Sin With Me

by JA Huss

  More importantly, what is she doing HERE? And suddenly it occurs to me that I’ve never seen her away from the strip club. But here she is now. In full angel regalia.

  In the middle of the road.

  And I start to think… is she a real angel? Maybe she is. Maybe we think of angels as chaste and pure and shit because that’s what all the myths tell us, but maybe they’re just crazy little fuck machines. And that’s what makes them angelic. Holy shit! I’ve just discovered a secret about Heaven! Angels exist to fuck good into the world!

  OK. So that last car just almost hit her. This is not cool. She’s not even moving. I guess that it’s OK because… she’s got divine protection? Or something? But I don’t like the way this thing looks like it’s playing out. So. I do something that makes complete sense and is one hundred percent the right thing to do.

  I spin my car hard left, fishtailing it right, and block the oncoming traffic from possibly running my paragon of sexiness over. I jump out and shout to her over the roof.

  “Scarlett?”

  “Ford?”

  Some asshole is now laying on his horn at me.

  “Hey! Asshole! What the fuck are you doing? Get the fuck outta the road!” the asshole shouts.

  “Me? I’m the asshole? Fuck YOU, asshole!” I can’t believe this dickhead. (Who I just decided is not an asshole, but a dickhead. Fuckin’ dickhead.)

  Dickhead now decides it’s a smooth move to get out of his Camaro and step to me. He’s big. And he’s dressed like a Viking. Great. Now I gotta fight a fucking Viking. But then I find myself very excited at the possibility that I might get to fight AND fuck tonight! My angel! She’s like a good-luck charm.

  “Ford?” Scarlett says again as she gets closer. “What are you—Look out!”

  And at that, I turn just in time to see Dickhead’s fist the moment before it makes contact with my jaw and rings my bell. Pretty damn hard.

  So… two things about me:

  One—This guy is most definitely a dickhead because I would never, ever, in a million years take a sucker shot at someone. No way. There’s nothing worse in my book than rolling up on someone unaware. You look a man in the eye before you try to tune him up.

  And two—I can take a fuckin’ punch.

  I twist my neck to crack it after the unexpected shock to the system it just took, and then I turn my head back to look at Dickhead in his dickhead eyes.

  “Um… Get back in your car now, please,” I say in as polite a tone as I can muster.

  Dickhead stares me down like he thinks he’s gonna try again. There’s a moment where I consider grabbing the gun that’s still in my glove box and really giving the old boy a Halloween scare, but that feels too easy. Plus, and I have to be honest about this, I want Scarlett to think I’m cool. I mean I AM super fuckin’ cool. Everybody says so. But I want her to THINK I am.

  “Pretty please,” I say. “Or you and I can decide to learn a lot about each other real fuckin’ fast here in the middle of this goddamn road. Your call, chief.” (I assume it annoys other people as much as it annoys me, so I decide to drop it on him.)

  Dickhead looks at me. Then he looks over my shoulder at Scarlett. I hazard a glance back at her. She’s got a smug look on her face that I’m choosing to interpret as pride because she knows she’s rolling in the company of awesomeness.

  Then Dickhead backs up, points his finger at me (ugh, so fuckin’ cheesy), gets in his bitchin’ Camaro, bumping his Viking horns on the door frame as he tries to sit down (classic), and throws it in reverse. He’s sort of boxed in, but, eh, fuck him.

  “Hey,” Scarlett says.

  I turn to her. She’s standing by the hood on the passenger side.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks.

  “Me? I’m just driving down the fuckin’ street. What are you doing here?”

  “Standing in the fuckin’ street.”

  “Yeah. I caught that. Why?”

  “I dunno. Because. Because I’m having a real bad night.”

  Her eyes go soft and sad. I wonder why she’s having a bad night. I wonder if it’s as bad as the bad night I’m having. I wonder if I can help. So I ask.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  She shakes her head a little. Then she pauses and says, “I dunno. Maybe?”

  “OK. I mean, yeah. Name it.”

