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He is, however, exactly what I would guess a guy in this business would look like—rough around the edges, a few screws loose, assumptions of a massive cock beneath those fitted pants. All the crazy ones have the best dicks. It’s science.
I’ve been blessed with eyes that can strike a man down. My mother once told me eyes were a woman’s most dangerous weapon.
“Montana Rowe,” he whispers my name with such familiarity that a chill skirts across my flesh. His hand rises and his rough palm lands on my cheek, his thumb trailing my skin and his fingers cupping gently beneath my jaw. “You’re a beautiful woman. But you already know that, don’t you?”
“I bet you make the sweetest sounds when you get fucked.” His eyes drop to my mouth. “I just know you do.”
“You’re doing amazing. Such a natural,” he praises, gripping the black leather couch tightly. He’s almost a little breathless.
“But as you know, it’s more than just how you play with yourself. You have to play well with others.” He reaches up to my face, running his calloused palm along my cheek before gripping my chin, my hand still working the vibrator. “You play well with others, right, pretty girl?”
nod in his grip. He grins back at me with pride, his eyes so dark and dangerous beneath those defined brows.
“Get down on your knees. Take out my cock,” he demands. “I’m gonna need to see how you suck.”
“Do it now,” he urges, his eyelids heavy with harnessed lust.
“Go on,” he urges again. “Wrap that pretty little mouth around me if you can.”
“You make the best little fuck toy, Montana.
“Good. Because I’m about to fuck you like you’re mine,” he whispers, his demonic tone causing my hair to stand on end. “But you’re not. You’ll never be.”
“And I like my pretty girls wearing gems,” he whispers.
“Does Daddy know his little princess likes jewels up her ass when she gets fucked?”
He leans his head back against the doorframe of his room. “Not the first thing we’ve shared.”
Fuck this cock like you’d die without it.
She became the obsession of my nightmares when she so willingly opened up for a stranger on that casting couch.
She had once made me feel special. Made me feel as if she was truly enjoying herself with me. Made me feel lucky to own her. A liar till the day she dies.
As a faceless sex doll, she’d captivated me in ways I’d yet to understand. As a woman beneath me, she’d stripped me of my being, leaving me soulless and aching for her touch. Like a needle to the vein, the moment I entered her, I felt it happen; we were tangled in ways that only true torment and indescribable pain could sever.
And yet, I knew her in all the ways you can know a person—every side of Montana, in every facet and every imaginable way that we reinvent ourselves to different people. She’s a jagged gem, cut from her own creation. Her many sides revealing themselves to me only increased her glow.
But pleasure won’t cut it anymore. I need pain to erase Montana. I was a man obsessed. But now that obsession demands I destroy her.
When you really love people, you deal with their dirt and let it become you.
Shane’s dark eyes flicker with something before he continues, “Nah, she’s not ready to roam the streets with us wolves yet.” He says it like it’s a challenge, somehow knowing challenges are my thing.
But I'm anything but. I’m a monster carved from abuse and neglect. Why fight it?
“What I’m suggesting is, it doesn’t take much for a seemingly normal man to snap. Men and monsters are merely separated by mismanaged trauma.”
We all have our broken structures. We just find destructive ways to occupy the void.
He kicks his sweats to the floor, not bothering to cover himself at all. I try to play it cool, but like the horrific car crash he is, I can’t stop looking.
It’s easy to breathe through the pain of the needles and ink penetrating my skin. The torment is nearly cathartic.
I wanted to strangle those moans from her throat as I gripped my leaking cock from the other side of the door. Shove a fucking sock into her mouth and make her gag on her own pleasure as I almost came into my palm at the idea of her slutty ass being fucked right next to me, denied of an orgasm because he came before her. I
Lucky for me, she’s never had all of me. No one has, because parts of my heart are crushed sand, slipping through the hands of anyone who attempts to hold on to me.
