Never Kiss a Bad Boy

by Flite, Nora

  “You fucking love that,” I whispered. Her body was scalding, liquid dripping down her inner thighs.

  Marina trembled, closing the one eye I could see. Her response was to rock into me, giving away how much she truly needed my dick in her. With my free hand, I pet the outside of her bare pussy. Her clit was easy to find, swollen beyond belief.

  One tiny graze of my fingertip, and she surrendered. “Please, just fuck me!”

  Bending close, I nuzzled her ear and inhaled. “That was all I wanted to hear.”

  Gripping the base of my shaft, I spread her wetness and drove inside. Her cunt rippled over me, sign language for 'Never leave me again.'

  My lips found her shoulder, kissing the smooth skin. I let her hair go so I could hold both sides of her hourglass waist, using it for leverage. I didn't want dainty strokes. I needed to fuck this woman, and I wanted it to be hard.

  Marina squealed, nails curling on the wall. She used it, pushing off to meet each of my thrusts. She'd finally surrendered.

  Deep in the root of my cock, I felt the tingles of her orgasm begin. She was milking me, panting faster and faster. I needed her to come. Needed it. I held my breath—braced myself as I pumped into her with all my strength.

  Hissing through her teeth, Marina threw her head back as the waves hit. The crushing spasms on my still pounding cock were delicious.

  I bit her shoulder as the first hot spikes of pleasure possessed me. My balls squeezed, heavy with my seed. In the far recesses of my brain, I had the strongest urge to fill her with my come.

  How would she react? My imagination had me biting my lip, sweat pouring down my spine. It would feel amazing, and then, this woman... she'd be mine. For real.

  Forever.

  She's destined for death.

  The reminder was too much for my conscience. Against all odds, I ignored the primal ache. Backing out, my pulsing tip rested on the top of her heart-shaped ass. Thick, pearly seed coated her skin as I gasped.

  Fuck. That had been insanely close.

  Shaking, I let her go and stepped back. Sweat coated my skin in the cool apartment, a temperature I was now grateful for.

  Fumbling for a paper towel from the counter, I handed it to her. Seeing her covered in my come was intensely erotic. “Sorry,” I said unconvincingly.

  “No, that was... it was the right move.” Cleaning herself off, she tugged her jeans up her legs. I'd destroyed her panties, so I watched her beautiful pussy wink out of view. What a shame. Marina glanced at me, her cheeks still wild fire. “No mistakes. Right?”

  My heart throbbed painfully. “Right.” I'd already made a million mistakes. King of Fucking Bad decisions, indeed.

  I changed, putting my jacket back on but not closing it. “Speaking of decisions, let me give you a number to call. It's for the movers.” I gestured at her apartment.

  She blinked, hands fixing her disheveled hair. “You want me to call them?”

  “Yeah. You should be the one to talk to them. I'll give you the address and the money, they'll pack everything up and take it to a storage facility. It'll be efficient.” I reached into my wallet, thumbing the cash.

  Marina glanced at the tea kettle. We'd never bothered with our drinks; the mugs stood, empty. “You don't want them to see you, is that it?” She didn't wait for me to answer. Sighing, Marina put her coat back on. “Alright. You're being safe, I get it.”

  Pausing, I watched her thoughtfully. Did she get it? Yes. She was smart, and too perceptive. She understood I was protecting myself and Jacob by making her handle the movers.

  I said, “I'll be waiting in my car, down the street. When you finish here, just come meet me. Okay?”

  “You trust me alone with other people?” she muttered.

  “Yes,” I said seriously. “I believe you wouldn't do anything to jeopardize your revenge.”

  She met my stare, calm and collected.

  I was the first to break away.

  Scribbling down the number she would need, and the address of the storage company, I handed her a wad of cash. “I'll see you after,” I said, heading for the door.

  Marina watched me go. I expected silence from her, some sort of non-violent rally against everything I was and what I was setting her up for. This whole situation was fucked, and my recently used cock knew just how much worse I was making it.

  Her voice chirped, oddly sweet. “Will you leave me the umbrella?”

