Patchwhore

by Kim Jones

  “I-I told you.” I’m thankful that our voices are low enough not to be heard by those around us. Especially those to the right of us, who still have yet to notice me. Assholes…

  “Tell me you want me to fuck you,” he says, keeping his eyes on mine. His grip on me. Oh to feel those lips on my lips … my other lips…

  Oh my god. I can’t believe I just thought that.

  “I can’t.”

  “You can’t what?” He’s teasing me. I don’t care. He looks delicious when he smiles like that. Mr. Delicious… That’s what I’ll call him. “You can’t tell me … You can’t do this … You can’t believe you’re here … Tell me, gorgeous. You can’t … what?”

  I can’t think. Speak. Move. Nothing… “I don’t know.”

  “Yes you do,” he says. Then he winks. I might die. When I don’t, I finally tell him the real reason I’m here.

  “I want to make my ex-boyfriend jealous.” He looks impressed. And pleased. Very, very pleased.

  “Well, the pleasure is all mine, babe. But...”

  “But?” What the hell is wrong with me? That “but” sounded downright pitiful. This is going to turn into sympathy sex… I just know it.

  “But you still haven’t said it.” Challenge is written all over his face. He wants to hear me say that. I’ve never said the words in all of my life. Damn if I don’t want to, though.

  “I want you to fuck me.”

  “Louder.”

  I swallow hard. “I want you to fuck me.” Emphasis on the “fuck” does more than gain me attention from Jud and Clarissa, it earns me a seat around Mr. Delicious’ waist.

  He lifts me, and no sooner are my legs around his hips, his mouth is crashing against mine. The kiss is poisonous. Possessive. I’m putty in his arms as he carries me … somewhere. I’ll go anywhere he wants, as long as that tongue of his continues to caress mine in that soft but fierce way. It’s the kind of kiss I’ve yearned for. Craved. The kind that claims you, owns you, makes your toes curl and your spine tingle. The kind of kiss I’ve never had.

  “Car--?...” Jud’s voice is cut off when the bathroom door is kicked closed, then my back is against it. Adrenaline has my senses heightening and I take in the heady scent of my stranger. His male scent is mixed with leather and a hint of cologne. Fresh laundry and a little smoke. Whiskey and mint. It should be bottled and sold as an aphrodisiac.

  He pulls away from my mouth, kissing a soft trail down my neck before meeting my gaze. His hair is messy from my fingers. My face still tingles from the dust of hair on his jaw. Blue eyes blaze with lust. And those perfect, full lips are a shade darker and still curved up in a smile.

  “Do you have a condom?” I don’t know why I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Amused, he nods. “Okay, good. And I might scream a lot, but that’s just to make sure he hears.”

  “Oh, you’ll scream, but it won’t be for him,” he promises, winking at me … again.

  “You have to stop that.” I meant to only think that.

  “Stop what?”

  “Winking.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it makes my liver quiver.” Meant to think that too…

  “Liver quiver. That’s a new one.”

  I groan, letting my head fall back against the door. I close my eyes, but immediately open them when the room starts to spin. “This was a lot sexier in my head. You know, me and you?”

  His eyes drink me up. “Still looks pretty sexy to me.” Damn … I just want to lick him.

  My head bounces off the door when someone bangs on it from the other side. “Carmen, what the fuck are you doing?”

  “Carmen, huh?” Mr. Delicious asks, shooting me that irresistible smile. “I like it.” He backs up a step, causing me to tighten my hold before pressing me against another wall. “Well, Carmen. I don’t know your story, or why in the hell that piece of shit would choose anyone over you, but right now I’d love nothing more than to make you forget him.”

  Sadness starts to resurface. I can feel it swimming through my veins—infiltrating all my other emotions. For a minute, I’d forgotten why I’m here. I’d allowed myself to get lost in the moment. Now that I’m remembering, I’m starting to regret my actions.

  Just when I think I can’t do this, lips find mine. Once again, that heated, passionate kiss erases all my doubt and repairs the damage inside me. Tonight, I want to feel wanted. I need to feel wanted.

