Cutslut

by Kim Jones

  Whatever his reasons for being different, I respect him all the more for it. It makes me trust him more. See him as a person—not a patch. Or a brother. Or another potential man ready to claim me as his own. Dictate what I should wear. Who I should hang out with. What I should call him.

  “If you look close enough, you’ll find scars all over my body,” I say, refusing to ask myself why I’m opening up to him. “Most of them are small. No bigger than an inch or two. No more than a tiny white line, a small indention or a strip of raised flesh. Some are hidden beneath the art. Some are in plain sight. I remember how I got every one of them. Dates and times, too. Is that strange?”

  “No,” he says, his voice feather soft. Caressing me. Encouraging me to continue. The man should be a shrink, because I’m eager to tell him everything. My only anxiety comes from knowing that I should use this to my advantage. And deciding that I will.

  I’ll reveal myself to him one layer at a time. Make him think he’s breaking me down. Getting in my head. Then when he least expects it, I’ll make my move. I’ll escape. In the end, we’ll both get something. I’ll get away. Maybe prevent any bloodshed between The Devil’s Renegades and Madness. And Jinx will get a fresh reminder of why it’s dangerous to get close to someone.

  “I’m going to show you something I’m not ready for other people in your world to see. Not because I’m ashamed but because nothing good can from anyone knowing.”

  “Then why show me?” he asks, startling me. I’d assumed he’d be eager to hear what I had to say. Before I can catch myself, I’m giving him the real reason when I should be lying.

  “Because I trust you.” My mouth snaps shut but it’s too late. I’ve spoken. He’s heard.

  I don’t like how telling him this is making me feel. That’s not part of the plan. Yet, some deep reaction is tugging at my heart. Tightening my chest. It’s strange. And it kind of feels like friendship. I think. Hell, I haven’t had friends in so long, I can’t really remember what it feels like.

  Clearing my throat, I quickly add, “And I want to avoid any surprise reactions in the future. Considering we’re constantly together and you have no respect for my privacy.”

  His silence fills the room. He looks as unaffected as always. Like he could give two shits about what I say or what I show him. A part of me believes it’s a façade. Especially the strain in his voice when he says, “Fair enough.”

  I lick my lips—not missing his eyes that break away from mine and lower to my mouth. I wait until our gazes are locked again before speaking. “I did something to Cain once that made him question my loyalty. He thought I’d forgotten my place. So he did something to remind me and everyone he shared me with who I was and who I belonged to.”

  I’m nervous. Nervous about his reaction. My reaction. Nervous that this will change things between us. That his lust will turn to distaste. That our undeniable sexual attraction will be severed. These things shouldn’t matter to me. But they do.

  “We all have scars, Winter,” he says, his voice low. “Just because they’re not on the surface, doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

  I drop my head. Unable to look at him while all these emotions are swimming through me. Emotions I haven’t felt in so long, yet with a few simple words, he can bring them to the surface.

  My breathing is heavy. My heart racing to control my emotion. I blink rapidly to hold back my tears. I’m not going to breakdown. I refuse. I had my first moment of weakness in the woods. My second in the bathtub. He witnessed both. I can’t let it happen again. I have to be strong. Independent. Stubborn and miserable and more trouble than I’m worth.

  If I’m vulnerable, he’ll want to protect me. If he sees I’m weak, he’ll show his strength. The plan was to make him believe he was breaking me down. Not for him to actually do it. My act was intended to be a cover-up. I wasn’t supposed to actually feel like this. But I do.

  I’m not even aware he’s standing in front of me until he cups my face in his hands. Then he kisses me. Gently. Passionately. Reverently. Those big palms warm and soft against my skin. Holding me to his mouth. Not possessively but tenderly controlling.

  He presses his lips to each corner of my mouth before pulling away just enough to look at me. His hands still hold me in place as he pins me with his gaze. “I’m not your dream guy,” he says, waiting a moment for me to absorb that before continuing. “I’m not your fairytale or your happily ever after. I’m not a monster, but I’m not a good man. Don’t fall in love with me, Winter. You’ll only be wasting your time.”

