by Ashley Rose
"HEY! Not today, Alice! Nobody wants your business around here!" I hear Lex shout across the yard suddenly, and he's hurrying back to the truck. She meets him in his path and tries to grab at him a little, but he pushes her off. "Not today, bitch. Go back to Mikey's. I'm not even playing with you. Get outta here." He climbs back in the truck, putting the key in the ignition fast and rolling my window up. "Fuck, you okay?"
I just nod and he tosses the paper sack into the floorboard on my side. Inside could be twenty, fifty, a thousand dollars. I put my feet down to hold it steady.
"Don't leave my windows down when there's idiots running around on the streets all lit up like fucking Christmas. What the fuck were you thinking?" He raises the back of his hand to me but then just clenches it with a growl, hitting the steering wheel.
I flinch, but I know he would never hit me. His lectures and empty physical threats are just his way of showing dominance.
"Who was that?" I finally ask him, my voice flat as we drive away.
"Just a fucking coke whore, Leala. Stop sweatin' me." He adjusts himself through his shorts.
"Oh, so you sell to whores now?"
"Come off that shit, alright? I've never touched that pussy with a pinkie finger, so shut the fuck up. Don't give me the run down."
And I know he's telling the truth. I've never known him to fuck another girl besides me. He looks. He looks even when he knows I'm watching him, but I couldn't give two fucks because I know that dick is mine. I'm his girl.
I remember the first time he ever said it to me. We were at a bender about three years ago, both of us just addicts with baby habits, trying to get high. It was right before he became a Big Man and we were across town in some fucked up apartments. I think the guy's name was Felix, but I don't even remember.
The music was so loud I could feel the bass thumping against my back as Lex pressed me against the hallway wall. His warm hands were all over my hips and down my thighs, his crotch pushed against mine, grinding against me to the beat of the music, indistinguishable to anyone but the two of us. He was nose to nose with me, but he wouldn't kiss me, and every time I tried to close the space between us he would pull back just slightly with that cocky grin before bringing his face back to mine.
"You know you're my girl, right?" His breath fanned my face, mouth almost touching my cheek, and I just took my bottom lip between my teeth, smiling a bit, giggling and high. He laughed. That deep, lazy laugh that I love. And then he finally let me kiss him.
As soon as we kissed my brain lit on fire and the warmth spread throughout my entire body. After that I was addicted. I couldn't bare not to be with him and I could barely breathe when he was around. His kisses were my salvation, and my torment. I lived for them and I would die with the memory of them on my lips. I dedicated my life to being with him from that moment on, because I knew that if I lost him I would lose myself. He was the half that made me whole.
So we kissed and made out in the dark hallway and stumbled our way to the bathroom and locked the door, not even bothering to turn the lights on. He tugged my shorts down and moved my panties aside and I slipped him out over the waistband of his sweatpants. And we fucked for the first time in all those years we'd known each other, quick and quiet against the wall, my leg around his waist.
And then we got high again. That was the end for us. We were hooked after that.
Soon he became a drugpin in L.A., the real deal. He made the jump from addict to pusher smoothly, from a fake thug kid to something that resembled the real thing. He walked with a no-bullshit swagger. And I was his girl. He never says he loves me and I never ask him to, but after being so close for five years, now I think it's just understood.
I'm not even always around. I spend a lot of time at my apartment, back and forth on the idea of trying to get clean. I want to so bad, but it's tough, mostly because he's my supplier—my provider. He doesn't just give me drugs, he would give me anything I needed if I just asked. But I try not to. I'm addicted to him enough as it is, I don't need to become completely dependent on him.
But something inside always tells me that it's already come to that.
We drive back from Ray's to Lex's house mostly in silence. For once he's not on the phone, but of course he has nothing to say to me.
His phone rings. The other phone. The one phone that is actually traceable, attached to his name, and intended for phone calls that have nothing to do with deals and purchases. I peek at the name on the outer screen: Damon.
