Page 49 of Pistol Whipped

My body gives me away before my mouth can spout some bullshit. My hips arch forward towards him, and because nobody has ever been able to read me as well as Dutch Kelly, he doesn’t need me to say a damn thing after that.

His big hands grasp behind my thighs and, as if I’m nothing, he lifts me from the ground. The breath is stolen from my lungs in the next second when my spine is slammed into the brick wall of the building. Dutch holds me there but goes no further. His face, now so close to mine, allows our air to mingle with twin gasps. In his expression, I read it: the years of waiting and hoping. Of letting me love someone else, of letting me make stupid, bad decisions and of choosing to love me anyway. This man. This fucking man. Even now, despite his clear desire—I mean, his rock-hard cock is firmly pressed against my pelvis—he is still leaving me the space to decide if we go further than this.

And it’s that alone that does it for me. In my thirty years, no other man has waited, held back or let me lead. Yet Dutch does. He always has; I was just too wrapped up in Cohen to notice. My legs wrap around him, ankles locking together just at the top of his ass, and I use that leverage to pull him harder against me.

He smirks and asks, “What now, beautiful?”

Even if it’s a dumb decision, even if it will complicate things like crazy, it won’t even come close to the horrible decision I nearly made before Dutch set foot inside that bar tonight. So I swallow my worry and tell the man in front of me exactly what I want.

“Now, I want you to fuck me.”

“With pleasure,” he beams. His right hand moves like lightning. He reaches further under my skirt. There’s a tear and a sharp sting as I watch my cotton thong get tossed aside.

He then presses both of us a bit harder into the bar’s exterior wall, makes use of its support so that same hand can be used to free his cock from his jeans, followed by a condom from his back pocket.

“You just carry one of those around with you everywhere, do ya?” I sass.

“Only when you’re around,” he sasses back. I keep forgetting that, unlike Cohen, Dutch won’t rise to my bratty bait. He’ll just meet it shot for shot. It’s refreshing. It’s easy. And I can’t fight back my smile at the result. Neither can Dutch, and his eyes sparkle with laughter in return.

With a level of coordination I don’t possess, he manages to roll the condom on one-handed. Once he’s satisfied, his hand returns to its rightful place, palming my tattooed thigh. His sheathed cock presses against the heat of my core. Though mentally I’m already craving him, my body hasn’t quite caught up.

Ever understanding, Dutch squeezes his fingertips into my flesh, garnering my full cheeks as he promises, “Next time, I’m going to worship this pussy the way it deserves.”

“How are you so sure there’s going to be a next time, big boy?” I tease.

This time, my teasing is met with sincerity that unsteadies me momentarily.

“Because, Rain, now that I finally have you in my arms, there is nothing I won’t do to keep you.”

Tears cloud my vision a little, because it’s hard to fathom how badly I’ve fucked this up. How much love I’ve missed out on. Thankfully, they never spill over, because Dutch brings me back to the moment, with a soft kiss and a warning, “Baby girl, I need you to hold on tight because I’m about to fuck you. Hard.”

That warning is all I get, and he presses the head of his dick against my centre. Between the rain, the shadows of the alley and our wet clothes, I can’t exactly see, but I can feel how big he is as he slides inside of me. My body stretches to accommodate him, and it comes with a bite of pain that I relish.

It’s been so long since I’ve had sex that it takes my pussy a second to catch up. Dutch helps it along by extending his thumb so it can find my clit. He massages it in slow, light circles that ease the pinch just enough and have me breathing heavy. He keeps it up until I bite my lip to keep from moaning. The action spurs him on.

“Na-ah, baby, that won’t do. I want everyone to hear you sing for me.”

With that, he slams forward, burying himself deep inside. And sing, I do, because I feel so fucking full. My hips rock of their own volition even though I don’t have any leverage other than my hold on Dutch’s hips to help me move.

Frustrated, I whine, “Dutch, please.”

“Please what, Rainy?”

Apparently, it’s his turn to tease me, but I’m so wound up now I can’t bear to wait. So I shout back, “Move!”

Dutch takes that order to heart. He sets a punishing pace as he draws back only to slam home again and again. Tomorrow, my back will be a wreck of bruises and scratches thanks to the rough brick. Then again, his likely won’t be much better as I dig my nails into his shoulders and claw at his muscles.

There are teeth and tongues as our lips collide in a brutal, hurried exchange. There will be time for love-making later. This, right here, right now, is down and dirty fucking. It’s messy and ugly. I hear my voice call out his name. I hear him grunting out “fuck” and “So fucking tight,” and other curses, but I’m so caught up in my own passion, it’s like it’s happening to a stranger.

My pulse thunders, my need is driving higher and higher. Our shared movements grow wilder. Dutch tears at my tank top, exposing the crest of my small tits, and like the animals we are right now, he bites down. Deep. While at the same time, his thumb returns to my clit and the mixture of pain, of pleasure, cracks my world to pieces.

The cry I release is enough to send the few pigeons scattering from a nearby dumpster. It’s also enough that Dutch’s thrusts get shorter, faster; he loses his rhythm, and unlike me, he comes with a low moan, “Rainnnnnn,” against my skin.

Neither of us moves. I don’t know if I’m capable of it, since aftershocks are still coursing through me. The only sign we’re both still here, in this moment, is our frantic breathing as we both attempt to come back down to earth. Bit by bit, I manage it. Gradually, Dutch’s cock slips from my body, and he sets me back on the ground ever so gently.

He pulls the condom off, ties it and tosses it in one of the many garbage cans that surround us. He’s only gone a second, not even out of sight, but the absence of his body heat is enough that the harsh realities of what has just happened between us slam into me.

Dutch was crystal clear about his feelings. He told me straight up. He was honest. While I’ve done nothing but hide or lie or omit the truth. And let’s face it, a lie of omission is still a big fat fucking lie. Then there’s the Cohen of it all. He can barely look at me. God, he’s called me a whore so many times, and though there’s a tiny voice inside me screaming that it’s not true, there’s the reality that tonight I was on the receiving end of a marriage proposal from one guy, and barely an hour later I’m fucking a different one in a goddamn alley.