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  Tainted Love

  Book One-

  Whiskey & Vixen

  By R&C Christiansen

  Edited by Caryn Pine

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form on by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  One

  Welcome to Hell

  There are no rules here. Not on the Hill, because everybody who lives here is either rich or related to someone who is. We all know only three things for certain in this place… One, that money is king and women wear the crowns. Two, nothing is holy. And three, Friday nights are for partying and fucking. Fine, maybe that’s five things but they all go hand in hand in this place.

  It’s finally Friday and I’m all in on the fucking as soon as I find a party to hit up that my mother won’t be attending. The woman is a complete bitch, ruins everything she touches, including my attempt to be a normal twenty-year-old. Well if there is such a thing in this life. The point is, my mother, Helen King, is a walking, fucking plague. She’s hot as hell with little effort mind you, but the woman is even madder than the devil.

  “Kirsten Evelyn King, where in the hell are my car keys and my condoms?”

  Is she fucking serious?

  I make my way to the wrought iron railing at the top of the stairs before I answer.

  “Same place you left that shit when you got home last night, Mother,” I yell down. “On the counter by the empty bottle of Grey.”

  I roll my eyes as I listen to her stomp around, her heels echoing over the marble flooring and through the entire house as she belts out profanities and smashes what sounds like another priceless vase.

  “Why the fuck are there only two condoms here you little slut? I had three and I’m not stopping at the store because you can’t keep your trampy legs closed, Kirsten!”

  Takes one to know one.

  “Don’t blame me, Mom. Whiskey only fucks bareback; maybe you should go to the clinic and see if they can’t help you find where in that twat of yours the condom ended up!”

  I turn to head back to my room. Hearing the march of her heels approaching fast, I duck as the Tiffany explodes on the wall beside me.

  I feel the shards hit my hair and my hands as I cover my face and peek my eye open hoping she’s not about to launch another one up the stairs.

  Shaking the shards off, I turn and glance down at her, now pacified by a mouthful of Jack as she chugs it straight from the bottle.

  “Nice aim, Mom, you missed again,” I laugh. “Maybe you should get your pitching arm looked at by the doctor while you’re in there for your rotting condom issue.”

  The bottle of Jack comes straight at my head, narrowly missing as I scramble into my room and lock the door.

  “Yeah, you better fucking hide, Kirsten. One of these days I’m gonna make you wish you were never born, you little bitch!”

  I already do, Mom. I already do.

  Like I said, madder than the Devil. I grew up here, born and raised straight from the womb of Satan, into money, bad role models, and governed by a woman who not only destroyed my father, but aims to destroy me too.

  That’s if I don’t destroy her first.

  It’s not yet four and I need to get ready for a festive Friday night down at the Club. It’s near the bottom of the Hill about a forty-minute walk through the private gated neighborhood in the suburbs. The Club is a tin-walled party house disguised as a boat storage shack down by Lake Davenport. A few of us pitched in together and got the Marron brothers to build it. It’s the only place in this shithole that those of us younger than thirty can go and hang out without being embarrassed by our kin. It’s not far from where I met Pax, or Whiskey as I sometimes call him. He’s hot AF but broken AF. The guy’s been through the darkest shit, things that have given me nightmares, but on the plus side, he can bring me to orgasm with his eyes closed with nothing more than his hand and some dirty talk. He’s also one of the only guys I know that hasn’t banged my evil mother, so that’s a bonus.

  I study my freshly-applied cat eye makeup in the mirror and pull my just-dyed Obsidian Black hair back into a high ponytail. Going for the badass bitch look again tonight, I’ve dressed in my thigh high boots paired with my frayed blue jean shorts and Whiskey’s biker jacket. Good to go, I exit my room and tip toe not wanting my heels to draw mother’s attention as I listen at the top of the stairs for movement. Assuming the cow got lost in a bottle and likely passed out in the washroom again, I make my way down the stairs, around the shattered vase, and out the door.