  She takes a breath and I could be wrong, it could just be the way the evening lights are hitting her, but she looks a little like she wants to start crying. Then she asks...

  “Will you fuck me?”

  There are times in your life when you forget how to breathe. This is one.

  I nod. “Fuck, yeah, I will.”

  I hit the button to unlock her door and she slides into the passenger seat. Her white dress has some dirt on it and her crooked halo and tattered wings make her look like she was kicked out of eternity and got lost in the muck trying to find her way home.

  I slide into the driver’s seat and close the door. I reach over and touch her chin. Turn her head to face me. “Um,” I begin. “Are you OK?”

  She smiles the tiniest of smiles. “No. I’m not.”

  I nod a bit. “Yeah. Me either.”

  And now my tongue is in her mouth. I’ve got my hands behind her head and her hands are reaching for my cock. We are urgent, angry, and needy. She is a fallen angel and I am sin itself.

  I rip myself away and ask, “Is your place close?”

  “Not really,” she says.

  “Cool. Mine is.”

  I slam on the accelerator, straighten the car out, and start hooking back around to the Strip as fast as I can without killing us both in the process.

  Fuck! I shoulda got the rocket boosters.

  Chapter Sixteen - Maddie

  There is a right way to do everything.

  Like get through Halloween, for instance. I’ve done it six times before tonight, so I should know better than to get in this car, grab this guy’s cock, and let him take me back to his place. I should know better because for me, Halloween has nothing to do with feigned fright over stupid costumes. It’s got everything to do with the very real horror of how my brother died.

  Since then, Halloween has required the distraction of strangers. Many strangers—preferably in the mood to do things they’d rather forget tomorrow. And alcohol. Copious amounts of alcohol.

  But the key word here is strangers.

  Not a guy I’ve already been with. Not this guy, who seems to show up every goddamned time I need saving.

  I am, however, a pragmatist.

  My options are pretty limited at this point. Most of the cars in the road just wanted to run me over and shout nasty names at me. None but this one came with an offer of solitude with a stranger.

  Almost-stranger. But that’s all I’ve got, so it’s gonna have to do. Besides, I don’t even know his real name. So that sorta counts.

  Like I said, pragmatist.

  Ford is swinging the car around corners in a desperate attempt to get back onto the Strip, so I go sideways a little, pushing up against the passenger door, and my hand slips off his cock.

  He looks down at the hard bulge in his pants where my hand was, then glances up at me and says, “Put it back.”

  It’s not even a request, so I just do as I’m told and grab him again and close my eyes as we hook around another corner, wheels screeching, enjoying the ride. Reliving the way he fucked me in the alley last weekend. Fantasizing how he’ll fuck me tonight.

  We stop at a red light, his leg bouncing in anticipation, or maybe irritation that we’re no longer moving. But then the car in front of us turns right and he slams on the accelerator and we sail across three lanes, oncoming cars blaring their horns when we cut them off, and then slide into an underground garage entrance which brings us back up to street level, where he brakes in front of a frightened valet in fancy valet garb.

  He’s out of the car shoving bills into the valet’s hand, and two seconds later he’s pulling my d
oor open and grabbing my hand.

  “Come,” he says, pulling me out of the seat.

  Everything about right now is urgent and happens in fast-forward. His hand on my ass as we pass through the front doors. His quick steps as he leads me over to the elevator. The flash of his key card to open the doors. Stepping inside. Another key card flash as he pushes the button for the penthouse. Then walking me backwards, his hard body pressed to mine as I hit the back wall and the doors close.

  Our lips press into each other. Tongues twisting inside mouths. Fast breathing and rapid heartbeats.

  I grab his cock again just as his fingertips find my pussy. He bites my lip, his other hand sliding up to my throat, fingers pressing against my windpipe.

  I swallow hard and feel his smile.

  “Do you like that?” he growls.

  I close my eyes because the answer is yes. But I say, “Shut up and fuck me.”

  His fingers find their way inside my panties and then inside me. I slump against the back wall of the elevator and enjoy it, acutely aware that somewhere, someone is probably watching us on a security camera, but not caring.

