Want You

by Frederick, Jen

  Ragged, short pants escape between her lips.

  “It’s too much,” she chokes. “You’re too big. Holy fuck, you feel enormous.”

  It’s because she’s already come once. Her tissues are swollen. Her lower lips are engorged with blood. Her sheath is like a vise grip. I want to come in that instant. My legs threaten to give out.

  I suck in my lower lip and bite down until the copper taste of blood fills my mouth and the haze in my head clears just enough for me to grasp a few tendrils of restraint. I draw back slow, fighting against her hold.

  She moans again, her head thrashing sideways.

  The motion makes her tits bounce. I can’t resist the urge to bend over and suck on one hard nub and then another until she creams on my cock again.

  I want to come. The orgasm sits heavy and hard at the back of my spine, a cannon ball ready to be fired. But she hasn’t come enough times. She’s not been pleasured enough. All my veins throb in readiness. This time is going to last. This time we’re going slow.

  I grit my teeth and slide out. My cock is so sensitive, I swear I could count every single nerve ending in her channel. I settle into a hard, steady rhythm of fucking while I explore her with my mouth. I find a tiny freckle under her lower lip and a small mole on the curve of her shoulder. I mold her tits together, thumbing the nipples until she begs for my mouth.

  I give her that, too. I give it all to her.

  “You are too good at this. You shouldn’t be making me feel this good,” she exclaims.

  I pause in mid-stroke and lift my head from her breast. “What?”

  She shakes her head. “I know this is ridiculous and entirely the wrong time to bring this up, but you are way too good at this.”

  A rivulet of sweat rolls down the side of my face. I brush it away so it doesn't drop onto Bitsy’s face, which is tight and flushed. Her lower lip juts out. This does not make her less sexy. If anything, it makes me want to fuck her harder until that petulant look on her face is replaced with pure ecstasy. It also makes me want to drag my dick along that pouting lower lip.

  “Do you want this to be a bad experience?” I ask in mild surprise.

  “No. Yes. But no.”

  Confused, I start to withdraw.

  She grabs my hips and holds me in place. “You sure you were a virgin?”

  I huff out a surprised laugh. “Yeah.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “Why not? You were.”

  “Because look at you.” She waves a hand in my direction.

  I look down and see my ordinary body. I do physical work so I don’t have much extra fat. “What about it?”

  “Don’t you know how gorgeous you are? How people’s heads literally turn when you walk by? How whole groups of people will fall silent when you walk into a room? ”

  I scratch the back of my neck. “Who cares?”

  She sighs. “You’re still so good at this. I can’t believe you never had sex before.”

  “It’s because I pay attention.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It means when you’re hungry, I feed you. When you’re angry, I give you space and hunt down reruns of The Powerpuff Girls to play when you’re ready to come out of your room. When you’re lonely, I get Audie on the phone. When you have your period coming up, I stock up on Advil and ice cream. It means that when I touch you here”—I stroke the tendon at the back of her knee—“you tense and your sex clenches. If I stroke you right”—I thrust in and out a couple of times until I find that one spot that makes her gasp out loud.

  “—there,” I growl evilly. “I can make you come without touching your clit if I can find that small patch of skin that makes you scream.” I withdraw slow, dragging my dick over that tiny bundle of nerves that sends her into overdrive.

  She hisses. Her toes curl into the sheets. I thrust into her wet, sensitive heat, pressing her thighs open, pounding her hard, showing her exactly how much I pay attention. How much I know what she wants. How desperate I am to give her everything.

  I fuck her long, hard, and when we’re done, I flip her over and start again. I scrape my teeth over her breastbone. I suck the vein at her wrist and the one at her neck until purple bruises appear. I spank her ass until it’s red and her pussy is weeping and she’s begging me to take her again, would I fucking listen and take her again. We fuck for hours, until the skin is raw, until the afternoon sun slips under the horizon, until the outside world and all its horrors are shut away.

  We fuck until the truth of our lives crystallizes and etches itself on our souls. She loves me. I love her. That is the only thing that matters in this world.

  And maybe that’s why I don’t sense the danger at first.

