Devil In The Waters, Book 3, Chapter 20 (complete)

The most embarrassing thing that could happen would be running into them. Or being discovered another way: like, just as he checked up on Kimmy using Find My Phone, she could just as easily open up her app and see his pinging blue dot so close to hers when he should be all the way back in Ajax.

And it could happen easily. There was no way for him to protect himself from being discovered that way. He could turn off his visibility but then what if Kimmy turned off hers as well? Shit, maybe it would be better to be in the dark. Maybe if he were in the dark, instead of lurking outside the Royal York he’d be at home with the guys playing video games and keeping his mind off it, only suffering the occasional bouts of What if? . . . 

Now he was sitting on a low concrete wall, hunched over eating a street dog overloaded with sauerkraut and mustard because he was fucking starving. Only, his stomach churned like water around a boat propellor, and he set the dog aside and sipped soda to settle the discomfort. Behind him was the brass doors to the Railway Offices at Union Station, and he hid himself in the passing throngs of commuters, eyes across the street at the grand entrance to the Royal York—but a safe distance away so he wouldn’t be detected. Kimmy and Devlin would probably park underground, they wouldn’t be on this side of Front Street at all. And they wouldn’t come outside at all, either, Josh—what are you even doing here?

Maybe building the nerve to go in. Imagine if you had balls big enough to walk in there, sit down at their table, reach over and take a sip of Devlin’s drink before kissing Kimmy and saying, “Just in the area, thought I’d pop by and see how my special lady’s doing.” What a dork. Right, you’d do that with all those other guys at the table, coming in with that kind of confidence in your off-the-rack suit you bought at the mall.

The truth was he was his own worst enemy, his fear punishing him more (he hoped) than Kimmy’s reality. It might be better for him if he were at home eating pizza and drinking beers, playing Red Dead or Modern Warfare with Steve and Meyer—even if she was cheating with Devlin. Mightn’t it? What if Kimmy and Devlin had a fling and you never knew about it and she never loved you any less and your marriage was never in real jeopardy and the fling with Devlin lasted only a little while and somehow once it was out of her system Kimmy bounced back and loved you more and you guys got even closer than ever? . . . Shit, because things never worked out that way, and, damn it, he wanted to know. Wanted to know more than anything. In fact, in some way it might be better for his mental health to just have it confirmed. Yup, she’s having sex with Devlin Stone. Aren’t you relieved? Now back to our regular programming . . . He was literally obsessed with confirming it. To the point he didn’t even know if there was anything now that would prove to him she wasn’t cheating. Not her word, definitely not Devlin’s word . . . Then what are you here for—just for the bad news?

If he were here only for the bad news then something was wrong with him.

Despite the still persistent hunger, he stood now, crossed to the curbside and trashed the remainder of the hot dog. Didn’t matter how much you wanted to eat when your guts were twisted thinking your wife was having an affair with a guy you hated . . . Slurped his orange pop empty, trashed it too. Put hands in pockets, fumbling with keys and then watching back at the Royal York’s doors, the awning over the street, held up by chains in copper bird’s mouths, the copper gone green. Just past those doors there’d be a lounge, and in the lounge his wife sat after work with Devlin Stone—big dick Devlin Stone who’d treated Josh Waters like a human joke. Why would you want to be here? His eyes rolled up as he rubbed his neck—and it was crazy . . . looking up at the hotel made him realize her dot would ping on the map if she were in the lounge, but it would also ping if she were underground . . . and it would also ping if she were up in one of the rooms getting pounded from behind.

Kimmy’d told him to go out with Meyer, told him to have fun. He said he thought he might do that. What would she think, knowing that instead, he still suspected bad things of her enough that after work he drove all the way into the city, fighting the traffic, to do what . . .?—Spy on her. Would she be mad? Probably. Maybe he could play it off as being protective. Wanting to look out for his wife. But what if she saw it a different way? What if she saw it closer to what it really was? Fear. Fear and mistrust. What if she was offended he thought she could be sleeping with Devlin? It could backfire that way. Nothing going on between her and his high school bully, all of it concocted in his head by the malicious textual hypnotizing of his bully, the phantom thoughts pushed into his brain and making him mistrust his wife.

