Beautiful Things Evil People Do

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “Someplace wonderful and warm, if I have my way.”

  I set the bottle down on the side table and take the cigarette from his fingers. I smash the butt in the ashtray and crawl onto his lap. “You mean that?”

  “I mean every fucking word, Echo.”

  “Sleep with me.”

  “Literally?” His face lights up. “Sleep?”

  “Yes, my room, your room, I don’t care. I want every remaining minute of this summer to be spent with you.”

  He leans back, rubbing his hands over his face, and mutters, “Fuck.”

  Jynx

  “Don’t fall for me.”

  “It’s too late for that,” she says, restraining her emotions. “I was falling for you when we raced across the country. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

  “I’m not, though,” I assure with trepidation. “I’m trying to teach you that you’re worth more than an attack. Don’t fall for what you cannot have.”

  “Is that all this is—you playing professor?”

  “I cannot plan out my life,” I say, setting my jaw. “My brain doesn’t work that way. I take things as they come.”

  “But you promised a bonfire,” she rallies, arguing her point. “That is planning.”

  “I mean long term,” I elaborate, staring at her and wondering how we wound up here. “I can give you three months. I can’t promise what happens after that, and to tell you the truth, I don’t even want to think about it. If I plan it all out—this idyllic masterpiece—and it doesn’t happen, I will end up in an awful place. And so will you. My job is to protect not only my heart but yours. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Enjoy the days. Relish in the nights.”

  “So I only get this big bad Dominant in the middle of the night?” she asks with increasing irritation. “What if I want you like that all the time?”

  “I refuse to let the darkest parts of me out in the day. I’m like a vampire. The sun will burn my monster and consume me without a way to diffuse the endorphin load.”

  “Let him out again.”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t perform on command.”

  “Then I’m leaving because we aren’t in this as a team,” she claims, caving into her fear. “We aren’t fifty/fifty.”

  Running my hand over my hair, I shake my head. “I stalked, drugged, and abducted you. What part of that screams a healthy relationship? I am toxic. We are toxic.”

  “I want to be intoxicated by you,” she cries, grappling for anything to hold onto. “During the day, you’re so kind.”

  I blink repeatedly. “I’m a decent human being, and I will concede to your filthy fucking gentleman title, but I’m not your forever white knight. I’m serving as a teacher, a dark Master, who believes you deserve more than rape.”

  “What do I have to do to deserve you?”

  “I don’t want romance.”

  She squeals, “Liar!”

  “Take your shirt off.”

  She pulls it over her head and throws it far. Her hair flutters back to her shoulders with the gracefulness of a butterfly. “Now what?”

  “Masturbate.”

  Her eyes bulge wide like I’ve insulted and tarnished her soul. “… What?”

  “Touch your pussy like you do when you’re alone watching all those videos.”

  Covering her chest with her arms, she gasps with embarrassment, “… You know?”

  “I’m really good at what I do,” I marvel with arrogance. “And you need to learn to protect yourself online.”

  She skitters off of my lap, grabbing her shirt as the chase is on. Sprinting across the backyard, she darts into the shed and locks the door. I walk over. Fuck running. I lightly knock on the door. “Go away and leave me alone!”

  “I have a key, Abigail!”

  “Stop calling me that!”

  “Open the door.”

  “No!”

  “If you don’t open the door right now, I will send a list of all of the videos you’ve downloaded in the last three years to your professors, Abigail.”

  She swings the door open fast. “You wouldn’t do that!”

  Lifting my brows, I fiendishly smile. “… I wouldn’t?”

  “Fuck you, Jynx!” She tosses a pillow at me. “I hate you! You’re too good at this!”

  “I’m thirty-six. I’ve had a bit of practice.” She twirls away, but I grab her arms and shove her onto the bed. I lunge onto her naked flesh, securing her wrists in one hand as I flick my tongue over her lips. I nip at her neck and draw a wet trail to her nipple. I fastidiously suck and bite. “Touch your fucking pussy, like the slut you want to be. Show me how you make yourself come.”

