Spin It Again

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Spin It Again

David woke up with an empty bottle of beer in one hand and a blonde in the other.

Groaning, he shifted on the bed and winced at the flash of pain in his gut and the sudden pounding in his head. Apparently oblivious to his pain, the blonde snuggled closer to him and he glowered down at her bleached hair. He couldn’t even remember her name, although he could remember other things about last night with painstaking detail.

During their few minutes of sex, David had been vicious, desperate and cruel.

Because more than sex, what he’d wanted—what he’d needed—was to kill someone.

His eyes darkened when he remembered the sordid, sorry events of last night.

He’d unexpectedly seen her, after one whole year of trying futilely to do so.

She’d been making out in a busy Manhattan nightclub. Someone else’s hand had been crushing her breast through her shirt, his tongue tasting her mouth—the mouth of the woman David had planned to marry. The woman he loved. And she’d been making out. There. For everyone to see. For David to see. Making out. With a faceless, nameless asshole whose heart David wanted to rip out of his chest.

David had been drunk—which was nothing new. He’d spent little to no sober hours during the past year.

He’d never expected to see her, especially since she’d made it her life’s mission to avoid him now. And yet there she was, Evie Mathews, his Evie Mathews—who should have been Evie Hawthorne by now—in a noisy nightclub featuring scantily clad ladies locked inside cages that hung from the ceiling. Huddled in a smoky, dark corner of the club, she’d been putting out for that bastard, in public, in a way she’d never put out for David.

Even from afar, he’d seen the exact moment her hand disappeared into the waistband of a well-worn pair of jeans and slowly began to fondle the man’s dick underneath. She actually touched the bastard’s filthy, sorry excuse for a cock—and David saw it all, saw the way she stroked that hideous thing with her dainty little hand.

The same soft, fragile hand David had held and kissed as if it were something holy. The same hand that had rubbed David to climax hundreds of times. The same hand that, even while busily occupied touching someone else’s privates, still managed to crush David’s heart like a tin can. Watching that little hand move under those jeans, stroking up and down, made his own cock push hard against his underwear, desperate for her attentions…for her touch.

David remembered the evening too vividly…

Walking around in a dazed, drunken stupor, a blonde on each arm and a beer in each hand, David lazily alternated swigs from one to the other. It would have probably been an okay night if he hadn’t seen her. Hell, it would have been an okay night if he didn’t still love her. But he did see her, and he did love her, and he knew right then and there that he was going to fucking kill that son of a bitch sitting with a stiff cock beside her.

All hell broke loose when David lunged at him. Glasses crashed to the floor, the table toppled over and people screamed. All David knew was that someone had to die that night. It wasn’t enough to sink his fists into the bastard’s gut. Not enough to introduce his knuckles to his mean, fat jaw. Not enough to wrap his hands around the jerk’s thick neck and squeeze with all his might.

The damned bastard was strong. And sober. Unlike David’s sorry drunken state.

David took a punch to the stomach, one which made him fold over in pain. He jerked backward when a beefy fist landed on his jaw, blood spilling from his lips at the blow. David shook from the effort it took just to remain standing—and then his eyes met the man’s gaze. Either David was killing that sorry motherfucker, or he’d be glad if the bastard killed him and put an early end to his sorry, miserable life.

Evie was shouting, her words barely getting past the roaring in his ears. She wasn’t shouting the bastard’s name, but his name. David’s name. It echoed in his ears like a siren song as he slammed his fist into the bastard’s nose, sending him tumbling backward. After readying his fists to deliver yet another blow, one that would hopefully kill the bastard, a pair of hands suddenly locked his arms behind his back, and David bucked wildly in an effort to release himself.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step outside,” a deep voice said.

It was someone from the club’s security, and as David’s wild, wrecked gaze scanned the club, he noticed there were several more of them winding their way through the crowd, speaking into the tiny microphones on their collars as they approached.

“I’ll escort my own fucking self out!” he thundered, yanking his arms free.

But before he did as he promised, he looked at Evie, standing there looking just amazing, her chest heaving rapidly, her face flushed, her blue eyes big and scared and beautiful.

He pointed a finger straight at her, his eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring with each breath he took. “You’re mine, do you hear me?” He slammed his palms to his chest.

“You’re fucking mine.”

On his way out, he fell on the sidewalk outside the club, suddenly weakened by the sight of her. One of the blondes—the one who didn’ t run away scared shitless—

wrapped her arms around him and helped him wobble across the lobby when they arrived at his building. Once in his apartment, she’d giggled sexily and brushed blood away from his lips so she could kiss him.

He remembered going crazy, tearing her clothes off, forcing her to her knees and sticking his cock into her mouth. Every single word he’d said then, he’d meant for someone else.

“Fucking bitch. You damned horny bitch. Did you want cock? Is that what you wanted, you hot, horny slut? Did you want his cock inside you?”

The blonde had thought it wise to shout a big, effusive “Yes!” to everything he said.

Seriously, he could’ve killed her for that—he was so damned pissed. Just to let her know she was in serious danger, he growled a low, terrifying sound to rival that of every monster in any horror movie he’d ever seen. Still she didn’t quite get it, and instead pouted her lips and looked up at him dreamily.

“Yes! I’m a slut. A big, fat, horny slut…punish me, punish me now!” Did her speech serve to appease him? Hell no. Only having Evie there—twisting her hair like he twisted the blonde’s, forcing her down on all fours and taking her like a bitch in heat—would serve to appease him. Maybe even making that bastard she was with watch while he did so.

The blonde had yelped and whimpered and begged for more even as he slapped her buttocks with his palms and rammed his cock into her ass without the slightest concern for her whatsoever. She clutched at her own tits, squeezed and pinched her nipples and even furiously pushed her butt back against his hips, as if his thrusts weren’t harsh enough to suit her.

