by M. Robinson
“How did you do it?” the mayor of Miami chimed in, overhearing my conversation with the police commissioner about Devil Rejects. “Taking down Jameson, the President of the MC, that we’ve been after for decades.”
Creed found out the truth he needed, and I played my role, but not without sacrifice. I have a nasty fucking scar on my shoulder from the bullet wound I inflicted on myself to prove it. Winning my current position as DA like Creed presumed I would. The press was in a frenzy over the news of what supposedly went down at the MC compound. The story I pulled out of my ass was nothing but pure and utter fucking genius. Doing what I did best—serving justice.
“Everyone has a story, Tom,” I responded to the mayor, “but Creed Jameson’s isn’t mine to tell.”
He chuckled, raising his glass in a congratulatory gesture.
A few hours later, I was finally walking through the club doors where everyone was already celebrating without me. I made my rounds, talking, drinking, snorting some blow off girls’ asses and tits here and there. Wanting to party and have a good time.
As the night progressed, people started scattering everywhere. I did another white line and leaned back into the couch cushions in my private, secluded suite, encased with privacy glass that was in a remote location near the dance floor. It frosted over when needed with just a touch of a damn button, hiding my sins. I allowed the blow to take over, watching the colorful lights dance around the room to the beat of the music. The distinct taste of the drip from the blow ran down the back of my throat, but I chased it down with an eight-thousand-dollar bottle of Louis XIII. I told you I was fucking celebrating.
Trying to forget, trying to go numb, trying to block out the last several years without Amira in my life. Nothing was working, nothing ever did. The pain was still very much alive and bleeding out of me, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake. There were times like these where my mind wouldn’t allow me to push her away, as if it knew I needed her still. There I was, celebrating what should have been one of the happiest days of my life. Earning the prestigious title of DA, I wanted for so long. Becoming top fucking dog, and finally getting the recognition I deserved even before I left Cuba.
Left her.
I always thought if I could have just conquered what I set out to accomplish in the States, everything I lost would have been worth it. Everything I fucking sacrificed, turned my back on, gave up on, would suddenly fill the empty space inside of me. The empty hole in my heart where she once lived. I couldn’t have been more wrong. The club was filled to the brim, and yet I felt more alone in that moment than I had in all of my life. Not having her here to share my happiness, my triumph, my hard work meant absolutely nothing to me in the end. I was just lying to myself to keep going…
To keep pushing through…
To keep making sorry ass excuses for my seedy, fucked-up life.
For all the decisions I’d made that would eventually have consequences. All the demons on my shoulders that would eventually take me under.
I welcomed the fucking monster tonight.
Me.
Because at least then I knew I was still alive.
EIGHT
DAMIEN
Out of the corner of my eye, a curvy, luscious blonde caught my attention as she walked into the room. Immediately making my cock hard. Her name was on the list, this was where we spent most of our time together. I didn’t think she would show up, but the news of my possible promotion hit the papers early this morning. She wouldn’t have missed it for the world, she was just too fucking sweet in that way. Within minutes she found me, knowing exactly where I would be. I couldn’t have been more thankful for her in that moment, needing to lose myself in her instead of in my fucking mind.
“Hey, you,” Giselle greeted, sliding the glass door closed behind her. “I knew you’d be back here.” She started walking toward me. “Congratulations, Dami—”
“Take off your fucking clothes,” I ordered in an authoritative tone, stopping her dead in her tracks.
Giselle and I had a mutual agreement.
We fucked.
End. Of. Story.
We never spoke about the logistics, but she was trying to forget about her military ex-boyfriend with my cock, and I was doing the same with her by using every hole of her body. She didn’t know a damn thing about me, other than what I could offer her in the sack. Which was probably why she was attracted to me in the first place. She knew how to play the submissive role all too well to cave into my sort of kink. I’ve told you since the beginning of my story, I don’t make love.
I fuck.
Long.
Hard.
I was always in control.
“Now!”
She shuddered, sucking in a breath. I watched as she quickly began to unzip the side of her dress, eager to please me like the good girl she was.
“No. Despacito. Do it slow. Do it very fucking slow,” I rasped, tugging on my bottom lip.
“Wh—”
I glared at her, shutting her pouty little lips up immediately before I reached for the remote to frost the glass enclosure and give us some privacy. “Turn around and slip your dress down... slowly. Let me take a look at what’s mine for the night.”
She did, making her dress fall to the floor. Leaving her in nothing but a red bra and panties. Complete with a garter belt holding up her stockings, and a pair of fuck me heels. She never took her eyes away from mine, knowing exactly who controlled the room and scene.
“Get on your knees, Giselle, and crawl to me,” I demanded with an indifferent expression on my face. Not allowing her to see how much it satisfied me to watch her like this.
“Dami—”
“Did I say you could call me Damien? My name is Sir to you tonight. Now, get on your knees and crawl.”
She hesitated, not because she didn’t trust me. Giselle liked to be punished. She was a dirty little girl, but she was also a pain in the ass.
“Play by my rules or get the fuck out,” I crudely spoke, fully aware of her intentions.