I look up into his face and see him peer down at the phone lying in the center console. His expression doesn't change.
"You should talk to him, you know." My voice is soft, but I know he won't, no matter what I say.
He reaches down to silence the ringer on the phone, ignoring the call, and I sigh.
"Lex, it's your fucking—"
"I don't wanna hear it, alright?" he cuts me off dryly. I know better than to rag him about it, but I press on. I'm sick of his shit for today.
"He's your fucking brother, Lex! Jesus Christ."
"What the fuck am I supposed to say to him?"
"Just talk to him at least. He's your brother."
He sighs, shaking his head. "You don't fucking get it."
But I do. I get it completely. Damon is Lex's little brother. He was all of ten years old when Lex left his parent's house and promised he'd come back, and of course now Damon still doesn't understand why his big brother, his hero, hasn't come back for him, and it's been five years.
He doesn't call often. In fact their parents eventually told Damon they would ground him if they found out he had gotten in touch with Lex after hearing about him being this big drug dealer. But there's always that one occasional phone call and Lex knows that Damon snuck away long enough to just call on a whim, even at fifteen years old now, thinking his big brother might answer the phone and come back home.
"It's...it's just been too long." His voice has a tone of finality in it, and I know not to speak another word about it. His family is a soft spot with him. So is mine.
The truth is neither of us came from fucked up families. I think that's what makes our story even more tragic. We're just two kids who had everything they wanted, but still felt like they needed more. And now, all we have is each other.
And the drugs.
2
The next morning, I awake slowly to the sound of sniffing and I know he's getting high, right next to me in bed. I groan a little as I roll around, naked and twisted in the soft sheets of his queen-sized bed. I look up at him slowly, my eyes traveling up his slim torso and taking in all the patterns and texts of his tattoos. They're like a canvas of his experiences, his story is etched in lines and shading, and you can read it on his arms, his legs, his shoulders, and his stomach.
He's still sniffling, running the back of his hand under his nose, pinching it between his middle finger and thumb. He sniffs again, sighing a little when it all goes down. His head is back against the headboard, eyes closed, and I look down into his lap to see the mirror, razor, and short straw. One lonely bump looks up at me. Pure and white, just waiting. The kind of white that sears into your retinas and makes you temporarily blind. I want it so bad, but I'm not ready. Not yet.
I look up into his face again and he's staring down at me through half-open lids, eyes bloodshot. He's lit already. I sigh as he reaches to slowly stroke my hair, pushing it off my face and tucking a few messy strands behind my ear. The powder line just sits in his lap, waiting...
Fuck, I'm ready now.
I moan softly, raising myself onto my elbows and leaning over his lap. He gathers my hair and holds it back off my face as I lean down and take the straw, sniffing quickly, hating myself inside. I roll onto my back and pinch my nose, squeezing my eyes shut, sniffing again and once more until I'm breathing clear.
He moves the mirror to the nightstand and shifts back down under the sheets, pulling me tight to his body. He loves to get spun and lay in bed with me. It's kind of a sick
scene. He particularly likes to fuck after we do coke and I figure it won't be long before he's pushing up against me, moaning, and touching me.
I feel his hand brush my thigh under the sheets, just as I suspected. He doesn't waste much time, licking at my neck, sucking on my skin. I can tell where this is going, and fast. His fingers slide from my knee to my hip, reaching between my legs as I moan softly against his shoulder.
"Tell me what you want me to do to you," he murmurs, his soft breath tickling my ear, his fingers leaving goose bumps in their wake. "I wanna hear you say it."
My mind stops in its tracks, slightly bewildered at his suggestion.
"What?" I respond nervously, just to make sure I heard him correctly. My voice echos in my head from all the coke pulsing through my veins.
"Tell me...what you want me...to do...to you," he repeats, punctuating each pause with a hard nibble at my neck.
