Patchwhore

by Kim Jones

  Then he grins, and doubt begins to creep in. “I know what you’re thinking. But it ain’t gonna work, gorgeous. So make a decision. You gonna let your pride stop you from getting what you want? Or are you gonna bring your pretty little ass over to me? Because if you don’t in the next thirty seconds, I’m not gonna drag you across my lap. I’m gonna get up and leave.”

  When I tell this story in the future, this is the part where I’ll be sure to say, “And that’s how I got my first spanking from Cook.” The bastard likes toying with me. If I were more of a woman, I’d tell him to eat shit and make him leave. But I’m not. I’m a quivering, horny hussy with no dignity.

  “I hate you,” I mutter, crawling to my knees. He just grins as I position myself across his thighs. He grips my hips and crosses his right ankle over his left knee—lifting my ass higher in the air.

  “For the record,” he says, dragging his fingers down my back. Then his hand slides over the tight leather of my ass, gripping a handful. Instinctively, I lift my hips to him. Begging for contact. “I wouldn’t have left.”

  I want to call him an asshole. A jerk. Bastard. Peckerhead. The list is endless. But when he raises his hand then brings it down hard on the lower part of my ass, all I can do is moan. His hand is strong. The force behind his swing powerful. But the ache where he hits me resonates through my backside and drives pleasure straight to my core.

  “I’ve been thinking about doing this all day,” Cook says, delivering a harsh slap a little lower. I spread my legs in offering. Hoping he’ll hit me there. “Greedy, girl.” He ignores my invitation and spanks me higher this time. It’s not as pleasurable as the others, and I grunt in disapproval.

  “I bet your pussy is fuckin’ soaked.” He cups my sex and growls, then slaps my ass hard. Instinctively, I try to wiggle away, but he holds me steady. “Did you wear this to make me jealous?”

  “No!” I cry, bucking my hips against his thigh.

  “Who the fuck did you wear it for then?”

  “I…” Shit. My brain won’t work. “I don’t know.”

  His hand lands hard between my legs and my back bows. My breath catches in my throat.

  My heart stutters. Ohdearlord that felt good. “Is your pussy wet for me, gorgeous?” His voice is low, smooth as satin. He’s going from one extreme to the other—confusing the hell out of me.

  “Yes,” I breathe.

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes I’m wet for you.”

  “Stand up.” His command has me scrambling to my feet. If they’re sore, it doesn’t register. I’m too busy trying to hump the air. He motions to my pants. “Take em’ off.” It’s almost a whisper.

  It’s a struggle, but I manage to remove the painted-on pants. I must have looked like an idiot, especially when I stumbled and he had to reach out and steady me, but he never cracked a smile. He just stared up at me with that powerful, dominant look of his I was coming to love more than his smile.

  Standing in nothing but a tiny, black thong and my corset, I wait for his next command. But it never comes. After his eyes eat me up from my toes to my head, he loops his finger inside my panties and tugs me forward.

  “You’re gonna stand right here,” he says, positioning me between his knees. “You’re not gonna close your eyes. You’re not gonna talk. You’re gonna watch me finger fuck your pussy until you come all over my hand.” Holy mother of mayonnaise… “Understand?”

  I nod vigorously. “Y-yes.”

  “Good.” He leans forward and presses his lips to the bared flesh just above my panty line. Then he grips the thin string at my hips, and pulls them slowly down my legs.

  His nose is mere centimeters from my sex. But I don’t care that I’ve been sweating all day. In leather pants. In the middle of summer. Why don’t I care? Because he sure as fuck don’t. When he inhales, he growls deep in his throat and his eyes turn to blue lava.

  He trails his fingers back up the inside of my legs—tapping my thigh to get me to spread a little wider. Of course, I oblige. Then I watch as first one finger dips inside me, and then two. Pumping in and out. Coated in my arousal.

  My eyes close and he pulls his fingers from inside me and reaches between my legs to smack my ass. The force of the blow has me stumbling a step forward. He grips my ass cheek in his hand and pulls me back.

  “I said, watch.” His words send a shiver down my spine as I drop my head and do as he says. Then he’s fingering me again. Using his thumb to circle my clit as he fucks me harder. I reach out and grip his shoulders, unable to hold myself up with the force of his thrusts.

