On the House

It's raining.

That shouldn't matter to me now, not after the events of today, but it does. I'm getting soaked: my chestnut hair is plastered to my cheeks and my white silk shirt is clinging to my stomach and breasts like it was painted on. I'm sitting on the curb, a duffel bag beside me, and the memory of my boyfriend fucking my best friend on the bed upstairs fresh in my mind. Ex-boyfriend. Ex-best friend.

And now I'm alone, on the curb like a lost doll, a broken toy. I am tired, so fucking tired. And I have nowhere to go, nobody to run to.

I pick up my bag and brush wet tendrils of hair out of my eyes. Today was shit, sure. But I am still Anna Montgomery—I am still strong. I walk down the street like I have somewhere to go; the city at two A.M. is wet and tired and dirty like I am, and it feels like home. The red neon sign of the nearest bar beckons me like a siren; I duck into the entrance without really thinking about it.

Ten seconds later, I'm sitting at a black leather barstool and my clothes are dripping rainwater onto the honey-colored wooden floor. The bartender takes one look at me and shakes his head. "Bad night, love?"

"You could say that."

"Your first drink's on me," he offers, "but first, come with me."

I follow him numbly into a tiny back office, where he offers me a frayed blue towel and a place to put my bag. I wring out my hair, try to soak the water from my shirt and skirt. I feel the bartender's eyes on me as I towel off my chest; I feel his gaze tracing the edges of my black lace bra, my nipples pressing up against the flimsy fabric. I look up to meet his gaze—green eyes, predatory smirk. He takes a step closer, too close. "Whoever he is, he's an idiot," he whispers. He pushes my hair behind my ear, traces the full curve of my lower lip with his thumb.

Without thinking, I'm leaning into his hand, hungry for the solid warmth of his skin. I press myself against his broad chest, shivering against the heat of his body. His muscles tense at my touch and his arms tighten around my waist, his pinkies pressing against my hips while his thumbs rest against my ribcage.

"Fuck me," I breathe, too tired and sick to think of rejection or embarrassment or polite formalities. It's all so silly, anyway. This whole damn world is so fucking silly.

He steps back to look at me, his hands moving up to my arms. "You don't want that, baby."

"I do, I really do. I'm done with everything. I'm so done." My words are spilling from my lips too quickly, but I don't care. I don't care about anything. I want to be pushed against the wall. I want to be hurt. I want to feel something, anything besides this hollow sadness. I want pain, anger, passion, lust.

"What do you want, love?" He presses his hips against mine, and I feel the hard heat of his cock straining through his pants. "Do you want me to kiss your lips and make love to you like a little princess?"

"No." I'm breathless.

"What then? Do you want me to put you on this sofa here and taste every inch of your skin and find every word that rhymes with the color of your eyes?"

"No." My cunt is hot, and my eyes are exuding sapphire fire. I am suddenly alive again.

"No? Do you want me to take you, baby? Push you up against the wall and force my cock into that hot little cunt of yours?"

"Yes." My eyes are closed. My breath comes out in short, ragged gasps.

In one swift motion, he slams me up against the wall, hard enough that my breath exits my body in one swift whoosh. And then his mouth is on mine, his teeth tearing my lip, his hands jerking my shirt up over my head.

"Tell me what you want, baby." he's ripping my bra straps down my arms, sucking my nipples, digging his teeth into my flesh, leaving bruises, leaving fiery marks that make my heart beat, that keep me alive.

"I want you." I'm panting, hungry, wanting, a liquid ball of heat and want and hurt. "I want your cock in my cunt, I want to feel your body slam against mine; I want you to hurt me. Use me. Choke me, spank me, hit me. Fill my pussy with your cum. I want you. Hard. Now."

He jerks my skirt up, shoves his pants down. His cock jumps free, hard and smooth under my searching fingers. The golden warmth of his skin under my hand puts air back in my lungs, drags me back to this world. Before he can stop me, I drop to my knees and take his cock in my mouth. His width makes my lips distort; his length presses down my throat, but I don't gag: I want this too much to gag. I bob up and down on his shaft, feeling his thick rod harden and stir against my tongue. His cock is perfect, long and smooth and thick and hard as steel. I flick my tongue across the head, feeling his pleasure like it belonged to me.

Without warning, he pulls his cock out of my mouth and lifts me into the air, slamming my back against the wall again. My legs automatically lock around his waist, and his cock sheathes itself in my pussy so quickly the pleasure of it is mixed with hot, heady pain. I cry out, but his tongue is in my mouth again.

He fucks me hard, like he hates me, like he loves me. I suck his lips, his tongue, the smooth tan skin of his shoulders. I bite his neck, his earlobes, his chest. He keeps me in the air, anchored to this room with his cock. His mouth is fiery, angry, fierce, devouring my skin as if it's made of gold. His hands leave bruises on my skin and his teeth leave bite marks. He pulls my hair, squeezes me too tightly, fucks me too hard. And it's just right. I feel alive. I feel good. God, I feel good.

He carries me to his desk and drops me on it facedown on the piles of papers and buttery leather folders. He slaps my ass two, three, four times hard, and then grabs a handful of my ass in each hand, putting my soaking cunt on full display. He slams back into me, making me cry out, and slaps my ass again with every thrust. He pulls my hair into a ponytail and pulls on it hard, harder--- ahhh--- and my eyes spill hot tears down my cheeks. I cum again and again, so hard my entire body is trembling and quivering and melting against the cold wood of the desk.

I am hurting, I am hurt, and it is so real, so painfully real. When he finally comes inside me, shaking and emptying spurts of hot cum inside my sore cunt, I am so sated I could fall asleep.

He pulls out of me and turns me over on my back. He kisses my thighs, my stomach, my chest, and the insides of my arms. His lips are soft, so soft. Angel lips. Angel kisses. He kisses my lips slowly, sweet as rain. He kisses each of my eyelids. He kisses my bleeding heart.

I'm a sticky, shaking mess when I open my eyes. He's smiling still, a quiet smile. A real one.

"I'm James," he says.