Playing Dirty

by C. L. Parker

  I was horny and hard. So hard I thought the skin barely containing my rigidity might split to give the fucker some relief. The real issue was how the hell I could possibly still be that horny and that hard after the night I’d spent with Yvonne. Or was it Yvette? Either way, it was apparent that my cock had found her just as forgettable as my brain had her name. Not that it mattered. She had been a means to an end, though not as favorable an end as I’d hoped to find when I’d left Monkey Business in the wake of yet another round with the she-devil.

  You’d think I’d be used to the assumptions Cassidy made about me. I shouldn’t care. I mean I really shouldn’t, but there was something parasitic about that woman that managed to wedge itself beneath my fingernails to get under my skin and slither its way up my arm to my brain and then to my friggin’ eyeballs to make me see red. I was sure it was the same parasite that made my eye twitch every now and then when she was in the same room. So it was a puzzle that her smart mouth was all I’d thought about since my little buddy had roused me from slumber to bid me a good morning.

  Ha, little buddy. I supposed my cock’s personality was a lot like Gilligan’s in that eager-to-please sort of way. But its size was all Skipper, just as robust and every bit as stout. Everybody knew that both of them had a thing for Ginger. So maybe the fact that Cassidy was a ginger had put some sort of TV Land–infused Freudian twist on my subconscious mind.

  Or maybe the parasite had taken a different route this time.

  With a squinted eye, I lifted the tented sheet, half-expecting to see something grotesque attempting an Alien-like escape from the head of my cock. I breathed a sigh of relief when I found nothing out of the ordinary. Well, besides the extraordinarily rigid fatty that was screaming for attention.

  Fine. Skippigan would win this round. I wasn’t about to risk getting coconut juice on my clean sheets, though, so I got my naked ass out of the bed to hit the shower to do his bidding. Not that I was pleased by the fact that Cassidy and her librarian glasses were calling the shots.

  That wasn’t the only way my mind had decided to fuck with me, it seemed. When I crossed my bedroom and opened the door to the bathroom, I was instantly struck with the memory of my first day at SSE, upon the return from my internship at the company’s U.K. branch. I remembered walking through the door to the conference room with the staff meeting already in full swing before I was introduced as the newest member of the team. I’d been confident, but new adventures always played a little mischievous ditty on my nerves. Nevertheless, when the door opened and Monty Prather beamed from the other side, I pushed my shoulders back and strode in like I held the world in the palm of my hand.

  Though it pained me to admit it now, I’d thought Cassidy Whalen’s beauty was one of the most understated I’d ever seen. Hers was natural, the kind other women caked on the makeup in order to achieve, and I’d very much looked forward to working closely with her. But then she had to go and open her mouth.

  Once all the attention had shifted from the shiny new bauble to the up-and-coming college recruits Striker was watching for possible procurement, Cassidy had only slightly angled her chair in my direction. From over the rim of her glasses, she’d looked me up and down and whispered, “Welcome aboard. I’m sure you’ll do very well with the female clients.” It had all been very matter-of-fact, and then she’d turned back around like that had been a normal type of greeting.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Shock from her insinuation had caused my voice to be louder than intended, so I’d had to wait until the rubberneckers returned their focus to the front of the room before repeating the question in a whisper: “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Don’t be offended. We all have our part to play.”

  “Is that so? And what’s your part?”

  She’d set her pert nose a little higher in the air. “I bring in the moneymakers.”

  I’d almost laughed out loud, but I hadn’t wanted to draw further attention to myself for being disruptive during a staff meeting on the first day. “And you don’t think I can?”

  She’d shrugged. “If they’re wearing a skirt, sure.”

  Now I yanked my shower door open, a little pissed at myself. Not only because I’d let her get to me then, but also because it’d been nearly a year ago and I still hadn’t gotten over it.

  “God, her mouth!” I said out loud as I stepped into the shower.

