Chapter Thirty
Justin
“Lullaby”- Frank Carter and The Rattlesnakes
Iusedto check my sales report religiously. I’d gloat about how much money I was raking in. Every day, I gained new followers, new reviews. I had a publishing deal with one of the Big 10. Organizers begged me to come to signings because just the mention of my name had them selling out of tickets. Iwasfucking Justin Wild, so I bought this amazing apartment in the expensive part of town. I bought that vintage Mercedes and designer jeans. I had an interior decorator come in and make my apartment look like that of a best-selling author. I went from being that guy who was cheated on time and time again because he was a hopeless romantic, from a nobody, to the guy who had everything. The guy no girl could tie down.
And now... I click on my KDP report and I cringe. My sales have dropped. Drastically. My email has been inundated with requests tonotcome to signings, offers to refund my deposit because I’ll make the readers “uncomfortable”. Evidently, I’m now a sexual predator. An asshole. A dick. A worthless, talentless piece of shit. It took me two years to write the book that changed my life. Blood and sweat and tears and countless bottles of whisky, and it took someone else a matter of one blog post to rip it all to shreds. Tori texted me yesterday and told me I’d finally played the wrong girl.Bitch.
My new book—the pirated one—just released today, and I’ve only had 325 downloads. Sure, that may sound like a lot, but when you are used to thousands... at this rate, I’ll never hit a list, and if I don’t hit a list that will just prove I’m a failure. That my writing means nothing. That it was more about who I was, the way I looked—that it was about somethingmorethan just the words. I may be failing, drowning even, but I refuse to let anyone else see it. This can all be a fucking façade because I won’t give that bitch the satisfaction of thinking she destroyed me. I click on the search engine, type in Amazon and my book title, and then I do what I’ve done for every goddamn release since thePerceptionseries ended: I press “Give as Gift” over and over and over… then I go to iBooks and Smashwords... 1-clicking and filling in emails again and again until my index finger is numb. As for the print copies, I’ll go onto Amazon and order a fuckload and just use them at signings.
“Oh my god,” Marisa groans, “my thumb is going numb.”
I glance up and smile before leaning across the couch to kiss her. Thank fuck, this time, I have someone to help me. “I feel like a piece of shit for doing this... ” I wouldn’t dare tell her this isn’t the first time. “I just, I can’t let that damn blog think they ruined my life, you know?”
“No. I totally get it, babe. It’s fucked up. I mean, what kind of person would do something like that anyway?” She sighs, her fingers frantically typing and clicking. “What do they get from it?”
“Who fucking knows. A sick satisfaction that they ruined someone.”
She shakes her head. “I swear to god, some people should just have a massive stick shoved right up their asshole.”
“I just hate that you got dragged into it.” I look over the top of my computer and she glances up too. “I’m sorry about the pictures. I really am.”
A soft smile shapes her lips and I swear, she looks like a damn angel right now. “It’s fine. I mean, when I was like seventeen I used to say I wanted to pose forPlayboy, so you know... kinda like a bucket list item checked, right?”
I pause for a second and snapshot this moment in my mind for safe keeping because this girl truly is unbelievable. “I hate you for making me love you right now,” I say before I kiss her again. My laptop topples from my lap and I lean into her more, my hands grabbing at her tits, but she shoves me away.
“I still have two-hundred books to send out if you want to hit that list.”
Laughing, I settle back in my seat and pick up my laptop. “Okay, okay... but once we get done with this, I’m fucking you up.”
“Promises, promises,” she says.
Smirking, I arch a brow, set my computer to the side and grab hers from her lap.
“Hey!”
I close her Macbook and toss it to the other end of the couch before I dive at her, fisting her hair and jerking her head to the side. “You don’t think I’ll fucking tear your pussy up?” I ask, tracing my tongue over her throat. My cock hardens in my sweats and I grind my hips against hers. She wiggles underneath me, her hands flying to my back, her nails digging into my shoulders. I nip at her neck. “You gonna answer me, huh?”
A soft moan slips through her lips. She tosses her head back, thrusting her hips against me. I tug on her hair again. “I’m going to tear it up,” I say, sitting up and ripping her little short-shorts down her legs and tossing them to the floor. I shove her thighs apart and lean over, slowly circling my tongue over her clit. She bucks. She grabs at my hair. And I lick over her again, my tongue barely touching her.
“Shit,” she groans, and I laugh against her sweet pussy.
“I’ll make you beg for it.” I suck on her clit as I spread her legs farther apart.
“Shit... ” and her next word is lost on a deep gasp because I’ve just shoved my tongue deep inside her, scraping my teeth over her clit. Her fingers tighten in my hair and she’s rolling her hips against my face. The second her breaths grow frantic and her thighs start that slow tremble, I stop, pulling away from her and wiping my face on her thigh.
“Justin,” she pants, eyes still closed, legs wide open.
“How many more books did you say we had to send out?” I adjust my twitching cock in my pants and go to grab my laptop.
“What?” Her eyes pop open.
“How many more books?”
“You can’t just do that?”
“Oh,” I say with a smirk, “but I just did.”
Her eyes flare, a feral fire flickering behind them. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
“Ah, now that’s a little extreme, isn’t it?” And that desperation in her face—I f love that. And maybe it’s not about the chase, maybe it’s about this right here, being a god of fuck. I push my computer to the side and reach over to her, swiping a single finger over her wet pussy before I pinch her clit. She bucks and grabs my wrists with both hands, yanking me down. I land on top of her, our eyes locked. “Beg me,” I say with a smirk.
“Please, fucking please, fuck me, Justin.”
I tilt my head to the side as I shove my pants down over my hips. “You sure that’s what you want?”
“Fuck me, or I’ll murder you.” Her fingers are digging into my ass cheeks and she’s forcing me against her. The tip of my head touches her and damn, that warmth, that slick feeling causes a tingle to shoot down my spine. I press against her just enough to coax an unhinged moan from her, and there I stop. She’s panting, biting down on her lip, and I think I may just be able to handle this right here. Marisa-fucking-Dawson may be enough to make this vulnerable feeling of love worth it, and so, I slam into her. I bury myself balls deep and fuck her with the kind of passion that’s claiming, yet reverent at the same time. I yank her hair like I want to snap her neck, but I kiss her like I’m in love with her. I fuck her like she’s a cheap whore, but I tell her how beautiful she is, how good she feels. I spank her and disrespect her body while I feed her soul with words and promises, and by the time she’s nothing more than a puddle underneath me, I know she’s been ruined. And if there is one guaranteed way to keep a woman chasing after you regardless of what a dick you may be, regardless of the mistakes you’ll make, it’s by fucking yourself into their damn soul.
