Cutslut

by Kim Jones

  When those pretty green eyes flutter open, they’re clouded in pleasure. Fucking bliss. Like she’s never been this full. Felt this stretched. Like she never anticipated how much greater than expected the sensation would be. And like what she’s feeling now was well worth whatever discomfort she suffered.

  My cock thickens and now it’s me who’s feeling the discomfort.

  I’m still buried to the hilt inside her. My pulse throbbing in my shaft. Her arms are stretched tight above her head. Her pulse likely throbbing in her fingertips. I contemplate freeing her so I can feel her hands on me. Her nails clawing at my back. But I decide to keep her tied and trapped beneath me. Mostly because I don’t trust what she might do to me when I’m coming hard and have my guard down.

  One hand on the head board, the other beside her head, I lean over her and rock my hips. Pulling and pushing a few inches out and in. She shivers with anticipation. Tightens her legs at my waist and stabs at my skin with her heels. Pleads in moans. Wanting more. Impatient. Unwilling to wait until I’m sure she can handle me—all of me.

  “Lift your hips.”

  She instantly obeys. I ease further into her—the head of my cock sliding over that satiny, sweet spot hidden deep inside her fiery cunt. She throws her head back on a breath of pleasure—exposing her soft, feminine neck.

  I want to wrap my hand around it. Squeeze. Control her breathing. Witness her eyes water. Redden. Push her to the point of panic and release her at the perfect time. Then watch as she experiences the high while she comes around me. But this close, I can make out a few fading bruises left behind by some other motherfucker’s hands and decide against it.

  My fingers curl tight around the wooden headboard. Both from anger at seeing the bruises and control over my desire to give her something to make her forget them.

  I move inside her—slow at first. Working up a steady rhythm. Then I move a little faster. Teasing her spot. Then I pump a little harder. I shift my weight to my knees and move my hand from beside her face to her clit. Then I drive a little deeper.

  When the pad of my thumb circles her clit, she melts beneath me. And I start fucking her just as fiercely and forcefully as I’d originally planned. Punishing and praising her with my cock that feels scorched from the heat of her wet pussy. In only three strokes, I’m witnessing the most erotic, rewarding, absolutely fucking beautiful thing in my life.

  Her coming.

  Maybe it’s because I’ve never much paid attention to a woman’s face when she came. Most of the women I fuck end up on their knees in my favorite position by the time they find their release. Selfishly, I’m too busy searching for my own to care too much about how they’re affected by their orgasm. Whatever the reason, Winter Tews makes me wish I’d have paid more attention—although I doubt it would have been as sexy as this.

  Her back is arched. Hips high. Head back. Brows creased. Mouth parted. A screaming cry escaping from between those pouty lips. It’s not guttural or throaty. Not screeching or annoying. Definitely not fake and most definitely not forced. It’s an involuntary, breathy, sweet as a box full of motherfucking kittens sound of pure ecstasy.

  But the best part is her eyes.

  They’re open.

  Wide.

  Centered. On. Me.

  A thin line of green circling dilated, black orbs that seem misty and faraway. Lost in some unknown abyss of pleasure. Fuck if I don’t want to go there too.

  I explode inside her—splintering the wood beneath my grip and biting my cheek to contain my roar. It ends up rumbling through my chest and sounding like a growl as my release powers through me. Temporarily weakening me. Draining me. Demanding every fucking ounce of my will power to keep from collapsing on top of her.

  Her pussy still clenches and quivers around me. Awakening my dick that was just starting to soften inside her. Goosebumps cover her skin that’s flushed in a pretty shade of red. All but her hands that have paled from the lack of blood flow.

  Two breaths later, I pull out of her just as hard as I was when I went in. Not even the loss of heat can tame my erection. It’s a struggle just to peel the condom off that’s suctioned to me. It’s a fucking mess too. You’d think I haven’t fucked in years.

  I shove my cock inside my jeans, pull my knife from my pocket and cut her hands free. She whimpers a little—flexing her fingers as she curls on her side. Her dress still around her waist. I pull off her shoes, toss a blanket over her and quietly leave.