Up in one of those rooms, Kimmy right now could be taking a massive cock. Wearing her lingerie, crying out with pleasure getting fucked by a guy—by all high school accounts—who could wreck a girl. Was it possible?—Yes. Likely?—No. Now he scanned eyes to the left, west along Front Street. He’d parked the Qashqai a block-and-a-half down that way, at a parking lot where you could pay cash—imagined Kimmy looking at the credit card statement and seeing his parking fee near the Royal York on the day she’d gone there with Devlin.

Back to the parking was where he should be walking, but instead he was crossing at the light to get on the northern side of Front, get himself just a little closer to the scene. Maybe he’d be happy to see her in a business meeting. Maybe he’d find her alone with Devlin and that would be something fun and new to worry about. He wouldn’t see Devlin fucking her over the table from behind, so what could go wrong? . . . 

He chuckled on the other side of the street, hands in pockets, hunched a little so he could try to hide his face in an emergency, knowing full well there was plenty that could go wrong . . . 

***

Devlin’s mouth lowered to hers again, wanting to kiss. She showed him her cheek. Only, this time he didn’t take her neck or jaw, instead he gripped her throat, his large powerful hand so strong on her slender neck. He thumbed her chin to look up at him while he fucked her with his fingers and her legs went watery. His face loomed close to hers and for the first time since entering the hotel room she pondered her reservation—wondered why she fought him so hard when she knew she wanted it. Knew it would happen. It was like when she was a kid and built the courage to dive off the public pool’s highest board. Everyone else’d done it already, and she knew she could, had prepared herself, but the hardest part she’d thought would be climbing the ladder. But it wasn’t. It was stepping off the board.

Instead of kissing her, he smiled, let go her chin. His thrusting fingers (and the accompanying wet shucking of her pussy) quit and the room was silent. She stumbled forward on her heels and he steadied her, got her standing on her own, his hand that braced her weight between her legs withdrew, his fingers sliding out from her insides. She wanted them to return, and made an uncomfortable moan.

Now he circled around behind her, her head oscillating to follow, watching him.

Was he angry? Frustrated? She didn’t think so, because he still bristled with dominant energy. Moving slow, his eyes stayed steady and confident on hers.

It chilled her to think she’d disappointed him—she didn’t want that. She just didn’t want to hurt Josh.

Devlin sat on the loveseat behind her, his legs open wide, and before she could turn right around to face him, he leaned forward and scooped a hand around her bare front, fingers sliding across her navel. He tugged her backward, and she stumbled against him, falling heavily to sit in his lap.

Instead of being angry, whipping around and scolding him, somehow falling back and being embraced against his strong body felt good. Her back was to his chest, and they both looked across the suite, sunlight coming in, the light flooding, nothing in the apartment was hidden.

She looked down at her naked body. Teeny bra only, bare stomach, garter belt straps to stockings, no panties, just the fuzzy patch that protected her sex. On either side of her thighs were Devlin’s outstretched legs. Long and muscular, clad in expensive wool fabric . . . she began to writhe against him, feeling the generous shape of his huge package against the small of her back. The hand he’d tugged her with still lay flat on her stomach, but the other one now came around on the other side, fingers going right underneath the small triangles of her bra, forcing it outward, his fingers squeezing on her bare nipple and getting her to cry out. It’d all happened so fast—standing one moment, feeling bolstered with thoughts of courageous fidelity. The next second, she’s sitting in his lap, feeling his cock on her back, eyes rolling in their sockets as he did amazing things to her nipple with a finger and thumb.

The hand over her navel slipped down between her legs, two fingers pushing up inside her swiftly with a slick sound. She was so wet.

“He said that’s all you want. You want to come? That’s all this is? Your boss using his hand to get you off, make you squirt all over your feet?”

She gasped and cried, rolling her back against his hard body.

“Josh make you come like that? Josh make you squirt?”

“Nuh-no . . .”

