F*ckboy Psychos

by Stunich, C. M.

  Is that jealousy?

  No. It’s not. It’s something much, much worse: obsession.

  I see it now, the things that I taste on his mouth, the way his fingers sear my flesh, it’s not because he cares for me or that he’s experienced enough to imitate affection and love, it’s because obsession tastes the same. It tastes the same, smells the same, feels the same.

  It’s almost indistinguishable from love in so many ways. Yet, it’s completely different. It’s dangerous. Toxic. It cuts and bleeds and breaks. While love is meant to be both happy and sad, obsession only feigns joy. It makes you feel so damn good and then it brings you crashing down.

  Aspen has an obsession: me. I can see it in his eyes as he looks at me like this is the most serious conversation he’s ever had. Is he warning me off of him to protect me? To protect himself? His brother?

  I can’t tell. Also, I don’t care. Obsession is like a drug, and although I’m smart enough not to get addicted to it, I want a taste. Just once, as he’s said.

  “If you can’t agree to that, then I can’t fuck you,” he tells me, his face taking on a menacing cast as his coal-black eyes slide to one side. When he looks back at me, they’re as deep and endless as a bottomless sea. When I first met him, those dark eyes seemed slick and shiny, like a stain on a garage floor.

  What happened? Does he have multiple personalities or something?

  I wet my lips.

  Can I really do that? Keep this to myself? I already regret not telling Nisha, Bastian, and Lemon about Bohnes when it first happened.

  “I can promise I won’t tell anyone who’ll run their mouth,” I start, but he’s already backing away from me, teeth gritted. He runs his fingers through his wet hair.

  “No. That’s not good enough. I’m sorry.” Aspen turns to leave, and I step forward, grabbing onto the sleeve of his sweater. I can’t stand the thought of us getting back in that car, driving to the track, me getting out like nothing at all happened here. “If you tell anyone about this, it puts you at risk. It puts them at risk, too. I won’t allow that.”

  I grit my teeth, and then force out an exhale.

  Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe I’ll regret it later. But the moment is so poignant, so rife with possibility, that I can’t let it get away from me.

  “Fine,” I agree with an annoyed huff, pausing as something occurs to me. “What’s your brother’s name? You never told me, and I can’t find it anywhere online. Trust me: I looked.”

  The faintest specter of a smile haunts his lips before he gives a slight shake of his head.

  “Aspen and Ash Kelly,” he says, tracing the line of my jaw with the corner of that square package. “My mother liked the alliteration.”

  “Apparently, she also liked trees,” I offer up, since, you know, aspen and ash are both types of trees.

  Aspen’s face changes suddenly, like a switch has been flicked. It’s the same odd and disturbing about-face that Bohnes does sometimes, like there are multiple people inside his head fighting for control.

  “While I fuck you, when you call out my name—because you will—I want you to call me Ash.”

  That gives me pause. I mean, there are much weirder kinks out there, but really?

  “You … want me to call you by the name of the guy that killed my girl?”

  “Call me Ash or I’ll get in that car right now, drive off, and leave you here in the rain.”

  My anger flares bright and hot inside of me, and I scowl at him.

  “How dare you threaten me,” I growl out, shaking my head. “You know what? You can go fuck yourself. I love to be fucked, but I certainly won’t be bossed around like hired help. Find another fuckgirl, Aspen Kelly.”

  I start to move away from him, sliding my phone from my pocket as I go. I can see just by glancing at it that I’ve got about a dozen messages from Nisha and Bastian, Jennifer, a few of the other girls.

  I’m safe, I send, and then, as I’m typing out, come pick me up, I’m grabbed by the arm and spun around. My phone falls out of my hand and lands in a puddle, but fuck it, it’s waterproof.

  Aspen—or Ash or whatever the fuck he wants me to call him—yanks me against him, his strong fingers gripping my upper arms, and claims my mouth with a full dose of venom. He bites my lower lip, injecting that wild obsession into my bloodstream, making me ache with it.

  “Palms flat on the hood,” he whispers, putting his mouth near my ear. “I’m going to eat that sweet pussy while you appreciate the lines of my car.”

