Selfish (The Little Fugue Mix)
Right on time, he walks in just as you're licking the first salty-sour-tangy taste from this guy's cock, (you think you remember his name's Roger); and God he's got the uncanny ability to arrive at just the right moment, ruin any mood anywhere near the ballpark of fun.
You stand up and Rog's already got his dick in his pants, is skittishly zipping himself up, looking like he wants to bail when he takes a gander at the green-eyed monster, and then he does take off without even a look back at you, which is fine except now you're horny and pissed off and, oh look, the only guy in the room is the one guy you can do without. Fucking Boone.
The creepiest thing about him isn't that he's caught you having sex one too many times. Though there is that. No, the creepiest is that he hangs around after he's caught you, like he needs some sort of fucking explanation. Like he's your brother or something. And that's even creepier, fucking sick if you get down to it. If he's going to be your brother, he shouldn't be looking at you like that. He shouldn't be staring the way he is. His eyes, those glowing, fucking unreal eyes, shouldn't be staring at you like they remember exactly what you were doing and like they wonder what it'd feel like if you were doing it on him.
You tend to smile smug whenever he walks in on you, and you smile even wider when he starts to glower, which he inevitably does. You're so judgmental, Boone. You're so above it all. You're my goddamn savior, aren't you? Come to rescue me, big brother? A day late and a dollar short.
But he pays the dollar, and more. And you think it may be all right that he gets to walk in, as long as he produces the money and hands over what that cunt of a stepmother stole from your dad.
Want a free show, Boone, baby? Ain't gonna happen.
He starts chasing you around the world and that's more fun; you get your cake and eat it too. Piss of Boone and travel the world, get cash while you're at it. What's not to love? And you do love it, more than a little you love it. You even start to think you might love the way Boone stares you over, with those eyes of his, after he's gotten through lecturing you.
How many times, Shannon? How many times am I going to have to run to help you?
How many times? Oh, Boone, you act as though you didn't want this. When you get to pull some strange guy off me, isn't that the best feeling in the world next to coming? And you would come, Boone. If weren't resigned to calling me sister, wouldn't you just love to come all over me
But you don't say it, and not because you don't want to hurt him, not because you like to pretend he's really your brother. He's not your brother, even when he's calling you "sister" and you're calling him "big brother" and you live in the same house, and you have dinner together and that bitch, his mother, smiles sweet at you, wants you to call her "mom" even as Dad, your dad, lays dying and dies and goes away and leaves you alone with them. With them. And Boone pretends that he cares and that he's there for you. And don't you want some help from him? He understands, he says. He lost his father too. To fucking divorce.
Fuck him. Fuck him.
So now you're standing face to face and you take the time to smile and run the back of your hand against your mouth so he knows just what you're doing and you know you're more than half naked and your underwear's somewhere near your knees and all you have to do isŠ there now they're around your ankles and you step out of them and you catch him glancing down at them and then away and you see the barest flicker of pink flesh dart between his lips and it leaves a tiny trail of saliva that for some reason you yearn to wipe away and you want to wipe away too that look of fucking judgment because he's not better than you and you're not his fucking sister and when's he going to stop doing what he does and when are you going to stop him? "You're so superior, Boone," you manage as he shakes his head and walks out the door. Your tongue is fat in your mouth and you remember how much you've had to drink and how many dirty martinis was that. Oh, four, maybe, but who's counting now that Boone's leaving and he can't leave just yet because you haven't told him what an asshole he is, and when you do he still doesn't stop and keeps on walking and you stumble down the hall, following him at a short distance and you kick off your fucking heels which make you taller than him and doesn't he hate to feel small, you think. Doesn't he love to be taller than you, the bigger person, the protector. Goddamn you, Boone. Fuck you! And you do say that out loud and he turns to give you another one of his looks and maybe he'll start screaming at you, yes, but no, he doesn't and you still follow even as he slams the door behind him but you're still right there and he opens and shuts his mouth and when it turns down in anger that's when you grab him by the shoulders and fall into him with your mouth and with your breasts and with your hips. You feel that part of him, that hard part, that hard cock of his against you, right against you and it's a victory. And you smile against his mouth when he lets you drive your tongue into his mouth and grabs your arms right above the elbows; and it feels like he wants to lick you clean from the inside out and you let him, for short while, you let him before remembering his eyes and now you struggle together toward the bed and you fumble with the buttons on his jeans and he tries to help you, still looking angry God help him, he helps you and together you do it, together you do it and now he's free and you grab hold of him and he half closes his eyes but you can still see the bright bright bright green staring at you and the pupil is so large now that the bright is only a ring around that dark pupil and you hold your smile and you grab hold of his cock and your skirt is around your waist and you're over him and he's under you and in you and out and in and the world is hazy and you hope it's because you've had too much to drink and not because he's inside you and moving and staring and moving and licking his lips and licking yours and kissing you so deep that you think he may reach the very core of you and you pull back and drive down down hard, so hard that you think you'll have bruises and you'll walk funny for a week but so fucking what. You keep up the rhythm and it builds inside you, your orgasm, and it builds fast and you feel it and you want it, but not from him and you don't want to think about him but there he is, under you and in and out and so far in, so far in you can't ignore. And you see his eyes and his cheeks are bright red and he's breathing hard and you come. And you come. And you come. And your world spins so fast you think you'll fall right off into that nebula around the corner from Mars. But then you don't. You float right back and he's still in you and raising his hips and his eyes have almost closed and he's breathing breathing breathing. God he can't seem to get enough air. So you give it to him. You climb off and give him all the air he wants. And you both look down at his straining cock and you see how close he is but you don't care because you hate him. You hate him so fucking much. And so you pull down your skirt and you walk away. Away and out and you feel his glare, and you don't even think you care so very much.