  His words are laced with conviction. His eyes are filled with determination. They race back and forth in his head, searching mine for understanding. He won’t find anything less.

  “Ditto,” I breathe, needing this. Him. An escape from this reality of hell that is my life. I don’t need a happily ever after. Just a small taste of the elusive fairytale is more than enough.

  Two heartbeats later, his lips find mine again in that same heated, worshipping way. This is just how I imagined it would be. But not with him, with my dream guy—someone he clearly isn’t or has any intention of being. Not that I mind. He might kiss good, but everything else about him is exactly what I’m not looking for.

  The club.

  The patch.

  The possessiveness.

  Him not being a good man.

  But I’ll allow this—a kiss. I’ll even allow myself to get lost in it. Absorbed by it. I can be devoured without being owned. And most definitely without falling in love.

  One hand around my waist, he lifts me just off my feet and carries me to the bed—keeping one big palm cradling my face. He pulls a low hanging string attached to the ceiling fan light and floods the room in complete darkness—unknowingly making this that much better for me.

  In the dark, I don’t have the anxiety that comes with knowing he can see all of me. My scars. My brand. My overwhelming emotion. I can be anyone. He can be anyone. Or we can both be no one. Characters from a book, perhaps—caught up in the magic of the moment.

  Covering his body with mine, he pushes me to my back and kisses me softer than before, but just as thoroughly. Tongue sweeping lazily along mine. Mouth smothering all my moans. Hands on my face holding me sweetly.

  In the moments that follow, everything happens almost in a blur. A dream. It’s feels too good. Too right. Too soul shaking to be willingly involved in something so mystic.

  His mouth breaks away from mine to trail tiny kisses along my jaw. Then his hands are opening my towel. Caressing the hot flesh beneath it. Sliding to the apex of my thighs and brushing across my pussy—testing me. Ensuring I’m wet. Ready. The evidence is on his fingers. In his mouth. He groans his approval.

  He stands. I hear the sound of a drawer opening. Closing. The tear of foil. Feel the dip in the mattress. His body naked. Warm. Between my legs. Lips on my lips. Tongue on mine. Hungry, but tamed.

  One hand cradles my head. The other slides down my side. Over my hip. My thigh. Gripping me beneath my knee. Drawing it up. Then he’s inside me. Driving slowly. Long, delicious, thorough strokes that force him deep. He pulls out almost completely. Pushes in—going impossibly deeper. Over. And over. And over.

  I lift my hips to meet him. My hands on his shoulders. His neck. Pulling him to me. My breathing staccato. Mouth accepting his lingering, lazy kisses. Body coiled tight. The tension nearly unbearable. Not just from my impending orgasm, but from something more. Bigger. Scary. Threatening to wreck me if it snaps.

  Fear has me holding back. Refusing the peak that is so close. Whatever it is that’s so tightly suppressed taunts me. I’m scared of what it is. What it isn’t. What it will do to me. What it will reveal. What Jinx will think when it does.

  “Give it to me, Winter.”

  I shake my head hard. My eyes squeezed tightly shut. I can’t. I’m…scared. Overly aware of a plummeting pain in my chest. The kind you get when you hear horrible news. Or witness something terrible. I’m also aware of strong
arms folded around me. A hard chest not over me, but beneath me. Warm breath on my cheek. Lips at my ear. And the softest words coming from the kindest voice I’ve ever heard.

  “Quiet, sweetheart. You’re okay,” Jinx promises. It’s then I realize I’m crying. Yet I have no idea why.

  “I-I’m not. Something’s wrong,” I cry, shaking my head. Pulling out of his hold. Sitting up on his lap. Straddling his waist. Feeling him hard against me.

  Sex.

  It’s something I can control. Something powerful enough to overshadow this…frustrating fucking feeling I can’t decipher. I need it. The build…the anticipation…the release… God the release. I have to have it. Now.

  Fisting his cock in my hand, I squeeze hard. He hisses through his teeth, but makes no move to stop me. He only grows thicker in my hand. His skin soft, warm, wet with remnants of my arousal, the pearl of come on the head of his cock signifying his and my infuriating tears that leak continuously from my eyes.