  In the hall, I close my eyes and take a breath. Without the scent of her sweetness, the sight of her perfect tits or the feel of that snug cunt of hers squeezing my cock, I can think straight. When I do, I wish I hadn’t. Because thinking straight leads to only one thought.

  What. In the motherfuck. Have. I. done.

  12

  WINTER

  I wake up in the same position I fell asleep in. It doesn’t take me long to remember where I am or how I got here. The events of yesterday flood my mind and immediately put me in a shit mood.

  Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I start to stand and become aware of every ache in and outside my body. Then I’m reminded of everything that happened last night. In this room. This bed.

  I got fucked.

  Royally.

  Perfectly.

  I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard.

  Even now, my body hums at the thought of him giving me that release I so desperately needed. I can still see him hovering over me. Intimidating. Dark. Dangerous. That leather vest covered in dirty patches only adding to his appeal.

  He looked like he wanted to hurt me.

  And he did.

  When he speared me with no warning, I’d feared that what was happening between us wasn’t lustful desire. I thought maybe it was him intentionally hurting me because he got off on my pain. But then he’d stopped. A fleeting look of regret in his eyes.

  My chest warms when I think of how softly he spoke. He didn’t ask me if I was okay or if he was hurting me. He simply said, “Look at me.” I did. And there, in my eyes, he found the signal he was looking for.

  I want to slap myself when I nearly sigh. There was nothing romantic or sweet about last night. So he’s a good lay…big deal. Doesn’t make him any more likeable. Or tolerable. Or smarter.

  The dumbass should’ve known fucking me with that monstrosity of a cock he carries in his pants wasn’t going to be like throwing a hotdog down a hallway. It’s not like my pussy comes with a one size fits all label.

  My shit mood is back now. Taking in my surroundings doesn’t help lighten it either.

  The room I’m in is small and very typical of a clubhouse bedroom. Plain walls. A bed. Dresser. Closet. A small bathroom. No fucking towels….

  As much as I’d love a shower—even be willing to air dry for one—I settle for splashing some water on my face. Because not only are there not any towels, but my luggage isn’t here either. Which means I have to settle for rinsing my mouth out because I don’t have a toothbrush.

  My now crumpled dress reveals more than it covers—thanks to Jinx and his mighty hands—so I remove it and search the drawers and closet for something else. They both turn up empty but I find a black button down shirt on the bathroom counter. Slipping it over my head, I inhale the thick cotton and an involuntary shiver runs up my spine.

  It smells like Jinx.

  Like smoke and whiskey and cologne. It doesn’t appear dirty, but there’s no doubt that he’s worn this recently. I ignore that weird warm and fuzzy feeling his shirt gives me and tiptoe silently into the hall.

  It’s eerily quiet here. A surge of excitement bursts through me at the possibility that maybe somebody fucked up and left me alone. It quickly dies when I see Jinx sitting at a table to my left.

  He’s leaned back in his chair. Phone in hand. He wears a dark hoodie. Faded jeans. That same hat sits backwards on his head as he studies whatever’s on his phone intensely. There’s a steaming plate of food in front of him along with a cup of coffe
e. My mouth waters at the sight of both him and the food.

  He looks up at me slowly, almost as if he can sense my presence. I try to read his eyes as I make my way over, but he’s completely impassive. Then he seems to notice what I’m wearing and his gaze narrows a little.

  “That’s my shirt,” he says, his tone bored as he watches me take the seat across from him.

  “Good morning to you too, Captain Obvious.” I shoot him a grin before looking around the room. “Where is everyone?”

  “They left. They don’t like you.”

  Unable to refrain, I laugh. It’s as funny as it is relieving. One chapter down, one patch holder to go. “This for me?” Without waiting for a response, I slide his plate over to me and start eating—shoveling eggs into my mouth faster than any lady would.