That nervous feeling rises up in me again, realizing that I did hear him correctly. I'm used to him taking control, him putting his hands where he wants them, him bending me over and fucking me 'til I can't see straight, him telling me what to do. And I fucking love that. I've never been one to take over, or even really talk during sex, and now he wants me to direct the whole thing? God, what the fuck am I supposed to say? How am I supposed to make it sound sexy? What if I sound stupid? What if he laughs at me? What if—
"Leala."
His deep voice interrupts my thoughts and jerks me back to the situation at hand. His mouth is pressed right against my lips, waiting. Waiting for me to tell him what to do. I suck in a breath and close my eyes, tensing my body, and I feel his arms tighten around my waist, almost forcefully.
"Tell me," he orders again and his voice has a finality to it that sets my body on fire.
"I-I don't know what to say. I like everything you do, I just—"
"Tell me where to put my hands," he interrupts harshly. "Where do you want my hands, Leala?"
I can feel his eyes crawling all over my face and it's hard to keep my legs from shaking. I try to gently guide him towards the wetness between my thighs, but he stops me, keeping his grip firmly planted on my hips.
"No," he says, looking at me intently. "You have to tell me."
God, I want his fingers all over my body, particularly on the sensitive spot that's growing more and more damp with his every word. He cocks an eyebrow at me, a smirk creeping across his face, and I sigh, realizing that he's still gonna make me talk.
"What is it? Something you want?" he asks teasingly, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over my hips. His smile fades and he bites his bottom lip, but his expression is still one of amusement as he scans my face with his eyes. It doesn't help that those eyes are crystal blue, a shade that shouldn't exist on the human body, a shade I immediately crave, a shade that makes my heart beat a little bit faster. I want to steal it, paint it, throw it into every room I ever decorate. It's the most perfect blue I've ever seen.
"You want me to play with that pussy?" he mutters against my lips, allowing me to move his fingers to the top of my thighs, but stopping right there. "You better tell me then."
I groan in response but I want him so fucking bad right now that I'm really not beginning to care about sounding stupid. I want his fingers working me, sliding over my clit, gliding in and out of me, fucking me. My heart skips a beat and I take in another deep breath, letting it out slowly and shakily before my mouth finally opens.
"Lex, please," I whisper as his finger traces a circle around my navel, stalling until he hears me say what I want, keeping those blue eyes fixed on me the whole time. "God, touch my pussy. Put your fingers inside me right now." The last words comes out barely above a whisper, the heat rising to my face and pinkening my cheeks as I say it.
"See how fucking hot this makes you? You telling me what to do to you," he says as he slowly probes one slender finger into my entrance, working it in and out a few times before adding a second. I whimper and buck my hips against his hand, my pulse quickening and my skin starting to tingle from the drugs. He makes me horny, but the drugs make me anxious, and I'm reaching for him, stroking him quick and swift in my hand, trying to keep things moving.
His mouth moves passionately over mine, urging my lips apart. He kisses me like he's giving me every kiss he wishes he could have given me in the past, and every kiss he'll wish he could give me in the future. It's a kiss to level mountains and shake stars from the sky. It's a kiss to make angels faint and demons weep...a passionate, demanding, soul-searing kiss that nearly knocks the earth off its axis.
Or at least that's how I feel about it. Until you've got your system full of cocaine, you don't know what kissing is. It goes on from phase to phase, and you never get tired. You're on fourth speed all the time, and the engine purrs like a kitten, a big white kitten with the stars in its whiskers.
"You like that?" he says, pulling away to whisper it against my lips. "You like how my fingers feel inside you?"
I shiver and my knees nearly give out as his thumb finds my clit, pressing lightly against it and then rubbing in a painfully slow circle, his teeth nipping along my collarbone as his breath comes out in warm sighs against my neck. We're both breathing hard now, pulses racing and eyes dilating from the stimulant in our blood, our bodies humming with satisfaction paired with lust as we touch each other. My skin is hot and prickly, like ants are crawling all over me. Not biting me, just the sensation that something is constantly racing across my skin.
