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With Monday came the hustle. He usually took the weekends slow, making calls and letting some of his runners handle deals, only making a few hand-to-hand meets himself, but Monday was always hectic.

I'm sitting on the couch in the morning while he finishes up his cereal in the kitchen.

"Tonight is supposed to be a good night," he speaks between bites, looking into the living room at me.

"You getting a delivery?" my eyes focus down at the task in front of me, breaking up a marijuana bud onto a paper plate. Justin always likes for me to roll his joints. He says I can roll tighter because I have smaller fingers, but sometimes I just feel like he's being lazy and doesn't wanna do it himself. Of course that's not too terribly shocking.

"Nope…turf war. Upped the price and squeezed the supply. Gotta go the other route." He sighs, taking another bite, chewing slowly.

"I thought you got the shit delivered now." I question him, eyes snapping up to meet his, narrowing a little.

"Depends on the connection, you know that." He waves off my words with his hand before tipping the bowl toward his face to swallow the dregs of milk in the bottom and then placing it in the sink. I continue rolling his joint.

He draws the back of his hand across his mouth, stepping around the kitchen bar and into the living room before continuing, "I've got two good ones running right now, playing the supply and demand game, you know…all that shit you learn in high school economics." He grins, taking a seat next to me. "But it's like I just told you…shit's bad with the one guy…so I gotta get it from the other. Business is business. That's why it's called 'the game'."

He reaches for the joint, smelling it quickly and licking his lips before fishing into his pocket for his lighter, "damn, that's good shit, baby." He presses a chaste kiss to my cheek and I roll my eyes a bit, sinking back against the back of the couch.

I loll my head sideways at him, eyes focusing on him with intent. "You know I fucking hate it when you go up town to pickup your shit. Just to get two ounces from some hoochie gangster bitch who works for the street boss. Out on the bricks with enough blow to get you on ice for at least five years…fuck." I sigh, shaking my head before looking away from him.

He groans, throwing an arm around me as he takes a long drag, turning his head away from me to exhale. He turns back to me, lowering his voice as he speaks right against my ear. "Chill out with that shit…I've been doin this long enough, I know what I'm fuckin doin. Besides, like I said…tonight is supposed to be a good night. Hey…look at me…"

He slips his arm from around my shoulders to turn my face to his, holding my chin in his fingers. He takes a slow pull, but doesn't inhale, just holds the smoke in his mouth and it rolls out in small wisps from between his full lips as he pulls my mouth to his. I inhale, taking the hit from his mouth and holding it, releasing my head back to exhale toward the ceiling as he smirks at me. Shotgunning, it's called, and I fucking love when he does it to me, and he knows it. I grin at him, grabbing his face and pushing my mouth to his, sliding my tongue deep past his lips.

He moans softly and licks his lips as he pulls away. "I got some of the purest shit you can get off the street coming in. Almost twenty-five." My eyes go wide at his words.

"Shut the fuck up." I'm almost giddy, sitting up at attention on the couch. This could be so good for business.

Pure cocaine is impossible to get on the street. Most of it comes in at about 80 or 90 percent pure on the kilo, but it's cut at least twice by the time it gets into the hands of street dealers like Justin, turning out four kilos at around 20 percent purity. Sometimes it gets cut three times and you're selling around 11 percent, but you can't get rid of that shit unless you sell in a "dumb market"-college kids or users who are so desperate they just don't care-and Justin doesn't fuck with that stuff because he wants to uphold his reputation for having the good shit. That's how you keep business rolling smoothly.

Really, there's no sense in selling pure cocaine, a human body can't handle it, most users are so used to diluted product that pure coke would be too potent to even enjoy. You're not gaining any profit, and you're just killing your customers. But 25 percent…that's good shit. That's right on the money.

He smirks. "I know…I've been running about twenty, twenty-two in a good batch. That's about the best you can get around here. But this shit is supposed to be legit. Got the call last night." He takes one more drag before passing me the joint. He doesn't smoke too much before he goes out for the day, just enough to calm his nerves. He knows he still has to be straight enough to handle his business.

