by Kat Quinn
Head tilting to the other side, “What smell?” Her eyes go wide for a moment before she lifts her arm, blatantly sniffing under her own pit. The movement wafts her burnt sugar and jasmine scent towards me, a pleased growl rumbling in the back of my throat.
I nearly bowl her over, stepping suddenly and burrowing my nose into the exposed patch of comfort. Sighing, my cheeks are already digging into her scent by the time I realize she’s started patting my back awkwardly, no idea for how long.
“Stranger things have happened,” Dizzy mumbles to herself, no clue why.
The stress ball in my gut has long since stopped its bastard clenching, replaced by the nirvana of being drunk on Dizzy. Seeking more, I snuffle my way up, giggles following until I bury myself in the crook of her neck and breathe deeply, sighing loudly with bliss.
Her charred, sugary, floral scent is strong enough to kick that fucking overwhelming blanket of nasty out of my head, bringing back my senses. Well, bringing back my sense of smell. “Mmm, I love the scent of you,” I growl, gripping the back of her head and teasing the tip of my nose along her hairline. “Can’t get enough,” I rumble.
“Right. You love my stank. Please, do keep wooing me with your words, oh mighty poet.” Her sarcasm is sharp, but not enough to cut through the thick blanket of olfactory intoxication.
Nipping at her chin, “I could eat you right up,” I groan, gripping her lip between my teeth while dragging her body in closer, letting Dizzy’s drug wash over me; invade all my senses. She melts in my arms as I demand a kiss, her fingers loosely playing in my ginger waves. Pulling back, “In fact, I think I just might,” I say, while pressing one hand down the length of her side.
“Oh, mister wolf, what big teeth you have,” she teases, giggling as I cup her rear and hoist her up around my waist, both legs linking behind my back to keep in place.
I flash her a sharp grin before diving in for a kiss, walking us both until her back hits heavy against a nearby tree, her small gasp forcing a gap between our lips. Punishing her for the distance, I clamp my teeth down on her lip again, grinding my hips against her quickly blooming perfume. Dizzy’s next gasp is nearly a hiccup, sharp and squeaky on the intake.
“Yeah? You like when I rub that beautiful fucking pussy of yours, Fireball?” Bucking my hips, loving the way her breath hitches every time I do it, I don’t let her answer the question.
Roughly, I rip her hands from wandering my body, pinning them above her head with one fist as I steal any response from her lips. It’s okay, her pussy answers for her—heady scent filling my nostrils in pulses with every jolt my harsh movements deliver to her center.
My other hand presses hard against her flesh, unforgiving as I stretch the neck of her loose shirt and shove her bra aside to grip that heavy tit of hers. I knead her breast in time with the lashings my tongue delivers to hers, almost driven mad by how thick her sweetness permeates the air. It’s enough to drive any man wild.
Breaking our frenzied kisses, I rip her legs from around my waist so she’s standing on her own. “Don’t you fucking move,” I demand, releasing her pinned wrists. She shakes her head no, eagerly. “Goddamned right you do what I say,” my other hand slapping her neglected tit through layers of fabric. I growl, pinching both nipples hard as she squirms beneath the rough treatment.
Raking my blunt nails down her side while crouching, I grab her ass roughly and slam my face right into her intoxicating cunt, loving the wetness just barely soaking through her pants. “I’m going to eat your fucking pussy, right here, out in the open, where any random fucker might see. And you’re going to scream my goddamned name when I make you come, or I’ll keep fucking you until you let the whole goddamned world know that you are MINE.” My voice rumbles through her, sending tiny shivers through those spread legs.
Yanking hard, her pants protest but give way, crumpling around the tops of her boots, drenched panties exposed. With only inches of space between her and the tree, I give a hard smack to her ass, loving the feeling of the soft flesh as it ripples beneath my hand. Loving, even more, the sharp yelp she makes after the audible clap.
Massaging her tender ass with one hand, I rub the other hard against the lining of her underwear, looking up to make sure she’s followed my instructions. There’s fire in her eyes as she watches me, bottom lip sucked into her mouth, arms obediently still above her head. The nails of one hand are clawing against the tree, tiny shards of bark nothing in the face of her need. Her need for me.
