Heaven to Hell (A Naughty Box Production Book 1)

by Rue Volley

  “Just beautiful.”

  It smelled strangely of piss and potpourri, and though the toilet seat was less than inviting, I had to pee. With my panties hooked around my ankles, I leaned over to the sink, grabbed the toothpaste off the counter, and used my finger to brush my teeth. What’s-his-name didn’t believe in toilet paper, so I used a towel that hung on the door to wipe myself clean.

  Peering in the mirror, I wiped smudged mascara from underneath my eyes, frowned at the nest of bed headed blonde curls surrounding my face and the smeared, red lipstick that stained my swollen mouth into the morning smile of someone who was fucked within an inch of her life. Not to mention the faint marks that could only have come from a hand around my throat.

  I inhaled sharply as my clit throbbed in remembrance.

  I turned slightly and found that my skin had managed not to break. Instead of congealed blood, the scars were a bright angry red. Bright angry red could be brushed off as a casualty of rough sex. Blood took longer to explain. Which was why I never hung around to see the light of day.

  Still, I needed to get the hell out of there.

  My cut-off denim skirt smelled a bit too much like smoke, beer, and cum when I pulled them on and my nostrils flared instinctively. My tank top was torn and stained, barely covering my tits. I rummaged in my bag for a cigarette and found half a joint instead. Opening a window, I lit the thing and inhaled deeply though it would take much more than a tiny mind alteration to convince me to give even the tiniest of fucks.

  What’s-his-name knocked once before I opened the door and let him in.

  “Leaving so soon?” Sleep muffled his voice.

  “What do you care?” I leaned against the window frame as I blew smoke out the window. I remembered his hands inside me when we were back at the bar, and I shook involuntarily.

  “I don’t.”

  “Jesus,” I breathed, “you are fucking hot.”

  He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and smirked.

  My pussy vibrated at the naked sight of him. One arm sleeved with colorful tattoos that snaked up his shoulder and disappeared under a shoulder-length mop of slept in brown hair, three days worth of beard that begged to be licked, and a cock I could still feel vibrating inside me. I wanted nothing more than to climb him and fuck his face. Instead, I watched his bare ass stand in front of the toilet while he attempted to aim for the bowl.

  “You’re pissing on the floor.” I suddenly had the urge to bleach my feet.

  “You’re smoking a joint in my bathroom.”

  I took a long drag. “You want?”

  He shook his dick and flushed before turning to me. He was close, too close. His breath smelled like stale cigarettes and a fifth of Stoli. “Yeah.” He took the joint, sucked in, and held it in until his face turned red. “Thanks. What day is it?”

  “Sunday.”

  He didn’t respond. The silence was achingly uncomfortable. “I’d like to say you’re the kind of guy who doesn’t look like he lives in a shithole like this.”

  He blew out a long breath and laughed. “I’d like to say you look like the type of girl who actually gave a shit about such things.” He handed it back to me and twisted a curl of my hair around his finger. “Why do you have pink stripes in your hair?”

  “Because I like it. Why is your cock poking me in the thigh?” I looked down to find the tip of his hard-as-stone dick pressing into my leg as his finger traced the waistband of my skirt. I rolled my shoulders, willing the pain to stay away.

  “Because I like you.”

  “Like me? You don’t know me.” I took a last, deep inhalation until I felt my throat burn from the smoke and my lips singe from the lit end. “Shit.” I dropped the roach in the sink and ran my tongue over my bottom lip to ease the pain.

  What’s-his-name leaned down and pulled the lip into his mouth, sucking until pain was the last thing on my mind.

  “I know I like to kiss you.” He ran his lips along my collarbone.

  “That’s what you like. Not what I like.”

  “So, you’re saying you don’t like it when I do this?” He cupped my breasts and pinched my nipples until I gasped. He twisted and I smiled.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “What about when I do this?” Spinning me around so my face pressed against the peeling paint of the bathroom wall, he snaked a hand around my throat and grabbed a fistful of my hair with the other. He kissed the angry scars that rode along my shoulder blades and I tensed, ready to bolt. Instead, he leaned in and, with a wide tongue, licked the side of my face before laughing quietly.

