Love and War: Part One – Chapter 13

I turn the television off and stand, aggravated it’s taking her so long. I walk to the bottom of the stairs. I don’t like being forced into a decision, and that’s what this feels like, because I sure as hell wasn’t letting her go with Remington alone. He’s a whore. He’s also open about it. He uses his skill in ink and his tattoos as an attractant, not a part of him. He’s just toned his stories down since Delta was hired, bringing a girl into the studio.

And I felt a little more like an asshole saying no than I normally would, because that’s what I’ve been for the past two weeks. She knows it and I know it. When shit gets too weird for me, I don’t deal with it. I don’t know how, so I just keep my distance until it deals with itself instead.

That conversation we had freaked me the fuck out. Since her, I’ve had to talk more than what I’m comfortable with. The sex that followed just added fuel to the fire. Her pussy feels too good to be normal. The sounds coming from her mouth as her nails dug into my skin had me hanging completely on the fucking edge.

Sex has never been that big of a deal for me. I wasn’t seasoned in it like most guys are. I have my reasons for steering clear of it. From the time I was a teenager there were far more important things to deal with than to find some random-ass girl and have to work at getting in her pants for five minutes of fun. I don’t lie or play games to get it. I don’t have time for all that shit.

The times I got laid, it was readily available and offered on a fucking silver platter, so I took like any guy would, and most of the time it was months between occurrences as well as quick and effortless on my part. It barely even fazes me until it’s at least been a month; yet still, even though I’m generally an asshole by association, it surprised me she had to question that she had that effect on me. I’ve gotten hard over less. Just like every other man with a dick, I too get turned on, and have on several occasions since I met her.

I bang on the wall. “Delta! Are you ready? I have shit to do later,” I shout up the stairs. All I can hear is heavy metal blaring, easily recognizable as Five Finger Death Punch: This is my war.

My feet start to move, one by one climbing the stairs. Her door is shut, but as I grip the knob I realize that it’s not locked. I push it open, looking in the wrong starting direction. When my eyes scan the room, they stop at her bed. Her foot falls from the propped position on the mattress and she turns to face me. “I’m assuming you’re ready?”

I swallow, my mouth a little dry. “It’s more than I can say about you. What the hell is taking so long?”

“Oh, I’m ready,” she says. “I just need to get my whip.”

I look at her, all of her. “What? Fuck no.”

Her eyes fall to my crotch, and then a smirk appears on her face. “Is there a problem?”

“You’re missing your clothes.”

She glances down at herself. “I’m pretty sure I have everything.”

She walks toward me, but before she can pass, I block the frame with my arms. “Move out of my way, Kross.”

“I will when you put some clothes on.”

“I’m wearing them.”

“You aren’t leaving this house in that.”

“Awe, that’s cute. Did you forget I’m a grown-ass woman? I’ll wear what I want. You may be my boss at the shop, but off the clock I’m a free agent.”

I walk forward and push her farther into the room, slamming the damn door. “Unless you want to add accomplice to murder to your rap sheet, I suggest you change.”

She stares into my eyes, not backing down. “I’ll take my chances.”

I grab her neck, turning her eyes upward. “Don’t. Test. Me.”

Her hand grabs at my dick over my jeans, matching my grip on her neck, the pain only making it swell more. “You haven’t fucking touched me in two weeks. Don’t you dare come at me like my boyfriend.”

My chest feels heavy, the anger filling it. Like I’m possessed, I grab her ass and lift her, walking toward the bed and tumbling down on it, my lips taking hers.

She looks up at me when I stand on my knees, ripping the top open as I do, the hooks sounding as they tear through the loops. She’s not wearing a bra because the corset top was so hard and tight against her body. “You want a boyfriend?”

My tone is reflecting every ounce of the anger coursing through my bloodstream. “Only one that’s going to man up and act like a fucking boyfriend. If he’s only going to be one occasionally behind closed doors, then I’ll pass,” she seethes, getting angrier as we continue.

I remove my knife clipped on my pocket and flip it open with one motion. The tip grazes along the black thigh-high pantyhose of her inner thigh, starting above her boots, slowly snagging the fabric until they aren’t wearable, continuing to where I want it. She inhales deeply when the blade skims her lips, and in one swift jerk slices through her bottoms between her legs, baring her pussy for me. “I hope you know what you’re asking for,” I bite out, my eyes locked with hers as I throw the knife at the wall.

She turns her head when the blade drives through the sheetrock across the room. When she returns, her hands go for my belt, quickly working my jeans down my legs. “I want you to fuck me so bad.”

I thrust inside her, hard, grinding my hips against her. “This how you want it?”

Her back arches. “Hell yes. Hurt me.”

I still. “No.”

She locks her legs around my waist. “Don’t stop. Please.”

My arm locks at the middle of her back and I flip us over, pulling her onto my lap, and then I push my jeans farther down my legs. I sit up and remove my shirt, tossing it aside. “You want it more than I’m giving, then show me what I’m missing. It’s your turn to fuck me.”

His hands settle on my thighs, waiting for me to ride. I unhook the straps at the top of my stockings and pull what’s left of the mutilated bottoms to my dominatrix costume up my body, removing it over my head. He grabs the base of his dick and holds it in position, allowing me to sit down on him. Both of his hands grip in my long, black hair. I pump up and down slowly a few times, and then push at his chest until he lies back.

I begin, using the heavy music playlist shuffling as a pacer. With each scream of lyrics, I grind harder, rougher, rocking against his solid core.

My body automatically leans forward until my hands meet the sheets when I find my G-spot, focusing on it to hit it just right. His dick becomes my tool. I want this. It’s been so long since I’ve given myself a deep orgasm with a man’s body. I can already feel it building. “Right . . . there.”

My eyes open as it starts, slowing my hips already so I can savor it. He’s watching me, my face slowly contorting with each feeling racking my body. His hands return to my hair, tangling within it, just before he pulls me closer. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that you’re beautiful, but you are.”

Then he pulls my lips to his and he kisses me in a way that shatters my soul. At the moment there is nothing left inside of me that’s whole. Everything remains in pieces, because I’ve never actually believed someone when they called me beautiful before, but that, in its reverent form, has the power to bring back the dead.

And just as it becomes too much to bear, I sit up, and fuck him with everything that’s left, because I don’t want him to stray. There is something wickedly beautiful about him—the bad and the broken.