot through her. I love that, so I stay there for a moment longer, letting my tongue make circles on her sweet and salty skin before I begin lowering her G-string from her hips and sliding it down her thighs, over her knees, down, down to her ankles, where she steps gingerly away from the fabric, first with her left foot, then her right, leaving herself exposed to me.
One high heel. Two high heels. I’m going to fuck an angel and know how that feels.
I lift my gaze to look up at her face one more time. Her head is back, her eyes are closed, and I hear a moan of yearning as I press my mouth forward and she feels my warm breath on the entrance of her beautiful, bare pussy.
The world has disappeared. We are not in an alley behind a strip club. We are on a cloud. High above everyone and everything. We are ascending. And I am intent on taking her higher and higher until the earth falls far away and we are both transported from the poison and pain of this small world.
At least for a moment.
I gently kiss the inside of her thighs. First the right, then the left. Then I nuzzle my nose against the soft, already wet space between her legs. I breathe in deep, taking in every bit of the way she smells. I can’t get enough. I want to bury my face inside of her warmth and let her become my oxygen.
I can’t get close enough down on my knees as I am, so I grab her around the waist, throw her legs over my shoulders, and rise up to my full height so that I can keep her placed directly above my greedy mouth.
I flick my tongue against the folds of her opening and her knees shudder. So I lick more slowly—I don’t want her to come just yet—parting her wider with my fingers and letting my tongue slide inside. She tastes even better than she smells. Like the ocean on a perfect summer day.
I find her clit and wrap the whole of my mouth around it, building up pressure on her with my tongue and pulling back until I hear her say, “Oh, my God. Oh, my God, what are you doing to me?” And now I’m sucking and smiling at the same time.
I pull my mouth off long enough to look up and say, “Just getting started…”
MADDIE
He better just be getting started. Because I want more.
His hand slips around the curve of my ass, squeezing it so hard, I bite my lip to stifle a whimper. His fingers press into my skin, grabbing hold of me like he might never let go.
His tongue laps against my pussy, then flicks my clit. I fist his hair and let my head fall back—pressing against the brick wall. He does this little move with his tongue. Teasing me as he swirls it around, presses his mouth firmly against my clit, and moves it back and forth so quick, I drop a hand down to his shoulder and dig my nails in. Like I might never let go either.
It’s been a while for me. Too long, really. And I can feel the climax building and building, and then—
“Not yet, angel,” he murmurs.
“Yes,” I say, insistent. “Now. We’re in the alley and there’s people—”
“There’s no people,” he counters. “And I want to be inside you when you come. I want you to be fucked as much as possible before I let you finish.”
“Ford,” I say. I really need this guy’s real name. I can’t keep calling him that. Especially during sex. “We gotta hurry. I’m at work and—”
“You’re not at work. You’re with me, Scarlett.”
And I really need to tell him my name too. Because I feel like I’m morphing into Scarlett. This is the kind of thing she does, not me.
Isn’t it?
He lifts my legs, still pushing me against the wall, repositions them so they drape over the crook in his arms. He’s holding both ass cheeks, squeezing them hard and pressing against me with his hard cock. But we’re eye level and I’m looking at him like… like we’re something. Like maybe I am with him.
He grins. A devilish, mischievous grin. Says, “How do you like it?”
“Like it?” I say, my eyes darting around to make sure no one can see us.
“Scarlett,” he says, demanding my attention. “Look at me. And tell me how you like to be fucked.”
“Uhhh… good.”
He laughs. “Roger that. Anything else?”
“Just…” I start. Because I’m not really into the dirty-talking shit. I’m not into alley sex, or wall sex, or giving blow jobs for money. But I’ve done all those things since I met him. Last. Fucking. Weekend.
So fuck it. I’m Scarlett now, I guess.
“Hard,” I say. “I like it hard.”
He smiles.
“And dirty.”
“Filthy?” he asks. “Or just dirty?”
I take a moment to wonder how much difference there is between filthy and dirty.
“Scarlett,” he says, pushing his stiff cock up to the entrance of my pussy. God, I’m wet. And the way he’s teasing me has my whole body trembling. “Tell me how to fuck you. Because if you don’t, you’re just gonna have to get it the way I like to give it.”
Jesus Christ.
But it leaves me an opening. So I take it and say, “Give it to me like that then.”
A finger is suddenly pressing up against my asshole. I gasp in surprise. Surely he is not thinking about fucking me in the ass here?
