Shooting Dirty

by Jill Sorenson

  Don’t talk about fucking me unless your pussy’s wet...

  It was.

  He made a fist in her hair, taking her mouth over and over again. His cock jutted against her belly, thick and hard. She was hungry for it, all right. She dug her fingernails into his broad shoulders and tilted her hips, encouraging him.

  Breaking the kiss, he glanced back at the house. They were cloaked in shadow, but the driveway was hardly private. Anyone could see their entwined figures. Janelle moved her hands to his chest, knowing she should push him away. When he tried to kiss her again, she turned her head to the side.

  “Let’s go somewhere,” he said, pressing his lips to her exposed neck.

  She couldn’t. Not tonight.

  “I want to fuck,” he said, as if she might be confused about his intent.

  She laughed softly, enjoying his blunt approach. With a strangled growl, he shoved his hands under her dress and cupped her bottom, lifting her against him. She was wearing plain cotton panties, nothing fancy. He slid her cleft along the length of his cock until she whimpered with pleasure.

  “Are you wet?” he asked, watching her face.

  She bit down on her lower lip. “Yes.”

  He moved around to the passenger side of the truck, away from the house lights. Then he pushed her arms over her head, as if he knew about her dark fantasies. Encircling her wrists with one hand, he held her there, trapped against the door. Her breasts strained against the buttons at the front of her dress. He snuck his free hand under the hem, palming her pussy.

  She trembled at his touch, nearly swooning. She remembered this morning’s steamy solo session and groaned. It was too intense. If he kept going, she’d die of pleasure.

  He kept going.

  Stripping her panties down to her upper thighs, he brought his lips to hers again. It was an open-mouthed kiss, shallow and erotic.

  Her entire focus was below the waist, on the sensitive flesh throbbing between her legs. She was exposed beneath her dress, cool air caressing her bare skin.

  “I want to tie you up like this,” he said, breathing heavily. “I want to suck on your nipples and eat that pretty pussy until you scream.”

  She panted against his open mouth, needing release. She was on edge, uneasy, desperate to drift away. But his grip kept her grounded and his gaze pinned her in place. She’d never let anyone get this close before. She’d never let anyone hold her down.

  His fingertips brushed her bare sex. His expression grew pained as he found her wet, swollen lips. He slid his middle finger between them, plumbing her slick pussy.

  She panicked, despite her arousal. He was penetrating her, overpowering her, examining her face. Their encounter had escalated too quickly. What had been a sexy fantasy in the safety of her bedroom felt scary in real life. She tried to yank her arms free and he frowned, his finger buried deep inside her. “Do you want me to stop?”

  She couldn’t speak. She felt trapped and helpless, mute with fear.

  He withdrew his finger and she struggled in his grip, bucking against him. Finally he let go of her wrists. She swung out with her open hand and connected with his cheek. He jerked backward, his eyes flashing with anger.

  She stared at him in horror.

  “What the fuck?” he asked in a furious whisper. He was pissed off, but discreet enough to keep his voice down.

  When it became clear that he wasn’t going to hit her back, she tugged her panties into place. She wiped her nose against her knuckles, shaking from tension. Her eyes burned with tears and her palm stung from the impact. She was a freak and a screw up, unable to handle the mildest form of restraint.

  “I asked you if you wanted me to stop,” he said.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He touched the red mark on his cheek, his jaw clenched. “You woke me up when you called earlier. Did you know that?”

  She did. His voice had been gravelly from sleep.

  “I was having a very dirty dream, and I had a raging hard-on. But I got up and went to look for your smartass kid anyway. I even turned down your offer for sex because it made me feel like a john. Then I told you I wanted to fuck you, and you didn’t say yes, so I figured I’d pet your pussy for a few minutes and go home with a hot memory to jack off to. Instead I get slapped for my trouble.”

  Janelle wasn’t sure what to say. They were at her mother’s house, for Christ’s sake. The front door was less than twenty feet away. She shouldn’t have let it go so far, and she certainly shouldn’t have struck him. He hadn’t been too rough or aggressive. She had no excuse for lashing out at him.

  She took a deep breath, staring up at the stars. “I’ve never let anyone restrain me before.”

  He gave her a measured look. “You seemed like you were into it.”

  She flushed, picturing herself tied up with the vibrator buzzing. “I’ve been fantasizing about it. About...you.”

  That confession quieted him. He swallowed hard, studying her.

  “I’m not good at giving up control.”

  “But you want to?”

  She shrugged, her heart pounding. “I might not be able to.”

  His shoulders relaxed and he appeared calm again. “We can work on it. Or not. I don’t have to hold you down if it scares you.”

  Tears filled her eyes at his easy acceptance. She brushed them away. Damned stress and...hormones. She must be PMSing. That would explain her heightened state of arousal, too. She always got super horny right before her period.

  “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked.

  She usually slept in on Saturdays. “Jamie’s got a soccer game around noon.”

  “Can I come?”

  “Do you like soccer?”

  “I like you.”

  She ducked her head to hide her smile. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had told her that. “What was your dream about?”

  “My dream?”

  “The dirty one,” she prompted.