  Rotating the faucet handle with a little more force than was necessary, I shoved up with my palm, not that it made me feel any better. A rush of hot water shot out of the showerhead and pelted my face and chest until I was forced to turn around. My apartment had great water pressure. Maybe even too great. Not so strong that I could use it in lieu of renting a power washer, but it certainly rivaled the intensity of Cassidy’s smart mouth. As well as my hard-on’s insistence.

  “Still slumming it, Matthews? All your posh friends have plans for the night?”

  I grabbed the bottle of shampoo and squeezed it too hard, making a mess. “Fuck her!” I said, slamming it back down on the shelf, which then took a tumble to the floor of the tub. With a frustrated growl, I slapped the shampoo into my hair and lathered it up.

  “Since the day you got here, you’ve acted like everything should be handed to you.”

  That wasn’t true. I’d worked damn hard. Harder than I had anywhere else. And all because she’d thrown the stupid gauntlet on the floor that first day with the insinuation that I could only bring in clients if they were female. Talk about reverse chauvinism. I’d more than proven myself, but that hadn’t shut her up, had it? Nope. She slammed me every single chance she got.

  “… rip it out of your precious, perfectly manicured clutches.”

  I scoffed to myself when I popped the top of the body wash. I didn’t give a rat’s ass about that kind of stuff—I was no girly man. Squirting a generous amount of soap into my hand, I rubbed my palms together and went to work on scrubbing my face, then my chest, pits, and arms.

  “… your sense of entitlement.”

  “Entitlement, my ass.” She was way off the mark on that one.

  My abs were next, and then lower, to that stupid hard-on.

  “Ever worry you’ll get lockjaw from sucking his cock?”

  If she would just … shut … up. I gripped my erection and squeezed, not hating the temporary relief I felt. I’d show her lockjaw. That was probably the only way to keep her from talking. She needed a nice, thick cock in her mouth.

  I closed my eyes and imagined fisting her hair and forcing her to crane her neck. The fat head of my cock was at her lips, pressing forward and demanding that she open up and let it in. The second she started to say something else, I capitalized and shoved my cock into her mouth to keep her from spouting off any further. It worked. I couldn’t hear her anymore, but I could damn sure feel and see her. She was on her knees, where she belonged, her mouth barely able to stretch around my cock. Her nails scraped at my abdomen, but not to push me away. She was drawing me closer, wanting more even as she looked up at me with eyes the color of grass trapped beneath a canopy of shade on a forest floor. Cassidy was pissed, yet craving the taste of my cock and loving that she was at my mercy. I had none to give.

  “Oh, that’s so much better,” I said, reveling in the quietness.

  I began a series of short quick thrusts into my hand, keeping my eyes closed and the vision of fucking Cassidy Whalen’s mouth forefront in my mind. The water pummeled my back, and I braced a foot on the edge of the bathtub to open myself up further to all the ways I could make my affliction put her trap to better use.

  I pulled my cock out of Cassidy’s mouth but only allowed her a quick breath before making her dip her head lower. With my free hand, I cupped my balls, stroking them the same way I imagined Cassidy doing with her tongue and lips. Next I angled her head, dropping one side into her mouth for her to gently suck, then the other.

  “Nice and easy …” I said, feeling some of the tension leave my sho
ulders. “Christ, that feels good.”

  Her hands were on the insides of my thighs and she was going to town, sucking and licking and trying to put them both in at the same time. She was enjoying it too much, so I used my imaginary grip on her hair to pull her back and then pushed my cock into her mouth again. The scraping of her teeth must have been her idea of punishment, but I liked it.

  I shouldn’t have.

  “Fuck!” I opened my eyes to see the strained muscles and tendons of my forearm and the bulging veins that carried the flow of blood, ushered by my erratic heartbeat. The death grip I had on my erection wasn’t normal. Neither was the angry red tip that appeared and then disappeared again with each punishing stroke of my cock.

  I didn’t want to think about her. I just wanted her to shut up, for Christ’s sake.

  When I closed my eyes again, she was still there, and I had no choice but to finish the deed. Cassidy’s luscious red lips moved back and forth over my cock, the thin skin over the rigid muscle tinged from the abuse of her scraping teeth. I bit down on my lip and threw my head back as I pumped even faster in and out of her mouth. I couldn’t hear her anymore. In fact, I couldn’t hear anything over the thunderous spray of water that was pounding at the top of my head.