  I am wet and I just want more.

  “Scarlett,” he whispers as he takes his urgent kisses to my neck, his hand still pressing into my throat. “If you don’t tell me what you like, I’m gonna do whatever I want.”

  I open my eyes to stare into his, just as the elevator doors ding our arrival at the penthouse, and say, “I want someone to sin with me tonight. That’s all I need.”

  He smiles the smile of a demon on his home turf. “I might take you to hell and back, angel.”

  The doors open to the lights of Sin City itself, flashing red, and orange, and yellow around the outline of his face.

  I place both hands firmly on his chest and push him, making him step backwards as we enter his apartment. “So what are you waiting for?”

  Chapter Seventeen - Tyler & Maddie

  TYLER

  I stumble in through the door, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her along with me as I kiss and bite, licking along her long, arching neck.

  “You just move in?” she asks. She is, I’m assuming, making a commentary on the… Spartan… way I have the apartment furnished. But I’m not real keen on having a conversation about home decorating just now.

  “Shut up,” I say, as I reach behind her to push the door closed, pulling my hand back to her as quickly as I can so that I don’t have to be apart from her body any longer than necessary. I lift up the back of her little dress thing, slap both hands on her ass, nearly coming in my pants when she squeals, and pull her to me tightly as I keep walking her backwards into the main room.

  The vampire in me is out again in full force, biting her bottom lip as I kiss her, almost pulling her along with my teeth just as much as I am with the rest of my body. She rips her mouth free from mine and I draw a little blood as she goes. She pauses for a nanosecond to touch her lip. She smiles when she sees the red on her fingertip, places her finger in her mouth, sucks the blood off and grabs my dick, hard, hammering us backwards into the glass of the windows.

  She’s the one who’s biting now. Biting my neck. Biting my chin. She bites my cheek.

  “Ah! Fuck!” I exclaim. Not in discomfort. Not in pain. In joy. In exultation. In affirmation. In relief. Because we are fire. We are combustion. We are the raging inferno of purifying flame that will singe away all our pain and leave us barren and ready to begin again. In the punishing passion that we share, we can torture away whatever nightmares plague us and both wake born anew.

  We are each other’s suicide.

  She smiles and slaps my cheek where she just bit me, and I smile back. She grabs my shirt with both hands and rips it open. Buttons pop and fly off, skittering across the floor.

  “This is like my only button-down shirt,” I note.

  “Shut the fuck up,” she says with a shake of her head. Her head that I am now seeing the top of as she begins licking my scars. She’s tracing each line. Each crevice. Each mutilated and broken ridge of my marred flesh. The whole time she’s reaching inside the zipper of my jeans to work my cock with her strong, delicate fingers.

  She’s still wearing the wings and the halo, and if the view from here is the last one I ever see, I’ll feel like a lucky son-of-a-bitch for the first time in my life.

  She’s tracing the one, long scar—the one that runs vertically down my stomach to just right above my cock—with her tongue. When she gets to where the button of my jeans is still snapped shut, she wraps her mouth around it and—and I swear to fuck, I don’t know how; I’ve never seen a woman do this before—pops it open. David Copperfield isn’t the only magician on the Strip tonight.

  She pulls down my pants (or rips down is more accurate) to my ankles, glances up at me with those green, green eyes, and then wraps her gorgeous mouth around my cock. My head throws itself back, slamming against the glass, and I am reminded that we are exposed to the city below in the glaring light of my apartment as it bounces off the steel and wood and glass, leaving us vulnerable to gawking eyes if they so choose to notice us, and I get even harder. I recognize now that I want people to see. I want them to be made uncomfortable at the sight of my happiness. Because fuck them all.

  She’s twisting her head and neck at the same time she slides her mouth back and forth on my hard cock, causing it to bend and throb and tense and ache. I want to fuck her so bad I can’t understand it. I reach down to touch her head so that I can help her. Not that she needs it. But I want to guide her as she swallows the whole of my shaft. I want to fist her hair and demand she do what I want even though she already wants it herself.

