Filthy 6: A Dark Erotic Serial

by Megan D. Martin

  I moved out of the room, pushing all the conflicting thoughts and memories out of my head. I sucked in a deep breath as I came into the living room. A turquoise colored couch with yellow throw pillows sat in front of a small flat screen TV. Next to the TV were three floor to ceiling bookshelves, all of them overflowing with books. I blinked at them as I moved forward. It shouldn’t have mattered to me. They were just bookshelves. But I found myself standing in front of them. There were little trinkets on each shelf. Some were multicolored rocks, others were little animal figurines that seemed to prance across the wooden surface.

  Her things.

  I blinked at the items as if they were foreign—as if they weren’t just figurines and books—but were something else entirely. They belonged to Faye. I’d never seen Faye in an element that truly belonged to her. Anything she’d ever had, had been bought by my father, or myself. I’d never seen her with her own things, her own world that she crafted herself.

  That’s what these things were. I ran my hand down the spine of a Texas Government book. There were others, more, multiple shelves dedicated to different kinds of law and government books. I recognized some I had myself. Cayden had seen that spark in her, it was why he had hired her as his assistant. I had seen it too, but I just hadn’t known what it meant back then. My mind had been focused, utterly concentrated on putting my father away. I hadn’t seen the potential, not quite the same way Cayden had.

  And now she has a master’s degree in political science.

  A smile crept over my lips at the breathless feeling my lungs.

  “You’re still here.”

  I flinched at the sound of her voice. I wasn’t used to it. Not yet. It was the same sultry sound. The one that I had dreamt about the last six years.

  She stood in the doorway of her bedroom. A big t-shirt covered the nakedness I’d seen a few minutes before.

  “I am.”

  She ran a hand through her messy hair. A streak of something hot shot through me. Her gaze was blank, emotionless. I wasn’t used to this—not with Faye. She was easy, before. I could read her. Her emotions had always danced in those dark brown eyes of hers. Eyes that had lit up with electric passion last night as I took her. As I fucked her in her bed.

  “You should go.” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe.

  “But you haven’t given me a tour yet.” I motioned to her apartment. I wasn’t ready to go yet. I had a distinct feeling that once I walked through her front door I would never be welcomed back.

  She pushed off the doorframe and moved toward me. “Looks like you’ve already given yourself a tour.”

  I expected her to walk over to me. I expected her to get in my face and demand I leave. My cock thought the same thing, because he was roaring and ready for her to be closer.

  She didn’t though, instead she moved into the kitchen that overlooked the living room, giving me her back. My eyes honed in on her barely covered ass. I tried not to imagine the way she looked last night beneath me, with her ass in my crotch, her hips undulating while I pounded into her.

  I moved quickly to stand by the bar so she wouldn’t see how fucking hard I was. She poured herself a glass of water, drinking it down in one gulp.

  “Thirsty?”

  I nodded and she poured me a glass, holding it out for me to take. She held in just a way that our fingers wouldn’t brush. It was almost as if she couldn’t bear it. I frowned, but drank the water, watching her over the rim.

  She stared at me openly as I drank, and I desperately tried to read her, to understand what was going on her head.

  “I really think you should go.”

  But I heard it this time. It was there, through the cold glare of her words. Something else. Hesitance.

  “You don’t really want that.”

  She blinked. “Don’t tell me what I want.”

  “Show me around?” I hated that my words sounded like a plea. I hoped that she couldn’t detect my desperation, that she couldn’t see how badly I just wanted to be here in her presence soaking in the world she had made her own. Could she feel it? I fucking hoped not.

  “Okay,” she said after several moments. Something inside me exploded with joy, forcing the breath out of my lungs I didn’t know I’d been holding. She mashed her lips together and turned away from me. I moved around the counter to stand next to her.

  She let out a deep breath. “This is my kitchen.” She motioned to the stove and dark wood countertops opposite of us. This, like her bookshelves, seemed almost cluttered, but not in a dirty way. It was like organized chaos. All different kinds of seasonings were stacked next to the stove with an array of different-sized cooking utensils in two brightly colored blue vases. I took a step forward, marveling at the sight. It was ridiculous really, but again I felt like I had standing before the bookshelf. These were her things. Faye’s.

  “These pans are nice.” I sounded like a dip-fuck, but I didn’t care. I reached out and touched one of the red-bottomed pans that hung behind the stove.

  I glanced over my shoulder when she didn’t say anything. She seemed to be frozen in place staring at me with wide eyes and parted lips.

  I frowned. “What is it?” I pulled my hand back.

  “Nothing.” She shook her head, her face morphing back into something neutral and unemotional. She cleared her throat. “And that’s the living room.” She moved and I followed her. “In here is the bathroom, if you haven’t already found it.” She motioned to a door just adjacent from her bedroom. “And that’s about it.” She kept her face turned away from me.

  “That can’t be it.”

  She glanced up at me with something fearful in her eyes. “It is.” Her voice was defiant. We both knew what room she hadn’t shown me. The room where I had fucked her. Where our clothes were still strewn across the floor, where our scents still mingled on her bed.

