by Gabi Moore
He was unlike Alex in every way.
He didn’t look at me awkwardly, waiting for me to entertain him like a girl in a porn clip. He didn’t kiss my pussy for 4 milliseconds and then watch my face to see if I was screaming in raptures. In fact, everything he did wove an experience in my mind that I hadn’t even thought possible before. We were on some delicious, deep, dirty journey with one another, and it seemed obvious that Zack, knowing the way, would show me. Every step. He knew where we were going, and there was no hesitation. And no turning back.
When he pressed the soft pad of his thumb against my clit and stoked me slowly, it was though he already knew it would send my head back and pull out moans from deep inside my throat. When he firmly parted my legs and pulled my hips down to better access me, he did it with perfect belief that it was what I wanted. Because it was. And when he took his thick cock in his hands and dabbed the head against the swollen-slick entrance of my body, he did it with the confidence of someone who already knew I’d be melting by that point and dribbling in eagerness all over him.
And so when he finally breathed the words “just relax for me” into my ears with damp breath, I did exactly that, feeling that he was the obvious expert. Using strength from somewhere inside his strong thighs and hips, he introduced the tip of his dick into me, while both his hands clasped my waist and anchored me down.
He was an animal. A wolf. Or a bear or a fox with nimble paws and quick eyes and a keen, mischievous nose. There was nothing for my body to do but follow his. I cried out a little as he pressed his girth into me, widening me up and touching me in a deep, dirty place that I had forgotten existed.
I could hear his breathing as he slowly slid in deeper. The fact that I was visibly giving him pleasure only ratcheted up my own. He pressed all the way in, this mysterious stranger, this man I knew and yet didn’t, this convict, this man who had done enough wrong to be thrown into jail and yet whose entire body seemed designed for my ecstasy, right in that moment.
“You like that,” he growled into my ear as he pulled back and stroked into me again. It was more of an order than a question. The width of his hips split my thighs apart and he drove himself all the way in again, with another strong, deep thrust. I could feel every inch of him. I could smell him.
My body jerked and shuddered as he pumped in again, and then again, finding some delicious, dirty rhythm inside, fucking me with one long, smooth, hard stroke after another, right where I needed him.
With legs wide, I opened to his athletic body, melting under a torrent of frantic kisses and caresses. From his hips up he was gentle and thorough, his careful tongue and delicate fingertips touching me so delicately it almost felt like reverence. But below his hips …his cock was a blunt, forceful weapon. He was soon pounding wave after wave of bliss into my grateful pussy, and it was a bliss so deep it sunk right through to my bones.
“You like that?” he asked again, his voice hot in my ear.
I moaned and bit down on his shoulder, anchoring against his barrel chest for the punishment I was receiving down below.
“You fucking love that don’t you?” he growled, fucking me harder still, and this time I couldn’t help but cry out.
“Oh, fuck yes… oh God…”
I wasn’t myself. This kind of thing couldn’t possibly have been happening to me. Here I was, with this hot, darkly tattooed, gorgeous thug of a man, and he was all over me and everywhere and inside me, fucking me so sweet and deep with a cock that made me want to kneel down and worship it.
His breathing abruptly changed. He pulled back and up a little, and his sweat-glistening torso heaved a little as he tried to calm his shuddering breath. Deep inside, I could feel him twitch and squirm, close to the edge himself. I watched in awe as he composed himself, closed his eyes and took a long, luxurious breath, something sexy twisting on his lips, half smile, half tormented grimace.
“You know, I never asked you the same question,” he said, breath coming in jagged rasps. I could feel my own body tightening and swelling around him, the swollen folds of my body still reverberating from the relentless treatment he had given me just moments before. In that full, delightful pause, I felt like I could hear both of our hearts beating wildly.
“What question?”
I looked down as a wave of goosebumps flickered over his tan skin, and his brown nipples gathered to a point on his defined chest. He was truly a site. Rippled with muscle, his long torso led down into a sparse, black bush at the base of his cock. And to my delight, every last inch of that cock was now buried far up inside me.