There wouldn’t be any playing games tonight. I was too far gone from the realization of what my life had become. The booze and coke coursing through my veins, pumping in my blood, only fueled the sadistic motherfucker inside of me. Up until now, I had only controlled her body, and never her mind. Provoking me to want to fuck with her. She didn’t know I had the ability to change into someone unrecognizable when I was hurting like this.
“I don’t want to leave,” she firmly stated, trying to please me again.
“Then get on your knees and crawl.”
She did as she was told while I nonchalantly watched the way her hips swung, the way her hair curled around her face, and the way her tits bounced to the beat of the music. Following her every move until she was sitting on her heels in front of me.
“Good girl. Now sit back and spread your legs.”
The look of lust on her face was instant as she eased back onto the floor, using her hands for support behind her. Spreading her thighs apart, anxiously awaiting my next command.
“Show me your pussy.”
She obliged, seductively sliding her hand down her bare stomach to her panties, pulling them aside.
I maliciously grinned at the sight of pure perfection, glistening before me. “I can get you wet without even touching you.” I reached down before she even fucking blinked, tracing my thumb over her plump red stained lips. Savoring the feeling of her velvety skin before I shoved two fingers into her mouth, catching her off guard. Thrusting them to the back of her throat to make her gag.
“Suck,” I demanded. She immediately did as if they were my fucking cock.
I let it go on, enjoying the feel of her tongue against my fingers. Pushing them as far as they would go down her throat, causing her to continuously gag from the intrusion. I did it a few more times, in and out, in and out. With each movement, her gagging became louder and heavier. Pushing my fingers in one last time, I hastily pulled them out along wi
th a trail of her spit running down the side of her pretty fucking face. Her eyes watered, and her chest heaved, but that didn’t stop her body from responding to my touch.
I placed my soaking wet fingers on her pussy, getting her nice and wet. Ready for what I had in store for her tonight. She felt as soft as she looked under my calloused fingers. Her clit rocked against the palm of my hand, causing a shameless moan to escape between her teeth, biting her bottom lip.
“That feel good?” I taunted.
“Hmmm…” she panted, losing herself completely.
Whack. I harshly slapped her pussy, causing her body to jolt forward. “I asked you a question.”
“Yes,” she breathed out, startled and fucking aroused.
Whack. I slapped her pussy again, awakening an ache that had her writhing beneath my touch. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl,” I groaned. Without any rational thought, I slowly traced the outer lips of her pussy, deliberately being gentle and soft with her. She panted in appreciation, letting her head fall back. My index finger swiped her slick seam, never parting her lips to give her what she really desired.
I wanted her to beg for my cock.
I wanted her to beg to come.
But most of all, I wanted to break her…
The thought alone caused my cock to ache and my balls to throb in anticipation.
Glancing down at her bright swollen pink nub, I nodded. “Fuck your tight little cunt for me.” Quickly moving my calculated stare back to her eyes. “Touch your pretty, little pussy. I want to watch you come.”
I knew she wanted to please me. She swallowed hard and took a deep, steady breath. Once again leaning back onto her hand. Slipping her fingers onto her clit, hissing upon contact. Already being overly stimulated from my aggressive assault. Circling her clit like I had, she manipulated the bundle of nerves harder, faster, and with more urgency.
Wanting to come.
Needing to come.
“No other man can do what I can to you. You’re my own personal fuck toy. All the boys you’ve been with, trying to dominate you, humiliate you, fuck you the way you crave. They just can’t do it, can they?”
She moaned, rolling her head to the side and closing her eyes.
I roughly gripped onto her hair, making her look straight into my dark, seedy eyes. Grabbing her wrist with my other hand, stopping her fingers from working herself over. “You don’t get to hide from me. Who are you thinking about, Giselle? Eh? Who’s fucking you right now?” My sultry voice set her nerves on fire.
“You, Sir.”
I let go of her hand. It didn’t take long for her body to respond as she worked her clit into a frenzy.
I stopped her again, and this time she whimpered. “Why are you here? Why the fuck do you keep coming back?”
Her eyes shuddered and her legs trembled, thinking about the real answer to my question. I once again removed my hold from her hand, and she didn’t hesitate going right back to playing with herself. Thrusting her fingers into her pussy, easing in and out of her tight hole. Her breathing becoming heavier the closer she got to her climax.
Fantasizing about him.
It was always about him.
“It’s why you keep coming back to me, isn’t it? You can’t get enough of what I can do to you. Of what only I can offer you. You want me to fuck your face and every hole in your sinful fucking body. Why is that, Giselle?”
“Damien, please…” she breathlessly pleaded, seeing images of him while she was there with me.
At my mercy, making my cock twitch.
I didn’t think twice about it, grabbing onto her hand and making her fuck herself exactly how she needed. Making her lose her goddamn mind. Not letting up.
“Tell me!”
She urgently whimpered, riding our hands with the sway of her hips. Imagining she was riding his cock.
“Oh, God,” she panted, picturing his face in between her legs.
I leaned forward, rasping against her lips, “That’s right… right there… right fucking there.”
