by Mj Fields
He pushes my legs farther apart, and I want to kiss all the stars in the sky and the moon for lighting the darkness enough to see his eyes on mine as he licks me. Hungry, he looks so damn hungry.
I reach for him, but he grabs my hand, pinning it to my side, not stopping—hell, not even slowing—as he darts his tongue in and out of me and sucks on my lips.
Mouth still against my pussy, he tells me, “Don’t move your hand, or I’ll stop right here and let you finish alone.” He buries his face against me, the scruff of his beard lightly scratching my thigs, his hand now on my lower belly, his finger working my clit. With his eyes still locked on mine, he slides his finger farther down to tease my clit in slow, torturous circles.
I whimper his name, careful not to cry it, as he grabs my ass and pulls me down toward the edge of the bed as if I weigh nothing more than a bag of sugar.
Kneeling, he moves one of my legs, then the other, to rest on his shoulders. Groaning, his mouth is now acting more greedy as feasts between my legs.
My back arches of its own accord, as if possessed, as he slides his fingers, one, then two, in and out of me, fucking me.
Struck with the sensation of heat, and wet between my legs, he continues fingering me and licking my clit.
One minute, and I’m high on an incredibly new feeling, to me, with the man who starred in all my adolescent dreams. The next, I’m a million lightyears away as my hips buck against his face, chasing my orgasm.
Gripping the bedding, my thighs crush his head, and I completely lose myself under his touch and against his insanely perfect full lips.
As soon as I almost catch my breath, he stands. Then, not even bothering to wipe his face clean of my orgasm, he tips his head. “Good night.”
Speechless and spent, yet expecting more, I watch him leave.
Going To Hell
Ranger
Ten years old…
“Please don’t, please don’t, please don’t.”
Sissy! My brain comprehends what’s going on before my eyes even open.
I scurry off the worn, puke-stained carpet, where I sleep next to Momma’s bed to make sure she doesn’t get hurt anymore.
She can’t fight back; she is passed out; the used needle beside her bed, the weapon; the man laying over Sissy, the villain.
Hand shaking, I point the gun that Pops left in the hiding spot when they put him in cuffs the last time and he made me promise to look after them.
“Get out of Pops’ house!” I yell, walking into Sissy’s room.
“Scram, you little fuck.”
“Get off her, or I will blow your fucking brains out.” My voice is calm, a complete contradiction to my shaking hand.
Before I can comprehend what’s going on, he has the gun to my head and me facedown in the mattress.
“Don’t hurt him!” Sissy cries. “Please don’t hurt him.”
“Get the fuck out!” he sneers.
“Get Mom and run! Go to Frank!”
“But …” she sobs.
“Pops left me in charge. Go!”
As soon as the sound of her feet begins to retreat down the hall, his breath is on my neck.
“You owe me your whore of a mother’s debt. Mouth, ass, or all your lives.”
“What?”
My sweats get ripped down, one leg jacked out of them, and I begin to panic.
“Don’t play stupid with me, boy!”
I feel his knee sink between my legs, his hand slamming between my shoulder blades. I hear his zipper then feel the cold metal of the gun being pressed against my ass.
Understanding what’s going on strikes immediately as a part of the gold metal pushes farther.
Pain, pressure, anger, disgust, and fear overtake my body.
I beg like a bitch, not like a man, “P-p-p-please don’t!”
“You’ll take it all. Ass or mouth. Lady’s choice.”
“Mouth,” I beg like a bitch, tears falling down my cheeks.
Pressure subsides immediately, and I am flipped to my back, gun to my head, his knees painfully pinning my shoulders.
“Open your fucking mouth.”
Tears falling, bile rising in my throat, and being pushed back down by force, disgusted with myself, I close my eyes, choking on my own puke and him.
Anger pushes past all of it as he grabs my hair on both sides of my head, dropping the gun.
Without even having to think, I grab the gun, press it into his thigh, and pull the trigger.
