Page 39 of Spooked
Then he gets more demanding, his dominance turning me on. My core clamps as a rush of arousal floods through me, stronger than I’ve ever known. I feel him harden against me, instinctively moving closer and wantonly rubbing myself against him.
This isn’t me. I’ve never been with such a dominant man before. Sex was either contractual when I turned my mind off, or polite and gone through as a necessity. I’ve never felt the impulse to hoist my leg around a man’s thigh, to rub against him, the desire to get myself off taking over every part of me. But that’s what I do now.
Without a word, he understands me. One hand still around my neck anchors my mouth to his, while the other takes hold of my leg and presses me tight to him, helping me get into a rhythm.
I’m so turned on, the illicit thought I shouldn’t be doing this instead of turning me off, urges me on. As he presses his fully clothed hardness against me, I continue to rock. The house crashing around us fades into obscurity.
“That’s it, baby. Give it to me,” he encourages, as I plead with him with my eyes.
And heaven help me, but I can’t stop the sensation that overtakes me, as I masturbate on his leg, then come, harder than I ever have before. I scream through my release. He swallows the sound with his mouth, still rocking against me, gently bringing me down.
He’s staring at me as if I’ve just hung the moon for him.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I try to hold on to him, but I’m clutching at air. My eyes stay fixed on his face, but it shimmers and disappears.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
HOUND
One minute I was holding a satisfied Maeve in my arms, dick throbbing in pants that had become far too tight for me, and then the next, I was holding air. While I’m still trying to process that, Drummer is shouting up the stairs.
“Hold on, Hound. We’re coming for you.”
“Just leave me, get out of here.” With Maeve’s disappearance, my worries about a debilitating brain injury have returned in force. I don’t want anyone risking their lives to save this miserable one of mine.
But wanting and getting are two different things, as someone has somehow found a ladder and has placed it in the gap that was once the stairwell. It’s Mouse who climbs up, reaching out his hand.
“I’ve got you, Brother. I’ll help you down.”
I shake my head, but his dark, almost mesmerising eyes fix on mine. It’s as if he’s in my head, telling me not to give up. While I don’t want to live feeling I’ve lost my mind, some sense of self-preservation overrules any instinct other than to strive to survive. Picking up my crutch, I show it to him in warning, and he leans to one side as I throw it down.
Getting a one-legged man down a ladder isn’t easy, but Mouse is determined. I take one step down, then lean back, trusting him to take my weight as he moves himself to the next rung. We then repeat the laborious action. It seems like it takes an eternity before Peg’s strong hands come around my waist, lifting me the last couple of feet until my good leg can balance on the floor, and Blade thrusts my walking aid into my hands.
In the beams of their flashlights, I see Wraith pushing Drummer. “Let’s get out of this fuckin’ place.”
Blade follows his prez and VP, and with Mouse’s arm tight around me, I hop my way after them.
The noise around us is horrendous. The gentle moans of a dying house have crescendoed until there are screams protesting years of neglect. From everywhere come the splintering sounds of glass breaking and shattering on the ground, and a roaring like thunder, as wooden beams collapse. Dust swirls up, making it almost impossible to see, but somehow we all find our way unerringly to the entrance as if being drawn by some hidden string.
Kicking the door open, Drummer’s first outside. We follow, and without discussion, put as much distance as we can between us and the house. Then, at the perimeter of what was once a well-tended garden, we turn in unison.
“Fuck!” Wraith exclaims.
“Will you look at that?” Blade asks.
“Thank fuck we got out,” the ever-predictable Peg says.
“Even Bullet couldn’t do a demolition job that neat,” Drummer observes.
Mouse murmurs something in a language I don’t understand, as we all stand watching as the house implodes, collapsing in on itself, until bricks, glass, and woodwork lie in a heap on the ground.
It’s me who finally breaks the ensuing silence. “Guess that settles the question whether it’s a recondition or demolition job.”
I didn’t expect the ensuing laughter, but perhaps I should have. It’s a return to normality, a way of releasing pressure. Peg chortles loudly, Blade snorts, Drummer bends over, clutching his belly as he lets his mirth out.
Even Mouse is chuckling and slapping me on the back. “Good one, Bro.”
