Beautiful Things Evil People Do

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  His efforts did not go unnoticed, nor did mine concerning retributive attacks. I unpacked and bought outfits to taunt, distract, and cause as many indecent thoughts in his mind as he brought to mine.

  This was war.

  Not in a shed or on a farm—but in an office, full of employees.

  Our relationship strengthened in a startlingly traditional way.

  He didn’t force his dirty secrets on me. We rarely engaged in any sexual activity. I did sleep in his room, but our nights involved curling up in bed with a movie or a crime show. We shared romantic late-night dinners, routinely walked the park, visited art museums, the zoo, and even attended a theater show. On the weekends, we went hiking, four-wheeling, or rafting.

  We had fun.

  And somehow, the six-three, thirty-seven-year-old man named Jynx was my new best friend.

  I started to realize outside of the bedroom—and his Dominion—what an amazing catch he was. Everyone in the office loved him. Strangers at the grocery store and neighbors at the hotel who were also on extended stays seemed drawn to him as well. In social circles, he was not only the life of the party but expressed genuine concern for other’s well-being, at least on the surface.

  He may not have liked people, but they adored him.

  His demeanor enthralled me.

  And I fell more in love and lust with the guy running the scenic, desolate trail about fifty feet behind me. This out of the way nature preserve is one of our favorite places to explore.

  I swiftly turn down the beaten path through the dense woods. Sweat clings to my skin on the hot and muggy late August morning, and the canopy of shade beneath the trees brings welcome relief. We have only taken this path one other time. My ponytail swishes against my back as I carefully trod down the slow descent to a creek.

  I never see the rock, buried within the earth, when I tumble. Hitting the dirt, I giggle at my fuck up.

  “Shit! Are you okay?” He flies to my aid, towering over in his sunglasses and ball cap.

  “Aside from being an idiot?” I question, sitting up and spotting the blood trickling from my knee. It’s not bad. “Fuck.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Not really.”

  He tugs off his shirt, ripping a long strip of fabric at the hem. “It’s not the cleanest, but it will do. We should be done.”

  “I’m not done until I get to the water.”

  He snarls. “You’ve got a truckload of determination,” he admires, securing the makeshift bandage to my leg. “Thank God you don’t have far to fall.”

  I snicker, “I bounce back fast.”

  “Have you always been this way?”

  “Yeah,” I say, smiling. “Since I can remember.”

  “Resilient little brat.” His lips curl, and he offers his hands to help me up. “Go slow when you put weight on it.”

  “I’m fine, J,” I assure, stretching and walking in a small circle. “Let’s go! We’re so close!”

  He extends his hand. “Lead on. I love watching that ass shake.”

  We continue running another mile and a half, and I don’t even think about the fabric tied around my knee. Thoughts of how gallant and charming and dirty he is take up all of my attention as I spot the creek in the distance. The slope of the land shifts to a steeper, more hazardous passage as the woods close in with foreboding darkness where only speckles of light creep through the branches.

  I smile wide, knowing we made it. I deem the run a success as my shoes stop at the creek’s edge. A current rushes past with a heavy flow as fish gather on the sides in still waters. I glance back, scanning the area for Jynx.

  He’s nowhere to be found.

  Oh, my God. What if he fell?

  He’s massive—tall and broad—and certainly, I would’ve heard the thump.

  I take a breath and spin to run back up the hill when I collide with the ground. His grim aura ensconces over me. With an ominous tone, he warns of the impending erotically dark dance. I’m in quite the quagmire. “You shouldn’t be out here running alone, pretty girl.”

  I scream and flail, trying to find leverage beneath his rigid frame, which is almost pointless. He spreads my thighs fast, leaving my loose-fitting shorts on, and rams his hard cock deep inside of me.

  “God! No!” I cry out, striking his glistening biceps. “Don’t hurt me, please!”