We both get turned on faster than we usually do as our sex drives kick in, right on time with the buzz of getting high. It seems like within seconds his penis is thick and solid, precum already leaking, and my pussy is drenching his fingers as he works me.
"God, you're so fucking wet," he whispers against my neck.
I can feel his dick pressing against me, his fingers still sliding in and out. My eyes are closed together tightly, the pleasure jolting through my veins like white-hot sparks and I'm so ready for him to fuck me, so ready for his dick to work me like I know he can.
I reach to wrap my hands around the back of his neck, tugging his head towards my face until my lips are level with his. He looks at me slightly amused, his mouth upturned into half a smirk, and the words leave my mouth before I even have time to think about them.
"I want you to fuck me. I want to feel that big dick inside of my pussy, pounding me until I can't walk straight." My voice comes out hot against his lips, panting in anticipation of what he's about to do to me.
His eyes go wide, shocked at my blunt candor considering he was practically forcing me to tell him what to do minutes earlier. He lets out a low moan, gripping the base of his dick with one hand and bracing me with the other around my waist. I instantly feel the velvety tip rubbing against my entrance and he slides it in just a little, teasing me with the head, knowing damn well how badly I want him to just pound the hell out of me.
"You want my dick? You want it deep in that pussy? Tell me again," he orders, continuing to rub the tip around my entrance, gently probing. Teasing, teasing, teasing...
"I said I want you to fuck me," I grit out. I'm horny and tweaking, clenching my jaw, dragging my fingers along his arms, making restless fists with my hands and then spreading them wide on his chest. I'm anxious. I just want to feel him inside of me, I want the friction and the stretch and every sensation that he gives me.
God, he's like a fucking drug. And I can never get enough.
Suddenly, he lifts up, pulling the covers off with him. He positions my body so that I'm on all fours and completely exposed to him, my heart pounding so hard that I'm sure it's going to break through my ribcage.
"You ready for this?" he asks, rubbing his dick along my pussy lips and I hum my approval, arching my back. He pushes in from behind, long and slow in one stroke. He slides in quickly and easily in one fluid motion, the length of him filling me to the brim. I swear to God he's in my stomach.
"Fuck," he pants, holding my hips in place so he can savo
r it for a moment. He begins to thrust slowly and I squirm from the deepness of his penetration, struggling to adjust to his size. "Where do you think you're going?" he asks, gripping my hips more firmly as I try to ease the pressure. "Oh no, you're gettin' all of me."
He thrusts hard and I yelp, listening to him chuckle behind me. I pant and grit through the next few thrusts but the pain is fleeting and in a moment I'm grinding my hips back against him. I start rocking slowly, but I build up quick as the feeling takes over me, melting into euphoria mixed with adrenaline, and I can't...
I just can't get enough.
"You like that?" he asks cockily and I moan in response, shivering as he hits that spot deep inside me. "You like the way I fuck you?"
His hand leaves my hip and I hear the slap before I really feel it. He does it again and I moan, a thrill shooting through my veins.
"You like the way I work that pussy?"
He's moving faster now, and I'm moaning deep with each pounding thrust.
"I asked you if you liked it."
Smack!
"Yes! I love it!" I cry, dropping down and pressing my face against the pillow, arching my back to feel his balls slap against my clit. The force of his hips drive him deeper and deeper inside me, touching all the places that drive me crazy.
"I bet you do." Smack! "This pussy belongs to me," he breathes as his fingers dig into my hips, his nails biting my flesh. "Do you understand me? You're mine."
He's pounding out a rhythm that is so frantic and needy that I can do nothing but take it. Each plunge rips a guttural moan from my throat, my breath coming in short pants, trying to hang on to my fucking sanity. We're both grunting and groaning, tweaking and...
Damn, sex is never better than when we're on coke.
"Say my name," he growls, bringing me back against his dick harshly, his words nearly inaudible, the pleasure of him slamming into me over and over again drowning out all of my other senses. His dick feels so fucking good, the sheer friction nearly enough to send me over the edge into a mind-blowing orgasm.
