Devil In The Waters, Book 3, Chapter 22 (complete)

What worried him the most was what he looked like from behind. Like if a third party was watching him. But most worriedly: what if that third-party was Kimmy or Devlin? Coming up from behind him, what would his behavior look like? Because it would be bad enough to be discovered in the lobby of the Royal York, but it would be worse if he was obviously poking around and looking like he was spying. It led to him constantly looking over his shoulders. That was the biggest fear. Them sneaking up on him, maybe Kimmy grabbing his arm and quietly hissing, “Josh, what the hell are you doing here?”

And he’d be caught. What would you have to say to that?

But he wasn’t going to wait outside on the street any longer. Nothing would come of that. And he didn’t drive all the way into the city to eat a hot dog. So despite the rapid thrumming of his heartbeat, he’d entered the lobby of the Royal York. No idea where the lounge or bar that they were supposed to meet at was, but the place had enough foot traffic that he could lose himself in the crowd. He did two circuits of the lobby, looking around like he was lost, then on his second lap checking his watch and looking out windows like he was pretending someone was supposed to meet him and they were late. By the second lap, he had his bearings, and could see where the lounge was. Problem was, it was open. Not just one door, but multiple points of exit and entry. So now he played the game of waiting. Extending his act: checking his watch and reading his phone now. Wandering around, face down to his phone’s screen, and occasionally looking up to see if his party had arrived yet. But no party was coming. And the only thing he looked at on his phone screen was the throbbing dot indicating the proximity of his wife’s phone. These things were inexact at close distance, but their dots practically overlapped.

He wandered now with hand in pocket, face turned to his phone but eyes dashing up to the left and to the right, trying to get angles of vision into the Royal York’s lounge. Worried he would actually see them together. But fuck it. So what if you saw them sitting together, and it ruined your evening? Big deal. That is what was happening—Kimmy and Devlin were meeting after work. So grow up and accept it. Get your eyes on it, and yeah, it’s going to hurt, and you might not sleep tonight, but . . . 

But what?

You came all this way to see them sitting together? No.

He came all this way to prove he was right. To prove that Kimmy was up to no good. Not Kimmy. Devlin. But Devlin had seduced his wife into bad behavior . . . 

It took ten minutes, but he checked all the angles of the entrances to the Clockwork lounge. Lots of well-dressed people in suits sitting and having cocktails. Business meetings, friendly meetings. Trysts, too, probably. Men and women together, meeting after work, cheating on their spouses.

Why had his imagination taken this sour turn in the last few months? Devlin putting it in his head that he wanted Kimmy to have sex with him. That wasn’t true. But then again, was that phantom Devlin even real?

Now he was standing at one of Clockwork’s entrances (so sure Kimmy and Devlin weren’t there he didn’t mind being seen) acting like someone interested in having a seat, but still ready to dart out of the room should he detect them in there. But nope. They weren’t in there.

He backed out of the Clockwork into the Royal York’s bright marble lobby, biting his lip, mind moving a thousand miles an hour.

Good news was he didn’t get a glimpse of Kimmy and Devlin together. Bad news was: where the fuck were they?

Up in a hotel room. It was so fucking obvious. Right now Kimmy was with Devlin in a hotel room right above your head. Look at those two dots on the screen. That’s her. Fifty, a hundred, maybe a hundred-fifty feet above your head right now in bed with another man.

It wasn’t proof. But it was proof.

A sudden surge of sadness hit him. Heavy weight appearing out of nowhere laden across his weakening shoulders, trying to push his knees to the marble floor. His stomach turned over. That hot dog didn’t like where it was. That hot dog found out his stomach wasn’t a stable home. He burped and tasted orange. Mustard. Sauerkraut. Hot dog. He palmed his forehead like he had a fever. It really was true. Kimmy and Devlin were fucking.
 

“Jesus,” he moaned, and could hear the sadness in his voice. There were way too many people walking around him to break down in tears.

Would he cry over this?

Damn right he would.

How could she fucking do this to him?

The most he allowed himself was a sniffle. A very wet sniffle followed by the wiping of his eyes. And his eyes were wet.

But wait. What if there’s another lounge in the hotel? Maybe on the third floor there was a restaurant. Maybe they were in the restaurant. Or maybe those Chinese guys or wherever they were from—most likely Chinese–maybe they had a suite. Maybe they were all in the suite. It was possible, too . . . 

One thing was for sure, he didn’t want to be here anymore and regretted coming in the first place . . . 

***

Devlin’s tie-binding around her wrists had gone so tight her hands felt swollen. She was sure they were purple.

In the stupor of the craziest, most deeply provoked orgasm she’d ever felt in her life, he turned her powerless body face down. He claimed her from behind, her long weak legs splayed out in the sheets, his cock going in half its length, pounding, pounding . . . The pleasure was intense. Then he turned her over again, got her on her back. She looked up and saw the room had gone dimmer. The golden light had drained, and that glowing pastel color had stopped pulsing on the flat polished surfaces of the suite’s amenities. It was dull and gray and blue. Out the window, the sky had gone to amaranth.