  Hesitating, I eyed it where it leaned by the door. Gloves, stolen from my pockets, were tugged onto my hands. “If you do me a favor.”

  “Sure,” she said. “What?”

  “Flush the paper towels.” Glancing at her, my smile was stiff. She was beautiful, especially when she looked shocked. “No mistakes. Understand?”

  Her nod was small, her mood fracturing. “No mistakes,” she whispered.

  We both knew we'd make many more before this was over with.

  - Chapter 15 -

  Jacob

  The Pink Factory was actually hard to find.

  It was snuggled between a construction site and a massage parlor. The gaudy, fuchsia paint on the siding gave the place away.

  A beefy man with a cigarette constantly burning between his lips guarded the door.

  Ducking my chin, I palmed the guy a twenty dollar bill and kept walking. Years ago, I'd been a bouncer for a place not much prettier than this. I knew the drill. This man didn't care who I was or what I did, as long as I paid the price of admission.

  Then he'd forget about me instantly.

  It was dark inside, too dark for my sunglasses. In a quick motion I tucked them in my pocket. They weren't needed; in such awful lighting, my face would be a blur.

  Brass poles stuck out of a battered stage. The girls who circled them did nothing beyond stretch, lean, and grind lazily across the metal surfaces.

  Sitting at the tip-rail, I fed out some dollar bills to appear normal, bought a drink I never finished. I noted a few things: an exit that led into the back alley where people went to smoke, the second bouncer who hovered by the dance booths, and that, for all the patrons sitting around, few were spending any money.

  It took me spying a woman sliding someone her card to make it clear; most of the girls weren't just dancers. Times were tough, prostitution was a tempting path. They probably utilized the massage parlor next door.

  This place was so similar to my old club that it was unsettling.

  I stood up, sliding out the exit door. Back there in the alley, it was grimy and poorly lit. No bouncers reigned here, just one girl with a cigarette between two long, neon pink painted nails.

  She gave me a quick look, smoke fleeing her lips. The bottom one was bruised. “Looking for a special girl?” she purred.

  Daisy, I thought helplessly. She reminds me of Daisy. I didn't want to think about the past, especially not something as depressing as the fate of a poor dancer I'd once known.

  My smile was shallow. “No thanks. Have a good night.”

  With a bored shrug, she turned away, engaged in her tobacco.

  Heading back inside, I settled on a bar stool and simply... waited. I was early, I wanted to be able to see the man who was coming to 'sell' cocaine to me.

  Ordering my second beer, I twisted it in my hands. The condensation left a ring on the bar. I hadn't taken a single sip before he entered.

  Young. Jeez, way too young.

  Hollow circles under pinprick eyes, skin the color of dishwater. He looked like he hadn't eaten well in days—or ever.

  I hadn't really suspected an undercover cop would meet me, but it was always a risk. Now, seeing this kid's exhausted, lifeless face... I wasn't concerned about that. A face like his didn't happen accidentally. No one could fake this brand of desperation.

  He stood by the door, hands deep in his ratty hooded sweater. Looking left, then right, then left again, he finally settled on watching the stage. He didn't have the patience to pretend he was here for the girls, though.

  There w
ere three other men in the club, two of them getting dances and one sitting across from me. The scraggly kid moved closer, perching on a stool and tapping his shoe on the floor. In our anonymous online chats, we'd agreed to meet at the bar.

  When he glanced at me, I feigned a smile. That had him narrowing his eyes and looking away, fast.

  Turning towards the other man, the kid folded his hands. Not so subtle, he drummed his fingers. He clearly thought this was the guy he was supposed to meet.

  Smoothly, my seller leaned his way. He whispered, “Yo, man. You buyin'?”

  Instantly, the thick fellow leaned away from the kid. Wrinkling his forehead, he laughed uneasily and hopped off the chair. “Not me. Sorry.” Escaping, he headed towards the stage.

  The young guy made a fist, cursing under his breath. He was anxious now, and I imagined he thought his buyer hadn't shown, or had never planned to.

  I bent towards him and flashed a knowing grin. I hoped it made me look both slimy, and sympathetic. “Your guy didn't come either, huh?”

