Bullseye

by Monica James

  “How do you know?” she challenges, arching a brow. “I was me and look where that got me.”

  Touché.

  “I danced because I loved it, and you know where it left me? Broke and barely covering costs. Why bother trying when this is easy? They don’t want talent; they want to see me naked. They treat me like a toy…just like everyone else does.”

  This is an intentional stab because what she once said to me, about me, no longer applies.

  “You’re the first person who has treated me like a human being and not a thing.” I wonder what she thinks of me now?

  “This is what they want, and it’s easy for me to pretend because I don’t have to feel.”

  “So you’d rather be treated like a whore? Is that it?” I question, finishing my scotch and tossing the glass over my shoulder.

  “I am not a whore,” she grits out between clenched teeth. But I’ve pushed her buttons, and there is no turning back now.

  “Aren’t you?” I question, folding my arms across my chest. “You say you’re not, but what I saw tonight proves that Carlos has bought you.”

  She gasps, touching over the diamond stud in her ear.

  “And you call me a coward,” I conclude with distaste. “Takes one to know one…Tiger.”

  It’s the calm before the storm for roughly five seconds before she slaps my cheek. I move my jaw from side to side because she can pack a punch.

  “Isn’t this what you wanted? What I’ve always been to you? A whore?” she cries, arms out wide.

  “Don’t use me as an excuse. This is all on you. Own your decisions, just as I have done mine.”

  The throbbing pulse at the side of her neck betrays her anger and…arousal because just when I think she’s about to slap me again, she launches forward and grips my hair. It’s grown a little longer, and she’s able to use it as reins as she yanks my head backward.

  I don’t move. I let her manhandle me because I deserve it. This is payback. “Okay, fine. You want me to own my decisions, then this is me owning them.”

  She plants her lips on mine and kisses the ever-living fuck out of me. She devours my mouth, but I don’t kiss her back. No matter how badly I want to, I don’t. The lack of effort of my behalf infuriates her.

  A throaty gasp leaves her when she breaks the kiss, only to shove me toward the chair. I go willingly. I won’t fight her…for now. She pushes me down, and I sit, watching as she straddles my lap. Her frenzied fingers fumble with the buckle of my belt, but she eventually gets it undone.

  When she flicks the top button of my jeans open and unfastens my zipper, I stare her deep in the eyes. “Take it,” I challenge steadily, locking my arms behind my back. “Is this what will make you feel better?”

  She wants to use me, treat me like nothing, just as I have done to her.

  The quiver of her red lips has my cock twitching—the traitorous bastard.

  “Will this make you stop fooling yourself?” Just as I did when we first met, I rub my thumb across her mouth and smudge her lipstick. A whimper leaves her. “Go on then, own those decisions…but trust me, you won’t like the consequences.”

  My warning provokes her all the more. “I’ll be the judge of that because this decision”—she thrusts her hand down my pants and grips my cock—“is one I think I’m going to like. A lot.”

  Gritting my teeth together, I refuse to buckle and never break eye contact with her as she begins to stroke my flaccid dick. No matter how badly I want to reciprocate, I don’t. I want her so worked up and blinded by rage that she drops this guise and allows her true self to shine.

  She tells me she is doing this for the money, but I don’t believe her. There’s a reason she left The Pink Oyster. And when I turn my cheek with a sigh, appearing unmoved in her ploys to use me, I get closer to the truth.

  “Fuck you,” she snarls, pumping my cock faster.

  If not for the emotion betraying her, I would give in. But I keep my cool, refusing to look at her because if I do, I won’t be able to control myself. She reads my actions as disinterest in her.

  “You don’t know me. You know nothing,” she cries, working my shaft quickly. “All you’ve done since we met is make me feel like shit.”

  “Then why the fuck are you on my cock like you can’t get enough?” I question because goddamn, her hands are like a shot of the world’s most potent drug.

  “Because I want you to know what it feels like to be treated like nothing! I opened up to you because I thought you were different. I shared personal stuff about myself, stuff I’ve never told anyone before because I, I liked you.”

