Badlands (2 page)

“You believed him?”

Zeth gives me a scathing look. “Of course not.”

“And you just let him go?”

“I was feeling magnanimous, okay? I don’t have to murder everyone I meet, do I? Do
you
murder everyone who pisses
you
off?”

“No one pisses me off, man. I am unflappable.”

He seems to think about this for a moment. I think he’s going to disagree with me but he shrugs his shoulders, agreeing. “Don’t forget about Fresco’s,” he says.

“Fresco’s?”

“That shitty café house on the other side of town. That time that hipster spilled his coffee all down your shirt and you throat-punched him.”

“That wasn’t a shirt, man. That was
Armani
.”

Zeth snorts. The guy could give two shits about what he wears, so long as it’s dark so he can hide in the shadows and it’s not covered in blood. Me, on the other hand…I have expensive tastes. I like the fit of a well-tailored suit. I love the feel of a beautiful shirt against my skin. And if someone spills drip coffee down that six hundred dollar shirt, they’re going to get my knuckles in their larynx. That’s just how it goes.
 

The girl on the floor stirs. She cracks one eye and stares up at us blearily. Her lips are a soft, delicate color of pink—the color of the inside of a shell you might find washed up on a beach. “Who the fuck is he?” she whispers. Not as delicate as her appearance might suggest, then.
 

“He’s your new best friend,” Zeth rumbles. “You and he are gonna be glued together like white on rice.”

“Isn’t that a little racist? He’s not exactly white, is he?”

I grin, fighting the urge to laugh out loud. Zeth sucks in a deep breath and holds it in his chest, glaring at the girl lying on the floor. He’s not used to this. Not used to talking to girls. His interactions with the fairer sex usually requires few words.
 
And the words that
are
exchanged are usually commands.
 

On your knees.

Open your mouth.

Suck.
 

He’s never forceful, of course. He never needs to be. The well-heeled, rich and beautiful women of this city whisper about his gatherings in breathy excitement at their social mixers. They fall over themselves to bow down at his feet. It really is quite something to watch. And I
have
watched. I’ve observed it all. I’ve participated, too. No point standing on the sidelines, after all.
 

I hold out my hand to the fragile, tiny woman sprawled out on the kitchen floor. “No. I’m not white. I’m just me.
Michael
. And you are?”

She stares at my hand like she’s waiting for me to reach out and strike her any second. When I don’t, she slowly accepts my assistance and gets to her feet. “Lacey. My name is Lacey.”

“Pleasure to meet you, then.”

Zeth shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, watching us. He clears his throat, scratches the back of his head, and then he turns and walks away. Lacey tilts her head to the side and makes a quiet
hmmm
sound at the back of her throat.
 

“Don’t worry,” I say. “He’s nowhere near as scary as he seems. He’s just…”

“Fucked up. It’s okay. I’m fucked up, too.” She looks up at me then, blonde hair sticking out at crazy angles, and a slow smile spreads across her face. “How about you? Are you fucked up, Michael?”

“But of course.” I return her smile, wondering at the gentle pain that flickers in her pale blue eyes. “The most interesting people are, aren’t they?”

She nods. “Shall we be friends then?”

“I’d like that very much.”

TWO

“Where have you been, baby? I’ve been waiting for hours.” Sara’s sulking when I let myself into her apartment. Her husband, Cameron, is out of town on business, and she’s the most highly sexed person I’ve ever met in my life. She needs fucking at least twice a day otherwise she ends up strung tight as a violin and liable to explode at the drop of a fucking hat.
 

The sound of some serious, hard-core porn fills the apartment—some woman making gagging sounds, interspersed with breathless moans of pleasure. A voice echoes out of the speakers mounted on the walls in all four corners of Sara’s living room, and I recognize it straight away: it’s Cameron.
 

‘
That’s it, baby. Mmm, yeah, that’s right. You like it? You like my dick in your mouth while he fucks you?’

So it’s not just porn, then. It’s one of ours. Both Sara and Cameron love to make movies. I don’t mind so much, as long as my face isn’t in any of them. Sure enough, when I check out the huge TV screen mounted on the wall, my cock is furiously thrusting into Sara’s pussy, larger than life and harder than hell. Cameron must have been in charge of the camera. The shot pulls back and then I’m watching Sara’s glossy red lips wrap around Cam’s dick, sliding up and down his length.
 

