Free Thrash by JC Emery Page A

gets, the more I
want to stay here and cement this moment in my mind.
    She lifts herself up,
biting her lower lip, and then shudders as she lowers herself.
Duke’s hands are at her hips, guiding her. She moves above him,
making herself mewl and coo at her own movements. The most
involvement I can see from Duke is that he’s keeping his hands in
place and letting her use his dick for her own pleasure. She tosses
her head back as one of her fingers finds her center and makes
small, fast circles. Her skin breaks out in goose bumps at the
exact moment that I think I’m going to be sick. My stomach rolls in
disgust—not at the act itself, but in jealousy. A little over a
month ago that was me straddling Duke’s lap. It was me mewling and
yearning for more from him. It was me trying to tell myself that
fucking Duke really was just fucking and it didn’t mean anything.
But then he left and he didn’t really come back. A week-long trip
across the country and he was back in town, but he wasn’t back
here—not with me at least.
    After he’d claimed me in his room, I
decided that I wouldn’t make a big deal out of it. I wasn’t going
to be one of those stupid bitches who got all sad and weepy over
the fucked up shit these guys do. I know it as well now as I did
the first time I attended a party here—Lost Girls are club whores.
We show up to fuck, and to have fun with, but at the end of the
night the guys still go home to their wives and girlfriends. After
they leave here they check and make sure their kids are tucked into
bed, and they might even make love to their wives. We’re the
entertainment, and they’re the commitment.
    And it isn’t until this
moment that I realize how entirely fucked it was to sleep with
Duke. And it’s here in this moment that I promise myself to never
be this stupid again. So I stand here and I watch. I watch as Duke
reaches behind her back and grabs her by the hair, yanking her head
backward. I watch as he tells her to stop going slow and to get
with the program. She makes a sound of displeasure, but I doubt he
gives a shit. She’s no better than cattle in this moment. And
neither am I.
    So, I decide I’m done
after tonight.
    Duke grips Dawn’s hips firmly and
roughly slams her down onto him. Her eyes fly open and she catches
my gaze. I want to turn and run. I want to flee before he realizes
I’m here, too. But he doesn’t notice. Instead, he keeps ramming
into her again and again. Sweat starts at her hairline and drips
down her face, onto her breasts, and even onto his stomach. She
holds on as best she can as he pummels her hard and unrelenting.
She keeps her eyes on me, and I think she might enjoy the attention
I’m giving her. Every time her mouth makes this little “O” shape, I
feel it in my gut. It churns around in there, looking for a home,
and eventually settles in and hardens my heart. Slowly but surely,
I can feel my emotions shutting down until all I feel is the air
conditioning as it kicks on. When the pain subsides and I’m no
longer teaching myself a lesson, I decide that I’ve seen
enough.
    As I turn and walk away, leaving Duke
with his whore and Dawn with her bastard, I don’t feel an ounce of
regret or sadness. I just feel empty.

Chapter 7
    Halfway through the main
room of the clubhouse, I catch Diesel’s eye. He’s at a table with
some chick on his lap. Everything looks kind of fuzzy and all over
the place. I scrunch my eyes together to keep the gut-wrenching
disappointment from showing on my face. But it’s too late. Diesel’s
seen something and he’s honed in on me. He pats the chick’s ass and
gives her a push off his lap and strides over to me.
    In the back of my head I’m
telling myself to move and leave—just get the fuck out—but my feet
don’t make the attempt. Maybe I’m tired of being chased, or maybe I
know better than to run from Diesel. It’s not like there’s anything
he could possibly do to me that’s worse than anything else