by Teagan Kade
Our mouths come together, tongues cleaving and pressing against one another. He runs his hands under my shirt, cupping my breasts as I moan around his pliant lips.
I lose complete control in the kiss, wrapping one hand around his neck, pulling him towards me, wanting to meld us together as much as I can.
He lifts my shirt. A breast is released. His hand slips over it as I lean forward to fill his palm. He feels its weight, my nipple like a diamond tip against his hand while he runs a trail of hot kisses down the side of my neck.
I gasp as the tender globe swells in his hand. I beg him, plead for release.
In response, he rolls a nipple between his forefinger and thumb, leaning down to take it between his lips.
He sucks it harder into his mouth, pulling my entire breast out and then letting it drop back.
His free hand slides over my butt to caress the domed shape of it. My skin is hot under his hand from the tattoo, red and angry. He runs his fingers down the crack of my ass, softly parting them to gently slide a single digit into the slick canyon of my pussy. More fingers join the march until his whole hand is cupped around my sex, clit beating and swollen under his wet fingers as he splits my silken folds.
His fingers move upwards, his thumb turning to flatten against my anus.
I lift myself upwards against his strong fingers, moaning aloud now as he strokes back and forth through my swollen flesh, teasing the nub of my clit. Between him fiddling with my nipple and my clit, the pleasure is so immense, so great that I'm bucking helplessly on the table.
He pinches, tugs, pulls, and rubs until I’m near delirium. I lift my shirt further to expose my other breast, working a nipple myself while I lick my lips. My back arches out and my hips thrust forward against his hand, hungry.
He kisses me with fresh passion, rolling me onto my back so the tattoo burns against the leather below. He leans over my prone form while I hold his arms, fire burning throughout as he slides his tongue into my mouth.
A thick finger slips inside my pussy. My flesh thickens and heats around it, clit continuing to pulse.
“Come for me,” he whispers, finger-fucking me in a fervor, pushing into my tightness and groaning whenever the silky walls of my pussy squeeze around his finger.
I’m burning up down there, close to release.
All I can say is ‘yes’ over and over until I moan out long and let myself sink into my orgasm. Warm arousal floods over his hand as I come, my face bent and twisted with ecstasy.
I open my eyes to see his nostrils flaring, taking in my heady essence.
I’m shaking, quivering on the table. He devours me with his eyes, eyes that have seen too much pain.
He’s so fucking hot, so sexy. I’m wet just looking at his golden skin and bulging muscles.
He undoes the button of his jeans and pulls them down around his thighs. He wears no underwear today, his engorged cock jumping up from a nest of dark curls like an iron bar. It’s perfect in every way, and I’m desperate, absolutely frantic to have it fill me.
He flips me over until I’m kneeling at the edge of the table, my butt in the air. It’s at the perfect height as he pulls on my hips and slides his hard cock back and forth between my ass cheeks and the wet lips of my pussy below. He lubes his member with my juices, preparing to enter me.
I gasp and lower my head, breasts hanging from my chest.
He directs his cock into my soaking folds, pressing it right against my opening as my pussy gushes around it.
Holding his cock by the root, he flicks my hole with the head of his member, using his free hand to reach down and spread my lips wide. Slowly, he sinks just the tip inside.
I let out a long moan, pushing myself backwards against his cock.
Finally, filled with his length, I’ve never been more alive.
When he pulls back and strokes forward again, the air is driven from my lungs. He fills me so completely. My pussy walls clamp snugly around his cock, a wet squelching audible every time he pulls back to drive deeper and deeper with every thrust.
The initial ache subsides as he starts stroking into me harder with powerful thrusts. His fingers grip my ass cheeks tight for leverage, the pale globes jiggling every time our bodies connect.
I whimper and moan, filthy words spilling out of my mouth I didn’t even know I was capable of speaking, everything rising to the surface now as blind lust takes over. The smell, the textures, the bare skin-on-skin of it, the man buried inside my body—it’s overload.
