Patchwhore

by Kim Jones

  I’m throbbing with wicked pleasure. Pulsing with fiery passion. Nobody could ever fuck me like this man does. Make me come so violently. So quick. Take me so savagely in a bathroom. While I’m on date. And have me not giving a single shit.

  He silently dresses me. Kissing me back to the present, before righting himself. He keeps a hand on my hip as he tosses the used condom in the toilet a few feet away.

  “I bet I look a hot mess,” I say, my voice thick.

  Smiling down at me, he kisses the tip of my nose. “Even ravaged, you’re still the prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Flattery doesn’t work on a true lady.”

  He laughs, his eyes a lighter blue now. “True ladies don’t find themselves fucked in the bathroom of a bar.”

  I return his playful smile. “This one just did.”

  “Well, my lady,” he bows slightly, “you have a date to get back to and I have a president who will be needing a beer in about thirty seconds.”

  “Seriously?” I give him a disbelieving stare. “You know down to the second?”

  Flushing the toilet, he straightens his vest and grins at me. “I know what he needs, when he needs it, because I pay attention.”

  “Is that so?” I smirk. “Well you’ve been watching me all night. Does that mean you know what I need?”

  “Yep.” He shoots me a wink as he opens the door. “And you just got it.”

  Eagles Treasurer Lefty

  My last date ended rather abruptly.

  When I returned from getting screwed in the bathroom, I was notified by Kat that Juice and the entire club had to leave. He left his apologies too. All I cared about was that he hadn’t left his spit bottle.

  Now, one week later, I have another date. And once again, I find myself looking forward to seeing Mr. Delicious more than anything else.

  Tonight, I’m meeting Eagles Treasurer, Lefty. We haven’t been formally introduced, but when Kat described him, I remembered having seen him around. Well, I guess it’s him. Unless there’s another Eagle that’s five foot two, wears glasses and has feet so big he literally flops when he walks. Kat told me to take one for the team and find out if what they say about men’s feet is true. I told her to eat shit.

  Already standing three inches taller than Lefty, I make sure to wear flats. And since his head is closer to my chest than my eyes, I decide to wear a top that shows zero cleavage. The three quarter length, plain black shirt might be unsexy, but the short, white jean shorts make up for it. And they make my tanned legs appear even darker.

  Per her request, I shoot Emily a selfie for approval. She immediately calls.

  “You look like a fucking tutor,” she starts. “And not a hot, sexy tutor—one who looks like she’s going to help a twelve-year-old kid with his math homework.” She doesn’t realize my date looks like a twelve-year-old kid. “Change. I demand it.”

  “I’m not changing. My outfit screams fun and flirty.”

  “It screams K-Mart. That’s a shirt a mom would wear pushing a stroller. With a toddler on her hip. And a ponytail. To keep her kid’s sticky little fingers out of her hair. We want long tresses begging to be pulled. Take that shit down.”

  “Fine,” I huff, shaking out my hair. Hating her because she’s probably right.

  “Now put more makeup on. You’re not slutty enough.”

  “The girl next door look is what I’m going for. It may not be slutty but it’s still appealing.”

  “It’s not appealing. This girl next door is ugly. Stop watching Taylor Swift music videos. They’re messing with your head. You need more of a Nicki Minaj look.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m trying to make Jud jealous. I don’t have to be a slut to do that.”

  “Um … yeah. You kinda do.”

  “Whatever. I’m not changing.”

  “Well when I envision Cook fucking you in the bathroom later, you won’t be wearing that. Just so you know.” And she’s found my Achilles heel.

  “I’ll text you back.” Hanging up, I sprint to my closet and rummage through my outfits until I find something sexier.

  I trade in my “mom” top for one of the sluttiest items I own. I’d bought it for the first frat party I attended my freshmen year. So not only is it sexy, it should trigger a memory for Jud.

  The white vest has a tiny chain just below my breasts that connects the two sides—exposing most of my stomach, chest and plenty of side boob. I dig around until I find the extreme low-rise stiletto jeans. And since I’m going all out, I toss my flats and opt for my white heels that are probably something a stripper at Magic City would wear.