"Twenty-five…" I trail off, still not believing my ears. "So are you gonna stock up?" I ask before taking a hit. That's the way you have to play situations like this. If a bad batch of coke comes out to one of your connections, they're usually up front about it, and if it's running around 20 or a little under, Justin just buys a little to stay in the good graces of his supplier, and bides his time until better shit comes in. Then he goes for a big purchase.

"Yeah…I might get ten ounces." Ten ounces may not be much in the grand scheme, but it is for Justin. He usually only runs two ounces at a time, maybe a little more, dealing in smaller amounts just to keep his own ass out of the hot seat. He's dealt with guys who run kilos at a time, and they just end up fucked-getting their house broken into, or getting so caught up in their high-roller lifestyle that they crash and burn right from the start.

My jaw drops to my chest. "That's eight thousand fucking dollars out of pocket! Probably more than that if it's as good as you say! Can you afford that?"

He scoffs at me, furrowing his brow, raising his voice. "Of course I fuckin can! And you know I turn that shit over for more than triple profit! Besides, this guy is cool, he lets me go in half up front and pay out later."

I sigh, leaning forward to snub the end of the joint before sitting back and folding my arms across my chest. "Sounds like a bunch of unnecessary bullshit if you get busted. Twice as much shit in your pockets when they take you in, and you still owe the guy half. Do you know how much time you get on ice for ten ounces, J?!"

He groans, pushing on his knees to peel himself off of the couch with a huffed sigh. "God would you stop being a whiney fucking bitch! Fuck…I can't deal with this shit right now. I've got to fuckin run something on the streets today, I fucked around all weekend…" and he disappears into the backroom to get his shit ready for the day.

His phone vibrates on the table. Not his business phone, that motherfucker is always in his pocket. His other phone.

I glance over my shoulder and then lean over the coffee table to peek at the phone when I see that the door is shut behind him down the hall.

Derrick.

I sigh loud. It fucking kills me every time he calls. I can't imagine how it makes Justin feel.

I look over my shoulder down the hall again.

Fuck it. I pick up the phone.

"H-hello?" my voice is quiet, almost a whisper. Why the fuck did I answer the phone? I don't even know what to say to this kid.

"Um…is Justin there?" his voice is deep, but cracks in mid-sentence. I know he has to be fucking terrified, poor thing.

"He's…he's busy right now. This is Derrick, right?" my voice is still low and hushed. Justin is gonna fucking kill me.

"Yeah…who is this?" he's talking quietly too now. I feel like such a sneak, my chest starts to get tight. I need to make this quick. Whatever we are going to say, it needs to be said now.

"This is Leala…I don't know if you remember me. I think the last time I saw you-"

"-yeah I remember you. You're like Justin's girlfriend, right?" I'm glad he cut me off. The urgency in his voice makes me know that he needs this conversation to be just as quick as I do.

"Yeah…listen, I know you call Justin a lot, and he doesn't answer, it's just that-"

"-how is he? I mean, he's ok right?" and my heart breaks. It absolutely breaks for this kid. He's not angry, he doesn't want to know why Justin doesn't answer the phone, he just wants to know if he's ok.

"Y-yeah…he's…he's fine. Look, I don't know-"

"-cause I worry about him, you know. My parents don't talk about him, ever, and I always ask. It's just like...he died. That's what it's like at our house, and I just need to know that he's ok. Cause…he's still my brother, you know, even if my parents try to pretend like he doesn't exist…"

I sigh, running a hand over my face, "I know. I know, ok? And he knows, it's just…it's been a long time. He doesn't want to get you into trouble, and I think he just feels bad. But listen, I can't stay on here for long, ok?"

"Well just…tell him I called." I hear the door open down the hall and my heart jumps into my throat.

"Ok…ok." I close the phone when I see his form standing over me.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I freeze, phone in my hand. I don't even look up into his eyes. I can tell what look is there just by the tone in his voice. I swallow hard. "Who the fuck was that!?" he snatches the phone from my hands and I slowly bring my gaze up to his as he scrolls through his phone menu to see the last received call. I'm trembling inside. I know I made a huge, huge mistake.

I bolt up from the couch as his eyes go wide and he lunges for me, throwing the phone to the ground, but I'm not quick enough. He falls onto the couch and I scramble down out of his grasp but he grabs me at my ankles and hauls me back underneath him, flipping me over by the shoulders and pinning me down hard. "You fucking bitch!" he spits the words in my face, and I struggle against him, pushing on his shoulders, but he's too damn strong.