  And as I extend my hand, I remember that she’s still wearing a wig. And I realize that I’ve never seen her hair. I’ve never seen who is really underneath the halo. And the suspense has me hyperventilating. So I first pull the halo off, tossing it to the side, as she continues to stroke me with her tongue.

  “Fuck, angel, please. Slow down. I don’t want to come before I’ve split you open.”

  I can feel her smile spread around my tip as she pulls back slightly to tickle the edge of my dick with her tongue. Holy. Fucking. Shit.

  And now I grab the wig the same way she grabbed at my shirt, but I don’t rip it away. I slide it carefully off the back of her head so I don’t hurt her.

  And… I see red.

  A bottled sea of red roiling on top of her head as the artifice is slowly stripped away. And suddenly all I can see is the wash of flaming red bobbing back and forth while she drives me insane.

  I was right.

  It is her.

  She really is MY angel.

  From MY DREAM.

  Oh, my God.

  It’s her.

  She’s real.

  MADDIE

  My fingernails dig into the flesh of his legs and he goes still. For a moment I think this is it. He’s gonna fist my hair, push my head into his groin until his balls are pressing against my chin, and come down my throat.

  And even though I’ve convinced myself that I’m not the kind of girl who does that for men I don’t know, I am. For him. Just him. Only him. All the time. Whenever he wants. Whatever he wants. I want to be his dirty little slut.

  When I realize none of that is happening I tip my head up and stare at his wide eyes. Pull back and let his cock fall from my mouth. “What?”

  His fingers go to my hair and he starts opening the clips that kept it tucked up inside my wig. Long strands of fire-red tresses fall against my cheeks. And then the whole thing comes apart as he slides the hair band off and it turns into an unruly mess of flames that falls down my shoulders like a river of lava.

  “It’s you,” he says.

  “Yeah,” I say back. “It’s me. The devil in disguise.”

  I grab his cock, squeezing hard but pumping slow as I kiss his tip and swipe my tongue around his head until he squints his eyes. Like he wants to close them so badly and go back to the desperate sex w
e were about to have.

  But he can’t.

  He bends down instead, his back sliding against the window, both hands firmly on my cheeks until he’s boxing me in with his knees, and we’re eye to eye, and his intense gaze feels like he’s staring into my filthy fucking soul, and he says, “I know you.”

  And for a moment, I wanna say, You know absolutely nothing about me. But then I realize he knows the only thing that matters. Tonight… I’m his. So I say, “Wanna know me better?”

  He nods his head. Whispers, “Yeah. Tell me.”

  Which makes me laugh. “OK,” I say, playing along. “I want you to stand back up and let me suck your cock. I want your hands fisting my hair as you push yourself deeper down my throat.” My words are spilling out. Like I can’t stop. Like I need to get all this out and tell him what I want. Make him understand how bad things are and what I need to make it better. “I want you to fill me up until I choke on it. And then I want you to come down my throat and feel satisfied and yet unsatisfied at the same time. Like you can’t ever get enough. Because after that, I want—”

  “What?” he says, blinking at me. Like he’s confused. Which is kinda cute. That I can render a guy like him speechless with dirty talk.

  “Just fuck my face, Ford.”

  “My name’s not Ford,” he says.

  “I know,” I say back. “And I’m not Scarlett. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’ve got your cock in my hand when it really needs to be in my mouth.”

  His palms are still pressed against my cheeks when he leans in and kisses me. But it’s not hard and desperate the way it was before. It’s…

  “I’m not gonna do it,” he whispers into my mouth.

  “What? Not gonna do what?”

  He kisses me again and this time it’s definitely not urgent. It’s soft. Tender, almost. The way a man kisses his wife. Like… like he loves me or something.

  I pull back because now I’m the one who’s confused.

  “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says, shaking his head to enunciate his declaration. “I’m not gonna let it all blow up. I’m gonna fix it, Scarlett. I swear. I’m gonna do it right this time. I’m gonna save you, and me, and it’s all gonna be OK.”