  My balls drew up as that familiar feeling gathered in the pit of my abdomen, a rush of blood cells pushing and shoving their way to a central location. My head dropped forward and my mouth fell open with a groaning grunt when the momentum that had been building came to a climax and rocketed toward the nearest exit.

  I came. Damn hard. And I kept coming, each release easing the tension in my body just a little bit more, until I was completely spent. A couple more calming strokes to my cock was all I needed to make up for the torture I’d put us both through.

  And then I let my head hang. I could’ve fixed the morning-wood incident with a cold shower. I didn’t have to stoop as low as I had. I didn’t have to let her win. Again.

  What really pissed me off, though, was that I felt more satisfied after giving myself a hand job to thoughts of Cassidy Whalen then I had while fucking Yvonne three times mere hours before. Something was very wrong with this picture.

  As my shower grew cold, droplets of water fell from the tips of my hair, and I watched as they joined the larger streams flowing down my arm. Rivulets forked into opposing directions, like uncovered veins showing the secret to the manna that flowed within, only to merge again before continuing the journey. Funny how something as harsh as pressure created by man ultimately yielded to the delicate design of nature.

  I had no idea why I’d made that observation, but it somehow seemed important.

  Cassidy

  Something was horribly wrong with me. Yesterday, I’d been relatively normal, or so I’d thought, but today? Today, I was a masochistic pervert.

  This was all Shaw’s fault. Somehow, that sneaky bastard had found a way to drug me with some dream rape potion. Or he’d paid a voodoo priestess to put a hex on me that involved chicken bones, the hair of a bitch in heat, and spit from a cuckoo bird. Or maybe it was a mad scientist who’d broken into my apartment and Frankenstein-fried my brain while I slept. However it had been managed, I couldn’t stop thinking about Shaw in highly inappropriate ways.

  Showering this morning had been a terror. An enjoyable terror, but a terror nonetheless. What started out as my normal bathing routine ended with an unexpected orgasm. And an unsuccessful attempt to pump shampoo into my ear to scour the nasty from my brain. And it hadn’t stopped there.

  While I was waiting in line at the coffee shop where I stopped every morning on my way to work, I checked the apologetic texts from my incredibly rude friends. Those three were going to pay for this later. Through careful deduction, I’d come to the conclusion that their suggestion from the night before that I seduce Shaw was the seed that had called forth the incubus demon in the first place.

  That was when I heard the nightmare weaver’s voice. Naturally, my head snapped up, and sure enough, there he was. Shaw Matthews.

  What was his freaking deal? First it was my job, then my pub, my friends, and now my coffee shop? I was beginning to think maybe I should consider paying a visit to the local boys in blue, to press criminal stalker charges. I mean, dang! Were my sloppy leftovers really that hot a commodity?

  The way too young for him barista handed Shaw a cup with his name scrawled down the side, along with what I knew to be her name, Tiff (the i dotted with a heart), and a phone number. “Try it,” she said, with a flirtatious smile and a forward lean to show off her cleavage.

  Shaw took a careful sip, then licked the foam from his lips. “Mmm, you were right. It does taste as delicious as it looks.”

  Holy déjà vu, Batman! He’d said the same thing in my dream, right after he’d gone down on me. With my mission for coffee effectively aborted, I made a mad dash for the door, but not before accidentally bumping into a breast-feeding mother at the table behind me, inadvertently jarring the baby from her tit and interrupting his breakfast, which of course caused him to cry. I threw out the sincerest apology I could muster in my rush—without questioning why a breast-feeding mother was loading up on caffeine—and then got the hell out of there before Shaw could spot me.

  There was no rhyme or reason to my actions. In hindsight, I was aware that he had no way of knowing what I’d dreamed, but I was convinced he’d see it all over my face. As if a feisty little devil was going to appear on my shoulder and say, “Boyfrieeeeend, you should’ve seen the dream this woman had about you last night. Whew!”