He reads the panic on my face and shoots me that devilish grin again. “No. Not yet. Just exploring my options.”
Oh, shit.
I swallow hard. His eyes track right to my throat and I know, I just know, he’s thinking about what I did. How I took his cock in my mouth last weekend. How I took him deep and swallowed it all down when he came.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks.
“Stop? Jesus, no. Fuck no.”
“Then start telling me what to do. Because if someone does come through that door and I’m not done, we’re still gonna have to finish. Bank on that shit.”
OK, I get it. He likes to call the shots. And even though it might appear that he’s asking me what I want so he can give it to me, what he’s really doing is taking me out of my comfort zone so he can control me.
It’s gonna piss me off later when I think this whole thing through. But now… fuck it.
I squirm until he drops one of my legs, and then I take his free hand, press it right up against my pussy, and begin to rub myself with the pad of his thumb.
“Now put your cock inside me,” I say. “And don’t stop rubbing until I scream. That’s how I like it.”
TYLER
Goddamn. Goddamn! GOD MOTHERFUCKING DAMN! Normally I’m the maestro of talking dirty and women just giggle or act all coy and shit. Scarlett (fuck, I GOTTA find out her name) is giving just as good as she gets. In every way. I’m not thinking anymore, I’m just reacting. And honestly, that’s got me almost as hot as everything else that’s happening. It feels so fucking good to be free of my thoughts and just… here. I want to do what she wants. Because it’s also what I want. I want to make her scream.
“Done,” I say.
But I don’t want to scrape up her bare back any more than I already have on the rough brick wall, so I drop her other leg. Grab her by the shoulder. Spin her around. Pin her arms to the wall in front of her. Almost rip my pants in half getting them down below my knees and grab her by the hips as I pull her ass back hard and push myself forward, sliding my dick inside her wet, warm, perfect pussy.
“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, my fucking God, oh, fuck,” she cries out.
It makes me smile.
I reach around in front of her so that I can keep rubbing her clit like I was ordered. Like a good soldier.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she gasps as I rub in small, frantic circles with my index and middle finger.
I want to grab her hair. I want to pull on it hard, yanking her neck back and forcing her eyes up to the night sky. But she’s still wearing that wig and I’m afraid I’ll tug it off and fuck everything up and destroy the perfection that is this moment.
So instead, I slap her ass hard with the back of my left hand and she squeals. I love it. It makes me even harder, if that’s possible. And now I take the thumb of my left hand and stick it in her ass again. I’m fingering her clit, playing with her asshole, and driving myself back and forth inside her at the same time.
“Oh, Jesus, stop, no, don’t stop,” she contradicts herself, and I smile.
I smile because she’s moaning and panting and very nearly on the verge of coming all over my dick, but there’s one thing she doesn’t know, and that’s that I’m not all the way inside her yet. I’ve been holding back just enough. Just far enough for her to feel almost all of me, but not quite. But now I’m ready to give her the whole thing.
I accelerate the rubbing on her sweet pussy and then in one hard thrust, I push myself inside her all the way, driving my thumb into her ass and manically rubbing on her clit…
… And she explodes.
She screams so loudly that for a moment I believe she’ll pierce through the pounding bass that’s thudding from inside the club, sending the whole place racing out the back door to see what’s going on.
And I don’t give. A. Fuck. Let them see. Let everyone see. Let the whole fucking world know that right now, for just this one moment, I’m happy.
I pause just for a second, long enough to ask, “So did you come?”
She turns her head over her left shoulder and sees me smiling. I slow everything down. I move my hand away from her clit. I take my other hand away from her ass. I stop thrusting inside her and am just… joined with her. She shakes her head the tiniest bit like she can’t believe… I’m not sure. I choose to think she shakes her head like she can’t believe what a swell fucking guy I am. Then she just coughs out, “Fuck you.”
“No. You,” I respond.
I grab her hips and thighs with both hands and I start again. This time not with any extra tricks or subtlety, just pure, raw, unrestrained fucking. Pounding myself into her from behind again and again and again and again. Forcing my whole self into her whole self. The grunting whine she makes with each push just drives me to try to push harder.
“Oh, God. Oh, my God,” she pants, “I’m going to come again.”
“Do it,” I say. “Do it. Come. Come all over me. Cover me with it. Fucking wash me in you.”