  Why I didn’t hear the footsteps in the hall.

  Why I didn’t see the masked figures until they were bursting through the door.

  Why my gun was halfway across the room when I needed it the most.

  39

  Leka

  “You left without saying goodbye. That’s real rude,” Cesaro says. “And not very loyal. How am I supposed to keep all my other boys in line if you, Priest, are going to flaunt my orders at every turn?”

  “I’ve followed all your orders.”

  “Except this one. This tiny little thing I ask of you and you’re just ignoring me, which makes no sense because I’m in charge here. I’m king of this territory, which means every single one of you pissant subjects belongs to me. If I say I want to fuck a girl, it doesn’t matter who she belongs to because ultimately, she’s mine just like I own you, isn’t that right, Priest?”

  The lie is thick on my tongue, but I force it out. For Bitsy’s sake. “That’s right.”

  Cesaro taps his slim fingers against the table. “You’re saying all the correct words, but I don’t get a sense you feel it. Do you feel it, boys?” He turns to the men in the room. All but Sterno shake their heads. “See, no one feels it. If I let this go, everyone will believe that Cesaro lost his edge. I like you, Priest. You’ve done a good job, but you need to prove yourself to me now. It’s real easy. You call your girl down here and give me an hour with her. I promise I’ll deliver her back to you, safe and sound. Beefer knows. You tell him how much Camella liked how I treated her.”

  Beefer, who is in the middle of laying out his special tools, pauses, and we both remember what it was like that night. How Camella lay broken and bleeding on the stainless steel counter upstairs. How Beefer puked his guts out in front of me.

  “Beefer,” Cesaro warns.

  Beefer picks up a massive pair of pliers and wipes a cloth over the sharp steel ends. For some men, just seeing the torture devices would be enough to loosen their tongues. Down here, we’ve had men vow to slit their own mother’s throats just on the threat of pain. My stomach roils.

  “Sorry, boss,” Beefer says, “I was thinking about what tool would be best for the job tonight. Camella liked you real good.”

  Cesaro claps as if his favorite dog just did a trick for all of us. “There you go. Camella got nothing but pleasure from me, and that’s what I’ll deliver to your girl, too. In fact, you should thank me because there’s not many men in my position who would choose her over all the other ponies in the stable.”

  Whatever Beefer opts to do tonight is going to hurt like a motherfucker, but I have to keep it together because Bit’s upstairs and the only way both of us are walking away from this is to endure. This pain is fleeting; the kind that Cesaro would inflict on Bit’s mind would last forever.

  “I’ve always been loyal,” I tell Cesaro. “I’ve been part of this crew for more than fifteen years. Everything that’s been asked of me, I’ve done. Isn’t that right, Beefer?” Up until yesterday, I’d have said Beefer would back me on anything. The world’s turned upside down now and I don’t know who I can trust.

  The man who I’ve worked for and with for my entire life contemplates me for a long, silent moment—likely weighing the odds of me surviving against whatever
gifts Cesaro has promised. I tell him, as best I can with only eye contact, that I’ll repay any punishment that he can deliver.

  “Leka’s been my right-hand man for a long time,” Beefer finally says. “He keeps the crew in line. He’s good with logistics, and the other gangs around here are scared shitless of him. It took four guys to bring him in and only because one of them got a shot off in the girl’s direction. He’s a valuable tool.”

  In sum, we can hurt him, but not too much. It’s the most Beefer can give and I appreciate it.

  “Let me at him, boss,” growls one of Cesaro’s men. I don’t know his name, but he’ll be wearing that scar along his cheek for a long time.

  Cesaro shakes his head and clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You know how good Beefer is at his job, don’t you?”

  “He’s the best,” I agree. It’s going to be a long and torturous night, but these wounds will all heal. I settle into the chair and ready myself. As long as my girl is safe, there isn’t anything that these guys can do down here that will break me.

  “The best? We’ll see about that. Let’s begin.”

  Beefer starts small, smashing the pinkie on my left hand with a hammer. I release a long hiss of pain and break out into a sweat.