  “Oh. It was about you.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Sucking my cock,” he said in a low voice.

  Her face heated, though she was no stranger to this activity. Unlike bondage, she knew blowjobs.

  He stepped forward and brushed his lips over hers. “I’m going home now.”

  “Enjoy yourself.”

  The corner of his mouth tipped up as he climbed into his truck. He started the engine and drove away. She sighed, imagining him fisting his cock. Groaning her name and spurting over his tattooed knuckles.

  Mercy.

  She walked up the front steps, her cheeks warm. She needed to be careful with him. He was hot, and exciting, and actually kind of nice—for a professional criminal.

  To her surprise, her mom was still in the kitchen. Janelle glanced down the hallway. The door to her old bedroom was closed. Just the sight of it made her chest tighten with unease. Living here was going to be a challenge.

  “Are you sleeping in the sunroom?” her mother asked. She looked tired. Worrying about Jamie weighed on her, too.

  Janelle sat down across from her. “I guess so.”

  “We can move Jamie there instead, and you can have your old room.”

  “No,” she said, shuddering. “I don’t want it.”

  “Tell me about your boyfriend.”

  Janelle started to say he wasn’t her boyfriend and thought better of it. “He’s new.”

  “He must like you a lot, to go after Jamie.”

  She didn’t want to talk about Ace. If her mother knew how they’d met, she’d be horrified.

  “It’s good to have you here,” Renata said quietly. “I hoped you’d visit more after Gary died.”

  Janelle felt like a cold hand had squeezed her heart. It pumped faster, fill
ed with blood and pain and secrets. She’d never told her mother what Gary had done. She’d avoided him and Renata as much as possible.

  “I didn’t know you wanted me to visit,” Janelle said.

  “Of course I did.”

  “You sent me away,” she pointed out.

  When Janelle was fourteen, she’d been a handful, like Jamie. She’d rebelled by falling in with the wrong crowd and sleeping around with boys who treated her badly. Her mother had sent her to her aunt’s house in Brawley.

  Janelle hadn’t fared much better there. She’d met Shane, gotten pregnant and dropped out her senior year, but at least she’d been safe from Gary.

  “I did it to protect you,” her mother said.

  Janelle stared at her in confusion. Then the puzzle pieces fell into place and an awful realization dawned on her. “You knew,” she said in a hushed tone, unable to fathom it. “You knew he abused me.”

  “I suspected.”

  Janelle was stunned by the revelation. This was so fucked up. She wanted to flee from the kitchen and run screaming from the house. Her eyes filled with tears for the scared little girl she’d been. “Why?”

  “Before my diagnosis, I was working a lot of night shifts, and I was exhausted. One night I came home early and Gary was in your room. He said he was just checking on you, but he acted strange. The next day, I asked if he’d hurt you.”

  Janelle blinked the tears from her eyes, remembering.

  “You said no.”

  “I was afraid,” Janelle said. She’d also been ashamed, and convinced that the abuse was her fault. He applied his perverse attentions in a courtly manner, coaxing and coercing her rather than overpowering her.

  “I kept an eye on him after that. I caught him outside your door again about a week later.”

  “Did you confront him?”

  She shook her head, her fleshy chin wobbling with emotion. “I blamed myself. I hadn’t been feeling well. I did my best to satisfy him, but...he seemed disinterested.”

  Janelle felt sick. Absolutely sick.

  “I knew you’d be better off at Jackie’s.”

  “Why not divorce him?”

  Renata frowned as if the option had never occurred to her. Janelle’s biological father had threated to kill her mother many times before they left Texas. Renata had escaped from one monster only to find another. The fact that Gary had been a police officer made the situation even more precarious.

  “I’m not strong like you, Janelle,” she said. “I never have been.”

  Janelle looked away, her throat tight. She couldn’t hate her. Gary didn’t deserve forgiveness, but perhaps her mother did.

  They stayed up for another hour, and Renata drank several glasses of wine. Janelle helped put her to bed. She turned off the lamp and studied her mother’s prone form, uncertain how to process the night’s tumult. She closed the door gently and walked away. In the sunroom, she curled up on the cot, thinking.

  Setting boundaries with men had always been difficult for her. She’d said no to her stepfather, but he hadn’t listened, so she’d stopped protesting. He’d threated to kill her mother one minute and told her he loved her the next. She wasn’t strong enough to fend him off physically, and she was afraid he’d become violent if she tried. Disconnecting from her body had been a very effective self-defense mechanism.

  When she couldn’t fight, she could drift.

  The abuse had gone on for less than a year, but it still haunted her, complicating her relationships with men and sex. As an adult, she’d tried to make clear choices. Going home with a man meant yes, and she didn’t change her mind after they started. She was afraid they’d ignore her protests, like her stepfather had. Instead of communicating her desires or being an active partner, she drifted. She drifted even when she was enjoying herself. It was an automatic response, like breathing.

  Tonight, however, she’d been unable to drift. Although she hadn’t found her voice, she hadn’t remained passive, either. She’d struck Ace the way she’d wanted to strike her stepfather, and that motorcycle club member, and every other man who’d hurt her.