He pulls out, running his slick cock up and down my slit. It pops up to rest against my anus and I know what he has in mind.
A wicked idea pushes its way to front of my mind, a curiosity I’ve always wanted to explore.
Do it.
I reach behind myself, the side of my face flat against the leather, and spread my ass. “I want you to,” I tell him. “Please.”
“Do what?” he smiles, adding pressure to the tight knot.
He’s going to make me say it.
I take a deep breath. “Fuck me.”
“Where?”
“In the ass. I want you to fuck me in the ass,” I repeat.
“You’re fucking amazing,” he says, voice husky. “Are you sure?”
I nod. “You’ll be gentle?”
“No promises.”
He starts to press his hardness against my asshole. I stretch my cheeks a little wider until gradually the head of his cock begins to slide inside. It’s so dirty, so completely taboo that my pussy drips below, my thighs coated with milky desire.
He’s doing it. Lord help me he’s doing it.
My mouth opens wide when the head of his cock slides fully inside, plugging up my backside and filling me. He begins to slide himself back and forth in the tight channel, grunting with the effort and telling me over and over how tight it feels, how fucking incredible my body is.
He holds me around the waist and uses all of his weight to come higher above me, driving his cock forward until inch by inch it completely fills the hot passage. The dark curls at the root of his cock flatten against me. I breathe in short pants knowing his entire member is filling my most private of spaces.
He slides out right to the tip and then glides forward, his throbbing cock plunging back inside me. He hammers into me as he works, building. My back bows, but I try and remain still, the mix of pain and pleasure fulfilling in the extreme.
Cum runs down my leg and gathers around my knee. My pussy’s completely open.
I reach my fingers down and hook them into my sex, driving them in and out as he fucks my ass.
He’s grunting hard, trying to hold himself back as his balls tighten behind me. He steadies his hand, barely able to control himself he’s pounding into me so hard. He slams into my behind again and again with his slippery cock, muttering compliments.
I rub my clit with the butt of my hand. He moves faster and faster, our cries increasing in volume and intensity until I know he’s close to exploding. He reaches underneath me and his fingers are adding to mine as they scoop into my body.
I pulsate and writhe, shifting my other hand up to flick a sensitive nipple back and forth.
I come hard, calling out obscenities one after the other and screaming his name as he holds my hand in position.
He hilts himself inside the convulsing glove of my ass and lets go, pumping his hot load deep into my body.
I squeeze down and milk his cock until he groans no longer, jerking one final time.
He collapses over the top of me, my ass cheek still burning and enflamed as his muscles grow limp.
His cock slides out to rest against my thigh, thoroughly spent. He whispers in my ear all the while, calling me his angel.
I fall sideways. He comes up onto the table facing me, taking me in his arms and crushing our mouths together.
I break away to look at his flushed face, holding it in my hands.
“How was that?” he queries.
“Not bad,” I tease.
“I must say, I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Like I said, hang around me long enough and you never know what’s going to happen.”
He laughs. “You can say that again.”
I look down and see his cock is growing hard again. “Does that thing ever go down?”
“When you’re around? No.”
He takes hold of my hips, turning me around to examine his work. “Not bad for a rush job.”
Max
I put my cell down. “It’s done.”
Dawn sits on the edge of the bed with her head down. “Is this going to work?”
I have no fucking idea, but I smile as best I can and take a seat beside her. “We’ve got money. It’s not fifty grand, but it’s not far off. Saul loves his precious fucking money, so yeah. I’d say we’re in with a chance.”
“Where?” she asks. “Where are we meeting him?”
“We’re the ones on the back foot here, so I had to let him choose the time and place. It ain’t going to be Times Square if that’s what you’re thinking.”
She’s fiddling with her hands, rolling them over each other again, her wristband bouncing along. “Should we get weapons?”
“Weapons?” I laugh. “This isn’t Lethal Weapon.”
