Page 39 of Beastly Armory
“Oh, fuck!” A muffled yell rings through the tiles on the wall.
When I stand back up, a string of moisture leaves mymouth and snaps off when I roll my lips together. Undoing my jeans, I lower them to my mid thighs, along with my black thong. Backing up, I rub my hole just on the tip of his dick to dampen it. Max exhales a deep groan of satisfaction, the sound causing my inner muscles to flutter with anticipation. Instead of putting it inside me, I straddle him, letting his hot skin nestle between my pussy lips. I’m so very wet and he feels amazing between my legs.
Crossing one leg over the other, I make a tight seal around his dick. Undulating my hips, the tip of his long cock claps the diamond of my clit ring when I push my ass back. The sensation makes my entire core tingle, but I force down my own moans of approval. Like he’s my personal dildo pole, I work him back and forth.
“Fuck! Goddamn!” Max tries to help by pushing himself through the hole more whenever I bring my ass back. Tensing my thighs, though, I halt his movements and control my own pleasure. “That’s it, baby. Use it. Use me.” The deepness of his voice makes me feel a bit hollow. Like I want those vibrations close to my ear, his hands on my body like they were at the Crimson Angel.
But I use him. Riding it like a horse, I hump his thickness, dousing the length with my arousal. I’m panting like a dog, and his equally rapid breaths echo off the mint green tiles between us. Reaching across the stall, I lean forward and press my hands against the opposite side so I can writhe harder.
Just as I get my rhythm down, Max pulls back from the hole while I’m on a backstroke. He then tries to jaminside me, but I jolt forward before he can. His low, mischievous chuckle filters through the tiny gap, and I narrow my eyes at his play, despite him not being able to see me.
Resuming my position, I strangle his cock with my legs even tighter. But now, he tries to dip his tip in my opening every time I push back. The fear that he may enter me at any moment adds a new level of excitement. Part of me wants him to succeed, but the other knows it would only lead to trouble. A war of frenzied passion and fury erupts in my mind as much as the one firing off between my folds.
On one backstroke, I slow the pace down to allow the head of his dick to almost push inside me, toying with the possibility of connecting with him fully. His breath catches. I wiggle my hips with it just resting at the entrance… Right there. He doesn’t force himself inside, only holds himself steady before I move forward and resume writhing on his muscle.
As if he can’t hold his breath any longer, he forces out a loud, “Fuck! Foxy! You’re gonna make me come.” His hips thrust faster between my thighs, and my stomach swoops. He must have watched me come into the bathroom to know it was me. Hopefully, he won’t bring this up later and embarrass me. I was enjoying the anonymity, but some part deep within me is enjoying this moment knowing it’s him, too. “Let me come inside you, please. Please, foxy. Let me come inside you.” The desperation of his pleas and rapid grunts makes me crazy, my orgasm rising just as fast as his. Max, my lion, wants to comeinside me… Just the possibility that he would has me losing it.
One flick of the tip of his head against my ring and I let my reservations go, coming all over his cock. Unable to refrain myself any longer, I arch my back against the wall between us and scream, the muscles of my throat clenching as much as my inner muscles. As the pulses within me dissipate, my legs go numb. I feel like collapsing, but his cock works itself rapidly in the cradle of my pussy lips until he lets out a loud grunt of release. He throbs between my folds, spurts of white cum leaping in ropes out of the tip of his cock and spewing down my thighs.
Neither of us moves. We catch our breaths in silence, minus the heaving air moving through our lungs separated by that tiled wall. I dismount and clean myself up with bath tissue, then use the toilet once I see the light shine through the hole again. Taking my time, I wash up (twice) before returning the key and grabbing some food and water. Anxiety surges through my chest, fearing Max may make a crude joke about what just happened in front of his tank. Ready to snap with embarrassment, I saunter back to the loaded car, wiping the rest of my damp palms on my black jeans.
When I get inside, Derichs is happily munching away on a bag of Cheetos Puffs in the back seat, an open bag of Oreos on his lap. He nods at me in acknowledgement, orange dust coating his lips. Max stares straight out the front windshield, his face as solid as stone. “You ready to go?”
“Yes.” It seems like he isn’t going to say anything, and I find some comfort in ignoring it myself. Relief floods my frazzled nerves, glad Derichs came to play an unknowing chaperone. Otherwise, I may make some stupid decisions. Like continuing what we started in the gas station bathroom tonight at the hotel. That can’t happen.
Eventually, I fall asleep to the radio. When I feel the car slowing to a stop, I open my eyes to the busy lights of Appleton City. It’s a shitty town, but a hell of a lot bigger than Gnarled Pine Hollow. The mafia here runs as deep as the Apple River through it, so it’s no surprise Nick’s contact is here.
Max drives us straight downtown and pulls into a shitty motel that makes the Bates’s place look like a five-star resort. Glancing up into the smoky black sky, I think part of the roof has caved in, but it’s hard to tell in the dark. The neon sign flashes randomly, a few of the letters not bothering to light up. People puff on cigarettes in groups outside along the outer corridors. Oh. One man just fell over from intoxication.
“I think there’s a Waldorf downtown, Max,” I say.
He shrugs a strapping shoulder under his tight black T-shirt. “Figured we should stay where no one can find us.”
Pursing my lips with disgust, I scan the building again, nausea rolling in my stomach at what may lie in one of the bedrooms. Derichs leans forward. “Nicest place I’ve stayed in a while, if you don’t count the manor.”
It dawns on me… Max isn’t doing this to be sneaky. Hedoesn’t have money; his legacy is focused on reconstruction. The Freidenberg income has been dried up for years since they’ve been gone.
I’ve never once had to think about money. My brow furrows as I consider if he feels too ashamed to tell me he can’t afford a decent place. How am I supposed to pay for us if he’s too proud to take it from me?
“Well, I do happen to know a manager at that location on Main Street, if you want me to use my contact to get us a couple of rooms.” My eyes scan the side of Max’s face as he pulls up to the front office. He still won’t look at me as his jaw muscles tense. My contact? That’s my credit card, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Do they have room service?” Derichs asks like a kid expecting to go to Disney World.
“Yep! And a bar and restaurant, too.” Scrambling for more ways to upsell my idea, I add, “And no bedbugs.”
Max holds his bottom lip under his front teeth and looks at his lap. Collapsing through his frame, he relents. “Okay, foxy. Let’s try your contact.”
The tension in my tight neck muscles eases as I smile broadly. “Okay.”
“Yes!” Derichs sits back in his seat as we head toward the city’s skyline.
When my lips relax, I realize my face was in a smile. Like a genuine one. Who knew the relief of not having to stay with roaches would make me grin so much? A creeping thought in the back of my mind tells me it’s more than that, but I shove that down.
Once we approach the front of the hotel, a valet stepsout from behind the glass doors to help. Max hesitates before getting out, and I place a hand on his tattooed arm. “Let them. I got us; it’s fine.” Pushing his chin forward, he nods, then hurries out of the car. Maybe he’s embarrassed. Or maybe he doesn’t want anyone to touch his car. Perhaps he doesn’t trust anyone to help. I can understand that.
Folding my seat forward, I stand aside so Derichs can squeeze his tall body out of the back. Max snatches all our bags, ignoring the bellhop with a brusque shift of his shoulders, his eyes reaching over the kid’s head. At least he allowed us to stay here.
At the front desk, I get two junior suites while Max paces with the bags hanging from his shoulders behind me, his black boots scuffing the shiny tiles. Derichs looks around like his head is a Ferris wheel. Once we’re checked in, we enter the gleaming elevator.