  I saw no sense in risking it, so I opted for a coffeehouse that was a little out of the way but was guaranteed to be a Shaw-free zone. At least for that morning.

  My detour caused me to run behind, which frustrated me. Punctuality was a compulsion with me. I was always early for everything, because in my book, if I was on time, I was late. Any deviation from my regular schedule made the whole day seem off, and I couldn’t afford “off” with the all-too-important meeting I had after lunch. So when it was time for my midday break, I decided that a walk might help clear my head. Only, the muckery in my noggin became even more befuddled.

  I must have passed five limousines during my walk. A limousine in the heart of downtown San Diego wasn’t an uncommon thing. But five limousines in the span of fifteen minutes? Not likely. What didn’t seem so unlikely, but carried an air of WTF-ery nonetheless, was the couple I passed, both of them sporting matching hickeys. I heard his voice then, Shaw’s:

  If you’re going to give a hickey, put it where it won’t be seen.

  Shivers trickled down my spine, which was a textbook reaction to the effect his voice had always had on me, only this shiver wasn’t from disgust. This one was infused with something lusty, and that something lusty was causing my breasts to swell and my nipples to render useless the very expensive bra in which they were housed.

  When I was a young girl, Casey had bestowed upon me a handmade membership card inducting me into the Itty Bitty Tittie Committee. Once puberty had hit, I’d set it on fire. I wasn’t Debbie Does Dallas–endowed, but my breasts certainly fell under the “more than a handful” category. At the moment, I felt overexposed, and that was never a comfortable feeling. Even more uncomfortable was the sensation that surged through me when my walk was over and I rounded the corner to the busy sidewalk that lined the front of Striker Sports Entertainment.

  Crap!

  Shaw was leaning against the black stretch limousine that would take us to our destination, with his legs crossed at the ankles and a cellphone at his ear. His navy blue suit was perfectly fitted to his frame, as of course it would be. Shaw must have had the best tailor in San Diego on standby to make sure he always looked good. He hadn’t even noticed my approach. Whomever he was speaking with must have said something that tickled his funny bone, because his head fell back with a hearty laugh that revealed his pearly whites and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He looked more human than I’d ever given him credi
t for. For some reason, I pulled up the camera on my cellphone and captured the moment.

  Oh, my God! What was wrong with me? I was definitely going to have to delete that picture before my phone self-destructed, but now was not the time. Quickly setting the phone back to my home screen, I dropped it into my messenger bag before I could do something stupid like ask him to undo a couple of buttons on his shirt and give me the bedroom eyes.

  “Hello? Did you even hear what I said?”

  It wasn’t until then that I realized I’d stopped in front of him and had been staring directly into those bedroom eyes. And he smelled good. Like cologne mixed with Zest fully clean, and … and sex. The same aroma from my dream, in fact.

  I should have known then that this was only the beginning of what would become the big game changer, where it all would go wrong, the end of life as I knew it. But I was too busy trying to tamp down the sound of my groan when the object of what was apparently my kamikaze brain’s newest obsession licked the inside of his bottom lip and tilted his head to regard me with a curious glint in his eyes. Striking eyes the color of a twilight sky on the edge of a summer storm caged by an obsidian ring that hinted at both the ominous and the divine.

  Whoa! Something pulsed inside me, a single shock wave rushing toward and then deliberately slowing down to tease the naughtiest part of me before continuing down my thighs and then disappearing like a not so distant memory. When one corner of his mouth lifted in a devious grin, I thought for sure he’d done something on purpose. Maybe he did indeed possess some sort of sinister power that caused women’s panties to drop on the spot. That, or he’d been reading my mind and knew exactly what I’d been thinking.

  “Having issues?” Shaw nodded slightly toward my crotch. Holy cheese sauce, he did know what I was thinking!

  Only when I looked down, expecting to see that my panties were in fact on the ground, I found that my subconscious mind had decided to work after all and had forced my hands to grab the top of said panties through my skirt to keep them from obeying his unspoken command. I looked like an idiot. And Shaw Matthews was eating it up. I couldn’t very well let that continue, now, could I?