“You know, the question you first asked me. Are you a bad girl?”
I smiled and gyrated a little against him, desperate for that stuffed feeling again, for the weight of his body tensing on top of mine. I certainly felt like a bad girl right now.
I noticed his hands were clenched hard on the tops of my thighs. Rope-like tendons strained in his neck. Beads of sweat. He was pretty close to coming.
“Me? A bad girl?” I said and pouted playfully. I squeezed my internal muscles all along the length of him and felt him twitch in response.
“Hm, I just don’t know,” I said, realizing that with just the right movement I could easily topple him over the edge.
The look he gave me was adorable. Pleading. Astonished. Painfully, beautifully turned on. Holding his gaze firmly in mine, I began to swivel my hips around the sexy, solid length of him inside me. He whimpered a little.
“Oh fuck …stop or you’ll make me come,” he mumbled, and I could see him beginning to lose control. I smiled wickedly at him and swirled my hips again. His abs twitched and he shuddered hard in my arms, clenching his jaw down hard.
“Oh fuck…”
“I’m not a bad girl, Zack, I’m a very, very good girl.” I curled my hips into him again, drawing him in even more deeply, stroking him inside with my hot body, so close to losing control myself. I quickly placed both hands under my butt, pushed up off the sofa and threw my hips up against him, taking him in right to the hilt and clenching hard against his delicious cock.
I watched his eyebrows twitch as he gasped for air.
“Oh fuck…” came the throaty growl, and with a helpless shudder, he came hard and all at once, scooping up my body and ploughing viciously into me with everything he had.
He grunted through clenched teeth and pumped the last of his orgasm into me. I couldn’t hold on. My own orgasm hit me hard, and I tumbled slowly, a long, dizzying climax that felt like falling, like surrendering… I think I must have cried out, or bitten down on him, or clawed at his chest, or bucked and groaned like the animal that I apparently also was. I don’t know. I just know that in a moment he was crumpled into a hot mess on top of me, both of us panting, a warm buzz still fluttering between my legs.
I heard him chuckle to himself, slide out the wet heft of his cock and give my ass a playful slap.
“Yes, you certainly are a good girl,” he said, and even though he was standing there completely nude, dick red and bouncing between us, even though I was sprawled out on the sofa and laced with sticky white globs on both my thighs, and even though the room smelt of sex and we had fucked so hard I swear I smudged some of his tattoos off… I still blushed like a schoolgirl when he gave me a cheeky smile and lay down beside me.
Chapter 10 - Zack
“She’s… I don’t know, I just can’t describe her.”
I didn’t usually speak to my brother about my love life, but let’s just say it had been a month of firsts and strange beginnings. And he did ask.
My brother Ben and I have what I can mostly call an opportunistic relationship. We got along well enough… when there was time. Since he’s the eldest by five years, he could actually remember a time when my old man wasn’t a complete bag of shit, and once in a while liked to take it on himself to remind me how things hadn’t always been this bad, and that ma used to be happier, and things had been better before. At the end of the day, though, men don’t love women
. Not really. He might as well have been trying to convince me that unicorns roamed the earth before I was born, but were conveniently all gone now.
Growing up, Ben and I competed a lot. We were even competitive in the way we chose to act out after dad finally left and ma began what would be a decades-long repeat of the same mental breakdown every two years or so. I guess we were different kinds of ‘bad’. Ben was already on his third marriage by the time I found Maggie, but the joke was that my relationship with her went so bad, so fast, that I soon caught up to him in the “fuck up Olympics”, as we liked to call it in our teens. Competing with him wasn’t that much fun anymore, now that we were older and both of us had started to feel just a little beat down by life in general. Oh well.
“What’s her name?” he asked, and took a swig of beer. He was getting a little on in years, and I was still considering whether I should give him a hard time for that little pooch hanging over his belt.