  “Please,” I moan, breaking the kiss so I can run my tongue and lips down his neck. His fingers trail up my thigh, beneath my coat, then still at my bare ass.

  “Tell me you’re naked under this,” he whispers at my ear. I nod as he pulls back to untie the belt at my waist. Then, my naked body is on display for his greedy eyes. He takes his time dragging those stormy blues to my lips, down my neck, across my breasts—finally stopping on my freshly waxed sex. I may be imagining things, but I swear I hear him let out a low growl.

  Keeping his head down, he peers up at me from beneath his dark lashes. “You sure you wanna do this?”

  “Yes.” My fingers twitch nervously, but I hold his gaze. “I want him to know what it feels like.”

  His face darkens a moment before breaking out into a mischievous grin. “You ever fucked a guy in a bar before, Carmen?”

  The dirty talk is as embarrassing as it is a turn on. Shaking my head, I have to bite my lip to keep from thrusting my hips in search of some kind of contact to alleviate the pressure building inside me. His grin widens and I wonder if it’s because he’s aware of my struggle.

  Another bang sounds at the door and my eyes shoot to the flimsy lock that could give at any moment. But when the pad of his thumb touches my clit, I suddenly don’t care if the door is kicked in.

  “There she is,” he whispers, his lips moving across my jaw. “For a second there I was worried you had a change of heart.”

  “No change of heart,” I pant. “Still here.”

  “Good.” His mouth moves to my ear. “I’ve been dying to taste your pussy since you walked in here.” Then, I’m lifted—my back easily sliding up the wall as his big hands grasp my thighs. Burying his face between my legs, his mouth covers me. There’s no teasing. No urgent flicks or cautious strokes of his tongue. Like a starved man, he devours me. Eating me as if I were his last meal.

  His caresses are greedy. His tongue moving to thoroughly consume me in long, toe curling massages. He starts at my clit, which he sucks hungrily before dragging his heated, wet mouth through my lips—stopping to thrust inside me, then continuing lower until he’s between the cheeks of my ass. He repeats the movements over and over as I grip his hair in my hands and digs my heels into his back.

  He groans from deep in his throat—the vibrations eliciting a whimper from me. I want more. Less. I need his mouth on my clit. No, inside me. There… Everywhere. And he’s not disappointing. He’s feasting on me. Touching, licking, even nibbling in all the right places at the right time with just the right amount of pressure.

  My entire body is on fire. I’m shivering. Sweating. Begging. Moaning. Too caught up in the feeling of pleasure to care about how naughty and forbidden what he’s doing to me should be. I’m near the edge—so blissfully close to achieving an orgasm that I know will be like no other I’ve ever experienced.

  I open my eyes and meet our reflections in the mirror. His face between my thighs. My hands on his head. The heels of my shoes digging into the threads of the sole patch on his back. PROSPECT. I have no idea what it means, but he wears it well.

  The sight of us together. The scent of my arousal. The sound of Jud banging on the door … it’s erotic. Forbidden. Dangerous. Empowering. If I’d have known revenge would feel this good, I’d have done this shit months ago.

  Dropping my head, I find him looking up at me. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of his hungry, blue eyes. “Your cunt is fuckin’ delicious,” he growls, and with those words, I do just as he promised I would—I scream.

  Loudl
y.

  It’s obnoxious.

  And not the least bit forced.

  I’m not swimming in a sea of ecstasy—I’m drowning in a tsunami of euphoria. There are no tremors of pleasure—it’s more like an earthquake of rapture. And when he pushes two thick fingers inside me and curls them slightly…

  Nirvana.

  With every beat of my pulse, I feel it again and again until it slowly fades to nothing but a perfect memory. I don’t know how long it lasted. Maybe hours have passed. But when I finally shake the fog and come back to the real world, I find Mr. Delicious looking at me with a very pleased smile on his face.

  I’m standing now. His hands are at my waist. The weight of his body keeping mine from sliding down the wall and making it impossible for me to ignore the raging hard on pressed against my belly. My growing excitement at what’s to come quickly fades when I notice that my coat is tied tightly around me—notifying me that whatever this was, is now over. Sadly, I was wanting more.

