Perv (Filth #1) Read online

  My mind catches on that thought, and I have to question my own understanding of how we arrived to this moment where we're sitting in my living room with her on my lap.

  I...don't know. All I can say for sure is that whenever I touch her, when I make her come, she hates me a little more. She also craves my touch, my tongue, my cock a little deeper.

  Neither of us can walk away from this fucking train wreck.

  Another plop of water hits my chest, stealing my attention for a moment. We've showered, and her hair is still dripping. I don't mind it. She smells like my soap and that Robyn factor.

  After the shower, I had her spread eagle again on my bed because she was looking at me all pissed off.

  “Robyn,” I say softly, my accent smooth as butter, “you seem tense. I know what would help.”

  “We're not doing that again.” She purses her lips and looks back at me with an expression that makes my cock twitch. “Not today.”

  “Will you be wearing panties tomorrow? Because if you're not...”

  “I'm working tomorrow,” she says in a prim, clipped tone. “The only acceptable thing I'll take from you is my computer. What's your number so you have my information when it's ready?”

  I give her my account number first, jokingly, and add something about my mama believes in hard-earned work. I plan to make her computer for free, because that's what Southern boys do sometimes. She continues to pay attention to her phone when mine beeps three times. I shift to check the email message.

  It's from my bank. She's paid me two grand. I don't usually talk finances with women I'm fucking. I'm a bit old fashioned, and I don't like taking their money either. Even my first wasn't a Sugar Mama and I was a broke college kid on his way to war.

  The problem is...I don't know why I'm bothered by the fact she thinks I need her help. “Why did you do that?” I manage to keep the anger out of the question. My voice is all honey.

  “Pay you for a computer that you're about to spend I don't even know how many man hours making for me?”

  It's technically the truth. It's technically all bullshit. I can tell by the way she lifts her brows in challenge. Dare to argue with me.

  I answer the quiet challenge. “I was captain of my debate team,” I use that as a preamble. “We can go a few rounds if you like, but, simply, don't do that. Don't pay me.” I'm losing hold of my temper and my sharp tone shows it. “Don't pay my way ever. Fuck, don't pay yours if I'm there.”

  There's a hard gleam in her gaze, and she lets her phone rest in her lap as she meets my stare. “Because you take care of the women you pick up and drop off like dry cleaning?”

  Broken Virgin. I know that's who Robyn is referring to. I had hoped after our time in my bed, she'd let the past go. She'd go forward and only pay attention to what we were doing, but Broken Virgin is a ghost between us.

  My temper simmers to the surface and boils over. I snap at her, “Call her.” I'd offered this before, in an offhand manner, but if doing it will help her let her fixation go, I will. “I will apologize for whatever part I played in fucking her up.”

  She tenses on my lap. “Do you mean it?” she whispers. “Would you mean it?” She shakes her head. “Do you even remember her name?”

  I'm too angry to soften my tone. “No.”

  That's the honest answer to all three questions. We both know it. I can't pinpoint the emotion that clouds her eyes. It's too dense, dark. My irritation dims in the shadow of it. I reach out and grasp her hip to hold onto her, to keep her grounded.

  What the fuck did Broken Virgin say about me? She spurred a one-woman crusade. At this point, no, Robyn isn’t a martyr for the cause. She's tangled in the web she's weaved. She's practically told me sex wasn't a part of her mission, but she refuses to forgive me, to let it go.

  Why?

  I'm going to hold her down and force her to tell me everything. We can't keep circling the conversation, acting like it's not a wedge.

  Her phone buzzes and she tears her gaze away. “My ride's here.”

  My hold is tight, but she swats me away and heads for the door. A fine escape if she wasn't short as shit. I catch up by the time she opens the door.

  I'm none too gentle when I force her to face me. “Am I going to have to hunt you down to see you again?”

  She huffs out a laugh. “Stalking isn't healthy.”

  “You went to a club for how many days until I showed up?”

  “Then I'm clearly speaking from experience.”

  “Robyn.” I say her name again, this time softer.