  “You like it rough like this, huh?” I reached behind me and squeezed his cock harder than I’d intended, feeling grateful that he didn’t decide he wanted to discuss the marks on my back that never looked like they ever fully healed.

  I yelped as he yanked my head back and growled in my ear, “You ever feel like you want to crawl inside someone and devour them from the inside out?”

  “Like you can’t get enough. Like you don’t know if you’ll ever get enough?” I knew exactly what he meant.

  “I’m feeling that right now.” He eased his grip on my hair, but pressed me harder against the wall.

  “What are you feeling right now?” I pushed my back against him.

  “You.”

  “Turn me around, baby.”

  I knew I shouldn’t want to. I knew fucking him wouldn’t make my life any better, but as his hand left my throat and tore through the rest of my tank top, the touch of his hand, the skin on skin contact, burned into me until I thought I would die from exposure. I knew he felt the same. They always felt the same.

  He let go of my hair and I turned to face him. Reaching down, I took his hand in mine. “Kiss me.”

  I whimpered at the force of his lips on mine and welcomed the jolt of lust that pulsed between my legs. My focused swam in and out of the kiss because I wanted more. I concentrated on building momentum slowly and gently, but slow and gentle were hard for me and, apparently, what’s-his-name. When he pulled away, neither of us was steady.

  His hands took my breasts and I cried out as he kneaded them roughly. He brought his mouth down and clamped a nipple between his teeth and bit down harder than I anticipated. He shoved fingers in my mouth to keep me quiet as he sucked greedily, moving from one breast to the other. When I thought I’d climax from the stimulation, he grabbed my face and kissed me, devouring me.

  “What’s your name?” His voice shook and the brown in his eyes nearly disappeared under dilated pupils when he pulled away. Sweat dropped from his brow.

  “I thought you said no names.”

  “I want to hear you say your name.” His eyes blazed.

  Wrapping his cock in my hand, I leaned in and whispered, “You can call me Mila.”

  “Mila.” He breathed as his eyes closed in response to my grip tighten around him.

  I took his hand and slowly pulled it up against my body until it was once again at my throat. His fingers found their hold and when he looked at me I said, “Tighter.”

  Together, he tightened his grip on my neck and I on his cock.

  “Tighter.” I couldn’t get enough.

  His free hand undid my skirt, and I twisted my hips until they fell to the floor. He ripped my panties as easily as he did my tank.

  As his grip tightened against my throat, his fingers dipped between my legs, tentative at first like he suddenly grew a conscience and wasn’t sure if he should ask permission first.

  “Please.”

  One syllable was all he needed. His knee shoved between my legs and he gripped my thigh, lifting it up, hooking it around his waist. With a slight bend at the knee and a guided thrust forward, he was deep inside me, and for a moment he was stone still. When he began to slowly push in and out, his free hand thumbed my clit before moving north, pinning me to the wall by my neck.

  My hips matched every slow, deliberate thrust of his cock. It was like he was crawling inside me, invadi
ng my thoughts, and taking over my soul. He was the blood in my veins, the air in my lungs.

  The slow burn began in my toes and flamed up through my legs. My chest tightened. My pussy clenched around him.

  “Oh my God.” He breathed. “Mila.”

  “I’m not ready yet! I want your mouth on me.”

  He pulled his dick out, lifted me up, bent down and folded me over his shoulder before walking to the living room and depositing me on the couch. He knelt on the floor and lifted me to him until I was balancing on my shoulders, wrapping my legs around his head.

  “Fuck me.” I growled and ground my pussy against his face, egging him on.

  His fat tongue expertly slid up and down my folds, darting in and out, pressing hard against my clit.

  The flames reignited inside me and my stomach clenched.

  My mouth dried out and a lump formed in my throat.

  I was hot.

  My head felt heavy.

  My toes curled.

  I clenched around his tongue.

  My body tensed.

  And I screamed.

  Bucking against his face, I tried to get away, but he pulled me in tighter, eating and sucking every drop that spilled from me.

  I screamed.

  “God damn, Mila.” His voice was muffled against me.

