Page 1 of Bleeding Outside the Lines

one

Her tongue darts out,catching the drop of cum that dribbled out of her mouth. She shifts her gaze, and her big brown eyes look up at me from where she kneels on the floor, young and eager. I quickly stuff my cock back into the confines of my pants before it gets any more ideas. Annoyed that my body is still stiff in every other way, I massage my temples. I keep thinking that this is the answer to releasing the cords that wind me up, but all it does is frustrate me more. Apparently, orgasms are not what the doctor ordered.

A lesser man might turn to drugs to scratch the unscratchable itch, but I am not a lesser man. One might say that using women makes me a lesser man, but I dare them to say that to my fucking face. People have died for less.

“Clean up and forget you were in here,” I bark at the girl still kneeling expectantly in front of me. A pout distorts her pretty face, but she doesn’t say a word, pulling at the hem of her skirt as she stands. Her cleavage spills over the neckline of her shirt, and her tits scream at me, begging to be fucked. I huff, disinterestedand push my office door shut behind her, seconds later the electronic lock mechanism beeps. Metal scratches on metal as the deadbolts rotate into place.

Fuck me.I unzip my pants and settle into my chair, my legs propped wide. My dick is hard again, and I grip it tight. My hand glides easily up and down my shaft, still slick with her saliva. What I wouldn’t give to be between her tits right now, my tip grazing her lips with every thrust. I have been insatiable lately. My balls are their own shade of blue, regardless of how many times I get my dick wet. None of these bar bunnies have been enough. But it’s hard to know what’s enough when you don’t know what you crave. I thought it was sex, but based on my escapades recently, I think it’s safe to say that’s just a cover story. A life of dirty money and blurred lines makes it easy to lie to myself.

Pushing my frustration aside, I tighten my grip, desperate for relief. The smell of the bar bunny lingers in the air, sweet and spicy. I picture her big brown eyes looking up at me as I fucked her mouth.

Fuck her eyes. They watered as she took my full length, but she never backed down, never once pulled back. My dick throbs in my hand with every stroke as I think about her hard nipples playing peek-a-boo in her barely-there shirt. I find one of my own nipples beneath my shirt and pinch it to the point of pain.

I'm right on the edge, teetering on that fine line between pleasure and needing more. But more what? I release my grip on my cock.

“Fuck!” My voice booms in the empty room. Rolling my shoulders, I take a deep breath and then fist myself again. I thrust my hips, fucking my hand harder than is usually necessary, and pinch my nipple again. My hand glides up and down my shaft. Up. Down. Tighter. Faster.

Fuck her pouty lips that left a pink lipstick ring on my cock.

Fuck.

A light throbbing starts in my balls before they tighten, and I shoot my load all over my empty desk, continuing to pump my cock until the last drop dribbles down my fist.

It's not until I reach for a towel to clean up that I see the problem. My desk isn’t empty. Right in the middle, now coated in my cum, is a small red envelope that wasn’t there before. I grab the towel out of my desk drawer and make quick work of wiping off my hand and then the envelope without bothering with the desk. Once again, I tuck my cock safely back into the confines of my pants.

I don’t need to see the black wax seal on the back of her signature red envelope to know who it’s from. With a hesitant hand, I grab my knife from my pocket. I stare at my last name, Cross, in neat script on the front of the envelope for what feels like hours.

Who does this bitch think she is? And worse … who had the balls to hire her?

I slide the knife into the envelope, tear it open, and pull out the cream-colored paper. Red filigree adorns the edges, and swirly black script fills the page. A blood-red signature sits at the bottom.

They say she’s a ghost. That she hides among the shadows. Nobody knows what she looks like, yet everyone knows who she is. She’s a master of disguise, with no age and no heart. They say that a letter from her is an instant death sentence. Anger works its way up my spine and settles in my chest. The letter crumples in my tightened fist.

Fuck that dumb bitch.I pull a tablet out of my desk drawer and turn on the video feed for the bar. Sitting directly in front of the camera is the woman who was just on her knees, worshiping my cock. Her tits rest on the bar while her eyes taunt me through the screen.

Her lips are painted a bright shade of red, no longer the sorority girl pink she wore in my office. They lift into a triumphant smile before she plucks the cherry out of her drink and passes it through her freshly painted lips, stem and all.

Determined to catch her before she leaves, I stand, shoving the unread letter in my pocket. I quickly turn the levers to slide the deadbolts out of place before barreling through the door, pulling it closed behind me. I take the stairs two at a time, down to the bar. The stool sits empty; only a knotted cherry stem remains as proof she was ever really there. I don’t know if I want to put a bullet through her skull or spank her ass until she apologizes for not swirling her tongue on my dick like that. I repeat,fuck this bitch.

I scan the rest of the bar, but it’s pointless. She’s gone.

“Move,” I yell, pressing into the crowd of bodies, shoving dancing men and women out of my path. “Get out of my fucking way.”

Above me, strobe lights flash and the bass from the music pounds through me, matching my anger.Motherfucker.I am too far away to catch up with her, the bodies in the bar growing thicker, sweatier, and more defiant. But I continue pushing against the crowd, forcing my way through.

I reach the edge of the dance floor, and there she is, her back to me, standing at the exit.

“Stop her!” I shout to my bouncer, but he must not hear me over the music because he doesn’t move. As if sensing my presence, she turns her head, and her eyes find mine. I’m still too far away. I reach for my gun. I should shoot her between the eyes right here, but I can’t in this crowd of people.

Her fingers touch her red lips, and she blows me a kiss before walking out of my club.

The kiss of death.

I don’t know what’s worse, knowing someone wants you dead and not knowing who it is, or being turned on by the prospect of going toe to toe with the queen herself. The world spins around me, but my feet are planted firmly on the ground. Energy pulses through my veins, and every hair on my arms stands up. Even the colors are brighter. It feels like the ultimate high, like I’m alive for the first time in months. It's ironic, really.

I force myself to move. I have things to accomplish. I cannot stand here while she’s out there. I have a bitch to kill. I am Cassius fucking Cross. I destroy anyone who threatens me. I’ve worked too hard and too long to get here. I push bodies out of my way, voices of protest following in my wake.

Again, I take the stairs two at a time, my long legs barely straining. The door to my office is open, which is impossible because I know I fucking closed it.

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