Spiked Roses: The Complete Top Shelf Series

by Alta Hensley

  “Don’t move,” I demanded. “I want you to… I want to taste this tiny little hole.”

  As if triggered by my command, Anita’s hands went to my head, her fingers gripping at my hair firmly as another gasp of passion escaped her. Her hips began jutting slightly against my mouth as if searching for something more than I was giving her. I pushed my single digit inside her anus further, filling her as deep as I could, my tongue still busily sucking and licking her clit, wanting to milk her passion from her, to give her a pleasure I was certain no other man had.

  When I moved my tongue to her puckered entrance and circled the taut flesh after sliding my finger free, Anita jutted her hips against my tongue, silently begging for more. Her motions got more erratic as her legs quivered, and when I pushed my tongue into the dark passage where my finger had just been, her gasps turned to moans of pleasure. My heart lifted—another barrier breached. Bringing my hand into play, I stroked her clit until she orgasmed, bucking against my hand, her muscles clamping down on my buried tongue.

  Her hips relaxed back down against the carpet, her legs spread wide, I gently removed my tongue from her anus, moving to lap at her sweet juices. Reluctantly leaving her throbbing slit, I slid my body against hers and hungrily kissed her, letting her taste herself on my still wet lips.

  I looked up at her satiated face. I could smell her desire and could almost feel it pulsing through her. Her pert little breasts, heaving up and down as Anita tried to regain her breathing after her release, just begged to be touched. My fingers pinched and pulled on her nipples, as my tongue softly touched her folds.

  I couldn’t get enough of this woman. The taste of her sexual desire was like a goddamn drug, and I was a junkie shaking in need for the fix. Her legs spread eagerly, and I smiled. Shifting my position, I spread her legs even wider, both knees pushed back against her breasts. She started to complain but my fingers dipped down into her folds, thrusting and twisting inside her.

  With a cry, she gave herself over to the passion building between us. Grabbing our bunched up clothing, I pressed the bundle beneath her bottom, lifting her higher into my sight. My hands held her legs back, spread apart, her slit wide open and vulnerable.

  I brought my face close to her needy pussy again, inhaling her—savoring what was mine. I settled more onto my chest as I prepared to feast upon her some more. A soft growl bubbled to my lips as my tongue dipped deep inside her, twirled around and came out. I sucked her essence then dipped in for more. This time when I pulled out, I ran my tongue across her nub, lying hidden in her folds. I then slipped my tongue back inside her again, pulled out, and drifted lazily down to the tiny opening to her bottom.

  I felt her breath stop as my tongue wet the tiny opening, rimming it gently. Then I slid back up to dip in her again for another taste. I pulled out and flicked her clit, before sliding back to tap playfully at her bottom. Again and again, I seemed to take a tour of her privates—always coming back to nudge and toy and kiss and lick the tiny puckered hole. Gradually, all the ministrations merged into one long loving wet lick after another. Plunging my tongue into her pussy, drinking her arousal, I moaned deeply. Sliding across her taint back to her bottom, my tongue stiffened and penetrated her there.

  Her body jerked for an instant as she hummed with pleasure. Pulling out, my tongue made another excursion up and down her slit, dipping into her pussy then sliding back to dip into her bottom again.

  At last, as my tongue made another turn to penetrate her bottom. I felt her hips lift to meet me. She had accepted it. She wanted more. I pressed my finger past her wet folds, moved back, and drilled deep into her pussy as I licked her clit while lifting my head so I could see her. I looked at her—head thrown back, mouth open, panting beneath me. When her eyes opened, she reached out to me with both hands and caught my face in her warm palms, caressing me, moving her hands to the thick of my hair. Fingers tightening on my scalp, she pulled me forward and I knew what she wanted. Carefully, I slid my tongue into her mouth. Her lips closed on me, and she sucked on my tongue powerfully. My dirty girl wanted to taste her arousal. She wanted to taste what I had become so addicted to. Now she would have a taste of the drug that consumed me. A stab of hunger, raw and primal, pulsed deep within as my cock hardened to a nearly painful level, the cum beginning to churn within me. Because of her, I could fucking come without even being touched. It was the power this woman had over me.