He falls back, crying like the bitch he tried to make me, and I scramble to put my leg back in my pants as I freak the fuck out while he screams threats at me while bleeding all over the bed.
Rage tears through me, and I cram the gun in his mouth. “Mouth or ass?” I sneer. “Lady’s fucking choice.”
“Not worth it, Wyatt.” A familiar voice comes from behind me.
“He deserves to die for what he did!”
“Guessing he does, kid, but who’ll be here for Sissy when you’re behind bars?” Frank asks, completely calm.
“You will!” I yell, pushing the gun farther into his mouth.
“Thirty-year-old man has no business taking care of a thirteen-year-old girl on his own and your mom’s gotta go get cleaned up, so she won’t be around either.”
I hear his lighter flick.
“Then you’ll help me bury the body.”
“Kid,” he exhales, “you’re not killing him today. He does it again, sure, but just not today.”
“Why not?” I scream.
“ ’Cause it’s your birthday and your old man sent you a gift. It’s at my place.”
The sound of sirens blast from outside and are getting closer.
“Did you call the fucking cops? You’re a fucking rat, Frank. I’ll shoot you dead. I’ll fucking shoot you dead!”
“Gunshots bring the cops, kid. Cops bring guns. Our best bet is to get outside, hands up on that porch, so we don’t get shot, leaving no one.” He quickly grabs the gun.
“No!” I scream and dive toward him.
He puts his cigarette out on the floor while easily holding me back. “Did he hurt you?”
“I’m a man! Men don’t get hurt!”
“I’ll finish what I started, you little fuck. Mark my words, you’re a dead man!” The piece of shit screams.
Frank grabs my hand and pulls me toward the bed, puts it around his, and shoves it between his legs. “Pull the trigger.”
“But the cops.”
“You’re a man, Wyatt. Pull the fucking trigger, and you always will be.”
Walking outside, hands in the air, Pops’ gun dangling from Frank’s pinky, shitbag passed out and bleeding in the bed, the cops roll up.
“He’s in the back bedroom. Might want to call an ambulance before he bleeds out,” Frank tells the cops, whose guns are drawn.
“What the fuck, Frank?” one of them shouts.
“Gonna wanna bag this; get prints. Open and closed case. Make sure he ends up in Trenton.”
I look up at Frank. Pops is in Trenton.
As the cops take the gun and jack his arms back to cuff him, he winks. “You did good taking care of your sister. That’s what men do. You’re a good man, just like your pops.”
After the examination, I don’t go back to Pops’ house. Sissy and I stay with Frank. The gift? Pops’ cut. And Mom … Mom went to rehab.
A year later, Shitbag is found dead in Trenton.
Present
“Ranger.” I hear in my sleep.
When I feel hands on my back, instincts kick in and I flip my body, bringing whoever the hell it is on their back and pinned beneath me on the floor.
“Jesus, Ranger,” she gasps.
“Fuck.” I jump back and up. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“You were having a nightmare,” she says, pushing herself off the floor. “You were—”
I grab her wrist and pull her up. “You hurt?”
“No, but—”
�
�Next time, that’s not a guarantee. I told you before, don’t put your hands on me.” Unable to look at the shock when it inevitably turns to disgust, I turn and walk toward the fridge. “Did you think I was fucking joking?”
“Back it up, badass. You were having a nightmare. I was simply waking you up. No need to be a dick.”
“Yeah, well, next time, leave it the hell alone.” I grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it with water, hoping she walks away.
“I barely touched you,” she mumbles.
“Lesson learned then. Don’t do it again.”
Clearly, she doesn’t listen, because her hands are on my bicep, and she’s trying to turn me around to face her. Trying being the operative word.
“Seriously, look at me.”
“Go to bed, Brisa.”
“Not until—”
“Goddammit, go to bed.”
