by Callie Hart
A chartered flight was waiting for us at the airport thanks to generous friends, and Elliot’s arranged somewhere for us to crash for the night, although I doubt I’ll do any sleeping. There’s every chance those motherfuckers followed us, and we can never be too careful. It’s become the way we live. It’s fraught with tension.
It’s exhausting.
At least we’re not dead, I reason to myself. Almost on cue, a painful twinge sparks in my chest, a reminder that some things can never be truly forgotten. When Dornan Ross, my own fucking father, shot me in the chest, I was almost dead. I pulled through, and I’m fine now, but the doctors tell me they’ll never be able to pull all the tiny fragments of the shattered bullet from my chest, no matter how many times they try. So now I carry them with me, a lasting mark of his hate, the same way Juliette carries her own scars from him.
The pain’s not necessarily a bad thing for me, though. It’s a reminder. We won. We fucking won, and I got my girl back. My Juliette.
My chest hurts a little less at that thought.
We enter the apartment building we’ve been directed to and head up the stairs to the ninth floor, automatically bypassing the lift. Sure, we could get cornered in a stairwell just as easily as a lift, but the stairs feel safer. There’s a key shoved in a dying pot plant by the door, very subtle.
Once we’re in the apartment, I dump our bags in the middle of the floor and take my gun from my waistband, making sure the space is clear. It takes me all of five seconds. The place is a studio apartment, and for a moment I wonder where we’re going to sleep. Maybe the chick who lives here is staying somewhere else at Elliot‘s request. I make a mental note to call him and find out what the deal is, but first, I need to chill for a minute, regroup. It all happened so quickly last night, the harried phone call telling us to get out, the frantic packing of the few things truly valuable to us. We don’t have much, because we’ve never had much, but we have a couple bags full of cash, plenty of credit cards in false names, and most importantly, we have each other. After I’m satisfied nobody is lurking in the closet or the bathroom, the only two places a person could reasonably hide, I tuck my gun back into my jeans and automatically reach for Julz. She’s gained a few pounds, looks much healthier now. There was a time when I was terrified she was going to fade away into nothing, into skin and bone. But she’s back. My Juliette is back, more beautiful than ever.
“I’m gonna pass out if I don’t take some layers off,” she says, pulling back from me and gesturing to her long sleeves and jeans. I’m the same, so hot I feel like my skull could explode. It was freezing cold when we left Colorado in the dead of the night, but New York is the polar opposite, muggy and still. I take another step back and take my hoodie off, watching as Juliette shimmies out of her jeans. A moment later, she’s wearing nothing except a sheer pair of panties and a gauzy, ivory-colored bra that leaves very, very little to my imagination.
Just watching her undress makes my cock hard, my eyes taking in every inch of her body as I shift slightly on my feet. She grabs a shirt from her bag and shakes it out, going to put it over her head. At the last minute I catch her wrist, a devious smile spreading across my face. She looks at my hand around her wrist, and then up at my face. I can already see her nipples peaking to hard points through her gauzy white bra, and my mouth waters in anticipation.
“Jason,” she cautions, but her tone is playful. Daring, almost.
“Juliette,” I reply. My dick is as hard as a rock, and all I want to do is sink it into her soft, wet pussy.
I tug on her wrist, pulling her closer so her straining tits are pressed up against my chest. I lean down and dart my tongue out, feeling her squirm as I lick over the thin material covering her nipple. I straighten again, sucking at the sensitive flesh at her neck as she writhes against my grip.
“We’re in somebody’s house,” she protests weakly. I ignore her, running one of my hands down her hip and into her sheer panties, my fingers finding her hard nub. “She’s not coming back until tonight,” I murmur, swirling my finger against her clit as I take her mouth with mine and kiss her roughly. She moans against my lips, and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to throw her against the couch and fuck her into oblivion.
