Kick (Songs of Perdition #1)(20)
Author: C.D. Reiss

Warren was a dead issue. That asshole was going to mark me and get me in trouble. He must have been the source of Karen’s mark.

When I got back to the residents’ hall, I realized I had no idea where Jack’s room was. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. Was he even in his room? And what if I couldn’t find him? I was starting to think about Elliot in ways I shouldn’t. Ways that would come out in hypnosis. He’d touch me again, and I’d say something like, “Hey…let’s—”

I ran down the halls, looking in each room. All the doors were open. Most of the rooms were empty, or being cleaned, or occupied by strangers. In forty minutes, I’d be in front of a man, and he had a dick, and I could maybe convince him to fuck me.

But I kept thinking about being tied to the ceiling, the knots in the rope rubbing my skin, and Deacon’s cock sliding against the back of my thigh.

Tell me how badly you want it, beautiful kitten.

Bad bad bad bad….

My ass. My poor ass as he’d paddled it, holding back the avalanche of need. I lost days to his ministrations. I needed him. I had no control without him.

And I’d stabbed him.

I didn’t believe his denials for a minute. His refusal to implicate me only meant one thing: I’d done it. I’d stabbed him.

What the fuck?

What the actual fuck?

“Hi, Fiona.”

I spun. Jack was standing in the hall with a paper towel of yellow petals.

“Jack, I was looking for you.”

“Job well done, then. You found me.”

I stepped close to him so I could say something without being overheard. “You said you weren’t completely unfuckable.”

“I’d like to think so. Why?”

It was as if the cues and clues I’d given men my entire sexual life were a foreign code to this guy. Normally I’d reveal some part of my body, but we were on camera.

So I tilted my head and pressed my lips together before whispering, “I want to show you how fuckable you are.”

His bottom jaw went slack, and his eyes widened. He made a little tick in the back of his throat as if an attempt to swallow had failed. I took that as a good sign.

“Do you want to touch my tits? The nipples are hard already. I know places we can go to do it, where they can’t see. I can put your cock down my throat so deep I can lick your balls. And I’ll swallow your load, every drop.”

He didn’t say anything, and when I went to touch his arm, he dropped his paper towel, sending yellow petals adrift.

“Jack?”

He ran down the hall as if his ass was on fire.

I guessed I had that coming. It was a mental ward, after all. But talking dirty had made the swell worse. I had thirty minutes to release it, and I didn’t even have a damn vibrator. I was just going to have to take care of myself and hope for the best.

My room was a few doors down. I ran in and closed the door. The window was still open, and the shade blew in, slapping back against the window when the breeze went out. I went into the bathroom. Frances didn’t want to hear me, I got that. I knew I could be quiet. I’d done it for Deacon a hundred times.

Slipping out of my crazy-proof cotton pants and shoes, I eyed the sink again, its smooth texture and cold surface. It was good in a pinch, but this wasn’t a pinch. This was something else entirely. I wanted warm skin and a fullness, a filled feeling.

There were reasons I didn’t touch myself. Good reasons.

That pleases you, Fiona? What you’re doing?

That was old stuff. Dad catching me in the chair by the window.

Because it’s disgusting.

He’d been behind me, arms crossed, having watched the whole thing in the reflection of the window. I was spread-eagled on the chair, seeing how long I could make myself go. I was fifteen, and so unsure about the power of my feelings and my bursts of uninitiated arousal.

I knew one of you would be like this. Out of seven, the odds…

I hadn’t reached orgasm yet when he let himself be seen, and when I jumped up in the chair at the sound of his voice, I was still aroused.

Outside the bathroom, the shade slapped against that open window.

A hundred years ago, you’d have been married off before you shamed this whole family. But now? Now I can’t do a damned thing. I’d like to sew it shut.

I didn’t think about the other thing.

The thing where he was erect.

I couldn’t forget it, but I didn’t think about it. I kept it in some nether-place where it existed without me actually seeing it or letting it come to me in words.

I sat on the toilet and opened my legs, angling my body so the pressure of the lid rubbed on me. That wasn’t going to work. Fuck. I wanted my fingers, their warmth, their shape, their knowing touch.

I could put a tampon in without trouble, and I could groom and wash myself. But I hadn’t touched myself to orgasm since Daddy had walked out of the room, shaking his head. He’d never lectured me afterward, and I never found out if he mentioned it to Mom. Mom, as if sensing something was amiss, stayed close, and defended me from any and all consequences. But he could pit us against each other. I became the one my sisters should avoid emulating. The bad example. The dissolute one. I lived it joyfully, believing they all envied me.

But God, straddling that stupid toilet, I just wanted to fuck. So bad. And there was no one in this shithole. Elliot would know; he’d see the swell on me. I’d do something impulsive, and I’d have to stay.

But I needed it, and I wasn’t using the word “need” loosely.

I was about to get up and just go figure it out when I decided to give in to impulse. I slid my middle finger over my clit.

I gasped. The shade slapped against the window again, and something fell. I’d forgotten how good that was, how electric. My finger and my clit reacted at the same time, and I was blindsided by it.

The bathroom door opened. I jerked my hand up and opened my eyes.

Mark, the orderly with the tattoo, said, “Whatcha doing?”

“I’m in the bathroom, asshole.”

He stood there, taking up the doorframe. He had Jack’s paper towel in his hand, a few yellow petals poking out. “Bedroom door was closed.”

“Maybe you know why now?”

“Sure do.” He still didn’t move

My eyes drifted where they always did when I felt that constant throb between my legs. He had a cock, and if it wasn’t hard, I’d be a monkey’s uncle. I could take that thing. It would have to be a secret for all of how many hours? I’d go to my session, clear shit up, get rubberstamped, and get the fuck over to Deacon, aye-sap.