The Filthy Series: The Complete Dark Erotic Serial Novel (44 page)

The smooth tip slid past my lips like butter and we moaned in unison when he hit the back of my throat. I’d given a lot of blow jobs to the guys I hate-fucked. This wasn’t any different.

His hand slid into my hair. “Faye…” My name was a moan on his lips that made me try to take more of him until I was bobbing my head and gagging on him. He tried to step back, but I followed him, swallowing his cock. The desperation from minutes before came back with a sudden vengeance. I needed all of him inside me. Every inch. I wanted it all the way down my throat until I couldn’t taste anything but him.

A rough hand in my hair stopped me, forcing my head back until I was looking up at him. Those eyes, they looked down at me in my dim kitchen, they trapped me.

No.
I didn’t want to look at him. I just wanted his dick. It didn’t matter that he was Rhett. That he was the man who ripped me apart all those years ago. His eyes were filled with more than the hateful lust I always craved.

“I have rules,” I heard myself say.

“Rules?” He panted. His dick bobbed just inches away from my face. I pulled back from him, he released me, and I stood.

“I fuck. That’s it. That’s all this is.”

His gaze hardened and I smiled.

“Is that what you tell all the men you bring home from dinner?”

The words were a jab, but I didn’t let my smile falter. I didn’t let him see how desperate I was to have him. “Yes.”

He flexed his fists at his sides. The movement made me bite the inside of my lip. He looked good enough to eat with his pants around his thighs, his tie loose, and his dick bobbing there between us.

“Follow me.” I turned away from him and moved to the bedroom. His gaze was on me, like in the restaurant, but I wasn’t nervous or self conscious now.

I was ready.

I was in my territory. My room. My life. My space where I had dirty hateful sex and slept like a baby. Rhett couldn’t change that.

I kept my back to him while I stripped out of my dress, wiggling my ass as it slithered to the floor. I heard a growl from behind me, a sound so animalistic, I fought the urge to clench my thighs together. I turned around, but I didn’t have time to take him in, to drink in his body or the way he looked at me because he was right in front of me. His lips pressing into mine his hands all over me. I don’t know how he did it, but he seemed to be touching every inch of my skin all at once. His lips were rough on mine, but not callous, not brutal. They were hungry lips. My nipples pearled into tight buds scraping against his shirt.

He pushed me back on the bed, my soft, flower-print blanket pressed against my naked flesh. The moon illuminated Rhett through the window while he tore his shirt off. His muscles rippled in light. I watched in awe. He didn’t pause to take me in, not this time. And I was glad, relieved, when his body covered mine. He was hard all over, but nothing was harder than the cock that had been in my mouth.

“You want me to fuck you, huh?” He hovered his mouth just over mine, a whisper away. I chewed the inside of my lip and nodded. “Say it,” he grated the words, punctuated by the thrust of his hips. His cock speared my naked belly. Wetness smeared from the tip.

I sat up on my elbows and flipped over beneath him, putting my ass right in his crotch. “I only fuck like this,” I said, ignoring his demand. I expected him to growl, and shove into me, to give me the fucking I needed, like most men, but he didn’t. He was silent, still, for a moment too long. I glanced over my shoulder and caught his gaze in the glint of light from the window. He seemed uncertain, afraid almost. The indecision was there on his face, almost as if he didn’t know if he really wanted to be here, in my bedroom with his dick pressed against my ass.

“Fuck me, Rhett. You know you want to.”

He didn’t look me in the eye when his hands gripped my waist, even though I was still peering over my shoulder at him. He didn’t say anything either as he positioned his raging cock against the sopping entrance of my pussy. He didn’t moan when he plunged into me. I was the one who did that. The sound was ripped from somewhere deep inside me.

I dug my fingers into the mattress when he started pumping into me. His hands slid up and down my waist as he fucked me. And it was
fucking
. His pace was relentless, smooth, but rough. He pistoned his hips into me, his thickness filling me up over and over. I wanted to relate him to the men I fucked, the men I used. But with each movement I couldn’t. I couldn’t make him one of them. I wanted him to be. I wanted him to be another cock I got off on, but with each thrust I couldn’t deny that it was different.

That it was Rhett, and not some faceless man.

I could feel the orgasm, the burst of pleasure just waiting to explode deep inside me. “Tell me you hate me,” I said on the end of a moan. I clutched the bed so hard I thought I would rip the sheets with his relentless pace.

“What?” The word exploded from his chest, the first thing he said since he put his dick inside me.

“Tell me you fucking hate me. Do it. Now!” I demanded. I needed that hate. I needed it from him more than I had ever needed it from anyone else. I couldn’t cum without it. The hate completed me, it validated me. He had to give it to me.

“No.”

I wrenched my head back and looked over my shoulder again. “Say the words, Rhett!” I shouted. The orgasm was coming, it was climbing the wall inside me, clawing desperate, ready to burst forth. My legs started to shake under me, feeling like they would give out.

“No.” He spoke softer this time. His word a whisper fluttering over my skin, seeming louder than the slapping of our flesh.

“You have to say it.” I choked the words out, they were bitter and tasteless, clinging to the inside of my mouth.

He leaned in, still thrusting his hips, and pressed his lips to my temple. The kiss was soft, chaste, simple. But there was something there. It gutted me, it destroyed me as my world splintered apart, the orgasm ratcheting through me, stealing the breath from my lungs. Watercolors burst behind my eyes, painting my world in bitter ecstasy. I was lost somewhere in that pleasure, burning up in the flames where no one could save me.

When I came back to myself I was on my back looking up at him. At Rhett painted in those colors, glowing in the moonlight. He painted me though, with his cum, with the sticky sweetness that spurt from the end of his cock onto my belly. I was covered in him. Marked, and in that moment I realized something had happened. I had cum. Rhett had made me cum without the hate. The catalyst that led to every orgasm I’d had since he had me pressed up against his car all those years ago.