  Darker eyes. Redder lips. A little tease to my hair. I snap a picture and get a bunch of emoji in response—all approving.

  I don’t care if Lefty’s eyes only come to my belly button. If I’m getting fucked in a bathroom by Cook tonight, I’m going to look hot doing it.

  “You smell really, really good.”

  I look down at Lefty and give him a tentative smile. “Thanks?”

  “I mean, really good.”

  I hate Emily. I hate myself for listening to her. Lefty is a toucher. And he’s taking advantage of all the bared places on my body. His feet might be big, but his fingers are tiny. And sticky. And I wish I had my mom clothes on.

  Burying his face between my breasts again, he inhales. I put my hand on top of his head and push him away. “How about we sit down, hmm?”

  I thought it would help. It didn’t. Now my chair is impossibly close to his. His arm is around my waist. And he keeps trying to tickle me with his tiny hands. I’ve tried to laugh it off. But if he continues, I’m going to have to hurt his feelings.

  Good news? Jud is affected. It helps that Clarissa isn’t here tonight, but I don’t care why. Instead of hateful looks, he’s giving me lustful ones. He’s remembering the last time I wore this top. When he tried to unhook it and couldn’t, so I wore it during sex. Probably the best three minutes of his life. Unfortunately for me, it wasn’t nearly as rewarding as the three minutes with Cook last week.

  Speaking of Cook, he’s here. Making me regret even considering having sex with him. This is all his fault. I’d be wearing a sensible, K-Mart shopping mom outfit if it weren’t for him and his magic stick. So while he’s getting his ten chuckles over my predicament, I’m imagining all the ways I could castrate him.

  “I’m going to get a drink,” I mumble, pulling out of Lefty’s embrace. He starts to follow but I stop him by putting my finger in his forehead and pushing him back in his seat. When he finally arches his neck high enough to meet my eyes, I smile sweetly at him. “I got this, sweetie.”

  “Okay … sweetie.” He winks. I struggle with the urge to put my heel through his throat.

  I don’t even care that the only open spot at the bar is the space between Cook and Ronnie. I throw myself between them and immediately start shaking my head at Kat. “I can’t do this,” I say, grabbing Ronnie’s drink and downing the rest of it. It’s so strong and burns so bad, I make a pirate sound through my teeth—prompting Kat, Ronnie and Cook to laugh.

  “Shut up and give me one of whatever that was but make it a double. Triple.”

  “Come on, Carmen,” Kat says, between her fits of laughter. “Lefty’s a good guy. He’s just a little strange.”

  “A little strange?” I scoff. “He asked if he could put his finger in my belly button.” Another round of laughter. Another stolen drink. To hell with them all. “There’s something really wrong with these guys. I’ve yet to find one that’s even half-ass tolerable. Bologna … spit bottles … big feet, tiny fingers and a tickle fetish? Come on! They’re supposed to be bikers. I may not know a lot about MC’s, but I do know these guys aren’t like any of the rest here.”

  “Well, sunshine, that’s because they’re not—”

  “They’re not used to a girl like you being interested in them,” Cooks finishes. “You’re much too classy.” He grins at me, leaning against the bar like he owns the da
mn place.

  Unable to come up with a snarky comeback, I narrow my eyes. “Shut up.” Turning back to Kat who places a drink in front of me, I give her a pleading look. “Please, Kat. Help me out a little.”

  She shrugs, smacking her gum to cover her smile. “Sorry doll, my hands are tied. I promised him a night with you. If I go back on that, I’ll lose my fifty bucks.”

  I gasp. “Fifty bucks?”

  “Yeah. They pay me to get a date with you.” She leans in and whispers, “They think I’m some kind of matchmaker.”

  “I’ll give you a hundred bucks and my entire wardrobe to get me out of this. Just put some Visine in his beer. It’s all I’m asking.”

  Shaking her head, she grins. “No can do. I’m a woman of my word. But you…,” she points her finger at me. “You can leave. Anytime you want.”

  “No,” I snap. “I’m not leaving. Have you noticed how Jud’s been looking at me? It’s killing him seeing me here. But if Lefty suddenly gets sick, then he’ll leave.”