  It wasn’t an appropriate reaction. Ace hadn’t deserved the slap. Even so, she felt pretty good about their exchange. She’d opened up to him, and he’d listened. He hadn’t left angry. They were a work in progress. He still wanted to fuck her, and maybe even play some kinky games with her.

  She might let him.

  Smiling, she tucked the blanket around herself and drifted—into sleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning, Janelle woke to the sound of bacon frying.

  She rolled over on the stiff, uncomfortable cot and tried to ignore the delicious smell. Was she more tired than hungry? It was a toss-up.

  Fifteen minutes later, she threw back the blanket and picked up her cell phone to check the clock. It was past ten. Time to rise and shine. She padded into the kitchen, expecting to find her mother at the stove. Instead it was Jamie. Her mom was sitting at the table, drinking coffee while he made breakfast.

  “We went to buy some more eggs at the grocery store,” Renata said. “Jamie paid for them himself.”

  He should, since he’d stolen the last carton and smashed them. Janelle filled a mug with coffee and sat down. Jamie presented her with scrambled eggs, lukewarm bacon and slightly burnt toast. It was pretty good, and he was making an effort, so she didn’t complain. He flung his too-long bangs away from his forehead, waiting for her praise.

  Janelle ate more eggs in silence.

  He looked to Renata for support. She was a typical grandmother, soft on discipline. When she didn’t say anything, he loaded two more plates. Giving one to her mother, he took a seat and dug in, attacking his breakfast with gusto.

  Janelle helped him with the dishes when they were finished.

  “Sorry for sneaking out,” he mumbled. “It won’t happen again.”

  “It better not.”

  “Can I go to the soccer game?”

  She’d never intended to take that away, so she nodded. “Two more weeks without devices though.”

  Jamie accepted this punishment.

  After they were finished with the dishes, she searched through her bags of clothes for a decent outfit. She settled on a flirty summer dress that would look cute with her cowboy boots. Then she showered and got ready. She rarely wore makeup when she wasn’t at Vixen, but she applied some today.

  Jamie gave her a strange look before they left. “Why are you dressed like that?”

  “Like what, a normal mom?”

  “A fancy mom.”

  She didn’t tell him Ace was coming to the game. Most men were unreliable, in her experience. Jamie loved it when Owen showed up to watch him play. He might feel let down if Ace flaked out.

  Today’s game was in Mecca, about forty minutes north of Niland. When they arrived, Jamie warmed up with his team while she stood on the sidelines. Some parents brought chairs and umbrellas, even large shade canopies for their extended families. Janelle was lucky if she remembered her hat and sunglasses. She glanced around the field, her palms sweating in anticipation. Ace wasn’t here.

  Damn it.

  She tried not to think about last night’s adventures. What had felt scary in the moment struck her as unbearably hot in retrospect. She imagined his rough hand trapping her wrists. His callused finger sliding into her pussy.

  A man’s voice startled her out of her reverie. “Hey.”

  She almost jumped out of her boots. It was Ace. He’d come from the baseball area, which was in the opposite direction. “Hey yourself.”

  He brushed his lips over hers like he owned them. “I went to the wrong field.”

  Her cheeks warmed at his touch, and she was glad for the dark lenses of her sunglasses as she studied h
im. He was wearing a plaid, western-style shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The fabric clung to his broad shoulders and worn jeans covered his long legs. He was smiling. His coarse black hair shone like a raven’s wing in the sunlight.

  God. He was sexy.

  “I like your shirt,” she blurted.

  “I thought you might,” he said, rubbing his knuckles on the front pocket.

  Her stomach did a funny little flip. He looked almost nice, cleaned up. Underneath those jailhouse tattoos and hard edges was a charming man. A charming man who wanted to tie her up and do all sorts of dirty things to her.

  She didn’t stand a chance.

  “You look fucking gorgeous,” he said in a low voice, moistening his lips as if he wanted to eat her up. Then he moved his gaze to the field and actually watched the game. Jamie was playing goalie, which wasn’t his usual position. The team’s regular goalie had a broken arm and the boys were taking turns filling in.

  The home team stole the ball early and moved in for the score. When one of the players took a shot, Jamie jumped as high as he could, but the ball sailed over his head, into the goal. The opposite sideline exploded in cheers.

  One of the parents from Jamie’s team was a real blowhard, always grumbling if the boys made mistakes. He was sitting in a lawn chair on Janelle’s left. He shouted something to Jamie about staying alert.

  Ace frowned at the comment.

  Janelle clapped her hands and whistled her encouragement. “That’s okay, Strikers!”

  The Strikers scored the next goal, and Jamie blocked several more attempts. It was tied 1-1 for most of the hour. Just before the end, the opposite team drove the ball down the field again. Jamie was in the ready stance, crouched low. He dove for the ball and lost his footing, giving up a second goal.

  The loudmouth next to Janelle jumped out of his chair. “What the hell was that, goalie?”

  Ace stepped around Janelle and eyeballed the other parent pointedly. The guy had never paid any attention when Janelle gave him dirty looks, but he noticed Ace and went pale. Janelle bit her tongue to smother a giggle.