“Could have fooled me. I’ve been kidnapped, shot at. I punched a guy.”
“Your ex. And what a glorious fucking punch it was.” I take her hand, looking it over. “Sure you don’t want to consider a career in boxing after this? MMA maybe? Ronda Rousey made it work. You could design your own outfits, sell a line of protein shakes…”
“Ronda Rousey has more muscle in her pinkie finger than I’ve got in my entire body.”
I let her hand down but keep hold of it. “You’re mistaking muscle for brains. The latter’s far more important in a fight, which is why we are going to be smart about this.”
“So, weapons?”
I shake my head. “We’ll be patted down. There’s no point, but…” I reach over to the bedside drawer and take out a metal cylinder. “I’m going to put this smoke grenade in the gym bag with the money.”
“Why?”
“Cover, distraction—We’ll have to wing it.”
“That doesn’t sound like being ‘smart’ about anything.”
I kiss her, savoring the softness of her lips. “Have a little faith.”
“I trust you, Max, completely.”
“I know.” I nod, and that’s what scares me.
Truthfully, I don’t know a fucking thing.
I borrow one of Oz’s clunkers to take us out to an industrial area on the other side of the river. Being a weekend, the place is deserted, a vast landscape of steel and rust and rot.
I drive through an open gate and stop out the back of a large warehouse. It’s straight from the cliché handbook, but that’s Saul for you.
Dawn’s opted for jeans and a white tank. I don’t know how she’s pulling it off, but she looks even hotter casual like this. I just hope this isn’t the last time I see her, but if one person has to come out of this, it’s going to be her. I’ll make damn sure of that.
I take the gym bag and together we walk towards the open doors. “What is this place?” asks Dawn.
I don’t tell her I’ve been here before. “Old steel mill. One of Saul’s properties, of course. He could sell this land, make a killing, but he keeps it for…” I trail off and Dawn doesn’t ask.
As soon as we’re inside, two goons come forward to search us. I don’t recognize one, but the other’s Viktor, somehow looking sketchier in the middle of the day. He grins as he pats Dawn down, lifting her breasts, his hand lingering too long between her legs. “Good to see you again, sweetheart.”
He blows her a kiss.
“Touch her again,” I say, my arms high, legs spread. “I’ll break your fucking arms, Viktor.”
Viktor puts his own hands up and backs away. “Easy now, Max. We’re all on the same side here.”
I highly fucking doubt that.
Saul steps forward from machinery to the left, materializing in the his usual spilt-wine suit. He extends his hands, stopping before us. “Kids, how are we? I heard you had a quite the adventure over in Sin City.”
“You could say that,” I reply.
Saul shakes his head. “Bobby Emmanuel Cervantes, that snake. But enough of him. Let’s get down to business.”
There’s that word again.
Dawn’s remarkably composed beside me. I take in as much of our surroundings as I can: Viktor and the new goon, the doors still open behind our backs but too far to make without becoming target practice in the process. I can’t see any other exits.
Saul nods to the bag in my hand. He gestures to the new goon, who steps in to snatch it away, unzipping it and dumping the contents on the floor.
“Fifty-thousand and change. Is that what I’m going to find in here?” asks Bobby. He spots the smoke grenade, stopping down to pick it up. “What do we have here, Max?” He shakes his head. “You wouldn’t believe how many of these we burned through in Afghanistan. What did you think you were going to achieve with this? Disappearing act? To fucking where, Max?”
He tosses the smoke grenade to Viktor, who pockets in it his jacket.
Bobby stands there continuing to shake his head. “I’m disappointed, Max. I really am. I wanted this to be civil. You’re a good employee, a friend.”
I let him talk. Nothing I say is going to make much difference.
He stops before me smiling. “We’re both good with numbers, aren’t we, Max?”
“I like to think so.”
“So, like me, you can look down at this pile of cash and instantly know it’s a long way short of fifty large, isn’t it?”