  The body next to me bristles and I glance up at Cook. He’s looking toward Lefty, but when he notices me watching him, he shoots me a toothy smile. I roll my eyes.

  “Drink, Carmen.” Kat thrusts the drink at me. “After this one, you might actually enjoy the tickling.”

  I take my drink and back away, pointing my finger at her. “I hate you.” I motion to Ronnie and Cook. “All of you.”

  My drink is so potent; I’m surprised it doesn’t melt my cup. Despite its strength, I manage to suck down half of it before I make it back to my seat. But before I can sit, Lefty is on his feet.

  “Let’s dance,” he says, taking my massive hand in his and pulling me toward the dance floor.

  I refuse to look at the laughing faces by the bar as I rest my hands on his shoulders and allow him to put his on my hips. We haven’t even made it through the first verse of the song before he’s sliding them up my sides and under my vest.

  “Lower your hands, Lefty.” My warning is coupled with a glare. Grinning like an idiot, he takes my words out of context.

  “If you say so.” Slowly, he slides them to my hips, then around to cup my ass. I slap his hands away, ready to unleash my wrath when I hear Ronnie’s voice ring out across the room.

  “Load up!”

  “Awe man,” Lefty groans, looking over his shoulder at the men filing out before shooting me a hopeful expression. “Wanna go to dinner sometime?”

  Despite his awkwardness. Wandering hands. Huge feet and annoying demeanor, Lefty really isn’t that bad. So I decide to let him down easy.

  I give him a sweet smile and pat the top of his head before saying, “Not a chance in hell.”

  The Warning

  It’s late. Or early, depending on how you look at it. It’s still three a.m. I’ve been in a deep sleep for about two hours when a noise wakes me. Fear creeps up my spine. I hold my breath and fight the urge to cower under my covers. Eyes wide, I stare into the darkness.

  My mouth opens to scream when a large figure appears in my bedroom door. Then it speaks, and fear becomes desire.

  “It’s me, gorgeous.”

  I can’t answer. My throat feels thick. I try to swallow, but I have a sudden case of dry mouth. And a bad case of breath.

  “You know,” he starts, and I squint through the darkness trying to make him out. “Lefty’s harmless. I’m pretty sure the guy wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if he had one.”

  My eyes start to adjust and I pull in a shaky breath at how large and intimidating he looks. And delicious. Very, very delicious.

  “But when that other motherfucker looked at you like a man possessed, like you were still his. Like he wanted to fuck you. All I saw was red. Do you know why, Carmen?” I shake my head. My ears straining. Praying to hear that unmistakable sound of him removing his belt. Then his cut. Shirt. Boots. Jeans.

  “Because me and you, we have a deal.” He stalks toward me slowly, still fully dressed. I suppress a whimper. Wanting to beg him to get naked and in my bed. “They can look. Stare. It’s impossible not to.” His fingers curl around the covers, pulling them slowly away from me. “But all of this belongs to me.” Oh … I’m going to come from just his voice.

  “And if they even think about touching you … I’ll break their fingers. If they even think about what you taste like … I’ll break their jaw. And if they ever think about fucking you … fucking what’s mine … I’ll break their neck.” Okay. Point made. It’s yours. Now touch it. Taste it. Fuck it before I implode.

  He drags two fingers across the bottom of my foot. Up the inside of my leg. Thigh. Pausing to press against the wet heat between my legs. “So you remember that on your next date.” Slipping his hand inside my panties, he drags them between my folds. I’m a shuddering, breathless, horny mess.

  “Remember who this tight cunt belongs to.” He trails upward, over the top of my shirt. His hand gently squeezing one breast until my nipple hardens to a painful peak, before moving to the other and doing the same.

  “Who these belong to.” Oh for shit’s sake. I’ll remember. His last reminder left a lingering tenderness inside me for days. And it was so much sweeter than this. No need for words now. I like a more physical approach.

