Dutch

by Madhuri Pavamani

  “And yet.” I glared at him, despising his words full of self-hate but even more so the tone with which he spoke them.

  “And yet”—he almost relented but couldn’t quite commit—“here we stand in this dark room, alone, nearly naked, and incapable of fucking each other because of all this bullshit.”

  “What you’ve been through is hardly bullshit.”

  “Said the girl who questioned my motives.” His words seemed harsh and accusatory but his voice was so soft. “And now you know why I did what I did and promised you would stop doing what you do. Because I will never let them hurt you. Never.”

  “And what happens if I feel the same?” I couldn’t help asking, still so upset with his unilateral decisions. “I, too, will never let them hurt you. Then where does that leave us?”

  “Right where we are.” He smirked and flicked his cigarette into the kitchen sink. “Two unfucked fucks caught up in a whole bunch of fuckery.”

  I watched him watch me, his eyes resting on my breasts trailing down to my pussy taking note of the tank covering my once-naked body. No matter how frustrated or angry or sad I was with him me us, I heated under his stare every inch of me craved his touch his lips his tongue. “Stop it,” I whispered never taking my eyes off him.

  “Stop what?” He relaxed into the counter behind him so long and lean and fucking sexy and I had to focus tell myself to stay on point but he made it so damn difficult with his fierce glare and corded muscles long fingers and full mouth.

  “What are we going to do, Juma,” he asked as he swigged more bourbon, “plan the revolution, plot the demise of the devil and the dawn of a new day? Raise the rebellion, recruit the army to unleash the Armageddon and hold back the darkness?”

  I pushed myself onto the countertop and listened as he listed all sorts of things to better our lot, improve our chances, change our circumstance. He rattled off power plays and sneak attacks and strategies so detailed and well-planned that I knew he had been thinking on this for a while, that he wanted a change long before he crossed my path, that once upon a time he burned brightly with his own shine, he just needed some help bringing it back to the surface.

  I would do that.

  Whatever needed to happen to rekindle his shine, I would do it.

  Just not right now.

  “Dutch,” I interrupted his bitter stream of plots and plans, his murderous, rage-filled rant that spewed forth with the quiet hiss of the irate, and he met my gaze and slowed until he quieted completely. “Dutch,” I repeated, and he ran his hands over his face and through his hair and gathered himself—“Juma”—and god how I loved the way my name rolled off his tongue.

  I looked down at my feet, strangely nervous and adolescent-feeling in the face of his foul mood and simmering temper.

  “So what’s it going to be, Juma? What’s our big plan?”

  I smiled and he frowned and it was so painfully apparent we were in two completely different head spaces, but still.

  What was life worth if you didn’t shake it up a little sometimes?

  “I was thinking our plan right now at this very moment should be for you to come over here with that big, beautiful dick of yours and fuck me silly.”

  I looked up and met his stare and shot him a half smile as I locked my elbows at my sides and pressed my hands into the countertop in an attempt to quell my silly case of butterflies. Why was I nervous? How had I become this woman? I just had the man’s dick in my mouth, his tongue was all up inside me, and yet an hour later and so many words shared, a gulf had opened between us that had me doubting my tactics for traversing its width, wondering how to reach him, uncertain whether he even wanted me to try.

  And his silence wasn’t helping.

  I tried to recall whether anyone, man or woman, had ever in my life rejected an offer to fuck me. I scrolled through every encounter, touch, suck, and fuck and could not conjure one “Thanks, but no thanks, Juma.”

  Not one.

  Then, from somewhere in the depths of my being, I heard it, the little voice that remembered the worst stuff at the worst times, because suddenly, all I could think was “There’s a first time for everything,” and it made my stomach ache and my heart hurt and my soul just kind of want to curl up in a ball and die. Because I just offered him all of me and he was being so quiet and still and fucking nonchalant, like he couldn’t even be bothered. I dropped my gaze because I didn’t want him to see my heartbreak didn’t want him to know how fragile I could be around him didn’t want him to see me almost cry.

