Faithless #2: A Tainted Love Serial

by Nelson, K. B.

  With every stroke, he gasps, breaking our kisses a shattered second at a time. I remove my hand from him and spit into my palm, then go back to work, pumping his cock with reckless strokes.

  His breathing harshens, and he’s unable to kiss me anymore. His body shudders with every stroke and he’s left helpless, drawing sharp breaths whenever he can. The warmth of his breath burns into me, lighting a fire from within.

  He shifts his weight into me, his cock pushing against my jeans. “Turn around,” he husks.

  And I do as commanded, prepared to surrender myself to a carnal act of sin—being fucked in a church will most definitely sign my one-way ticket to hell. But if it numbs the pain, even if only for a little while, it’s well worth it.

  He reaches around and pops the button of my jeans. He kisses the back of my neck before he pulls my jeans and panties to the floor and caresses the curves of my ass with his palm.

  He nuzzles his lips against my ear and takes a nibble, causing a moan to slip from my dry mouth. “Fuck me,” I demand. “Fuck it all away.” He slaps his cock against my ass and runs a trembling hand underneath my shirt. “Jesus—”

  He glides into me without hesitation, sliding all the way in until his pelvis presses against me. A harsh moan lands against my neck as he braces a hand against my hip and begins to rock.

  My body craves to be closer to him so I reach behind and grab his head, pulling him close. He adjusts himself and pushes his body against me. I stumble forward and my right cheek lands against the surface of the cross.

  He slips his tongue into my mouth and kisses me between moans and uneven thrusts. A hand trails to my stomach and he clenches me tight as he begins to assault my pussy with a tirade of thrusts.

  His cock tears me up from within, slamming into me stroke after stroke—taking control of his emotions in the only way he seems to know how. He fucks me into believing something, even if it’s just another lie. In between our grinding bodies, there’s a space between us—no matter how small. And in that space, there’s room to breathe, to operate in a reality where there isn’t a man chained up in the other room.

  The trauma and the confusion give way to an equally explosive bout of confusion. Everything fades away until all that’s left is his breath on my skin, his cock in my pussy, and his heart pounding against my back.

  “Fuck,” he cries out and grips my hip tighter while his other hand moves from my stomach to my other hip. It’s at this precise moment that he forgoes all pretense of making love. He shifts his body backward and my head bows down, held against the cross.

  He dives all the way in, filling me completely. Every thrust thereafter becomes deeper and harder, until he’s fucking me to the point where I can’t breathe. My head bounces against the cross with every slam against me.

  His fingers dig into me and he begins to grunt loudly, pounding me against the cross—crucifying me, owning me, and somehow atoning for his sins all at the same time.

  When some people feel lost, they seek advice from their elders. But for people like Noah and me, that’s not an option. The only way we can make sense of this world is through skin-on-skin contact. For most people, the world spins when they fuck. For Noah and me, it’s the only way we can get the world to stop. It’s the only way we can get the world to shut up.

  “Fuck,” he pants and thrusts against me one last time. He somehow finds a new depth from within my aching cunt and then goes an inch further. His body shakes against mine as he holds himself still, emptying himself inside of me.

  And the world makes sense again. He bows his head against my back and whimpers through the last tides of his orgasm. When he goes to pull out, I claw at the crown of his head and pull him back to me.

  I’m not ready to be lost again.

  9

  We sit next to each other in the front pew. I lean against the wooden back while he leans forward, tapping his feet nervously. He can’t bear to look at the cross, let alone the biblical portraits that line the walls to either side of us.

  Considering everything that’s happened today, I feel fine. The nerves and the fears have vacated, and I feel at peace with a foreign sense of optimism that things are going to work out.

  I am making sense of this world one fuck at a time, and the clarity that follows hands me the tools I need to save Noah’s soul—a distinct memory granted to me through some kind of divine intervention. “His filmed confession, assuming you get it, is worthless,” I say, breaking the silence while pulling my hair together and tying it up.

  “How so?” he questions through the fingers that cradle his face.

  “He’s under duress. Nothing he says in any video will be permissible in the court of law.”

  “You know that how?”

  I run my palms against my jeans and rise to my feet. “The man I was with in Florida was a lawyer.”

  His turn to jump to his feet. He points an accusing finger. “So, you were with someone.”

  “Not the point, Noah.”

  * * *

  FOUR YEARS AGO

  The grass is always greener on the other side, but strip clubs all look the same no matter what side of the fence you stand. Sure, on the surface level, Level Lounge appears classier than Mike’s did. But when you boil it down, the essence is the same.

  There’s a persistent search for something greater. Every clatter of a heel against the stage is a symbol of needing more. Every swing around the pole is a reminder that searching is going to have to wait.

  Dreaming doesn’t pay the rent. Satisfying others dreams—and fantasies—pays all the bills and leaves a little left in the purse for extracurricular activities. At the end of this shift, I’ll hitch a taxi ride back to my studio apartment and drink until I pass out.

  It’s a vicious cycle.

  After I’m done with my routine, I collect the loose bills from my body and assemble them into a stack of cash. Tonight, that stack is deficiently thin and the promise of anything more than a cheap bottle of vodka is looking slim.