Her hooded eyes shot open, immediately wanting off this roller coaster ride of emotions I was purposely causing with my questions. My touch. I was mind-fucking her while I made her fuck herself.
“Fucking say it!”
Until once and for all she couldn’t take it anymore, and screamed out in pleasure and pain, “MASON! It’s always been Mason, you fuck!” Her body shook, her legs trembled, coming so goddamn hard all over our hands.
I scoffed, grinning. “Good girl.”
Always knowing she was just as lost as I was. Except now, maybe the truth would help her find her way. Unlike my truths that never set me free. Instead they only enslaved me.
We spent the next few hours together, doing what we did best.
Fucking.
I threw on my slacks, leaving them open to hang low on my hips. My hair wild and brazen, sweaty and stuck to my face as I sat back against the couch cushions, sated. I watched as Giselle got dressed through the strands of disheveled hair that fell over my eyes, taking a swig from the whiskey bottle firmly in my grasp. Neither one of us spoke a word as she zipped up her dress and slipped on her heels. We never did after one of our fuck sessions. It was as if she wanted to leave as much as I wanted her to go.
When she stood, she shyly smiled over at me, and I nodded back in response. It was all that was needed to be said between us before she walked over to the slider, hesitating at the entrance and turning back around to look at me.
“You know the first time we had lunch?” she questioned, locking eyes with me.
“You know that wasn’t lunch, Giselle. It was fucking foreplay.”
She scoffed a chuckle. “I was trying to make Mason jealous, but you already knew that. Did you also know I wanted this from you? The dominance?”
“Women like you are attracted to men like me for one reason only. I may not be a Dom, but I do fuck like one.”
Without considering it, she blurted, “Do you miss her? Was it like this with her, too?”
I wasn’t surprised by her question. She was fucking perceptive, I’ll give her that. Maybe it was the booze, the blow, or the vulnerable woman standing in front of me that made me answer, “I miss her every fucking day, and it would never be like this with her.”
Or maybe, it was just the truth I finally needed to set free.
She intuitively smiled. “Yeah… I thought so. I find it kind of funny that I crave this sex between us because it makes me feel close to him, and you crave it because it doesn’t remind you of her.”
I took more swigs off the bottle.
“You know I’ll be back, right?”
I nodded and simply stated, “I’ll be here.”
Watching another fucked-up situation walk away from me. Leaving me there with nothing but more heartache for the girl I was trying to forget.
NINE
DAMIEN
Four years later
“Aren’t you going to be late for your precious victory speech?” Bossman asked, throwing me the rope to tie off his fishing boat.
“It’s not like they can start without me,” I replied, tying it off to the cleat on the port side of the boat. The night sky making it hard to see. “Everything good?”
“Isn’t it always?”
“Just answer the fucking question.”
“I just did. Now go look the other way so I can break a few more laws, and you’re not late to your own celebration, re-elected fucking DA.”
The only things that changed in the last four years was the money and power I had. Both legally and especially illegally. However, the most unexpected change was how fucking exhausted I was from leading two different lives. Twelve-years in the States and I had everything I ever wanted, but the thrill was gone. The high had vanished as if it was never there to begin with. I did what was expected of me, both politically and immorally, and at the end of the day it was all that mattered.
“Here
I thought you would appreciate some company, you lonely fuck.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, arching a questioning eyebrow. “Since when have I ever needed company? I don’t even like people. You’re lucky I fucking like you.”
I laughed, throwing my head back.
“Now get the fuck out of here. I’m busy. I got a shipment to unload.”
I shook my head, taking in the name of his new fishing boat, Booty Chaser. Silently laughing to myself as I turned around and left him to it. By the time I pulled onto the highway, it was well after nine o’clock at night and they’d be announcing the winners in a few short hours. Everyone, including my team, was already there pre-celebrating, and I had yet to show up. I had at least ten missed calls from my campaign manager, asking where the fuck I was.
My cell phone rang, dragging me away from my thoughts.
“This is Damien,” I answered, not bothering to look at the caller ID. I never did.
“Hey, Damien. It’s Joseph,” the private eye I used for most of my cases, greeted.
“What did you—”
“I’m just going to get right to the point, man. This doesn’t have anything to do with Rovali’s case.”
I never expected the next words to come out of his mouth and turn my world upside down.
“I found her, Damien. I found Amira.”
“Wh—”
“I know… it’s been years since you asked me to help you find her, but I did. I finally found her.”
I couldn’t process what he was saying fast enough. My heart started pounding against my chest from the pure desperation of hearing him say what I’ve needed to hear for over a decade.
“Where? Where is she? Where’s Amira?”
“I know it’s your election night—”
“Fuck my election! Where is she, Joseph?”
“I’m close to your place. Can I meet—”
“I’m on my way.” I ended the call while simultaneously pulling the emergency break, causing my car to drift. Doing a 180 onto the opposite side of the highway in the direction I needed to go. Not giving a fuck about the cars around me. Or the obscenities being yelled my way while horns blared from hastily beating on their steering wheels. My tires squealed and smoked as I slammed my foot back down on the accelerator to get my ass home.