  I instantly freeze up. I still don’t understand why.

  “Pathetic, right?” Her voice cracks, giving way to the Tiger who I know is buried beneath the layers of bogus shit.

  “I like someone who doesn’t even like me. Someone who thought my apple pie was…nasty,” she says, making me feel like an utter bastard because her delicious taste still haunts me at night.

  “I never promised you anything,” I state, but it’s getting harder and harder to keep my desire under wraps.

  “I know!” Her small hand fumbles, but she never breaks her rhythm, and each stroke drives me closer and closer to hell. “But I thought that maybe once you got to know me, things would change. That maybe someone would see me for me.”

  The tremble to her voice, her sadness is a punch to my wickedness, because her pain, her misery makes her real. My cock begins to harden, and for once in my life, I don’t fight it.

  Tiger is too lost in her sorrow to realize I’m responding to her and continues. “But you’re just like everyone else. You play games. Well, I’m done playing. Someone I love, someone who has supported me my entire life needs me, and now it’s my turn to support her.

  “I will shake my ass and be the bimbo these assholes want because it brings me closer to getting the fuck out of here. I just need enough money to buy the ballet academy so Avery can focus on getting better. Because she will…” When she sniffs, it’s the end of me, and I do something I haven’t done in a very long time—I surrender. “She will get better. She has to.”

  Turning my cheek slowly, I meet her eyes, drowning in her tears. “Who’s Avery?”

  My voice seems to snap her back into the now, and when she realizes what’s happening, that sinful mouth parts in complete surprise. Her fat tears trickle onto her lips, and unable to help myself, I lean forward and leisurely lick them from the seam of her mouth.

  She whimpers softly, a shudder rocking her on my lap.

  “Who’s Avery?” I repeat, biting her bottom lip.

  She moans, her strokes slowing down. “Sh-she’s everything to me. My teacher, in every sense of the word.” My cock pulses in her hand because I am barely holding on. “She taught me how to dance. She taught me how to love. She’s the closest thing I have to a mother, and she’s sick.”

  Her confession only fuels this moment between us. I don’t know what is happening, but it feels so fucking good.

  “I left The Pink Oyster because I needed the money, but I also needed—” She trembles when she strokes me from base to tip. “I needed to get away from…you.”

  Gripping the chair beneath me, I squeeze it so hard, it whines under the pressure. But her admission is music to my sullied soul. It’s what I’ve wanted to hear since I met her.

  “Why?” I press, barely holding it together as I pump my hips, encouraging her to grip me harder and stroke me faster.

  She does.

  “You scare me…” she confesses, working me into a frenzy. “But not in the way you think.” Before I have a chance to question her, she begins to rub herself against my cock. I have her hand, her pussy on me, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let go.

  “You scare me because of the way you make me feel,” she reveals while I arch my head backward, seconds away from coming in her hand. “I haven’t felt this in so long. I know you’re hiding something, something that has consumed you and ma
de you the person that you are. And even though you make me doubt everything I thought I knew, I can’t stop thinking about you. And when, for a second, I don’t, you just turn up, throwing everything into disorder. I thought staying away from you would help, but it hasn’t. I only want you…more.”

  “Why?” I ask again, not understanding any of this.

  She shrugs, her innocence feeding me. “Why does the sun rise? Why is the sky blue? I don’t know…I just do. Even though I know I shouldn’t…I do,” she concludes sadly.

  I can’t take it any longer. I came here for answers, and I got them. I also came here for something else. I didn’t know what it was, but now I do. And I want it. So…fucking…bad.

  Seizing her wrist, I stop her from jerking me off because when I come, it won’t be in her hand. “You’re about to get in bed with the devil. Can you deal?”

  I need her to be the smart one. I need her to stop this because I can’t. But when she nods, she seals both our fates.

  “I am going to break you,” I promise, and I don’t mean that in the physical sense only.

  But Tiger doesn’t falter.

  “I”—she licks her lips—“I want you to.” And that’s all the permission I need.

  She gets off on being afraid. My fierce, wicked Tiger.

