(Complete) Devil In The Waters, Book 2, Chapter 11

Steve was on a solo mission, laying down an Urzikstan killstreak, Meyer standing behind the couch leaning with both hands on the back and giving unheeded advice. Josh was in the kitchen grabbing beers for everyone. He popped all three tops, eyes turned down waiting for his phone to display Kimmy’s current location. Old habits die hard.

And yes, there Kimmy was, roughly in the same spot the last time he’d checked. Right by the Jumpstart Complex. What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he so convinced something was wrong?

Oh, probably because everything that has transpired up to this point. You remember Devlin taunting you, all that shit . . . 

But it didn’t amount to anything, did it? Kimmy was at the gym. This primordial worry, a premonitory sixth sense that was wrenching on him—it was just lying to him. It was nonsense fabricated by years of youthful torment at his ripening age when he was most sensitive.

You can see her pinging blue dot right there, Josh. And Kimmy would never cheat on you. You know it.

Meyer slid into the kitchen on sock feet, moving quiet. He eyed Josh, gave him a wink, then grabbed another bag of chips off the counter. He held them softly between both hands like he didn’t want to crinkle them and make too much noise, coming to stand next to him at the pass-through, both of them watching Steve light up four terrorists with his modified M4A1.

Meyer said, “That’s not really a thing, is it?—what he said.” Meyer nodded his chin out toward Steve on the couch.

They both looked down at the phone, the obvious map showing its throbbing blue radar. He swiped the screen away, turned his phone over.

Meyer said, “You’ve gotta be kidding. Is it really a thing?”

“No,” Josh said. “It’s not. But it gets in my head sometimes because the guy she fought with was this guy that I hated in high school. Shit, he hated me more, that guy . . . not just in high school—all through public school, too. He’s a real asshole.”

“Kimmy wouldn’t do . . . that.”

“I know,” he said, “the guy just gets in my system.”

He considered divulging more, but there was too much shame involved. Devlin taunting him, coming in the tent and showing him his erection . . . He didn’t like the retelling of that story. Didn’t like how it framed him as this passive loser. Besides, it was crazy because Meyer was right.

Anything Devlin told you was a lie.

Just lay low, don’t fight back, keep it to yourself. Devlin will move on to something more entertaining if he can’t get a rise out of you.

Josh passed Meyer his beer, took his and Steve’s, jabbed the neck of his bottle against Meyer’s saying, “Let’s just drop it. You’re right and I know you’re right. It’s not about kimmy, it’s about high school . . . and that was a long time ago . . .”

***

As Devlin’s fingers rhythmically thrummed between her legs, the touch driving her wild, she dug her heels on the footboard, pumping her hips against his teasing, her body hungry for deep penetration. She sighed and gasped, the whole while a soft wet clicking from between her legs. A puffy cloud of condensation filmed across the passenger window; out the windshield oblivious traffic hissed left and right.

She gasped and moaned with his ministrations; every time the need grew great it was as though Devlin knew it, pushing two fingers deeper inside, giving her what she need when she needed it. It was like sex. His hand large, two combined fingers as big as an erection.

While he pleasured her, she’d worked her left arm into an awkward fold, and her hand up the inside of Devlin’s thigh. She could feel the muscle under the wool fabric, the hardness of his long legs, her wrist now bumping against a softness. That would be his scrotum, bundled between his legs. A quick elbow jabbed up, and she was able to put her hand on it. Could feel now the softness in her clutch, not pliable really, but two moveable objects within. His naked scrotum would fill her hand.

Her wrist bone detected his hardness.

“Oh God,” she sighed, knowing how wrong this was, knowing how bad; but it wasn’t the worst thing. As Devlin said, everybody messes around, and this was just that: messing around. Playing. Just a little pleasure. Maybe some unfinished business . . . 

His fingers moved faster while she squeezed his balls. Her breaths came in quick darts, soft whisk-whisking like someone tearing newspaper in short starts. Devlin grunted in her ear, going in time with her breathing, like they were syncopated together, doing this thing with each other. Quick wrist flip, and her hand landed across the long hard shape of his penis inside his pants.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, “God, you’re so huge.”