He quickly maneuvers all of his weight on top of me, his knees sunken into the couch on either side of my hips, ankles hooked over my thighs holding my legs still. I feel his fingers digging into my upper arms as he pushes all of his weight down into me; I know he's bruising my flesh to the bone.

I yelp when he shakes me, fingers digging harder into my arms, "I can't fucking believe you would do some shit like that! What the fuck were you thinking? You think it's ok to just do whatever the fuck you want? Huh!?...Fucking answer me!!" his eyes are wild and maniacal, brow furrowed and teeth clenched. His face is red with anger and exertion from holding me down, but I finally give in, laying limp under him. I want to cry, just to make him feel like a real asshole, but I can't even muster up any tears because I know what I did was beyond fucked up. I crossed the line.

"Holy fucking god I can't fucking believe you!" he tears up off of the couch, pulling me up just a little by my arms and slamming me back down into the cushions just for good measure. He hovers back over my body, raises a hand overhead and I wince and turn my head, waiting for the blow. This time I think he's actually going to hit me and I almost think I deserve it. But I just wait, and nothing.

He growls and turns abruptly to the wall, punching straight through it with his fist, making a clean deep hole and I jump at the thudding sound of the strike.

Silence.

He's frozen, one hand stuck inside beneath the thick drywall, chest heaving in frustration and rage. I'm scared to move. He slides his other hand up the wall, palm flat and fingers spread wide, and I jump again when he slaps against it, grunting low in his chest.

His shoulders finally relax and his head falls forward, his forehead resting gently against the wall, his back still expanding and falling with his heavy breaths. I slowly pull myself from the couch and approach him silently from behind, reaching out a hand cautiously and running it across his lower back and around to hold him at his waist. My other hand creeps slowly up his side and over his shoulder, down his arm to gently help ease his hand out of the wall, his fist still clenched, blood on his swollen knuckles.

I press a kiss to the nape of his neck and rest my cheek there, his skin still warm and flushed with rage. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry." I whisper the words and I feel him nod under my cheek, but in an instant he whirls around, grabbing my face and pushing my back hard against the wall where he had just been standing. I wince as he grips my cheeks, shooting pain up into my skull as his fingertips align with the bruises Thomas had given me from squeezing my face in the same fashion just last night, the pressure of his hand deepening and darkening the purple that I know will eventually surface.

His jaw is tight and his nostrils flare slightly with his breaths as the heel of his hand rests against my throat applying the slightest pressure. My breath hitches in my throat, but his eyes are soft now. I know he's no longer raging.

"If you ever…fucking ever…pull some shit like that again…I'll fucking kill you. Don't fuck around with me…not when it comes to my family. You're my girl, and I would never hurt you…but I swear to fucking god above I'll kill your ass," he whispers tight in his throat, and I nod the best I can under his grip.

With a sigh he releases my face and his head falls into my neck as I reach down to take his injured hand in mine, holding it gently against my stomach as I clutch the back of his head and press a kiss beneath his ear. "I'm sorry."

He pulls away from me and looks into my face and then down at his hand as I hold it gently, his fingers in my palm. He makes a loose fist, closing and opening his fingers slowly and he winces, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut as he turns his head to the side at the painful sensation.

"Does it hurt?" I push up the fabric of his long-sleeved tshirt and rub his forearm slowly as he continues to make fists with his hand, trying to return it to functionality.

"Yeah it fucking hurts," he scoffs, finally pulling it away from my grasp and shaking it loosely in the air, "it'll be fine. I gotta go."

And I know I should leave. Probably for a while after what took place just moments ago.

-- -- -- -- --

It's late. Later than he usually goes out on a pickup, and now he curses himself the entire way there for forgetting how long a walk it was when he decided he could put it off for another hour this afternoon.

He always walks to pickups, just if for no other reason than to stay low-profile. Kinda hard to stay low-profile in an Escalade truck with twenty-two inch wheels on it. So he walks.

At least the weather is nice tonight. Crisp air, not too warm, not too cool. The fall season has just started to appear and while the L.A days are still a bit warm, the nights are just right.

