Page 2 of GOYKATTDLAGG

My body doesn’t care.

I walk.

His taped hand finds the small of my back. Not gentle. Not asking. The wrap scrapes through my shirt. His palm is so big it spans me easily, thumb on the waistband of my jeans, and every step makes my thighs rub together.

We leave the noise behind us, walk into a hallway. One flickering bulb. The smell of bleach. His breathing is steady behind the mask. Mine is not.

He opens a door with his shoulder. Locker room. Battered benches. A sink. His bag on the floor. The air in here is hotter. It smells like him concentrated: fight and man.

The door clicks shut.

I turn to say something smart.

He cages me against the metal lockers with his whole body. Not touching yet. Just taking up all the air. The skull hovers an inch from my mouth. I see the shine of his eyes, the cut over his brow still bleeding. I can feel the heat pouring off his chest.

“Name.”

“Nyla.”

“Nyla.” He says it slow. Like he’s keeping it. “I’m gonna put my hands on you. I’m gonna put my mouth on you. I’m gonna fuck you in this room with that crowd still screaming my other name. You don’t want that, you say no and you walk out the same way you came in. That’s it.”

My pulse is crazy. My mouth dry. I can feel how wet I am, panties clinging to my damp folds. I should be embarrassed. I’m not. I’m fucking hungry.

“I’m still here.”

His eyes go black above the mask.

“Good girl,” he rasps. “Now get on your knees and take this dick like you mean it.”

Two

HUSH

She drops. Just like that. Thick thighs folding, denim stretching tight over her fat, pretty ass, knees on dirty concrete. A soft, stunned look in her gorgeous brown eyes like she can’t believe she did it, can’t believe she’s staying. My cock has been a problem since I saw her. Big tits in a shirt that doesn’t stand a chance. Soft stomach. An ass that would take a beating and ask for the next one. Pretty brown skin I want my teeth in. A mouth made to stretch.

I don’t do this.

I fight. I collect. I leave.

I don’t clock a woman in a crowd and end a fight faster so I can get to her before somebody else even looks. I don’t walk a curvy stranger into my locker room with my blood still dripping and my dick already leaking.

I do, tonight.

“Hands on your thighs,” I tell her. “Don’t touch me till I say. You look at me while you do it.”

She listens. Palms on her thick thighs, fingers digging in. Fuck, I like that more than I should.

I leave the mask on. She doesn’t get my face yet. She gets my voice and my dick and the fact that I walked out of a win for this. The rubber sits warm against my mouth. Every breath I take fogs it. Bet she can hear it. I fucking want her to.

I shove my shorts down. My cock slaps against my stomach, thick, heavy, flushed dark, a wet bead already sliding down the underside. Veins standing up. The head is swollen fat, shiny. Her eyes go wide. She swallows.

“Jesus.”

“Not in here.” I wrap my taped hand in her curls. Not yanking. Holding. The wrap against her scalp. “This is just me. Open your pretty mouth.”

She does. Warm. Wet. Careful at first, tongue on the head like she’s testing me. I don’t let her be careful. I feed her the head and watch her lips stretch around it, watch the spit shine right away, watch her try to take what doesn’t fit and decide she wants it anyway. The sound she makes when I bump the back of her throat goes straight to my balls.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Breathe through your nose. You came into my night looking like this, tits out, ass eating your jeans, staring at me like you wanted to get used. You get the whole fucking thing.”