  My chest expands as I pull in a deep, shuddering breath. He moves his still damp fingers to my lips where he traces them softly—coating them with my arousal. “Be careful, gorgeous. Tread lightly. Those sexy little outfits are gonna get you in trouble.” He removes his fingers. I’m panting. Wet. So aroused, he could breathe on my clit and I’d come.

  “Next time,” he says, pausing to push those two digits between his lips, “I might not be so forgiving.” Then he winks. He turns. He walks out. I sit in a sexually-induced fog, confused, wanting and feeling empty as I wait for his return—that never comes.

  Eagles Enforcer Clint

  “No!” Emily gasps, her disbelief as evident as mine. “He didn’t!”

  “Oh yeah.” I blow on my coffee. “He did.” I chance a sip, burning the tip of my tongue.

  “I’m driving over. You kill him and I’ll help dispose of the body.”

  It’s seven in the morning. It’s hasn’t been four hours since my visitor left. It’s too early to plot someone’s death. But I’m contemplating making an exception.

  “Do you have a date already lined up for next week?”

  “Yep. Thursday night. His name is Clint. He’s the enforcer.”

  “Oooo. Enforcer. Sounds hot.”

  “Yeah, he’s really not.”

  “So how are you going to deal with Cook?”

  I’ve considered this. Death still isn’t off the table. But I’m giving my mind the week off and letting my body decide what it wants. And after last night, there’s only one solution to the problem.

  “I’m going to dress like a K-Mart mom.”

  “Um…” Kat wrinkles her nose as she takes in my mom top and Capri pants. “Cute outfit?”

  “Don’t ask,” I grumble, taking the drink she offers. I’m quickly becoming an alcoholic. Before long, I’ll be spending Thursday nights in an AA meeting instead of the bar.

  “Clint’s here. He’s probably waiting for the sexy Carmen to show up, but he’ll catch on soon.”

  I shake my head and scan the bar, finding Cook watching me from across the room. He smirks. Smug bastard.

  I hadn’t heard from him since he left me a heated catastrophe a week ago. Since then, I’ve been an ass to everyone I’ve encountered. Sexual frustration will do that do you. And it’s affected my job. My lack in tips this past week has left me scraping to make rent. I should make him pay it.

  “Cheer up, buttercup.” Are you fucking kidding me?

  Clint grins next to me. His stupid line has me wanting to choke the life out of him. I know my thoughts are a little extreme, but I can’t help it. When my vagina isn’t happy, I’m not happy.

  I give him a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Sorry. Long week.”

  He shru
gs as he takes a seat. “I get it.”

  Clint is in his mid-thirties. A little overweight. His round face is kind and boyish making him appear younger than he is. But he smells nice. Doesn’t dip. Has normal sized feet and his hands are calloused, rough and not the least bit sticky. Compared to the other Eagles I’ve met, he’s a dime.

  “Kat.” I cringe on the outside as Cook ambles up next to me. But on the inside, I’m on fire. “Ronnie needs a beer.”

  Noticing Cook, Clint stands to shake his hand. Cook straightens and returns the gesture with a nod. He slides his gaze to me a moment before his signature smile claims his face.

  “What you two gettin’ into tonight?”

  “Few drinks. Maybe some pool. Not too much going on here,” Clint says with a chuckle. It’s then that I notice Jud isn’t around. Actually, none of the Eagles are here. The bar is pretty scarce tonight.

  “You know,” I start, spinning on my stool as I mirror Cook’s grin. He gives me a suspicious look. I ignore it and turn to Clint. “It really is boring here. You want to go for a ride? Maybe grab something to eat?” My stomach wakes up at the mention of food. Too anxious about seeing Mr. Not-So-Delicious, I’d forgotten to eat.

  “Really?” Clint looks over my shoulder, to who I’m sure is Kat—the matchmaker—before settling his gaze back on me.

  “Sure.” I flip Cook the finger so only he can see as I beam at Clint. “Why not?”

  “Okay. Let me make a quick call and we’ll go.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  He’s barely out of hearing distance when Cook starts in on me. “What are you doin’?”

  “Not getting laid by you, obviously,” I spit, a little shocked at my outburst. Though he tries to hide it, Cook is a little impressed.