Page 67 of Vile Bastards
He knows he’ll get a swift kick in the balls that’ll lodge his testes in his throat.
Widow turns slowly, so very slowly, to look back at me.
He blinks once, twice, and then this wave washes over him, causing his skin to ripple, his eyes to close. He shudders, and then flicks that amber gaze open. His hands end up on my shoulders, and he shoves me to my knees in front of him.
I could resist. I know how to get out of a situation like this. Also, I have my knife on me (courtesy of Officer Balls-for-Brains), so if I really wanted to, I could turn Widow into a eunuch pretty damn quick.
But that’s not what I want to do.
I want a glimpse into all of the carnal fantasies he’s entertaining, the ones that he believes make him a monster. Prove it, Widow. Fucking prove it.
One hand fists in my hair while the other tears open the button on his jeans.
Alexei claimed he had no style; Widow agreed. I don’t. The Sherpa denim jacket over the gray hoodie, the loose-fit, blue-gray soft jeans with the lace-up brown boots. Bad boy grunge chic. I want to eat him with a spoon.
“How dare you steal my goddamn car,” he growls out, and then he’s cupping the back of my head and thrusting into my mouth. I open wide, but Widow has a huge cock. All four of these fuckboys are stacked, and I almost wish one or two were a bit more on the average side, so I could have a friggin’ break.
Actually … no I don’t. Who the hell am I kidding? Anything less than a monster dick would preclude them from being fuckboys in the first place. Most especially, even if they fell into that role, they could never be promoted to boyfriend (or Nightmare, as such).
Widow holds the hair at the back of my head in a punishing grip, sliding his cock in until he bumps the back of my throat. His own head falls back, and a muted groan slips out. I’ll be shocked if he can keep the noise down. He’s vocal in bed, and I love it.
“How dare you.” Those three words, muttered, guttural, a challenge.
His fist tightens even more, and then he’s thrusting hard and deep as I rest my hands on his hips, fingers curling against his hot skin. I look up at him from under my lashes as he drops his gaze back to mine, and I see that he’s reveling in this. I’ve pissed him off and challenged him and run circles around him so many times, he’s loving the shift in power.
“My future wife,” he says, using his free hand to shove one of my hands off his hip, then the other. I grip his ass instead as he widens his stance slightly, and then uses both of his hands to hold the back of my head. He pumps into my mouth like it’s my pussy, and I struggle to swallow around the thick, heavy weight of him on my tongue. “Suck harder, Mrs. Lawless.”
I dig my nails into his ass, but that only makes him laugh. The sound is low and thick and dark, and it brings goose bumps up across the surface of my skin. I want more. I want him unleashed and wild, both of us naked, scratching and biting and clawing each other.
I feel my own anger rising to the surface, that heat in my blood that matches up to his. I sneak a finger between his cheeks, intending on shoving it up his ass. Somehow, he seems to know what I’m up to.
Widow pulls back suddenly, and I gasp, reaching up to wipe a bit of drool from my lips, panting for breath. He yanks me up to my feet, grabbing me by the chin and licking the extra saliva from the corners of my lips.
“Don’t you ever touch my ass without permission.” And then he’s turning me around and shoving me against the shelf, yanking my pants down but leaving them as a cage around my thighs. I can barely spread my legs, but it doesn’t matter. I’m so wet that when Widow pushes his slippery cock up against me, he slides right in.
He goes balls-deep in an instant, and I gasp, biting the edge of a book that’s come slightly loose from the shelf, and using it to keep my moans to myself. Widow reaches around me with one hand, slipping his fingers into my mouth. The other he slides down my belly, finding my clit and growling his pleasure into my ear.
“Suck on my fingers; I want to feel the power in your pretty mouth.” He gathers the nectar from between my thighs with his fingertips and uses it to massage my clit, using his whole hand to really get in there, rubbing and teasing and cajoling these tiny, gasping breaths from me. I sink my teeth even further into the spine of the book, but I can’t stay any quieter than this. “This is your everyday for the rest of your life. Do you like it?” he pants, pounding hard, stretching me, offering up a violent slam of his hips so that his balls are pressed tight to my ass. “Was it worth it, popping my fucking cherry?” he asks this last part with such pure snark that I want to murder him.