  Wave after wave crashed over me. And it hurt. The most painfully exquisite orgasm burned through me.

  And I loved it.

  And it wasn’t enough.

  Reaching up, I grabbed his hair and pulled him from me. “I need your cock.”

  “Fuck yes.”

  I shoved him back with my feet until he was sitting on the floor and climbed onto his lap. My hand gripped his face; I wanted to see his eyes as I slowly slid over him. “What’s your name?”

  “Damien.”

  “Damien,” I held myself over him, “slow and gentle is hard for me, but I’m going to try. I’m going to need your help. Can you help me?”

  “Slow,” he kissed my neck, “and gentle,” he wrapped a hand in my hair and tugged, “I can do.” His smile was wicked as he pulled my legs tight around his waist.

  I slid down slowly and once I was on him and he was pushed up to the base of his cock, we held still, mouths open, breath ragged, centimeters from each other.

  I could feel each throb of his cock and each time I pulsed around him it felt like I would split in two.

  “I want to fuck you,” I began, “and I don’t want to stop until I’m spent and I don’t want you to let me stop until there is nothing left. I know it will be hard for me to take—the wave that crashes after the initial orgasm, the one that floods through me over and over again. The one that wracks my body until I can't move, can't see.”

  I rode up and slid back down his shaft. His hands gripped my ass and I moaned. He pushed up inside me, fell back, and rolled me over so he was lying on top of me.

  ”I want to be fucked like I’m the last fuck you'll ever have. And I want you to make me come like it's the last orgasm I'll ever have. Can you do that?”

  “You talk too fucking much.”

  “But I need—”

  His hand slowly caressed my face before carefully and deliberately covering my mouth. He leaned in and whispered, “Don’t worry, Mila. I know what you need. When the time is right, if you let me, I will fuck the soul out of you. Without a doubt.”

  FIVE

  If the fact that I finally woke up at dusk wasn’t proof enough, my reflection was evidence that I’d been out too late the night before. Proved that I’d been living a bit too hard for a twenty-five year-old girl from nowhere. And I didn’t need to bring any more attention to myself than I already had, especially since I’d only just relocated to the tiny, lifeless town of Moral that stared with the eyes of judgment and reproduced as if trying to erase the mistakes of those who came before. And since I was the new girl, eyes were open especially wide when it came to my comings and goings.

  Standing in my last pair of clean panties, I examined my too thin frame in the floor-length mirror, turning side-to-side trying to figure out a way to hide my ever-protruding ribs. There wasn’t much I could do about it. I wasn’t sick, but over the past month I’d lost enough weight from my already slim body to make it noticeable. And because my shoulder blades stuck out more, the scars that ran along them were more visible. I was running out of reasons for having two matching, angry, jagged scars on my back. Of course I knew how I got them, and I’d spent the past five years running from the one who put them there. The one saving grace was the plastic tits my friend Anna’s dad gave me for my twenty-first birthday. All he asked for in return? That I brought my best friend Charlie to the bed he and I sometimes shared. Soon after however, he left my friend’s mom for Charlie. And when Anna found out the role I played, I was out on my ass faster than I could blink. But that was always the way with me. I’d sell out my own mother for a mind-altering orgasm and some blow. But that was then. My nose had been clean for more than a year.

  Rummaging through my hamper, I sniffed the two-sizes-too-small t-shirt that Frankie made us all wear. It smelled like booze, cigarettes, and the cheap drugstore perfume I wore all the time, but I didn’t care. I didn’t have time to go to the laundromat since I’d slept the entire day away. Maybe my smell would act as a repellant. The last thing I needed to do was go home with another stranger; I’d felt the last one between my legs for days. And when he said he’d fuck the soul out of me, I swear to God he did just that. I could still hear him growl, “You ever feel like you want to crawl inside someone and devour them from the inside out?”

  In the month since I’d seen him, the question had replayed over and over in my head, fucking with me in the dark. Finding me and blowing out my orgasms. Because when he was inside me, something happened. Something I couldn’t explain. Something I was scared to want, but couldn’t define.