  Thrust after thrust, he claims what is his as I howl and fight. My feet slip against the soil. His palm covers my mouth as he assaults my wetness. His corruption confiscates my every thought. My heart pounds with absolute desire to have this man, who understands the skewed parts of me like no other.

  “You should never have been out here alone, dressed like that.”

  I’m wearing shorts and a sweat-wicking tank top. It’s not like I’m gallivanting through the forest in skimpy panties, but I play along because this is what we do. I keep struggling, wiggling, and providing a challenge.

  He cannot find the rhythm to come.

  I make the best moves I can, on the fly, unrehearsed.

  We are impromptu in our love affair with my sinfully delicious unwilling portrayals.

  He gets off on it, and I do too.

  This isn’t sweet and tender lovemaking in nature, but a furious battle with lines drawn. I trust that he’ll never intentionally hurt me, but after this scuffle, I will have bruises to be proud of—I earn the markings, wounds, and scars of his volatile passion.

  I have never had a gift I treasured so much.

  He finally releases my mouth, and I manage to scurry out from under him. Before I can run, he grabs my ankle, pinning my hands and securing my body down.

  He’s got me now.

  I know it; he knows it.

  His teeth clamp to my neck as I beg, “Do whatever you want, just let me live…”

  It’s twisted and fucked up and wrong.

  But so damn right.

  “I’m gonna fuck you up, slut” he roars, driving his cock inside of me again as I feel the waves of an orgasm rock through me. I close my eyes as his grunts become louder, and his pumps evolve to a primitive state. “God, your pussy is so tight. So fucking wet. Yes, fuck my dick, baby….fuck it so good!”

  He comes—hard, holding me down and forcing himself upon me.

  And like the curtain dropping on a performance, his monster vanishes as quickly as he surfaced. His gentleman returns, releasing my hands and staying inside of me. He gently caresses my cheeks. “I love you so fucking much, Echo.”

  No apologies are necessary.

  No forgiveness is needed.

  “You’re so bad,” I whisper, grinning from ear to ear. “And I will never get enough of you—of this with you.”

  “What if I really hurt you?” he softly asks, falling out and yanking his shorts back over his package. “Will you recover? Will you bounce back?”

  “Take me as far as you can,” I say as he kneels between my legs and examines the wound on my knee. “I know the safeword.”

  “Promise me you will use it,” he tenderly says. His three modes—the disingenuous asshole, the gentle soul rarely shown, and the monster never seen in the light of day—form one chaotic Jynx. “Maybe it’s time to have a talk.”

  Hours later, we sit in bed with my laptop. With his head on my shoulder, Jynx says, “Just so you know, I haven’t ever condoned the idea of discussing sex in the bedroom.”

  “You’ve never had a relationship,” I rebuke, clicking on the link to the video site. “How would you possibly know if this is good or bad behavior?”

  “You have a point.”

  “The discussions you have with one-night stands are more negotiation for the evening, not longterm viable solutions,” I say as my list of 4,291 favorites pops up. “You want inside of my mind? Pick away.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he mumbles as I hand the laptop to him. “You weren’t kidding. Define your limits and fantasies,” he demands, thumbing through the list. He reads every title but never plays a video. “Plea
se.”

  “Help me,” I urge, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

  “Obviously, being tied up is a huge turn on.” Pulling my knees in, I blush and confess, “Any restraint.”

  “What about the couple videos with women?”

  “I think it’s common to wonder about having sex with another woman,” I admit, trying to hide. “I wouldn’t even mind watching you control a scene with another woman, but I don’t think I could handle you having sex with her.”

  “There’s a whole batch of videos with several guys.”

  “Yeah, but I’m kind of picky. There is a fine line between hot and eww.”

  He chuckles. “I will never share you sexually with a man. It just won’t happen. I can’t handle it,” he honestly confides the hard limit for him as he continues to scroll down. “I’ll kill someone.”

  “You have a very high regard for what is between my legs considering you enjoy trespassing like a vulture picking apart a carcass.”

