Page 50 of The Butcher

I was dead asleep when I felt it, a warm mouth around my dick.

A dream suddenly came to me, Fleur on her knees on the rug around my bed, trying to suck a dick that was far too big for her little mouth. My breathing changed, my body felt tight, and pleasure burned me from the inside out.

I automatically reached for her hair, my hand coming into contact with the softness that I had fisted countless times. I wasaware of the warmth in the room, the sunlight through the crack in the curtains, the tightness in my balls.

My eyes found the strength to open, and I looked down to see her ass in the air, her mouth buried in my crotch. She grabbed my dick by the base to support its weight as she pushed her mouth over my length, barely making it past the halfway mark before she needed to withdraw to take a breath.

I propped my head up on my arm and watched her for a while, watched her eat my dick like a pancake breakfast.

Her eyes flicked up to look at me, mouth full of dick, that fine ass still in the air.

I wanted to come in her mouth, but she turned me on so much that it drove me insane, made me desperate to fuck her as hard as I could. I gripped the back of her head, and I forced her back, watching my dick slip from her lips and flop against my stomach. “Come here.” Instead of directing her on top of me, I guided her beside me and shoved her face into the sheets. Her ass naturally popped up, and I moved behind her, my dick already slick from her tongue. I slipped inside her without resistance because she was more than ready for me.

She gave a cry when I shoved my full girth inside her, her screams muffled against the sheets because I continued to pin her neck down. I pounded into her like a whore from the brothel rather than a woman I actually cared for—and she seemed to like it. Her mascara bled onto the sheets, and her sharp nails dug into my knees from where she reached back and gripped me.

“You like that, sweetheart?” I fisted her hair and pushed her cheek to the sheets, her face turned so she could breathe. I usually gave her a fraction of my size, but this time, I gave it allto her, saw her wince through the pain, but she never protested. She took it like a champ—took it like it was her job.

“Yes…yes.”

I continued to pound into her hard, never slowing my pace or having to edge myself, not when I was still partially asleep, my mind and body not fully connected. It allowed me to give it to her ruthlessly, harder than she anticipated.

Her hands started to flail, gripping the sheets and tugging them until they slipped off one of the corners. Her legs were wide open, but her pussy tightened over my dick with the grip of a viper—and she came with a scream.

I closed my eyes and savored the sound before I finished, giving her my seed when she squeezed it out of me, filling her pussy like it was the first time, even though it had been more times than I could count. Adrien had had this woman in his bed every night but chose to fuck around—the most idiotic thing I’d ever heard. But now my dick was the one plowing into her, and that was just fine with me.

I gave her ass a hard spank when I was finished, making her grunt in pain. I pulled out and spanked her again, hitting her so hard she rolled onto her side and moaned. The handprint was visible on her cheek, so I leaned down and kissed it, kissed the red, welted skin, made the pain feel good.

She softened at my kisses, turning her torso to watch me, her fingers moving into my short hair before she guided me toward her, bringing me over her so she could kiss me on the mouth. It was more than a quick kiss to start the day, but a long kiss with breath and tongue, like having my dick and my come wasn’tenough for her, like she still wanted more—like all of me still wasn’t enough.

I separated her knees then moved between her thighs, my hand deep in her hair as I kissed her, her body covered in the t-shirt she’d stolen from one of my drawers. I tugged it up to expose her tits before I sunk inside her again, feeling her suck in a breath against my mouth when she felt me, like she didn’t just take me.

She must have been sore because she spoke against my lips. “Easy…”

I restrained myself from giving it all to her, invading her like she was a virgin, my rocking as gentle as the small waves at sunset.

Her ankles hooked together at the small of my back, and she kissed me as I moved inside her, her fingers deep in my hair, her other hand clawing at my back. “Yes…like that.”

Dalia’s Market, a run-down storefront in the 18th arrondissement, sat undisturbed under the lamppost, the street empty of cars, while the sidewalk held a camp of the homeless in tents, empty cups placed outside in the hope of donations—or a chance to con someone.

The blacked-out SUV pulled up to the front, while the others behind me came to a stop. The guys hopped out first, dressed in all black with masks over the bottom part of their faces, tactical vests covering their chests and backs. Armed with rifles, they fired at the latch on the rolled-down door until it popped free. Then they slid it up, revealing the stands of produce that wouldbe available at dawn. They moved farther inside, unlocked the hidden door that led to the basement, and descended.

I stayed in the back seat and listened to the gunfire a moment later. It lasted for a couple seconds before it went quiet.

I took that as my cue and hopped out of the back seat, flanked by my two guys, as I headed down the stairs and saw the bloody sight below. Girls were huddled in the corner, latched on to one another and shaking like they were next to be executed. The tables contained bottles of over-the-counter medications, like ibuprofen and acetaminophen, but instead of finding those harmless drugs inside the containers, you’d find shit more sinister—and illegal.

I didn’t care about the drugs—just the women forced to pack it.

There were dead men on the floor, brains splattered under the tables. I walked through the bodies, ignored the ones who trembled as their brains continued to troubleshoot their afflictions, and then found the three guys in the rear who had been kept alive. Their wrists were zip-tied behind their backs as they sat in the plastic chairs at the table, their cigars still burning where they’d been left behind.

One of my guys pulled out a chair for me then stepped away.

I took a seat, pulled out my own cigar, and lit up.

They put on their best poker faces, tried to be brave when they were about to shit themselves. One had already pissed himself. I could smell it. I took a puff as I stared at the first one. “Who’s your supplier?”

He couldn’t stop himself from shaking, knowing exactly who I was even though we’d never met. “We get the product from Jerome?—”

“Not the drugs. The girls.” I already knew who his supplier was, but I wanted to make an example out of him.

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