  I want to savor her, but I can’t. If I don’t bury myself inside her in the next five fucking seconds, I will explode. Standing, I take Tiger with me, lifting her from my lap and coaxing her to wrap her legs around my waist.

  She watches with wide, aroused eyes as I walk us toward the sofa. Without warning, I toss her onto the leather and stand before her. My zipper is halfway down, and now that I’m standing, she can see my cock clearly.

  She quickly shuffles backward on her elbows, trying to escape, but it’s too fucking late. There is no going back now. “I haven’t done this in a very long time,” she confesses, a flush spreading across her creamy skin.

  Her admission pleases me more than it should.

  Looking up at me with those big, innocent eyes, I crumple. “Neither have I,” I declare, which results in her eyebrows shooting up into her hairline.

  I want to enjoy her, I really do, but I can’t. The damaged voices inside my head won’t let me. I don’t know how to “make love” because what the fuck is love? I can fuck, but love…I cannot.

  “On all fours,” I command, stepping out of my boots and socks.

  She watches me like a scared little rabbit, but when I stand unmoving, waiting, she does as she’s told.

  Slowly, she turns around and faces the pillows with her ass high in the air. Her heavy breathing indicates she’s nervous, and she should be. Coming up behind her, I run a hand down her spine. A whimper escapes her when I cup her beautiful ass.

  Her dress rides up, exposing her small black underwear. It’s in the way. With a sharp tug, I rip them from her, but what I see…holy fuck. I take a step backward, needing a second or two.

  Her pink pussy is bare, and her ass is firm and round. I want to take a bite. My cock throbs, desperate to be lost in this perfection, desperate to silence the monster within. Dropping my jeans, I step closer and slip two of my fingers into her mouth.

  She suckles them, knowing what I want. Her tongue works circles around them, and when she bites down softly, I hiss because it’s exactly what I want. Once I’m lathered, I reach around her hip and sink my fingers into a warmth I never want to leave.

  Her pussy welcomes me deep, sucking me into the abyss. She groans, shuddering around my fingers. I’m surprised to find her already wet. In and out, I begin to pump, then circle her clit with my thumb. She bounces against me, whimpering when I show no mercy and stretch her wide.

  I can’t fucking stand it. I need in. “Condoms are in th-there,” she stutters, pointing at a bowl on the table. It sickens me this is within reach, but I’m too worked up to ask her if she’s utilized the contents of this bowl before.

  With fingers still buried deep, I reach out with my other hand and flip open the lid, retrieving a gold packet. Bringing it to my mouth, I tear open the wrapper, and without pause, I roll it onto my cock. Pulling my fingers out of her pussy, I grip her hips and slowly drag her backward onto my shaft.

  Inch by inch, she takes me inside her, and inch by inch, I die a small death. She is so tight, so impossibly tight, and I feel her muscles stretching, adjusting to my size.

  “Oh, god,” she whimpers, clawing at the top of the sofa with one hand while she braces the other against the wall for support.

  Her pleas feed my corruption, and I slam into her, a guttural grunt escaping me. The force pushes her forward.

  I am so fucking deep inside her; I need a moment to process this surreal reality. I haven’t been with a woman in so long. I’ve forgotten how they feel, forgotten how they have the ability to turn a man into a savage. This is fucking ecstasy.

  Gripping her hips, I begin fucking her hard. She bounces against me, moaning and writhing. Each time I pull out, her body shudders, welcoming me back as I slam into her. Her pussy sucks me in, the warmth, the softness a drug to me. I can’t get enough. I place my foot on the sofa to enter her at a deeper angle.

  “Fuck!” she screams, still ripping the couch to shreds.

  From the sounds spilling from her, she seems to be enjoying herself, but something comes over me, and I wonder if I’m doing it right. I doubt the act of fucking has changed since I’ve been inside, but I wonder if it feels good. It sure as shit feels good for me.

  I can’t help myself. The kinks in life feed my depravity because I like to inflict pain. It gets me off. I was never a saint, always a sinner. And my Tiger is the same.