Devlin’s body loomed above her, mostly a dark silhouette of masculine edges—his powerful shoulders and chest, the angle of his jaw. His hair hung around his brow. He pushed her knees to her shoulders, put himself inside her again and fucked her so slow her heart raced in anticipation of his length touching that deep part of her again. Her canal was shortened by the awkward position, and Devlin only teased her, never delivering the depth she wanted. She chortled breath. Words somehow escaped her. Her mind functioned fine, but her mouth was unable to make phrases. But what did she even want to say?

And then he turned her over another time. Got her on her knees with her breasts touching the pillows, hands still hooked on the headboard. He fucked her from behind and was still careful not to go too deep.

Now here she was being rolled onto her back again, binding tightening, her hands about to pop.

Devlin got over her again, his head cocked, eyes studying her. Gauging his affect. What would he see? A woman cheating on her husband. A woman he’d had to work incredibly hard to get in his bed. A woman he’d had to offer a job even. Maybe. Had to give her the big bucks so he could get her in this hotel room. And she hadn’t come here easy. Needing rules and requiring full disclosures, lots of preamble. Lots of protocol. No kissing. Don’t talk about my husband. A lot of smart talk. A lot of tough talk. That night at the Dragon in Ajax, the way she laid it all out for him how she couldn’t work for him and how he’d given her the song and dance how sex was separate from job. All that and yet here she was reduced to a lifeless tangle of limbs and tossed hair, teacup breasts heaving on her chest, stomach sucking in and out. Rendered useless. If she were to speak, she would babble senselessly right now. Her mouth hung open. He had literally fucked her into black oblivion. But wasn’t this what she’d wanted—wasn’t this what Amy had raved about?

The things Amy’d tried to tell her she didn’t even want to hear. She wasn’t that kind of girl. Amy would tell her details, and she would laugh and roll away and put her hands over her ears. Didn’t want to hear about her friend’s sex life when they were supposed to be studying. But before her hands had clamped protection over her sensitive virgin eardrums, words had entered them. And there was storytelling in Amy’s expression, too. Amy would marvel at how big Devlin’s penis was. How good he was in bed. The things he’d done with her and to her . . . Though she protected herself from the dirtiest details, there was pervasive knowledge that whatever Devlin had done to Amy, Amy could not stop talking about it. She was obsessed with Devlin. Obsessed to the point Devlin had talked Amy into inviting a third person for some playtime. And Amy’d invited Kimmy. But Kimmy ran away.

Now at the age of twenty-eight—and married to a man she loved—she knew what Amy had been talking about. Knew what she’d missed. And Devlin wasn’t a high school boy anymore. What he’d done to her tonight would be more than Amy had ever known. Because this was annihilation. Sex like she couldn’t even imagine a person could have. Didn’t know you could sweat so much. Didn’t know every muscle in your body could ache so gorgeously. Didn’t know her pussy could feel so fucking good. Didn’t know a man could do the things that Devlin had done to her tonight.

“My . . . ha-hands . . .” Two simple words that took great effort to utter.

In the dark she could see a glint of light from his smile. He lowered his tongue to her chest, ran the tip over the corrugated ridges of her ribs to her collarbone, kissed her neck. His right hand swooped up her armpit, over her elbow. With his fingers curled around the binding of his tie, he unhooked her wrists from the headboard. She brought her elbows down, her arms fell useless in the pillows. But he gathered up her wrists and guided her elbows down to her sides. She hissed because it was sore. He was careful. Her arms had gone cold, and there were pins and needles in her shoulders. He held her wrists and tried untying the knot of his tie. But there fucking and twisting had tightened the knot, and in the end he forced her hands down on her wrists, unfolded one of the tie’s loops then was able to work it free, tossing his ruined tie to the floor. He kissed her hands, and they were cold and numb. He lay them on his chest and the heat of his skin blazed on her palms. She caressed his body, caressed the hardness of his chest, down the edges of his stomach muscles. But if her eyes weren’t open, she probably couldn’t sense what she touched. Her fingers were numb.

“You’re fucking amazing,” he said, and his low rumbling voice was loud in her ears. All she’d heard for—oh wow, how long had this been going on?—was hissing and breathing, the wet sounds of her sex being impaled, the rustling of bedsheets, the groaning of the bed . . . 

She opened her mouth but couldn’t answer. He smiled, lowered his face again between her breasts, and she tucked her chin down to watch his mouth close on her nipple. It had bunched hard and tight, balled up on her chest like a cherry pit. His mouth was warm and wet, and her legs tried to writhe but barely moved. He kissed across to the other nipple, gave it the same warm, wet treatment. His hand stroked her arm, touched her neck. Then he was over her again, cock in his hand, aiming it at her opening. And though she’d been pummeled, and knew she would be sore, she wanted him again, tilting up her pelvis to meet his reentry. He pushed himself in, eyes on hers, going slow again.

“Deep,” she said. He’d given it to her once, and it was incredible, then teased her until the sunlight bled from the sky. “I want it . . . deep.”