  His groan is guttural when I lift my hips and sink down on top of him—burying him to the hilt inside me. I whimper through the pinch of pain. Moan through the slow spread of arousal as he flexes inside me. Cry out in ecstasy as I take everything I can from him. Riding him hard. Mercilessly. Selfishly. Absorbing the tingle of pleasure that comes from the contact my clit makes every time I slam his shaft deep inside me.

  My nails dig into his stomach. Hips gyrating. Rocking. Searching for my body’s release. My mind’s. And once again, fear of that free-fall feeling doesn’t let me find it. The part of me that wants it is overpowered by the part of me that is scared.

  I scream out in frustration. But it’s cut off when he sits up. Covers his mouth with mine. Cradles my face. Kisses me. Forces me to slow. To feel. But I don’t want to feel. Not this. Not these emotions. I want to fuck.

  I want him to fuck this feeling out of me.

  Fuck me hard.

  Fuck me crazy.

  Fuck me into a goddamn oblivion like he once promised he would.

  I’m flipped to my back. Our kiss broken. His cock still inside me. He’s moving. Harder. Rougher than before. My mind clears—centered on one thing. My orgasm. And it builds rapidly. Taking my breath. Distorting thoughts. Pivoting me to new heights. But that fear breaks through the haze and I’m crash landing on jagged rocks again.

  “Stop holding back,” he says, still rigid and heavy inside me. He gives me no time to answer.

  He slides down my body and replaces his cock with his tongue, impaling me before licking his way to my clit and sucking hard. My back bows. I cry out. The torture a mixture of pain and pleasure.

  Two fingers easily dip inside my pussy. Pumping in and out several times before spreading the wetness to my ass—lubricating the tight hole while his tongue caresses my clit with just enough pressure to make me writhe.

  The tip of his finger pushes inside me. Finding no resistance, he sinks it further until his finger fucks my ass as slowly as his tongue circles me. Building me up. Amplifying the anticipation. Touching all the forgotten places that make an orgasm that much more riveting. Then he stops.

  “On your knees, baby,” he instructs, his voice calm as if he has all the control in the world.

  I struggle to my knees. My cries now a sob. My mind baffled by the reason—I’m broken. I know why I’m broken, I just don’t know why now. In this moment. When I should be thriving, I’m failing. Could it be the nightmare? Was it a trigger? What about Jinx’s kindness. His show of affection. Is that a trigger too?

  Thoughts flee when his hands spread open my cheeks. His tongue presses against the tight ring—licking and circling and causing my fingers and toes to curl in the sheets. Something so forbidden shouldn’t feel this good. Yet it does.

  Millions of tiny sparks ignite inside me. Sending an electrifying shock of pleasure rocketing from every nerve. Blood rushes fervently through my veins. Causing every pulse point to pound against my skin. I’m so close…

  Raising up, he runs a hand down my back. My body shakes from his touch. From the torment. The sobs. The uncontrollable sniffles and cries that have no place in a moment like this. “Shh,” he soothes, his hands coming to rest on my hips. The thick head of his cock centered on my ass—pressing against the tense hole. “Relax and push back against me.”

  I do as he says. Knowing this is the best way to alleviate any discomfort. Remembering all the ways I taught myself to cope with the pain. The embarrassment. The years of unwanted sex and attention and the agony that came with it.

  He’s stilled behind me, but his hands are roaming my back. My sides. Comforting me. Soothing me. “Stop thinking and relax,” he says, impossibly skillful and controlled considering his dick is halfway inside me.

  I inhale on a ragged breath, exhale slowly and by my next breath, he’s buried inside me. His stomach flush against my ass. His cock secured firmly, rooted within my ass. Filling me. Nearly overwhelming me. Causing a tingling sensation to flicker deep in my groin.

  He presses his hand to the back of my head and applies a little pressure—encouraging me to place my head on the pillow. My ass rises slightly with the movement. I cry out into my pillow when his fingers begin a circular rhythm over my clit.

  He fucks my ass with just as much practiced patience as he does everything else. Letting me feel everything. Experience the sensuality of it. He doesn’t speak to me. He doesn’t question my tears. He doesn’t ask me if I’m physically okay, and I know it’s because if I wasn’t, he would be aware without me even saying so.