  “What?” Sitting so straight I heard his back crack, the kid stared at me.

  “Sorry, I overhead you.” Lifting my beer, I pretended to take a deep swig. “I was supposed to sell to someone tonight, too. Nine on the dot, he said.”

  His shoulders slumped, bitterness in his voice. “Fuck. Yeah, that's right. Son of a bitch, you think we got hit by the same flake?”

  Shrugging, I put my bottle back down. “Seems that way. What luck, right?”

  Groaning, he grabbed his hood and pulled it over his eyes. “Dammit dammit fucking—why do people gotta do that?” Peeking my way, he let the hood go. “Why waste our time?”

  I shook my head. “World is fucked up. Used to be you could buy from your dealer and sell to whoever, and people would swarm at the chance to get a hit.”

  His frown softened. “Yeah man, that's right. It's costing me more and I'm not fucking selling more.”

  I chose my next words carefully. “Guy I used to buy stock from straight up vanished. Good shit, too. Haven't seen him in forever,” I chuckled sourly.

  The kid scrunched his eyebrows together. “That sucks. Who was it? Maybe I know him.”

  That was exactly what I was betting on. “Frankie,” I said, taking a slow sip of my drink. I let the name hang in the air, studied the guy for his reaction. I wasn't disappointed.

  “Frankie?” he asked, scooting his chair towards me and lowering his voice. “Frankie the fucking Razor? He sold to you?”

  Tapping the base of my glass on the bar, I nodded. “Yeah. He did until he didn't. No clue where the guy is now, guess he left town.”

  “No man, no!” His fingers went up by his ears. “How the hell do you not know? It was all over the news, like, months ago and shit!”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.

  Cupping the side of his mouth, the dealer huddled closer. “Frankie is dead. Shot, right in broad daylight.”

  I put the beer down heavily, like this was the worst thing I'd ever heard. “He's dead? How the... that explains why I haven't seen the guy.”

  Breathing out sadly, the kid looked me up and down. “I bought from him when I could, too. You're right about the quality. Guy who sells me blow now, it's like baking powder. What's your name?”

  “Dennis,” I lied, reaching out to give him a rough handshake.

  “I go by Juice.” He waved for the bartender to get him a drink. “Man, I still can't believe you didn't know.”

  “It's a shame,” I said, trying to change the direction of the topic. “You said he was shot?”

  Lifting two fingers, Juice mimicked a gun firing into his own chest. “Bam. Right in the heart. Word is it was a hit, real professional.”

  Kite would have loved hearing that. “Someone wanted him dead. Who?”

  “Got me.” Taking his can of beer, he lifted it for a toast. I clinked my bottle on the cheap drink. “Guy could be dangerous, you had to know that if you bought from him.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “In fact, I heard he was involved in some real bloody shakedowns. Insurance runs, big fires, that sort of thing.” I was thinking of Marina's story. Her raspy voice and clenched fists roamed my brain.

  Juice was lost in his own thoughts, drinking his beer fast. “That's normal for them mafia families. When I chilled with him and Hecko, he was real friendly. Took us to the best titty bars.”

  Mafia? My heart began thumping. “Who's Hecko?”

  Burping, he crushed the can. “I haven't seen him in forever. We have no reason to hang out these days, what with Frankie gone. Wonder if he still has the same crazy green hair.”

  Green hair? Hecko didn't sound like the man I was searching for, but... “I think I remember him,” I said casually. “Guy used to always hang out with Frankie at that place—that uh, shit...” I snapped my fingers rapidly, screwed up my face. “You know where I mean. I swear the name is right on the tip of my—”

  “Tail End!” He clapped his hands once, grinning proudly. “I haven't been there in forever. Bet Hecko does still hang there. It was his regular place, though I preferred the strip clubs, myself—especially when Frankie paid the cover.”

  My excitement was buzzing with this new lead. “Listen,” I said, patting Juice on the shoulder. “It sounds like things have been rough.” Glancing deliberately at one of the woman who was lounging nearby, I waved her over. “Let me buy you a dance, kid.”

  Juice perked up, wriggling like a puppy as the girl approached. She leaned in to give him a hug, whispering in his ear. Meanwhile, she peered at me over his shoulder.