  “I hate you!” she repeats, spitting in my face. I spread her legs and grip my dick in my hand, preparing to mount her and give her exactly what she wants. “You won’t do it!”

  I spring back at her accusation. “You think I won’t put my dick in you?”

  “No!”

  “Bitch, I shoved my dick down your fucking throat! I can easily take your ass.”

  “No!” Her screams echo throughout the cabin. “Don’t do that!”

  I stick out my tongue and smirk. “Why, is your ass holy? Cause your mouth sure sins like a tart.”

  “Dammit, J!”

  I gently swoop my tongue over her hardened peak. “Show me how you pet that beautiful kitten between your legs. Make her purr for me.”

  Her teeth are clamped so hard on her bottom lip that I fear she may have a bruise by morning. I lift on my forearms, hovering, planking, as her hand skids down to her slit. “I love the rough scenes.”

  “You like the ones when there is no consent or negotiation.”

  “Yes,” she mumbles. “I don’t want the choice.”

  “But you don’t want to be taken by a low-life criminal; a man smelling of booze with bad teeth and a rank dick isn’t going to do it for you. But somehow, you foolishly believe that you can dissuade his efforts of raping you. And that—right there—is where you are wrong. He will have his way with you and obliterate your existence.”

  “Not really, no,” she finally admits. “I want an honorable man with a closet full of skeletons.” She gasps as her fingers speed up. “He’s gorgeous but capable of taking care of things. He’s brilliantly sinister and knows my number.” My hand grazes over the fullness of her breasts as my fingers lightly pinch and twist her nipples. “Oh, God…Jynx…”

  “Don’t you come yet,” I warn.

  “Don’t stop,” she demands, rocking for more. “Please.” I toss her hand away from her clit and slip down between her legs. My tongue caresses the damp shell. I circle the ripe bud, sucking it into my mouth. My fingers don’t stop, tweaking, and burning her nipples. Her hips wickedly buck to meet my demands. “Please, fuck me!”

  I stop and slide off the edge of the bed.

  She sits up in protest, but I push her down, whipping her legs onto my shoulders and swiveling her across the bed. “Don’t say another word. Touch your fucking cunt.”

  Her erratic breaths speed up as I pound one-off between her legs and groan, “I want to hurt you.”

  “So do it!”

  “That’s giving consent,” I enthusiastically praise, raising a brow. “Are you sure you want that?”

  “I desire whatever you are willing to allow.”

  “You took the ad down,” I mention, spitting on my hand and coating my dick. “I’m so proud of you.” With one solid thrust, I plunge into her unyielding asshole, and she howls like I’m shredding her insides apart. I firmly cover her mouth with my hand, and she proceeds to sink her teeth into my palm. I love a good horizontal brawl. I don’t fucking care. I cannot take it anymore. I’m getting off in this girl again tonight. I pound her body with a vengeance as a maniacal rage consumes me. “You wanted this.”

  I chuck her feet from my shoulders as I lean closer and remove my hand. I passionately kiss her, diving my tongue into her swoll
en mouth. She kisses me back with as much intensity as I bring. I reluctantly part from her, and she whispers, “Jynx Monroe, you’re one fucked up son of a bitch.”

  Her eyelashes brim with tears as I come hard and fast, bucking with all that I have. “Cry for me, baby. Cry harder.” I groan with pleasure as her body clamps to mine. “Do you know how much I want to take everything you’re offering?”

  “So do it,” she mutters as the tears multiply, and I thrust my fingers into her wetness. I pump hard, wishing it was my dick she was blessing with her dew, but I’m not there yet. Taking her virginity is a commitment, and I want to earn the distinction of possessing the right to call her my girl. Her eyes shutter closed, and she pants, coming with a wave and saturating my hand. She blinks and breathes. “I won’t let you down. You think I am too young, but give me three months to prove to you that I’m just right. I’m exactly who you need. I’ll let you do whatever you want.”

  “I wasn’t looking to fall in love.”

  “I wasn’t either,” she charges, brushing her hands over my shoulders. “I wanted a fucking one night stand.”