I don’t know if it’s just because I’m so good at fucking or if it’s because I said some shit that turned her on or if it’s the thrill and danger of this whole insane night, or probably all of the above, but she does. She comes again. She orgasms like I’ve never felt a woman orgasm before. Her walls clench around me like a vise. She practically chokes my shaft with her pussy and her legs shudder so hard that I’m sure if she falls now, she’ll drag me to the ground with her, cock first. So I pull back and hold her up, resting deep inside her until she stops shaking and quivering.
“Go. Fuck yourself,” she whispers.
“No way. This is better.”
She drops her chin to her shoulder so that I can see her profile grinning and I almost shoot myself inside her right there. She must feel me holding it back somehow, because she starts, “Will you…?”
She stops and bites her lip. Holy shit, she is going to be the end of me.
I prompt her. “What? I mean the answer is likely ‘yes,’ but what?”
“Will you… come on my ass? Please?”
Jesus Christ. The lip-biting was nothing. It’s the ‘please’ that almost fucking kills me.
“That’s what you want?” I summon the presence of mind to ask.
She nods her head in a way that conveys, Yes. No. I’m not sure. But yes.
And then I do something that I’m not expecting. Not even a little. I reach around her waist with both arms, wrapping her in a hug as I pull my chest down to the wings on her back and I kiss her on the shoulder, right by where she has her head turned to see me. I feel a small exhalation of breath whisper past my nose as my lips touch her skin.
And here, in this back alley behind a strip club, my pants around my ankles, her in heels, angel wings, and a ribbon of cloth now pushed below her breasts that constitutes what’s left of her outfit, with the possibility that drunk, horny tourists or men with guns could walk up on us at any second… it feels like the sweetest, purest, kindest moment that I can remember having in my life maybe since I was a kid. And I have no idea why that’s true. It just is.
So I savor it. I savor this brief tick of the clock like it’s already a memory that I can call on when I want to think back to a time when I was happy.
And then I lift my chest up, draw my hips back, and begin pumping in and out of her again so that in a few seconds, I can shoot my load all over her pretty ass.
MADDIE
He’s so fucking deep that I can feel him in my stomach. And I’ve stopped caring about what this says about me or what it means that I’m fucking a guy whose name I don’t know in a back alley. All I know is that I feel good, and present, and needed. And I didn’t even know I needed to feel needed, but I do. I am important to this person. Right now, for whatever it’s worth, I am somebody to somebody else.
“Fuck,” he grunts out, “I’m gonna come.”
“Do it,” I say. “Do it. Come on me. Let it all out. On me. Now.” He pulls out and I order him once more, a little more forcefully, “Do it!”
And suddenly I feel warmth landing on my ass and hips and the backs of my legs. Jesus. It just keeps coming and coming, spilling over my skin.
I love it.
I take a peek and see him fisting his cock, the last bits of his sticky, hot come pulsing out of the thick tip of his dick and (I can’t fucking believe this) I come one more time. Three times in like ten minutes. Holy shit. Who is this man who has forced his way into my life? And he has. Forced himself. Because he is. A force.
I moan again as my legs shiver and shake, and he moans as he drains himself dry. Then, both of us empty and shaking, he lets out a breath and says, “Thanks.” Which I find kind of amazingly adorable and I’m not sure why.
So, “You’re welcome,” I say through a dumb smile I can’t stop from spreading.
He laughs and slaps me right on my ass. And then he says, “Shit.”
“What?” I ask. “What happened?”
“I got come all over my hand. Holy shit. Did I do all that?” I crane my head to see him staring at his handiwork and the look on his face is one of wonder and maybe pride.
Men.
“Yep. You sure must have,” I say as I turn around, take his come-covered hand in mine, and place his fingers in my mouth.
“Jesus Christ,” he says as I suck his salty semen from his strong fingers. “You’re going to fucking kill me.”
I just smile in return. Because who knows? Maybe I will. Maybe we’ll kill each other.
And just then… the back door opens. Raven sticks her head out. He pushes me back, up against the wall, into the corner, lost in the shadows. She looks left, looks right. Please, oh, dear Lord, do not come out here to look around. “Scarlett?” she calls out.
He puts his head against mine and tries not to laugh. I want to punch him because I am definitely not laughing. Raven sees the abandoned Defender sitting in the middle of the alley, its lights still on. She walks over to it to look inside and we recess ourselves as deep into the dark as we can. I can feel the come sliding down the backs of my thighs and a thought occurs to me:
THIS. IS. FUCKING. INSANE.
