Page 19 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
He’s mad, but … he has his dick in his hand? What the hell? I look down at it and then back up to his face. He frowns at me, turning his head away and closing his eyes. He does not stop jerking himself off.
“I assume you came here to get your car back?” I query, and even though his eyes are closed and he’s fisting his shaft, he laughs.
“You’re not as smart as you think you are, Scarlett Force.” Widow continues with what he’s doing, as if he doesn’t care that I’m watching him. Well, if he’s gonna be like that … I hold my ground, crossing my arms under my breasts.
When he realizes that I’m not leaving, he opens his eyes and curls his lip up at me.
“Get the fuck out of here. How dare you.”
I blink back at him in shock.
Wow.
“Guess all those years in juvie have really messed with your head, huh?” I ask, and when I see him go for his knife, I’ve already got mine out. “Don’t mess with me, Adrian.”
That gives him pause, one hand still wrapped around his dick, the other halfway down his thigh, going for the knife in his boot. He relaxes that arm and squeezes himself in a tight fist. I cannot help my gaze from wandering down and trying to figure out who has a bigger cock: Bohnes or Widow.
It’d be close; I don’t think I could decide unless they were side by side.
My eyes lift back to his face as he flicks his chin in the direction of the track, that ugly frown still tracing his mouth.
“Go see if you can win against a Shelby Cobra with your stolen ride. All my best.” He looks away from me, his lip curling up even further in distaste. And then he proceeds to finish himself while I stand there and watch. He actually has a fucking handkerchief in his pocket that he uses to catch his cum and clean himself off with.
Then he looks at me, just stares at me and … smiles.
“Sorry to say, I won’t be sticking around to see who wins. Best of luck.” And then Widow’s turning away and stalking off like he didn’t just masturbate in front of me. I try to pretend like my body has no reaction to the idea, that I wasn’t standing here with liquid pooling between my thighs, my inner muscles quivering.
“Shit.” I bite my thumbnail and turn away, heading quickly back to the track in time to see Nisha pacing and biting her own nails—which she never does unless she’s stressed and mimicking me.
“Queen, what the fuck?” she growls at me, grabbing me by the arm and yanking me close. Her eyes go straight to my neck. I’ve been careful about this before; I haven’t let Bohnes mark me in any way. But tonight …
I’m off my game.
With Widow and the stolen car.
With Bohnes and the sex.
With Aspen Kelly, the horrible mayor’s son and his disturbing smile.
Now, for the first time ever, I’m late.
Almost late.
I’m almost late.
“I’ve got this, Nisha, don’t worry so much,” I say, trying to wave her off. Her eyes widen, but she knows better than to bring up my hickeys right about now. I slide into the seat of Widow’s Stingray, grab my rubber gloves, and then reach down so that I can hotwire the damn thing.
“Sure,” she says, her voice acidic. “Get your butt down to the track and don’t embarrass me tonight.” Nisha slams the door as I curse her name, getting the engine to turn over with a gentle purr. I toss the gloves aside and tape the wires. Damn, I’m an idiot sometimes. I should’ve told Nisha about Bohnes when I had the chance.
She’s bound to be furious with me.
I take the car down and around to the starting line. It’s nothing more than a white line that we spray-paint over every time it gets dull. But it works. Also, our flag was bought and paid for with sex. One of the guys who frequents the track fucked a girl at a sporting goods store and got it for free.
Aspen’s already waiting for me, his Cobra poised at the starting line.
I pull up beside him, his left arm resting casually on his open window as he glances over at me.
I shouldn’t do it. I shouldn’t, but I do.
I roll my window down.
“I can’t wait to fuck you raw tonight,” he says, his form of polite camaraderie, apparently. Sounds about right for Prescott. The sound of his voice makes my stomach roil with nausea.
“Can’t wait to spend your sucker money,” I agree with a nod of my head, reaching across the seat to roll the manual window back up. With my hands on the wheel, I relax into the leather seat, Widow’s scent wafting around me. I try and fail not to think of his dick, the purplish veins in his shaft, the way he teased his foreskin back with his thumb.
