by CK Dawn
As they passed the bar, Dragon looked for her father’s killer, easily finding the nearly indistinguishable lump perched on the stool farthest away from the door. Leyton’s glowing eyes met hers briefly, as they always did, then became absorbed in the rum-filled tumbler framed between his hands.
A grizzle-faced waiter pointed to a plain metal pedestal table before tossing a couple of plastic menus onto it. With a careless smile Ryan walked to the table and held a cheap folding chair for Dragon.
“I’ll take a white rum,” Ryan said when Dragon sat. “And she’ll have carrot juice.”
Dragon winced inwardly but did not contradict him, though she was not in the mood for the drink, even if it was sweetened with condensed milk and nutmeg. “Hard,” she instructed, meeting the waiter’s questioning gaze.
The waiter nodded slightly and made the note to add rum to her order on a bit of scratch paper.
“I’ll show you hard,” Ryan said when the waiter shuffled away. He reached between his splayed legs and shifted himself, giving Dragon a lustful look.
“Can’t wait,” she hummed, the seductive tone sounding forced even to her ears.
The waiter plunked their drinks in front of them and left without bothering to take their dinner order.
Dragon took two healthy swallows of her spiked drink, trying to convince herself that the tail sinuously flicking in and out of the shadows to her right was actually an electrical cord of some kind.
“By the way,” she said, using her paper napkin to clean her plasticware. “My family is really excited about meeting you.”
Ryan’s mouth flattened. “Okay.” He shifted in his chair and massaged his balls. “Babe, you want to help me out here?”
“What?”
“You look really good.” He took a long swallow of his overproof rum. His eyes squinted against the drink’s burn. “Damn girl, you’re killing me over here.”
“I am?” Dragon smiled, flattered.
“You know you are.”
She shrugged, her smile turning Mona Lisa. “No, I don’t.”
He chuckled then groaned and adjusted himself again. “Don’t you feel sorry for me?”
She pursed her lips and looked at him through her lashes. “Poor baby.”
“Been painting,” he said. “Stopped by that gallery with my older stuff like you said.”
“Really?” She grinned and waved away the fruit flies that hovered over her drink. A baby Jack fly, still in the ranging shades of blush that indicated it had only just torn out of its cocoon, landed on the lip of her cup and sucked down the fruit flies like an anteater, then, apparently replete, lost its balance and tumbled into her drink.
Dragon fished the beast out with her straw and watched unsurprised as it slid back in. Fully mature, it would grow to about three inches, its humanlike body covered in tiny iridescent scales that would do little to shield its nakedness. The baby already possessed the green swallowtail wings typical of all Jacks, the long, tear-drop ends of which curled a full two inches beyond the creature’s length. A pair of round, black eyes and a mouth full of teeth that resembled tiny thorns was all Dragon saw before the creature sank into her drink like it was buried treasure.
Eyes focused—as was typical—on the hint of nipple that embossed Dragon’s blouse, Ryan muttered, “They said they’d get back to me.”
Bullshit.
Dragon knew he probably didn’t even know where to look for the couple of drawings he’d completed for a high-school class assignment.
But she, Ryan had stupidly boasted to a stylist at Dragon’s job, liked to save.
“Ryan is dumb as an onion with only one layer,” Sage had told her later, “but even he realizes that you ain’t never gonna throw down your hair and beg him to rescue you. You won’t expect him to save the day or even to take out the trash or open the goddamn pickle jar.
“Dumb as that muthafucker is, and bitch, you sure can pick ’em, he knows that you will take care of him, love him and sex him up, down and sideways, and all he has to do is lie about those sad, sad little doodles he did when he used to be cute.”
Humiliating, but even after hearing Sage’s melodramatic recitation of Ryan’s plans for her, Dragon had countenanced his dull rap, thoughts of the bliss she’d get from finally fixing such an asshole and making him into her true love dominating her waking moments. He was her prince, after all, and she was the beauty in desperate need of waking.
“The bathroom,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. “Want to?” He got up before she could answer, buttoning his cotton jacket over his erection. “See what you do to me?”
