1. Wet His Touch

I've never had business with the Bloodhound Redheads. Not until I watched Damien punch a man to death...

But why do I feel so tight inside?

The night started like any other night, with dozens of customers coming in for dinner at Cheesy Matt. And I've been bone busy with six tables that never seemed to go vacant.

I noticed Damien walking in with some other red-haired guys, and that was the last I saw of him until closing hour.

Charlie was supposed to take the trash out. But like always, I had to help her do it.

The night has grown quiet, and the hassle of the day has died off. If not, I wouldn't have heard it.

A low groan that quickly followed a soft thud.

Honestly, I thought it was that goddamn cat eating out of the dumpster in the alleyway again.

So I rounded the corner to investigate.

It wasn't the cat that made the noise, it was Damien.

Two men lay motionless around him even as he sat atop the third, raised his fist, and delivered a skull-cracking blow. And then another, then another. Again and again, until his fist was sleek with blood, and the man couldn't make any more grunts of pain.

I just watched a man get punched to death...

My heart thumped with a violent intensity as I watched in wide-eyed horror. Damien just killed a fucking man with his bare hands.

I wanted to sneak back around so he wouldn't notice me. But of course, I had to step on a soda can, and now...

Now Damien is standing two feet in front of me.

His ruby red hair was disheveled, his white shirt ruffled and torn with stains of blood all over him. His chest contracted and expanded as he breathed.

He has a black eye, bloody lips, and a very bloody fist. And all I can do is stand there.

He is easily two heads above my 5ft 4" height, with his broadness overshadowing my petite hourglass frame. And he has that darkness about him like I've never seen before, but he isn't doing anything.

I mean, he just killed three men his own size; what's stopping him from snapping me in half like a chopstick?

And what is stopping me from running back into the restaurant for help?

It's silly, you know.

How you see someone every day throughout your life, and never have a second thought about said person, until you see them in a very specific situation.

I've known Damien since middle school.

And I can swear the only things I've ever noticed about him are his ruby red hair announcing him as a Bloodhound Gang member. And then the charming smile that plays on his face every time he says hi.

But now...now I'm frozen in place under his sexiness.

Can I call it sexiness, though?

I mean, he just killed a fucking man, and now standing aimlessly before me.

His bloody fists clenched like iron vices, his muscles so tensed they seemed to be twice their original size.

It's terrifying, and I find myself wondering why he hasn't killed me yet.

I have no idea how long we both stood there staring at each other. Okay fine, I'll say it properly.

I have no idea how long I stood there, hypnotized by his stare. And I didn't even notice when he ran a bloody finger across my cheek.

All I know is that he said something - I have no idea what - and then he left.

Leaving me reeling from feelings I can't explain. Missing the absence of his sleek finger on my cheek and the envelope of his dark aura..

Am I attracted to him? If so, why now?

Why did I have to see him kill someone before I noticed how manly he was...how sexy he was?

My hand subconsciously goes to the cheek he stroked, and my other hand finds its way to my chest.

Fuck, it's so tight inside. What the hell is wrong with me?

Damien? Damien is a gangbanger, and a criminal. So why do I want him to run his bloody fingers on my cheek again?

Why the fuck do I feel tingles crawling down my bones?

Three hours later, the police dropped me off at my apartment after a million questions about what I saw, which, for some reason, I kept saying nothing.

I climbed to my apartment on the third floor and slipped inside.

Without bothering with switching any lights on, I walked straight to the bathroom.

Soap and shampoo, hot water, and a long, relaxing bath later, I'm no longer thinking about Damien's chiseled frame or his bloody fists or how he could handle me like a real man.

I can't even recall the feel of his touch...

Ah, goddamnit... I'm thinking about him.

I walk out of the bath nude as day with only one thing on my radar, vodka. Cause, as it turns out, Charlie was right; only vodka can erase my experience in the alleyway.