She had a nice, tight little ass. It molded around his cock like clay, making him grit his teeth from the effort it took just to push and keep on pushing into that tiny, pink puckered hole. Every erotic sound, the low and the loud, tore from her lips as he fucked her, punished her, made her regret touching that cock, made her regret wanting it. She wasn’t some random blonde, she wasn’t a stranger.

She was Evie. On all fours, screaming her head off, taking his cock deep inside her ass and shoving back for more. It was Evie squeezing her own tits, bending her head down and pulling up a breast to her lips so she could suck on her own nipple. It was Evie sliding a hand past her navel and cupping her pussy in her hand, slowly circling her clit with her finger before sticking it into the wet, gleaming folds of her cunt. And it was Evie letting him fuck her in the ass, letting him have his way with her, while she touched herself, licked herself, like the little bitch she was.

He cried out her name when he came, spilling into her ass, his voice sounding hoarse and pained. Then everything had become deathly still, the sound of his breathing suddenly magnified by the awkward silence in the room.

Only minutes afterward, David had felt so desolate that he buried himself beneath the bedsheets with his last bottle of beer and conveniently forgot about the blonde who’d graciously stood in for Evie—just as some poor girl always did.

Yet most of them didn’t seem to mind. He’d fucked numerous ladies at the nearby strip club he’d been frequenting, where every night the manager—now his very good pal—unfailingly offered David the best seat in the house, just so he could sit, get drunk and watch the elegant, artistic display of tits and ass. The girls rode that pole pretty damn well, and they rode him even better, but he didn’t know any of their names. To him, they were just bodies—cunts and tits and tongues—and there was only one name he whispered when he came, every damn time. One name he cried out in the midst of his drunken passion. His good chum the manager, knowing what a discriminating customer like David preferred by now, had already instructed the girls…

If David were to choose one of them for some serious adult fun, she’d have to do a little role-playing—and above all else, she’d have to pretend her name was Evie.

Only last week, David had brought home a pair of Asian twins—each calling herself Evie—and had gotten one hell of a decent blowjob. Their tongues had been pierced and they’d used the smooth gold pebbles to tease his cock mercilessly.

Lying on the bed and staring dazedly up at the ceiling, David had grabbed the twin kneeling between his thighs and shoved her face lower, down to his throbbing balls.

The other twin was kneeling by his side, slowly milking his cock with her mouth.

Purring deep in his throat and closing his eyes, he ran his hand down her spine, dipping a finger between her buttocks until he’d buried it in her ass.

“Do you like that, Evie?” he asked hoarsely, and she purred against his cock, making him shudder as she ran the warm gold ball around the tip of his shaft.

He fisted his hand in the other twin’s hair, tightly pressing her face to his nuts while ordering her to suck harder. She not only sucked harder, but slid a finger into his ass while she did so, pumping it inside him while she scraped the metal stud around his sac.

David went wild, rocking his hips against one mouth while the other nibbled at his balls, sending his senses reeling. Then two fingers pummeled deep into his ass, tearing a groan from deep in his chest. It was then, shivering with sensations, when he’d ordered them to dare tell him to his face what a two-timing, cheating bastard he was.

They’d obeyed with gusto, cursing him loudly, fervently, not even their charming accents detracting from the harshness of their words.

He hadn’t anticipated that hearing both women call him less-than flattering names would really tick him off, so he’d grabbed their hair and yanked their heads back— hard.

Cursing them right back for every low, coarse word they’d uttered. Cursing them for being such selfish, unforgiving bitches. He didn’t know if they’d minded his roughness, but hell, he was paying for it and they’d let him.

Still mumbling curses under his breath, he’d pressed their faces back to his privates, ordering them to suck him and make him come. Between their moaning and mewling, they continued to blow him until he shattered and cried out that tormenting, beautiful name. Then they’d touched themselves, fondling their pussies as they sought their own climaxes. If they’d expected anything but a good tip afterward, they were sorely mistaken. At that point, they should have known he really was a lying, two-timing, mean and horny bastard, one who’d betrayed the woman he loved. What did they expect from someone like him?

Apparently, the blonde from last night had expected just that sort of treatment…and she’d damn well loved it.

After he’d brutally screwed her, she’d still thought it would be a good idea to get comfy and snuggle up beside him—as if David could possibly be chummy and cuddly while in his current state of mind.

In this hateful, diabolical, plain suicidal state of mind.

In his whole cursed life, he’d never thought he could hate someone as much as he hated himself and the sorry bastard who’d touched his girl.

But he especially hated Evie—for not loving him hard enough to forgive him.

Staring down at the blonde, an unwanted, disturbing reminder of yesterday, David shoved her away from him and rose from the bed, the move sending another jolt of pain to his stomach as he headed naked toward the bathroom. Bracing his hands on the sink, he stared at his own reflection in the mirror. The man he saw bore no resemblance to the man he’d once been.

David had been a happy man. A man who knew how to smile, who’d loved his job and who’d thought himself to be one of the precious few souls lucky enough to find true love in this lifetime. He’d found the love of his life, the one to spend his whole life with…and lost her.

The man in the mirror didn’t look like David Hawthorne. He looked harsh, angry.

He hadn’t shaved in days. Thick strands of dark brown hair fell carelessly past his ears, testifying to his year-long rebellion against fashion and grooming. His skin was tanned, but dull and lifeless. His features were vicious and etched with pain, his jaw more pronounced now and clenched much too tightly for comfort. His sleek, dark eyebrows arched before angling downward, gifting his face with a permanent scowl. There was a death wish there, in the way his lips were set, in the steely glint in his dark brown eyes.