  As expected, I hear the rumble of Pax’s bike up the road, and head toward him as some douche in a top down, stark black Porsha hits a puddle and sprays me as he pulls up and stops outside my house.

  Pissed, I turn back toward him, wiping the water from the side of my face and watch him exit his car. The guy looks like some business jock straight out of a formal menswear ad, all dressed to the nines and likely about to lose Mom another shitload of money on some phony investment.

  “Hey you!” I shout, walking toward him. “Do your damn eyes not work or something?”

  He looks up at me from his phone and stops, near his car just feet from me.

  “Excuse me?” he asks, scanning me over.

  “You fucking heard me, dickwad, you hit that puddle and messed up my face. You might want to get your eyes checked and watch where the hell you’re driving that piece of shit.”

  The fucker looks baffled and insulted as he takes a few steps toward me and crosses his arms.

  “Nice language, kid. Does your daddy know you talk that way?”

  I scoff as Pax pulls up; his bike is loud, so I gesture at him to kill the engine as I climb on.

  “My daddy,” I laugh, “wouldn’t you like to know, loser. Why don’t you head on inside and ask my mommy instead, but you might have to peel her drunk ass off the washroom floor first, so good luck getting any money out of her, ass wipe.”

  I slip my helmet on as Pax starts the bike and revs the engine, unable to hear anything the asshole has to say back to me.

  Patting Pax on the arm, I motion at him to go, flip my visor down, and give Wallstreet the finger.

  There is literally nothing more exhilarating than flying through the Hill doing eighty on the back of Pax’s beast. Pax doesn’t talk much; he tends to let me handle my own shit the way I see fit. After all, I’m kind of like his Sugar Momma, bought him the Kawasaki a couple years ago and I let him live rent-free at the Club.

  The guy’s a drifter; a traveling soul he likes to call himself. He takes off for days sometimes, and it bothers me, but so far, he’s always come back. We met a few summers ago when I was seventeen. I was walking home from the Club half-cut at like 2 a.m., because the Marron brothers hid my car keys. I don’t know which one either because the jerks are identical twins, Jimmy and Jack. But when they host a Club bash, they either make you crash there or cab, and since I drank until I vomited that night, I decided to take in some air and walk.

  I’d barely made it halfway up the Hill before I needed to pee, so I stopped in some bushes in Dellwood Park and hiked up my skirt until I heard Pax clear his throat. He was living in a tent nearby and apparently I interrupted his shuteye with my drunken mumbling.

  Even with it being pitch black out and me being drunk as shit, I could see him clear as day; it was an instant attraction I’v
e always referred to as the temptation of sin. The damn guy was walking sex and depravity, with his bad-boy demeanor, low unruly ponytail, steel blue eyes as dark as death, and a five o’clock shadow surrounded smile that’ll make a girl wet in a second.

  I could tell the guy had a decent body too, even a few tattoos in a bunch of twisted places like his neck. I studied it the entire way as he carried my intoxicated ass the rest of the way up the Hill that night.

  After that, shit just sort of happened between us.

  He’s older than me by eight years, not a huge deal, but he was my first. It seems so long ago when I think about it. Sometimes I miss the way we used to be. But I fucked all of that up in so many ways because of my fear of commitment. Now we see other people and screw when we’re bored in between, because Pax is the only guy who seems to understand the way I like it. We have a certain connection when we fuck, an unspoken ritual of sorts. It’s a dark connection and it’s who we are.

  I can’t complain… our arrangement has its benefits, and besides, when it comes to having my back whether it’s to get away from Satan, or I need a ride to the Club, or he thinks he needs to stop me from doing something completely insane, he never lets me down. I consider him to be my best friend.

  Pax is my genie… in a bottle of whiskey.