But I wasn't feeling like partying tonight, and I didn't feel like getting a random fish in me like Charlie loved to say. If not, Charlie and I would probably be grinding on the dancefloor at Frank's right now.

I just need to get drunk.

I found the half-empty bottle and went back to the bathroom for... Wait a minute.

I turn around towards my sitting area. And there is a dark silhouette on my favorite couch.

My mind yelled Run, and my brain screamed Danger, but I was too curious. I want to know who or what was on my couch.

The switch was just a couple of feet to my left, I pushed the button for the living room and....

Damien is staring at me with those dark, soulless eyes.

My heart jumped into my mouth, and my eyes widened in fear. I just stood there, frozen in place with vodka in hand and terror in my bones.

He is dressed in a jacket and jeans - all black - with a gray beanie hat and my dicing knife playing in his fingers.

He's going to kill me with my fucking knife.

My God, he is so hot... I-I mean, he is so murderous.

"The police found those bodies pretty fast, huh?"

Damn, has he always sounded so husky?

He is so calm and collected, he isn't even staring at my boobs or my hardening nipples. It's terrifying how my nudity isn't affecting him.

I'm kinda embarrassed...like, wet.

Fuck, when did I get wet?

"Got nothing to say?" Damien's voice made me blink.

"I..." I opened my mouth, but I have no idea what the question was.

"Tell me something," he paused, "why did you look at me like that?"

'Like what?' I thought to myself. Actually, I wanted to say it out loud, but my voice won't work.

"When I ask you questions, you'd best answer them," He said with a sudden murderous voice. Choking me with his eyes and making my juice trickle down my thighs as my pussy twitched involuntarily.

He pushed himself up and walked up to me, his eyes never leaving mine.

"All I need is one reason not to kill you, Stella. Just one, and I won't." He said.

"I have known you most of my life, and I never want you to see me this way. But you did, and I've to kill you."

Fuck, I'm so...

"So,"

He punctuated his words with his left hand, suddenly grabbing my neck and squeezing...choking me. His brows knitted with deadly intent. His muscles bulged with exertion as he pushed me against the wall.

Fuck... Why the heck do I like this so much?

"Tell me, Stella," He said, squeezing harder and forcing my survival instincts to start fighting against my dark sexual urge, as I started clawing at his fingers.

Still... I don't want him to let go.

"Why," Damien started, "Should I. Let you live?"

I want to beg him to choke me harder, fuck I want him to press that knife against my throat. I want him to remain soulless and devilish, murderous in fact.

I can't get enough of this.

But then he let go of me sooner than I wanted, and I crashed to the floor coughing and gasping for breath.

I didn't even realize my eyes had rolled into my skull, and I was already blacking out.

"You sick bitch," Damien said with a light chuckle as I gasped for air.

"Did you just cum?"

Wha...what? I looked down on myself, and sure enough, I just had a small orgasm. I'm leaking all over the floor.

Just kill me already... But I want him to do it again, maybe more this time.

"I..." I started putting my legs together and my arms wrapped around my chest. Yes, I'm embarrassed, but I don't want it to stop now.

"Please..." I said softly.

"What?" Damien asked, and even without looking up at him, I could tell his soulless, murderous demeanor was broken. And the charming Damien I've always known is back.

I don't mind, though.

"Please, fuck me," I said, so quietly I barely heard myself.

And for two whole minutes, Damien just stood there without moving an inch. Standing over my naked body and making me feel like shit, worse than shit.

He made me feel like a slut, then he said;

"You didn't tell the cops anything, did you?"

I nod negatively, still looking everywhere but his face.

"Is this why you were looking at me like that earlier? You were aroused?" He asked, and I nodded again.

"Want me to fuck your brains out?" He said it almost mischievously and I looked up at him, nodding in expectation. But his expression changed.

He let out a sigh, bending down to my eye level.

"Look," He said, lifting my chin to meet his eyes, "you know I'm in a relationship with a very dangerous woman, right? And I love her with everything."