  “I don’t get you.” Cesaro dips his head close to mine. He’s lucky I don’t bite his nose off. “One night is all I want. One night and everyone goes home happy.”

  Like Camella? Like the other girls who work for the organization who nearly piss themselves in fear when they hear Cesaro’s in town? I’ll never let him touch Bit. “She’s not for sale.”

  “You’re a dumb motherfucker,” Beefer mutters under his breath. “There’s no point. He’s going to have her anyway.”

  I stare steadily at both of them. Cesaro gives the signal to continue, and Beefer, with a little smirk on his lips, smashes the knuckle on the next finger. These fingers are going to be totally unusable when they heal up. He’ll have to switch to the other side soon.

  Usually, Beefer’s calculated and businesslike, but tonight there’s an anger in the way he’s carrying out his task. It’s resentment, I conclude. He didn’t fight for Camella and he doesn’t like seeing me fight. The outcome has to be the same for Bitsy as it was for his daughter or he won’t be able to live with himself.

  Cesaro pokes the mess of bones and blood. I nearly pass out from the pain. “I can’t believe you’re sacrificing yourself for some snatch, but your loyalty to her intrigues me. She must be dynamite in the sack. Is it how she sucks dick? Is her pussy laced with ecstasy? I want her even more now.” He sticks out his tongue and runs it across the bottom of his lip. “I bet she tastes juicy.”

  I explode, the force of my anger ripping through the bindings on one arm. Cesaro jumps back, but not before I catch the front of his shirt in my hand. I drag him forward. “Don’t fucking talk about her that way,” I growl through clenched teeth.

  He claws at my hand as I tighten the fabric in my fist, cutting off his air supply. It takes all four of Cesaro’s men and Beefer to drag me back and tuck Cesaro out of reach. He jerks out of the grip of his men, dusts his hands against his pants as if a prisoner didn’t just almost choke the life out of him. “Cut off his hand,” he orders.

  Beefer balks. He’s resentful but not stupid. “He’s not going to be of much use to us if we do that.”

  “I don’t care,” Cesaro explodes. He’s losing it. Spittle forms at the corners of his mouth.

  “Why don’t you do two of his fingers?” Sterno suggests. “She’s a young girl and an old deformed man isn’t going to appeal to her much.”

  “Start with his fingers,” Cesaro orders, pretending that Sterno never suggested that exact thing. “We’ll see how much the girl likes him after that.”

  “I’m sorry, kid,” Beefer says as he takes out a blade familiar as my own hand. “At least let him choose,” he asks. “Cuz of all the years of loyalty.”

  This is a poor sort of mercy, but I’ll take it. “The pinkie,” I tell him. “Who needs five fingers anyway?”

  They laugh like I’m a comedian at Madison Square. I nearly bite through my tongue not to make a sound as Beefer saws off the top of my digit. That pisses Cesaro off too—my continued silence.

  He picks up a board and slams it against my side. I feel my ribcage cave in. The cracking echoes in my ears. He slams it again and I want to scream because the pain is excruciating.

  But Bit’s upstairs. She could hear me.

  40

  Bitsy

  I strain my ears for any sound from Leka, but the basement is silent as a tomb. Chilled, I pull my heavy puffer coat tighter around me. It was all I was allowed to grab when the men broke down our door and dragged the two of us out of the hotel.

  It took only one man to subdue Leka. The tall, scarecrow-shaped man named Sterno held a gun to my head and ordered Leka out of the room.

  “Go quietly and she will not be hurt,” the man had said. Leka believed him and walked out.

  That same man threw me my coat and took me down to a town car. We followed a large black Escalade to Marjory’s, where I got a glimpse of Leka, hooded and restrained, being led out of the car and into the restaurant. The scarecrow directed me to the stool I’m sitting on and told me if I was patient, Leka would return to me.

  Then he disappeared downstairs. That was thirteen minutes and five seconds ago.

  I’d told Leka it was as easy for me to be killed by walking in the city than by someone in his business. Because he loved me, he let his guard down and now here we are, with him in the torture chamber in the basement and me up here shaking like a stupid leaf. I want to stab myself in the eye for all the stupid things I said. For not paying attention to Leka. For not heeding him.