  ***

  PULLING INTO THE BACK OF THE CLUB, I hop off the bike and head inside. The place is dead and will be until at least nine when the freaks start to come out. And by freaks, I mean my friends. Nine o’clock is happy hour down here, and until then I spend my time checking the alcohol volume in the bar and mostly shoot the shit with Pax, unless I need to send him on a liquor run.

  “So, who was the suit in the driveway when I pulled up?” he mutters in his naturally gruff tone.

  “Nobody cool.”

  “No shit,” Pax gripes. “Pass me a rag and tell me what the prick did to make you lay into him.”

  I toss a rag at him, bothered how the glasses never come clean in the dishwasher, so I always end up hand polishing the damn things.

  “The douche hit a puddle and soaked me. It was no big deal, I told him off and I’m pretty sure he’ll pay more attention to the road next time.”

  “I doubt it,” he says, stacking the glasses. “Assholes who drive expensive cars are either givers or takers, they don’t learn from mistakes.”

  “Givers or takers?” I ask, confused.

  “Yeah, you know, assholes who take what they want, or pussies who bend over and give it to ‘em.”

  “Mmm-hmm, interesting, and which category do you fall under?”

  He looks up at me and blows me a kiss.

  “Whichever one you want me too.”

  “Really, Whiskey?” I smile naughtily. “Is your dick bored again, because if it is, I may just be able to fix it.”

  He smiles back and rubs his stubble in thought, his baby blues dancing with dirty thoughts I can see written all over his sexy face.

  “You been checked lately?” he asks, eyeing me over.

  “What the fuck, Pax? I could ask you the same shit.”

  “No, you can’t. I haven’t been with anyone besides you since the waitress back in December, and rumor has it you fucked that little weasel Donny the other night.”

  “Danny,” I correct, “and so what? We used protection, for your information, I stole that shit off Satan, and it’s not like you stuck around to remedy my craving.”

  His expression says he can tell I’m pissed he would think otherwise, considering he knows he’s the only man I’ll ever fuck without a condom.

  Taking the beer mug from my hand, he lifts my chin and kisses my lips the way only he knows how which ignites a fire in my stomach.

  “I had to ask, so don’t get all mad, and you know I try not to stick around when you’re drunk, Vixen. Now come sit on this dick and I promise I’ll give you the orgasm he couldn’t.”

  Still mad, I grab his dick firmly and rub it through his jeans, not surprised he’s hard. I’m even more pissed because I know he’s right; nobody fucks me the way he does.

  “How about I sit on your face instead and you get me off like a real man since you want to act like a bitch and accuse me of shit you know I wouldn’t do.”

  Without warning, the beer mug nails the floor behind him and shatters. Seems I’ve pushed his buttons.

  I step over the glass, ignoring his tantrum and start to pick up the larger shards.

  “Leave it the fuck alone, and stand up,” he growls, jerking me up from the floor. “Do you see the shit you make me do? I told you… to get. On. My. Dick. So, get on!”

  Now we’re talking.

  He doesn’t even give me a minute to argue before he unbuttons my shorts, jerks them down, and lifts me onto the counter. I start to kiss him needfully; his stubble is rough as hell against my face and his tongue whiskey-riddled as I run my fingers down the back of his head and snap the elastic from his hair. No sooner does he get his pants undone and slam his hard cock into me as I brace myself with one hand tangled in his hair and the other gripping the countertop.

  “Jesus fuck! Yeah, that’s it, just like this,” I muster out.

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I know what you like. Spread those legs wider for me.”

  I spread them further to accommodate his thick body as he continues to fuck me, both of us panting as I arch my back and buck my hips to meet his thrusts.

  Taking a fistful of my hair, he yanks my head back as he continues to fuck me harder while he kisses my neck and whispers in my ear.

  “I know you want it rougher, Kirsten. You deserve to get properly fucked, so get down and turn around. I want to see your ass. I’m going to fuck this little pussy from behind until you scream.”

  Fuck me, he always knows what I need!

  He pulls out as my heart beats mercilessly and I hop down to give the man his ask.