Of course, Ms Deet, who doesn't know how jealously territorial she is. In every sense of the world.

Forget that, she's the leader of the Bloodhound gang. Her ruthlessness is second only to Silco, the Kingpin of Compton.

And I just found myself tripping for her man?

This is some goddamned shitting ass damn shit.

"I like you, Stella," Damien said, and my eyes suddenly lit up with an expectant smile, "and I'd very much like to fuck your brains out."

Damn, those words are doing magic to...

"But if you value your life," Damien's voice cut my imagination short, "I'd suggest you get off your horse and go get fucked up."

"I appreciate not telling on me, but then again... You're the Bloodhound's now."

He pointed the knife at my throat and pushed the pointy end against my skin until a trickle of blood came out...

Fuck...why do I love it so much.

"Don't do anything stupid, and I might come back to finger you."

With that, he raised and walked out the door. Leaving me with a burning desire leaking all over the floor. Hands shaking in terror and two fucking hard nipples.

Ten seconds later;

"Where the fuck is my vibrator?” I growled with a frustrated need for a proper release.

I marched straight to my room and fished out the vibrator from my closet.

Its buzz quickly filled the space as I landed hard on the bed with my legs wide open.

"Fuck," I moaned to the immediate ecstacy of consistently satisfying vibrations that ripped straight up my spine.

My free hand automatically went to my neck, trying to make the phantom feel of Damien's fingers come back to life. As I rubbed my pussy with the vibrator.

Drawing small circles at a rapid pace as I imagined Damien walking back through the doors and calling me a slut. Maybe he'd snatch the vibrator from me, throw my legs even wider apart, and fuck my brains out.

"Uhhh," I groaned in shock and a new sense of pleasure as I unintentionally pushed the vibrator into my pussy.

Fuck, it hurts.

My vibrator wasn't designed to be a dildo, and still, I pulled it out and pushed it back in. Feeling an intense wave of orgasm coming down from my brain with the same electrifying vibrations in my pussy.

That didn't stop me.

I pulled out and slipped it back in regardless of the pain. Gradually increasing my pace, even as my bones curled and my orgasm hit with a groaning moan, rolling all over me and draining all the strength in my muscles.

I dropped to the bed with the vibrator plugged in my pussy and my fingers subconsciously pinching and playing with my nipples.

"Fuck," I whispered, trying to catch my breath as I stared at the ceiling.

"Fuck you, Damien," I said.

I've never felt this horny before. Hell, I've never been the one to crave one specific dick as much as I'm craving Damien's dick right now.

"Ahh, fuck you, Damien," I groaned as I grabbed the vibrator and immediately started pumping in and out as fast as my wrist could go.

I whimpered in a mix of pain and pleasure as another orgasm started building up.

"Fuck, faster..."

As if of its own mind, my hand moved even faster, and the uneven shape of the vibrator hurt even more. Still, I couldn't stop the moans and groans as I squeezed my boobs.

A second orgasm hit, and yet the only thing in my head is Damien's voice, promising to come back to finger me.

I pulled out my vibrator and replaced it with two fingers, trying to imagine how it would feel if it were Damien's fingers.

My third orgasm came with a cry and yet, I'm still fucking horny.

2. Horny Damn Still

The alleyway was dark. Not that dark, though, just enough that Damien's features seemed extra grim.

His red hair especially had a dark glow to it.

Announcing the splash of blood running along his knitted brows and down his square jaws. The splatter of blood on his chest. And the blood-stained, white, gooey stuff that drips off his fists.

No, that's definitely brain matter.

He said something, but I couldn't make it out.

He stepped closer to me, standing two heads above me with a broad chest and bulging biceps.

"What did you see, Stella?" Damien's voice vibrated through me, commanding ripples of unreasonable tingling layered with a thumping dread of death.

Damien grabbed my hair in one hand. Pressing me against the rigid wall of his abs and chest.

My scalp hurts, his fingers around my waist are too strong, and the dark murderous intent in his eyes has my heart thundering.