  He releases me, slipping the condom into his pocket as he waits to see if I’ll do it.

  I’m annoyed, but I’m also intrigued. With a look of pure challenge on my face, I accept his offer. Ignoring the rain, ignoring the distant crack of thunder, the flash of lightning that lights up the Springfield city skyline. It used to be relatively flat, full of one- and two-story buildings, even in the downtown area.

  But recently? There are all sorts of skyscrapers going up.

  None of that is my problem currently. My only problem is the heat of Aspen’s hands as he reaches out and drags down the side zipper of my cigarette pants, wrenching them over my ass as I curl my fingers against the warm hood.

  There’s this sharp, almost angry sound that he makes when he sees that I’m not wearing any panties, a sound that I know will stick in my mind forever. Somewhere between a growl and a groan, the noise is primal and basic, and nothing like the polished, slick exterior he presents to the world.

  His hand cups me from behind and he gives my pussy a squeeze, making me squirm and rub against him.

  “Shit, I didn’t expect to feel quite like this.” He strokes me with long, elegant fingers, from my clit to my ass, commanding the slick arousal to wet my folds, to ready me for his eventual entry into my snug cunt.

  I want it so bad that I almost beg for it, for his cock, just to see how big it is, how long, how wide. But I also want to know what that imperious mouth will feel like when he gets to his knees in the mud and services me with it.

  “So silky, so soft, so hot.” He shoves a single finger in, all the way to the knuckle, and I gasp. My head hangs down, my dark braid coiled on the silver and black hood. The cars we race at the track are practically hot enough to fuck all on their own. Add in a warm-blooded man with careful fingers and a bossy, aristocratic lilt, one that’s kissed with the faintest tease of a British accent?

  I’m sold. I could come from that alone. I start to move my hips, sliding up and down that single finger while Aspen holds completely still.

  “Give me your tongue,” I murmur, riding his hand hard and fast, lifting my head up to see if I can’t make out his reflection in the wet surface of his windshield. I can just barely see him, a dark shadow in a white sweater, unmoving, unyielding, like a shadow sucking away all of the light.

  It’s fairly dark out already but, as we’re standing there, the nearest streetlamp flickers and goes black. Not surprising, considering we’re in the southside. Happens all the time.

  But it’s like, as soon as that last light is snuffed out, the real Aspen comes out. I figure he must be channeling his brother, Ash, in some sort of fucked-up tribute.

  Because he must’ve known what he was doing when he threw that race. He must’ve known that I’d go after him, right? Was he offering his brother’s head up willingly to the guillotine? Or is he ignorant enough to think that I won’t take this to the next level?

  Whatever his motivations, I don’t care.

  All I care about is that when he slides his finger from my heat, he immediately drops to his knees and replaces it with his tongue. His hands clamp down on my hips, fingers digging into my pelvic bone on either side as he tastes me like I belong to him.

  There’s no hesitation there the way some of my girls describe when their fuckboys or boyfriends or whatever go down on them, like they’re afraid to get their face wet. I can feel his nose as he buries himself in my cunt, thrusting his tongue inside of me first thing.

 
; His hands tighten even further, his grip surprisingly strong. I feel trapped there, despite the fact that he’s the one on his knees servicing me. Somehow, I feel like he’s the one who’s getting exactly what he wants out of this.

  He fucks my tight hole with his tongue and then swipes it up the length of me, starting at my clit which is ripe and swollen and framed by my thighs as if it’s being presented for his pleasure. He continues his way up, and he isn’t shy about dancing the heated tip of his tongue across my ass before he returns to my clit for another taste.

  This time, he buries his entire face in me, sucking that hardened nub into his mouth, and I cry out. The sound is perverted and wild, thick with need and want, and it echoes in the darkness like a warning.

  Come this way, interrupt us, and I will kill you. Aspen will kill you. We’re in the middle of a monster mating, and we don’t want to be disturbed.