I push further into her panties, my fingers finding her already wet for me. Un-fucking-believable. My dick is begging for release, especially with the new knowledge that Juliette is dripping wet and ready for me. I’m about to slide my fingers into her wetness when she pulls her wrist away and reaches for the hem of my shirt, pulling it up and over my head. Sweat glistens on my chest as she peels the cotton away from my skin—this city is as hot as a fucking furnace—but instead of trying to avoid it, she slides her hand down the middle of my slick chest as I slow-thrust two fingers into her soaking pussy.
She throws her head back, groaning my name. Jesus Christ. I’ll never get sick of hearing that on her mouth, of worshipping her body. I’m always careful with her, after everything that’s happened, never let myself go unless she begs me for it first. I like to fuck her hard and fast and brutal, but she has to ask for it first. Those are our rules. It doesn’t work any other way. In the beginning, after we’d first arrived in Colorado, I couldn’t even touch her, knowing all the things that had happened. The horrible, unspeakable things my father had done to her, all the ways he’d broken and scarred her, body and soul. It took us a long time to know each other again, to be able to trust. It took me a long time to trust myself around her, knowing the kind of man my father was. His dark legacy haunts me, but now, I finally feel like we’re starting to move away from the past and create something new, something that belongs only to us.
“Couch,” she says, the need in her voice irresistible. “Sit. Now.”
I slide my fingers from her and undo my jeans, using my free hand to pull my gun from my waistband and toss it on the small coffee table next to the couch. I do as I’m told, taking a step back and sitting on the couch, my dick straining against my boxers. I take it in my palm and coat it with her wetness, pumping with my hand a few times. Even that motion makes me want to come right now, but I know that this is only going to get better. Hotter. Wetter.
“Close your eyes,” Juliette says. Oh, fuck. I make sure the gun’s in easy reach and the front door in my line of sight, and then I allow my eyes to close. For a few seconds there’s nothing, and I wonder what she’s doing.
And then her sweet fucking mouth is on my dick.
Fuuuuuuuck.
My balls protest, demanding I shoot my load onto her tongue right this second, but I’m more controlled than that. I open my eyes, moaning a small sigh of appreciation as I thread my hands into her long hair. She swirls her tongue over the swollen head of my cock before taking me all the way into her throat. Goddamn, I want to come. I want to fuck her sweet mouth until I explode inside it.
But I don’t want to come yet. I’m not ready for this to be over, no way. She seems to read my mind, taking her mouth away and sitting back on her heels. My initial disappointment at the sudden loss of her lips sucking at my dick is quickly replaced by excitement, as she crawls into my lap and straddles me. I couldn’t give a flying fuck that we’re doing this in somebody else’s apartment, on their couch. Nope. Sorry, gracious person who said we could hide out here for the night. I’m about to fuck this beautiful girl right in the middle of your apartment, and I’m going to make her scream.
Julz arranges herself in my lap, her underwear still on. The sight of her pussy, covered by her sheer panties, only drives me more wild. I’ve got a thing for fucking with clothes on. Somehow it feels better, knowing that she can be standing there in a dress and panties one minute, getting on with her day, and bent over a table with my dick in her ass the next.
I rest my hands at my sides, wanting nothing more than to grab her hips and slam her down onto my waiting cock, but I don’t. I enjoy the anticipation, the thrill of waiting for her to pleasure herself with me.
I’m fucking panting, waiting
for her to make a move, and she does, leaning forward and kissing me full on the mouth. At the same time, I feel her lace-covered pussy grind against my cock, and I buck my hips up in response.
“Are you ready?” she asks, teasing me as she nibbles at my lips. I sit further back, sinking into the couch as my cock juts up in my lap, pointing at what I want. At where I want to be.
Balls-deep inside her.
Yeah.
“Julz, baby,” I groan, taking a handful of her hair and clutching it in one fist. “I was born ready.”
She smiles knowingly, her fingers down at her panties, and I look down to see her pulling aside the scrap of material that’s stopping me from driving into her like a fucking freight train. She positions her hips forward slightly, and then she sinks.Down.On.My.Cock.
I have to fight not to come inside her as soon as her slick walls are squeezing me tight. For a moment, I can’t breathe, I can’t think. All I can do is let my eyes shut, and tense to stop my dick from coating the inside of her warm pussy with my load.