  I’m pushed to the brink so many times I lose count. Each one worse than the last. I try to move against him. To touch myself. Force him to give me release that I’m sure will come this time. But my strength is no match for his and he easily stops my every attempt. Like though I believe I’m ready, he knows I’m not.

  I’m sobbing loudly. Crying out. Pleading. Weeping. Wanting him to do more than just bring me to the cusp. But he is unrelenting. Giving me indescribable pleasure, just never enough. I’m at the peak once again. His movements have become more savage. I’m positive this is the moment. The explosion he’s spent all this time working me up to.

  Then he stills inside me—filling me with hot ropes of come that have his cock throbbing with every burst. His fingers have stilled too—leaving me incomplete and suffering.

  “Please,” I beg, my mind flashing back to all the nights I was left wanting. Feeling used and abandoned. “I need it. Jinx, I need it.”

  “Shhh,” he says, gently rolling me to my back. Falling between my legs. Kissing my neck. My chest. Lapping at my nipples. My stomach. Spreading my knees wide. Then devouring me with his mouth.

  I detonate around him. The sudden explosion can be felt in every limb. Every nerve. Every single fucking hair follicle on my body. It’s the best high I’ve ever had. The greatest release I’ve ever felt. The most euphoric, rewarding, thrilling moment I’ve ever experienced. And it’s never-ending.

  I’ve heard of multiple orgasms. Experienced a couple in my life. But this is different. Bigger. Greater. A consistent increase of infinite skyrocketing pleasure that is so riveting, it’s frightening.

  The knot in my chest loosens. The tension in my body lessens. I feel as though I’m hovering in the air. It’s foreign to me—to be this relaxed. Sated. Complete. The descent into reality comes at a slow, floating pace—a complete contradiction to what I’ve been feeling. And I know my mind won’t permit me a moment longer of reprieve. It refuses my peaceful state and allows every demon in my life to rear its ugly head and replace the beautiful moment I just had with something poignant.

  As I drift further from my reverie, the truth of my suffering is revealed. I’m broken. Shattered. Unfixable. Incurable. The knowledge isn’t new to me, but it hurts more now. Because for the first time in six years, I’ve become aware of it without Cain or his actions to remind me.

  The bed is cold now. The absence of Jinx leaves my body in shivers and my spirit bereft. But before I can process t
he why, he’s back. Spreading my knees with his hands. Making me whimper in protest because I can’t. Not again. Not tonight.

  “Hush, baby. Just cleaning you up.” And he does. Lifting my legs. Opening me up. Placing something warm and damp and soft against tender flesh that has me flinching—feeling the pain now that the pleasure has subsided.

  He holds it there. Wordlessly stroking my stomach with his thumb as his warm semen pours out of me. Then he’s holding me to his chest. Enveloping me in his heat. Covering us both. Burying my face in his neck. Rubbing my hair. Kissing my head. Hugging me.

  The steel in my spine has stood strong against the evilest of men. Yet somehow this one has managed to liquefy me completely.

  I shouldn’t want his comfort. I shouldn’t enjoy how he lazily rubs my back with his hand and strokes my cheek with his thumb. Damn I do, though. I crave it. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long and I’m starved for affection. Attention. Some semblance of security and protection even if it does come from my captor. Even if it isn’t genuine or just a ploy to get me to let down my guard so he can destroy me all over again.

  Whatever the reason, I don’t care. In this moment, my heart needs this. My mind. My body. My soul yearns to just be that girl who needs to be held and comforted by a man. So I let go. I don’t hide or shy away. I cry harder. Sob louder. Cling to him like he’s my last thread of hope dangling from a busted spool.

  The abandonment from my parent’s sudden death. The remorse of leaving Pierce. The regret I harbor for all I’ve put him through. The hurt I caused just to get away from a family who so many would kill for. The pain I endured from that sadistic motherfucking Cain…I release it all. In a stranger’s bed. My head on his chest while he holds me. Treats me like I’m someone. Not a piece of property, an object or a cutslut. A real person.