“I do.” Dragon looked around to make sure his lust hadn’t been noticed. “You go first.”
Ryan nodded. “Two minutes?”
“One.” Come on, girl. You’re so close. Think good thoughts.
He grinned and walked swiftly to the door of the men’s bathroom.
Dragon stared at the receding hem of his dark slacks and the white athletic socks that each eager step revealed. Sighing, she called up each of her intimate encounters with Ryan, bringing the top three to the forefront. Of those, she’d only come once: a minor eruption, its place easily usurped by her fingers and a well-replayed fantasy that had her complexly bound and at the mercy of two werewolves heated by a winter solstice rut.
The other two were notable only because he’d curled around her afterwards for the whole night, waking only when she restlessly turned then settling back around her as if only her presence could give him comfort.
She resigned herself to delivering another pity fuck, but it was the thought that he might cherish her in the end that slowly brought her to her feet. She sketched a polite smile at their frowning waiter and made her way to the men’s room.
Leyton confronted her at the entrance. “Your father,” he started then stopped as he started to choke. He held her arm while he coughed like a pack-a-day smoker until the jag ended in a few short, inhuman growls. His deep brown eyes leached color until all Dragon could see was colorless, monstrous intent.
Dragon noted the change with some satisfaction. It was clear that Leyton had contracted Sedit’s lethal legacy. A coyote in his animal aspect, Sedit bounced back and forth between RUFO and CRA, creating landfills of tricks, mischief and mayhem. A year had passed and five thousand troops dead before both sides sussed out the demon’s true nature. For those who hadn’t died after encountering Sedit, there was a sexually transmitted disease—his infectious legacy to contend with.
Leyton’s amber eyes were indicative of the next-to-last stages of his sickness. In the end he’d become a rabid beast—part man, part canus—and enemy number one to Halo City PD. Soon he would be unable to stop himself from tearing into any unsuspecting flesh his inhuman eyes lit upon.
Leyton got ahold of himself and continued. “Your ways would make your father turn over,” he forced out before a few guttural barks overtook him.
Hating him more because he was right and wondering for the millionth time if he was truly sorry for taking her father away from her, Dragon flexed her hand, still in his grasp, then reached with the other to cup the back of his head and bring it closer to the feral smile that dominated her face. “Fuck you, murderer. Hear me?”
“I hear you,” he bit out, tearing away from her and staggering back to his stool.
Helpless anger consumed Dragon. She ground her teeth and clenched her fists until her nails scored her palms.
Missing her father made her feel powerless, like the moon of some unknown planet forced to bend to its will simply because it was bigger and had a more compelling gravitational pull.
His face was hazy after so many years: a pair of laughing brown eyes and a wide smile that revealed a canine capped in gold was all she had to her name. And his love. It was carelessly given, but she’d treasured it just the same.
Leyton’s comment brought the inadequacies of her memories to the forefront.
Suddenly it wasn’t enough that she’d only had eight
years with her father, full time for the first three years of her life and a “joint-custody agreement” (Katie was happy to drop off Dragon—smelling of vanilla wafers and clutching her one-armed doll—at Willie’s rented room in Jungle City whenever her latest abusive boyfriend required it) for the next five.
It wasn’t enough that he faithfully worked two jobs to send her to Canterbury Country Day School, a who-you-know private school twenty miles one way from their apartment.
It wasn’t enough that Willie had used pillows and sheets to transform one corner of his bedroom into a wonderland. Add Rupert the stuffed rabbit and Willie’s stories of the good old days running Kingston’s streets with Leslie and Vernon, and Dragon had understood even then that as a product of a two-week affair, she was better off in Willie’s care no matter what the judge had decreed.
Then one night after hours of dominos, money lost and too much white rum, Leyton slit her father’s throat with a machete. Jamaicans. Their preference of drink, game and weapon were legendary.
Though that was twenty years ago, all of a sudden the few precious memories she had weren’t enough.
She closed her eyes to Leyton’s frustrated scowl and the table of Junior’s patrons who watched her, very nearly giving into the urge to rush home and curl under the covers for the next fifty years.
