Page 25 of Vile Bastards
“Widow, move the coffee table.”
As with Bohnes, my command works (pro tip: fuckboys will often perform tricks for treats); Widow ends up grabbing the table and moving it out of the way, leaving a perfectly sized fuckpad right there in the middle of my grandmother’s living room. I bet it’ll leave rug burns on my ass.
I want it to.
I want to hurt a little bit. Mostly, I want to feel really, really good. I want every square inch of my body to be lit up with flames. I want to burn. I want to know that I’m still alive after launching a million-dollar Lambo into an ice-cold river.
Death might be a static state, but sometimes, murder moves.
I might not have fallen into the great sleep, but that doesn’t mean it’s over.
No, the mayor, the mob … I imagine I’m on the hit lists of multiple people at this point.
Bohnes shoves my sweatpants down, clamps a hand over my mouth and whispers in my ear through gritted teeth.
“You’re so incredibly loud, my sweet thing.” He slides his fingers down, gathering glistening nectar on his fingertips, and then trails them back up to my clit. Bohnes knows exactly how I like it. Somehow, since the very first time we fucked and I covered his dick with virgin blood, took his first virgin load, he’s known exactly how I like it.
I arch my back and lift my arms up, palms on either side of his face as my head tucks beneath his chin. I can see him grinning like the skeletal creature that he is as he works that nub with expert movements. He slides the hood back but doesn’t touch the ultra-sensitive bundle of nerves that it encases. Just the air is enough to make it tingle.
“Why don’t you jack yourself off again, the way you did with the Grove boy, hmm?” Bohnes challenges, his whisper mixing with and then becoming part of the living room’s shadows. I don’t care what the boys do as far as sorting out their dynamic as long as neither dies, and they both pleasure me.
Those are my only requirements.
“I recognize that I fucked up by breaking track rules, but I’m not your bitch boy. You’re not my boss. I’m willing to work with you, rather than against you, but if you keep pushing me, I’m liable to snap.” Widow sits down in the armchair and undoes his pants. He huffs out a breath, and our eyes meet.
There’s so much unexplored tension between us that it hits me like a brick.
I gasp and my knees go weak, but Bohnes keeps me upright with his hand on my cunt, cupping me for support, and using his thumb to pet and tease. It’s incredibly sexy to me that he knows all the right places to touch, how much pressure to exert, when he needs more lubricant.
I suppose it all goes back to that natural intuitiveness of his.
While he’s stroking me, Bohnes grinds his erection against my lower back and alternately kisses, bites, and sucks at my throat, marking me with territorial hostility.
Widow ignores him, his gaze focused completely and wholly on me. He leans back in the chair and grips the base of his thick shaft in tight fingers, causing the prominent veins along the length of him to stand out in sharp relief. With a punishing grip, he drags his fist up to the head, releases himself, and then starts again at the base. It’s slow, intense, and completely mesmerizing.
The clock on the wall ticks the seconds past like a metronome, just that single sound paired up with the hum of the refrigerator. Everything else is quiet; everyone else is asleep.
Bohnes adjusts his hand, using the heel of it to press hard and rub up all along the length of me, grinding it into my clit and making it damn near impossible to stay quiet. Small sounds escape me, muffled by his palm across my lips, and tears prick my eyes.
He slides that hand down, banding his arm around my rib cage and then capturing one of my breasts in long, pale fingers inked with bones. He squeezes and kneads the heavy weight as my orgasm—my very first one in this new life I’ve been given—crests and breaks, drowning me in pleasure.
My legs buckle and Bohnes follows me to the ground, releasing me as I pant and quiver, and then helping me onto my hands and knees. I’m so close to Widow’s cock, just a handspan away really.
I crawl forward as Bohnes rustles behind me, and then he’s impaling me on his cock before my body’s even fully recovered. I’m still contracting and gasping, and then he’s inside of me, and it’s him that I’m squeezing around, milking and stroking with my cunt.
My right hand grasps the base of Widow’s shaft, and he adjusts his own grip from his dick to my hair, pulling me forward slightly so that I’m able to take him fully into my mouth. As if in retaliation, Bohnes grips my hips with punishing fingers and starts to fuck, fast and furious, burying himself balls-deep.