  I quirked my lips. “I want the full tour.”

  Her eyes narrowed, clearly not entertaining my joke.

  “You’re free to look around. I’m gonna go smoke a cigarette.” She started to turn away, but I stopped her with a hand on her arm. She flinched.

  “You still smoke?”

  “I’ve always smoked.” Her eyes shown with defiance I couldn’t understand.

  “It’s been six years,” I said, my hand still touching her arm. I should have moved it away, but I didn’t want to. I’d been itching to put my hands on her again since the moment I slipped out of bed.

  “Some things don’t change.”

  “Some things do.” I glanced around her apartment.

  She shrugged, but not hard enough to dislodge my hold. “I never had my own life, not until now. I didn’t change, I just grew up.”

  “Growing up is changing,” I countered.

  She blinked and tilted her head. “You haven’t changed.”

  I wanted to laugh, to snort at the ridiculousness of her words. I had more than changed. I had broken apart. Splintered into an alcoholic who couldn’t even drag himself to the shower without vomiting everywhere. I had fucked prostitutes just to have some sort of feeling of self-worth. I had fallen apart and come back together, but not the same. I was far from the same man who fucked her against my car, the man who fell in love with her, the man who let her go.

  “Sometimes you can’t always see the changes on the surface,” I said the words quietly. My heart raced in my chest. I didn’t know why. I didn’t know what it was about this conversation and Faye that made so fucking desperate and eager for a multitude of things I couldn’t even begin to grasp.

  “Maybe that’s because there’s nothing to see.” Her words were equally as quiet.

  “Show me the last room.” I pushed this. I goaded her. I wanted her to look at the rumpled sheets and disheveled clothes and remember what we did. I wanted her to relive it in her mind like I was reliving it in mine over and over.

  “You’ve already seen it.” Her gaze didn’t break mine, but her neutral m
ask had cracked and I could see her emotions peeking through the seams.

  “Show me again.”

  She sucked in a breath, her body swaying toward me. I didn’t need anything else. I didn’t need for her to wave a white flag in surrender to know what she wanted. I pressed my lips against hers, though not like last night where I had taken her mouth like the desperate man I was. This time I moved slowly, running my hand up the sensitive flesh under her arm. She shivered, and I groaned when our lips met. Hers were damp, as if she’d just licked them. My cock kicked hard, desperate, ready. It was like a thunderstorm. That’s the way it felt standing there in the sunshine with my lips pressed against hers. It didn’t make sense, but it was like an electrical charge. It swirled around us, so thick we were wet with it. It was inescapable. I’d told myself the night before that I was just going to dinner with her. That I was going to…well I didn’t fucking know what I was going to do, I just knew that I wanted to be there with her. But this feeling, this charge, it was there in restaurant between us.

  It was unavoidable, powerful. I wanted to bathe in it. To drown in it. In her.

  She gasped against my lips when my fingers traced her collarbone. I swallowed the sound, devouring it.

  “Do you know how sexy you are?” I pulled back an inch, nipping at her lips. Something told me I shouldn’t talk. That I shouldn’t let my words break the spell she was under, but I couldn’t help it. I had to tell her. She needed to know.

  Her breath caught in her throat as she looked up at me. She looked torn, somewhere between lust and despair lingering in her gaze. But I wouldn’t let her go there. To the past. Not now.

  I snaked my hand into her hair and pulled her against me, harder this time. My cock stabbed at her belly. I moaned at the contact. I was raging for her, ready. It didn’t matter that I’d had her last night. I wanted, needed her again.

  Wrapping my arms around her waist, I snatched her off the floor and carried her into her bedroom, laying her down on the bed. Our lips only broke apart so I could pull the t-shirt over her head.

  She wriggled beneath me. Her pale skin seeming to sparkle in the sunlight. It was so bright, glinting around her, around us. I knew better than to stop, to pause like I was doing, to look at her. But I did. I didn’t want to forget what this was like, what she looked like spread across her sheets in the bright sunlight. I had imagined this. Her and I, so many times. But none of my falsehoods, my imaginings could compare to this. To the way her hair tendrils curled up on the ends, so dark against the light sheets. How her hooded eyes stared up at me with lust and desperation. There was nothing in the world that could ever compare.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, and I knew I waited too long.

  “Looking at you.”

  “What do you see?”

  I blinked, surprised. I ran a finger across her lips, the pink pouty lips that had been pressed against mine only moments before. “You.”

  I knew how stupid that answer was. I knew that it didn’t make sense, but it did. To me. In my head. I had waited so long. I had set her free. But I had waited for this moment again. To stare down at her. To look into her eyes. Her. Faye.

  “What am I like?”

  A distinct feeling washed over me. It was one of importance, as if the next few moments could mean everything—could change everything. “You’re…” I let my fingers flutter over her face, along her jaw, over the diamond stud in her ear. “Beautiful.” I wanted to kick myself. I had never been a poetic man. I was just me, often shitty with my words and timing. I’d never wanted to be poetic before, never more so than this moment.

  “You really think so?” she whispered and I barely heard.