Tonight will be a good night, he keeps telling himself over and over as he walks the thirteen blocks to the corner for the meet. He wonders what kind of girl he'll get sent tonight. Of course they all want to be working when "that cute white boy" comes to pick up his shit, but he's more into looking and not touching.

Too bad for him the exchange has to happen with physical contact. Something natural to a passerby: a hug, a handshake, copping a feel…but usually the delivery girls are the ones copping a feel. Coke groupies, doing anything and everything to get a free hit on a line. Working in the houses, a whole street almost completely abandoned, at least that's the front they put on, but it's all a cover up for bulk narcotics distribution.

Justin's been at the corner for at least five minutes now. He starts to get nervous, fidgety, looking over his shoulder. It's fucking dark outside and he's on the corner in a god damned bad part of town.

"Hey baby…" he hears the voice behind him, soft and feminine, and he turns suddenly. She's grinning at him like fucking Christmas morning in her high heels and short-shorts, her tank top barely covering her navel, cleavage pushed up almost under her chin. He rolls his eyes discreetly as she approaches him slowly. These girls get off on this shit, and he just wants to score his stash and get outta this part of town before midnight.

"What are you doin out on the streets this late?" he asks the question precisely, awaiting the answer that will insure that she's the girl he's supposed to meet up with.

"Just needed to cool off. I'm hot." Bingo. She's the one.

She grabs his wrists and he sighs, turning his head away from her as she takes his arms around her body, sliding his hands into her back pockets. She's forward. She would probably try to kiss on him if he'd let her. But he won't.

He feels them there, the four baggies in her back pockets, an ounce in each he gauges the weight against his hands. She grinds her hips into his, moaning softly, and he sighs again, annoyed, unaffected by her advances as he palms the baggies, sliding them slowly and discreetly from her pockets into his own. Four ounces down, six to go. There's no telling where else this girl has baggies hidden, but he's getting impatient with her.

"C'mon baby," she reaches down to touch him through his sweats and he jumps back from her.

"Cut that shit out," he warns, but she just giggles at him.

She hooks her thumbs into the belt loops of her shorts, tapping her front pockets with her fingertips and he rolls his eyes. He steps toward her, turning his head again as he pushes his fingers into her pockets. She runs her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, her tongue sneaking out to wet his neck and he jerks his head back quickly, "fucking stop!" as he works four more baggies out and slips them into his pockets.

"Two more," she whispers, holding up a finger, wagging it at him before using it to pull down on the neckline of her tank top. Of course that's where it fucking is.

"Son of a bitch," he mutters under his breath, and she grins at him, biting her lip. "You get off on this shit, don't you?" He cocks his head to the side at her, narrowing his eyes a little.

"You want your shit or not? What…you're not man enough? Little pussy baby boy can't touch no tits but his momma's?" she sticks her chest out a little when she says it and he laughs, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek.

"Listen…" he steps closer to her, speaking slowly "I've got a pair of tits waitin on me back at my house…and they don't belong to my mother. So if you think that I walk my ass down here, halfway across town, just to feel you girls up cause I can't get pussy anywhere else…you're sadly mistaken." He snakes his hand down between her breasts while she's still taken back from his words, grabbing the bags of coke out of her bra and pushing them into his pocket, quickly replacing them with a roll of bills. "That's half upfront…I'll pay the rest later. Have a good night." He grins, grinding out his parting words in a sarcastic manner, turning quickly in the opposite direction, leaving her there stunned on the corner.

He strides quickly back down the street, figuring the faster he walks, the quicker these thirteen blocks will be under his feet and he'll be back at home, safe and sound with his shit. But after about eight blocks, the last thing he expected was for an LAPD car to roll up beside him.

"Fuck…" he curses under his breath, hanging his head and watching his feet shuffle quickly over the concrete, clutching the six baggies of coke in his hoodie pocket, feeling the other four bump softly against his thighs inside the pockets of his sweats. Ten ounces on him…that's five years in jail minimum, no questions. His chest tightens slightly.

The cop rolls down his window, creeping down the street next to Justin. "Well, Mr. Timberlake…fancy seeing you walkin down these streets at this time of night…"

Justin sighs and purses his lips, finally glancing over into the window of the cop car, and he recognizes the man immediately. David Starke. The same cop who has tried to arrest Justin twice, pulling him over for random traffic violations and searching his car, always coming up disappointed when he couldn't pin Justin for a single thing. Cops aren't stupid, they know who deals drugs in this town, but nailing them down is another story.