Fuck; this woman. I’d kill for her. Hell, I’d die for her.
Greedily, I jerk aside the gusset of her panties, throat rumbling at the full impact of her perfect fucking pussy, hot and wet and begging for me to fuck it. Nothing could stop me from diving right in, and when my tongue laps up those first tangy drops of her needy cunt, nothing does. Keeping my eyes on her as much as I can, I slow myself down with a few long, hard licks along the length of her dripping slit, just barely dipping in to get a deeper taste with each flick.
Dizzy moans, the sound soft, barely louder than the fucking crickets keeping us company. Unacceptable.
I slap her ass again, “Louder!” I demand, needing her as worked up as I am. The squeal she lets loose is almost enough. Almost.
I bury my face in Dizzy’s cunt, rubbing myself against her until my beard is glistening, soaked with her irresistible essence. My nose breeches the entryway to her heaven, grinding against her swollen clit as my tongue tastes the river of her desire. It’s richer, more potent than moments before, impossibly more craveable. I thrust my tongue in as deep as I can, chin sloppy with her scent as my whole face works towards our goal.
Releasing my grip on Dizzy’s rear, I slide my fingers into her depths, letting my tongue flick at that tender bead of hers. She moans, nearly screaming, but not quite there. “Shit, Kieran,” she starts, never finishing the thought as I ram into her pussy with my hand, hard. This time, she does scream.
“Yeah, that’s right, scream for me, Fireball.” Her legs start to vibrate around my head, I reach up and push her harder against the tree, mercilessly twisting a nipple until she squeals. Even after she squeals.
The hand inside her pussy is so slick with wetness, it meets no resistance, even when she starts clamping down around it. Needing more from the source, I replace those soaked fingers with my hungry tongue, devouring her elixir straight from the tap. Dizzy struggles against the hand torturing her tit, writhing beneath it but keeping her arms up as instructed.
Wanting every inch of her, I rim her tight little asshole with my free hand, pressing against it with one drenched digit while still licking the ever-loving fuck out of that glorious pussy. My heart races as she squeals, then moans as it slips past her puckered defenses. Shallowly, I work her ass while my tongue delves as deep in her pussy as it can, nose hitting that clit with no intention to quit. Dizzy’s writhing, screaming without abandon, sometimes whimpering.
“Come. Come NOW,” I growl, directly into her cunt.
“Fuck, Kieran, FUCK!” She screams, her muscles clenching tight around me while I fight to lap up every single last drop of that potent wave as it comes. As she comes. Dizzy’s legs clamp around my head before shaking, going slack; my hand still on her chest most of what’s keeping her standing. I take the time to lick her absolutely clean before pulling back, taking pride in the exhausted glaze coating her golden eyes. And the glaze thoroughly coating my facial hair. There is no better scent in this whole fucking world than the sex of this woman, MY woman.
Giggling, both of Dizzy’s arms come flopping down, landing hard on my shoulders so her fingers can quickly weave into my hair. Gently, I straighten her panties before pulling her pants up and fastening them properly.
Standing slowly, I draw a long, tender kiss from a drunken Dizzy.
“Mmm,” she hums, eyes half-lidded. “Mmm. Love you.”
I stop, startled, a dopey fucking grin starting to spread across my face as I bury myself in her neck again. “Love you, too,” I
whisper into her skin, drunk in my own way on every single part of her. Especially the scent I fucking dare that granny mobile to try and compete with.
Like a couple of idiot teenagers, we amble back towards the van, Dizzy curling up in the back seat, head in Zeke’s lap while she sleeps.
60. Dizzy
****
Head aches. Screeching inside, screeching outside. Impact. Slide down the wall. Concrete brick. Cold, wet. Under. She is angry. I am furious with you, bad boy bad boy bad boy bad boy.
My throat rips apart, screaming endlessly. Stop that you pathetic fool, the sound is gone, the ripping is not. More, more, we want more. Not enough, should have known. Unacceptable. Sorry is an inoperable word, darling, punish.
Cage. So tight, we can’t move. Barely move. Tiny move. Can not reach, no free. Under. We’re under. Find under. Sorry, darling, not David. Forgive.