  He laughs, but his expression turns serious. “I respect you as a woman, including your right to have ravishment fantasies. My job, as your boyfriend and lover, is to enable your growth. I never want to hinder or cause you harm. I have the umbrella of consent from you, but I will push your boundaries, which is why we’re having this talk.”

  My hand brushes over his as I argue, “You were on the border of becoming a rapist…”

  “But I never did it,” he contends, licking his lips. “You gave me your virginity. And no man, on my watch, will ever breach that hallowed ground. It belongs to me.” He grabs my pussy hard. “I will defend it if need be because I plan on putting my children in you. You are sacred, Abigail. Your pussy is my sanctuary.”

  “Gosh…”

  “I don’t take the responsibility of what happens to your body lightly. I respect the entire scene, even if I falter. I never liked the idea of violating anyone and that is probably why I never did it. But it doesn’t change the compulsion or the craving. When you fight me, my mind finds that dark place deep within where the demons live. I won’t lie, it turns me on more than anything else, but never forget, you matter to me. I’m in love with you—all of you.”

  “But there is a point where you lose control.”

  “I don’t ever let myself become so lost in the act that I won’t abide by hearing my name from your lips. You pull the plug and I pull out.”

  I lean forward, slightly turning, and sitting cross-legged. “And what if I decide I need a more loving Jynx? What do I do then?”

  “We’ll deal with that when we get there,” he replies, stroking my cheek. “Do you want that now?”

  “I want to know that it’s not out of the question. Not that I want such, but I need to know you’re open to the idea of expansion. I don’t want to get locked into one way. I want a constantly changing playing field.”

  “Then we have to work toward that,” he contends, setting my laptop on the nightstand and hitting play on one of the videos. “I’m not done.”

  “Keep it as long as you need,” I offer, pulling back the sheet. I trace my finger along with the shadow of his cock trapped beneath the plaid pajama pants. “Dissect my psyche.”

  Bravely, I tug his pants down, and as promised, he accepts me as the moans from the video heighten the tension between us. My lips soar over the tip, sucking his shaft purposefully to an erection. My mouth drifts low.

  “God, suck my balls, baby…”

  I lick and slurp his sack as my hand strokes his cock. I straddle over, guiding him to my entrance. “You’re so fucking hot, Jynx.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Fucking you,” I moan, pulling off my shirt as his fingers skim over my breasts. “Taking what is mine. You’re not the only one with expressed ownership. I may not have your virginity, but this dick belongs to me now, Jynx. And it is sacred too.”

  His eyes convey a desperate yearning. He wants to grow and understand. “I want you, Echo. If that means sweet and tender or rough and hard, we will figure it the fuck out.”

  I ride along his ridge, welcoming the intense fullness as my core burns with wanton lust. “I can never have enough of you.”

  His hands drop to my hips, and he thrusts from below. “Take it baby, make yourself come on my dick.”

  I let go.

  And so does he.

  34

  Stay the Night x Life

  Jynx

  “I don’t like them,” Axel announces in my office, midday Friday afternoon. Everyone else in the world hates Mondays. I loathe Friday because everyone wants shit done before five o’clock like I’m some sort of miracle worker. Like I can one-man reprogram the entire Dower system, which even though better, is still antiquated as fuck. I’ve got about a dozen people wanting to talk to me, and Axel whining about heaven only knows what.

  Pulling the end of the pen from my lip, I ask, “What are you on about?”

  “They’re no better than Dad.”

  “Probably not,” I admit, rocking in my chair. “Wait, what do you mean?”

  “I think, regardless of what they said to you, that they’re going to fire our people, starting with Wang’s group.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  As I am rocking in my chair, he asks, “Honestly?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Because I overheard Eddie talking to some dweeb down in accounts receivable in the restroom.” Great. My brother was taking a dump and eavesdropping. “So I followed them to the stairwell where Eddie confirmed to Mike that they planned on laying off the new Monroe employees as soon as the main team leaves.”