Pain erupted in my chest as I watched him above me.
He can never be one of them.
One of those faceless men. And right then I knew—I was in terrible horrible trouble.

EIGHT

The sun was bright through green curtains in Faye’s bedroom. I’d been awake for at least thirty minutes. I’d awoken just as the sun was peeking through the windows with my front pressed against a warm body. Faye’s body. Her slender back was against me. Faye. I’d lain completely still staring at the dark curls of her long hair. The tendrils splayed across my chest.

This was real. She was real.

It seemed impossible that last night had happened. That I had taken Faye to dinner—that I’d driven her back to her apartment and fucked her, here in her bed.

I thought she would kick me out afterwards, after she begged me to fuck her with my hate, after I didn’t give in, after I watched her splinter apart beneath me. I closed my eyes as the image passed across them. I would never forget. Never. I wouldn’t forget the way she looked up at me, torn pleasure rippling across her face as her body convulsed. My cock hardened at the thought.

She hadn’t made me leave though, even after I climbed out of bed and got a towel to clean the cum off her belly. She had just looked at me dazedly, something between wonder and fear painted on her face. She didn’t say anything when I climbed back into bed with her, or when I wrapped my arm around her middle and pulled her back against my front. She was silent and I was thankful. I was scared, I wasn’t afraid to admit that. I was afraid of what she would say now. Of what it would do to me.

She flexed her hips and pressed back against me in her sleep. My cock prodded her right back. I didn’t want to wake her, not yet. I climbed out of bed as quietly as I could and snatched my boxer-briefs off the floor, slipping them on. I paused at the doorway and looked back at her. Her back was to me, her dark hair draped across the sheets now that I was gone. The smooth pale flesh of her back, darker than the white sheets.

Something in my chest twinged. I would have said it was my heart that emitted the strange feeling, but I knew better. I didn’t have one of those anymore. I’d stomped on the stupid organ years ago when I let her go. When I ran her away. I hadn’t looked at a woman lying in bed in years. Sarah had been the last one—the last woman I had gazed at in ruffled, tangled covers. But that had been more than six years ago, and it hadn’t made me feel like this. The women I’d fucked in the last six years had never made it past the back seat of my car. Hookers. Prostitutes. Those were the women I’d been inside since I’d had Faye. Since I’d fucked Sarah that same night in our bed. None of the women Cayden and Katie set me up with had even sparked my interest. They couldn’t give me what I needed. Those were the nights, the ones where I went home after a failed date with a brainless women, that I would find a prostitute and shell out a lot of money for what I needed.

I moved out of the room, pushing all the conflicting thoughts and memories out of my head. I sucked in a deep breath as I came into the living room. A turquoise colored couch with yellow throw pillows sat in front of a small flat screen TV. Next to the TV were three floor to ceiling bookshelves, all of them overflowing with books. I blinked at them as I moved forward. It shouldn’t have mattered to me. They were just bookshelves. But I found myself standing in front of them. There were little trinkets on each shelf. Some were multicolored rocks, others were little animal figurines that seemed to prance across the wooden surface.

Her things.

I blinked at the items as if they were foreign—as if they weren’t just figurines and books—but were something else entirely. They belonged to Faye. I’d never seen Faye in an element that truly belonged to her. Anything she’d ever had, had been bought by my father, or myself. I’d never seen her with her own things, her own world that she crafted herself.

That’s what these things were. I ran my hand down the spine of a Texas Government book. There were others, more, multiple shelves dedicated to different kinds of law and government books. I recognized some I had myself. Cayden had seen that spark in her, it was why he had hired her as his assistant. I had seen it too, but I just hadn’t known what it meant back then. My mind had been focused, utterly concentrated on putting my father away. I hadn’t seen the potential, not quite the same way Cayden had.

And now she has a master’s degree in political science.

A smile crept over my lips at the breathless feeling my lungs.

“You’re still here.”

I flinched at the sound of her voice. I wasn’t used to it. Not yet. It was the same sultry sound. The one that I had dreamt about the last six years.

She stood in the doorway of her bedroom. A big t-shirt covered the nakedness I’d seen a few minutes before.

“I am.”

She ran a hand through her messy hair. A streak of something hot shot through me. Her gaze was blank, emotionless. I wasn’t used to this—not with Faye. She was easy, before. I could read her. Her emotions had always danced in those dark brown eyes of hers. Eyes that had lit up with electric passion last night as I took her. As I fucked her in her bed.

“You should go.” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe.

“But you haven’t given me a tour yet.” I motioned to her apartment. I wasn’t ready to go yet. I had a distinct feeling that once I walked through her front door I would never be welcomed back.

She pushed off the doorframe and moved toward me. “Looks like you’ve already given yourself a tour.”

I expected her to walk over to me. I expected her to get in my face and demand I leave. My cock thought the same thing, because he was roaring and ready for her to be closer.

She didn’t though, instead she moved into the kitchen that overlooked the living room, giving me her back. My eyes honed in on her barely covered ass. I tried not to imagine the way she looked last night beneath me, with her ass in my crotch, her hips undulating while I pounded into her.

I moved quickly to stand by the bar so she wouldn’t see how fucking hard I was. She poured herself a glass of water, drinking it down in one gulp.

“Thirsty?”

I nodded and she poured me a glass, holding it out for me to take. She held in just a way that our fingers wouldn’t brush. It was almost as if she couldn’t bear it. I frowned, but drank the water, watching her over the rim.

She stared at me openly as I drank, and I desperately tried to read her, to understand what was going on her head.