Badlands

by Callie Hart

  “Answer me,” she says. “You were supposed to be here at eleven. That was two hours ago. My pussy’s so sensitive now.”

  “I had a work thing to deal with, sugar. I’m here now, though. And don’t worry…I’ve got something that’ll make you feel better.”

  I met Sara and Cameron at one of Zee’s parties. Cameron loves sharing his woman. Loves watching her get fucked. Loves being in her ass while another guy’s in her pussy. She loves it, too. They’re the most deviant couple I’ve ever encountered, and I love that. The more fucked up, kinky, dark or downright naughty the sex is, the happier I am. There’s very little I won’t do. I’ve been with guys. I’ve been with girls. I’ve been with both at the same time more often than I can count. These days, I tend to stick to Sara and Cameron, though. Makes life simpler, and they don’t ask questions about what I do or where I am. Most of the time, anyway. Sara only asks when I keep her waiting and she’s climbing the walls.

  “Cameron left a cigar for you on the counter,” she tells me as I loosen the top button of my shirt. She slowly runs her hands over the insides of her thighs, and the silk material of her robe slips away from her tanned, long legs, exposing her pussy. “You want to Monica Lewinski me with it, baby? I always had a bit of thing for Bill Clinton when I was a teenager.”

  I arch an eyebrow at her, smirking. “Baby, I will give you a presidential fucking any day of the week. I’d rather smoke the cigar later, though.”

  She grins wickedly, slowly trailing her fingers down her body, until the tips of her index finger and her middle finger are hovering over her neat, pink little pussy. She’s a master at making herself come. She can bring herself to climax in under two minutes if she really wants to. It brings me great satisfaction to know I can get her there quicker, though, especially if I’m using my tongue.

  I’m stepping out of my shoes, out of my pants, out of my boxers, and in no time I’m completely naked and stroking my increasingly hard cock as Sara rubs her clit, grinding her hips up into her own hand. She oozes sex. She knows she’s beautiful, knows she’s every man’s wet dream, and she owns it, which makes her ten times sexier. I can’t get enough of her. “Come on then, baby. Kiss me better,” she purrs.

  I retrieve a small, silver vial from the pocket of my pants, and then I pad barefoot across the room, buzzing with the knowledge that this is going to feel fucking amazing. Sara knows what’s in my hand, and her eyes are already rolling back into her head at the thought of what comes next. Dropping to my knees, I’ve already began unscrewing the vial. I tap a tiny amount of the white powder inside out onto my fingers and then I slowly, slowly, slowly start to rub it into Sara’s pussy.

  I’m not really into drugs. Coke’s pretty fucking nasty—I’d sure as hell never put it up my nose—but it does have its uses from time to time. For starters, when you put it on a girl’s pussy, it’s a total game changer. She’ll be writhing and screaming in a heartbeat. She’ll come over and over again until she’s begging you to come, to stop so she can stop, except you can’t because it’s also had the added effect of numbing the ever loving shit out of your cock and you can fuck forever like goddamn superman.

  It’s not my habit to put something on a woman before I’m going to eat her pussy, but I’m feeling a little wound tight myself today. Disposing of dead bodies and meeting surprise sisters has that effect on me. Sara’s whole body is trembling by the time I stop massaging her clit with my fingers and I use my tongue instead.

  The coke hits me hard and fast, mixed in with the sweet taste of her pussy. It’s addicting, makes my head spin. My dick was already hard, but it goes from erect to rock solid in the time it takes for my heart to pump the drug around my body once, twice, three times.

  My pulse is deafening in my ears as I lick and suck at her, fire racing through me, surging over and over again, as I feel good, then great, then amazing. When I slide my fingers inside her pussy, stroking them up against her g-spot in a come here motion, I’m fucking flying.

  Sara’s panting like a wild animal, head hanging off the side of the sofa, arms thrown up over her head as she loses herself in the drugs and the sensation of me laving at her perfect pussy. Her robe has slipped away to reveal her small, pink nipples that are already drawn into tight little buds. She has fantastic breasts. I reach up and knead the supple flesh, pinching and rolling her nipples at the same time I lick her. She begins to hyperventilate, the muscles in her legs shaking as the tension builds in her body.

