Page 29 of The Deal


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He took a swig, enjoying the burn, and sauntered out like the Lothario she was expecting.

She was sprawled out on the bed on her back. He took a deep swig, and put the bottle down on the nightstand.

“Penny, Vixen. You are something else, you know that don’t you?” he said, flumping down between her legs.

He put his hand down between her thighs, feeling the wetness of his cum from earlier. His. She was his. Right here and now, they owned this night. His hand followed the contour of her thigh right up to her clit, and he thrust two fingers inside, letting his thumb skim her sensitive pearl. She shamelessly rode his fingers, too. Gasping, panting, building to a shriek.

“Yes, yes… oh Lyle, yes!” she cried out.

She came. Thank fuck, he could make her come. He let out a sigh of relief he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He didn’t have anything to worry about, he didn’t need to worry… did he? Why was he getting nervous? God he was winding himself up. They’d fucked, he’d come, she’d come, everything was fucking fine.

He rolled off her, smirking despite the turmoil in his head.

And reached for the bottle.

Penny sighed contentedly, but her eyes watched him down a slug from the bottle.

She sat up and moved to straddle him. He smiled. Oh she was a needy, determined thing. She slipped his semi-hard cock into her.

“Penny, ride me like the hellhound I am.” He sounded slightly further away, slightly slurry.

“Lyle, you sure you're okay?” she asked. “We should stop…”

He laid back, propping his head up on the pillow, smiling lazily, his eyes slipping closed. He felt the cold bottle on his lips, her warm pussy on his stomach. He sloppily sipped from the bottle,one hand on her hips, pumping into her lazily. His body didn’t offer any resistance. He almost wanted to chuckle.

“Lyle, do you want to put the bottle down?” her voice asked quietly.

His eyes opened and the light felt too bright. But he saw her bend forward to sniff the bottle. Somewhere in his brain he knew he should stop her. She wouldn’t smell beer. She’d smell white rum.

“I’m fine, keep going Penny,” he heard himself slurring. He took another swig.

The familiar darkness came up to meet him. And everything was quiet and still at last.

Penny woke with a jolt to a high pitched shriek. God, what was that?

It was dark, she couldn’t really see anything. Where was she? The evening caught up with her. Lyle’s bed. The sex. At the bar, and again, him with the bottle in his hand, swigging from it as they fucked. She gulped. So taboo. Having sex with a man who was clearly drunk. If it had been the other way around, if she was drunk, people would be blaming him for taking advantage. But he’d said it was okay, he’d drunk himself to sleep practically, with her still on top of him. Until he’d lost his hard-on.

Penny had slipped off him and taken the bottle off him. She’d touched herself, staring at him, and made herself come once more before curling up next to him to sleep.

Her hand reached out beside him, where she’d left him. He wasn’t there.

And then another ungodly yell. Like foxes at night, that ear-piercing screeching, like someone was being murdered brutally. And a loud clatter.

Oh God. Penny’s heart banged in her ribs. She shot out of bed. “Lyle!” she hissed. She needed to turn a light on. Fuck, she couldn’t see anything.

She lurched for the curtains over the window. Yanking them open, letting the outside lights and moonlight filter an eerie pale light into the room.

He was pacing, not pacing, lurching, from one side of the room to the other. He slammed himself into the chest of drawers. Staggered away, roaring, swearing, incomprehensible. He was covered in sweat, clammy and pale, wide-eyed. It was terrifying, it was shocking. He looked inhuman.

“Lyle, sweetie, come and lie down-” she began, trying for a gentle tone but her mouth was dry.

“Fuck you! Fuck you! I don’t want to do it anymore! Can’t you hear them screaming?” he roared. “I can’t get to them! Where the fuck are they? I can’t help them!” he continued to rant and rave.

She edged closer, trying to capture his arm. He blundered past her, knocking her out of the way, as if she wasn’t there. He ran at the wall, his head hitting it with an ugly crack. He staggered and hit the floor.

She couldn’t deal with this. She needed to get help. He needed help.

“Okay, hang on, sweetie, I’m just going to see if one of your friends is around-” she grabbed the nearest clothes she could find, which was Lyle’s faded black T-shirt. She shoved it over her head and scrambled to the door.

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