  The food is delicious. The eggs fluffy. Bacon crisp. Toast still warm and slathered in my favorite jelly. After I’ve had several bites of each, I reach for his coffee. He doesn’t protest when I grab it, he only gives me a blank stare.

  “Not a morning person?” I tease, scooping another big bite of eggs on my fork.

  “Don’t ever wear my clothes again.”

  “I thought guys loved the look of a woman in their shirt,” I say around a mouthful of food. “Especially the morning after sex.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him.

  “About that,” he starts, but I cut him off.

  “Wait. Is this where you tell me last night was a mistake and it’ll never happen again?” I take a sip of coffee and wait for his response. When I don’t get one, I shrug. “Whatever makes you feel better, but you know as well as I do that it will happen again… And again… And again. Until you fall desperately in love with me.

  “Then you’ll start to regret holding me against my will. You’ll slip up. I’ll get away. And you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering what might’ve been. Meanwhile I’ll be sipping mojitos somewhere in the Caribbean. Waiting for that fated day when I see you walking toward me on the beach wearing white linen pants and a button down shirt.” I pause and pull at the collar of the shirt I’m wearing. “Like this one. But it won’t be this shirt. Because I’ll have this one with me. I’ll wear it every night as a reminder of what we once shared.”

  I look away and sigh dramatically, then laugh and take another bite of toast. He’s not the least bit amused by my theatrics. The only reaction I get from him is the same one he’s given me since I sat down—a void look that suggests I’m boring the hell out of him.

  I continue to eat my breakfast until my plate is clean. After my last bite, he finally speaks.

  “Last room on the right,” he says, lifting his chin in the direction of the hall. “There’s a door in there that leads outside. Since the only vehicle here is mine and I have the key in my pocket, you’ll be forced to leave on foot. You won’t make it down the driveway because I’ll be standing there. So you’ll try the woods. You’ll get lost. You’ll pray that I find you. I’ll leave you to suffer until just before dark. Then I’ll come get you. By that time, you’ll be freezing. Hungry. Probably in tears. It’ll make the trip back a lot easier for me because you won’t have the energy to fight. We’ll come back here. I’ll tie you up. You’ll beg me not to. But I’ll do it anyway. Then tomorrow morning, we’ll find ourselves back at this table.”

  He sits in confident silence waiting for me to comment. I’m trying to look calm, but my legs burn with the need to run. To show him I’m not his average captive. When I walk out that door, I won’t be coming back. I almost feel sorry for him.

  “So that’s how the fairytale ends?” I ask, feigning shock. “No hearts and flowers or warm baths and sweet kisses? Where’s the romance? Surely I’ll get stickers in my feet or cut myself on a low hanging limb. You’ll have to patch me up. Wrap me in your big, strong arms and whisper, ‘I got you,’ in my ear.”

  He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “This isn’t a fairytale, sweetheart. It’s reality. You run and you’ll wish you hadn’t. Or you could stay and live out the next two months doing normal chick shit like binge watching Netflix, eating chocolate and drinking scotch.” Winking, he leans forward and whispers, “But where’s the fun in that?”

  I must admit, what he offers does sound tempting. There are several shows I need to catch up on. Chocolate is my guilty pleasure and I could never get tired of drinking scotch. But I’m not that girl. And he knows it.

  “I think I’ll take my chances,” I say, pushing back from the table.

  I watch him cautiously, waiting for him to leap from his chair and tackle me. But he only shrugs—crossing his hands behind his head and leaning back. “Suit yourself. I’ll see you around dark.”

  “Only if you catch me,” I correct, keeping my eyes on him as I walk backwards toward the hall.

  “I’ll catch you, Winter,” he promises. “And you’ll wish to God I hadn’t.” Something about his cold warning has me second guessing myself. It passes the moment his bright, gray eyes disappear from my view as I step into the hall. Then I’m sprinting to the last room—quickly scanning it for anything I can use.

  I need shoes. Warmer clothes. Money. A weapon. But the room is completely empty. There’s not even a bed. When I hear his chair scrape across the floor, I panic and bolt to the door that leads outside. I’ll steal whatever I need once I’m away from here. Right now, I have to put some distance between me and this place. The longer I’m here, the better the chance of Cain finding me.

