“Ah! God Whiskey,” I exhale through the rippling wave.
“Should I make you do it again? I’m not sure if this pussy has been wrecked thoroughly,” he whispers, still slamming into me.
“Fuck! I can’t and it’s spent, trust me,” I plead.
“Alright, then hold still, and clench that pussy for me.”
I do it as I work to recover my breathing and my feet throb in the boots from having my toes curled so tightly.
Pax is always a fucking monster when it comes to his turn to get off. He uses my body like he’s attempting to destroy it, his hands grind into my hips as he impales me, and I love every fucking second of his pitiless force.
I count ten thrusts in ten seconds and feel him release inside me, listening to him grunt in pleasure in his caveman tone.
“Are you good yet?” I ask, slightly annoyed. “My pussy would like to be dismounted anytime now.”
Pax laughs and smacks my ass, pushing himself inside me one last time before he backs off.
“You should know me by now, Vixen,” he says planting kisses up my thighs as he pulls my shorts up. “As long as it’s you I’m hate-fucking, I’m always good.”
I turn and laugh at the stupid grin on his face that always lifts my mood. Fuck, he’s pretty. I kiss his cheek and button my shorts before we both go back to polishing the glasses.
There is never a lot spoken between us; he knows my story and I know his, and neither of us questions the other’s needs because it is what it is. Sex. It’s what gets us through bad days and shitty memories, granted Pax’s past is full of moments so dark I’ve woken up in cold sweats just dreaming about them.
It makes my life with Helen seem like a fairy-tale, and it’s how I know Pax can’t ever have children. He hates talking about it so I never bring it up much, but I know it’s part of the reason he tries so hard to keep a wedge between us emotionally.
“The crowd should be starting to arrive soon and we’re low on Woodford, beer, and Grey. I’m gonna take a run to the liquor store on my bike. You want anything?”
I reach into my pocket and hand him my bank card.
“No, I’m good, just hurry because I don’t know if Jimmy and Jack are coming tonight to help me with crowd control. I don’t want to be here alone in case Danny shows up with his brothers wanting to make a scene over my bad decision to screw him the other night.”
“I’ll be fast, just lock up behind me,” he orders slipping his helmet on. “By the way, I love the new hair colour, but just for the record, black or blonde, nothing will change the fact I’ll always see you as my naughty little Vixen.”
“Thanks,” I grin happy he noticed. “But as you already know, Whiskey, I’m solely into you for the hate-fuck therapy. Nothing more and nothing less.”
He furrows his brows and growls under his breath.
“I guess we’ll just have to see about that,” he challenges.
Ignoring his statement, I follow him to the door and lock it once I see him pull away.
Sometimes I worry about him. Not about him on the bike or anything. I trust Pax with my life. The man knows all my deepest secrets and I know they are safe with him. My apprehension stems from knowing who he is, what he is. A broken drifter. I guess I just worry that him being caught up in this place, surrounded by money and trying to commit to living in one place for longer than he ever has, that he may not come back.
Two
The Foundation of Trust
The light floods in through the windows of the Club, waking me from a night of insanity and with a pounding headache like clockwork. I rub my eyes and toss the blanket over Pax as I roll off the bed, happy the party went off without a hitch, and thankful that Danny was a no show. I grab the pile of cash scattered across the bar and lock it in the safe before I hit the button on the coffee machine.
As usual, Pax raked in a killing charging his regular rate of five bucks a head for legal partiers and eight for the underachievers. He brought in a nice take by the end of the night.
And as always, he wanted to split it with me, but I told him to save up for the jacket he’s been eyeing for months, the one he refuses to let me buy him. He has pride, I get it, but still, his rejection of gifts in general pisses me off.
Besides the Kawasaki, he’s never let me buy him anything, and he only accepted the bike A- because I have an issue with drinking and driving, and B- the liquor store is hella far and I can’t purchase legally for another year.
“Good morning,” Pax says, wandering his way over to the counter.
I glance him over, taking in his shirtless physique and all of its tatted glory.
“It’s afternoon actually,” I point out.
Pouring him a cup of coffee, I slide it to him and then get one for myself with a side of Advil as I skim through the barrage of text messages from my mother.
“Shit! No! I forgot about the reading of the will! Fuck! Satan’s gonna be pissed if I’m late, and the lawyer’s going to be there in less than thirty.”
“Grab your things and I’ll drive you back to the underworld,” Pax teases.
“Are you sure you’re good to drive? Because I’m pretty sure I’m still drunk from last night.”
“That’s because you downed an entire mickey of bourbon,
