Bound by Vows and Vendetta

Gutemberg (Ghost)

"Ghost, wake up."

Someone pokes my arm, and I can tell by the firmness of the touch that it's not a woman. I mumble something and pull the sheet over half my face.

"Wake up! This isn't a motel."

Wait, maybe it is a woman.

That voice...

"My husband is coming! You have to go!"

I pull the sheet down, spotting a pair of female legs. Lucky me. I tend to do crazy things when I'm drunk. Looking up, I see the short shirt and then the full view of her chest. Fuck! Those two melons are so full they’re almost jumping out at me, demanding a bite. Oh! They have bikini marks.

I love those marks.

"You're married, beautiful?" I grin indecently, running my tongue between my lips without taking my eyes off her gorgeous breasts.

"Okay... are you kidding me?" she says, acquiring an irritated expression that makes me want to roll my eyes. But I remain neutral, just staring at her, waiting for an answer.

"What’s serious?"

The brunette clicks her tongue, groans, and walks toward the chair where the fan is. She grabs my shirt from the floor and looks at me.

"Well, Suzy told me you were no good." She starts to grumble.

Who's Suzy? I think, but I keep quiet.

My head is exploding.

"I'm sorry, beautiful, but what's your name?"

The woman's chin trembles, and for a second, I think she's going to start crying or hit me.

"Go to hell!" she shouts, throwing an empty shoebox at me.

What the hell?

"What's wrong with you?" I say, dodging a hairbrush. "Are you crazy?"

A perfume bottle flies toward my head.

"Ah, fuck!"

"What's wrong with me?" she continues shouting, letting out a fake, high-pitched laugh as she points between my legs.

Yesterday.

What's today?

My head throbs in response.

I give her a crooked smile, sitting up and leaning my back against the headboard now that she's stopped throwing things at me.

"Let’s do this."

I peek out from under the covers, starting to have little flashes of what happened between us.

"Do you know my cousin?" I ask, looking for the whereabouts of my boxers on the bed.

"Your cousin?" The brunette looks confused by my question, letting out a small moan as I stand up.

I give her a smug smile.

"Am I distracting you, beautiful?"

The alarm goes off somewhere in the room, and the woman jumps in place. She doesn’t look like a friend of my cousin's. Isadora is too tidy to have a friend who doesn’t wear silk nightgowns.

"My husband!"

"What?"

"That’s the time my husband usually arrives! You need to go, now!"

I scratch my chin, feeling the stubble from two days of neglect, and look at her intently. She’s married. She doesn’t look much older than me, but she could be.

"Are they real?" I point to her breasts, and she chokes.

"If you can see them, then they’re real."

Wow.

"Did the question annoy you, brunette?"

"You're not leaving?" she argues, and I feel a shiver of defiance run through my body. I’m sure she wants me to get out of here before her husband arrives—she should want that, anyway. But now, I’m tempted to check and taste her huge, marked breasts.

"Did you like what we did yesterday?" I decide to play with her head, releasing memories I don’t even know myself. But from the way her thighs just pressed together, I’m sure she remembers. Fortunately, I’m already firm, strong, and ready for action.

"I was drunk," she tries to justify herself, probably thinking of her cuckolded husband. What a decent girl.

"Well, you're sober now."

"My husband—"

"Shhh." I move toward her, sticking my ring finger between her lips to stop her talking. "Don’t deprive yourself of something pleasurable just because of social conventions." I whisper the last part in her ear, pushing my finger into her mouth. The naughty girl licks it, circling the tip with her tongue, leaving me right where I need to be. I want to taste that little mouth.

I slide my thumb across her cheek, caressing her chin, tracing the shape of her mouth, and encouraging her to open it.

"What do you want me to do?" I brush my lips against hers and push her shoulder down, forcing her to her knees. It takes her a second to understand my intentions, but then she flashes the biggest dirty slut smile when she looks at my cock.

"I want you to have your breakfast, beautiful." I slap my length against her face, and she laughs, grabbing it with both hands and starting a slow caress. "You’d better hurry, good wife. Your husband is coming, and he’ll want his own coffee."

She presses me against her lips and sucks hard.

I grab her hair in one hand and force her to swallow every inch of me.