  I twist the right combination into the lock and pop open my locker. I stash my cash into my purse, then grab a piece of gum and pop it into my mouth.

  Time to go work the floor.

  I push through the door, trading the well-lit dressing room for the dark, neon lights of the club. There are a group of wealthy-looking men lined up against the wall that stands adjacent to the stage. I give the men the most playful smile I have in my repertoire and say a quick prayer that one of these men want to take me home tonight.

  It’s not that I want to sleep with them, but the meaningless fuck is well worth the compensation. George, the middle-aged, oversized asshole that runs the joint doesn’t like it when we go home with these men, because he’s not in on the cut. It’s all about money to him. But who can blame him when he’s rolling in the dough and doing none of the work.

  A smile still plastered on my face, I walk past the last of the men. When they can no longer see the front half of me, I drop the smiling charade and sigh under my breath.

  So when a hand grabs my arm, I slap a smile back across my face before turning around. “Hey,” I say and bite my lip.

  The man I’d estimate is about forty-years-old and is a long way from worn. He’s handsome with brown eyes that somehow contrast against the darkness of the club. He’s shaved and well kept, and I could certainly point out numerous men in this club who would be a worse fuck. “I’m Paul,” he says, looking over his shoulder to make sure nobody is watching.

  “I’m Faith.”

  “That’s beautiful.” He reaches into his expensive jacket and grabs a business card. “You’re beautiful.”

  I comb my fingers through my hair and feign surprise. At a certain point, being called beautiful doesn’t surprise you anymore when you’re a stripper slash whore. If a man is horny enough, you instantly become the most beautiful woman in the world. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

  He hands me his card and caresses the top of my hand. “Call m
e.”

  Before I can respond, he turns away from me and puts his hand on an equally handsome friend’s shoulder then walks away. I take a long glance at the card before tucking it into my bra and continuing on with my prowling act.

  * * *

  PRESENT

  “Is there an alternative?” I question Noah. “If he goes to the police, you both go down. That’s not exactly a happy ending.”

  He shakes his head in doubt. “Nothing comes to mind.”

  “I understand your rage, but I also think you understand me. I won’t let you take the fall for this.”

  “Then give me something. If his confession means nothing, then I have no problem going in there and snapping his neck.”

  “Stop,” I demand and roll my fingers into my palm, clenching tightly. “Nobody else dies.”

  Noah glides into the pew, reverting back to his nervous self with his feet tapping to an unheard symphony.

  “I don’t know if it’ll work,” I say dryly. “But I have an idea.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “That depends.” I bite my lip and flashback to yesterday morning, when I had interrupted Noah’s sermon. “How are you with forgiveness?”

  10

  “This means nothing.” I hold the camera in my hands and model it for a still tied-up Ben. “It’s basically worthless.” I throw it against the wall with a nod of approval from Noah. It breaks on impact, sending pieces of plastic and metal scurrying across the floor. I pop onto my knees and hover in front of Ben. “So, Benjamin, where do you think that leaves your fate?”

  He attempts to speak, but the gag turns his words into mere muffles.

  “I don’t understand what he’s saying.” Noah shifts against the wall and bites into his thumb. “Maybe you should take the gag off.”

  “Good idea.” I grab the ball of fabric and pull it out of Ben’s mouth. He takes a long, deep breath but looks too scared to talk. “What’s the matter, Ben?”

  “You’re both crazy,” he says quietly. He’s beyond exhausted. “What are you going to do? Kill me?”

  I rise to my feet. “Isn’t that what you deserve?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Phase two starts now. I give him a crooked smirk before punching him as hard as I can in the face—much harder than I had punched Noah earlier. His head spins in circles and I throw another punch, landing at the exact same spot as the first. My knuckles ache so I can only imagine his pain. “You want to say something else?”

  He looks around the room, his swollen eyes struggling to stay open. “No,” he says weakly and spits on the floor.

  “How about a confession?” I ask, but he’s done talking. He shuts his eyes and leans his head back. “Come on, Ben. There are no cameras here. I just need to hear you say it.”

  He cackles wildly. “Why? Do you think it will bring him back?”

  “Come on, give me something,” I beg, breaking the badass routine I’ve been carrying since we came back into the room. “Anything.”

  “How about my cock?”

  I back up as I scoff. The nerve is staggering.

  “C’mon,” he continues. “You’re just another whore.”

  “I’d rather be a whore than a murderer.” I rush to him again, this time throwing my body against his and knocking the chair to the floor. His head slams against the tile and he grunts in pain. “Let me repeat myself. Do you have anything you want to say?”

  “No…”

  I draw my foot back and kick him in the stomach. He yells out again and pushes back against the chair hard enough that the chair slides across the floor. I go to kick him again, but Noah intervenes. “Faith!” he screams. “Enough.”

  “I’m just getting started.”

  “No,” he pleads. “This has to stop.” He steps to Ben and reaches into his pocket, grabbing a key. He twists the key into the lock that binds the chains together, freeing Ben. “Stand up,” he directs Ben, guiding him to his feet.

