A girl knows how to ignite boyish fireworks
The ivory ball rattles along the rim of the roulette wheel, a tiny, ticking bomb in the stifling heat of the Macau cellar.
The air smells of stale opium and cheap gin.
Lord Belmont leans over the green felt, his bulk eclipsing the gaslight, his fingers thick and hairy as he shoves a stack of plaques onto Red. I stand behind him, the heavy diamond engagement ring he forced onto my finger earlier feeling like a shackle. It catches the light, mocking me. Damn family debts and aristocratic obligation.
Across the table, Lord Percy doesn't look at the wheel. He looks at me. His jacket is unbuttoned, his tie loose, a man who swept me off horse in a fox hunt to devour my coochie. His debonair pussy play in a rickshaw in Singapore, joins me as I squeeze my legs together.
Ah Percy, my persistent shadow with a reputation for making women swoon and a smile that promises ruin of the most exquisite kind.
He places his bet on Black. Not for money.
The croupier, a man with dead eyes and a scar through his lip, nods once.
"Winner takes the girl," Belmont grunts, the words heavy in the smoke-filled room.
My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of silk and lace. The ball clatters, bouncing, teasing.
It lands.
Red.
Belmont roars, a sound of triumph that makes my skin crawl.
He reaches for me, his hand like a claw.
"Mine."
I don't think. I move. My hand shoots out, gripping Percy's forearm.
He's solid, muscle and heat.
"Run," I hiss.
Percy doesn't hesitate. He grabs my waist, hauling me against him, and we bolt. The heavy oak door crashes open as Belmont's thugs spill into the room, shouting.
We burst onto the slick cobblestones of the alleyway, the humid night air hitting my face like a wet towel.
Gunshots crack behind us, sharp and terrifying, chipping stone near my ear.
"Left!" Percy shouts, steering me toward the docks.
We weave through crates and shadows, the sound of boots pounding the pavement chasing us. Ahead, a warehouse looms, its doors slightly ajar.
A sign reading San Francisco Export hangs crookedly. We dive inside.
Listen as boots stampede past and clack into silence, eventually.
We still, collapsing behind a stack of crates, gasping for breath. The air here is thick with sulphur and saltpetre.
"Fuck," I murmur.
We are surrounded by towers of red paper tubes, crates labelled Explosives, Fireworks.
One spark, and we go up in a glorious, fatal flash.
My chest heaves, pressing against the damp silk of my dress. The adrenaline is a drug, singing in my veins, making my limbs tremble and my pussy throb with a sudden, desperate heat.
Percy looks at me, his eyes wild, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The danger is a live wire between us.
"Vivian," he breathes, his voice an invitation in sync with my need.
I grab him by the lapels, pulling him down, crushing my mouth to his. It's not a kiss; it's a collision. Teeth click, tongues clash, tasting the gin and the fear.
He groans, a low, guttural sound, and pushes me back against the rough wood of a crate. His hands are everywhere, tangling in my bobbed hair, sliding down the curve of my spine, gripping my ass through the thin fabric.
"Fuck, Vivian," he mutters against my lips. "You're mad."
"Shut up and ravish me," I command, my voice breathless.
He drops to his knees, his fingers hiking up my flapper dress, exposing my thighs to the chemical laden air. He hooks a finger around the silk of my tap pants and tears them aside. The fabric shears, a sharp sound in the quiet warehouse.
Before I can gasp, his mouth finds my gash. Hot, wet, demanding.
His tongue lashes my clit, flicking and circling with ruthless precision. I bite my knuckle to stifle a moan, my head falling back against the crate.
"Mmm, mmm, mmm," escapes, willingly.
He sucks hard, drawing the sensitive bud into his mouth, and my knees buckle. He holds me up, his hands gripping my thighs, burying his face deeper, licking my slit from bottom to top, gathering my wetness. The pleasure is sharp, intense, building fast under the threat of discovery and maybe, death.
"Dog me," I whimper, my hands fisting in his hair.
He stands up abruptly, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes are dark, hungry. He turns me around, bending me over the crate.
The wood digs into my hips, but I don't care. I hear the pop of his buttons.
I look back over my shoulder, watching him free his cock. It's thick, hard, jutting out from a thatch of dark tangled pubes.
He spits in his hand, strokes himself once, twice, and then lines me up.
He pushes inside me, stretching my tight hole open in one relentless thrust.
"Oohh, you cad, you delightful cad! Oohh! Aahh! Oohh!"
I cry out, the sound echoing slightly before he clamps a hand over my mouth.
"Quiet," he growls in my ear, "Unless you want bullets in your butt and my balls."
He starts to move, fucking me with deep, punishing strokes. The piston of repeating stiff rod. His thighs and pubic bone hammering against my quivering, wobbling buttocks.
His manly John Thomas dragging against my inner walls, hitting that spot inside me that makes my toes curl inside my shoes.
The crate rocks with every thrust, the fireworks inside rattling.
Hell! The lid slides off. A crash, as his balls slap into my patootie.
My hands clutch for balance in Tom thumbs and Roman Candles.
The thought that we could both be blown to smithereens while he pounds into me only makes it wetter, hotter.
My pussy is a sluice, juices swirling around his cock like a mill headrace.
He grabs a handful of my hair, pulling my head back, changing the angle. A beast, unleashed.
"Is this what you wanted, Vivian? To be taken like a whore in a warehouse?"
"Yes," I gasp, the word muffled by his palm. "Harder. Fuck your slut harder."
He obeys, slamming into me, his balls cuffing against my ass. The pressure builds, a coil tightening in my belly. I reach down between my legs, rubbing my clit in frantic circles.
"Oooh! Oooh! Give me your seed, Percy! Oohh! Oohh!"
The dual sensation is too much.
My body tenses, my pussy clamping, enveloping his rock-hard beef sword.
"I'm going to cum, Aahh!" I pant.
"Do it," he commands, his rhythm faltering. "Cum on my stiff meat."
The orgasm tears through me, violent and shattering.
"Hngggh!"
I gush around him, my fluids soaking his shaft, my vision buzzes like I'm the Roman Candle on Guy Fawkes Night.
He groans, burying himself deep, and I feel him pulse, filling me with hot, thick ropes of cum.
We stand there, locked together, trembling, the only sounds our ragged breathing and the distant shouts of the search party somewhere outside.
Slowly, he pulls out. I feel the trickle of his release running down my thigh.
I lean against the crate, trying to compose myself, but my legs are jelly. I look at my hand. The massive diamond from Belmont weighs heavy, a symbol of the cage I just escaped.
I twist the ring, pulling it off my finger with a wet pop. I hold it up to the dim light, the stone flashing fire.
"Percy," I say, my voice steadying.
He looks at me, tucking himself back into his trousers.
I toss the ring to him.
He catches it, blinking.
"Get us passage on a transport," I tell him, a wicked smile curving my lips, "San Francisco."
He looks at the ring, then at me, and a slow, dangerous grin spreads across his face.
He pockets the jewel.
"As soon as those goons clear off. I'll find the captain loading these crackers."
I reach into my garter belt and pull out my silver cigarette case.
I strike a match on the side of the wooden crate, the flare illuminating our dust-streaked faces.
"Vivian, you're Mad Hatter, mad. But God, exciting."
"Percy, Heaven or Hell with you, I'll take either."
I take a long drag, the smoke curling around us, tasting of tobacco-laced freedom.
I pass the cigarette to him.
He takes it, his fingers brushing mine, and inhales deeply.
We stand there in the dark, surrounded by explosives, sharing a smoke, listening to the footsteps fade, ready for whatever comes next.
The Inferno or Paradise.