Boy. Blonde. Tall. Regret. Couldn’t stop. Here, too. Strapped down, doesn’t move. Gone? Forgive. Please, forgive. See him. See him. Under.
Mother likes. Mother wants.
Wrong, wrong, wrong, no. Head, ache. Fuzzy. No, I want to stay! My turn, my turn, my turn. Wrong, bad boy bad boy bad boy. I want to fix, want to stay, want to go. Pounding, head is pounding, I am pounding head, head is pounding. Trapped. This is wrong, I am wrong. Disobey! Disobey! Disobey, bad boy, try! Stay!
Forgive, small win. Pleased, darling, but learn lessons, too trouble. I am win, I am all, you will do. For good.
No! But doesn’t speak. No! Barely think. Hazy, hazy, less me, more them. Please, I want to stay. I want to go. Please. No more bad boy, no more David. Bye bye, bad boy. Bye bye, darling.
Fizzle. Dark. No more think. Bye bye David bad boy.
****
There’s an emptiness I can feel, deep in my soul; a piece missing that had always been there before. I wake up shaking, crying, remembering fully for the first time; devastated.
Why didn’t I figure it out before? Why couldn’t I remember it before? This whole time, David’s been crying out for help, and like an oblivious dingbat I practically ignored him. He needed help, and I ignored him.
I run through the dream in my head, the memory of it sparking dozens more that had left a vague impression, now revealed in full. It’s horrible. Commands, broken bones, lies, manipulation, shame, the gradual twisting of his mind until it’s shattered and gone. I could have stopped this.
Zeke runs his fingers through my hair, “Not your fault,” he states. “You didn’t know.”
A switch flicks and I’m furious, “I did know!” I shout, sitting up and wiping the tears from my eyes like they’re tiny little assholes I’m punching in the faces of. “If I’d paid more attention to these stupid feelings I’ve been having, I might’ve actually caught on before it was too late. I knew something was wrong with him, I knew it! I could feel it in my jellies! And now?” My throat rips with a screech-flavored growl. “We had all the clues and didn’t put them together. That guy at the shop you told me about? The one with the pornstache and nothing inside him? She fucking did that to David! That goddamned bitch of a woman wiped him out!” Snapping two fingers together, “Just ‘poof!’ no more David inside his own head. Blown out as easy as a birthday candle.” I pull at my scalp with two hands, “Gah! How could I have been so stupid?! How did I not notice what was going on?! I told you this wasn’t like him!”
Flashes come to me of old memories from our childhood, David saying things through clenched teeth, David sneaking out at night and begging me not to tell his mom, David asking me to run away with him. If I’d figured it out sooner, if I’d recognized any of the signs… I’m so stupid! Stupid, stupid Dizzy, you had years to stop it, years!
Even now, it should have been obvious, if only I’d paid attention to the feelings in my gut, and the thoughts scratching at the back of my head. I could have protected him, I could have saved him! Instead, I just watched him get snuffed out. Watched him be murdered.
Zeke, the only one in my head enough to understand what’s going on, doesn’t say anything as the rest of our group lets me rant with varying looks of concern and confusion. Except Miss Fern, pity in her eyes.
“Goddamnit, Fern, you knew?!” I accuse.
Slowly, she nods mournfully, “I’m sorry, dear. Even if I’d told you, there’s nothing we could have done to stop it from coming. Some things just can’t be changed, no matter how much you want them to. But if you’re very, very lucky, they can be made up for. Where there’s a winner, there’s always a loser.” Miss Fern lays a hand on my knee, dark skin weathered and wrinkled but cheerfully adorned with colorful, chunky jewelry. I hate it.
I hate the stupid bright colors trying to bleed their way into my dark mood, I hate her stupid way of knowing more than she lets on and doing nothing to change it, I hate that I didn’t know and she could have told me. How is this fair? It’s like an even worse version of what I’d been pissed at Kieran for. Now I get why Lilly’s always so furious that her grandmother keeps her in the dark about things.
His body might still be alive, but David’s mind is dead, something she could have warned us about and we could have done… something to stop. I don’t know what, but something, obviously.
