Doesn’t make it right, nor does it justify it. But I can't make myself regret tasting something so fucking sweet—so fucking perfect. Even if she didn’t want to want it. Because that’s what that was.
She knew I was going to follow through with my threat if she told me to fuck off again, and she kept doing it anyways. And that tells me that my little mouse can’t control how she really feels. This means that whatever she feels, it’s fucking addicting.
She fought me so hard initially, her anger and ire only turning my blood to molten lava. The harder she fought me, the harder my cock fought against the confines of my jeans.
I wanted so badly to release the zipper and plunge myself deep inside that sweet little pussy. I was close—too fucking close to doing it. Once those cries of pleasure reached my ears, and she gripped me in her hold, shamelessly grinding against my face—I was nearly done for.
The only thing that stopped me was the look on her face.
When she was coming on my face, she was unashamed. But as soon as the orgasm drained from her body and the kiss was no longer consuming us, she felt nothing but shame.
It’s going to take time, I remind myself.
I crack my neck, releasing a shuddering breath.
I’m sitting in my Mustang, my dick still painfully pressed against my zipper. Just as I decide to say fuck it—jacking off in a car is the least of my sins and wouldn’t be the first fucking time—my phone blares in the console next to me.
I curl my hand into a tight fist, my muscles straining as I fight the overwhelming urge to bash it into the fucking window.
I don’t think I’ve had blue balls like this since high school when Sarah Forton jacked me off in the locker room. It was the first time a girl touched my dick, and I didn’t even get to finish because Coach walked in before I could shoot my load off on her pretty tits.
I snatch up the phone and bring it to my ear without even looking.
“Yeah?” I snap, my frustration boiling to dangerous levels.
“Didn’t get laid tonight?” Jay croons through the phone, his voice laced with mocking amusement.
I crack my neck again, growling when my muscles don’t pop and give me any relief.
“Jay,” I growl.
I refuse to touch my dick while on the phone with him. As much as I need to lessen the pressure, Jay’s voice would make me feel sick.
“Satan’s Affair is coming to town,” he starts. I open my mouth—gearing up to ask him why the fuck that would matter to me.
“And I got confirmation there’re tickets with four little birdy’s names on them,” he continues. I snap my mouth shut.
“Why would they go there?” I ask, completely confused why four grown-ass men would go to a haunted fair.
“Prime girls for the pickin’， my friend. And now there’s a ticket with your name on it.”
I sigh. “When?”
“Three weeks from now. Plenty of time to go to the clubs a few times and start showing that pretty face of yours.”
Sighing again, I pluck the pack of cigarettes from the console, bring it to my mouth, and slide out a cigarette with my teeth.
I grab my lighter and flick the flame, inhaling deeply as the cherry blares red.
“You’re smoking, aren’t you?” Jay says. I offer a noncommittal confirmation as I roll down my window and blow out smoke.
The raging hard-on is gone, but my dick still hurts.
“You said you were going to quit,” he whines. “Do you know how many chemicals are in that? According to the—”
“Jay,” I snap, cutting off his tangent. If I let it go on, he’d list off the ingredients in a cigarette like he’s listing off all the components in the periodic table.
Nobody. Fucking. Cares.
He sighs like an angry teenager on their period. “Whatever,” he mumbles.
“Update me if anything else comes up,” I say before clicking off the phone.
I drag in another inhale of smoke and turn my attention to my laptop.
The inside of my Mustang is decked out in gadgets. A laptop sits on a platform, a mechanical arm attached to the dash so I can push and pull it towards me for convenience. Dash cams, an alert system for law enforcement, and other illegal shit decorate the interior of my car.
I pull the laptop towards me and fire it on. The bright screen stabs at my sensitive eyes. Squinting against the light, I pull up my programs and get to work.
In pure curiosity, I want to know who is attending this haunted fair.
It comes to town every single year, and I’ve never bothered to go. Haunted houses don’t scare me. Not when I see true horror every day.