I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this. The quickness, the precision, the accuracy of each and every note she plays…it’s haunting. It’s evocative. It’s horrifyingly beautiful in all the worst ways.
The hairs on my arms rise as the eerie tones pierce my being like tiny daggers, filling me with holes and reaching that space within. She’s somewhere hiding within that shell of deceit. I know she’s still there. I offered her my heart, never wanting her to give it back. The woman behind this door still carries it with her every day.
I just can’t stop this. She made me this way. Savage and untamed, continually seeking pleasure only she can provide. As much as I hate to admit it to myself, she controls me. In ways you never want a woman like her to own.
The way I got used to being used has me straddling my motorcycle, gripping the handlebar, and tearing away from the musical hall, leaving any shred of respect I’d almost felt for that woman within those cold, dead walls.
Retribution is like a warm gun, soothing to the restless soul. And my soul is the definition of restless.
“Well, fuck, if you're not gonna smoke with me, you might as well suck me off.”
“C’mon, Monty,” Shane groans, rolling his eyes. “I won’t be related to a stuck-up bitch. Take a real pull, and you can leave.” He holds out the joint again, and I stupidly tell myself I’ve handled worse.
“Trust me,” he says, his voice rough and ragged, with nothing but heat in his eyes. The kind of seriousness that allows you to fall.
To Montana, music is a way out. But she’s a liar in every regard. She wants to be someone else, but I’m here to remind her that ghosts of the past continue to haunt her, and what she’d done to me won’t go without retribution.
I hate family functions, mostly because they’re a mirage. We all have our roles, but the people who talk about blood being thicker than water never had a money-hungry slut for a mother.
“You were a good time last night,” I say, pressing her into the hallway wall. “Proved you could really hang.”
She’s slipped into that place again. The place where brick upon brick meets silence. It's the closing of mind and emotion. It’s home to someone who knows abuse. I know it intimately.
Without a second thought, I quickly shove my pants down to my thighs, spit into my hand, and grip my firm cock right at the base. Parting my lips, my tongue dips out to lick the tip of the erect toy, eager to taste her tangy scent. The pearly-white cream still clings to the protruding veins, so I trace my tongue over their grooves, lapping up her arousal. Licking the length of it, I slowly stroke myself, feeling my dick harden further. Fuck, her taste.
Opening my jaw, I slide the silicone cock over my tongue, wrapping my lips around the girth as my hips thrust off the bed and into my hand. My throat vibrates with a muffled groan around the toy, my body quickly building to release. I grip the tip of my cock tight, squeezing it, choking it, before working my hand faster as the end of the toy reaches the back of my throat. I gag around the thickness; the saliva that pours from my lips and onto my chest becomes extra fuel for my fire. My palm is slick and wetter than ever, my heels digging into the mattress while the slippery sounds of me
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I take a deep breath through my nose when the smell of her deliciously tart scent floods my senses again. I cough up a moan. Unable to hold back, I release hot waves of cum onto my stomach and chest, nearly hitting my neck with the extreme force of my release as it pours out of me.
Because this is my abyss. My world. A world where a girl like Montana should beg for death instead of me.
“Use your words, Sigh. This is what you want, what you need. Not me,” I say again. “You wanna fuck my hand?” He nods reluctantly, his body curling into mine, still pinned between me and the tile behind him. “Yeah, I do.” he finally mutters in defeat.
Dipping my hand into his boxers, I grip his firm length, my saliva providing a slippery tunnel for his own personal pleasure as I fist his shaft. He jets his hips into me, and my forehead meets the wall behind him, our legs intertwined, my hips pinning him in place.
“I can’t stop thinking about that video,” he whispers against my neck, his lips feathering over the pulse pounding in my neck. “Those clamps, that rod up inside you while you played? Fuck, you’re bad. So bad.”
Blood rushes to my groin, and I feel the familiar ache of my cock swelling in her presence—this unresolved need to hurt and fuck her at the same time.
