The Murdered World 14 (Patreon)

Lucy sat up on her knees and came against him, her hungry lips demanding his own. He felt the pounding of her heart like a hammer trying to break down the thick slabs of his pectorals. It was like lighting the fuse on a cannon.

He wrapped his arms around her, only for Lucy to struggle loose, sending one hand down his chest and flat, muscular stomach to his groin. His swelling cock pressed out against his trunks, needing to be free, and Lucy happily obliged it.

When it sprang loose, Frank shuddered with delight. It was good to be out in the open, to feel the soft pressure of Lucy’s grip roving up and down his member… good to know that Lucy enjoyed it too. Her relish was in every stroke her hand made along his length.

“I know this’ll be nice for you,” she breathed into his ear. “But I’m going to have some fun too.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Frank replied, pressing down on her head so she slunk back down to all fours, her ass in the air, her face before his quivering erection. “Your mouth’s going to be too full to tell me.”

Hearing that, Lucy ducked her head, almost worshipfully. She placed a warm, wet kiss on his burgeoning cockhead. Frank groaned. His manhood swayed in the air, thrumming with all the power coursing through it.

Lucy cooed as the blood-red helmet brushed tantalizingly across her satiny lips. Her tongue slipped out; she ran it over his glans. For an instant, his tip was glossy with wetness. Then white-hot precum was bubbling out of the end, running down the dome.

“I know you’re going to kill this guy, Angel,” Lucy said, irritating Frank with conversation at the moment of truth, but pacifying him by kissing and licking his manhood between words. “And I know he’s gotta deserve it—you killed those guys who were bothering me, and you didn’t even think about it. For you to be thinking about killing this guy, planning on it, he must really have it coming.”

Lucy reared up, leaning in to kiss the hardened muscles of his gut through his shirt, her firm young breasts pressing in on his towering erection, touching it when its arousal jerked it around.

“Do you want me to fuck your tits?” Frank asked her, a question that would’ve been solicitous if it weren’t so much of a growl. “Or do you want me to come in your mouth?”

Lucy’s upturned eyes made the answer obvious. She drifted down, still meeting his watchful gaze—a look Frank was giving her as though to assure himself she was doing his will right up until she had lowered herself to his cockhead, stuck her tongue out, and inscribed circles with it all around his sensitive knob.

Only then did Frank let his head drift back in sheer, well-savored delight at her obedience.

“What are you going to do after he’s dead?” Lucy asked, taking her lips away from his prick and wrapping it in her fist instead, pumping him up and down.

“Find someone else, somewhere else,” Frank answered.

“But do you have to? The guys who… who wronged you have been dead for a while. So’s everybody connected to them. Now you’re just hunting for bad guys who need killing, right? Why don’t you just say you’ve bagged your limit and… stay?”

Frank put his hands on her head. She accepted his message and wrapped his knob in her lips. It drizzled gulps of precum onto her tongue, a taste Lucy reacted to with tremors of delirious joy all through her body. She worked her way down his massive length, heart thundering, tongue making spirals down his engorged shaft.

She swallowed, swallowed again, choked a little, but never stopped. Until, sputtering and tearing up, she was at the base of his endowment, her small straight nose lost in his thick mane of pubic hair. Lucy cupped his balls in one hand and kneaded them as if promising to acquire all the seething jism she felt inside.

“I have to,” Frank said quietly.

Her eyes were a little unfocused—attuned more to the taste and smell she basked in than to anything she might see. Though Lucy did manage to, from time to time, look up and assure herself that Frank was still looking down at her, enjoying her ministrations, meeting her heated eyes. She made sure he was watching as she took in many inches of his throbbing prick at once, making Frank feel like all of him was going to be sucked down into that hot, eager mouth.

With violent squeezes of her reddened cheeks, she began to suckle at him, tongue washing over its haft, throat working to force even more down towards her gullet. Showing him what he could look forward to if he let Angel be the end of it.

Up on the deck, a camera stayed trained on the Mercader residence. Frank kept a weather eye on the laptop that the feed ran to. Even as Lucy bobbed her head in his lap and he petted her hair… more in imitation of what the man he had once been would do than out of current desire… he saw the shadows move briskly in an upstairs window.

Reaching out to the keyboard, he zoomed the camera in, quickly recognizing the body language of the silhouetted bodies against the brightly streaming light. The man moving rapidly, viciously. The woman cringing in fear, trying to pacify him. It was not much different from the circumstances in which he'd first met Lucy. Only there were much more than three inattentive scumbags to worry about now.

Frank saw the man's hand swing, the woman's head rock, her hair flying up in a flurry of shadows. He flinched, but it was not in sympathy with the blow. It was the urge that would draw a gun, unsheathe a knife, if only he were in range of the prey who'd drawn his hunting instinct.

No time was wasted in thought. Frank knew immediately what he would do, if he needed to do it.

“Can you swim?” he asked Lucy.

“Wha?” Lucy replied, popping her mouth free of his erection. “Yeah. I live in Miami.”

Frank snatched up a life vest and thrust it into her arms. “Put this on anyway.”

“What's going on? Is someone going to, like, torpedo us?”

The man's silhouette showed no apology. He dragged the woman to her feet and pulled at her top. Frank saw the outlines of her buttons, briefly flying through the air.

He shook his head. “I'm going to torpedo someone.”

He saw with approval that Lucy had at least put the life vest on while she questioned him. She was a good woman. Too good to have stuck around as long as she had.

This was bad work. The only good thing about it was that it was done to bad men.

Up on the deck, he started up the engine. “Swim,” he told Lucy.

“What?”

Frank picked her up and carried her to the safety railing. “Swim,” he reiterated, and dropped her into the water.

“Frank, you son of a–“

She wasn't drowning. Hadn't lied about being able to swim. Good woman.

Frank stalked to the cockpit. He shoved the throttle to the limit. The engine roared to full power, filling the air with the stench of burning diesel. Frank twisted the wheel. The boat donutted around to face the beach and Angel's mansion, lit up like it was under a spotlight. 

With the boat straightened, the props grabbed hold of the water and cut into it. Slashing the calm water into a frothing wake. His target jostled and grew through the windshield. 

Holding the wheel steady with one hand, Frank opened up a compartment at his feet. Inside was a flak jacket. He pulled it on. 

Voices shouted from the shore, raising above the full-throated growl of the engine. 

He took the Colt Commando from the compartment and slung the rifle over his shoulder. Quickly transferred magazines from there to the slots on his plate carrier.

Shots rang out, but the guards didn't have his range. He heard a few slapping impacts on the fiberglass hull. Frank ignored them. 

He buckled on a gun belt, holstering a Browning Hi Power in it.

Finally, he popped open a padded case and took out a remote, which he strapping to his wrist with Velcro. 

That was the last he had time for. The beach was fifty feet away. Bullets were starting to thread

through the windshield and hack into the wood interior. 

Frank ducked down, bracing himself. All he had to do now was hold the wheel straight.