“Dragon!” Ryan hissed, hidden by the men’s-room door. He beckoned for her, scowling when her steps grew hesitant.
But Dragon wasn’t hesitant so much as she was overwhelmed by her sudden need to see her daddy. When her distraction put her in range, Ryan caught hold of her upper arm and hauled her into the bathroom, cursing when her heel slid through the grated drain in the floor and held her fast.
“Dragon!” he all but bellowed, frustration rouging his cheeks and mustaching his upper lip with perspiration.
“I’m sorry! Wait, just let me—” She clutched his shoulders for balance as she wiggled her trapped foot until the heel burst free and she tumbled into Ryan’s chest.
He used her momentum to twirl them closer to the gray-tiled wall.
Dragon slammed into it with a grunt, scrambling for focus when Ryan reached for the hem of her skirt.
“Baby,” she laughed breathlessly, “let me catch my breath.” She tried to slow his hands pushing her skirt over her hips, then leaving that chore to pull at the buttons of her blouse.
“No,” he grabbed her fingers and squeezed them behind her back. “Keep them here.” He grinned reminding Dragon of a hyena. “I know you like it when I dominate you.”
She’d allowed him to believe that notion because she’d been having trouble eradicating the worst of his pimp tendencies. She’d hoped that by shifting his thought processes away from anger and violence towards something more thoughtful and cooperative like BSDM, his urge to hit would be tempered at least.
I can see the light at the end of this tunnel, she thought, though she wanted to say “fuck you and fuck all this shit” and walk the hell out of there. It would be a loss, but at least she’d have her pride, her dignity. Then she remembered that those things had no place here, not with so much bliss at stake. “I do, baby. Slow down a little, okay?”
Ignoring her, Ryan reached for her vagina, pushing her thighs apart to plunge a couple of fingers into his goal.
At Dragon’s gasp he said, “Like that?”
Hearing only pleasure in her painful moan, his fingers left her crotch to fumble at his slacks. When they returned they held the head of his dick, which he clumsily tried to thread into her opening, pushing her panties aside when he finally understood what hindered him, then pushing himself into her. He paused briefly when he hadn’t made any appreciable progress, and tried to sling her leg over his elbow.
Hating the inelegance of that position, and just wanting to get this night over with, Dragon wrapped her leg around his waist instead, placing his hand on her ass and smiling reassuringly.
I wonder if this will hurt, she thought, wishing she’d had the presence of mind to bring a bottle of lube just in case. Ryan’s small size had been a surprise for Dragon at first, but as her willingness to touch him diminished, his tendency to bone, cum and run in under fifteen minutes became more appealing. She had major plans to deal with his lovemaking skills after she’d ensured his commitment, but for now she said a prayer of thanks and did some breathing exercises to help maintain a peaceful energy.
She barely felt her flesh surround the tip of his penis, made a mental note that lube would never be needed and waited patiently as he furrowed deeper in a series of awkward shoves, each one punctuated by a triumphant grunt.
She moaned dramatically, hoping that Ryan would interpret the sound as her culmination, and feel free to hurry up and finish.
“Almost there, baby,” he said and gusted a relieved chuckle when there wasn’t a bit of his cock that saw daylight. Then he swiped his tongue in her mouth and around her lips, leaving a glistening trail.
He palmed one side of her face and pushed her head against the dirty tile, denying Dragon the scant relief of resting her head on his shoulder.
Asshole.
Then he began to thrust. After each foray, he groaned like a porn star, praising Dragon’s cunt for its tightness, its hotness, its fucking sweetness.
Justgetthroughit, justgetthroughit, justgetthroughit.
She stared unseeingly at the three filthy urinals next to her, at the light fixture that was little more than a repository for insect carcasses and forced her clenched fingers to relax.
She groaned again and winced at how fake it sounded as she searched the wall behind her for something to help her gain some leverage.
The tile under her right hand softened and a tongue rasped lasciviously against her palm three times before it shouted out its bespelled message: “Hit Verna’s for the time of your fucking life!” it chorused like a car ad during a morning radio show.