  “Back up…you were taking a shit…”

  “No,” he laughs, barreling over. “I was jerking off because that hot little brunette, Elisabeth, in…”

  “I know who Elisabeth is,” I interject—because she (and her enormous rack) works in integration, and I was doing the same thing, though not in the men’s restroom, five months ago. “Fuck.”

  I’m not sure if the image of him jerking off is better or worse.

  “Yeah, we handed over several thousand employees because you didn’t want to run Peacock,” he replies, tucking his hand under his chin. “I’m not trying to put any extra burden on you, but everything you’re doing is a wasted effort. Your deal was with Theodore, but he is handing over the business to Eddie.”

  “… Which means my deal is belly up,” I mumble, sideswiped. “Fuck!”

  I stand and bolt for the door as he asks, “Where are you going?”

  “To talk to Teddy.”

  “You shouldn’t do that,” Axel warns, grabbing my arm. I glance at his blue eyes—the same color as mine—fearless as he ever has been.

  We fight. We forget. We move on.

  He knows not to push me but does it anyway. I won’t deny my brother can be a prissy bitch, and a dickhead rolled into one toxic egg roll, but he isn’t lying to me about this, which means Theodore did—unless he doesn’t know.

  I bust out the door, and Echo perks up with a concerned look. “Fuck,” I overhear Axel’s mumble as I wait for the elevator. I unbutton my sleeves and roll the cuffs. I glance over at Ek, gawking, and I quickly arch a suggestive brow. She blushes and bites her lip.

  I step on alone and lean against the wall. I don’t want any of it. I only want her, but I’m not the guy to walk away—and Goddammit, sometimes I wish I was. I don’t want to stop at the wreck, hold the dying animal, or even save the girl from herself—but I have to because it’s who I am. I must accept my caring nature even if I hate it—I’m an asshole with a heart.

  Let me out of here.

  Let my monster free.

  I take a breath and step out onto the fifth floor. I smile at Delores, and she waves me through with a wink. I open his door to find the older man sitting at his desk. He doesn’t bother to acknowledge me.

  “We need to have a talk.”

  “Can we do this later tonight?” Theodore says, staring at the crossword puzzle. “I need another word fo
r revolt.”

  “Mutiny.”

  “No,” he replies, blinking at the screen. “Starts with R.”

  “… Rebellion?”

  “Shorter.”

  “... Rebel?”

  “Perfect!” He booms, smiling as I nod and walk out. “Take care, Jeremiah.”

  “You too,” I reply with a side-eyed glance, walking, dumfounded out to Delores desk. “How long has he been…”

  “His dementia is worse some days than others. Today is the far end of the bad spectrum. I’m not even sure why Eddie brought him in,” she informs, rolling her eyes and rubbing her lips together. “Theo had bloodwork this morning and couldn’t take his meds. Eddie is taking over in a month because of the decline in his father’s health.”

  Eddie knew when we made the deal.

  I lean, abruptly placing my hands on her desk, and staring at her big brown eyes. Her long lashes blink at me. “And the deal with Peacock?”

  “Eddie instigated it because he didn’t want to compete against you,” she whispers as her full purple lips sympathetically pucker. Delores Jones is a beyond attractive middle-aged diva. Typically, I don’t go for the type—professionally or personally—but she pulls it off like a goddess. “And I want to keep my job.”

  I can’t do this.

  But I don’t have a choice.

  I must do this.

  “Do you want an upgrade?” I suggest, knowing the shit I’m thinking about doing crosses many lines. “You help me and I’ll give you a place at Peacock.”

  With a hint of sarcasm, she counters, “Working for you?”

  “For me or Wang.”

  “You’re putting Wang in charge?” she whispers, tilting closer to me. “Wendlin Rile is almost as good as you.” She winks. “What do you need?”