Page 45 of The Misfits
I try to look away, but one image stops me before I get too far. Dexter’s wintry blue eyes. He watches me over the brunette’s silky mane, his bloodshot eyes locked with mine. His gaze is so penetrating, my mouth feels every lick of his tongue.
A tingling sensation builds low in my belly when he steps closer, bringing his eyes level to mine. I stare at him with an equal amount of shock and disgust. The image of him kissing another woman should fill me with rage, but unlike when I watched Nick and Jenni, I’m not seeing two people. I’m only seeing one. Dexter.
He is kissing her, but he is tasting me. He samples my mouth with long, devoted licks and vicious bites, her purrs are barely heard over my throaty moans. The sensation ripping through my body is intoxicating, making my head as woozy as the red drink I consumed with dinner. I am hot, sweaty, and utterly breathless.
When Dexter’s guest switches her attention to dragging his shirt over his head, Dexter’s eyes drop to my feverishly thrusting chest. His chest puffs when he notices I am sleeping naked as requested. I even stripped the mattress of bedding to ensure there wasn’t a thing between us.
The ache of my nipples doubles when his tongue darts out to replenish his kiss-swollen mouth. He knows the sharp points at the end of my perky breasts are for him. He is aware I’m ready, willing, and able. He just needs to push her away, to choose me over her.
Realizing she has competition, Dexter’s guest doesn’t stop at his shirt. She falls to her knees before her hands dart to his belt. Anger roars through my body when she rubs her palm along his erection straining his zipper. She is mistaking his excitement as a consequence of kissing her.
It’s not. It’s for me. I did that to him. She’s just an obstacle.
One I plan to get rid of.
When Dexter’s penis leaps from his boxers, I shoot my eyes to the side. I hate that I am missing out on seeing the veins pulsating in his penis, but I can’t stand watching the brunette’s mouth create an O before she narrows toward his glistening tip. It fills my head with horrible, depraved thoughts and has my hand sneaking across the mattress in search of my razor.
My attention is only diverted for a second. The slump of a body on the mattress secures my utmost devotion faster than lightning brightening a black sky. Unfortunately, the crash wasn’t Dexter pushing the brunette off him. It was from him dumping her onto the bed I’m sitting on.
She giggles, the alcohol leaking from her pores a great explanation for her immaturity.
She’s drunker than my daddy every Fourth of July.
Eager to get the party started, her hands dart up to the buttons of her shirt. Even though I hate her with every fiber of my being, my anger isn’t as palpable as it could be. Her extremely generous breasts are displayed in their full glory, yet Dexter’s attention remains focused on me.
His cock thickens with every second we stare at each other. It is as ifsheisn’t even in the room. It is just him and me, one criminally insane patient with another.
I want to say we use our time well, communicating non-verbally, but that isn’t the case. Dexter’s eyes are too glazed to convey his thoughts, and the excessive adrenaline from his adventurous night is still apparent.
I lose his gaze when the brunette scoots up the bed to ease her jeans down her thighs. I clamber away, wanting to ensure not an inch of her skin touches mine. She’s pretty, and her scarcely covered body increases the throb of my pulse, but that’s because I’m angry.Isn’t it?
Before my back can brace the headboard—or my head can work through half the confusion bombarding me—Dexter hooks my ankle and drags me down the mattress. The brunette startles as much as I do when my naked breast grazes her forearm.
“Holy Mary, Mother of Joseph!” she squeals in fright before darting off the bed.
Unlike me, Dexter lets her escape. He’s too busy biting behind my knee to voice an opinion on her abrupt exit.
From the way the brunette squirms, you’d swear she was the one enduring the bite-lick-suck routine Dexter is doing to my skin. His bite is painful, but with each one bringing him closer to my throbbing vagina, I’ll happily accept the tenderness.
A grunt of frustration rolls up my chest when he floats past an area weeping with want. He chuckles against my skin, the flutters of his breath on my stomach doubling my heightened state.
When the brunette’s eyes collide with mine for the quickest second, I nudge my head to the door, giving her marching orders. She ignores me, too mesmerized by the image of Dexter’s tongue circling my nipple to move.
I can’t blame her. The feeling of him sucking my hardened bud is more phenomenal than anything I’ve ever felt. Even being scrutinized by the watchful eyes of the brunette doesn’t dampen my excitement. The fire brewing low in my gut intensifies with every graze of Dexter’s teeth and marvelous swirl of his tongue.
After devouring my left nipple with as much eagerness as he bestowed on my right, Dexter raises his eyes to mine. They are even glassier up close. They aren’t the usual bloodshot eyes you expect a drunk man to have. They are hazier. Unhinged. Devastatingly beautiful.
The intensity in his eyes overwhelms me when he brings them to within an inch of my face. He rests his forehead against mine, our breathing intimately shared. He doesn’t say anything. He just endlessly stares, frying my brain more effectively than the pills he removed from my stomach earlier.
I want to say something. I want to express the crazy sensation annihilating any thoughts that don’t include him, but no matter how hard I fight my lips to move, not a sound escapes them.
Regrettably, the brunette doesn’t suffer the same fate as me. “Oh,” she purrs, breaking an intimate connection that shouldn’t be broken by a third party. “When you said you wanted to play a game, I didn’t realize you meant this.” Her eyes rake over our practically conjoined bodies, only stopping when she reaches Dexter’s jeans huddled around his ankles. “I like her, Dex. She’srealpretty.”
My eyes snap to the unnamed female. Her shortening of Dexter’s name annoys the shit out of me but not as much as her sneaky steps toward our bed. One, she isnotDexter’s friend, so she has no right to give him cute little nicknames. And two, my inability to share was one of the reasons I was expelled from school—that and the fact I set a girl’s hair on fire.
When the dark-haired lady rakes her nails across the muscles in Dexter’s back, I smack her in the hip with my foot. She laughs, assuming I’m being funny. I’m not. If Dexter’s naked body wasn’t weighing down my limbs, I’d remove her from my room with one of the many wicked thoughts streaming through my head.
She won’t be laughing then.