  I keep myself on my toes, my back arched dramatically, head thrown back, and I ride his face, rubbing my pussy against it, grinding that wetness all over his nose and lips and cheeks until I’m sure he’s covered in my scent.

  The more I do that, the more aggressive he gets, biting at my clit, my folds, snagging my ass cheek between his teeth and making me gasp in surprise. He bites me the way Bohnes does, like he’s desperate to ensure that others will see his laid claim.

  Just once. This is a onetime thing, right?

  Only, I don’t believe that for a single second. What happens once is bound to happen again, am I right? Especially something as delectable as this.

  “Call me Ash,” he commands, pulling back just enough to talk, his words feathering across my throbbing heat.

  “Put your fingers in, Ash. Make me come. I’m so close.”

  I’m barely able to get the words out before he’s pushing in three fingers at once, stretching me just enough that it’s uncomfortable for a split-second before the pleasure kicks in. I love it, too, that initial invasion, the push of his body into mine.

  He fucks me hard and fast, a merciless slamming of his knuckles into my cunt, and a quick, hot, dirty climax takes over me. My body shudders, and I slump forward onto my forearms as my pussy squeezes and yanks on his fingers, drawing them in as deep as possible.

  The contractions are still ongoing as Aspen pulls his fingers out and stands up. I hear the sound of his pants coming undone, the sound of the condom package tearing open, and then he’s putting the head of his dick against my pulsing heat.

  Aspen grabs my hips and yanks me back, adjusting me for a better angle, and then, while I’m still recovering from the last orgasm, he thrusts into me with a single pump of his hips. Without breaking stride, he reaches out and grabs my hair, wrapping my braid around his fist and yanking on it so that I arch my back even further.

  “Say it.”

  “Fuck me, Ash. Make the car rock.”

  He exhales, keeping hold of my hair for leverage as he slams into me, knocking my pelvis into the front of the car as he rides me hard and fast and desperate, as if he hasn’t had release in so long that he’s chasing it.

  I have no idea what to make of that, how to decide what this rendezvous will do for his obsession. Relieve him of it or make it worse?

  Even with the rain coming down in thick, cold sheets, I’m too turned-on, too riled up to care. It can’t wash away my arousal, even if it cleans off the lube from the condom. We don’t need it. We never did.

  Aspen lets out these wild sounds, like he’s coming apart at the seams, like he’s half-ready to tear our clothes off and fling our joined bodies into the mud.

  “Turn over,” he says abruptly, his voice strangled. He slides out of me, and I groan, glancing back to see him trembling in the cold but maybe not because of it. It’s too dark to make out much, but it’s like he carves this space out of the rain. It falls all around him, creating a strange silhouette in the slick city shadows. So much worse than country shadows because anyone could be creeping around, watching us.

  Someone like Widow.

  No, no, more like … Bohnes.

  I can sense him in the dark, but I’m not sure that Aspen does. Instead, he lifts me onto the hood of the car, his hands reaching down for the buttons on my top. He starts to tear at them, but I snatch his hands, feeling that violent heat ricochet through me.

  “If you tear my shirt off, what am I gonna tell my girls, huh?” I ask, my voice breathless and husky. The forbidden nature of this encounter is heightened by the fact that I know Bohnes is watching, that there’s nothing I can do about it. If I called him out now, he’d simply slink away.

  Anyway, I’m not ashamed.

  I don’t want romance. I’ve explained that to him. And my rules, as unfair as they might seem, are ironclad.

  Guess he didn’t think he needed to race Aspen to keep me away from him the way he did with Widow, now did he?

  Aspen pushes my hands against the buttons, encouraging me to undo them one by one, my hands shaking from the cool rainwater. He keeps his hands on mine in the dark, feeling my wrists up, my knuckles, my fingers, waiting until the shirt is gaping open and my lacey bra is exposed. He helps me get my right heel off and free one leg from the confines of my pants.

  He can’t see me well, I’m sure, but he can feel it when he runs his hands over it, yanking angrily on the cups so that my breasts spill into his hot palms. He plays with them for a minute before grabbing my hips and pulling me closer, so that my ass is half-hanging off the hood.