“No, he doesn’t. You want to come, it’s me you need,” he growled, fingers stabbing, the heel of his hand mushing hard on her clit better than she could ever do herself. He’d got her whole body quaking. Her hands clawed his strong thighs. 

But she protested still: “Josh makes me come . . .”

“Not the way you want it . . .”

"No," she admitted in a loud mournful cry. Giving up more ground. “Make me . . . make me come—please, make me come,” she sobbed, breath hitching in, her stomach rolling out then sucking in. And her eyes appreciated the beauty of her own body despite this dark and terrible display. The black of her bra, the straps of garter, the smoke of her stockings on her long toned legs . . . her own body aroused her.

“You can hate me,” he said, “so kiss me like you hate me.”

“I won’t kiss you,” she hissed, humping her pussy against his hand, bewildered how a man could know how to pleasure her so well just using his fingers.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he growled, big hand roughly grabbing at her small breast, her bra cup just a black triangle over his knuckles. “You’re even deceiving yourself . . .”

“I know,” she cried, closing her eyes, then squinting because she still liked the view of her body this way, didn’t want to miss it, loved to mate the feeling of pleasure between her legs and the ripe discomfort of his rough play on her nipples with the sight of her raw sexuality—the way his hands moved on her, the way her body writhed in response. “But I want to come . . .”

“I want to watch you come—show me . . .”

She moaned as an answer, shifting to the side bracing her body against the hand that held her breast, opening her legs wider for him, wanting absolutely that: to be manipulated into one of those orgasms he provided. Then his hips were pumping his cock against her ass and back; she rode up and down on the swell of his pulsing. He bit her bare shoulder, squeezed her nipple, hooked the two fingers deeper inside her, their tips rolling and stretching out the bunched shapes of her forward wall. Feeling her interior being smoothed out was like a garden hose spritzing away chalk on the sidewalk. Chalk she’d used to draw wards and symbols to protect herself from the devil.

Just do it. One time. One time, and he’s already been inside you. You were fine with that. Just do it one time. It’s practically done. You know what it feels like. You know good it feels . . . 

His growling voice very near her ear: “Put your hands behind your back . . .”

And she complied, folding both her arms at the small of her back, her wrists scoring over Devlin’s hard stomach.

“Grip my belt and hold on tight.”

“Yeah,” she gasped, a sudden high thrill between her legs, a bright feeling of pleasure from her pussy, Devlin’s fingers squirming and plunging, and knowing now he was going to bring her the release she craved. Her hands closed on the line of his belt; thin hard leather she gripped tight, her knuckles burning against the cotton over his abs.

“Kimmy just wants to come . . .”

“Yeah,” she said.

“You don’t want to get fucked at all . . .”

“I do,” she said, humping, chasing down the orgasm.

“I know you do, I know I’m going to fuck you. You want me to make you do it. I’ll fucking make you . . .”

“Yeah . . .”

“Yeah? Tie you down, fuck this tight little snatch like it’s never been fucked before—fuck it hard and deep till you’re crying my name . . .”

“Oh God . . .”

His teeth clamped on her earring, tugging on the gold stud Josh’d bought her on their fifth anniversary, pulling, releasing, then growling: “Then you can blame me . . .”

“Yes . . .”

“Yeah, you can blame me, it’s all my fault, nothing to do with skinny Kimmy Chang . . .”

“I don’t want it,” she grunted, tugging hard on his belt, wishing his cock was out so she could grab that instead.

“You want it so bad, you liar, listen to your pussy . . .” And her pussy obeyed his hand, producing the sounds of her lubrication; his fingers sluicing through her folds then plunging, making slick suction.

She closed her thighs on his hand, but that did nothing to stop Devlin from probing and teasing and touching her in amazing ways.

“Open your slut legs,” he said, “don’t hide it, open those legs and be honest . . .” His hand swirled, his knuckles pressing the insides of her thighs, his fingers still inside her. Slowly, her legs levered open again.

“Wider, Kimmy, show the room how wet I make you . . .”