“Fuck me,” she whispers, her face scrunching up in pleasure. I don’t need to be told twice. I take hold of her hips, lifting her up so only the head of my cock is still inside her, before slamming her down into my lap. A few of those and she starts to tighten around me, throwing her head back as her eyes close. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!” she moans, her nails digging into my shoulders as her pussy walls contract tightly around my dick, pulsing, bringing me dangerously close to the edge. I resist the urge to come with her, because I know she’ll keep coming all morning if I play my cards right. And really, it’s not like we can sightsee, because we’re being fucking hunted, so I might as well have her whispering my name as she comes all afternoon, too.
Sated, she lets her head fall forward on my shoulder, her limbs like putty. She drapes herself over me, her tits crushed against my chest, hugging me tightly. I wrap my arms around her, hugging her back. I love this woman more than anything on this earth. I’d fucking die and go to hell for her, and I still have to pinch myself to believe she’s all mine.
She starts rocking her hips again, slowly, little whimpers coming from her. She gets super sensitive after she comes, and every tiny movement must be driving her crazy. “I want you to finish in my mouth,” she whispers, and just the sound of her words nearly drives me over the edge. Holy fuck, it’s like she can read my mind and knows exactly what to do to get me off.
“You better get your mouth down there then,” I manage to say, lifting her hips so she can get off my cock. “I’m this fucking close.”
I watch with an insatiable desire as she climbs back between my legs and takes my rock-hard dick into her mouth. She loosens her jaw, letting me slide deep down into her tight throat. I fist two hands in her hair, because I can’t fucking resist anymore, and my whole body tenses as my cock pumps come into her mouth. She doesn’t pull away until I’m finished, and only then does she take her mouth away and smile. And then she swallows. Sweet Jesus, what did I do to deserve her? She’s perfect. Fucking perfect. She only came once though, and that’s not good enough for me.
“You want to come again, baby?” I ask her. She grins, nodding. I take her wrists and pull her up so she’s straddling me again, only this time I slide down the couch between her legs, bracing my knees against the floor as my mouth lines up with her pussy. It’s plump and pink, like it’s just been fucked. And I’m not finished yet.
“Hold on to the back of the couch,” I instruct, and she does. I know she wants this. I can tell by the way she’s breathing heavily, by how soaking wet her pussy still is.
I grab the round globes of her ass and pull her into me, so my tongue can grind against her clit. She shudders, almost losing her balance. “Hold on tight,” I growl, darting my tongue against her again.
“Oh, fuck,” she cries, as I stick two fingers inside her wet heat again.
“That’s right,” I say, pumping my fingers. “Move your hips. Fuck my face, baby.”
She comes again, all over my tongue and my fingers, and it’s fucking beautiful. Afterwards, I slide back up through her legs, and she folds herself into my arms. We’re both exhausted. I glance at the radio clock on the wall. It’s not even midday yet.
“I’ve never been to New York,” she murmurs into my chest. I stroke her hair, that anxious, angry feeling in my chest returning as the post-sex euphoria slowly fades away. “Me either,” I reply, pressing my lips to the top of her head.
My phone rings, almost as if on cue. I search in my jeans pockets—I never even got to take them off—and locate my phone, dragging it out and looking at the screen.
Elliot. Fuck. I gotta answer this.
“Hey, man, what’s up?” I ask, clearing my throat.
“Did you find the place okay?” he asks. Juliette slides off my lap and starts picking up pieces of clothing, while I watch her ass with great interest.
“Yeah,” I say, more than a little distracted. “Hey, thanks for organizing it so quickly. What time did you say your cousin was due back?” How many hours do I have left to make Juliette come for me?
“Scarlett does a double shift today,” Elliot says. “She said she’d be back around six.”
I smile to myself. That’s almost a full day, trapped in this apartment together.
I can’t think of anything better. If we keep ourselves occupied, maybe, just maybe, I can drive my demons and hers away, at least until tomorrow.
NINE
SAL
“You told me to leave you here,” I say to Katya, tossing the spare length of rope on the floor.