  I slid her a fifty, winking.

  Day one had gone well.

  ****

  Tail End was squat, the outside crafted from faded bricks. The place reminded me of the old sea-side bars from decades ago. The kind that crouched on the edge of a dock, swirling with fog.

  One bouncer sat in a chair outside. He looked asleep, but I fed him a twenty as I passed and his open palm closed around it.

  This place was only slightly cleaner than the strip club had been. I repeated the same cautious steps I had there: find the bouncers, look for anything suspicious.

  Hecko wasn't here. Or, if he was, he looked nothing like Juice had described. No one had green hair.

  The only thing I could do was stake out the club and wait.

  Across the street was a cracked, dirt colored motel. I rented out a urine-smelling room that faced the club's front entrance. I paid in cash, and the man who gave me my key barely looked up from the toaster-size television on the front desk.

  Locking the door, I fell back on the stained blankets. Everything smelled like cabbage, but I'd camp out in whatever festering hole I had to.

  Am I doing this to keep the plan moving? I wondered. Or am I doing this for her?

  Marina.

  Just thinking about her had my stomach tightening. When I was done with this mission, I planned to do something... nice for her. And for me.

  Mostly for me.

  That night, as I had every night since meeting her, I dreamed of Marina Fidel.

  Day two arrived.

  I cracked my eyes and stared at the grey clouds. Inhaling until my lungs hurt, I sat on the edge of my stained bed. The day melted into night. My legs were cramping, I started to pace.

  This part of the process was the worst. Sitting in a wretched motel room and counting the cracks in the windowsill was not exciting.

  Finally, I saw my man.

  It had to be Hecko, though his green hair was fading towards yellow. Even from behind, I could see he was too young to be the killer from Marina's past. He'd have been a child sixteen years ago.

  It didn't matter. He was my only lead.

  Leaving the motel, the weight of the gun comfortable under my jacket, I gave the bouncer another few bills and kept walking.

  Hecko had been inside the bar for no longer than fifteen minutes. The three empty glasses in front of him and the
fourth drink in his hand implied otherwise. The guy was a drinker, putting away the stuff with efficient practice. That was good. People let slip much more information when they were drunk.

  He was alone in his corner of the bar, tucked onto his stool like he was holding out for a downpour to stop outside. There was no rain, the skies outside were calm. But I was coming for him.

  I was the storm.

  Nodding to the bartender, I ordered a gin and tonic and approached Hecko. He didn't see me, his body jerking in surprise when I put my arm around his shoulders. “Hot damn!” I cried out. “Is that you, Hecko?”

  Spilling liquid on his lap, the guy shoved at me. “What the fuck, man? What are you doing?”

  Leaning away, I lifted my glass high. “You're kidding! Don't tell me you don't remember me? I hung out with Frankie all the damn time!”

  He was skeptical, and he should have been. I was relying on the power of time and alcohol—mostly alcohol—to aid me in convincing him.

  Hecko flicked blood-shot grey eyes to my shoes, then to my face. “Did you? I don't...”

  “Man, all the titty bars he would take us guys to,” I laughed loudly. Shaking my chin, I clapped Hecko tightly on the shoulder. He glared at my hand, but didn't push me off this time. “I miss the guy. Still can't believe he's gone.”

  He looked down into his drink, taking a big gulp until the bottom was empty and I could see his face through it. Breathing out, he slammed the container on the bar. “I do miss him, yeah. But I don't remember you. Sorry, what was your name?”

  “Cory,” I lied, swirling my glass. I hopped onto the stool beside him. “I'm only a little offended that you don't remember me.” I winked. “To be honest, we never talked much. I was too busy throwing dollar bills at the girls. I recognized you from the doorway, though. Your hair hasn't changed at all.”

  His smile was hesitant, but real. “Frankie used to call me the Gecko.” Self-consciously, he scrubbed at his short clumps of hair. “He always told me to change it. I never listened.”

  Sipping my gin and tonic, I watched his face closely. “Guy could be scary.” Hecko's eyes jumped to me, flashing. “But he meant well, most of the time.”