Fingers squeezed her nipple hard, and she cried out. Then she hissed in air, said, “Kimmy Waters—not Chang . . .”

“Your business card says Kimmy Chang. Who’s got her legs open for me, Kimmy Chang or Josh’s wife?”

“Don’t . . .”

“Kimmy Waters has her legs open, about to come hard, and then I’m going to—”

“No—”

“And then I’m gonna put you on that bed and fuck you right . . .”

“Just make me come . . .”

“I can’t wait till my balls squash on your pussy, I can’t wait to see your face when you feel my cock in your stomach . . .”

“Oh God, no . . .”

“You want it so bad, you liar . . .”

“Oh, I’m gonna, it’s-ss . . .” Her body melted to his and she hiked a leg over Devlin’s thigh, opening herself wide for him. His fingers fucked her deeper and harder and now she ululated sounds of impending release, her high voice almost unrecognizable singing to the luxury suite how she’d never felt such intense sexual pleasure in her whole life. Through her tear-squinted vision she could see the foot bobbing on the end of the long leg she’d hooked over Devlin’s powerful thigh. The garter, the stocking, the black patent Louboutin stiletto with a scalloped trim, her foot pointed, looking sexy and powerful—but despite her sexual power she was subjugated by the equivalent in masculine form; she the epitome of sexual desire for a man like her Josh, yet powerless under a man like Devlin Stone. And it was with that weird thought focused in her forward mind, like a beam from a flashlight, that she came hard—came hard the way Devlin could make her do. At first she thought it wasn’t going to happen. The orgasm began not with a clap but a slow bleed. Like water coming up from the soil and making the ground soggy instead of a lightning strike, and there was a moment—brief—that she thought that would be all her orgasm was. Then Devlin’s digital ministrations changed gear and in the midst of her lapping orgasm his fingers played through her sex, squeezing on the bulb of her sexual desire, biting her ear again, getting her stomach sucking in tight. Then it happened. The skies opened up and the soggy ground was deluged by wet from above. The orgasm he delivered coming at her from all fronts. His fingers dove in, withdrew, cupped and squeezed; his teeth clamped along her earlobe; one of her nipples painfully squeezed in his pinching grip. And it happened while she watched. Fingers working into her like plunging a clogged toilet, Devlin cleared her blockage and a sizzling tickle laced through her brain and her sensitive commissure. She sprinkled clear liquid pleasure in a twinkling patter that arced high between her thighs and twinkled in the bright, orangey sunlight. The sight of her release gripped Devlin too, and he growled with her lobe in his mouth, his breath snorting in her ear. The sounds she made grew louder and she threw herself at the pleasure with abandon; let it rip her wide. While she babbled wildly, the squirting continued, wetting the insides of her thighs, over her stockings, onto his pants. Devlin loved it. Plunged her harder. There was the patter of her wet on his shoes.

“Oh god, oh god,” she cried, and still Devlin drew more from her till she went dim and dull. Devlin growled in her ear what a good slut she was, and if she thought the pleasure was over she was wrong—his hooked fingers lifted her higher by her pussy, her ass on his belt now, her arms grinding into his chest while her legs splayed out to the sides, bent, vulgar, her wet getting on her new shoes. Her fingers clawed his hard chest, her stomach tightened to a knot, and her voice grew thin, her cries of ecstasy breaking like thread as her oxygen depleted.

Devlin sat forward, holding her waist while she was still seized in orgasm, setting her down on the floor on her hands and knees, her forehead touching the floor. On her palms she could feel the wet she’d squirted onto the carpet and it made her think of black-lights and hotel rooms, everyone thinking it was all semen, but what if men were doing this to women in all these rooms, getting them to ejaculate whatever it was they had all over the place and no one was considering that. Pleasure still warbled through her, getting her breath light and fluttery, a ticklish feeling underneath the hard cramping layer of her stomach muscles.

Devlin rose from the sofa, stood behind her for a moment and she wondered what she looked like to him wearing what she was wearing, on all fours on the floor. He stepped around her, and her orgasm still buzzed—she was certain if he just touched her pussy right now she would come all over again.