  Adrenaline makes the bite of cold easy to ignore as I run full speed across the yard. The entire place is surrounded with tall pines. I’m tempted to try and circle around the clubhouse to the driveway, but I know he’ll be waiting there—just like he said.

  He expects me to run toward the highway. In an attempt to throw him off, and because last night I made a mental note of the huge wrought iron fence that surrounds the front of the property, I run in the opposite direction.

  I don’t break stride until I’m so deep in the woods, the clubhouse is no longer visible. Then I slow my pace to a steady jog—knowing I can’t afford to fall and break a bone.

  A thick blanket of pine straw covers the ground between the trees providing cushion for my bare feet. But I’ve been gone all of five minutes and they’re already numb, so I doubt I’d even notice if there were sharp rocks and glass beneath me.

  Since the area is pretty clear and lacks any cutover, I decide to once again quicken my pace while I have the energy. I’ll slow down only when I’m forced to. By that time, I’ll be so far away, Jinx won’t have a chance at finding me—not that he could. Even if he knew these woods in and out, there’s no way he’ll be able to track me.

  The thought has me laughing and shaking my head. I can already smell the salt of the sea, feel the warmth of the sun and taste the mojito on my tongue—if south is where I decide to go.

  Meanwhile, he’ll be here. Regretfully reliving this day over and over again. The day he underestimated Winter Tews.

  13

  JINX

  “Where is she?” Luke asks, stopping to look around the room before leaning over the bar to grab a beer.

  “Gone,” I say, not bothering to look up from my crossword puzzle. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him stiffen.

  “Gone where?”

  “The woods. What’s a six letter word for rug?”

  “Jinx.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where the hell is she?” Luke’s frustration is evident. I know the feeling. This puzzle is hard as fuck.

  “I told you. She’s in the woods.” I slide my phone across the table where he’s now seated—too absorbed in thirty-six across to meet his eyes and give him my undivided attention. “She’s the blinking, red dot.”

  Carpet?

  “You put a tracking device on her?” he asks, his tone incredulous.

  “Something like that,” I mumble, giving up and tossing my pencil on the table. Grabbing my beer, I lean back on the legs of my chair and watch him as he studies
the phone.

  “This is some advanced shit.” Oh, now he’s impressed. “Where’d you get it?”

  “An old friend from Houston is a big tech geek. He settled down, moved to Barbados.” I shrug. “He’s bored.”

  “So you just let her go?” This motherfucker is full of questions today.

  “She’s barefoot and barely clothed. It’s not like she can go too far. And there’s not a soul around out here for miles.”

  The location of Hattiesburg’s clubhouse is remote—centered in the middle of one hundred acres of trees. It’s the perfect place to harbor a captive. And when Pierce called in a favor to Luke, he was more than willing to help.

  For the past six months, the Hattiesburg charter’s main focus has been the opening of their newest night club, which employs almost all of the local chapter members. To be closer to the business, Luke temporarily moved the clubhouse’s location to one of his properties downtown. Now, the only two occupants in the old clubhouse are me and Winter.

  Luke promised that last night was just a one-time thing. The brothers were curious. So were the women. They wanted to know more about Pierce’s mysterious little sister who’d been eighty-sixed from the Devil’s Renegades. I bet if they knew then what they know now, they would’ve stayed the fuck away from the mouthy bitch.

  Truth is, I’m glad it happened. The guys needed some incentive to keep their distance. The last thing I need is one of my brothers falling for her crazy shit and unknowingly aiding in her escape. The plan has always been to keep Winter completely isolated from the outside world. I’m confident that it’s the best and fastest way for her to come around to my way of thinking.

  “She’s five miles out,” Luke says, in that same fucking disbelieving tone. This time though, I share his enthusiasm.

  “Yeah…” I nod slowly, thinking about how I may have underestimated her will power. And stamina. “She’s a tough one.”