Dragon’s calf began to burn—prolonged standing on one leg in three-inch heels was no easy business—and she lowered the leg around his waist, breaking Ryan’s jackhammer rhythm and dislodging his penis.
Unwilling to wait for Dragon to gain her footing, Ryan attempted to ram back inside her. Unsurprised by his thoughtlessness, but suddenly out of patience for it, Dragon squeezed her legs together.
He reached between them to plug his cock back inside her and, refusing to give him the satisfaction, Dragon wrapped her fingers around his hand and exerted as much opposing force as she was able.
Apparently too far gone to care that it was his own fist he fucked, he pushed her head back against the wall and began thrusting again, his moans even louder and filled with more enjoyment than they were before.
Finally, the frenzied rhythm of his driving hips broke and he ground hard against her before warm fluid spat on her hand—still caught between them—and thighs.
When the hand imprisoning her head against the wall fell away, Dragon swallowed a groan and swiveled her stiff neck slowly back and forth, ignoring Ryan’s hoarse cries of satisfaction as he stumbled away from her drunkenly. He tucked his softening penis into his pants and grinned at her as he zipped his fly. “Damn, baby,” he sighed, his voice full of praise.
Feeling suddenly as if she hadn’t bathed in days, she ignored him and looked at her sticky hand, swallowing her disgust with an effort. She smoothed her wrinkled skirt over her wobbly legs with the other, acutely aware of semen leaking down her thighs.
Ryan scooped her up in a grand hug that ended in an unbalanced spin. “Did you come, sweetheart? It felt like my head exploded,” he gushed before she could answer.
Dragon wiped her offended hand on the back of his shirt as he bounced her a couple of times then set her down. “Hungry?” He grabbed her arm and hauled her towards the exit. “I’m starving.”
Dragon dug her heels in as they approached the bathroom door, feeling as revolted by his touch as she was by the smear of residual cum on her hand, which she stuck in the trickle of murky water that streamed down one uri
nal. “I need to go to the ladies.”
“Leave it,” Ryan said, lowering his voice to approximate an intimate rumble. “I like knowing that I’m still inside you.” He grinned, grabbed her wet hand and pulled her out of the bathroom. At each step, her thighs rubbed together, emulsifying the ejaculate and working it into her flesh like a lotion.
Junior’s front door swung open as they exited the men’s room, a streetlight from outside penetrating the restaurant’s thick gloaming for a moment, making those longtime patrons fixed to their seats wince.
“Ryan!” a husky voice called from Junior’s entrance. The cigarette smoke congesting the room seemed to recede as a tallish woman approached them. Looking out of place in a pair of dark yoga pants and overpriced sneakers, Dragon immediately recognized Megan, manager of the boutique gym Ryan had joined at Dragon’s suggestion.
“Babe!” Ryan snatched his hand away from Dragon’s, momentarily distracted by what now coated it before wiping it on his pants and reaching for Megan. “You’d be so proud of me,” he said, kissing Megan tenderly.
“You let her down gently?” Megan’s fingers played with the hair at Ryan’s nape.
“I did exactly what you told me,” he admitted proudly, grinning as she squealed happily.
Dragon felt her stomach contract, wondering absently if Megan’s instructions included what just happened in the men’s room. “Ryan?” she asked.
“I am so grateful to you,” Ryan said, false sincerity etched in the faint lines bracketing his eyes and mouth.
“We both are,” Megan interjected, lacing her fingers with Ryan’s, her light brown eyes filled with a mixture of triumph and pity.
“Grateful,” Dragon repeated, knowing what would come next and utterly dumbfounded by it.
“Without you, I could’ve never—” Ryan started.
“Please,” she begged him. An odd weakness had replaced the usual bliss, making her feel faint. “Please don’t finish that sentence.” Nausea nearly overwhelmed her, but instead of forcing her to lurch to the toilet and then to bed, it quickly dissipated leaving only agonizing need in its wake. I’m going to die, she thought, trying to resist the urge to scratch the familiar itch that suddenly prickled the flesh of her arms. She would destroy herself trying to feed this need to fix. She understood that now.
