Bait(27)

I find myself laughing, high on relief and euphoria and the crazy urge to turn the car back around and do it all again.

My thighs are slippery and my knees are stinging. My toes feel cold and clumsy against the pedals and my hair is a tangled mess. And as far as my pussy goes, I’m a burning mess down there.

But it doesn’t matter.

None of it matters.

I did it.

I met the monster and came out the other side.

I met the monster and I loved it. He was everything I dreamed and more.

He was everything, everything, EVERYTHING.

I wish I had someone to blurt it all out to, even just so they could call me crazy. I wish I had somewhere to scream out my overflowing endorphins.

I have neither, so it’s just me and my tumble of thoughts and the memory of his brutal touch against my skin. Inside me.

I was reckless. Irresponsible. Asking for trouble. Crazy as all living fuck.

But the risk paid off.

Fuck, how it paid off.

I indicate into a layby once Malvern is behind me and turn on the interior light to check out my injuries. Grazed knees, a scuff on my palm. Filthy feet. I think I’ve cut my heel, too.

Even tugging my skirt up my thighs makes me wince. Ow, fucking ow.

This is going to hurt tomorrow. Bad.

Insanely enough that feels like a good thing, the memory worth clinging onto just as long as I can. It was really real. More real than anything I’ve ever done.

I’m brave now, so much braver than I was back there. Brave enough that I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

And then it hits me like a punch in the ribs.

I won’t be doing this again in a heartbeat. Or ever.

I don’t have the slightest idea how to contact him again if I wanted to. Wouldn’t recognise him in a line-up. I don’t even know his name.

I force that unwelcome thought aside for the time being. Why ruin a great experience with practicalities? It’s not as if they’ve worried me so far.

No. Now’s the time to revel in the beautiful aftermath.

My demons are running free, dancing with the devil on my shoulder. My sensibilities are long put to bed, and in their place is a wildness I don’t yet recognise as me, but I want to.

I hope this wildness stays. This freedom stays.

I want to feel this high forever.

And before I’m even safely back across the Herefordshire border I’m already praying I’ll see the monster again.





Phoenix



I locate one of Abigail’s shoes under a truck. The other is upturned on the gravel nearby.

I find her torn scrap of knickers on the ground by the shutter doors. The discovery makes my cock twitch all over again.

I stuff the mementos in my glove box for safekeeping, then open up the warehouse to clear the security footage before anyone else finds it first.

She’ll never have any idea that we were playing on my turf. Never know how meticulously I planned this.

It’s almost a shame. Almost.

I watch the recording through before I hit erase. Just as I planned, there isn’t so much to see from that angle, just me and a figure in my arms before I slam her into the shadows.

It’s still enough to ensure I have my dick in my hand before the recording is done. I can smell her on me. Taste her on my fingers.

I can still feel her pussy around my cock as she strained to take me.

And I’m wanting more.

I’m already wanting fucking more.

One-time-only never felt so tragic as it does right now.

I hit delete and shove my dick back in my pants before I go any further with this insanity.

It’s done. Finished. One filthy splurge to fulfil a stranger’s fantasy and nothing more. I just hope it was everything she was hoping for.

I lock up and head home. It’s both very late and very early when I slide my key into the porch lock and step inside.

My jeans are filthy on the knees, my cock is slick with everything she had to give me. I feel gloriously fucking filthy and that’s enough to bring a smile to my lips.

A big fucking smile.

Crazy girl. She really is a fucking crazy girl.

I’m heading upstairs for a shower and bed when I notice the bottle on the coffee table. It stops me in my tracks.

No glasses, just the bottle of vintage scotch from our drinks cabinet. My fucking finest.

Serena doesn’t drink scotch.

No sign of a glass, which means some asshole was necking it straight from the bottle. But that surprises me none.

I find an ashtray outside the back door. Five butts mashed inside.

Well, fuck.

My first fucking night away from this place since Mariana passed and that sonofabitch comes calling. Waltzing in like he’s still fucking welcome here.

I take a breath before I clear the cigarette butts into the trash and put the scotch back where it belongs. I take another as my pulse races and the anger spits in my gut.

I’m fierce in the shower, scrubbing away every trace of my beautiful stranger while I simmer at the thought of the motherfucker who used to be my brother being loose in my fucking house.