Page 56 of Vile Bastards
He captures my face in his hand, shoving his tongue down my throat and jerking on my left thigh strap as he drives forward. He drops my hips just off the edge of the altar, using the unforgiving stone so that he can fuck me hard enough that I feel him hitting the end of me.
Nightmare (noun): a boy who dedicates himself fully to a girl, who will kill for her, die for her, fight for her, even if she forgets he exists, even if he blends into the shadows, even if he’s remembered so little and so infrequently that she isn’t sure if he’s a dream or a real boy or … Alternate evolution from the typical fuckboy-cum-boyfriend-cum-fiancé-cum-husband route. More permanent. A forever sort of thing.
Bohnes kisses the life out of me, pounding into me so hard that the rug burn on my ass pales in comparison to the bruises I’m about to end up with. And yet, I rock forward against him, encouraging him even as he strips my borrowed hoodie off and tosses it aside. He yanks the straps of my dress down, freeing my tits, and then he holds me with his fingers curled in the thigh straps. I lean back on my palms, arching my back, letting my head fall so that my wet hair pools on the stone surface of the altar.
The climax hits me like a punch to the throat, and then I’m screaming but it’s okay because it’s trapped inside the mausoleum with us, echoing off the stone. Bohnes bites down hard on one of my nipples as I clench and contract around him, drawing the hot seed from his balls and into me. He thrusts with wet, fast pumps, and finishes with a growl of his own.
“Nightmare,” he murmurs, and then he collects me up and bundles me back to the car.
It’s the last part of the night that I remember.
One moment, I’m cold and wet and my lungs are burning; I see white light and Lemon is there with Aspen looming over her, cold and cruel but beautiful because he resembles Ash Kelly, the sad, sick rich boy with the fucked-up heart.
I throw myself into the waking world with a small gasp, emerging into pure, unbroken blackness, and then Bohnes is opening his bedroom door and I see him standing there in his usual garb, a hoodie with sweat shorts and slip-on shoes with Ouija boards on the toes.
“Nightmare?” he asks, and then he chuckles, and I frown, immediately regretting letting the moonlight and the rain and probably the Jack Daniel’s cloud my mind. Actually, I blame my pussy. She’s dick drunk and getting sloppy. Thanks for having my back, kitty cat, I think as I put my legs over the edge of the bed, sucking in an involuntary gasp at how sore I am. “Is my cock too big, princess?”
“If you push me, I’ll be forced to remind you why I’m the queen of Prescott High.” I stand up and stretch, realizing as I do that I’m no longer wearing my dress. I vaguely remember zombie-crawling from the Chevelle and donning this oversized t-shirt and boxers.
Right.
Still wearin’ those fuckin’ thigh straps though.
“Where’s the threat there? What are you going to do, cut off my giant dick? The one you loved so much that you got me a commemorative candle?” He turns and points toward said candle, and I sigh. He’s holding a knife in his hand and skinning—wait for it—a cucumber.
Ah, not a rapist’s penis or something equally interesting. Too bad, so sad.
“Thank fuck my grandma worked late last night,” I mumble, rubbing at my face and joining Bohnes as he returns to the table. There’s a bowl of paper-thin cucumber ribbons. As I watch, he continues to peel the one in his hand.
“What are you doing?” I ask him, and he offers up a private smile from inside his hood. I reach out and flick it off his ghost-white hair so that I can see him better. He’s got his liner on, those charcoal smudges beneath his eyes. Back to normal, as if last night never happened.
“Practicing.” He drops that word with ominous intent and continues to peel. “Also, making you something to eat. We have big business to deal with today. Your insistence on keeping all of these fuckboys alive means we have extra work to do.” He pauses to look up at me, affecting a comically pouty moue. “Are you certain you don’t want to deliver Ash Kelly to the mob? It’d be a nice trade, don’t you think? He could prove his love to you by confessing to the murder of Pavel Borisov.”
“I’m no longer listening to anything you have to say.” I turn and glance up at the bulldozer/army tank. Bohnes has done more work on it since I was last here, and I can’t help but notice the long barrel that protrudes from the front. Huh. “As my Nightmare, you understand that you can’t commit suicidal acts without permission?”