  With her eyes watching me, avidly, I transferred the cream of her pussy to the opening of her bottom with my finger. I watched her face as I slowly finger fucked her with the wetness of her completion. Her hands cupped her own breasts, fingers tugging and twisting her nipples as I worked my finger deeper inside her. My tongue tickled her clit then swept down as my finger slid into her bottom again and again.

  Her hips lifted to my rhythm. Soft moans escaped from her lips. Moaning, as her hips lifted to meet my touch, a second finger slid into her tight bottom.

  Not being able to take it any longer, I slid my cock slowly, deeply, into her hungry pussy. My fingers up her ass never slowed as I moved my penis to a different rhythm.

  Anita

  The double penetration sent me crashing into a huge shuddering orgasm. Crying out, my body bucked beneath him. The pleasure wiped out all reason, and I wasn’t even human for an instant in time—pure animalistic need took over. I gave all control of my body to this man. And he didn’t fail me. His mouth found mine just as my orgasm rolled back over itself and intensified.

  His cock inside me stretched me in new ways, igniting nerve endings I didn’t even know I had. There had been a tiny sting of pain at first, then Kenneth slid all the way in as though it had always belonged there. Just as the climax began to fade, he moved, thrusting gently, then pulled out all the way and pushed back in with more force.

  I shouted in ecstasy as delight electrified my entire body. It couldn’t get any better. It wasn’t possible. I couldn’t feel anymore pleasure than I felt at that moment. Yet, I knew I would. Kenneth… the man had the ability to take me to levels I hadn’t known possible.

  He was a kinky bastard, and I loved it. I loved every dirty detail of it.

  He shifted his body, sliding his other hand under my bottom, lifting me. I was limp, but watched him as he positioned me. With my last strength, I spread my legs as he lowered me onto the wide flanged head, plunging back into the depths of my ass, followed by his fingers deep within my pussy. Claiming my ass with his cock and my pussy with his hand. Slowly, I felt him fill me, in front and behind. The firm, hot cock pushed inside my tight channel, spreading the walls, stretching me delightfully. In and out, his cock thrust into my ass, full length, stretching my tiny hole sweetly. The combined sensations had me moaning continuously as the bliss enveloped me, the coil of delicious tension building in my body.

  I watched as the emotions of complete satisfaction danced across his face. I knew he was close to orgasm, and the tight wet warmth of my pussy clenched around his fingers as I tightened my muscles around his dick. I heard his breathy groans as the orgasm swept over him, his skin flushed from head to toe, his head snapped back as he howled into the sex-infused air of the room. My pussy walls clamped around his steadily thrusting fingers, the rippling action of another orgasm hitting me, causing my inner muscles of my taboo opening to milk the cum out of his balls.

  Leaning in, he rubbed his lips against my cheek as I leaned into his touch.

  I could never get enough of this man.

  Never.

  I wanted him. I wanted this life of bastards and whiskey.

  “Will you sign the contract?” he asked, breaking me from my sex-induced high.

  “Yes.” I pulled his weight against me as I nuzzled into his neck. “But I still hate you,” I whispered between heavy breaths.

  “Good. Because I fucking love the way you hate.”

  The End

  Villains & Vodka

  To those who like my fire.

  To those who understand that I am
the type of flame that burns with thick black smoke swirling around it. The kind that burns your lungs and waters your eyes.

  Thank you to all who are willing to dance naked around my type of fire with wild abandon.

  Naked and howling at the moon as you do so.

  Chapter One

  Harley Crow

  My life had been one long fevered dream, balancing between being killed or killing.

  Though I was not afraid to die.

  I was already dead, for you cannot live without a soul.

  I was the creature you did not want to see in the shadows of an alley.

  I was death.

  I was evil.

  I was a man who played God, but really was the Devil in disguise.

  I was an assassin. A killer.

  The villain in this story.