“I thought you were going to get me Starbucks!” she screams, her face flush as the vibrator continues its magic. I make a mental note to check the brand of batteries powering that thing.
“Please, Sal,” Katya moans. “Please take it out. It won’t stop. I’ve been coming all morning and I can’t get it out.”
Now, normally that shit would get me harder than the steel my gun is made out of. But right now, I’m freaking the fuck out.
“Oh, now she’s coming,” Scarlett says, looking sulky as fuck tied to my chair. Hot as fuck, but sulky as fuck. I run my hand through my hair, my brother’s voice telling me to get a fucking haircut ringing in my ears as I hear my ringtone again.
Dun dun dundundundun dundundun …
About to lose my shit and shoot everyone in the room—and then myself—I rip the phone from my pants pocket and hit answer.
“What?!” I snap.
“Where the fuck have you been?!” Theo growls down the line, making me want to reach through the phone and punch him in the fucking face. Where have I been? Where has he been? He was meant to bag the bodyguard and then follow me to Kaitlin. The rational part of me knows he’s in his own world of trouble right now, but I have a bad habit of being defensive when he drills me. Which he does every goddamn day. Cut your hair, Sal. Turn this shitty music off, Sal. Change your ringtone, Sal. Shit. Maybe I should set the mopey bastard up with Scarlett. They could talk about their mutual hatred of my music choices while I bash their heads together.
Or maybe they can all just suck my dick, because I’m tired and hung over as fuck, and I’m pretty sure that smell is from Katya pissing in my bed.
“I’ve been busy,” I say calmly. The rage that burns inside my chest is punctuated by my brother’s heavy breathing, Scarlett’s insolent stare, Katya’s sexual pleadings and the moaning of two porn stars on the fifty-inch screen that hangs on my bedroom wall.
“Are you … screwing someone right now?” Theo asks, his voice rising with each word until he’s yelling. “Are you screwing Kaitlin right now?!”
I grind my teeth together as I raise my gun and shoot the fucking TV. It explodes in an impressive shower of sparks and glass. That’s gonna be a bitch for my cleaner to get out of the carpet.
“No,” I say. “I’m not.”
Katya starts moaning, tipping her head back as she widens her legs, her shaved pussy soaking w
et as it contracts around the buzzing vibrator I jammed in there several hours ago.
“I’m coming again!” Katya moans, her breathing loud and uneven as her eyes roll back in her dumb head. She looks like she’s having more fun than me right now, though. My head feels like it’s gonna fucking explode, just like the TV screen.
“Sal …” Theo growls.
“Hang on,” I say tightly, hitting the mute button and setting the phone down on my nightstand. I stalk into my bathroom, grabbing a hand towel from the neat pile my maid has arranged for me. Returning to the bedroom, I avoid Scarlett’s stare as I reach between Katya’s legs and pull out the vibrator. It makes a wet slurping noise as it comes out, and I grimace as I use another part of the towel to switch the thing off, tossing it in the trash basket in my bathroom.
Katya pants heavily, looking at me through far too much mascara and smudged eyeliner. Her red lipstick is smeared across her face, and I thank Christ that I had a good long shower this morning and scrubbed the bright red rings off my cock.
Colorstay lipstick is hot, but not when it won’t wash off your balls.
I clear my throat awkwardly as I start undoing the ropes that secure Katya to my massive bed. She’s been spread-eagled for at least two hours, maybe more. I mean, I left her here, went to the restaurant, got the car sorted with Theo, picked up those Irish bitches, totalled the car (thanks Theo), lost the girls, found Scarlett, and carjacked a cab driver.
And all the while, Katya was having orgasms tied to my bed. Poor thing, I think sarcastically. Wish I could switch my fucking morning with hers. Multiple orgasms doesn’t sound too shoddy right now, faced with the very real possibility that I might be dead by nightfall.
I think of last night, of coming down Katya’s throat and all over her face, my dick a little sad that it might not never fuck again. Since, you know, I’ll be buried in Bleecker Gardens in a couple hours at the rate things are going.