I’m not normally into this stuff—I’m more of a doer than a watcher—but today, walking into the apartment to find Sara in her silk dressing gown, smelling like sex, smelling like she’s already made herself come twice, and seeing how wet her pussy was the last time I fucked her on the TV, I’m finding that I want to watch some more. First, I have a routine to follow, though. I slip my arms out of my suit blazer, grinning at the red-headed woman pouting at me from her leather couch.
 

“Answer me,” she says. “You were supposed to be here at eleven. That was two hours ago. My pussy’s so sensitive now.”

“I had a work thing to deal with, sugar. I’m here now, though. And don’t worry…I’ve got something that’ll make you feel better.”

I met Sara and Cameron at one of Zee’s parties. Cameron loves sharing his woman. Loves watching her get fucked. Loves being in her ass while another guy’s in her pussy. She loves it, too. They’re the most deviant couple I’ve ever encountered, and I love
that
. The more fucked up, kinky, dark or downright naughty the sex is, the happier I am. There’s very little I won’t do. I’ve been with guys. I’ve been with girls. I’ve been with both at the same time more often than I can count. These days, I tend to stick to Sara and Cameron, though. Makes life simpler, and they don’t ask questions about what I do or where I am. Most of the time, anyway. Sara only asks when I keep her waiting and she’s climbing the walls.
 

“Cameron left a cigar for you on the counter,” she tells me as I loosen the top button of my shirt. She slowly runs her hands over the insides of her thighs, and the silk material of her robe slips away from her tanned, long legs, exposing her pussy. “You want to Monica Lewinski me with it, baby? I always had a bit of thing for Bill Clinton when I was a teenager.”

I arch an eyebrow at her, smirking. “Baby, I will give you a presidential fucking any day of the week. I’d rather smoke the cigar later, though.”

She grins wickedly, slowly trailing her fingers down her body, until the tips of her index finger and her middle finger are hovering over her neat, pink little pussy. She’s a master at making herself come. She can bring herself to climax in under two minutes if she really wants to. It brings me great satisfaction to know I can get her there quicker, though, especially if I’m using my tongue.

I’m stepping out of my shoes, out of my pants, out of my boxers, and in no time I’m completely naked and stroking my increasingly hard cock as Sara rubs her clit, grinding her hips up into her own hand. She oozes sex. She knows she’s beautiful, knows she’s every man’s wet dream, and she owns it, which makes her ten times sexier. I can’t get enough of her.
“Come on then, baby. Kiss me better,” she purrs.
 

I retrieve a small, silver vial from the pocket of my pants, and then I pad barefoot across the room, buzzing with the knowledge that this is going to feel fucking amazing. Sara knows what’s in my hand, and her eyes are already rolling back into her head at the thought of what comes next. Dropping to my knees, I’ve already began unscrewing the vial. I tap a tiny amount of the white powder inside out onto my fingers and then I slowly, slowly, slowly start to rub it into Sara’s pussy.
 

I’m not really into drugs. Coke’s pretty fucking nasty—I’d sure as hell never put it up my nose—but it does have its uses from time to time. For starters, when you put it on a girl’s pussy, it’s a total game changer. She’ll be writhing and screaming in a heartbeat. She’ll come over and over again until she’s begging you to come, to stop so
she
can stop, except you can’t because it’s also had the added effect of numbing the ever loving shit out of your cock and you can fuck forever like goddamn superman.

It’s not my habit to put something on a woman before I’m going to eat her pussy, but I’m feeling a little wound tight myself today. Disposing of dead bodies and meeting surprise sisters has that effect on me. Sara’s whole body is trembling by the time I stop massaging her clit with my fingers and I use my tongue instead.
 

The coke hits me hard and fast, mixed in with the sweet taste of her pussy. It’s addicting, makes my head spin. My dick was already hard, but it goes from erect to rock solid in the time it takes for my heart to pump the drug around my body once, twice, three times.