  “The disappointment on your face is messing with my ego, gorgeous,” he says, that ever-present smile on his face. “Considering you just came on my tongue, I figured you enjoyed yourself.”

  “What? No!” My eagerness to reassure him has me shaking my head and searching for the right words to say.

  “No?”

  “I mean, no I enjoyed it. I was just…” My voice trails off. I was just what? I sound pathetic.

  “I’m teasing you, babe.”

  “Oh.”

  A bang sounds at the door, louder than the others, followed by a yell from Jud, demanding I come out. Mr. Delicious is not at all affected by Jud’s outburst. For some reason, it makes me feel better. Like what just happened, happened because he wanted it to—to hell with the consequences or repercussions.

  “You good to drive?” he asks, his face so achingly close to mine I can feel his breath whisper across my lips. It smells like me. My cheeks flush.

  “Are we … um…” My gaze drops to his lips. “Through?”

  Placing his finger under my chin, he lifts my head until our eyes meet. Thoughtfully, he studies me. Meanwhile, all I can think about is how that same finger was inside me only minutes ago.

  “One bad decision ain’t worth a lifetime of regret.” His brow furrows a moment before he laughs it away—shaking his head in disbelief. “There’s something good about you, Carmen. And it’s fuckin’ with my game.” His playful smile doesn’t match the bemusement in his eyes, which confuses the shit out of me. “Whenever you’re over that piece of shit, you know where to find me.” He straightens, forcing me to lock my knees to keep from falling. Unsure of how to respond to that, I smile tightly and step around him.

  I pause at the door. I don’t know if I’m ready to face what’s waiting on the other side. Or rather, who’s waiting on the other side. I quickly search the room for a window and find Mr. Delicious leaning against the wall smirking at me.

  “Only one way out, babe.”

  “I know that,” I snap. His grin widens. “And for your information, I am over him.”

  “Sure you are.”

  “No, really. I am.”

  “If you say so.”

  I really wish he’d quit smiling. It makes him appear cocky. And sexy. And edible. “Maybe I can just wait him out.” At my suggestion, he pushes off the wall and saunters toward me.

  “Or…” He towers over me—twirling a lock of my hair with his finger. That finger. “You can remember the reason you’re in here.” Pushing my hair behind my ear, he dips his head. That wicked tongue lazily strokes my lobe before he pulls it between his teeth. “And who knows?” His hand slips beneath my coat—his fingers easily sliding between my folds before they’re thrust inside me. A low moan builds from deep in my belly. “Maybe he’ll have the balls to say something to me. And when he does…” Fingers leave me and I let out a grunt of disapproval.

  He straightens and I watch as he shoves the two digits soaked in my juices between his lips, licking them clean before saying, “I’ll make sure he’s close enough to smell the sweet scent of your pussy on my breath.” Dropping his voice, he adds, “I bet it smells better than his.”

  It takes a moment for me to recover from the sight of him sucking his fingers. Then, as I replay his words, I’m sobered by the reminder of what got me here in the first place. I breathe out a thanks for the much needed kick to my lady nuts.

  With more confidence than I thought I had, I unlock the door and come face to face with Jud. Just as I predicted, he’s seething with rage. “What the fuck, Carmen?”

  “What?” I ask, my tone dripping with innocence. It pisses him off further. Good.

  “Seriously? Everyone in here heard you getting banged like some cheap slut.” He looks over my shoulder. I fight the urge to turn and gaze at Mr. Delicious myself. Knowing if I did, I’d find him smiling.

  Instead, I point to Clarissa who stands with her arms crossed beside Jud, clearly pissed that he’s so pissed. “So it’s okay for you to dry hump that bitch in front of everyone, but when I do it I’m a slut?” I let out a disbelieving laugh. The audacity of this jerk…

  He motions with his finger between the two of them. “We’re a couple, Carmen.” It’s then I notice the patch she’s wearing. Something about being his property. How friggin’ ridiculous…

  “Well you sure as hell weren’t a couple when you screwed her four months ago.” I motion with my finger between me and him. “We were. But not anymore. So I’ll be doing whatever, whoever, whenever I want.” Feeling brave, I close the two feet between us until we’re nearly nose to nose. “Get used to seeing my face, baby. Because I’m about to make your life a living hell.”