  I feel my insides tighten and still, waiting in anticipation for the joy to ensue. Seconds later, a supernova of pleasure explodes inside me. Dirty words fill my ears. The scent of my orgasm fills my nostrils. All while Cook’s fingers fill me. Milking every last drop of my desire.

  When it’s over, I feel numb. I’m not even sure my legs are still holding me up. I just want to sleep. Every muscle exhausted. Every limb weighted.

  With a little guidance, I fall into Cook’s lap. My arms wrap around his neck as I rest my cheek on his shoulder and breath him in. He smells like sweat. It’s manly and just as intoxicating as the clean, cologne scent I’m used to.

  “You need me to set an alarm for you?” he asks, his voice soft.

  “Uh-uh.”

  “You don’t have to work tomorrow?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  He smiles against my cheek then kisses me there before repositioning us slightly until my chest is flat against his. I tuck my arms beneath me and curl further into him. His fingers are at my back, unlacing the corset. I could tell him there’s a zipper on the side, but I’m afraid once he takes it off, he’ll want me to move. If he continues to unlace it, I’ll be asleep by the time he’s finished.

  I drift in and out every few seconds, wanting to prolong the joy I feel from being close to him. Being taken care of. I’ve never missed this kind of intimacy because I’ve never had it. Jud never cared for me like this. But Cook has since the beginning. Now that he’s shown me how it feels to be worshipped, I don’t know how I’d ever go without it.

  Eagles Secretary Juice

  I slept like a rock that night. I don’t even remember going to bed. But when I woke up, I was naked and alone. The only reminder I had of Cook being there was the lingering scent of him on my skin. And the swirling of butterflies in my belly every time I looked at my chaise—where he’d spanked me. And the spot on the carpet just in front of it—where I’d stood while he fingered me.

  I haven’t heard from Mr. Delicious since Saturday night, and now it’s Thursday. The first few days were easy. I was still mildly embarrassed by what he’d done to me. But since I woke up yesterday morning, I’ve been struggling with the urge to call or text him. As I get dressed for my date with Juice tonight, I find I’m more excited about seeing Cook than I am anything else.

  My last date outfit was pretty slutty, so tonight I’m going for something a little classier. The dark orange romper is still pretty revealing with its plunging neckline and super short length, but the golden tassels that dangle from the cinched waist and long, silhouette sleeves add a hint of sophistication to the sexiness. And to hell with those stinky, uncomfortable shoes. Gladiator flats that lace up my calves are just as sexy and a hell of a lot comfier.

  I style my hair into a perfectly messy bun, put on my gold watch, a few bracelets and favorite diamond studs. For even more class, I’m wearing black-framed glasses.

  Stupid me didn’t bother to check the weather. And by the time I walk through the door of the bar, I’m soaked.

  The chilly air inside has me crossing my arms to cover my hard nipples. Cursing myself for not wearing a bra, I force a smile and take a seat at the bar to wait on Juice.

  “Is that Michael Kors?” Kat asks, eyeing my clothes.

  “Y-yes.” I clamp my jaw shut in an attempt to stop my teeth from chattering.

  “Love it. Gotta borrow it. This will warm you u
p.”

  I take the glass from Kat with a nod of thanks and toss back the whiskey. It burns all the way to my toes. But as promised, I feel warmer. “Juice here yet?” She smacks her gum and grins, as I feel a tap on my shoulder.

  Juice stands behind me wearing a crooked smile, his bottom lip filled with tobacco that instantly has the air smelling like wintergreen. Wiry hair is scattered across his jaw. Obviously the guy can’t grow a beard, but I have to give him credit for trying. At least he doesn’t smell like bologna.

  “Almost didn’t recognize you with those glasses,” he says, pointing to my face.

  “They’re new.”

  “Juice!” I tense at the sound of Jud’s voice as he yells from across the room. “It’s your shot!”

  Juice glances over the top of my head. “He’s pissed cause I asked you here.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Do you want me to leave?” He drags his eyes to my exposed chest then down to my legs before shaking his head.

  “Nope. He’ll get over it.”

  “So you don’t care that he’s mad?”

  “Not even a little.”