  It was probably better that I hadn’t seen him. No kind of relationship could have come out of the things he and I did to each other. I was no stranger to dirty anonymous sex, but something about that night lingered, clung to me like smoke and sweat. Not to mention the bruise he left on my inner thigh. It didn’t hurt when I touched it. Just the opposite. It felt like him. Like he left his mark. Like Gabriel left his.

  I pushed away the thought of his hands holding me in place while he fucked me in two and shrugged on my tiny red shirt. Damien tore my only bra and since I hadn’t had time between working, sleeping and occasionally fucking my coworkers, I went without. It wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily. Frankie, the guy I’d dated on and off since I arrived in Moral, started keeping the air conditioning turned low enough that most of us could cut glass. My tips doubled in that month.

  I stood at the sink, brushing my teeth with one hand while the other gave my lady parts a quick once over with a washcloth and some soap. When I was clean enough, I pulled on a pair of cutoff denim shorts that were short enough to show off the bottom of my ass cheeks. It was a real classy look.

  The microwave beeped letting me know my convenience store bean burrito was ready. Looking at my phone, I realized I barely had enough time to eat before I needed to head out the door to work. My car died a few months back, in the last town. It would have been fixed for free but the mechanic’s wife caught him with his dick in my mouth. Unfortunately for him, she was a good shot. Fortunately for me, I could run.

  Toeing my shoes on, I leaned down and pulled the laces tight.

  “Fuck.”

  The laces snapped. My Chucks had seen better days, but they were comfy enough to bartend a double in so I wasn’t getting rid of them, no matter how many times Frankie told me to wear heels. Besides, I wasn’t walking a mile to work in a pair of come fuck me’s. It wasn’t happening. Not to mention I hadn’t owned anything other than my Chucks and a pair of old combat boots since I’d been released from Purgatory.

  I pulled a lace out of a boot and threaded it through my sneaker. Searching my apartment for the keys took longer than
I anticipated. A familiar tingle tiptoed up my spine, and the hair on my arms stood on end. It would be dark before I got to the bar, something that didn’t sit well with me. After dark was when I felt it. Felt invisible eyes on me. I didn’t like walking home after work, and I usually had one of the girls drop me off. If I were especially desperate, Frankie would drive me in exchange for a blowjob and a cum swallow. He was easy. And he wasn’t all that bad. When I needed it, he was a good fuck. He and I had an understanding. Neither of us wanted anything serious. He fucked whom he wanted. I fucked whom I wanted. And neither of us cared.

  Throwing my hair into a rubber band, I grabbed the bottle of water sitting on the counter, shoved it in my bag, and hurried out the door. I was sure I could make up the time if I ran.

  Halfway to the bar, I watched the sun fast track down and kiss the horizon.

  “No,” I whispered with my hands on my knees, doubled over, and panting like I’d run a marathon. There was no use running anymore. The eyes always caught up to me.

  I could see the bar in the distance. Frankie’s tacky neon sign flickered like a strobe light. I kept to the side of the road, gravel crunching under my feet as I focused on my destination. I was no more than a hundred yards from the parking lot when I heard someone say my name.

  “Mila.”

  I froze and turned, looked. I couldn’t find the source.

  “Mila.”

  “Show yourself!” I yelled into nothing.

  I spun slowly, trying to make out shapes in the dark when I saw him. Damien. Standing across the road from me.

  “Mila.” His smile erased my fear. He held out his hand.

  A pickup truck flew out of Frankie’s parking lot and barreled toward me. I froze in my tracks and watched in slow motion as I saw my life flash before my eyes. I wished it would stop. The past I was seeing wasn’t pretty.

  I hit the asphalt with a thud and a slide; road rash tore up my arm. It took a moment before I realized what had happened. The truck fishtailed away with a cab full of hooting and hollering rednecks.

  Dazed, I rolled over clutching my arm and looked around. Damien was nowhere to be found. No one was there. Carefully, I pushed myself to my knees before finally standing. My bag had been thrown into the ditch and I winced as I stepped toward it. I was lucky. My ankle was probably just sprained. Better, I guessed, than being dead. Then again, there weren’t many people left who’d miss me. I looked around once more for Damien. There was no way I could have been dreaming.