Page 25 of The Vows We Keep

The hot water sluices over me and eases the aches in my body. It chases away the last of the headache, from the booze or the drugs they gave me, I’m not sure. My lower back hurts after all that time tied uncomfortably to a chair. And my dick aches because of Catalina Flores.

While I should just get shampooed and get the fuck out, I slide my palm around my dick. The water from the shower isn’t lubricating enough, so I tip some conditioner in my palm.

“Fuck.” I hiss as I start to slide from root to tip. My dick is thick, and I like to squeeze it as I jerk off. I let my mind wander to Catalina. The way she spun on that counter to nail Clutch in the side of the head was spectacular. She’s wearing leathers and solid black boots with a thick low heel. I switch the details out. Leggings, high-heeled boots.

Can visualize her ass better.

I speed up my strokes as I mentally undress her. I imagine her on her knees, sucking my cock. I imagine her mouth taking me in. When I imagine her throat closing around me, I tighten my grip. Nothing better than deepthroat. My lower body shudders in response to the visual.

I imagine her standing up, sliding her wet body against mine. I let go of my cock for a minute and slide my palms up my chest, over my nipples, and back down either side of my balls. The finger I run over my asshole feels illicit, the pressure I apply just behind my balls feels so fucking good I almost come without holding my dick.

I grip it again, thrusting into it instead of jerking my hand. Feels more like I’m fucking Catalina than masturbating.

I bet she grips her tits when she rides on top. Bet she doesn’t have body hang-ups that would get in the way of an all-day fuck-fest. My breath comes out on a gasp.

Bet she would be down for some no-strings sex before she heads home.

Home for her makes me think of Felipe.

I imagine her fucking him.

It makes me burn. Anger. Fury. Vengeance.

And yet ... it’s hot because it’s her.

I imagine I’m behind her, fucking her hard. Her cunt drips for me. I see trails of her cum along my dick. I spit on her asshole and slide my thumb over it.

She groans as I dip my thumb inside, as I press through the thin sheath separating my thumb from my cock until I can feel myself.

“Fuck,” I gasp.

It’s feels so fucking good, I don’t want it to end. I screw my eyes closed, focused on the sensation and my imagination.

When I come, it’s with my whole body. Sensations hammer down my spine as my balls throb and cum snakes out of me. Sucking in air, I slam a palm to the bathroom wall to hold me upright as my legs shake and shudders rattle through me.

Jesus. If thinking about Cat and sex makes me come this hard, I can’t imagine how fucking good it’s going to be when it happens for real. I need to persuade her that we should.

Or maybe I should just show her.

Fuck.

No.

I reach for the shampoo and wash my hair. As I go about my routine, I think about simply keeping Catalina whether she wants me to or not. I’m lucid enough to know I’m not gonna do that. But here’s the thing with having antisocial personality disorder, at least, so I’ve been told: Failure to conform to societal norms, unbounded arrogance, and difficulty to keep violent tendencies at bay are all normal.

Here’s the other thing about ASPD. I don’t really care about how I behave or what I do so long as I don’t get kicked out of the Outlaws. It’s why I’m drawn to this life. It’s why I’m valuable to this club. I can kill and clean up without a drop of empathy. I can be who I am without compunction.

And therein is my reason for not having relationships.

I’d do more harm than good. I can manipulate anyone. I’m feared.

When it comes to Catalina, I wish none of those things were true.

I run my hand over my face as I wash it, feeling the long line of the scar that I got the day I saved Camelot, King’s dad. The day I involved myself in a knife fight that saved my former president but cost me my sister.

She’s dead because of my lack of self-regulation.

I have no family who will talk to me because of my choices, which started long before my sister was killed.