Contract Killer Wins the Game

"Well, well," Cynthia said. "If you insist."

Sheila replied, "I do."

Then the woman who had been paid to love me went to her knees and wrapped her lips around throbbing flesh. I moaned. My head ached; my body ached; my legs felt like rubber. I'd been hurled across a rooftop by an exploding helicopter and had the shit kicked out of me by a literal giant (asshole) in Cynthia's apartment. Sheila made all the hurt inconsequential. There was nothing but her hand and her mouth and her twinkling green eyes looking up and boring into mine and making all the pain float away.

Could she really be doing this? Stopping our elevator with another woman inside and sexually attacking me within hours of being rescued from a kidnapping? Of course, she was. Sheila was a woman who valued being alive and wanted to celebrate the life I and Cynthia had salvaged for her. Sheila and I would celebrate the best way we knew how: by fucking each other senseless.

Cynthia's voice came from far away. She said weakly, "This is so awkward. I don't know what to do with my hands."

I had an answer for this: "I'm sure you'll think of something."

Sheila's head bobbed and blonde hair swished as she stroked me into her mouth. Her pink lips went up and down, enveloping me to the root and sliding up the shaft, leaving it wet and glistening. Her second hand moved up to cup my testicles and sent electric tickles up my spine. Sheila refused to break eye contact. Her look was intense and pleading. Her eyes shone like night fire. She was beautiful. She wanted to please me. She wanted to show me she was sincere, that no one could love me the way she could.

I already knew she was right.

To say that I had been lucky in love would be second only to say that I had been infinitely lucky in lust. I had fucked Veronica Dread. I had made love to Amunet and Cynthia Skye. Yet none of them seemed to affect me, to keep me coming back for more, none of them to created an emotional attachment within me the way that Sheila did.

Sheila spat me out and slapped the mushroom head of my erection on her tongue. The little minx knew I loved that, and I shivered with pleasure. I glanced at Cynthia. She had figured out what to do with her hands. One was between two undone buttons of her green shirt, fondling a breast, while the other writhed within the unzipped folds of her white shorts. Her eyes were glazed, and she had a pouty, jealous expression on her face. She looked hot as hell, and I had to look away to keep from spending on my girlfriend's adorable face.

Sheila gave me a stern look. In a demanding tone, one that brooked no argument, she said, "I want you to bend me over and fuck me, so I can watch while that slut fingers herself and wishes she was me."

"Oh, shit," Cynthia whispered, but she didn't sound offended. Her tone made it seem as though she liked the idea. The hand inside her shorts writhed faster.

I couldn't speak, so I just nodded. My head felt swimmy but like hell was I going to faint and miss this. I helped Sheila out of the black t-shirt she had borrowed from Cynthia and watched as Sheila undid her shorts, and they slid to the floor. Her fit, toned body made my penis strain and twitch with anticipation. Thank god those men hadn't hurt her, hadn't bruised her, hadn't touched her in any way. God would have had to strike them down for desecrating one of His best pieces of work.

Sheila bent over, arching her back so that her round little ass curved salaciously towards me. She curled an arm under herself, and Sheila found my cock. Her cool fingers wrapped around it and guided me toward her pursed, pink slit.

I gripped her hips, then gnashed my teeth as I entered her. Sheila fit me like a glove. She was so tight and warm that I thought our evening might end before it could go any further. I shook the feeling off, slapped the side of my face lightly with one hand. No way. Sheila owned me like no other woman, but I wasn't going to go out like that.

I went slow, in and out, staring the arc of the small of her back, watching the sweat glimmer and gather there. Some guys apparently think of baseball stats to keep from cumming too soon. I thought about the look on Dread's face, lying in his private office, Dread-- punked out like a two bit hood, a couple of bullets in his brain. I thought about the disappointed look on Pops' face, his brains smeared across the carpet beside his head. The thoughts helped, but then Sheila forced her way back into them.

Sheila's hair flipped to the side as she peered back at me. "Not like that. Fuck me hard. Own it. Please. Fuck. Me. Hard."

Goddammit, it was a tall order, but when a lady asks you nicely, you give her want she wants.

I slammed into her, and Sheila squealed, "YES!" I did it again. And again. And again, picking up momentum. Each time Sheila met me and squealed that breathless word: "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Her ass clapped against my pelvis as they smacked against one another. Sheila arched her back more and bucked into me, timing my thrusts and making them her own. I felt sweat on my brow, on my torso, on my legs and arms, moistening my body. My penis felt like a stiff rod of iron between my legs, continuing to become hotter and hotter as it reached its critical melting point.

Sheila cried out, "This is how you FUCK MY MAN!"

Cynthia made a sound, this strange kind of garbled, murmured moan. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and her legs gave out. She slid down, her red hair trailing her head on the mirrored wall of the elevator car, the hand in her shorts never ceasing its frantic gyrations. I can only assume she agreed with Sheila's assertion.

Sheila continued her onslaught. I watched her in the mirrors of the elevator walls: her clenched red beautiful face, her swishing sun-washed blonde hair, her swaying breasts. She was glorious, immaculate, perfect.

She was worth killing for.

Then her green eyes caught mine in the reflection. When they met, finally, I felt her tense. Then-- her entire frame turned into mass of shivering, spasming tremors. She put a clenched fist to her mouth and screamed into it. Her body became one huge fireworks show of an orgasm.

I let go and joined her. All the hate, all the frustration, all the intensity of the past few days jettisoned out of me in glorious, fluid explosions, filling the beautiful blonde who was joined to me in ecstasy. It went on forever; only it didn't. Infinity ended. Reality set in, and we were simply naked and sweaty.

Gasping for air, breathless, I caught her eyes again in the reflection of the mirror. There was only one thing left to say, so I said it.

"I love you, too."