Yet, I love it.

"What did you see?"

>>< RING...! ><<

I jump out of bed with a terrified yelp and a thundering heartbeat. The first thing I expected to see was Damien looking down on me. Not the screen door of my bathroom.

>>< RING...! ><<

That fucking receiver.

Sure, my dream wasn't exactly ideal, but it was the closest to feeling Damien's touch again.

And that stupid receiver had to startle me out of my heaven.

'Who the heck is calling me so early on my day off?' I thought to myself, dropping back to the bed with my boobs staring at the ceiling.

Last night was not my best.

I went from being pissed at Charlie for not taking the trash out, again, to being wrapped in Damien's claws.

Hell, I barely had any sleep last night. A butt plug is still lunged in my asshole. And my vibrator has run low.

Still, I can already feel myself getting damp as the memory of my dream comes back.

Fuck... I'd do anything to have his dick in me.

>>< RING...! ><< >>< beep.! ><<

My receiver beeped, and Charlie's voice drifted out,

"Where'd you put your cell, bitch? I've called like a million times already," She said with her usual hungover crack. I could already tell last night was fiery.

"You missed the best night at Frank's, and now you're AWOL? What the fuck is wrong with you? I'm the one who's supposed to make you worry about me, not the other way around. So get your shit together and act like nothing happened last night, got it?"

Geez, talk about an intense best friend.

"Anyway, I really miss you, girl, I love you almost like I love Joe, and don't do anything stupid without me, okay?"

"Stay alive, bye!"

The receiver clicked at the end, and yes, I regret not going to the club with Charlie.

At the very least, I'd have gotten fucked out of my alleyway experience and I wouldn't have met Damien at home.

"Ugh," I groaned, "I need a bath."

I crawled out of bed and dragged myself to the bathroom.

I started filling the tub with a mix of warm water, mixed it with some lavender and almond oil, and then dragged myself out of the room.

Barefooted. Butt-naked. And with a butt plug in my asshole that makes walking feel...well, good.

Anyway, mine is a studio apartment;

The living room and kitchen have an open-plan layout with a cabinet demarcating them.

The seating arrangement consists of a long sofa directly facing the door and a TV console. A green armchair with a relaxing arc to its backrest.

Yes, it's my favorite chair.

And yes, it's making me think about Damien again. Okay fine, it's the way I'm deliberately grazing my pussy that's making me get wet.

I let out a sigh and padded over to the kitchen, prepped the coffee maker, and listened to it whine and turn.

It's the only thing keeping my mind off of...well, everything. Like, in every sense of the word.

The plug in my asshole. The consistent itch in my pussy. The longing for Damien's grip around my neck again. And then the scene I witnessed last night.

Everybody knows that being a witness is the fastest track to being dead in Compton.

And although Damien has promised not to kill me, I'm in even more danger of what his girlfriend would do if...when she finds out I'm horny for her man.

Besides, the Bloodhounds are not exactly a book club. Ms Deet could decide she doesn't like witnesses, and then I'm toast.

Another sigh escaped my lips just as my coffee beeped 'done'. I poured a cup and dragged myself back to the bathroom just in time to see the tub overflowing.

Instinctively, I raced over to turn the tap off and pour my coffee away in the rush.

Honestly? I don't feel so good in a lot of ways.

I feel a pit of dread in my chest. And I can feel rubbery fingers clawing their way out of the pit.

Mom was killed in a drive-by during a gang rivalry phase years ago. Consequently, I shaped my life into a nightlife party girl waitress after I dropped out of high school.

And now, I've gotten myself into a...

What the fuck am I even going to call this? A lust entanglement that can get me killed in three different ways.

The worst part is that I feel dread about what my life might potentially turn into. The more I feel I need to confirm how wet I am.

I want to slip my hands down my body, but then I decided to give myself a little torture.

Automatically, I reach for my boobs.