She chokes.

"You're too big, I can't."

I roll my eyes at his freshness.

"It's only twenty inches, heart." I argue, knowing it's possible. That bitch Pryia put it in her mouth several times without protest. Mel. She can too."

I touch her cheek to motivate her, stroking it so that she purrs like a cat. She tries one more time, but she fumbles, chokes, and almost takes a piece of my most precious possession.

The woman pulls down the straps of her nightgown, gathers the two mounds around my cock, and starts rubbing the soft, tempting flesh of her breasts, giving me the vision that I need to forget the incident and go back to where I started. My hand goes back to her hair, and I order her to lick the head at the same time as she milks me with her extra G breasts. When I reach the climax and my special liquid comes out, I make her swallow it all without mercy.

"It's been a pleasure, darling."

I gather up all my clothes and get dressed in record time. I don't want to mess with anyone's husband, and I have my own problems to solve.

One, actually.

Pryia.

My clingy, lying ex.

"Aren't you forgetting something, darling?"

I peek over my shoulder and find the woman still with her breasts out, her lips swollen by the thickness of my cock, and sigh. Time to be a son of a bitch.

"Thank you?"

Her gaze tightens.

Here we go.

"Sorry, I should have said before that I don't do oral."

The woman's eyes widen, and I notice that they're greenish. I just don't get horny sucking a woman. I prefer to get straight to the point.

"You're a selfish asshole, you know that?" she attacks, and I finish putting on my shirt.

"I knew, but it's not like you're an unforgettable fuck. You'd better stay with your husband because a man who marries a woman who can't give oral is a saint."

"He's much better than you!"

I smile.

"Is that why you let me fuck you in his bed?"

Her mouth opens, but no words come out. No arguments.

"Good. I think that's my cue. It was a pleasure. Your breasts are wonderful, I'm really going to keep them in my memory."

I blink, and she makes a disgusted sound, showing her middle finger.

How childish.

"Pryia was right to break up with you."

I was already at the door when she spoke, and I don't know why— in fact, I know. Her. Always her. My fucking ex. Anyway, I spun on my heels and lunged at the woman, grabbing her by the neck and seeing everything red. The kitten has messed with the wrong dog. I don't usually just bark.

"Wrong game, beautiful."

I press harder. I'm sure it will leave a mark, and her good husband will notice.

"Don't speak that bitch's name!"

"My husband is a police officer," she mumbles with difficulty, already starting to turn red.

I want to laugh at her frightened face. What does she think? That she's going to scare me by telling me that her husband knows how to use a gun?

"And? My mother is a judge."

I confess, pulling out the card I rarely use, but it's better than exposing my secret identity. The bitch must have really pissed me off. I squeeze her neck tighter, smiling when she coughs and tries to take a deep breath. I use my free hand to hold her nose and see her lips start to turn purple.

I release her grip and kiss her forehead.

She coughs, cringing at my touch.

"Be careful."

I stride out of the apartment, taking care to check the corridor before leaving completely. Fortunately, the building doesn't seem to have any cameras. Searching for my phone in my back pocket, I find the white gold chain I ripped off my ex-girlfriend's neck after our tenth fight this month.

Fuck that.

I stuff it back into my pants pocket and take out my cell phone. The first thing I do is check the messages to see if the bitch has repented and sent me an apology, but I can't find anything. Anger consumes me, mainly because I was dying to tell her to her face that I had another woman last night. She must be trying to play hard to get so that I'm the only one running after her.

It's not going to happen.

I go to my dad's messages and type in that Morgana, my younger sister, is fine, which prompts me to send her a message and ask the same question.

She's not a child.

I say to myself, but I call Vincent and ask him to come by my apartment and check her out. Teenagers are annoying and like to play tricks, even though the brat spends most of her time with her face buried in books, I don't trust her. Not to mention that I'm responsible for her for another month, so I need to make sure she's not pregnant when our parents get back. I open the guys' group, it's called birds of prey and for all intents and purposes, it's a motivational messaging group I send the eagle picture, which is our code for asking for verification. Timmy sends another, a glass full of water which means everything is fine, but then he types: I want to suck ice cream. Which means the boss wants to talk to me.