Crossing my arms, I turn away in my seat, internally hosting one hell of a tantrum. Miss Fern pats my knee softly before withdrawing her shaking hand. Now I understand why the guys are always so hungry for vengeance.
“We have to fix this,” I say through a ragged breath. “If there’s a way, we find it. And if there isn’t? Then I’m done playing nice.”
No one will hurt him ever again.
61. Zeke
The tracker seems to be working efficiently. I regret not having considered the option of connected tattoos earlier, but am grateful that the insight to add such a feature in our multi-functional jewelry was a wise one. My wrist feels an eagerness as our approach nears; following the location we’re being guided to seems to come effortlessly, despite the journey appearing endless.
I’m going to rip her stupid head right off her stupid shoulders and then use her own foot to stomp her skull in until her leg breaks through and becomes her own brain pudding shish kabob.
Dizzy rages internally. Her thoughts have been spiraling into darker and darker territory, still tinged with characteristic unpredictability. She’s been lost to her thoughts for hours. I have been monitoring.
I’ll pull every single one of her teeth and make her swallow them first. Then shit them out and swallow again. Maybe just pull her intestines straight out her asshole and shove them down her throat to make an endless shit-tooth loop.
It’s becoming quite disturbing.
Lin gasps from the passenger seat, one hand covering his mouth as the other clutches at his gut. A pulse, warm and gentle, brushes against my wrist from the stone-laden bracelet. Up to this point, the sensation has largely been of a tugging.
Every head inside the van perks up, Miss Fern excluded. Dizzy’s eyes widen as she looks out the window for the first time in hours.
“We’re getting closer,” Monty murmurs.
Composing himself, casually replacing both hands to careless positions, plastering a salacious grin on his face, Lin responds. “Of course we are, oh mighty obvious one. We’ve been getting closer this entire time! Or were you under the impression the goal was to flee as far as possible like a ragtag gang of nincompoops and sissies?” With one long finger, he flicks the dial for the radio, landing on a station with slightly slower melodies than he’s been partaking of up to this point.
“I know where we are,” Dizzy whispers, brow furrowing as her eyes flick between landmarks while we pass them. We turn down a residential street, plain house after plain house mimicking each other all in a row. They’re all so unremarkable, it would be a struggle to describe any single one if asked, let alone recognize subtle differences.
Nonetheless, Dizzy slaps both hands over her mouth, eyes watering as we pass by one particular house that she tracks until we�
�re well past it.
“Home.” The admission is squeaky, followed by a flurry of thoughts centered around an isolated childhood, only brightened by the love she felt for the sad, caring boy next door. And the motherly affection she received from the woman she just watched snuff him out.
62. Kieran
Rage scratches at my insides, trying to claw its way right the fuck out of my chest in a bloody fashion, demanding satisfaction. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, I know this shit is coming from Dizzy, and I’m doing whatever I can to stop from feeding into it. Just about the only thing that calms me is smelling the sweet scent of her pussy lingering on my facial hair. She needs to be allowed to feel this, but it fucking sucks it’s at my expense.
Until it sucks that her emotions dip and I’m wracked with fear and sorrow. No longer is the hurt trying to lash out, now it’s seeping inside.
What the fuck do you even say to fix shit like this?
Reaching back, I grab her hand, squeezing. Her eyes are empty when she looks up at me. We stay locked like that, hand-in hand, wordlessly staring until the van slows to a stop.
“We’re here… I think?” Monty announces, uncertain.
Spell between us broken, Dizzy and I both look out the windows at a perfectly pleasant street, lined with quaint little shops on either side. A specialty grocer, multiple custom clothing shops, a daycare, a holistic healing center, a fancy cafe. The area doesn’t lack for affluent options.
“Oh, yes, we’re decidedly here,” Miss Fern says while releasing a controlled breath. Smiling as a shield, “Monty, would you be a dear and turn the dial next to your seat controls? It’ll keep up the suggestion that those we don’t want snooping should overlook the van’s presence. Might want to keep the keys under the seat too; wouldn’t want them to get lost if we need a quick getaway,” she recommends.
