Before she can finish, before she can demand an answer I don’t have, a tendril extends to her lips, covering them, silencing her. She can’t do anything but watch. Her eyes dart from the tar on her body to my face.
I think about stopping, and the tar on me tightens, its grip almost painful now, demanding. The tar on her moves again, a thick, slick tendril wrapping around her throat. A dark collar that tightens with every pulse of pleasure. Her breath hitches, her eyes going wider. A moan escapes her lips, a sound that’shalf pleasure, half terror.Oh fuck, this is bad. It’s bad because it’s fucking good. And I’m not even sure it’s up to me anymore.
Her hips lift slightly off the bed. The tar on her moves lower, a dark wave flowing down between her legs. It finds her clit, and another tendril, thick and insistent, pushes inside her. Her eyes lock on mine, and I know she wants this. I know her, I lie to myself. She’s always liked it a little rough.
The word comes out before I go too far, a raw, desperate sound. "Scotch?" I ask her. She gives me a tight denial head shake. It's tiny, barely a twitch, but I know I saw it.
The tar on me pulses, matching the rhythm of the tar on her. We’re connected. It’s pleasuring us both at the same time, a single, unhinged instrument playing us both. I can feel the tar fucking her, and somehow whatever is doing it, I feel like I’m the one doing it. I can feel the tight heat of her cunt, and it feels like it’s wrapped around my own cock.
The tar in her pulses, and her body bows, a perfect, agonizing arc of release. A choked cry tears from her throat. And that’s what does it. Seeing her come undone by the living darkness inside me, a darkness that’s now inside her too, sends me over the edge. I come with a violence that whites out my vision, my body convulsing as the tar milks me dry, absorbing every last drop of my cum.
When it’s over, we both collapse. The tar retreats, flowing back into my skin, leaving her gasping on the bed, her eyes wide and staring at the ceiling.
I don’t move. I lie there, watching her, wondering what the fuck I just did.And what the fuck she’s going to do when she realizes how much of a monster I really am.
* * *
“Morning,” Matt says as I step into the bar.
He’s standing behind the counter like the world’s most annoyingly cheerful bartender. Too many smiles. Too much energy.
“I brought muffins.”
I stare at the paper plate on the bar. “Why?”
Matt hesitates, his smile faltering like a deflating party balloon. “Well… about last night. I figured maybe?—”
“I don’t care,” I cut him off.
He blinks. “You… don’t?”
“Couldn’t care less,” I mutter, yanking open the fridge and grabbing an energy drink. “Just don’t break my stock.”
Matt exhales like he just survived a fucking exorcism. “Great,” he says, his smile snapping back into place. “Because they’re blueberry and I was really hoping no one would make this weird.”
Footsteps on the stairs and a second later Sisk appears, moving like every bone in her body is bruised, and all I want to do is pull her back into bed and tell her to stay there for a week. A bitter tang fills my mouth.This is my fault.The argument last night, the shit with my grandfather, the thing that came out of my skin and touched her… I’m the reason she’s not getting the sleep she needs, the peace she deserves. I’m the reason she looks like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, because I’m the one who keeps putting it there.
Matt lights up again, a goddamn golden retriever. “Morning.”
Sisk eyes the counter, then the muffins, then Matt’s smiling face. Her expression is pure, unfiltered ‘what the fuck is this’.
“I brought muffins,” he adds proudly, puffing out his chest.
Sisk stares at them. “Why?”
Matt’s smile twitches and I take a long, loud sip of my drink, just to cover the laugh trying to claw its way out of my throat.
Sisk sighs, grabs a muffin anyway, and turns for the door. “I’ll see you both tonight.”
Matt turns to me. “What the fuck happened?”
“You don’t want to know,” I say, dead serious.
Matt nods like he absolutely does. “Well,” he says cheerfully, gesturing to the muffins, “at least someone here had a productive night.”
I glare at him. “Congrats on getting laid,” I mutter. “Don’t fuck in here again.”
Matt smirks, a little too smug for my liking. “Like you haven’t.”
