Page 38 of All That Glitters

I open my mouth, letting him slip them past my lips. Tasting myself, I suck them clean as I feel him pull his cock out of his jeans and press the tip against me.

“You want me to fuck you hard, Legs?” he asks, taking his fingers from my mouth.

I nod. “Yes, Midas, fuck me hard.”

“If the lady insists,” he replies, thrusting deep inside me, and I bite my lip to keep from screaming.

He grips my hips and fucks me hard, just like he promised. I hold on to the wall for support as my legs start to feel like jelly.

“So fucking good.” He punctuates each word with a thrust, making me cry out. “Don’t you dare come, Legs. Not until I tell you to.”

I whimper. “Oh, God.”

“Just Midas will do,” he jokes, picking up the pace.

I feel the heat building inside me, coaxing me to let go, but I hold back.

“Midas, I need to come.”

“Not yet, Legs. Don’t you fucking come yet,” he snarls, thrusting deeper. I wince as he hits a particular tender spot.

I try to hold on, fighting with everything I have. But I can’t and cry out in defeat. I’m going to come any second, and I won’t be able to hold it back any more than I could put out a fire with vodka.

“Fuck,” he curses, stilling deep inside me as he comes hard. “Now, Legs. Come all over my cock, baby.”

I don’t need him to tell me twice. Reaching down, I pinch my clit, and I’m coming, too.

My eyes roll back, and I see stars. And for a moment, everything beyond my pleasure fades into white noise.

When he pulls out, I hiss, which makes him chuckle. That’s when I realize how wet I am.

“Um… Midas? Did the condom break?”

“I wasn’t wearing one. I can’t have kids, and I know you always use condoms with everyone else. I do, too.”

I swallow my anger at him taking the decision out of my hands when it’s my goddamn body. But that’s not really true, is it? It hasn’t been my body since Rock took me in and turned me into a whore.

I turn to face him, tugging my skirt back down to cover myself. “You can’t have kids?”

He shakes his head. “Got sick when I was a teenager. It made me sterile.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ve gotta get back out there. Church is gonna start soon.”

He’s gone before I can say anything else, leaving me standing in the dark with his cum dripping down my thighs.

I close my eyes and drop my head. It’s hard not to feel the blow his words landed. Yeah, he might not have made me any promises, the opposite in fact, but that dreamer inside me couldn’t help but maybe picture little babies someday with Midas’ eyes and my smile. I bite my lip, the pain helping to keep my tears at bay. It’s a ridiculous notion, crying for the loss of something that was never mine to have anyway, so why does it feel like another nail in this coffin made for two?

Not wanting to head back to the saloon like this, I swipe a lone tear and duck into the restroom to clean myself up. I use toilet paper to wipe the cum from between my legs before washing my hands. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. If my damp thighs weren’t enough of a reminder, my flushed skin and messy hair are all proof that I’ve just been freshly fucked.

Reaching up, I run my fingers through the mess, trying to finger-comb it, but give up when I realize I’m making it worse. With a sigh, I splash some cold water on my face, then grab a couple paper towels to pat it dry before looking back at myself.

“That’s about as good as it’s going to get,” I mutter. Not that I look bad. If I have one thing going for me, it’s how I look. My mother taught me the importance of looking good after all and how to wield it like a weapon, though I have to admit, I seem to be the only one who winds up getting hurt.

I take a step back so I can see more of myself in the mirror. My body’s still tight and trim. I work out to keep it that way—genes or not. I won’t take any chances; the club would get rid of me if I weren’t desirable anymore.

My cropped AC/DC T-shirt shows my flat, tanned stomach, while my D-cups strain against the material. The low waist of my short denim skirt shows my belly ring. Looking higher, I glance at my long blonde hair, the same shade as my mother’s used to be, before I look into my blue eyes.