  There is no hesitation with him as he spins me around and shoves himself inside me, stretching me to take in his width. Now he really starts to move, pounding me so hard it hurts, the way I like it. I close my eyes taking in every ounce of his hedonism.

  My legs are shaking and seizing as the sheer size of his broad, unyielding body bears down behind me while his fingers work over my clit like it’s a fucking guitar solo.

  “Shit yes! Hold that rhythm! Fuck, I’m so close!”

  I can feel myself on the verge of releasing as I rip his hair knowing, he’ll fuck me harder because of it.

  He growls and slams into me with brute force; every muscle in my body is twitching and my mind is spinning as I pant out in gibberish while pushing back to meet his every assault.

  “Yeah, girl. Fuck this dick,” he groans. “Take every fucking inch, I want this pussy broken when I’m done with you.”

  His words are hot on my neck as I start to climax and dig my nails into his thigh, riding it out as he continues into me relentlessly. As my orgasm begins to subside, he continues tormenting my clit as he holds me steady against the counter not letting me move.

  I pant, breathless. “I’m good, you can stop rubbing it now.”

  “No,” he hisses, “you’re gonna come again, so breathe through it while I fuck you, because I said broken and I damn well meant it.”

  Those words rush through my body as I focus on his fingers and I breathe through the pleasure mounting pain of his unbending pace.

  It’s a sweet torture he can produce for me every time.

  “Fuck!” I moan. I’m almost whining as he smacks my ass hard, the sound echoing as I feel my climax start to mount.

  “That’s it, baby.” With each continuous thrust, he speaks a word. “Let. Me. Hear. You. Moan.”

  Gripping the counter with both hands, I start to convulse, every body part twinging on edge as I gasp for air, embracing the second orgasm as it roars through my throbbing clit.

  “Ah! God Whiskey,” I exhale through the rippling wave.

  “Should I make you do it again? I’m not sure if this pussy has
been wrecked thoroughly,” he whispers, still slamming into me.

  “Fuck! I can’t and it’s spent, trust me,” I plead.

  “Alright, then hold still, and clench that pussy for me.”

  I do it as I work to recover my breathing and my feet throb in the boots from having my toes curled so tightly.

  Pax is always a fucking monster when it comes to his turn to get off. He uses my body like he’s attempting to destroy it, his hands grind into my hips as he impales me, and I love every fucking second of his pitiless force.

  I count ten thrusts in ten seconds and feel him release inside me, listening to him grunt in pleasure in his caveman tone.

  “Are you good yet?” I ask, slightly annoyed. “My pussy would like to be dismounted anytime now.”

  Pax laughs and smacks my ass, pushing himself inside me one last time before he backs off.

  “You should know me by now, Vixen,” he says planting kisses up my thighs as he pulls my shorts up. “As long as it’s you I’m hate-fucking, I’m always good.”

  I turn and laugh at the stupid grin on his face that always lifts my mood. Fuck, he’s pretty. I kiss his cheek and button my shorts before we both go back to polishing the glasses.

  There is never a lot spoken between us; he knows my story and I know his, and neither of us questions the other’s needs because it is what it is. Sex. It’s what gets us through bad days and shitty memories, granted Pax’s past is full of moments so dark I’ve woken up in cold sweats just dreaming about them.

  It makes my life with Helen seem like a fairy-tale, and it’s how I know Pax can’t ever have children. He hates talking about it so I never bring it up much, but I know it’s part of the reason he tries so hard to keep a wedge between us emotionally.

  “The crowd should be starting to arrive soon and we’re low on Woodford, beer, and Grey. I’m gonna take a run to the liquor store on my bike. You want anything?”

  I reach into my pocket and hand him my bank card.

  “No, I’m good, just hurry because I don’t know if Jimmy and Jack are coming tonight to help me with crowd control. I don’t want to be here alone in case Danny shows up with his brothers wanting to make a scene over my bad decision to screw him the other night.”