  I beam. “Great! Let’s shoot some pool.”

  This date is about as bad as the last one. I’m holding Juice’s spit bottle—eww—while he shoots pool. Clarissa is a few chairs down from me, making sure to give Jud a kiss every time he makes a shot. And pool balls aren’t the only thing Jud’s shooting. He’s been sending me daggers and sneers every chance he gets.

  There is one upside to this date, though. In the corner of the room, standing tall and cocky, is Mr. Delicious. Where Jud’s glances are hateful, Cook’s are appreciative—when he’s not laughing at me. Like the time I almost dropped Juice’s damn spit bottle in my lap. Or when I curl my lip in disgust when he hands it back to me after spitting in it.

  “I need a beer,” Juice says, leaning on the table as he pulls a wad of crinkled up dollars from his pocket. “You thirsty, babe?” I suppress the urge to vomit as he gurgles the words, motioning for his bottle. I shake my head. “Jud?”

  “I can get my own shit, Juice. I don’t need your puppy to fetch it for me.” He cuts his eyes to me as I take the money from Juice who shrugs.

  “Suit yourself.” Juice rubs his thumb over my cheek, his look apologetic. “He’s probably afraid you’ll poison it,” he says so only I can hear.

  “He’s probably right,” I deadpan, although my words are loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “Shit!” Jud says. His tone slightly panicked as he looks down at his phone. “We need to step outside.” He shoots Juice a pointed look. “Now.” After all this time, Jud finally did something good for me. He allowed me a temporary reprieve from Mr. Spitbottle.

  Patting a reluctant Juice on the shoulder, I give him my best smile. “Go ahead. I’ll be at the bar.”

  “It might be a minute.”

  “I’ll still be here. Promise.”

  He relaxes and alarms go off inside my head. He’s probably hoping this party will last long after we leave the bar. He shouldn’t hope. Not even a little bit.

  Avoiding Cook, I go to the opposite side of the bar to order the drinks. Kat’s smiling when she walks up. “Well … how’s it goin’?”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “You know good and damn well how it’s going.” Her laugh is infectious and I can’t help but smile back at her. “He’s outside right now.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. They got a call or message or some shit. Anyway, he wants a beer. And I need something really strong.” The idea of drinking anything liquid while holding Juice’s … bottle ... repulsed me a few moments ago. But now that I’m free of the thing, I’m afraid I can’t make it through the night without a little help.

  The dirty money in my hand isn’t enough to buy me a drink, so I tell Kat I’ll pay the difference.

  “You will not pay. You have a tab, remember? I think you have like ten drinks in the hole.”

  “And I’ll probably need them all tonight,” I grumble.

  “No way. You still have a few more dates I’ve already lined up. Pace yourself. You’re gonna need alcohol for all of them.”

  “Are you serious?” I stare at her open mouthed. Disbelieving. “A few? And they’ve already agreed to go out with me?”

  “I wouldn’t consider this going out.” She gestures to the room with her hand. “But yeah. They agreed.”

  Flabbergasted, I ask, “But … why?”

  With an exasperated sigh, Kat leans her elbows on the bar. Face to face, she stares at me a moment. “Look around, doll. You see any women in here that’s as hot as you?” I flush at her compliment, averting my gaze. “Better yet, do you see any women in here who are available?”

  I scan the room, noticing only a handful—all of which wear a property patch. “It doesn’t bother them that I’m dating all their brothers?”

  “They’re men,” she answers simply. “And they all want a chance at you. Besides, you’re a Patchwhore.” Loudly smacking her gum, she winks. “They expect you to work your way up the ranks.”

  I should feel ashamed at such a title. Instead, I feel liberated. There’s a sense of freedom that comes with the term Patchwhore. It almost makes it okay to do whatever and whoever I want. And it’s pleasing to my morals to know that I’m only sleeping with one man. Despite what everyone else thinks.

  “Well … thank you for helping me with this.”

  “Don’t thank me just yet, doll,” she says, straightening. “Juice is one of the hotter ones.”

  I have to stifle my groan. “On that note, I’m going to the bathroom. And I may be a while. Will you let him know if he comes back before I’m out?”

  She gives me a knowing smile and points to an area behind her. “Use the employee bathroom. I got you covered. Hide for as long as you need to.”