  “Assuming you still want to fuck me, of course.” Spoken with fake bravado all to hide my rapidly-beating horribly vulnerable heart. I closed my eyes and cursed myself for the millionth time for allowing him to do this to me and berated myself for trusting him and his words and his. his. his.

  “There will never be a moment, a second, an instant when I do not want to fuck you, Juma Landry.” He pushed my legs apart and wrapped his hand around my neck and pulled me close while his breath trailed over my skin, heating me exciting me fucking me with his words. “The remainder of my days are going to be spent longing to fuck you, thinking of different ways to fuck you, fucking you.

  “Hard and slow and up against a wall and in the shower and on the train and in the bar”—his breath and lips on my ear made me moan, the way he held me in place, possessively, like I was his, made my breath catch and my nipples peak—“my dick is going to learn every inch of your pussy, my tongue is going to fuck you and suck you and make you come and you will wonder how there ever existed a moment in time when I couldn’t touch you, when I restrained myself in your presence.

  “So yes, Juma, I would like to fuck you very much.” He pushed my legs open wider and bared me to him and his eyes heated and my pussy dripped all over his counter. “I am going to fuck you very much.” He nipped my lower lip and slashed his tongue into my mouth. “I’m going to fuck this lovely, dirty mouth of yours and your wet pussy”—his fingers traced my swollen lips as his other hand pressed my knee and held me open and I thought I would die—“and that goddamned gorgeous asshole”—he knew just what I wanted how I wanted it—“I am going to fuck your pretty little asshole, Juma”—and then his lips quirked and he grinned mischievously and I wondered whether a sexier being existed—“but first I want this”—and his fingers trailed back up between my breasts and around my nipples and in a flash of movement he ripped the tank I had tossed on in a fit of vulnerability down the middle, pushing the material off my shoulders, exposing my breasts—“ridiculous shirt off your skin. Nothing comes between us.” And he held my breasts, running his thumbs over my nipples as I arched into his touch.

  I pulled him close and pushed his underwear down his body as he dipped low and grazed my nipple with his teeth. “Dutch.” It was a moan a plea for him to do all kinds of nasty things to my body.

  “Yes, Juma.” I could feel him smiling against my skin loving the effect he had on me and I could have taken his dick in my hand and rubbed him all over my pussy just to get him back make him feel as crazy as he made me but I wasn’t in that frame of mind.

  There was no tease in my game.

  “Please.” I sighed as I ran my fingers through his hair and he trailed his lips down my body so close to my pussy. I pulled my knees together wrapped my thighs around him—“no, no, no”—and he pushed my legs open again using both hands to spread me as wide as possible as he stood and studied me, his eyes trailing heat all over my body.

  “You don’t want my mouth on you anymore?” I leaned back and sighed as his hands moved up my thighs all kinds of wickedness shooting around my body as I tried to breathe.

  “I just. want you. to fuck me, Dutch.

  “Please.”

  I opened my eyes and met his stare, then wrapped my fingers around his dick and guided him toward me.

  “Please, just fuck me.”

  “Jesus, Juma,” he hissed when I pressed his tip against my wetness.

  “Please, Dutch,” I begg
ed again and shifted my hips and he was right there almost inside me, “please. please. please. please. please,” and he leaned close and kissed me and slowly, inch by glorious earth-shattering mind-blowing inch, he entered me, filling me with his thickness as he fucked my mouth with his tongue. He took his time entering me completely, each thrust a little deeper and then a teasing withdrawal that made my pussy clench and hold tight to him, never wanting him to stop his maddening possession of my body.

  I had fucked hundreds but I had never been owned.

  Until Dutch walked into my life.

  His hands were on my knees holding me open spread wide as he withdrew until his tip pressed just against my pussy and he stopped and watched me watching us until I lifted my eyes and met his.

