Page 18 of Poison Ivy
It makes me stand out, but clearly not enough to warrant Poison to come and find me. So, I will have to find her.
Thinking of those luscious red lips, those sapphire blue eyes and that pussy that could make a grown man weep, my cock goes hard, and I growl. I want her for more than a few minutes, and not even Torin is going to stop me next time from claiming her totally, body and soul. Gripping my dick, needing a release, I close my eyes and think about Poison. I think about all the ways I could fuck her until she begs me for mercy.
I stroke myself hard and fast, imagining Poison’s tight, wet cunt sheathing me. In my mind, I’ve got her pinned to the bed, her legs wrapped around my waist as I pound into her mercilessly. She’s moaning and crying out, begging me for more.
“Fuck, Poison,” I growl, my hand moving faster over my rock-hard shaft.
I picture her perfect tits bouncing as I thrust, her head thrown back in ecstasy. I want to mark that pale skin, leave bruises and bites all over her so everyone knows she’s mine.
The fantasy shifts, and now she’s on her knees before me, those plump lips wrapped around my cock as she takes me deep in her throat. I fist my hand in her hair, fucking her face roughly.
“That’s it, take it all,” I snarl.
My orgasm builds quickly as I imagine shooting my load down her throat, making her swallow every drop. With a guttural groan, I come hard, shooting a stream of cum over my hand and onto the shower floor.
Panting, I lean my forehead against the tile wall as the hot water washes away the evidence of my fantasy. That little taste of relief isn’t nearly enough. I need the real thing. I need Poison writhing beneath me, screaming my name as I make her come over and over.
“I’m going to find you, little whore, and when I do, you’re fucking mine.”
Stepping out of the shower, I dry off and get dressed quickly. I’ve got shit to do today, and fantasising about Poison isn’t going to get it done. I have an assignment, if you will. Those guys last night gave me a job to prove my worth. It’s a piece of piss. I could do it with my eyes closed.
Heading downstairs, I make my way to the drive, where a sleek black Corvette sits like a panther waiting to roar to life. A little OTT for the English countryside roads, but who gives a fuck?
I slide into the driver’s seat and fire up the engine, feeling it purr beneath me. As I pull out of the driveway, my mind drifts back to last night’s clandestine meeting. The shadowy figures, their faces obscured, had promised me power beyond my wildest dreams if I could prove myself worthy.
A simple task. Eliminate the target.
Simple for someone like me. I may not have Poison’s finesse, but I’ve got my own deadly skills.
The target is some mid-level warlock causing trouble for the wrong people. Idiots like that are a dime a dozen around here. I almost feel bad for the poor bastard, but stupid is as stupid does. Know your limits and who to fuck with before you play with the big dogs.
As I speed down the winding country roads, I smirk. This job is child’s play compared to what I’m capable of. But it’s a means to an end. Do this, prove myself, and I’m one step closer to finding Poison.
My destination is a seedy pub on the outskirts of town - the kind of place that attracts all manner of supernatural lowlifes. I’m looking forward to it. I could use a bit of violence to work out my frustrations.
As I pull into the gravel lot, I park up and scan the car park. It’s mid-morning, barely, but this place isknown for its lax opening hours. I climb out of the car and stalk towards the door, my boots crunching on the loose stones.
Shoving open the worn door, I look around and spot the target a mile off. He’s arrogant and has that overly confident smirk on his face as he regales his followers with tales that are probably embellishments at best, lies, more like.
Not really giving a toss about being subtle, I stalk over to him and grip him by his godawful black shirt with silver moons printed on. It’s cheap and nasty. “You Winslow?”
“Who wants to know?” he replies, giving me a filthy glare and trying to zap me into letting him go.
I laugh darkly as his pathetic attempt at magick fizzles against my skin. “Someone who’s about to end your miserable existence.”
Before he can react, I drag him off his barstool and slam him face-first into the nearest wall. The impact leaves a crack in the plaster, and Winslow groans in pain. Torin has a point in what he always says. There is something fan-fucking-tastic about getting your hands dirty.
“What the fuck?” Winslow sputters, blood trickling from his split lip.
I lean in close, my voice a low growl. “You’ve been causing trouble for the wrong people. Time to pay up.”
His eyes widen in fear. “Wait, I can explain?—”
Getting confirmation that this is, in fact, my target,I cut him off by grabbing a fistful of his greasy hair and smashing his head against the wall again. “Save it for someone who gives a shit.”
The bar erupts into chaos as Winslow’s cronies finally snap out of their shock and rush to his aid. I grin, relishing the chance for a proper fight. Spinning around, I catch the first attacker with an elbow to the face, feeling his nose crunch satisfyingly under the impact.
The next one comes at me with a broken bottle. I dodge the wild swing and grab his wrist, twisting until I hear bones snap. He screams and drops to his knees.
