The Divorcee Murder Club

Dieciocho ~ 18

"One way or another, those will end up in my pocket later."

"No," she says again and faces me. "Now sit!"

"Yes, ma'am." I sit on the mustard yellow sectional, and she kneels in front of me, glaring as she tugs the zipper on my jeans. The pulse in my neck beats faster, like a racehorse on meth as the anticipation grows. She wants to wreck me, and I'm here for it, so I lean back, stretch my arms across the couch, and arch a brow. "Show me what you got."

"Patience," she whispers, and little Miguel swells as she yanks my dick out of my briefs.

Despite how rough she's being, I like it, even though I shouldn't, and her mouth is perfect as she places it around me, then guides it up and down my length. She doesn’t even mind when I grab a fist full of her hair. The jokes on her, though, because I imagine she’s Mindy. And one must do what one must do, am I right? Angie used sex to persuade me, and now I’m using it to persuade her. All is fair in war, and for the next few minutes, her tongue coaxes me to the brink of surrender.

“I’m gonna come,” I warn her, and when she moans, the sound vibrates up my cock. “Where do you want it?”

Except she ignores the question and strokes faster while bringing her lips to the tip, sucking harder. We’ve only done this a handful of times, but she already knows how I like to be worked. Except for the fact she still won’t look me in the eyes during sex. That’s the one part she doesn't get right.

“I’m… coming…” I mumble, and she moves one hand down to my balls, massaging those wrinkled bags until I burst into her mouth. “Fuuuuuck.”

The room fades but comes back into focus as the euphoria swaddles me, so I release her hair and slump forward to watch her throat bob as she swallows like a pro. Some of it leaks from the corner of her lips, and like any gentleman would, I swipe it away. But this little vixen is greedy, and she sucks my thumb into her mouth.

Not a single drop gets wasted with this woman. 

“My turn.” She gazes up at me through her lashes. “Think you can make me come just as good?” 

“Is that a challenge?”

Angie grins. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” 

"Challenge accepted," I say and pluck her from the floor in one swoop, then flip her onto the cushions. “Think you’ll scream my name like last time?” 

I don’t wait for a response. Instead, I push her tank top toward her tits, and I drag my tongue down her abdomen. She bites onto her lower lip, her eyes glinting with excitement while she gazes at me, and I like it too much. Because despite the hardened psycho shell, Angie really is a babe as her curls tumble down her breasts in a glossy cascade of chocolate. She’s sexier than usual, which makes me want her even more. 

But I need to remember this is mechanical, so I distract myself by teasing her belly button with a lick, and she giggles. The sound pierces my chest and halts me from licking my way down because it’s such a pure tone, full of innocence, and it’s a glimpse into the real Angie. 

There’s so much resentment boiling beneath her flesh — so much distrust and hunger for vengeance. What exactly did her ex-husband do to her? I’d love to know, and I wish she would tell me so I don't have to go behind her back, but I think microscopic moments like these will be the only time she reveals her vulnerable side.

But I want more of it.

Scratch that. I do NOT want more. This is a business transaction. So, I dive face-first into her parted legs and proceed to eat her like I’m mad at it. 

Maybe I am?

Either way, Angie doesn’t just scream my name once — she does it multiple times.

King Kong has nothing on me.

∆∆∆

It's later in the evening, and we’re in the kitchen, snacking on leftover take-out while Angie sits on the countertop. Her feet dangle and swing like a little girl. It’s another peep underneath that mask of hers. I love how smooth her face is when it’s freshly washed after rinsing me off her, and Angie is sans makeup. Her curls have stretched from tangling in the sheets, so her hair looks wavier as she tucks part of it behind her ear — exposing one of her cheekbones. 

There’s something so normal about this moment that I feel a ripple of butterflies in my gut, and my body betrays me as I lean in to kiss her temple. Even though I need to dig into the asshole side of my dark persona, I can’t deny the other part of me which enjoys the sweeter version of Angie. I like how we can stand around in comfortable silence, snacking on cold ramen. 

But I shouldn’t be comfortable around Angie at all, and my hackles should be up.

The counter vibrates as my phone’s screen illuminates, and Angie’s brows rise as she glances at it.

“Our little kitten?”

Snagging it, I read the message. “No. It’s work. They need me to come in.”

“At Penthouse?” Her eyes brighten. 

“Yeah.”

“I’ve never been.”

“I’m not taking you,” I snort.

“Why not? I bet if your precious Mindy asked, you would.”

“No, I wouldn’t. Plus, you’re like a ticking bomb, and I can’t keep my eyes on you all night, so there’s no way I’m letting you frolic the club without supervision.”

“I’m not a child. I can take care of myself at a nightclub, so I resent your little remark about me being a time bomb.”

“I said no.”

But I’m a fucking moron to think I have any control of what’s about to happen as Angie’s phone pings too. She rolls her eyes as she pulls it out from her pocket, but then her brows furrow at the screen, followed by a snort.

“What?” I ask.

“I love winning.” She grins and shows me the message.

Kay: Your meeting with the Sisters will be at Penthouse nightclub at 11:00pm tonight. They have a private section reserved. Do not be late.

"What the fuck?" I gasp. Having a meeting like this at my place of work is bad for business. But it’s probably great for my employer and only bad for me. It invites questions.

I hate this. I really fucking hate this.

“Well, it’s been nice, but it looks like I have to get going if I want to make it to the ball in time…” Angie sighs and slides off the counter.

However, I stand there watching as a thousand thoughts race through my head. It’s nine PM, so we have two hours until our rendezvous, and my gut roils. Whether it’s from the ramen or the onset of anxiety this has triggered, I don’t know. But I do know I have to take a massive stress-shit! The front door creaks open, and Angie pauses to blow me a kiss.

“I’ll swing back around here so we can go together,” she says.

“Or we can just meet there.”

“No. We’re business partners. We go together. Got it, handsome?”

Then, she disappears, and I’m bathed in annoyance as I run my hands through my hair repeatedly. Why does the meeting have to take place at my work? 

What are these Sisters up to?