I don’t really give a shit about what it smells like right now because she is picking at her food, nibbling on a slice of bacon and licking off the oil on her thumb. My cock gets harder and I drag in another lungful.
“And I hate the smell of cigarettes, but the ones you smoke smell delicious.”
She’s delicious. My mouth waters for her pussy, but I like watching her too. “It’s sarsaparilla. It grows here. I use it to make the cigarillos.”
She drops the piece of bacon. “I’m sorry. Did you just say you make them? Like by hand? You made this cabin. You make homemade hand oils. What else do you make?”
Tattoo ink made from burned decapitated heads and hands. Trophies made of human skin. Charcoal made of blood and bone.Her shock makes me grin. “Yes, Countess, I make them. I dry and ferment the tobacco leaves, add the dried sarsaparilla and roll them. I learned it when I was a teenager.”
“Does that make it stronger?”
“Yes. There’s no filter. Pure tobacco.”
“You’re increasing your risk of cancer.”
The pout on her lips makes me shout with laughter, and it feels new, different. I haven’t laughed in decades. Seems like all it took was one black haired siren to make me chuckle. “The last thing you should be worried about is my health, Countess.” My soul on the other hand. That’s cancerous enough as it is.
“It’s not funny, Stone. I’m serious.”
“Me fucking too.” I smile and lean back in my chair enjoying her more by the second. I will never admit it, but for however long it lasts, I’ll bask in her worry for the life of a dead man.
“Who taught you how to make them?”
Memories of Chaca showing me the ancient art of making the thin cigarillos flashes through me. The day after I killed my stepfather he caught me sitting outside the bastards blood still under my fingernails. No matter how much I scrubbed, I couldn’t get that black line from under my nails.
After we drove away from my stepfather’s gravesite Rashon, Chaca and I drove back to our trailer. The scene was out of a horror movie. Blood was everywhere. I checked on Ivory, walking in her bedroom, but it was empty. Her homework was still on her narrow bed. The doll I got her was sitting on her pillow. The wall was still filled with drawings of princesses. Her bed spread was still covered in the pink and frilly bedspread. But it was all different. The pretty pink. The innocence. It all felt like a mockery. He hurt her. He destroyed her.
More memories hit me. The shower running. The sound of her sobs coming through the door. The sight of Onyx standing by the door. His forehead resting on the wood, his hands balled into fists at his sides. When he looked at me, his face was sick. Sick and filled with rage. There wasn’t a fucking thing I could do except help Rashon and Chaca clean up the pool of blood on the kitchen floor before my mother came home from her 12 hour shift.
Once we were done and I sat on my couch with two of the most powerful men I knew near me I made a commitment. I didn’t have a choice. I owed them everything. I became a monster. I became a Legion Lord.
When Chaca found me sitting on my back step, realizing all dreams were gone because I made a bargain, he pulled out one of his cigarillos and offered it to me. I stared at it confused and he lit a match and I smoked. I leaned back against the rusted exterior of our double wide and smoked, thinking about the choice I just made. I would join the gang in exchange for them helping me to hide the murder of my stepfather and protect my sister.
That night I started smoking and I haven’t stopped since. I blink away the memory and stare at her. So fucking young. So innocent of any of the dark shit in my mind, in my past. “A man named Chaca taught me.”
“Who is he?”
The father I ever had. The man who taught me how to dismember and disembowel my enemies. “A Legion Lord.”
“That’s the club you’re in right?”
The urge to tell everything hits me, but I resist. The less she knows about me the better. I won’t place that burden on her. She already knows I’ve killed, but she hasn’t brought it up, nor will I tell her that the number of bodies that lay in my forest are ten times as many as she thinks. “Yes.”
“What’s it like being in the club?”
Deadly.
“Are you finished?” I don’t want to talk about the club and the chaos. Time is running out and I need to have her again.
Camryn narrows her eyes at me. “Why won’t you answer?”
I stand, walking to her and lift the plate, setting it aside. “Because there are things I want to do to you.” I pick up her hand and bring her oil stained fingers to my mouth sucking off the bacon grease. “Things that will require your full participation and my full concentration.” Sliding one in my mouth I taste the faint trace of the oil I applied earlier. Her breath hitches, just the way I like it. That flare in her eyes at my actions. Disbelief mixed with desire. I push her finger deeper imitating the movements of how I want her to suck me off later.
Her eyes wide as she looks up at me. I pick her up off the chair and sit her on the table I made with my bare hands. Stepping between her legs, I sit my cigar down on her empty plate and turn to touch the shiny grease still on her lips. Her breath exhales and I lean forward to taste it. Running my lips across hers, she opens hers quickly and I glide my tongue inside, eager to taste her, and she responds back wrapping her legs around my waist, digging her nails into my back, moving her tongue around mine.
I pull away and lift my shirt over her head, leaving her naked. “Lay down.” She complies and the fervor inside me goes up another notch.
I trail my hands down her body, loving the feel of her soft skin as I move my fingers over her hard nipples. Those greedy noises that I love come out of her mouth.
