Page 8 of The Club

I pull partway into the alley, keeping the headlights off. I don’t want to draw any attention to what’s happening here. I get out and walk toward Rafael.

He straightens at my approach. He sways. At first, I think he’s hurt. Then he laughs, and I realize what should have been obvious a while ago. He’s high as fuck. He’s also smiling like a goddamn psychopath.

He comes at me, knife slashing. I twist out of the way and get my fists up. When he tries again, I block his knife hand and punch him in the face. His head snaps back.

He’s so busy laughing that I’m able to grab his wrist and slam his hand against the brick wall. He drops the knife.

And, fuck, there’s a different one suddenly at my throat. His hand is shaky, so I take the risk of spinning clear. I slam the heel of my hand into the crook of his elbow. I knee him in the side as I take the knife from him.

He falls on his ass. Swaying, staggering, messy as shit, he gets back up. With another fucking knife.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.

He lunges for me. He’s sloppier than he was with his victim, and I’m no dollar-store street thug. I dodge easily and grab his wrist.

This time, I don’t even have the knife out of his grip before he’s got a fresh one in his other hand.

I’m getting pissed, so I get a lot rougher with him. He gets another knee in the side. Then I slam him against the brick wall. He slides partway down it, dazed enough that I get both knives away from him.

He drops to his knees in front of me. The ambient light catches his cheekbones and the line of his jaw as he looks up. Everything slows as I remember him on his knees in the shower, his lips wrapped around my cock as I pumped into him.

“You’re here,” he says in a raspy whisper.

It’s been a day and a half since I fucked his throat so brutally. I bet he’s been hoarse as shit. I’m suddenly very fucking irritated that I didn’t get to hear it.

My cock throbs in my pants as Rafael grips my thighs. Then I feel the sharp pressure of another goddamn knife along the outside of my left leg.

I grab Rafael by his leather jacket and yank him to his feet. I slam him against the wall again. The knife pricks my abs where my jacket has ridden up above my waistband.

I clamp a hand on Rafael’s throat. My other hand grabs his wrist. I wrench his arm up and smash his hand against the wall. The knife clatters to the ground.

“How many fucking knives did you bring?”

I have to loosen my grip on his throat so he can answer. “Six,” he gasps.

I think back. “Where’s the last one?” He’s losing focus, so I shake him. “Answer!”

He doesn’t, so I clamp my hand on his throat again and go hunting. I run my free hand up and down his thighs. When I get to his ass, I squeeze the firm curves. I rub between them. Rafael is trembling from whatever drug is running through his system, but I still detect a shudder at the touch.

I find the last knife at the small of his back. I grab him by the waistband of his pants. Letting go of his throat, I yank him away from the wall, spin him, and slam him into the brick again.

I use my forearm as a bar against the back of his neck, pinning him while I snatch the last knife from its hiding place. I drop it, then I hook my arm around his hips. His cock is a hard ridge against my forearm as I haul him back. When the delicious curve of his ass snugs against me, I grind my dick against it. Waves of lust roll through me.

I can tell he’s done fighting, so I take my arm off the back of his neck. I hook it around his ribcage and reach up to the grip the collar of his jacket.

“You made a real fucking mess here,” I whisper against the back of his neck, eyeing the still form of his victim ten feet away as I breathe in his masculine scent and the lingering traces of his expensive cologne.

I unfasten his pants and reach inside to grip his dick through his briefs. His moan and the feel of his cock in my hand have me shuddering against his back.

I tug his pants and underwear down. It’s not enough to feel him through the cloth. I need my hand on the bare length of what I’ve been picturing ever since he stepped into that shower.

My teeth scrape the back of his neck as my hand curls around his hard, hot, bare cock. I breathe deeply against him as I stroke the stiff length to his flared tip, teasing out a drop of precum. His body tightens. He shudders.

I release his cock to drag my hand around to his ass, sliding my fingers into the cleft of it, seeking the hole that I’m going to fuck.

My fingers find the flared base of a plug in his ass.

“You’re such a dirty little whore,” I rumble against his neck. “So fucking filthy.”

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