My pulse is deafening in my ears as I lick and suck at her, fire racing through me, surging over and over again, as I feel good, then great, then amazing. When I slide my fingers inside her pussy, stroking them up against her g-spot in a
come here
motion, I’m fucking flying.
 

Sara’s panting like a wild animal, head hanging off the side of the sofa, arms thrown up over her head as she loses herself in the drugs and the sensation of me laving at her perfect pussy. Her robe has slipped away to reveal her small, pink nipples that are already drawn into tight little buds. She has fantastic breasts. I reach up and knead the supple flesh, pinching and rolling her nipples at the same time I lick her. She begins to hyperventilate, the muscles in her legs shaking as the tension builds in her body.
 

She comes, and when she does she floods my mouth with the sweet tasting evidence of her orgasm. She grinds her pussy up into my mouth, fingernails suddenly digging into the skin of my back, and a wall of heat sears through me making my head spin. I love this. I love making her come. It’s possibly my favorite pastime.
 

She makes soft moaning sounds as I continue to stroke her swollen clit with my tongue, and soon she’s beginning to pant once more. I don’t make her come with my mouth again, though. Instead, I pull back and grab hold of her underneath her thighs, pulling her roughly toward me.
 

The seductive, hazy look she gives me as I slide my hard cock inside her has me slamming myself into her really hard. She loves it like this—as hard as you can give it. She loves to feel like she’s riding a force of nature, and that’s what I am right now: unstoppable, untameable, insatiable. She screams as she comes for a second time. When I spin her around onto all fours and slip my fingers inside her ass, her voice is hoarse as she comes for a third time.
 

I feel awesome as I continue to fuck her, but I know I’m not going to come. The drugs won’t let me. I pull out eventually, ready to concede, ready to go pour myself a whiskey and go smoke that cigar, but Sara has other ideas.
 

“Where do you think you’re going, baby? You’re not done.”

I laugh, because she has no idea how numb my dick is at this particular moment in time, but I stop laughing when she drops to her knees and begins to suck. A blowjob from Sara is a religious experience. She’s incredible. The things she can do with her tongue would make a porn star blush.

Turns out I was wrong. I
can
come. After four minutes with my cock in her mouth, my hands are buried in Sara’s hair and I’m thrusting deep into her throat, feeling like my spine is about to snap as I’m tipping my head back and roaring.
 

She. Is. Amazing.

I can still remember the first time she made me come like this. Cameron was sitting on the very sofa we’re sprawled out over, and I was lying on my back while Sara kneeled over me, running her wet, delicate tongue around the tip of my cock. It should have felt weird having her husband watch us. I’m sure some people would have been highly freaked out. Not me, though. I was so turned on by the experience that she made me come twice in five minutes.
 

Sara sits back onto her heels, the silk of her robe now pooled around her on the floor, her auburn hair tumbling loose over her shoulders, and she looks so fucking beautiful I could weep. “Was that good, baby?” she whispers.
 

I nod, running my fingers over the line of her jaw, angling her head back so that she’s looking up at me with those big blue eyes of hers. “Yes. Yes, it was. You’re always so good.”

She grins up at me like the cat that got the cream; being praised is one of Sara’s favorite things. I’m sure having two guys on hand to tell her how beautiful and sexy she is couldn’t be more perfect as far as she’s concerned.
 

“Are you sleeping here, baby?” she asks. She’s got the fluffy, fuzzy, blissed out look on her face that means she’ll be ready to pass out soon. I have to say I’m a little surprised by her question, though.
 

“Well, that’s a first. I can’t ever remember being asked to spend the night before. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” I tease.
 

She gathers her hair into a pony tail, tying it back out of her face, and then sticks her tongue out at me. “Don’t make a big deal out of it, Michael. I just…I thought it would be nice, y’know. To…” She shrugs.
 

“Snuggle?” I try not to laugh.
 

“Fuck you, asshole. I do not snuggle.”

“Not even with Cameron?”

“Especially not with Cameron.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve met my husband. If he’s in contact with another human being’s skin, he has to fuck them, regardless of how many times he’s already come and regardless of how you beg and plead with him to let you sleep.”