His cock was bound under the fabric, rising from the softness of his scrotum in an arc over his hip bone, the end of it extending beyond. She stroked her hand awkwardly, not able to reach the tip, the part she knew would feel good for him. She scrunched closer, but the console prevented it, jabbing a white line of pain across her ribs. She brought a foot up, resting the heel of a sneaker on his burgundy leather bench seat, spreading her legs wide for him.

“Deeper,” she told him, and he leaned over her, his cheek pressing her temple, stubble scratching, the smell of sandalwood and pine flooding her nostrils.

Arm hooked over, now instead of teasing he was driving those fingers in and out of her, hard and fast. She gripped his hardness mid-shaft, squeezed, not able to even get a grip on it. It was too large, constrained by the bundled fabric at his fly. And now all she could think of was the sparkling lights behind her eyes, a whirring, whooshing sound in her ears. Her hips drove up and down autonomously, her body knowing what it wanted.

“Yes, yes, oh yes,” she gasped and cried, the wet click clicking coming faster and faster and faster . . . 

It finally got her over. She drew in a long swishing breath, thrust down with her heel and drove her hips and ass right off the seat. Devlin plunged as deep as his fingers would go, curled upward, prodding her front wall and setting off the liquid trigger that had her bucking. She twisted and writhed, tried to tear at his big hard cock but ended up with a handful of his inside pant leg instead, crying and wailing and fighting at her own lips to pinch off the loudness of her satisfaction.

Then that parrot-miming urge to pee was letting go, miming now the act of flux. She looked down, as the heel of Devlin’s hand wiggled and jiggled, his fingers deep inside her. Wetness squirted and spritzed around his hand.The sight of it, the sheer lunacy of what she did mated with the visual representation—a man’s ejaculate but from her own feminine body—drove her even higher. Her eyes went dim and gray, like standing up too fast. Sound closed off, and she was cocooned in cottony silence. All focus pointed on the sheer oceanic ecstasy between her legs.

“That’s it, come, come for me,” Devlin growled, each word emphasized as he jabbed into her deep. “That’s fucking it . . .”

He left her gasping; she kicked her heel out and collapsed noodle-like in his seat, his hand still inside her yoga pants. Her stomach heaved in and out, his fingers slowly pushing out of her body with her tightness; the wet giving no grip and expelling the large intrusion. Devlin let them slip, brought them out of her then massaged them on her clit, going clockwise in hard circles. Each time around got her jumping and hitching breath, her knees going up, a wild tickle racing through her brain. She started to laugh, closed her thighs against his hand.

They sat like that for minutes, his hand clasped between her legs and hidden inside her yoga pants, her laying there accepting what she’d done. For the second time, she’d allowed Devlin Stone to make her come. And here it was: world without end. No doomsday, no hand of God coming down to extinguish her. Traffic still passed left to right; oblivious. Nothing changed.

Just enjoy it.

She laughed again, still panting, trying to gather herself now. She tidied her hair, adjusted her top, both of them checking at the same time and finding her nipples still pressed out the sweater. They shared snickers.

“You’ve had some night,” he said.

“Yeah, I have,” she laughed, still smoothing her hair.

“This is what I mean, Kimmy. You’re going to take the job. We’re going to have fun. You’ll see . . .”

“Uh-huh,” she said, still looking out the window, her mind compartmentalizing her behavior. Putting things in boxes like Marie Kondo would do. This would be a box hidden within a box hidden within another box in the back of a drawer in a dresser in the closet. Something real, but something secret.

She caressed Devlin’s hand now, still half tucked inside the front of her tights. She rubbed her thumbs on the veins across the back of his hand, tickled her fingers up beneath his shirt cuff, squeezed. Head rolled his way, she caught him staring at her profile, devilish smile poking up one half of his mouth. She whispered, “Are you going to take it out now?”