  “Thank you,” Ben whispers.

  “Don’t thank me yet.” Noah throws his arm around Ben’s neck and drags him to the center of the room. “You have thirty seconds to confess or Faith is going to put a bullet in your brain.”

  “Wha—what?” Ben stutters.

  I reach into the back of my jeans and pull out a handgun then aim it squarely at Ben. “He’s right. I’m done playing games.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ben screams then soon after begins to sob. “I’m sorry.”

  “Everybody’s sorry. Nobody ever means it.” I shake the gun at him and lower my finger to the trigger. “Prove it to me.”

  “Please don’t kill me,” he pleads through a stream of tears, his entire face glowing blood red.

  “You have no idea what you took away from me.” I point the gun at Noah. “What you took away from him. Nothing would make me happier than to put a bullet through your brain.”

  “I know I hurt you and I’m sorry.”

  Noah tightens his grip on Ben’s throat. Ben tries to fight back, clawing his fingers against Noah’s arm.

  “If you don’t want to die, then you’re going to have to give me something. Anything. Start with why you did it!”

  “Time’s running out, Benjamin,” Noah whispers into his ear.

  Ben finally hits his breaking point and the world goes silent. His voice shatters everything as he’s about to confess. “Luke killed my sister!”

  My finger bounces on the trigger, prepared to fire. “Shut up,” I demand, fighting back a flood of tears. This is a new low, and I’m not in headspace to let him piss all over Luke’s name. “Shut the hell up.”

  “I’m sorry,” he pleads. “But it’s the truth.”

  “I said shut up!” I step closer and push the gun against his chest.

  “No,” Noah says and pushes Ben against the wall. “Let him talk.”

  “He’s lying.” I point the gun back at him.

  Ben shakes his head. “No, I’m not. She was driving home from work and she was killed in a hit and run. I saw him fleeing the scene, but it took me a few months to work up the courage to—”

  “The courage for what?”

  “I was so angry,” he cries. “But I know what I did was wrong. So, yes, I killed him.” He breaks out into a fit of uncontrollable tears and slides down the wall until his head is cradled in his lap. “So if you’re going to kill me, just fucking do it.”

  My lips quiver and the hand holding the gun shakes. I chew on my lip and wipe away the first of many tears. Noah places a palm on my shoulder and pulls me back, leading me out of the room.

  As soon as I hear the door shut, I shatter into a million pieces. I’m too weak to stand, but too broken to sit so I throw myself against the wall, burying my face so Noah can’t see. “What the hell is he talking about?” I ask, torn between sadness and rage.

  “I didn’t know,” he speaks softly, unsure of himself. “A few months before he died, Luke took my car for the night. He brought it home wrecked, but said he had hit a deer. He was high or drunk or both. It’s why I didn’t report it to my insurance. He had the car fixed a few days later, as if nothing had happened. I always had my suspicions, but never wanted to believe them.”

  My vision is blurry—from the tears—when I turn to him. “It’s true then?”

  “Probably.”

  “You didn’t think to ask him why he did it?”

  “He killed Luke. I wasn’t interested in the details.” His tongue rolls across his dry, cracked lips. “I just waited for the perfect opportunity to grab him.”

  I wipe my sticky eyes with the back of my palms. “I’m ending this right now.”

  Noah beats me to the door and grabs the knob, holding the door shut. “He’s not innocent.”

  “That doesn’t matter though, does it?”

  “There has to be justice.”

  “You should have thought about that before you took the law into your own hands,” I scoff and push against the door. “You are not a vigilante.�
�� Once more, I push against the door, but my strength is no match for Noah’s, however. “Let me in the damn door.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to stick to the damn plan and you need to fall in line.”

  * * *

  20 MINUTES AGO

  “That depends.” I bite my lip and flashback to yesterday morning when I had interrupted Noah’s sermon. “How are you with forgiveness?”

  “For people like him?” Noah points to the back room. “It’s not one of my strong suits and don’t feed me any bullshit, because I know you better than that”

  “This is about taking something terrible and finding the good—no matter how small it may be—in it.”

  “Enlighten me.” He gestures with one hand. “What’s your brilliant plan?”

  “Get him to confess. No cameras. Just you, him, and me. If, and only if, he’s truly sorry, we can close this chapter of our lives.”

  “You want to let him go?” He stands up and crosses his arms. “That’s too easy.”

  “What would Jesus do?”

  “Don’t.” He shakes his head. “Don’t even go there.”

  “I don’t care what you say, Noah. I know it’s in there somewhere, no matter how buried in pain and sorrow. Find your strength. Find your faith and forgive him.”

  “How can you ask me to do that?”

  “Because I’m terrified I’m going to lose you.”

  * * *

  PRESENT

  Noah leans against the doorframe watching intently as I approach Ben, who sits against the wall cowering. “You’re free to go.”

  He shifts in place, slowly raising his head to look at me. “What?”

  “You’re free to go, but there’s an expiration date on that offer.”

  He clings to the wall as he stands up, his hands shaking nervously. “Is this a trick?”

  I throw my hands in the air. “No tricks. No jokes. Just absolution.”