Page 105 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
Bohnes reaches out to change the station, and I grab his wrist, staring at the anatomically correct bone tattoos on the back of his hand and not his face. There’s no denying the charge between us, even with just the smallest amount of contact between my fingertips and his wrist. I can feel his pulse, even and slow despite his obvious anger.
“We needed a neighborhood like that here, with tree-lined streets, all that old ivy neatly trimmed and kept at ground-level. There was a magic to that area, you know? A hope for something better.
We sure as shit didn’t need a slick-ass East Coast turned So Cal mayor like Kelly to sweep in and save us from ourselves. You say you’re putting up affordable housing complexes, huh? Well, a lot of those families in those homes were generational. You, and your best buddy from Archer Realty, are destroying the integrity of this neighborhood and this city one steel and glass monstrosity at a time.
We need opportunities and education in Prescott, not multi-million-dollar development deals under the name of a ‘housing shortage’. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Mayor Kelly. Oh, and get this? His son, Aspen Kelly, total d-bag. We approached him for an interview last week and he spit in my co-host’s face.”
Kellin shoves my hand aside without warning and switches the radio off.
Next thing I know, he’s grabbing my arm and yanking me over to straddle his lap, my spine pressing uncomfortably tight against the steering wheel. He’s hard, too. I can feel him beneath me in a way that’s criminal.
I make myself look into his eyes, this pale gray-blue that’s almost white. A darker ring of sapphire frames his irises, offering up the slimmest circle of contrast between them and the surrounding whites. His pupils, however, are fully dilated at the moment and consuming most of that ethereal color.
“I cannot believe you let Ash Kelly”—Bohnes practically hisses out the name, making it clear that he heard everything—“mount you on the hood of his car like that.”
“Are you jealous?” I query back, cocking my head to one side. I can’t forget the way Bohnes held those perv’s fingers out to me like an offering. It was romantic, yes, but I don’t know how many times I need to say it: I don’t want romance.
It isn’t sex and fuckbuddies and fuckboys that destroy people like Lemon or my mother or my aunt—it’s love and romance. So, I can deal with the sex, but I don’t want anything more than that. I don’t want to fill all the cracks in my psyche with damaged men and watch myself get blown apart from the inside out.
It’s a pretty common fate for a lot of Prescott locals.
More often for women than men, but I have seen my uncle get his life turned upside down by a drug-addicted bitch once.
Bohnes laughs at me, the sound muted and disturbed in the quiet confines of his car. Why did I climb in here with him again? Oh, that’s right. Because I’m not afraid of him. I’m not afraid of anyone.
“Am I jealous? I cut off a man’s fingers for daring to touch you on the dance floor. You think I won’t do worse to the precious, little mayor’s son?” He asks this in a conversational tone which is either extremely worrisome … or extremely encouraging; I’m not sure which to be honest.
“Want to help me kill his brother?” I ask, and that gives Bohnes pause. He peers at me with slightly narrowed eyes. “Ash Kelly.”
Now his eyes shift to the side, out the driver’s side window, and he thinks for a long moment.
“I’d love to kill Ash Kelly,” he agrees before flicking them back to my face. “But first …” Bohnes reaches down to unbutton his jeans, freeing his hard cock into the narrow space between our bodies. “I want you to soak my dick the way you definitely didn’t soak his.”
I purse my lips, but my hand is already sliding down to stroke and tease him, my thumb rubbing the pearly drip of pre-cum into his head as he groans and flicks his tongue against the edge of his lips.
“Let’s talk price,” I start, but he just laughs at me and then takes advantage of the fact that, while I put my tits back into my bra, I didn’t button up my shirt. Bohnes yanks the cups down the same way Aspen did, digging his fingers into the soft, round weights as I bite my lower lip and moan.
“No. I won’t talk price with you right now. You already have a debt that needs to be paid.” Bohnes releases my breasts and then pushes me off of him and into the passenger seat before taking his cock into his own hand and making this tight, rapid corkscrew motion with his fist. He watches me kick my wedges off, slip out of my cigarette pants, and then he turns so that he can stretch his legs out on the bench seat in my direction.