“Scarlett?” Raven calls out into the night. Just go back inside, Raven. Please. Just go back in.
I close my eyes and pray to whoever might be listening to just have her turn around and head back in. Just please let me get away from this with my job intact.
That’s what I’m praying for. Not to preserve my dignity or my modesty or my integrity or decency or anything that ends in ‘y.’ I just don’t want to lose my J-O-B. That’s all I can think about and suddenly—I feel ashamed.
But whoever is out there listening to my plea decides to cut me a break, because Raven takes one last look around and heads back inside. It then occurs to me that she may have seen me run out back before (or someone may have) and that, coupled with an ominous-looking all-black Land Rover just idling in the alley, might just send up some alarm bells. So I need to get the hell back in there ASAP and make up some fucking excuse about where I’ve been. I put my hands on his chest and push him away.
“Um. I gotta go.” I bend down, grab up my t-back, and start to step into it when I realize. “Shit. Do you have anything I can clean myself up with?”
“Uh,” he says, looking around. “Uh, here.” He pulls off his t-shirt and hands it to me. And I see the scars. Again. Oh, right. He said I don’t want to know. OK. I do a quick inventory of all the information I currently have about this dude.
—He walks around looking like he’s homeless but clearly has money to burn.
—He has scars all over his body that I don’t want to know about.
—He fights men with guns like he doesn’t care if he lives or dies.
—He may think I’m REALLY an angel. Which may make him A CRAZY PERSON.
—He probably has an actual name but I have no idea what it is.
—He fucks better than anyone I’ve ever met.
—I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him.
Assessment: This guy is bad news.
I don’t know what the hell I’ve been thinking or why I haven’t been able to get him off my mind, but that shit stops right now. I grab the t-shirt from his hand and contort myself to try to wipe myself clean. Which, at present, feels like it’s gonna take a lot of scrubbing and a long, long time.
“Do you want some help?” He reaches to give me a hand. I pull away.
“Nope. Got it. Thanks.” I keep wiping. I just want to get the hell back inside. Back inside Pete’s Strip Club. Where life makes sense.
I finish getting all of him off all of me to the best of my ability, wipe my hands, throw the shirt back at him, pull my panties up, fix my top back over my tits, adjust my filthy fucking angel wings, and look him square in his eyes. Which look confused. And maybe a little sad. Like a kid who’s just dropped his ice cream cone on the sidewalk.
The way they did last weekend.
And that annoys me a little bit because… because I lost that night. And now it’s happening again. This isn’t me. It’s not. I don’t do this shit. And I know things have been hard, but that’s not why I’m doing it. That’s not why I’m all of a sudden losing my shit. It’s… He’s still looking at me like that. “What? I demand.
“I—Nothing,” he mumbles.
“OK. Well, then, I gotta go. See ya.” I pat him on the shoulder and head back in. Because this has to end. Now. I cannot lose myself to this fucking sadness again. I can’t. Because if I do, no one’s gonna pick me back up. Not this guy, for sure. He’s not gonna catch me when I stumble. He’s not gonna give me a hand up when I fall. He’s just some random weirdo who stumbled into my life at just the wrong moment, but that’s it. Random. There’s no purpose to what we’re doing other than survival.
And I can’t go into survival mode again. I refuse to climb Everest again. I won’t do it. Because if I have to scale that rock wall one more time I’ll lose more than just my fingers. I’ll lose every single part of me that’s left.
“Hey,” he calls out. Shit. Don’t. Whatever it is, just… don’t. Just let me go.
I sigh. Turn back. “Yeah?” I say, still annoyed.
“I don’t… Do you have plans for Halloween?”
And at that, any feeling of anything good that I have left drains immediately from inside me. There are a lot of reasons for that, but the biggest one is that I am reminded, with startling clarity, that the most essential reason to stay away from this guy is that he knows NOTHING about me. And I can see no scenario now where changing that relationship would be a positive move. Because my life is being held together by the most fragile of adhesives, and that’s sheer will. And this… situation… saps my strength. It tugs at my ability to hold it all together. And I am one hundred percent sure that if I take it even the smallest step further, my world is likely to be blown completely apart by this other human being. Blown to smithereens. I don’t know how I know that. But I do. So I let any light in my eyes dim itself out and I stare straight through him and say…
“Thanks again for the help. Take care.”
And then I open the door to the club, step inside, let the door close behind me, raise my chin up, and head off to give lap dances and make men think I’m in love with them.