  “Juma,” he breathed and touched my hair, my eyes, my face, his glance so heated but so gentle and I knew he loved me. So much. His eyes and his hands and his body, everything about him was all about me and at that moment, nothing else mattered, the good, the bad, the horrific, nothing but the two of us, right there on that counter in his dark kitchen, fucking under the dim light streaming into his apartment from the streetlamps outside. He traced my curves as my fingers danced over the ridges and planes of his body, we loved and lingered and learned each other. And finally, when I could take no more of mere skin on skin, lips on lips, tongues slashing, I leaned forward and reached my hands around his hips, grabbed his ass, and pressed him deep into my pussy, gasping as he penetrated me, deep, so fucking deep.

  I closed my eyes, wrapped my legs around his waist, pressed my mouth to his ear, and let him know. “No more of this nice shit, Dutch. Fuck me. Hard.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  DUTCH

  I could have kissed and touched her all night, listened to her breath hitch and those sighs escape her parted lips, anything to give her pleasure and make her forget all the other shit closing in on us. I could have pressed her against that counter and covered her delicious curves and hollows with my mouth and tongue. I could have started at her feet and worked my way up her body with my hands and lips, teasing her open and feasting on her gorgeous pussy. I could have done all kinds of things to Juma and her spectacular body and her beautiful mind, but she had other plans.

  I picked her off the counter, intending to make love to her in the bed, and listened to her beg me to fuck her hard right then and there.

  “Please, Dutch, just fuck me now.”

  “Hard.”

  “Oh god, fuck me.” And I never made it very far because when a woman like Juma asked to be fucked, begged to be fucked, hard and fast, you complied. Partly because there was nothing more you wanted to do than ram your dick as far and deep as you could because everything about her pussy felt like heaven, warm and wet and tight, like you’d taken the most potent ecstasy and were just floating on this cloud of intense sensation, when in reality you weren’t high on any drug, it was just Juma and her goddamned majestic cunt. But you also found yourself kicking over dining room chairs and sweeping plates and glasses to the ground to clear a space to lay her down because she was begging for it and that voice of hers did things to you, made you forget about anything else but her wants and her desires because right then and there, nothing else existed but her wants and desires.

  The room was spinning and her tongue tangled with mine as I swept my arm across the table and my blades and holsters and plates crashed to the floor but neither of us cared. We fell back and she wrapped her legs around me as I pumped into her, deeper, faster, harder, and I could feel everything in my balls and my dick wanted to explode and she was moaning my name and saying all kinds of dirty sexy shit that only Juma could say and it was coming, my load was all built up and ready to explode, and I wouldn’t be able to hold back because she felt so fucking good and wet and tight all around me like her pussy was made for my dick and if I kept going at her, hard like she wanted it, this would be over in all of two seconds because forget all rational thought, there was no rational thought once Juma’s cunt had swallowed me whole.

  That’s how good it felt being inside her.

  I fucked hundreds of women, constantly, their pussies were like a second home for my dick, but none of them prepared me for her. Juma made me feel like I was sixteen again and completely incapable of controlling myself, unable to focus on anything but the otherworldly sensation of being lost balls-deep in her. I didn’t want it to end like that, though, wham bam thank you ma’am, those were the best four minutes of my life, so I managed to find the one brain cell still functioning and slowed my roll, breathed deeply, and tried to chill the fuck out. Which was difficult when the most beautiful woman in the world had her legs wrapped around you, her hands squeezing your ass and her pussy milking you for all it was worth.

  I pulled almost all the way out of her and grabbed her legs to push them forward and open her thighs, my hands on her knees making it impossible for her to wrap me up and slam me back into her body, which from her growl of irritation I knew was exactly what she wanted.

  I smiled—“Patience, gorgeous.”—as I slowly pushed back into her, sliding inch by inch into all of her wetness, watching myself disappear as she took me so deep our bodies touched and she sighed.

  “Oh god, Dutch.” And I leaned forward to whisper something before fucking her ear with my tongue and she writhed and bucked and begged and I pinched her clit and she fucking came so hard and so fast she even shocked herself. Then before she could recover, while her orgasm was still ripping through her, I started grinding into her again real slow, and her come was everywhere and everything felt intense and hot and dirty and if you told me this was heaven, I would die a hundred times just to be with her, inside her, around her.