Squeezing it once... twice, and then again with a gentleness that contrasts the aching throb in my pussy.

I fondled them sensually, deliberately ignoring my nipples despite their rock-hard rigidity. Despite the sharp shock, they send down my spine every time my fingers brush over them.

I'm trying not to moan but then again, I can hardly breathe quietly as I trace sensual fingers to the base of my boobs. Then, retracing back to my areolas with a sensual twirl.

My toes are curled, and my thighs are pressed tightly together. As if it'd somehow be enough to quench the twitching ache in my pussy or the yawn for attention on my nipples.

A soft moan escaped my lips when I finally pinched my nipples.

I bite my lips. Wishing it was Damien alternating between caressing my nipples to send jolts of pleasure straight to my brain, and mercilessly pinching them as a reward for holding my moans back.

Wishing he was here to slide a hand down to my pussy...my hands don't feel good enough.

I swallowed hard as I cup my pussy in my palm and slid a finger over my clit.

Honestly, I don't know why I'm trying so hard not to moan. My lips hurt from biting too hard, and my breaths are a whimpering hitch as I tease myself.

Pinching my pussy lips together even as my hips absentmindedly grinded on my fingers.

"Fuck... Fuck me, Damien," I whimpered with a moan, imagining Damien rubbing his cock over my pussy lips while Ms Deet watched us.

"Shit," I moaned, feeling an orgasm like no other building up. I'm just about done teasing myself, anyway.

My fingers agreed with me, and they took matters seriously with immediate effect. Pumping in and out at a rapidly increasing pace. And bringing me closer to an orgasm faster than I initially expected.

I couldn't stop the moans now.

My breaths quickly matched my pace, and the water rolled around in respect as I fingered myself.

Not slowing, I pumped in and out. Feeling my pussy gnaw at my fingers as I move as rapidly as I can.

I could almost feel like it's Damien fucking me...I could almost feel Ms Deet pointing a gun at my head for fucking her boyfriend.

And fuck...

"Fuuuck!" I screamed as my orgasm crawled through my bones, commanding me to pull and pinch my clitoris painfully.

I froze, and my entire body went rigid.

I felt the pressure of the first wave blast out of me. My breath seized, and my heart thundered as another wave shot out of me. And then two more got my spine vibrating in ecstasy.

Then the last one washed over me, blessing me with a sweet release that made me go limp with a smile.

"Okay," I said with a soft chuckle, as I realized I just made myself squirt.

"That doesn't happen very often," I sighed. Swallowing a lump in my throat, I settled deeper into the tub. Trying to convince myself that I'm now perfectly satisfied and Damien can no longer affect me.

That I don't care for his touch again, nor the danger of even fantasizing about him.

That I don't want to know what his dick would taste...

"Ahhh... Fuck you, Damien." I thought out loud, "I literally just finished masturbating. Why are you fucking with me?"

Damien isn't here, but he's in my head...in my streams. And it doesn't matter if I just had a squirt, it wasn't Damien that made me squirt.

I let out a sigh.

"Pull yourself together, Stella," I said with a soft groan, closing my eyes and going underwater.

Sure enough, holding my breath only made me remember how Damien got his claws in me in the first place.

His fingers were tightly around his neck, cutting off all air, and getting me...

"ARGH!" I yelled out in frustration as I jumped out of the tub.

I marched out of the bathroom intending to get out there and seduce the first guy I see. And I don't care if it's a homeless guy, or a fucking dog.

I got a towel, dried off, and quickly selected a pair of skinny jeans, a purple bodyhug top, and black panties.

Just as I got to my front door, my phone dinged in my pocket. I fished it out only to see a message from an unknown number:

- Trinity's Pub, 3345 E 1st Ave. Now... -

"The fuck is this," I thought out loud but then my eyes widened in realization. Damien.

Okay, fine. There's no reason to think the text came from Damien. I mean, it could be some shady creep

But Damien is the only person my gut is pointing at.