Together, she and Devlin got his fly undone, but his erection was too long to come out without unbuttoning his pants and undoing the belt. With the fly of his pants flapped open, he tugged down the front of his underwear, brought out his huge cock. It stood upright for half a moment, then fell heavily away to his left hip. She leaned over the console, her shoulder rubbing his arm, hand slipping up the inside of his thigh.

“I want to see it,” she said, a certain comfort now in accepting the truth. She did want this. What was she going to do, fight it forever?

Devlin began unbuttoning his shirt, and she ran her palm on the hot sticky belly of his erection. Ran it from the base where it poked up from the humped out waistband of his underwear, reaching across to get to the tip. It was twice as long as her open hand. Even near the head, she almost couldn’t close her fingers around it. She had long fingers . . . 

She stroked downward, gripped the base and angled it up right. “God, it’s so huge,” she sighed, truly marveling at his endowment. She’d held it before, saw it briefly, even been presented with it in her hallway—but had never kept her eyes on it, never enjoyed exploring it.

It was more than twice as long as Josh’s, and so thick she didn’t know how he could have sex with a girl. The base of his cock was a veiny trunk she couldn’t grip around, her fingers and thumb an inch apart. “So big . . .”

Devlin opened his unbuttoned shirt, and she let his cock fall back against his hard hairy stomach. Now her hand stroked the angled edges of his muscular midsection. His skin was warm to her touch, lightly furred, all angles pointing toward the tight slit of his navel. Devlin worked out a lot. His body was incredible. Her hands stroked up, his cock riding over the back of her hand until she went to his chest, felt the muscle there, swirling around in big circles, thumb plucking at his nipples.

She said, “Tell me what you want . . .”

“Right now? . . .” He put a hand to her cheek, and she leaned into it, let him cradle her face. He stroked her lower lip with his thumb saying, “I want to come in your mouth.”

She hid her face away, stifling a bawdy chuckle. She thumped her fist onto his hard chest. “You’re such a pig.”

“Come here,” he said, weaving fingers through her hair, gripping it tight, forcing her to face him. “You have a perfect mouth. I love watching it when you talk. You won’t let me kiss it, but I want my cock in there.” The index and middle finger of his other hand pushed on her lower lip to get her teeth apart, and she allowed him to slip them into her mouth. She accepted the pads of his two fingers forcing over the slick curve of her tongue.

Now she was flooded with the smell of her own sexual arousal. These were the fingers he’d fucked her with. She sucked them.

Instant revulsion hit her, her stomach rolling over, flinching like it wanted to get away. Lurid awfulness of what was happening making her heart beat harder than ever. Her breath came through her nose in snorts.

She let him fuck her mouth now with his two big fingers. Tasting herself, smelling herself. Hating this, but liking it, too. Loving it. This was something Josh would never do. Something she’d never want him to do. But she loved it from a man like Devlin and she couldn’t help it.

She brought a knee up and over, shifting and pivoting in the seat, getting on her knees. She put her hands on him, one on his chest one on his thigh to steady herself, then leaned over the console. He supported her with his large hands, holding her in place while she got comfortable, kissing his chest as her hand stroked his cock.

“Yeah, you going to suck it?”

“Yes,” she whispered across his chest, watching the hairs bristle with her soughing admission. “I’m going to suck it . . .”

Her hand stroked down the base, then slipped underneath his underwear like he’d done to her. She found the hot sticky abundance of his huge scrotum, squeezed, felt his big testicles roll in her grip, one of them squishing out, its weight against the inside of her thumb. She kissed the underside of his cock, pressing her lips on the spot just below the arrowhead chin. With her left hand, she ran the palm over the muscles of his stomach, used a knuckle to lever upright his long shaft. It was lit in the light from his dash, its ripe edges gleaming, so outrageously large.

She tongued the glans, bathing it with the flat of her tongue, the point then tickling at the slit, angling her head to lick down the underside. It got Devlin groaning. He still held a handful of her hair, his grip tight, occasionally tearing small stitches of pain behind her ear . . .