The freight train rumbled out of the sunrise, bringing a smile to Libby's face at the open window. Closing her eyes, she let the vibrations penetrate her naked body while the cool Colorado morning breeze caressed her light brown skin, and she imagined herself riding the rails again. Just a few more hours, and she would be hidden in a boxcar heading in the opposite direction, roaming free again.
Sitting back in the wooden chair, she tugged absently at the ends of her hair—cut with a razor in an uneven short bob on the way to Denver a week earlier by another sister of the road—and looked over at the room’s other occupant. His snores inaudible over the train, Everett lay anchored in slumber by last night’s whiskey. Her gaze traveled from the white hairs on his chest to where the sheet had slipped off his cock, and she sniggered. So much for the “private dick” of this formerly proud employee of the Baldwin-Felts Detective Agency. All he had to show for his crimes was illegal liquor, this cheap hotel room, and flashing his morning wood at a homeless Mexican girl less than half his age. Pathetic.
And yet that curious mixture of hatred and lust started welling up inside her again, stirring up memories of his tenderness when they’d stepped through the door followed by the ferocious fucking when he understood her desires.
Prompted by those thoughts, her hand began tracing the map of the previous night, from bite marks ringing each nipple, over finger-imprints on both arms, to the grazes on her wrists from the handcuffs. Those last made her sneer and glance back at the sleeping form. After begging him to use them on her, only the threat of peeing on the bed had roused him from his post-orgasmic stupor enough to release her. Unconscious on her return, he hadn’t stirred when she’d secured him to the frame in her place. She should have done the deed then, but something stopped her.
Libby’s hand fell to her thigh as she turned away. More bite marks peppered her skin there. Remembering her squeals of pain whilst praying he wouldn’t stop, she parted her legs. Her fingers brushed through curls matted with dried come and explored the edges of her entrance already slick with arousal from those few moments of recollection.
She gripped her breast with her other hand, digging her fingers into her bruises hard enough to draw a gasp. Opening her legs wider and bracing one foot against the windowsill, she pushed two digits inside and curled them up for the slow withdrawal. Though still tender everywhere, she couldn’t resist squeezing her clit between wet fingers when they emerged, pressing down with her palm as she thrust them back inside.
As the noise of the train faded away, the wet slap of her hand on her flesh and accompanying moans became the only sounds in the room, until the clink of steel on brass caught her attention. Everett was awake, watching her. Meeting his eyes, she continued to fuck herself a while longer, licking her parted lips and tasting the mark his teeth had left even there.
"Good morning," he rasped, his voice even more gravelly than last night.
Maintaining eye contact, she brought her sticky fingers to her mouth and then stood, snatched up the handcuff keys, and closed the distance between them, swinging her hips. His stare consumed her young body with undisguised lust.
"I must say, this is the best hangover I ever woke up to, er, Lizzy."
Libby laughed and straddled his chest. "You don't even remember my name."
“Hey now, you gotta cut an old man some slack—I only met you last night, and I’d had a bit to drink.”
“Not true."
“What’s not?”
“That we only met last night. We met fourteen years ago.”
“Huh? You’d have been, what, four? Five?”
“Ten.” A glimpse of something dark broke through her sweet demeanor as she said that, and she sensed uncertainty in him. If he only knew—it should be fear.
"Well, now you're surely the prettiest whore I've set eyes on in a long time."
"I'm not really a whore." Amusement returned to her smile which encouraged him.
"Sure you are. You’re a tramp—the cheapest, filthiest kind of whore because you do it for free."
"Mmm." She planted a long kiss on his lips, inhaling the scent of stale alcohol. "You do know how to get me wet. It's almost like you mean it."
"Maybe I do."
"Maybe." She dangled the keys above his nose. "Though maybe you should bite your tongue when you're the one in handcuffs." His eyes followed the keys as they passed his head. With a look of mock surprise, she dropped them to the floor and giggled. "What a clumsy whore I am!"
She sat up again, and dug her nails into his pecs, making him hiss. When she dragged her wetness over his stomach, the tip of his dick poked her ass, and she could see from his poorly hidden smile that he was enjoying this switch in roles. No doubt he thought they would switch back later, poor fool.
"If I apologize, will you release me?" He squirmed as her nails dug in deeper. "No?" His voice went up an octave when she pinched both his nipples. "How- how about if I use my tongue another way?"
"Sí," she said, twisting his nipples with a grin and then releasing them. "Show me you're sorry."
Scooting forward, she planted a knee on either side of his head, ran her fingers through his thinning white hair, and then balled them into a fist as she lowered herself onto his face. Whiskers tickled her swollen lips, eliciting a sigh even before his tongue pushed through them. He lapped at her, and she grabbed the bedframe with her free hand, grinding her clit over his mouth from his chin to his nose and back. The handcuffs clinked below her when he reached for her butt, making her laugh at his frustration.