  My lips meet hers again in a delicious frolic of lips and tongue. “I cannot be your one night stand. I’m sorry. I can do many things for you and to you, but I won’t do that.”

  “Then I admit defeat,” she says, bawling in my arms. “I’ll be your submissive.”

  “You don’t want that,” I caution, tempted by the idea. “I’m cruel.”

  Through her tears, she cackles, “Like randomly fucking my backend wasn’t cruel?”

  “I like getting off, and you’re just so damn beautiful,” I confess, blinking back my tears of conflict. I won’t let them go, but they’re damn sure there. I’m falling in love with this girl—Abigail Maines. She’s damn twenty-two. And my fucking dick and heart cannot get enough of her. I almost hollered when she asked to sleep with me. “You’re a brat.”

  “Does that make you my Sugar Daddy?”

  “I’m not that old,” I contest with a seductive grin. “But you’re still a brat. My fucking beguiling brat.”

  I want her in my bed.

  I want her on my dick.

  I want my collar on her neck.

  But most of all, I want the responsibility of keeping her happy.

  “I want whatever brings me closer to you,” she whispers, declaring her subjugation. “Master Jynx, with much respect, I beg you to train me.”

  And so we begin.

  15

  Shorty

  Echo

  In the bathroom, I finish packing up a few things for the weekend away in Savannah. We’re leaving tomorrow morning. Time is passing far too quickly. I want to stomp on the brakes to spend more time with him.

  We’ve spent the last few days working sun up to sundown. The days are blissfully romantic as the night brings on a hot, sordid affair.

  Jynx is outside right now with the Ag boys. A couple of them—Tommy and Jake—are going to maintain the farm while we’re away for a few days.

  Surprisingly, Jynx asked me how much to pay them. I was humbled that he asked, but considering they’re closer to my age at eighteen than his, I understood. I had no idea, but I tossed out the idea of a few hundred, and he agreed. They’re finishing the yard clean-up, letting the horses and flock out and back in. Two trips a day, but they live less than five miles away.

  I glance at the party dress hanging in the plastic bag. We found it in Charleston at a lovely boutique. He paid way too much for it, but I’m trying to accept his gifts are part of the Jynx Monroe prize package.

  “Are you aware of how incredible you are?” He asks from the doorway, surprising me. “I could stare at you for the rest of my life.”

  “And you wonder why I am falling for you!” I giggle, tossing makeup into the bag as he comes up behind me and wraps his arms around me. We stare in the mirror at one another. “I’m not ready for this.”

  “Yes, you are,” he insists, spinning me in his arms and picking me up. He deposits me on the bathroom counter and rubs his beard. He pulls off his shirt and hands it to me. I bring the fabric to my nose as he flips on the electric razor and shaves. “You’re watching me,” he mumbles, turning on the hot water. His eyes dance to mine. “Am I that entertaining?”

  “Why not use the electric razor to take it all off?”

  “I don’t like the feel of it. And I don’t want to dull my blade with that much hair,” he instructs, pulling open the straight razor. He whisks the lather and goos up his face. “And the answer is no. I will not allow you to do this.”

  “I wouldn’t know the first thing about it.”

  “Lean against the mirror, spread your thighs, and arch your hips out.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shaving,” he replies, running the razor over his face. He smirks, and his dimples resurface. I blush as he encourages, “Trust me.”

  I patiently wait as he finishes his face, and he whisks more lather. “Are we going bare, Mr. Monroe?”

  “Yes,” he informs, pulling up the chair. “But purposefully. After we come back, I will be sending you to Rochelle for a proper waxing.”

  “Fuck,” I yelp as the brush barely touches me. “It tickles!”

  “Breathe,” he urges, continuing. “And don’t move. Arch up more.”

  “I feel like I’m at the gynecologist.”

  “I could conduct a thorough exam.”

  “Where did you learn to use a straight razor?”

  “I taught myself, years ago, because back in the olden days,” he cackles, gleefully. “We used to carry switchblades because we were bad. Being the kinky ass bastard that I am, I thought it would be cool if I learned to do this. I had taught myself everything else about being a man, so I figured what was one more thing.”