  If I had listened rather than insisting like a child that my way was the right way, he wouldn’t be hurting right now. And I know he’s hurting. They didn’t force him downstairs to drink beers and play poker.

  Two of Beefer’s men guard the door. When I told Leka I could shoot, I wasn’t lying, and in this moment, even though I haven’t even killed a deer, I wouldn’t hesitate to fire a bullet into these men to save Leka. But I don’t have a gun and I’m not stupid or naïve enough to think I could take even one of them with kitchen implements. I’d probably trip and stab myself if I tried to attack with a chef’s knife.

  Leka’s right. I can’t protect us with a bottle of mace. I contemplate calling the police, but I’m sure that would doom Leka, too. I can’t just sit on my ass and do nothing.

  “Should I take something downstairs for the guys? They must be hungry. They’ve been down there for a while.”

  Fourteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds to be precise.

  “Cesaro will call for you when he’s ready,” Mary says. Her voice is cold and dark.

  I try not to look terrified, but I don’t think I’m succeeding well because Justin, the cook who replaced Gerry, makes a sad sound in the back of his throat. “Why don’t you grab me that plate over there?” he jerks his head to a stack of small white dessert plates.

  “Are you really making him a chocolate cake?” I ask. This whole scene seems so macabre. Downstairs, Beefer and Cesaro and who knows who else are torturing my Leka.

  Justin confirms. “Cesaro already ate. I’m making his dessert and it’s not done yet. The chocolate isn’t as smooth as I’d like.”

  “Hurry up,” Mary snipes. “He likes to have his dessert before sex.”

  My stomach clenches. It’s not Mary he’s going to be boning after he’s done with Leka. My best guess is that Cesaro will rape me in front of Leka. That seems to be right up his alley.

  I need to take action. There are four people up here and four men in the basement plus Cesaro and Beefer. How can I take out eight people? A timer dings and Justin reaches into the oven and pulls out a small ramekin filled with chocolate cake. A plume of white spirals up from the oven. A thought strikes. I could start a fire and smoke everyone out. In the chaos
, Leka will get free and we will run.

  It’s a risk, but it’s my best option. I scan the kitchen for tools. There’s olive oil sitting on the island and butter in a bowl. I just need to get those to a flame. The stove that Justin is cooking on is gas. That’s my target.

  I step away from the wall. In front of me, the scene blurs. I no longer see the slender, dark-haired Justin but thicker, red-haired Gerry. Mary’s dress is blue instead of red. She reaches into her pocket. I blink and shoot to my feet.

  “Stop!” I yell.

  As one, Mary and Justin turn to look at me.

  “What?” Justin asks, his hand suspended above the chocolate cake sprinkling white powder on top.

  Because I know what to look for, I see Mary’s fist shoot out. She opens her palm and a dust-like substance drops onto the cake. Before I can blink, her hand is back by her side. If I hadn’t suspected, I would’ve missed this.

  The image of Arturo grasping his throat with spittle forming at the sides of his mouth materializes. Mary is at his side. She accuses Gerry, but before Gerry can protest, Mary strikes. The knife slits his throat just as he is about to say something. Holy fuck. Mary killed Arturo all those years ago. And in his place, Cesaro rose to power.

  But he didn’t take Mary along with him as she thought he would. If he had, she wouldn’t still be here, doling out her favors to Beefer and whomever else is willing to pay for her services. So, either out of spite or anger, Mary’s going to kill Cesaro the same way she killed his uncle—by poisoning his food.

  My eyes meet Mary’s, who recognizes my new understanding immediately. We both move at once, but I’m younger, quicker, and closer to the basement door. I swing it open and launch myself down the stairs before the guards can stop me.

  “It’s Mary!” I scream. “Mary killed Arturo. Mary poisoned Arturo. Don’t eat the cake. Don’t eat the cake!”

  “You bitch.” She manages to grab a fistful of my hair and yanks me backward.

  I fight through it, jerking out of her grip and racing forward.