  She leans into me, her head bowed. “Don't. Don't be soft with me because you think...whatever it is you're thinking.”

  I think there's too much I don't know. I'm thinking Robyn is a fucking mess, and I waved the warning signs away because I liked the taste of her pussy. I'm neck deep in her mess because I never learned to not fix a problem.

  Yeah. I'm a complete fucking perv. There's not a single person on Earth who would argue with me. I've become a master at pussy eating. I use those powers for good, because in my head that makes sense. It makes all the difference in the perverts you arrest or study under a microscope and the ones you applaud.

  Okay.

  The ones you give a pass.

  And Robyn. Fucking, Robyn. I don't know how to fix her problem. Logic is telling me to walk away. I'm not helping. She's bitten off more than she could chew with me.

  She shrugs as though she's read my every thought. “You know where to find me, at least on a Monday.”

  Even in heels, she has to rise to the tips of her toes to kiss me. It's satisfying and it's not. I'm thinking too much, and I know I'll never stop overthinking as long as she's a possibility in my life.

  Like I said, I fixate. I need an out with her, for both our sake's. We're only supposed to fuck, not have this emotional shit bubbling up in our every exchange. I have to end this.

  I rest my forehead against hers and force myself to say, “I'll see you, Sugar.”

  She flinches at the nameless endearment. I hope those are my last words to her. Come Monday I'll let my obsession with her go. I'll get Tarek drunk and he'll tell me all the normal, common sense shit I should ascribe to. I won't even consult Duke. He's too pragmatic. He'll look at the situation for what it is and help me maneuver within it.

  Tarek. I'll only talk to him.

  Those are my silent vows. She pulls away, and I drag her back to cup her nape and remind us both who her mouth belongs to.

  ~CHAPTER EIGHT~

  Duke gestures to the waiter and they have a silent conversation about whatever he's unhappy about. I'm not sure what's not meeting his standards, but we're in the kind of restaurant where you don't argue with the guy who makes four figures in his sleep.

  Duke probably makes six, which never fails to amuse me. A former soldier, a personal trainer and an attorney are friends, but when we met, each of us were failing math. The professor seemed to have a personal vendetta against the three of us.

  Tarek couldn't lose his academic scholarship. Duke had never failed a class in his life. I just couldn't go back to a small town in Georgia where I'd become mayor or something equally annoying.

  Tarek was the only one with real stakes if he failed, so we stuck together and formed a study group. That group formed into let's-meet-up-on-Friday's-too-to-get-shitfaced. Inexplicably, we remained friends despite our different paths.

  I know I said I wouldn't even look in Duke's direction, but I'm not going to leave Robyn alone. Since I'm not, I need the next best course of action. Duke can plan the perfect murder. He can help me with this.

  The waiter scurries away. Not sure how helpful that momentary disappearing act will be. The restaurant sits adjacent to a high-class hotel. The décor makes me think of the 1930s and, knowing rich people, they probably tip with the same timeframe in mind.

  I shake my head. “You've got to stop agitating our waiters. One day, we're going to end up with food poisoning because you pissed off a server.
”

  “Trust me, I've thought about that. I've come here before. I tip very well. They forgive me if I'm a bit insistent.”

  He'll say that until he meets someone he can't buy. For a moment, I take my head out of my own ass and inspect my friend. Not a blue-black hair out of place. I can probably check my reflection in his cuff links. His put-together appearance isn't a big deal if you know him, and I do.

  And because I do know him, I ask, “How's your mom?”

  Duke leans back in the chair. The skin around his mouth turns white from how hard his lips thin around the edges. “Still grieving.”

  His father passed three months ago. I'm familiar with that pain, and the lies to tell to stop the probing questions. “And you?”

  He scoffs and breaks his gaze from mine. Either he's keeping his eye out for clients or he doesn't want to meet my stare as he answers. “I honestly don't know the man my mother married. My father was strict and cold.”