  I ponder his words and consider who taught me to be a girl. I learned a lot from my paternal grandmother. And strangely, Selia has provided many lessons. We raised one another from fumbling teenage girls to young women. “… Everything?”

  “Pretty much,” he replies, calming my nerves with his deep voice. “My dad was never around, and my grandfather was not the type to do anything that didn’t involve golf. If you swung a club with him, he might have said two words to you, which meant you had a deep and meaningful relationship.”

  “Who taught Axel?”

  “Me!” He booms, lightly nudging my thigh. “But as I said, Axel is a prissy little bitch boy. He would rather see Rochelle or whoever in Myrtle Beach. He’s not in your league.”

  “Is he straight?”

  “As the day is long,” he says, running the razor over my tender flesh. “Don’t even question his sexuality, or you’ll get a sermon on his straightness.”

  “… What is my league, Jynx?”

  “You want a real man.”

  “And you’re a real man?”

  “I am,” he affirms, taking a warm washcloth and cleaning me. “Beautiful barren landscape.”

  Leaning in, he rolls his tongue up the slit. “Jesus! Warn a girl once in a while!”

  “Perfection!” He proudly beams and helps me down off the counter before leading me to the bedroom. “Sit on the bed.”

  He disappears into the closet and returns with three boxes. “You will be wearing these things underneath your dress.” He sets the stack of presents on the bed and crouches on the floor in front of me. “Big-box first.”

  I pull the red ribbon on the white box to find a luxurious black silken bra, panty, and garter set. The wide strapping speaks of his fetish. The next box contains a remote control vibrating anal plug. “You’ve got to be kidding! I’m meeting your parents!” His brows wag as I laugh at the seriousness held in his eyes. “Oh my God, Jynx!”

  “My name is Jeremiah.” I gasp at his sudden revelation.

  “The weeping prophet,” I mutter, remembering my religion classes in college. “A seething harangue.”

  “Yes, I’m quite angry,” he laughs, showing off those precious dimpl
es in his face. “If you need to safeword out, call me by my name, but do not ever call me Jeremy.”

  “I wish I had that clause.”

  “You don’t get that clause, Abby.” He winks.

  “I hate to say how much I love hearing you say it,” I admit, blushing and grabbing the last box. My eyes water as I stare at the diamond necklace. “This is a collar.”

  “It is,” he confirms, standing upright and fastening the row of diamonds around my neck. Another long strand of diamonds dips between my breasts. “Hell, that’s hot.”

  “Is it…”

  “I don’t do fake,” he asserts with a crooked grin. “Ever.”

  “I should say your name now because I cannot breathe.”

  He takes my hand and drops to one knee. “My name is Jeremiah Abaddon Monroe. A pleasure to meet you, Miss Maines. Please call me Jynx.”

  “Hebrew,” I muster out as he latches his fingers around mine. “Destroyer. Doom.”

  “Angel of the abyss,” he adds.

  “Who gave you such a wretched middle name?”

  “My mother—she was sixteen and pregnant with me,” he carefully says as we trudge through his bleak beginnings. “I interfered with her partying ways,” he factually informs like a news anchor, but the sorrow in his words brutally stabs my heart. “And they had a king over them, which is the angel of the bottomless pit, whose name in the Hebrew tongue is Abaddon, but in the Greek tongue hath his name Apollyon. It’s from Revelations 9:11. Also, don’t ever say I have Mommy issues. My grandmother may as well have been my mother because the woman you will meet this weekend means absolutely nothing to me. She provided a cheap motel for nine months and nothing more.”

  “You’re over it.”

  “I’m over her,” he contends with utmost conviction. “I spent the better part of my reckless and wild youth, causing mayhem in acts of rebellion, hoping to garner her attention. It did not work. No matter if I was good or evil, she does not nor will she ever care about her firstborn son. She never once came to see me in prison, and I decided when I was released, that I would no longer care about her thoughts or opinions. I call her my mother or Mom out of respect for my father. He’s done a lot for me.”