“I know,” I agree with a laugh.
Molly moves quickly, leaning forward to open the window, then leaning out.
“Hey!” she shouts at them. When she realizes she hasn’t gotten their attention, she moves back into the room toward the bed to retrieve one of her flip-flops, then goes back to the window and hurtles it toward them.
“Christ, Molls!” I say, giving her arm a tug, but she pulls away and climbs onto the windowsill. I get to my feet, wrapping my arms around her as she perches herself on the sill, waiting for them to figure out they have an audience. Once they do, the chick bolts and the guy walks over to the window—obviously pissed off at losing his pussy for the night—then pulls the curtains shut.
“Well, that was rude,” she says with a huff as she leans back against me, looking up at me with a pout. I laugh, the cigarette dangling on my lips. Molly reaches up for it and places it between her teeth, allowing me to bring her back into the room.
“How would you feel if someone was watching us?” I ask with a smirk.
She shrugs indifferently as she inhales deeply, tilting her head to the side. I roll my eyes good-naturedly, reaching past her to pull the window back down, when I feel her hands slowly start to move down my body.
“Here—hold this,” she says with a wicked grin, sliding my cigarette back between my fingers as she moves down to her knees.
I close my eyes again, placing my free hand gently on the back of her head and sigh happily as she pulls my cock out of my shorts. Not a second passes before she’s sliding her soft, full lips up and down my length as I take another drag from my smoke.
Yeah; Molls may be fucking crazy, but she’s mine and I’m hers. Tomorrow, when the sun rises on another day of deviance and a love that never should have been, I’ll let her in on the little surprise I’ve thought up for her birthday.
She may have a shit ton of demons wreaking havoc inside of her, but so do I, and it’s time to let them out to play with each other.
The Office
Molly
The large concrete monstrosity that we’re heading toward is where Pike said we could play next. Whenever he tells me I can bring Gigi, I know we’ll have the best day ever. I allow my gaze to take in the offices before me. Inside is a man we both hate—one with far too much money who uses it for things that he should be punished for.
I can feel the cool steel of my blade against my thigh. There’s nothing like the sleek metal when it comes into contact with flesh. Smiling, I wonder how he’ll beg. Because that’s what I’ll make him do. This asshole loves to do dirty things to women who have no choice and he asserts his power when he knows they cannot fight back.
Blackmail is a dirty game, but I’m about to show him that two can play. What he doesn’t know is, I like to do filthy things too. Lots of them. My brand of crazy has never found it’s match—not even Pike can keep up with me at times, and I find myself wondering how he stays. There are many moments I look over at him, and I let myself remember the first day I saw him. How he became my world, and even though I disappear into the darkness sometimes, Pike is always there to drag me back out.
Strolling through the glass doors, I glance around at the suited men and women that dot the reception area. They’re all dressed in labels—designer names that I wouldn’t want to wear even though I can afford it. Don’t get me wrong, I just choose not to. My black Docs and ripped denim shorts are the only uniform I need. Pike bought me a brand-new white tank top with an Anarchy symbol on the front that’s cut out on the sides, showing off the black lace bra underneath. He said he likes seeing my pretty tits when he’s driving us around in his blood red Camaro.
“Can I help you?” The snippy little bitch working in reception questions us as we near her desk. Big eyes take me in and I can tell from the way her dark brow arches that she doesn’t believe I belong here. When she looks over at Daddy, the interest that flickers in her gaze makes my blood boil. He’s mine. Back off, bitch.
Her bright red lips look like they’ve been filled with Botox and I wonder if I stab them, will it ooze out and stain the crisp white blouse she’s wearing? With make-up so thick, I could probably swipe my credit card through it and still not find her real face. Perhaps I can slowly slice the skin from her skull—gently or brutally—and use it to paint the fucking walls. The yellowish-orange of her foundation looks like baby shit. Gives new meaning to the term shit face. I suppress a giggle because Pike told me to behave until we’re in the office upstairs.