  She comes, and when she does she floods my mouth with the sweet tasting evidence of her orgasm. She grinds her pussy up into my mouth, fingernails suddenly digging into the skin of my back, and a wall of heat sears through me making my head spin. I love this. I love making her come. It’s possibly my favorite pastime.

  She makes soft moaning sounds as I continue to stroke her swollen clit with my tongue, and soon she’s beginning to pant once more. I don’t make her come with my mouth again, though. Instead, I pull back and grab hold of her underneath her thighs, pulling her roughly toward me.

  The seductive, hazy look she gives me as I slide my hard cock inside her has me slamming myself into her really hard. She loves it like this—as hard as you can give it. She loves to feel like she’s riding a force of nature, and that’s what I am right now: unstoppable, untameable, insatiable. She screams as she comes for a second time. When I spin her around onto all fours and slip my fingers inside her ass, her voice is hoarse as she comes for a third time.

  I feel awesome as I continue to fuck her, but I know I’m not going to come. The drugs won’t let me. I pull out eventually, ready to concede, ready to go pour myself a whiskey and go smoke that cigar, but Sara has other ideas.

  “Where do you think you’re going, baby? You’re not done.”

  I laugh, because she has no idea how numb my dick is at this particular moment in time, but I stop laughing when she drops to her knees and begins to suck. A blowjob from Sara is a religious experience. She’s incredible. The things she can do with her tongue would make a porn star blush.

  Turns out I was wrong. I can come. After four minutes with my cock in her mouth, my hands are buried in Sara’s hair and I’m thrusting deep into her throat, feeling like my spine is about to snap as I’m tipping my head back and roaring.

  She. Is. Amazing.

  I can still remember the first time she made me come like this. Cameron was sitting on the very sofa we’re sprawled out over, and I was lying on my back while Sara kneeled over me, running her wet, delicate tongue around the tip of my cock. It should have felt weird having her husband watch us. I’m sure some people would have been highly freaked out. Not me, though. I was so turned on by the experience that she made me come twice in five minutes.

  Sara sits back onto her heels, the silk of her robe now pooled around her on the floor, her auburn hair tumbling loose over her shoulders, and she looks so fucking beautiful I could weep. “Was that good, baby?” she whispers.

  I nod, running my fingers over the line of her jaw, angling her head back so that she’s looking up at me with those big blue eyes of hers. “Yes. Yes, it was. You’re always so good.”

  She grins up at me like the cat that got the cream; being praised is one of Sara’s favorite things. I’m sure having two guys on hand to tell her how beautiful and sexy she is couldn’t be more perfect as far as she’s concerned.

  “Are you sleeping here, baby?” she asks. She’s got the fluffy, fuzzy, blissed out look on her face that means she’ll be ready to pass out soon. I have to say I’m a little surprised by her question, though.

  “Well, that’s a first. I can’t ever remember being asked to spend the night before. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” I tease.

  She gathers her hair into a pony tail, tying it back out of her face, and then sticks her tongue out at me. “Don’t make a big deal out of it, Michael. I just…I thought it would be nice, y’know. To…” She shrugs.

  “Snuggle?” I try not to laugh.

  �
�Fuck you, asshole. I do not snuggle.”

  “Not even with Cameron?”

  “Especially not with Cameron.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ve met my husband. If he’s in contact with another human being’s skin, he has to fuck them, regardless of how many times he’s already come and regardless of how you beg and plead with him to let you sleep.”

  I draw a line across her naked shoulder blades, enjoying the soft, supple warmth of her skin. “And what makes you think I’ll be able to keep my hands off you if we sleep in the same bed?”

  “Because you’re not like Cameron,” she says softly, picking up her robe and getting to her feet. “You’re…you’re more emotional than he is. You’re capable of holding someone for five minutes and not wanting to stick your dick inside them. Cameron’s an addict. He can’t help himself. You’re sexually driven but you know when to stop. That gives you power over your sexuality.”