“Maddy.”
“Oh, shit, her name’s Maggie?”
“No, Maddy. As in Madeleine.”
“Huh. Kind of creepy how close their names are. You got a type, huh?”
“Nah, not really. Her and Maggie are like chalk and cheese.”
“Is Maggie the cheese here?” he asked and cocked a goofy eyebrow at me.
I laughed.
“Well, let me put it another way. They’re like chocolate and …Brent crude oil. How’s that? Make it any clearer for you?”
He chuckled and took another swig, then relaxed into that 1000-yard stare of his, adjusting his weight on the camping chair a little. It was getting dark and cold, and I began to wonder if I was just imagining mosquitoes buzzing round my bare ankles. I hated fishing. But my brother wasn’t the kind of man to just chat for no reason, and since friendly faces were thin on the ground since I was released, I had agreed to come along.
“How is Maggie anyway? Spoken to her lately?”
I hadn’t and I didn’t care. I had heard friends of friends mention that she might have moved out of state and had a kid, but when it came to our small town, that could have been anyone. I didn’t care where she was or what she was doing there. That chapter of my life had closed.
I shrugged my shoulders and he nodded. At least Ben always knew well and good when to leave a topic alone. But he tried another one.
“Your new girlfriend. She uh… she know about your little… incident?” he asked, not tearing his eyes from some distant point on the horizon, well aware that no fish in its right mind would be bothering us this evening.
I took a swig of my own.
“I haven’t told her.”
He turned and gave me a long, dry look.
“You uhhh…?” He lifted his eyebrows again.
Even with the pretense of fishing, Ben still didn’t exactly chat with me, but kind of just suggested things with his face and waited for me to catch his drift.
“Slept with her? Yeah.”
He flicked a stone he had been rolling between his fingertips into the water and it broke the still sheet into a few thin, circular ripples.
“Huh. Dude, you’d better tell her.”
“Well, she knows I was in prison. Just… she doesn’t know why. Yet. I met her on one of those… you know those dating sites for prisoners.”
He was going to needle it out of me anyway, so I may as well confess straight out. I sipped nervously. I’ve lived long enough to know not to truly compete with any man, but there are some races your older brother will just always beat you at. I waited to see what he’d say.
“Well shit.”
He crushed the can a little in his hand and tossed it over, landing it in an empty bucket.
“So what’s her deal then? Got a bunch of kids? Is she …you know…?” He made some vague gestures with his hands and pulled a face, suggesting any number of possible ways a woman who would willingly date a prisoner might be, well, …you know.
“There’s nothing wrong with her. Christ. She’s nice. She’s a vet and she lives alone. No kids but she kind of fosters animals before they get rehomed and stuff. Really sweet woman. Long, long brown hair. Really pretty hair. Blue-ish eyes…”
He looked at me, waiting for the catch.
“Well shit,” he said, when he realized there was no ‘but’.
“Ben, I think… I think I really like her.”
“Buddy, you met her like a few weeks ago. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but she’s not the only woman in the world, you know.”
“She’s the only woman like that,” I said.
He smiled broadly at me and sat up in his seat.
“Hoo boy, you’re a goner,” he said, whistling low and shaking his head.
I punched his arm.
“Shut up. I mean it. She’s… different. She’s sweet and kind and really gentle.”
He stood up and went over to the cooler box, picking up a fresh beer and gesturing to ask if I wanted one.
“Nah, I’m still working on this one. She’s got a really good heart, you know?”
He sidled back over to the camping chairs.
“Kinda makes you wonder what she’s doing with a guy like you then, huh?” he laughed, and cracked the tab on the can.
“Kinda.”
“Don’t you think it’s weird she doesn’t want to know why you went to prison? Like, at all? You could find that all out in five minutes with Google.”
He had a point. It was weird. But she was just different. This was a woman who rescued an abandoned parrot and nursed it back to health, even though it had done nothing but bite her each and every day since. She had lost count of the unwanted animals she had patiently rescued and rehomes. She never cared how the animals that came into the clinic got that way. She just helped them, as they were.