  I duck under the drop door behind the bar and quickly make my way to the bathroom. It’s cleaner than the public one, and just as big. Besides the basic bathroom amenities, it has a small seating area with two chairs and a table. I take a seat in one of the chairs, searching for a stack of magazines and come up empty.

  I wish I’d brought my cell phone inside with me. I’d left it in the car because I didn’t have a way to carry it. Looking back, lugging it around all night would’ve been worth it. At least then I could occupy my mind with a game. Or Facebook. Or call Emily for some encouragement. Although I’m pretty sure it would come only after she stopped laughing at me.

  Leaning my head back, I close my eyes and enjoy the silence. It only lasts a second before the door opens and loud music fills the room. When it closes the noise disappears. As does the oxygen in the room.

  Mr. Delicious stands only feet from me. The room I thought was large only moments ago seems tiny with his big frame inside it taking up all the space. And air. Causing my chest to tighten. Heart to beat harder. Sex to dampen.

  “Hello, gorgeous.”

  Okay, maybe my reaction isn’t due to the lack of air but the overwhelming presence of this man. So ruggedly handsome. So sexy in leather. Has the smile of the Devil. Eyes like the ocean. And there’s not a spit bottle in sight.

  Focus, Carmen!

  “I’m on a date.”

  “You’re hiding in a bathroom.”

  “What’s it to you?”

  His eyes darken. “You’re wearing glasses.” He takes a step closer.

  “And?” He takes another step.

  “And you’re not wearing panties.” How the hell does he know that?

  I shift in my seat, adjusting the frames on my head. He makes some kind of throaty noise. He’s closed the distance. Standing over me. Staring down at me. Grabbing my arms and hauling me up. My back is to the wall. His hips have me pinned.

  “Kiss me,” he demands. I want to. Damn I want to. But I have a goal. A plan. I can’t really remember exactly what it is, but I’m sure it doesn’t entail this. Right here. Right now.

  “Like I said,” I breathe, refusing to mee
t his eyes. “I’m on a date.”

  His lips touch the corner of my lips. “I.” Then they kiss the other corner. “Don’t.” Mine part in invitation, but he doesn’t grant me the kiss I silently wish for. “Fucking.” He trails his mouth to my chin. “Care.” Across my jaw. Then he comes back, his lips hovering over mine. A hairsbreadth away. “I said, kiss me.”

  He smells so good. He looks good. That hardness against my belly feels good. But I bet he tastes even better. One kiss. I can allow myself one kiss. This isn’t a real date anyway.

  Mind made up, I press my lips to his. Then, like some crazy, starved animal, I attack. My hands in his hair. His tongue swirling with mine. I roll my hips against him. He responds by shoving his knee between my legs—giving me something to grind against. Son of a bitch this escalated quickly.

  “I want you. Now,” he says, pulling the straps of my romper down. I push it over my hips and it pools at my feet. He drinks in my naked body with fiery eyes as he unbuckles his jeans. “You’ve been swaying that sexy little ass all night.” He pulls a condom from his cut and rips the package open with his teeth. “Teasing my fuckin’ cock … makin’ me rock hard.” Sheathing his dick, he strokes it a few times. “We’re gonna make this quick, gorgeous.” I nod, gripping his shoulders. Ready for him to fuck me senseless. “And try to be quiet.”

  He presses the head of his cock against my entrance. Then he lifts me around his waist, impaling me as he does. I release a blissful cry and he growls into my mouth, smothering my cries with his kiss. He fucks me hard, pulling his mouth away from mine and replacing it with his hand. I scream against his palm.

  “So tight … so fuckin’ wet … this pussy belongs to me.” His drive hardens. His thrust rougher as he stakes his claim. My eyes roll back in my head. “You like it hard don’t you, dirty girl.” I moan into his hand. “I need you coming on my cock, gorgeous. Soaking me with that sweet cunt.”

  His pace quickens. My body tenses. He said it would be quick, and he meant it. Pumping his hips faster. Pushing deeper. Mercilessly pounding inside me. He makes me come so hard I scream. I clench him tight, forcing him to bury his face in my neck to muffle his roar. It only adds to my euphoria.