  Before he has a chance to respond, I lose myself in the throng of people crowded around for the show—ignoring his demands for me to stop. And the demands that I stay the hell away from here.

  Beneath all his rage and anger, I hope there’s some pain. I hope he feels as empty as I did. I hope he’s curled in the fetal position, crying over losing the greatest thing he’s ever had. But more than that, I hope he’s talking to Mr. Delicious…

  Close enough to smell me on his lips.

  A Number And A Name

  “You heard anything yet?”

  I let out an exasperated breath at Emily’s question—the same one she’s been asking for three weeks.

  “Not a peep.” I slam the door on the dish washer, taking my frustration of Jud’s silence out on the piece of crap machine that refuses to clean the dishes the first time. Damn Waffle House. Surely they could afford a decent dishwasher. I mean, it’s not like paying me is breaking the bank. I make less than three bucks an hour.

  “Well … you’re just going to have to do it again.” Her suggestion seems so simple. Maybe because I made that night sound so simple when I called her on my way home. But that empowering moment quickly faded. And when it did, regret started to sink in. I’ve told her this, but she still just doesn’t get it.

  “Boss is here. Got to go,” I lie, stabbing the screen on my phone to end the call. I check the time before shoving it in my apron. 5:28p.m. Thirty-two more minutes before my grades are posted. The semester is finally over and I’ve never looked more forward to summer. Between work and finals, I’m exhausted.

  I’m pretty sure I passed all of my classes with flying colors—maintaining that 4.0GPA I’ve had my entire life. But I refuse to, as my Daddy says, “Count my chickens before they hatch.” And the not knowing is stressing me out. Along with everything else in my life.

  Like the apartment I can’t afford to properly furnish. The job where I work crappy hours for crappy pay. My ex-boyfriend who’s yet to send a text or call telling me how much that night three weeks ago bothered him. And thoughts of that night, Jud, Clarissa, bathrooms … pretty much every thought, reminds me of him.

  “Customer!” Jeannie, my co-worker, yells from the dining room—breaking through the memory just as I start to relive it.

  I rinse my hands and peek out t
he window as I straighten my apron, making myself a little more presentable for the customer sitting alone in my section. Pushing open the swinging door that leads to the dining room, I plaster a smile on my face, but it falters when I see it’s him. I blink a few times and shake my head, making sure I’m not dreaming. How strange that I was just thinking of him, and now here he sits. But you’re always thinking of him…

  “Psst!!!” I hiss, catching the door and hiding behind it as I wave my hands to Jeannie. Confused, she quickly makes her way over.

  “What?”

  I pull her into the back, letting the door swing closed behind us. “It’s him.” The crease in her brow deepens as she stares at him through the dirty window. Fingerprints, smudges and last millennium’s grime obstructs her view. She starts to crack the door and I nearly throw myself in front of her.

  She narrows her eyes. “Dude … chill out.”

  “You don’t understand, Jeannie.” I jerk my head toward the dining room. “That’s him.”

  “Oh my god … Is that Mr. Delicious?” I nod. “As in your cunt tastes fuckin’ delicious, Mr. Delicious?”

  She pushes me aside before scrubbing at the window to get a better view. Meanwhile, I’m trying not to die from her words. I knew I’d regret telling her. But after a long shift and a cheap bottle of wine last week, it felt right.

  “You swore to never repeat that.”

  She waves me off. “I don’t know why it bothers you so much. You sure didn’t mind when he said it.”

  “That was different. It sounded better coming out of his mouth.”

  Clutching her chest, she turns to me. “Carmen, you wound me.”

  “Will you please just wait on him?” I ask, having zero time for her dramatics. The cook had already called for us twice.

  “Fine.” She walks out, and I take her place at the window.

  My appreciation of her morphs to horror as she tells him I’ll be with him in a moment. Widening my eyes, I shake my head. She only smiles at me before mouthing, “You’re welcome.” When he turns to follow her gaze, I duck behind the door—cursing her under my breath.