'This could be it, Stella,' I thought to myself, as I contemplated my options.

Go seduce some random dude, or go get my brains fucked out by the man of my fantasies.

I swallowed, blinking in deliberation.

But honestly, I already made my choice. And it didn't take me a second to get out of my apartment and step out of the building.

"Hey, Stella!" I looked up to see my neighbor waving at me just as a cab taxied towards me. An automatic pleasant smile spread across my face.

"Hi, Kevin," I said, flagging down the cab.

"3345 East 1st Avenue," I said to the driver, settling into the back seat, "I don't know the spot, so can you drop me off at Trinity's pub?"

The driver looked at me in the rearview mirror.

"You know that pub is Bloodhound base, right?" He said, already getting in motion.

Honestly? I didn't know. But I nodded anyway and turned away from him.

At least, now I'm sure Damien sent that text.

'Wait, what if it was Ms Deet?'

The thought came with a prang of dread as different scenarios of what could happen played in my head at the same time. This is obviously a bad idea, and every atom in me agrees.

Still, I couldn't convince myself to turn around.

The drive was twenty minutes, and Trinity's pub looked pretty small to be a base for a gang the size of the Bloodhounds.

Sandwiched between a cobbler and a coffee shop. Its red canopy stands out, and the 'Trinity' sign quickly announces its presence.

Not as a gang liar...just another pub in Compton.

I take a deep breath and walk through the door.

The space is dark, lit only by a few yellow bulbs far back on the stage.

Tables are stacked up to one side, except for a few disarranged ones. There's soft music playing in the background, and I concentrate on that.

Trying not to meet the six pairs of redheaded prying eyes seated around a poker table.

I can feel them following my every move as I walk over to the bar.

Yes, the pub is bigger than it looked outside.

And yes, I feel out of place, especially since Trinity isn't here to put a drink in front of me.

Eyes are on me.

I can feel all six pairs of them pricking at the back of my neck as goosebumps trickle over my skin.

I don't need to look around to know I'm the only blonde here...hell, I'm the only non-redheaded person. Just as I'm the only girl not dressed like a badass assassin from an action movie.

And saying I'm super nervous is an understatement.

"What do you want, Blondie?"

I jumped at the thick feminine voice and snapped my head up to see Trinity standing behind the bar.

She looks to be in her mid-forties with an apron draped over her neck and wet gloves lying on the counter beside her. She has a scar disguised as a tattoo on her left cheek, and yes, she's redheaded too.

"Uhm, a bottle of beer, please," I said softly, as if speaking louder would spook a riot or something.

"I've never seen you around here before," Trinity said, bringing my attention back to the bar as she opened my beer cap. I grabbed the bottle, but she held on.

"Pretty hot girl, no scars, and drinks beer at 2pm. That's not the kind I get around here," Trinity said, refusing to let go of the beer as she peered intensely at me.

"So I gotta ask, whatcha doing in my pub? You a cop?"

I swallowed hard.

How do I explain that I came here because I'm hoping for a chance to fuck Damien.

But he's nowhere in sight, and Trinity's glare doesn't look like the type you lie to.

"I asked you. A question. Cutie," Trinity said, leaning closer with a deadly frown.

"I'm... I'm not a cop," I said, and Trinity hummed, distrust plain in her eyes.

"But you're friends with one, ain't you?"

"I'm friends with everybody, I'm a people person. Everybody knows that," I said, subconsciously trying harder to pull the bottle from Trinity's grip.

"Damn, you're so strong. Can I have my beer, please?"

Trinity snarled. She opened her mouth, but it was a lyrical voice that sang behind me.

"Yes, you can."

I turned around, and the moment my eyes fell on the source of the voice, my heart stopped.

Her lashes are a golden pair with a black shadow highlighting her piercing blue eyes. Her shimmering red hair, plaited back into two ponytails,, stood in contrast to her reputation.

It's Ms Deet.

This is my first time seeing her up close, and it's just like they said.