  Which is why Tarek and I go out of our way to save Duke's sanity when he falls into a dark hole of work and work and more work. He gets...heartless, but I guess that's a potential problem when you're a defense attorney to scumbags. When you learned that stone cold skill from your father.

  Duke pulls the cloth napkin into his lap. “You care about my folks, me, but not that much. What's going on with Robyn?”

  “You lost your father and haven't taken a day off since his funeral. I give a shit.”

  Duke put up his hands up in surrender. “I know, but you're twitchy.”

  I am. “I've made about five computers. Standard. Shot some vids to upload to YouTube. I'm going to finish the website today.”

  My friend crosses his arms, his face blank. He uses this tactic on clients. People start to sweat bullets and spill their guts.

  I smile at him. “The YouTube avenue can become a money-making stream within itself. Lots of folks try to fix their computers on their own.”

  “Have you set up a separate bank account for your business?”

  “I can shuffle some things around with what I have.”

  Duke snorts. He's the one who introduced me to my CPA. He knows I'm downplaying the situation. “Are you a millionaire yet?”

  I slouch in the chair, relaxing at the conservation. “The government likes to tax me as though I am.”

  Duke smiles. “Robyn?”

  Should have known. He probably had her fully investigated after I left the club with her. All I have to do is ask, and he'll tell me everything I need to know. I consider the option.

  “She's normal, or she used to be. Something happened.”

  “When did you suddenly give a shit about a woman's psyche?” Duke shakes his head. “You're getting off track here. Her shit is hers.”

  “She's making it mine.”

  “But you closed the deal, right?”

  And this is why we kidnap him to make sure he has fun. The man is all business sometimes. “It's not a merger.”

  “You know what I mean.” Frustration edges into his voice.

  Whether or not I fucked her isn't important. How much can I trust her? Have I unwittingly broken one of my moral codes about taking on a woman who needs help? Why the fuck would a woman who can have it all look twice at a panty-sniffer?

  I consider what I absolutely need to know and what can be pushed to the wayside. Finally I ask, “Is she a murderer?”

  “No.”

  I sit back and let that sink in. Sure, I never feared for my life, but it was a worry, especially after today. I got a glimpse of something darker and unmovable within her. I don't doubt she has depth or facets. Baby girl has it in spades.

  I tell Duke, “I'm uncomfortable about certain aspects of our...affair.”

  “Does she want to fuck you?” Duke asks. “Did she give her consent?”

  “Yes.” And the former I have no doubt about. Not even porn stars can fake a wet pussy. Not without lube.

  “Then you're complaining about a woman who has no problem being your sex toy.” Duke raises his brows.

  I almost laugh at Robyn being anything, doing anything, but exactly what she wants to do. “She's not.”

  “Better than that?”

  I shift in the chair, uncomfortable about giving any more details or even vagueness about what Robyn and I do in the bedroom.

  Duke runs his palm down his chin. “This is the first time I think there's something wrong with you.”

  I laugh again, this time harder. He smiles at me, and the lines of tension in his posture fade away. He needed this late dinner more than I.

  “I'm not saying this to be a dick,” Duke says, sounding like a dick, “but don't let her emotional shit get in the way of what you want. What you both want.”

  It's advice I would give myself. It's practically my mantra. What's going on in a woman's life only matters if she's going to start debasing herself with me for relief. I wave my hand, tired of the conversation and the way my head has started to pound at the complications. This is why I don't do relationships. Outside of sex, women are not quite as simple. They say they are, but they are fucking liars.

  I slouch more in the chair and clasp my hands behind my head. Duke makes a face. Appearances matter, and we're not in our living room but a “nice” place. I shrug. My napkin rests over my lap and my elbows won't hit the table once dinner is served.

  “Are you investing in my startup?”

  He leans forward, eager. Attorneys are gamblers at heart. “What are the numbers?”

  I drop my arms and roll my shoulders. This is a better conversation. I jump head first into it.

  ******

  I fall back into my routine of working out in the morning. The new stuff I put on my plate falls right into place. I've made at least twenty DIY troubleshooting vids for YouTube, and Robyn's computer is ready.