“I know you do,” he said, his hand touching her cheek then up her brow, smoothing her hair from her face. His palm went over her skin, slick with her sweat. Her hair was a tangled mess. But he sweated too. Both of their bodies slippery where they touched. This was the sex women wrote about.

Her eyes went narrower the deeper he got. Her mouth fell open wider. He bit her lower lip, held it pinched between his teeth as he gave her every inch, and now she knew what to do with his huge meat, arching her back, pushing her tailbone down angling her hipbones forward. Get that cock head deep where she wanted it. When he touched her deepest folds, her eyes fluttered, and she tried to groan. Nothing came out but a long dry creak.

That hard fleshy club flexed inside her, all her space filled out and stretched, and she could feel every shape of him (knew it well because her hands had been all over it), and she could pinpoint the bulges of the veins, the flared rim of his swollen glans. His hips pulsed, the tip prodded, coaxing from her that slippery, lubricious, dark star that twinkled in the back of her mind. A constellation marker line pulsing directly from her deepest most gynecological point connecting to the dark crypt of her dirtiest sexual desire hidden in the recesses of her thoughts.

His hand went up her ribs, his thumb over her nipple. Then down, along the inside of her thigh, pushing the knee outward, the outside of her thigh flat on the mattress. She was exposed to him and claimed fully. His other hand cradled the back of her neck as he bit her collar, her throat, and just below her ear. As the orgasm grew, his voice grumbled. “Are you going to get away with it this time, my bad Kimmy?”

She gasped a bright Oh sound; a spark going off in that dark part of her brain again. She was so bad.

His cock flexed. “You’re going to get away with it.”

“Yeah,” she gasped, hooking her right arm around his back, her nails digging into his hard muscle to prevent from slipping away. It felt incredible to hold him while he was inside her.

“You going to rub it in his face?”

“No!”

His hips pulsed, the tip probed, but Devlin still keeping this huge impending orgasm on a simmer. She humped her hips against his, wanting it triggered.

“You love being bad.”

“No, I don’t,” she said, her head thrashing left and right, her body squirming against his, wanting to be delivered to that ecstasy again.

“You’re going to come.”

“Make me . . . Please make me . . .”

“I’m going to come inside you.”

She let out another soft cry. Not an objection, but a harrowing sound that showed her admission of her own badness. She wanted him to come inside her. Her nails scratched on his muscle, and her stomach began to tremble—every bolt shaking loose, the orgasm building and building, rattling her bones.

“Going to come inside you so deep . . .”

“Ah, oh no . . .”

“You feel it right here?” he said, and she swore to God he flexed his cock head, that fat bulbous knot throbbing inside her, beating like a second heartbeat. “You feel that? . . .”

“Oh my God,” she cried, hooking out her left arm, both her arms around his strong body, nails clutched and holding on for dear life. “I’m going to . . . I’m going to come . . .”

“Yeah, you’re going to come,” he said, poking and prodding again, cock head throbbing.

“Oh my God . . . oh my God . . .”

“I’m going to come inside you so deep Josh will never find it, it’ll be our secret . . .”

It was an awful thrill to hear something so terrible and sexually devious.

“Deep, where Josh can never go,” he said.

“Oh fuck, I’m going to come . . .”

The orgasm was rushing to her shore—emanating from this aching coal of desire inches above her navel. Where Devlin’s cock was buried, where his urethra would expel the contents of his testicles. Her nails dragged low, her hands descending over the hard humps of his round ass. She dug in her nails, grabbed his ass and humped herself against his hips. “Come, I want to . . . ah, make me . . .”

He began to roll with her, and she with him, her clawed hands gripped on his perfect ass, his enormous cock impaled in her fully. Throbbing, pulsing, her orgasm rising to roller coaster heights, eyelashes fluttering.

“I’m going to come so deep inside you, Kimmy, and you’re going to go home like a dirty slut, keep my seed in your belly, sleep next to him with my sperm splashed on your womb . . .”

She wailed, “Oh god, no . . .”

“Tell me you want it, Kimmy, tell me you want to feel my come in your belly . . .”

“Come inside me, oh . . . come deep inside me . . .”

And with that, he stabbed into her, over and over, and she fucked him back just as hard, her sex-weakened body finding last reserves, burning the fumes of glycogen to help her pussy claim the orgasm she knew Devlin could give her.

When Devlin came she could feel it. Could feel his hot jets firing off in her core, could feel the bulging knot of that huge cock head throbbing with his ejaculations, shooting stream after stream into her deepest recess. And that was what triggered her into the most incredible simultaneous orgasm. Two lovers intertwined, imbedded, reaching their climax together. Her with a man she didn’t even like, didn’t even respect. One who did terrible things to her husband. But he was hot, and he was hung, and his touch did wild things to her body. Not her heart, but that dirty place. And the pleasure he kicked over in this moment was unbelievable. As she cried out his awful name, pinned under him, gored by him, his come filling her belly, she grimaced and snarled, hating the lust that overwhelmed her—but it was quashed, extinguished under the enormous torrential weight of her huge, screaming wet orgasm.