  She matches me stroke for stroke, bouncing back on me as I sink into her. I can’t get enough and wind her long hair around my fist, yanking back her head. She grunts, growing lax as I dig my fingers into her waist and continue to fuck her senseless.

  I’m possessing her, owning her, and she lets me. Transfixed by the sight of my cock sinking into her pussy, I slow my tempo, watching the way we unite as one. She is beautiful, everywhere. And I can’t help but feel as though I’m polluting that beauty.

  Gripping her ass, I spread her open and hiss when she sinks onto my shaft, moaning in utter ecstasy. “Oh, Bull,” she cries, desperate for me to pay attention to her clit, but I don’t. I never want this to end.

  She collapses onto her elbows and lifts her ass higher in the air. I almost come right then and there because I am so deep inside her, I don’t know where I end and she begins. She is so flexible, her dancer body lithe and strong.

  I continue slamming into her, each thrust sucking me in deep. By this stage, Tiger is limp, surrendering everything she is over to me. I am wound up so tightly by her submission, and I smack her ass—hard. The red handprint I leave behind is just another step closer to my demise. She reaches between her legs and begins rubbing over her clit. I slap it away, drawing out her gratification.

  “Please,” she whimpers. “Let me c-come.”

  “Not until you tell me you’re coming back to The Pink Oyster.” My voice is riddled with craving, and it surprises me. It’s been so long since I’ve given a fuck about anything.

  “No.”

  Her refusal has me taking it out on her ass as I spank her again. She jars forward with the pressure, but she still doesn’t buckle.

  “Tiger, don’t make me hurt you.”

  “You w-won’t,” she challenges, which has my demons roaring to the surface, ready to prove her wrong. But I’m coming to learn my threats only spur her on. She likes the danger, the fear—it turns her on.

  Linking my arms through hers, I yank her upward. Keeping her hands locked behind her, I brutalize her in the most delicious of ways. She’s trapped, the dip of her spine accentuating her beautiful supple ass. Images of defiling it smash into me, and I’m possessed as I fuck her without apology.

  Our bodies are slick, and the noises are primal. Tiger is taking over my mind, body, and soul. I am fucke
d—in every literal way there is.

  “You’re leaving here. Tonight.”

  “Fuck…you.” Before I have a chance to reprimand her again, she arches her back and circles her hips, before slamming onto me and showing me who the fuck is running this show. “The only thing I’m doing tonight is…coming.”

  She throws back her head, the smell of cherry blossoms enveloping me, before Tiger screams and a tremor I feel all the way to my balls rocks her body. She milks my cock, pleasured sounds spilling from her lips.

  It’s suddenly too much because the knowledge of her coming because of me—of me causing pleasure, not pain—tips me over the edge, and with two quick pumps, I come in waves of utter carnality. It doesn’t stop, and my body vibrates so hard, I leave indents in Tiger’s skin as I grip her before I fade away.

  I’m breathless, sticky, and my body is a live wire, but when Tiger brushes her hair to the side and looks at me over her shoulder, it’s like an electrical surge straight to my heart. Her flushed cheeks and the sated look in her eyes have me quickly pulling out. She looks…happy, happy because of me.

  As the walls begin to close in on me, I know I need to split.

  Taking off the condom, I drop it into the trash can and step into my jeans. I can’t get out of here fast enough. I can feel Tiger’s eyes on me, but she doesn’t say a word. This is a total dick move, but I can’t breathe. I need air. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

  “Thanks,” I manage to spit out as I grab my boots, not even bothering to put them on before I’m out the door.

  I sprint down the hallway, ignoring the looks of everyone because I’m seconds away from freaking the fuck out. I round the corner, and when I bump into the one person I never expected to see, the clusterfuck of what I just did hits home.

  Fucking Andre is here, and he’s clearly working at the club. I usually wouldn’t care, but something about him being here rubs me the wrong way. However, I can deal with that tomorrow. Now, I need to bounce.

  Shoving past him, I jump down the front steps, and the moment my feet touch the pavement is the moment I breathe again.