  I stroll into Starbucks on Monday, and she's grinning from ear to ear at the redhead. Her gaze flicks to me, and then I'm dismissed. For an hour, I debug my website. I let some geeks run havoc on my site, and they managed to hack and reset all my links to purchase My Little Pony anal plugs.

  Finally, the redhead stops talking about inane shit and leaves. I save my work and shut down my laptop. I buy Robyn another tea and slide into the seat across from her.

  But we're back to our power playing game so I take a long sip before I give her the cup. I don't know what it is exactly, even knowing the name, but it taste like sweet grass.

  She's so not normal.

  “Where do you plan to fuck me today?” She takes the cup and puts her mouth right where I had mine.

  My cock is in love with her. I have no doubt of this. I shift to the side and throw a folded envelope on the table. One of her brows goes up as she checks inside the package. It's a stack of money. Two grand to be exact. Not a single question is uttered, but she puts the envelope in her purse.

  Good. We have an understanding.

  “There's a movie theater around the corner,” I say. “We'll do foreplay.”

  Her hand tightens on the cup. I like to believe she's recalling our last foreplay session where she was a gibbering mess. I smile.

  She shakes her head at me. “I'm curious.”

  “And?”

  “How did you know you were different?”

  The question is...unexpected. Most of my lovers wants to know about my parents, my upbringing, why am I not married? Questions that ask “how can I make him love me?”

  That's always the beginning of the end. I'm not looking for a woman to reshape herself or her life to fit mine. Worse, reshape me, my life to fits hers.

  I press my forearms to the table and consider my answer to Robyn's question. “You know that child's game of one of these things is not like the other? That's how. Boys talk. They brag. Under eighteen about ninety percent of the stories are lies, but by twenty, I was still a virgin, and I started to understand myself better.”

  “You weren't looking forward to the deed?”

  “I was looking forwar
d to it, but I got off more at the thought of licking a woman.”

  She's quiet for a moment. “And then?”

  “I got to.”

  Her shoulder shakes, but she doesn't let the laugh out. “You're such a simple man.” She mimics my posture and rests her forearms on the table. “Your...cravings seem insistent. How did you navigate that?”

  A laugh burst out of me as the exact memory edges forward. “I was seventeen, in the Bible belt.”

  The brown in her irises light up. “This is not going to end well, is it?”

  “My girlfriend at the time let me get to third base. She comes, we stop. She's getting dressed. The bra and shirt goes on first.”

  Robyn puts her hands on her forehead and shakes her head slowly. “This so does not end well.”

  “She's looking for her panties, and I pretend I haven't seen them. I'm a shit liar. Fast forward a week, she's not my girlfriend and there's a rumor running around that I'm a panty thief. To be fair, I was.”

  The memory hasn't ached in a long while, but Robyn's expression falls. Any humor to be had is gone for her.

  I push through. I'm not going to let the ache win. “I'm sure my mother heard something, and by then I'm sure it's the cross-dressing rumor, because after school one day my father comes into my room. He's not a heart-to-heart guy. He served in Vietnam and called it a hard to win disagreement.”

  “He sounds solid,” she says and there still isn't any humor.

  “He lays things out for me. No matter where I go, my life is going to be tough. If I'm lucky, I'll find people like me who won't treat me like a pariah. He unrolls these articles and pamphlets about living as queer, trans or cross-dressing. I know he's had to drive to Atlanta to get some of these.”

  “What were you thinking?”

  “I'm thinking will I die or just break a bone if I jump out the window. Pops is about to talk about sex, in detail.”

  That teases out a laugh from her. “What did you decide to do?”

  “As calm as I could, while screaming on the inside, I tell him I just wanted some real life aroma when I jacked off.”

  Her laugh is loud and beautiful. I smile at her. “Yeah. I admitted to swiping panties to sniff to avoid a long talk about how to make anal sex safe. I don't care how much you're into it, no one is ready for that conversation with their father.”