Here we fucking go. “It’s the best she could come up with on such short notice, all Rick had when I shook him down.”
Bobby laughs. “You should have shook fucking harder.”
He walks away with hands in his trouser pockets.
“Please, we did our best,” interjects Dawn.
“Your best?” Saul snaps. “Give me a fucking break, Dorothy.”
“We were almost killed,” she continues, frantically trying to speak.
Not the right thing to say.
“Do I look like I give a shit about excuses?” bellows Saul, losing his cool. “I don’t care if you had to suck off sixty guys. The money is not all there, is it?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
Saul pulls out his weapon, aiming it at me. “This is a fucking shame, Max, a real fucking shame.”
Dawn puts her hands out. “Please!” she screams, begging now. “He was only trying to help.”
“He knows better,” continues Saul.
“Pop me,” I tell Saul. “But let her go. She’s been through enough.” His finger’s on the trigger. It’s not the first time I’ve had a gun pointed at me, but this time it feels different, more urgent. Adrenaline floods my body, but I’ve got nothing to do with it.
“Please,” pleads Dawn. “Let us go.”
Saul pauses. Is he actually fucking considering it? But soon the mask is gone, his finger starting to squeeze. “Sorry, Max, but you know the rules.”
A ringtone sounds out. It’s Saul’s cell, Shake It Off by Taylor Swift, Lucy’s doing.
“The fuck.” He pulls it out, holding the cell in one hand, his gun still trained on me in the other.
He goes to answer the call, bringing it to his ear, but it’s on speaker.
“Dad?” comes the mousy voice.
He holds the cell away from his ear. “Lucy, baby. I can’t get this shit off speaker. He fumbles with the cell, eventually giving up and holding it before him. “I’m a little tied up here, hon. Can this wait?”
It’s Saul’s beloved daughter Lucy, now twenty-two and a star socialite. She’s everything Saul is not—compassionate, understanding, the voice of angel. I’ve often wondered if she’s his biological child at all. She’s already signed up to
a label, and I have to admit, she’s got talent. She’s going places.
When it comes to Saul, whatever happens, Lucy always comes first.
“It’s about the festival, Dad.”
He looks to Viktor. “What about it, baby?”
I’m desperately trying to find a way out, but we’re stuck fast.
“The designer I was using,” Lucy continues.
“Lindsay someone, right?” says Saul.
“Linda, Dad, Linda McMasters. She cancelled.”
“She fucking what?” yells Saul, his voice echoing around the warehouse.
“She said it was a family emergency or something. She hasn’t even started on the dress.”
“I’ll give her a family emergency,” Saul seethes. “You tell her…”
“What am I going to do, Dad? I’m due on stage in eight hours.”
“I can help.”
All eyes turn to Dawn.
Saul presses his cell into his chest. “What did you say?”
“Dad?” Lucy says, her voice muffled.
“I can help,” repeats Dawn. “I’m a designer.”
“Dad? Who’s that?”
He brings the cell back before him. “No one, baby.”
Dawn steps forward, raising her voice. “I work for Noel Boone, but I do my own designs. I studied at Parsons here in New York. I know your style. I follow all your feeds. I can make you an amazing dress in eight hours.
Holy fucking shit. Dawn might be in with a chance here. Even if she can’t do it, she could buy us time.
“You should listen to her,” I tell Saul.
“Noel Boone?” says Lucy, thinking, “Yeah, she did that thing last season with the witches hats, right?
“That’s right,” replies Dawn, trying to regulate her breathing.
“Dad?” queries Lucy.
Saul eyes Dawn with suspicion. He places his hand over the cell. “Are you fucking serious? Don’t you dare fucking lie to me now.”
Dawn nods. “I’m serious. If you can get the materials, I can take her measurements, and whip something up in no time.”
“I’ve got my own studio here at the apartment,” says Lucy. “Fabrics, machines… everything you need. I’m something of an aspiring designer myself.”
