Page 24 of The Misfits
We do too.
Air whizzes through Dexter’s teeth when he rolls over. I don’t know whether his huff was because of my denial or the pain no doubt rocketing through his body from his stitches tugging. I’m no one special, so I suspect it is my last assumption.
I realize I’m way off the mark when he tugs his wet pants down his naked backside two seconds later. He isn’t grunting because he’s in pain. He’s struggling to remove the stiff material from his body.
My eyes drop to a loose stitch in my dress when he tosses the rigid material onto the ground. It lands with a thud on the grimy floor halfway between us before he snickers, “Night. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
Although his tone is brimming with sarcasm, I scan the room, petrified about what bugs he is referring to… and perhaps to catch the occasional glimpse of his naked backside.
Roughly twenty minutes later, the chatter of my teeth becomes too annoying for Dexter to ignore. I’m shivering uncontrollably, equally cold and terrified. It isn’t the bugs scaring me. It’s how many times I’ve ogled Dexter’s ass the past twenty minutes. I’m eyeing the ridges of his muscular back and backside without constraint, not the least bit worried about what Nick’s reaction will be at discovering I’ve eyed another man.
If I hadn’t spent the last five years in a psychiatric hospital, I’d admit myself for my ludicrousness. I’m stunned at the thoughts streaming through my head tonight. I only ever killed for one man. Tonight, I killed for another.
What’s wrong with me?
After jackknifing into a half-seated position, Dexter throws his legs over the bed and heads my way. I’m tempted to scream for him to stop, but the image of his...penis... swinging with every step he takes is too mesmerizing. I’ve only seen two penises in my life. One was my father’s, so it doesn’t count, and the other was Nick’s. But even then, it was never up close and personal like this.
My dad’s was when he’d forget to close the bathroom door when showering. Nick’s was anytime he was withher.
He must havereallyenjoyed the heinous things they did together because they did them a lot.
By a lot, I mean a minimum of two to three times a day.
My body got the same thrilling sensation back then as it has tonight, but tonight’s is more powerful and missing the red-blooded fury that kept my thoughts far from sane while I plotted ways to destroy their relationship.
Air leaves my lungs in a grunt when Dexter snags my wrist, yanks me to my feet, then shreds my dress straight off my body. You’d think the drenched material would give him a little trouble. It doesn’t. It’s like tissue paper in his big, manly hands. It floats to the floor like a feather, the brutal grunts emitting from my mouth helping it soar.
It takes me a few moments to realize what’s happening. When I do, I grunt, demanding the focus of Dexter’s eyes.
He doesn’t give it to me.
“If you want me to stop, Claudia, just say the word.” He keeps his eyes on the down-low, ensuring he won’t spot my unspoken denial.
Since he refuses to hear the words I can’t speak, I slap his hands, chest, and face, forcing him to feel them instead.
My fight only encourages his campaign. The harder I hit him, the more violently he tugs at my dress. Before I know it, I’m standing before him in nothing but a bra and a pair of modest panties.
Well, they were modest before torrential rain had its way with them.
After taking three steps back, Dexter’s eyes slowly rise to meet mine. They take their time, absorbing my pressed thighs, quivering stomach, and erratically panting chest on the way. When they finally reach my face, that tingling sensation I mentioned earlier doubles. The hunger in his eyes is even more noticeable than it was twenty minutes ago, and his penis is more than three times its original size. It is seeping with want and throbbing with need.
“If you remove your bra, I’ll let you keep your panties.” The voice he uses this time is one I’ve never heard. It’s husky and raw, and in all honesty, pulse-quickening.
When I shake my head, wordlessly denying his demand, he takes a step closer to me. The fire in his eyes warns me he’ll remove my bra as viciously as he did my dress, but that isn’t my greatest concern. It is his rapidly thickening penis. It is growing at a rate my hazy mind can’t comprehend.
Is that normal? Should it grow so fast that angry, pulsating veins throb all over it?
Nick’s penis only grew like that just before he...
I can’t say it.
I won’t say it.
We hate her.
My eyes lift from Dexter’s penis when he warns, “This is your last chance, Claudia. Remove your bra, or I’ll do it for you.” When his tone reveals his demand isn’t a suggestion, my eyes drift to the only window in the cabin. A spark of lightning breaks through the dark clouds, adding to the eerie sensation bristling between Dexter and me. The air in the cabin is roasting, making me confused as to why Dexter’s campaign is so vehement. The energy teeming between us makes a furnace unnecessary, much less the heat of his massively dilated eyes raking over my scarcely covered body.
Not wanting to weather a storm in panties and a bra—and interested in exploring a set of emotions I’ve never felt—I return my eyes to Dexter. The tick in his jaw lessens when I start to unhook my bra.