“I’ll tell her soon. She’s a good woman. She deserves to know,” I said decisively. “And I’m looking for better jobs now, too. I’m getting back on track,” I added, as though the prettier I could make my life now, the easier it would be for her to accept how ugly it used to be.
Ben settled down into his old spot on the horizon and said nothing more about the topic. I could tell what he was thinking, though. That I would share my deep dark secret with her, and she’d flip out and I’d never hear from her again, plain and simple. And to be honest, I was secretly thinking the same thing.
Chapter 11 - Madeleine
The darkness was blanketed all around me. There is good in this world, and there is bad.
I huddled closer in to the small, wavering flicker of flame and held it in my hands, breathing in the hot stream of air that snaked off the top, staring deeply at the blue core of the fire. As long as I kept my focus on the light, it would all be OK. The darkness would be OK.
And it all depended on me being able to stand here still like this, in the dark. It didn’t matter that this was just a medicine cupboard and that it was 9am on a boring weekday in a boring suburban animal clinic. Darkness is still darkness …and it’s the same everywhere.
I cradled the match flame in my hands and went as close as I could to it, breathing the warmth in.
Nobody knew that I did this. It was such a secret, I barely even remembered myself when I started doing it. Maybe after Alex left. Maybe before that even. Or maybe it was that time a hunter came in with his mangled dog, just after I had earned my license and started practicing alone.
He had been shooting rabbits and accidentally blasted a gaping wound in the leg of his own spaniel dog. He stood casual as can be, yammering away as I tried to stop the bleeding. He said that the dog would be fine, he was sure. Then he told me a story that I never forgot. A hunting story: that the predator can always tell when the prey has given up. Even before the prey itself knows, the predator can see something, see the way the skin ripples over the prey’s bones as it runs, a change in the eyes, a sort of attitude in the skin, in the smell of the body. It’s a small, almost invisible change, but it’s still a tacit agreement, a secret communication that the p
rey unofficially submits to being taken by the predator.
I curled my hand round the flame and let my mind go dark.
Being a vet is ugly work. I don’t mind the blood and the bones and the torn skin. What sickens me most is the violence – the human violence. The people who would deliberately harm another creature, or the people who’d bring in their lifelong pet and put her down because they didn’t think she was worth the $400 to save. The animals are fine. It’s the humans that I couldn’t handle.
In any case, every morning here, right before I start work, I put on my name-embroidered overalls and I step into this quiet, dark cupboard, and I light a match, and I pray that I’m strong enough to deal with whatever lays ahead. By the time 5pm rolls around, I’m often broken. Fed up. Tired. But this little cupboard spell keeps me alive through it all. I can stare into the mangy, hollow eyes of an abused cat and remember that little flicker of flame in the darkness, and I can keep going. Whatever that little twitch in the prey animal’s skin is, that look in the eye, that smell… well, I refuse to do that. I’m not ready to be anyone’s prey yet.
I blew out the flame and threw open the door, the burnt match odor dissipating quickly. Almost instantly, one of the nurses blustered in and told me there was an emergency, a mix breed dog had been pulled from a fight and was now thrashing around in the waiting room, crushed, bloody leg dangling behind him.
All five of us in the surgery flew into the waiting room and tried to restrain a large brown lab mix, his hackles high and lips pulled back into a frothy snarl. The owner stood to the side, hysterical, unable to pull her eyes away from the lashings of fresh blood thrown all over the linoleum.
The receptionist had ushered everyone else out, and I raced back into the surgery and snatched a vial of alprazolam and a syringe. The assistants held back the snarling animal while I reached for his neck and jabbed the tranquilizer in as precisely as I could. Trails of blood following us, the dog still thrashing wildly, we managed to usher him into the surgery and hoist him up onto the table where I could examine his leg. He was a strong one.