  He drives into me again and I throw my head back, palms on the hood to brace myself as he thrusts fast and deep, finding the end of me, stretching me as I bite my lower lip so hard that it bleeds.

  When he slides an arm around my waist and drags me against him, his mouth ends up pressed to my ear.

  “I want to take this condom off and come inside of you so damn bad, I can taste it.” He licks the shell of my ear and then bites it, rocking his pelvis against mine, holding me against his body so that my bare tits are smashed against the soggy wet fabric of his sweater.

  I’m barely touching the car at all anymore. More like, my legs are wrapped around him, and his arm is banded around my waist. I’m grinding my pussy against his cock, and then his mouth finds mine, tongue diving deep. He says he can taste it? Well, I can taste his want, his desperation, as he kisses me so hard that I’m sure my lips will be bruised after this.

  We fight and writhe against one another, struggling for dominance, for control, for more, more, more. With the way he’s holding me, it’s easy to get my clit just the way I like it, hard, fast rubs against his body as I roll my hips over and over again.

  Just when I’m certain that I’m about to come, Aspen essentially throws me onto the hood of his Mustang, climbing over me and pushing my thighs apart. He mounts me and drops his head to my nipple, sucking so hard that I drag his head against my chest, the pleasure spiking straight down to my core.

  My body locks onto his as he growls and ruts into me, forcing himself past those pulsating contractions and pounding against my core. I choke on the pleasure, releasing any semblance of control over the situation, and then my body goes completely limp and he’s able to get even deeper than I thought possible.

  I can feel him in the very heart of my body, this desperate, twisted thing that I want to make mine regardless of how strange he is, how fucked-up his family is, the way he waffles between being irresistible and … I can’t let myself think of him in that other mode of his. I can’t; I won’t.

  Instead, I relax back, my face tilted to the sky, lips parted, rainwater sluicing between them, and I enjoy Aspen’s final, frantic thrusts, the way he sucks and nips at my tits before returning his attention to my mouth.

  “Oh, Ash,” I breathe, just before he kisses me for a final time, and that seems to do it, he comes so hard that I can feel him stiffening and shuddering against me, the shocks of the car creaking as he pounds himself to completion and then collapses on top of me.

  The mingled sounds of our rapid breaths
taint the air, the spatter of rain on the roof of the Mustang a welcome accompaniment to a dark and sultry threnody that signals the end of our one and only copulation.

  Supposedly.

  Aspen sits up, slumping back on his ass on the hood and taking the condom off. He ties it off and slips it into the pocket of his jeans before pulling them up and buttoning them.

  Me, I just lie there, closing my legs and rolling onto my side to see if I can’t make out his handsome features in the perfect dark.

  “Say goodbye, Ash,” he continues, his voice a strange balance between wistful and commandeering.

  “You won’t be able to stay away,” I breathe, releasing a confident laugh as I finally sit up and wrestle my cigarette pants back into place. They’re so fucking wet from the rain that it’s like sliding plastic wrap over my skin. My right shoe is tossed haphazardly on the roof, so I grab that, too.

  “You don’t know me or my motivations,” he says, sliding off the hood and not bothering to offer me a hand to help me up. Not that I expected one. I climb off after him, catching myself on the hood of the car as my legs threaten to collapse.

  God, I can barely stand.

  I love that freshly-fucked feeling that turns my muscles to liquid, that makes me sit back down on the hood to collect myself, that makes me forget, in its sultry haze, that Bohnes is watching us from somewhere in the trees.

  And after all that fuss he made about Widow spying on him and me?

  Hypocrite.

  “I mean it: next time you see me, act like we’re strangers. Act as if you can’t stand me. Trust me: I’ll make you feel that way regardless. But the more distance you keep between us, the better.”

  “Is this about your brother?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he pauses, and his head snaps up, like he’s finally sensed the lurking presence in the shadows.

  Bohnes appears out of the rain and the velvety darkness, his shock-white hair easily visible in the glow from my phone screen as he picks it up and bumps the side button, making it light up.