  She’s right. It’s pretty damn obvious that Cameron’s a sex addict, but then I’ve thought the same of Sara, too. That’s why they always seemed so well matched as a couple. I suppose hearing Sara say now that she wants someone to hold her is coming as a bit of a surprise. Not an unpleasant one. Just unexpected. If she were anyone else, I’d probably tease her a little more and give her a hard time but from the hostile frown on her face, I get the feeling she wouldn’t take that well. She wants me to say that, yes, I’ll stay, but she really doesn’t want me to make a fuss about it.

  “Sure. I’ll spend the night,” I tell her. She doesn’t say anything else. She takes me by the hand and leads me upstairs to the bedroom she normally shares with Cameron, and we climb into their ridiculously oversized bed. It really is grandiose to the extreme; you could probably fit at least five people in here, and you could definitely drown in the sea of pillows they’ve got scattered all over the place.

  “Don’t tell Cameron about this,” she whispers as she curls herself against my body, resting her head on my chest.

  “Would he be pissed that I’m staying here?” If there’s one thing I don’t want to do, it’s breach an unspoken rule with these guys. We have an arrangement that works well for all three of us, as far as I can tell, and I don’t want to jeopardize that. Sara shakes her head, though.

  “No. He wouldn’t mind at all. He just wouldn’t let me live it down is all,” she says quietly.

  I don’t know what’s happening in society when showing affection or wanting to feel close to someone is a bad thing, something to be embarrassed about, but it seems that’s where we’re at these days. I love feeling a woman melt against me as she falls into unconsciousness, to know that she’s vulnerable and trusting of me at the same time as she dreams. It feels incredible to share that with someone.

  Still, this feels a little odd. It’s not our usual dynamic. It’s kind of laughable that I’ve been inside every single orifice the woman possesses and it’s climbing into a bed with and falling asleep with her that I’m finding strange.

  It doesn’t take long for us both to pass out, though. I dream about the blonde woman in the photo Freddy Clough kept in his wallet.

  THREE

  “Wake up, motherfucker.”

  A sharp jab to my side startles me from sleep. It takes me a second to figure out where the fuck I am and who I’m with, because the setting doesn’t seem right. I’m with Sara. I’m lying in her bed, with her still sleeping soundly beside me, wrapped up in the bed sheets, hair fanned out around her head on the pillow, so there is no way, in any realm or reality, that my cousin Jamie should be standing over me right now. Absolutely no fucking way.

  I scramble up and jump out of the bed, not caring that I’m naked, only caring that Sara should most definitely stay asleep right now and not see the six-foot-three tattooed monstrosity lurking in the early morning light at the end of her bed. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I hiss, shoving him in the chest.

  “Long time no see, cuz,” he whispers, grinning at me like a fiend. “No need to get up. Looks like you might be in for some hot morning sex if you stick around.”

  “Get your ass downstairs right now. Quietly.” I shove him again, considering thumping him really hard in the arm to emphasize the quietly part, but he holds up his hands, his eyebrows halfway up his forehead.

  “All right. All right. Consider me gone.” He turns on his heel and leaves the bedroom, his boots clunking on the polished wooden stairs as he descends in a none-too-silent manner. It’s a wonder he didn’t wake me on the way up. Fucker probably snuck up here like a ninja, and now he thinks it’s funny to stomp about like a goddamn herd of elephants.

  I’m frozen for a second, still trying to figure out what the hell is going on, and then I’m stealthily rifling through Cameron’s walk-in, locating something that isn’t too small for me to throw on so I’m not balls-to-the-wall buck naked when I head downstairs to fire twenty questions at my cousin. I find some sweatpants and a t-shirt that isn’t too tight, and then I’m barreling down the stairs after him as quietly as I can.

  He’s standing in the kitchen with a pair of underwear hanging from his index finger—one of Sara’s thongs to be exact. “Is this dental floss or a pair of panties? I can’t tell.”