  I own it. I chose this life. Hell, I craved it. I hungered for it. The smell of fear made my dick hard and was the very reason the blood ran through my veins. I would not apologize for what I did or who I was. The time of guilt had long passed many deaths ago.

  The name Harley Crow was one to be feared, and I took fucking pride in that fact. The more people who feared me, the more money I made. Fear also kept me safe… or safer. Don’t mess with Harley Crow they say, and my reply was always damn straight.

  As I stared out a single-pane window, with a gun on my lap ready to kill, I inhaled deeply. I had to absorb the bad. Soak in the fact that I was about to kill a man. It was my job and what I’d been hired to do. One task. Bullet through the head.

  I had two guns. One that would shoot far enough to kill, and one to keep near me for protection if someone were to enter the room or try to snag my ass during escape. The guns had names. They all had names with letters and numbers attached, but I didn’t give a fuck what they were called. They were guns. Plain and simple. Metal, black or silver, and could kill. I guess it was safe to say I wasn’t a gun man. Odd for an assassin, and could be downright dangerous not fully knowing the tools of your trade. But all I cared about was how far did it shoot, what kind of bullets did it take, and how much it was to purchase. Black and white. Keep all that AK number bullshit to yourself. I had no time or desire to care.

  Not anymore.

  I wasn’t always like that. Quite opposite, in fact. I used to make my own bullets, knew every single detail about every gun I owned. I once thrived off being involved in the illegal gun trade so that I could get the best of the best and before anyone else had a chance to. My life revolved around weapons, and the weight and smell of one could get me harder quicker than a naked woman could. I spent my every waking hour at the range honing my skills. I wanted to be unsurpassed by anyone, and I had made that fact a reality. I lived and breathed becoming the most lethal killer I could be. There was an art to it. A pride I fucking loved for the skill it required.

  But not now. Yes, I was still lethal. But I no longer cared if I was the best. At this stage in my life, hand me a fucking gun, point at the guy who needed to be dead, and I was done. Mission accomplished. I had been the vicious predator most of my life and made my billion in doing so. But today, now, I just didn’t give a fuck. I didn’t really give a fuck about much.

  It was time to retire I guess you could say. I knew this. I even went into business with others in a gentlemen’s club called Spiked Roses. My first legit business venture. But an assassin couldn’t just give his notice and collect his pension. An assassin doesn’t just break away from the darkness—not until you lay him down in the cold ground. My fate had been sealed the day I’d killed my first man for pay. Tired and over it, I still was an assassin. A tattoo forever marked on my soul.

  I even used to want to know all about my victim before I pulled the trigger. I wanted to learn what he’d done to deserve a bullet through the back of his skull. I was even the sick fuck who wanted to know what his last meal was before his death. I would stalk my prey for days to try to see a glimpse of evil that gave me cause to end his life. But not anymore. I realized it didn’t matter. A good man would believe no one deserved to be assassinated no matter what.

  But like I said, I was not a good man.

  The truth was that I believed everyone deserved the bullet. Darkness and evil ran in all of us. There were no innocents in this life other than children, and that would soon change. Age made us bad. Maturity poisoned us.

  Just like the man across the way who sat at a cheap particleboard desk in his office. He shredded papers with shaking hands and beads of sweat dripping off his brow. He had a secret. They all had secrets. Secrets that got them killed. He needed to stand so I could get a clean shot, which meant I had to wait. Wait while the sweaty bastard worked to destroy whatever evidence—I didn’t give a shit about—was hidden on those papers. All that concerned me was that the man had a huge bounty on his head, and I would be collecting it by dawn.

  Cracking my knuckles, I tried to fight off the anxious tension in my hands. I needed a cigarette, but I had given that habit up recently. Ironic that I was worried about my health when the bounty on my own head was higher than any job I’d ever done in the past or that I was likely to do in the future. I was walking dead, but I still didn’t want to die with a breathing tube jammed in my throat. My voice already sounded like I had swallowed a box of jagged glass, and the last thing I needed was to be lugging around an oxygen tank and have plastic sticking out of my nostrils. No thank you. Hard to give off the bad boy, tattoo-covered killer look while wheezing for air. I wasn’t in my young twenties anymore, but I sure as hell wasn’t an old bastard, yet my lungs felt like it at times.