“Heads-up, this isn’t gonna work if two hours after your face is buried between my legs, you’re ordering me around.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Yeah, well, you leaving me in a puddle wasn’t exactly the experience I was looking for, so you’re off the hook.” She turns and walks away, mumbling, “Thank you. Next.”
Fists balled, I force myself not to argue with her. Let her walk away. Leave it alone. Fuck, I should find her suitable men, check them out, and deliver them to her with a fucking bow.
Sadly, I’m already addicted to her taste.
The next day, she acts like nothing happened. Thankfully, Matteo and Tris are not hidden away in the bedroom, and Brisa is happily catering to them.
“Oh my God, you’re not our bitch. Just chill,” Tris tells her more than once.
Brisa’s response the first time, “It’s your honeymoon. I didn’t get maid of honor duties for any wedding prep, so I’m making up for it.”
Mid afternoon, I’m sure Tris and Matteo head back upstairs and fuck their way into the better part of the night when Brisa suggests a boat tour. Within an hour, a boat is docking outside the house.
From inside the house, Brisa yells out to me, “Grab your worms, Ranger. We can do some fishing. Captain Eirik has some extra rods with him.”
I grab the bucket as I follow them down the dock; Tris and Matteo holding hands, Brisa with her camera bag around her neck and a picnic basket in her hand.
“Welcome aboard. I’m sorry that your requested captain, Eirik, wasn’t able to join you. I hope you find me a suitable replacement. I’m his brother, Espen. We co-own the boats.”
Requested captain? I think as I look over the blond-haired, blue-eyed guy about my height.
“Twins?” Tris asks.
“Um, no, he’s the elder. Bigger, hair like this one’s.” The fucker points to me.
Tris whispers to Brisa, “Requested, huh?”
Brisa elbows her.
“Maybe tomorrow you could request them both. Europe”—she lifts her finger and makes a check-like movement—“double-checked.”
“Maybe.” Brisa shrugs.
Tris giggles. “We can pretend it’s the bachelorette party. You could be the bride-to-be.”
They both start laughing, and Matteo looks back at them, mildly amused.
Fuck that, I’ll pound her into next damn week to remind her why she didn’t need a fucking party. She didn’t even need to attend them anymore.
Stay in your lane, motherfucker, I say to myself. I’d really like to tell Captain Espen to do the same.
Thankfully, this little trip so far has been an hour of Brisa posing Tris and Matteo to look as natural as they can while she takes the first of their honeymoon photos.
Sitting down now, a foot from where I’m casting my line, she’s got a towel over her head to block the sun’s glare as she looks through the photos.
“Is that Pride Rock?” Tris laughs.
“Pride Rock?” Brisa laughs. “The Lion King?”
Tris nods. “Yep.”
“Normally, tourists would—how do you say?” He scratches his head. “Compare?”
“Arendelle?” Brisa stands.
“Oh my God, like Frozen?” Tris laughs. “Of course like Frozen. Queen Elsa.” She curtsies.
“Nope, you’re Elsa. I’m Anna.”
“You’re older.”
“But you’re magical.”
Tris looks at her with a bit of sweetness.
“Hey, Elsa”—Brisa grins—“do you wanna build a snowman?”
“There isn’t any snow.” She shakes her head.
“Not far from here, there is much snow,” Espen tells them as he slows down, nearing the fjord.
“Do you give private tours?” Tris asks. “Asking for a friend.” She nods at Brisa.
He smiles at Brisa. “Part of our tour company does, yes. Many beautiful places to share with our friends all around the world.”
“You’ll have to exchange numbers so she can set up a private tour when she swings back by here for the light show.”
“The Northern Lights?” he asks, and Brisa nods. “I’d take you to the most sacred of places; show you the beauty in the sky.”
And I will toss you off the boat with a fucking anchor around your leg; show you the beauty of … that shit’s not happening on my watch.
“You airdrop?” Brisa holds up her phone.
Oh, fuck no, I think.