  I snatch them away from him, scowling at the smug look on his face. “What the hell, man? I thought you were in Afghanistan? And what the fuck is that down your arm? When did you get tattoos? Louis’s going to lose his mind.”

  “I know, right. It’s going to be awesome.”

  I throw my hands up, eyes wide, waiting for him to fill in the rest of the blanks. He’s wearing a pair of ripped jeans, a Led Zepellin t-shirt and a scruffy beanie—no way has he just come from Alabama. Jamie cracks his neck, and then follows that up by cracking his knuckles, too.

  “You are now looking at a free man,” he tells me. “I’m no longer a member of the United States Marine Corp. Semper Fi.”

  “They tossed your ass, then?”

  He shoots me a look that could wilt plastic flowers. “No. My tour came to an end and I didn’t re-enlist. Simple.”

  “And so you thought you’d track me down and break into someone’s apartment? I mean, how did you even find me, man?”

  Jamie smiles, and it’s the smile of a man who has secrets. Lots of dark, fucked up ones that I don’t really want anything to do with. “I have a friend. He’s good at hacking into things.”

  “So you hacked my cell phone?”

  “No. You used your credit card in a gas station three blocks away last night. After that you drove down over here and into the parking lot across the street. Then you entered this building, which conveniently enough has a closed circuit camera system in all of the hallways. Simple, really.”

  I just stare at him. I should punch him out for violating my privacy like this, but to be honest I’m a little impressed. Damned if I’m going to let him know that, though. He needs to learn boundaries. I haven’t even seen the guy in three years, for crying out loud, and now he’s turning up here at the break of dawn, to…I don’t even know what he’s planning on doing now. “Why are you here, man? Couldn’t you just have called like a normal person?”

  Jamie gives me a crooked smile, shaking his head. “I heard you were doing freelance stuff up here. Questionable stuff. I wanted to see for myself before catching up with you face-to-face. I didn’t quite understand what kind of freelance services you were offering, though.” He winks at me, and I realize that he’s implying I’m renting out my ass to the woman lying upstairs in the bed. Now I really want to punch him in his smug face.

  Fighting in Sara’s place would definitely wake her up, though, and I need to get the hell out of here before that happens. Quickly, I collect my discarded clothes from last night, carefully folding my suit and snatching up my dress shoes, and then I herd Jamie out of the apartment and close the door silently as we leave.

  I shove him down the hallway, toward the elevator. It’s not until the doors have rolled shut and we’re on our wa
y down to the ground floor that I trust myself to speak normally. “I’m not a rent boy, asshole. And who’s been telling you I’m freelancing?” It’s worrying that that kind of information is out there, floating around, being talked about. No one should know. I’m meticulous when it comes to client confidentiality.

  Jamie leans against the polished mirror in the elevator, sighing. “Same guy who tracked you down here. He’s good at finding things out.”

  Not that good if he still thinks I’m freelancing, though. I’ve been working solely for Zee for the past year now. My name should be all but forgotten in the organized crime circles I used to dip my toes into every now and then. Things move fast in that world. People rise up and fall quickly. You can be king of an empire one day and dead and buried the next. “So you’re done with the army. And you found it necessary to come hunt me down in someone’s bed. To what end?”

  The ever-present smile that’s been playing over Jamie’s lips fades as he straightens up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his faded out, torn jeans. “Laura,” he says.

  “Laura?”

  “Cade’s sister. You met her a couple of times a few years back. The blonde?”

  “Ah, yeah. The chick with the huge crush on you?”

  Jamie shakes his head, making an exasperated sound at the back of his throat. “How did everybody know about this but me?”

  “Jesus, man. All you had to do was look at the girl. She was glued to you closer than your own shadow.” The elevator doors open and we both step out into the quiet lobby. The marble floor is cold under my bare feet, reminding me that I haven’t even bothered to put my shoes back on. Italian leather doesn’t really go with Adidas sweatpants. “So what about Laura, then? You get her knocked up and now Cade wants to murder you?”

  “Fuck no. God. She was at Louis’ fundraiser three weeks ago. We had a small disagreement and she left. She said she was going home, but she never made it back there.”