  “Yes.” I leaned in, leaving our faces only inches apart. “I need to tell you something,” I said the words before I realized they came from my lips. They seemed to be something I couldn’t control. An extraneous extension of my lips.

  “What?” The word was breathless, escaping her lips and lingering between us.

  I knew what I wanted to say, the things I wanted to tell her. They were there, in my throat, my head, my heart. But I didn’t say them. “I’m going to make you cum so hard, you won’t remember your own name.” I leaned in and bit down on her pouty bottom lip.

  A giggle bubbled from her mouth and my heart soared along with the throb of my cock. I nipped at her chin as moved down, trailing my lips to her pert little breasts, sucking each pebbled nipple into my mouth.

  “Tell me your name,” I murmured against one breast.

  “Faye,” she moaned.

  “Now tell me my name.” I drug my lips down to her navel.

  “W-what?” Her body trembled with her words. She was already close to an orgasm.

  “My name, Faye.” I nipped at her hip bone. “Say it.”

  I moved lower, until I was hovering just over her soft, pink cunt. I had thought about this for a long time. What she would taste like. I never knew. I had fucked her, I had watched her fuck herself with her fingers, but I never tasted. I never had her, not like this, with the sun hot on us and nothing in the world in our way. Nothing but the past. But I pushed that away. I wouldn’t let it haunt me now.

  She was hairless, as if she’d just waxed the day before. Her lips were parted to reveal her hot pink pussy. She was wet, dripping, ready.

  “You’re wet.” My voice sounded foreign, deeper, like gravel under spinning tires.

  She spread her legs wider, giving me a better view. I nearly came right then. I nearly fucking emptied myself onto the side of her bed like a fucking high school kid. I’d fucked a lot of women in my lifetime, I’d eaten a lot of pussy too. But I had never felt like this. Desperate. Needy.

  “Lick me.” She undulated her hips and looked down at me with those dark hooded eyes.

  I pressed my palm down on her hip, stopping her movement. “Not until you say my name.” I don’t know why I pressed this, why it even mattered. I had thought about this for years, fucking dreamed about it endlessly, and now I was here. Inches away from Faye’s little pussy. “Say it,” I grated.

  She snaked a hand down to touch her pussy, her eyes focused on me still. She didn’t say it, the word no, but it was there in her eyes. In the defiant way she reached for her pussy. I stopped her hand.

  “Say it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you want to.”

  “I think you just want to hear it.” She was still being defiant, but she was panting, desperate, about to break. I could see it in her eyes. She wanted to give in. To cum on my lips.

  Fuck, I want that too.

  “Yes,” I admitted. I kept my gaze focused on hers, one hand pressed firmly on her hip and the other holding her wrist hostage. “I’ve waited for this for a long time, Faye. I’ve thought about this. About what it would be like to fuck you with my mouth.” I hadn’t intended to tell her the truth, but there it was. Too late to take it back.

  “Rhett…”

  She hadn’t said it in the way I wanted. She whispered it in a way that bordered on soul-crushing devastation, as if I was ripping her apart. But it didn’t matter. She said it. My name. That was my demand, and she complied. I released her wrist and gripped her hips with both hands, thrusting my tongue against her wet clit. The moan that ripped from her chest had me thrusting my cock against the side of the bed. I wanted inside her, but not yet. I had to have her like this first.

  She was salty and sweet on my tongue. I was hungry, fucking starved for this. For her. She writhed beneath me as I worked my tongue on her, as I devoured her. I wanted to swallow her whole until there was no part of her that didn’t belong to me.

  She buried her hands in my hair and thrust her hips into my face. She was getting close. She was on the brink of coming apart and I was ready. I wanted it. I wanted my name on her lips when she did.

  “Again, Faye, say it again.” I demanded against her pussy.

  She complied with no hesitation. “Rhett!” My name was a scream from her lungs as she
came apart. Her back arched, her legs shook, wrapping around my shoulders. Her body convulsed. The salty sweet flavor of her drenched my tongue covering me. And I was like a good little boy, lapping up every drop.

  Every. Fucking. Drop.

  NINE

  Faye.

  I stared at myself in the mirror. The one that hung over the white porcelain sink in my apartment. But I didn’t really see the woman on the other side. I was too busy listening to the footsteps against the wood floor. Rhett’s footsteps.

  My heart was still pounding, jumping around in my chest from when I exploded all over his tongue. I shouldn’t have let him. I should have made him leave. I shouldn’t have agreed to give him the stupid tour of my apartment. None of it should have happened. Last night shouldn’t have happened.

  Fear snaked through me as I stared at myself. The woman staring back was me. Her dark hair long, and sex ruffled. Her skin was clear, normal, like always. Though there was something else, a sense of something I didn’t like there. It was hope. I sucked in a breath as I recognized it. It made the fear inside me combust until I was bleeding with it.

  I could remember that hope, I had felt it before. As I stood in his apartment. The one he and Sarah shared. The place where I was an outsider, a stranger, an intruder. I had been a twenty-year-old girl in love with a man she couldn’t have. But I had hoped anyway. I had put it all on the line, just to be ripped apart. To be left alone for six years.