“Only for those as beautiful as you.”
“Do you do hiking tours of Arendelle?” Tris asks.
What the fuck is this? Tinder?
“Could be arranged,” he says, tapping on his phone.
“Tomorrow morning, eight a.m.?” Tris pushes.
“I’m sure I can manage that. No tour booked till four with the boat.”
“Perfect. Brisa will take care of the—how do you say?—hook up?” Tris asks.
“Okay.” Brisa shoves her. “Go stand at the front. Let me get some pics of you two love birds.”
Three hours ends, or at least I think it does. However, Tris invites Captain Fucking Obvious to stay for dinner. The worst part? I’ll be grilling fish for the fucker. Worse than that? She’s all about it.
I wait until Tris and Matteo are inside to ask Brisa, “You think this is a good idea?”
“Yeah, getting to know the locals and embracing myself in the culture is what this is all about.”
“Good for you. For me, it’s all about making sure your sister and her husband have privacy, and safety is taken into consideration.”
“Yeah, well, she invited him.” She pulls five plates out of the cupboard.
“For you and your goddamned mission.”
“Not your business,” she whispers.
“My mouth was on your pussy last night. You came on my face. I signed up for this adventure knowing goddamn well, if blood was shed when all was said and done, it was mine.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” she whisper-hisses.
“Your father will have my balls for it. You know damn well that—”
“You worried about my father and your balls?”
“You know I am.”
“Good, well”—she puts her hand out—“it was a pleasant experience. The side of the road, the worm hunting, and your face between my thighs. The tongue lashing in the nonsexual act, however, was not.”
“I told you I have”—I pause—“issues.”
“You did, but you gave no parameters. And you certainly didn’t tell me to expect an amazing orgasm then to be treated like shit for an entire day following it.”
“You damn well knew that—”
“Shake my hand, Ranger, and walk away. No hard feelings.”
“I’m not shaking your damn hand.”
“Fine, whatever.” She turns and grabs the salad. “I’m sorry I’m not a mind reader.”
Not ready for this to be done, I ask a question just to keep her in the damn room. “Thought you could read emotions?”
“I can’t read them; I can feel them. And right now, I’m choosing to walk away f
rom what I’m feeling from you.”
“And what’s that?”
She looks over her shoulder. “Regret. And I’m not going to allow myself to feel that way.”
Dinner and an O
Brisa
This is clearly not working. It’s not just regret I see, it’s something else blanketed beneath the pools of blue, and that something looks to be completely untouchable.
During our roadside encounter, I’d thought he’d be more up front. With our brief conversation involving Marcello’s nasty comments to Ranger, I thought he might explain and give further explanation of his boundaries.
Last night when I hear him crying out in his sleep, it didn’t register that it could have been a nightmare involving his abuse. Abuse in which I don’t know the extent of therefore can’t understand.
He warned me off, but the chemistry, the connection I feel to him is undeniable and I know he feels it, too. I pushed him into this, and for him not to hurt, I needed an exit plan. Which I executed and am confused as to why he’s so damn angry.
Regardless, I’d rather him hate me again, than to regret me.
Tris peeks her head in my door. “Wear the green dress. Matteo is going to take some pictures of you and me.”
“It’s gonna get chilly out like last night.”
“Then try not to jump in the water,” she says, closing the door.
Last night.
Carrying a charcuterie board in one hand and the salad in the other, Ranger is closing the grill when I walk out and put the food on the wooden table.
“Looks delectable,” Captain, now super obvious and not in an attractive way, states.
“Everything is from the local market. We picked it up yesterday.”
“We?” he asks, motioning from me to Ranger.
I nod as I grab the wine bottle opener.
“So, the two inside, a couple, and he is, how do I say? The help?”
“Sure am,” Ranger pipes up, lifting his beer in the air before taking a swig.
I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s exactly what—”
“You two do not match. Lucky for me, yes?”
