Devil In The Waters, Book 3, Chapter 2d (complete)

With her head in his hand, his face loomed nearer to hers like he would kiss her. He was smiling, his handsome face proud above hers. And in that moment, if he had put his lips to hers she might have accepted it. But instead he studied her face as his middle fingers explored her opening again, opening her petals, teasing her clit. “Say you want me to fuck you,” he said.

No hesitation: “I want you to fuck me,” she murmured.

“I know you do,” he said, rose a little higher to show her his huge cock at full hardness again. “Tell me to put it in you.”

“Put it in me,” she said, trying to get up on her elbows while her legs opened wider.

He came around between her legs, his cock thrust up hard and impossibly thick, and she noticed while it bowed it also turned the slightest corkscrew. And she wondered what that would feel like driving in and out of her. “Fuck me,” she whispered.

He put hands on the bags, either side of her waist, looming over her face again and smiling. She looked down, could feel his hardness between her legs. The deep cup of his urethra filled with the white of his cum, spilling a stream on her stomach as he hunched, and he ran his cock back ready to plunge it into her depths.

“Fuck me,” she said, knowing they needed a condom but there wasn’t any time.

He said, “You want to get fucked, don’t you?”

“Do it,” she said, “fuck me.”

The huge plump and shining head of his cock teased at her pussy, slipping up and down, pushing in and pulling out. The backs of her arms and her collar blazed with fire; her scalp tingled and felt peeled. “I want it in me so bad,” she whispered, humping her hips up, trying to get him to put it in her. He pushed the head in, then pulled it out. She cried out, her nails biting into her palms.

Devlin came in for that kiss again, and she raised her chin up and away. He bit her neck, and her nipples hardened, the one still trapped in the bra bitten sharply by the fabric. “Just fuck me, please, Devlin, fuck me . . .” She moaned then a sound of pain—psychic and physical.

Then Devlin was gone.

Her eyelashes fluttered; she worked up onto her elbows again. Devlin was tugging on his pants and trying to get that huge cock tucked inside.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not going to fuck you on some fertilizer bags, Kimmy. Not the first time, anyway. I want you to remember the first time.”

“I would remember it,” she said, frowning, feeling hurt and mad, and overflowing with disbelief.

He got his fly up, said, “We gotta get back to Toronto.”

She growled, her stomach hurting, her pussy literally quivering, her head falling back. She growled, “Devlin, you are such an asshole.”

Then he was back, looming over her, enjoying his affect. “I got what I wanted.”

She made a disgusted sound, said, “Me to suck your cock?”

“Close. It’s what I wanted out of your mouth. Not in it.” He touched her chin and pushed his index finger between her lips. She sucked his finger and could taste herself on it. He said, “I wanted you to tell me the truth. I wanted you to admit you need me to fuck you.”

She nodded with his finger in her mouth, her eyes on his. Obeying him, and even a tiny glimmer of hope there that the act of sucking his finger and looking in his eyes would change his mind and he would finally give it to her. Though her orgasm had been huge, there were tight knots inside her hip bones that ached with need right now. She wanted to come again and again and again. Spend the whole afternoon in this cargo container.

She tongued his finger out.

Devlin chuckled, stood up over her, pulled the kerchief from his lapel pocket. He unfolded it, dabbed at his finger then tossed it to cover her sex. “You’re going to have to clean that up if you want to get back in my car.”

“You’re a pig,” she whispered under her breath. The more you said stuff like that, the more he liked it. Dignity would be clawed back here. Louder, she said, “Untie me.”

With the lapels of her suit coat, he pulled her to sit, put his arms around her like a hug, untying the knot of his tie behind her back while she breathed in the hot musk emanating from under his shirt collar. She rested her cheek against his chest and waited.

He stood, winding his tie and shoving it in his pocket. “Fuck, you’re hot,” he said looking at her admiringly with her skirt bunched up around her waist, her naked legs hanging over the bags of fertilizer, one shoe who-knows-where, the other one stuck with its heel stabbed into a fertilizer bag. She rubbed her wrists, worked her neck around, getting the kinks out of her back and shoulders.

“Clean yourself up,” he said. “I’m going to be outside.”

He moved into the sunlight, stepping down and walking away toward the forklift where she couldn’t see him.

Now she looked at her hands, looked at her wrists where they were lined with the tightness of his silk tie restraints. She chuckled, then the sound of her own laughter brought shame and remorse, so she choked it off, hunched forward, took his handkerchief and wiped at her thighs.

“Oh my God,” she said, standing up, looking at her own mess. The seat of her skirt was stained dark on the inside, bleeding right through to darken the other side as well. Her wetness leaked to her knees. She wiped her neck and her mouth, wishing she had two more handkerchiefs to do the job.

Bra done up, shirt buttoned and tucked in, she withdrew her iPhone and checked her face on the screen. Eyes wet and bleary, lipstick totally gone. Cheeks red, freckles blazing. She looked like she got fucked. Hadn’t even been with Devlin’s cock. This is what she looked like after he fucked her with two fingers. Devlin’s two fingers were as big as her husband’s erection.

With that thought, she closed off the phone and pocketed it, stood, straightened, put her feet in her shoes. In the doorway of the container, she saw Devlin now standing in that pose he did, feet shoulder width apart, his back to her, one fist on a hip. He was talking on his phone, saying, “What seats? . . . Yeah? . . . What time? . . .”

She stood there, incredulous, while Devlin made plans with friends to get suite seats at the Jays game. 

***

They’d walked together back to the Mercedes in silence, cocooned in the Port’s cacophony of clanging machinery, the whole while Devlin with a smug and satisfied smile. In the quiet of the cab, Devlin said, “All better now?”

She said, “Give me your phone.”

“What for?”

“You took pictures.”

“I did,” he said.

“Give me your phone,” she said and gave him a stone-serious look.

He held her gaze, vacillating, head cocking, raising his eyebrows, closing his eyes . . . then submitting.

“Fine,” he said, passing his phone.

She brought it awake it, aimed it his way, and he craned his face for verification. It opened, she tapped photos, afraid what she would see there. Sure enough, he really had taken pictures. And there it was, what he’d seen . . . 

The photo was mostly dark, except for the vertex of two spread open bright honey thighs and a rosy-brown stripe at its center, topped with a dark comma of her thin pelt. The sparseness of her pubic hair matted and clung to her skin; she was looking at her own vulva in this way for the first time. It was lubricious, and its sight got snakes squirming in her stomach. She looked closer; couldn’t believe that was her. Her face wasn’t seen, just that intimate and secret part of her only shared with her husband.

Her finger hovered over the trashcan icon ready to dump it. Gone. Dumped another, and another. On the last one, her finger hovered over the trash. This time she swiped up and turned off his phone. “You can have one.” She passed back his phone.

Devlin took it, made a low sound in his chest. He said, “You can’t know how happy that makes me, Kimmy . . .”