  But I still wanted a cigarette. Fuck.

  Judging by the large stack of papers needing to be destroyed beside my soon-to-be victim’s desk, I knew I could be sitting on this metal folding chair for several hours. My only hope was him needing to stand up and take a piss or stretch his legs. Maybe I would be lucky, and he’d walk over to the window to stare out of it and make my job really easy. But I had done enough of these gigs to know that nothing about them was ever easy. They took patience. A shit load of patience.

  My need for a cigarette only grew with the ruckus from the room up above. The sounds of shouts, bangs, crying, screaming. I wasn’t in the mood to listen to some dude beat up his old lady in this piece of shit apartment building. It made my skin crawl hearing her plead. And no matter how hard I tried to not pay attention, they grew louder. I had one rule as an assassin. Leave women alone. I’d never killed a single woman, and never would. And I sure as shit wouldn’t beat on one. What the hell was the man doing to her? Motherfucker!

  Not being able to take it any longer, I stood up, placed the handgun in the waistband against my spine, and charged out the door. This was stupid of me. I knew I didn’t need to be drawing attention to being in the building at all. I’d already had to bribe the landlord a thousand dollars to open the unoccupied apartment’s door, and had thrown in an extra hundred-dollar bill to reward him when he didn’t ask a single question as I carried nothing but a black duffle bag through the entryway. The man even had provided me with a chair. Although, I didn’t think Mr. Landlord would be too pleased if I beat up one of his tenants for being an abusive asshole. He didn’t want the cops beating on his door, and I didn’t blame him. But enough was enough.

  I knocked on the door of apartment 623. I was half tempted to just kick it in, but I would give the dickhead a chance to apologize and back down with his tail between his legs.

  The door opened and a greasy-haired white man dressed in a dirty wrinkled dress shirt and baggy black slacks greeted me in a way that only a fool would, had he known who I was.

  “What the fuck do you want?” he asked. Booze permeated his breath, and his pupils were dilated. Drunk and high meant I had to be careful. These types of fuckers don’t scare easily. A look and a warning would not be enough.

  I didn’t answer his question, but pushed my way inside the apartment.

  “Who the hell do you think you are? You can’t just barge in her
e!” He reached for my arm, which was a big mistake. I do not like to be touched by dirty hands. By dirty anything. Who knew where those hands had been, and I didn’t want them touching me.

  I spun my body enough to avoid his filthy touch and reached behind me for my gun. Pulling it out and pointing it at his head didn’t make him instantly cower. I didn’t expect it to. He was too fucked up to process that he was about to be killed. I would have to make it very clear to his dumb ass. “Touch me and die,” I warned with a calm and steady voice, still pointing the gun at his forehead. A wise man would know that the calmer your opponent was, the more danger you were in. But this idiot was far from wise.

  I took the time it required for the white trash piece of shit to process my words and actions to glance around the room. A beaten and shaken older woman cowered against the wallpaper-torn wall a few feet away from me. By her wide-eyed stare and her frozen stance, I wasn’t sure if she was more afraid of the man beating her, or me. I didn’t really give a fuck either way. Blood dripped from a gash near her eye, and her lip was busted so bad that I knew she would need stitches for both wounds. The woman was definitely used and abused. She appeared weathered and worn—but it could very well be years of living a brutal life deceiving me. Cheeks sunken in, lusterless hair, skin full of pockmarks. She was hard on the surface, though her eyes told a story of a frightened and scared woman. The apartment was shitty—not that I expected anything else in a building like this. The couch looked worse than something you would see for free on the curb right before a Monday morning garbage day. The rest of the furniture wasn’t any better, and the room smelled like stale cigarettes and cat piss.

  Finally, the fear set in for the man. He raised his hands and took a few steps back. “I don’t want any problems, dude. I have no beef with you.”