  She sat up as I pushed deeper, leaning on her hands as I held her knees open and slowly fucked her and I knew what she was doing. “You want to watch?”

  She peeled her eyes away from us, coming together, moving apart, coming together, moving apart, and met my stare, her eyes dark and wild, and I fell even harder for her as she smiled. “You know I want to watch, Dutch.” And the way my name rolled off her tongue, that slow growl that sounded like the dirtiest sex ever, the smirk, those eyes, I got lost and forgot myself and all my promises of control and holding out and fucking her all night. Without even realizing, my hands moved to her ass, her legs wrapped around me while her hands buried themselves in my hair and I fucked her stupid.

  “Dutch,” she gasped as we moved together, our bodies slamming into each other, so raw and desperate, “don’t stop,” she pleaded and we crashed into each other so feverishly, my balls slapping her ass until she took them in her hand while the other rubbed her clit—“Fuck, Juma”—she was driving me mad while she worked herself to the brink—“I’m gonna come, Dutch”—and I felt her tighten, her head tossed back, her entire being tensed and god, her pussy was magic. I pounded her and she begged me to do it harder. harder. harder. Then she shuddered and the sensation rippled down my dick and I exploded as her pussy pumped away at me while I shot wave after wave, forgetting everything but her and me and us. We collapsed against the table and for long, exhausted, brilliant seconds where the only sound was our heavy breathing, we reveled in the sweat and come and heat of our frenzied union. She ran her fingers through my hair and sighed as I reluctantly pulled out of her and pressed a kiss to her throat before burying my head in the crook of her neck and breathing in her scent, too shaken to string together any words that could even begin to come close to expressing how I felt, how she made me feel.

  It was too much, too intense, too goddamned real and I remained quiet because I didn’t trust myself to speak just yet and instead gently pulled her into my arms and carried her to my bed. She studied me with wide eyes as I stood over her, watching, relishing, memorizing her at that very moment when it was just us and we were both happy and sated and moved.

  “I think you love me, Dutch Mathew.”

  I answered her by crawling into bed, touching her face, and pressing my lips to hers
, softly and so light because I was feeling too fucking vulnerable after being wrapped around her and deep inside her and all over her. And because she was right—I did love her and it fucking shook me, rattled me all around because now, after so many years, I had something to lose. As if reading my mind, she tangled her legs with mine and pulled me close as her fingers curled into my hair and she smiled and kissed me. “It’s okay to love me—it can’t be helped, you know?” And when I almost laughed she continued. “I’m smart as shit, my pussy is fucking epic, I take my bourbon neat”—she raised a brow as if to suggest that was her best quality before leaning close and promising—“and nothing will happen to me, I will always be here to love you.”

  I sat with those words for a second and thought of all the ways she could be wrong and could wind up not being here anymore, the positively horrific things that could happen to her, the stuff I knew and she didn’t because I’d seen it firsthand, and I began to protest when she placed her fingers on my lips and silenced the doubts and fears about to spew forth. “Don’t do it, sweetheart.” And she wound herself tighter around me and sucked on my lower lip. “I’m not Kajal and trust me when I say I will never let them hurt you again. And if there ever comes a time when it looks like they’re going to win, because let me tell you, the lines have been drawn and this is a fucking battle, believe me when I say, they’re not going to win ever again.”

  Maybe it was the tone of her voice or the steely set of her gaze, or maybe I just needed something positive for once in my life, but I chose to listen to her, to believe in her and, in effect, to believe in us.

  Love.

  It made you do the dumbest shit.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  JUMA

  “Take me out for that dinner you owe me.” I pulled the straps of my dress over my shoulders and eyed Dutch. We had been in bed for hours, lost in our cocoon of touch and tenderness and love, but I was getting hungry and we had to deal.