"Just enjoying the night, Officer." He grins, turning his attention back to the path he's walking, head straight forward and nodding a bit to the rhythm of his steps.

"Where you headed, son?" Officer Starke asks out the window.

Justin smiles a bit, pulling his bottom in between his teeth, deciding whether or not he should be a real asshole right now, just because. He knows this cop can't do anything to him, he's just walking down the street.

"Home…gonna have a few beers…probably fuck my girlfriend…" he grins, turning his head to meet the eyes of the man, "oh, and I'm not your son."

"No…you sure aren't. I don't know which one of us is more thankful for that." Justin tosses his head back in laughter at the man's statement. "But that's quite a smart little mouth you've got on you, boy."

Justin grins again, that cocky asshole grin, peering in the open window of the car, never stopping his stride. "You wanna know more about my mouth…you should ask your daughter. And tell her I said hi, too." He laughs at his own joke, but the officer isn't amused.

"I'm tellin you, Timberlake…you better behave yourself." He warns, and Justin drags one hand from the front pouch of his hoodie, cupping his crotch and turning his hips toward the car.

"Behave this, Officer." He muses, raising his eyebrows with a smile, and the car speeds off down the street as Justin flips the bird in a parting gesture.

-- -- -- -- --

I had been gone for five days after the fight before I showed up at his place again.

He cuts his eyes over at me with a smirk from his recliner as I sink down into the couch with a loud sigh.

"What?" I question his glance curtly, and he snickers a bit, turning back to watch some random movie that's playing on TV.

"Nothin…I'm just surprised you're showing your face around here after that fucked up shit you pulled the other day." He keeps his focus on the television, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

"Look, I fucking apologized ok? It's over…it happened. Neither of us can do anything about it now." My eyes burn into him as I speak, but he still doesn't look at me. He just watches that damn TV, chewing on his lips absentmindedly.

"Still…it was fucked up. I should be fucking livid at you right now." His voice is flat, and I don't know if he's really hearing me, his mind seemingly occupied with the movie.

"Well, are you?"

He smirks, turning his head slowly, tongue playing along the inside of his mouth, "…maybe."

"Fuck you." I push myself up off the couch, rolling my eyes as I brush past him into the kitchen, but he reaches out for my wrist, pulling me to a stop.

"No…you were a fucking bitch. I never thought you'd do something fucked up like that. That's like…fucking betrayal or something." He spits the words condescendingly and I snatch my wrist from his hand but he grabs the belt loops of my jeans, tugging me forward until my knees drop between his on the seat of the recliner, my weight falling forward. I put my hands out quickly, bracing myself against the back of the chair on either side of his shoulders, and the chair rocks slightly with the force of our movement.

"Well, I'm sorry! What…you want me to make it up to you?" I switch my head at him, whining out the last words, mocking his seemingly hurt disposition.

"Yeah." He licks his lips, narrowing his eyes at me.

"How?" I twist up my face at my inquiry, because part of me already knows what he'll say. At least I think I do.

"Well, I mean you should probably just blow me or something."

Ok, that wasn't what I was expecting.

"Fuck you! That's not a fuckin apology. You're such a fucking dick." I push back on the chair, pulling myself hard onto my feet but his hands grip my sides, holding me strong, chuckling as I struggle.

"I'm being fucking serious! You owe me."

"You're such an asshole." I finally stop fighting him, glaring down at him, seething, but he just grins at me. He knows I'll give in.

"And you fucking love me. C'mon…" He lowers his voice, eyes softening at me as a grin plays on his mouth. I sigh loud, perturbed, throwing my head back with a groan.

"I fucking hate you." I grind out the words, but my tone isn't convincing. He pushes down on my hips and my knees bend, hitting the floor between his feet and he grins down at me, leaning forward to bring his face close to mine.

"Bullshit. You're doin too much talking down there" he says, touching his nose to mine before sitting back in the chair, letting his hands fall down beside his thighs.

I glare at him for a long second, raising an eyebrow and pursing my lips. He just nods down at his lap, gesturing quickly with his eyes, raising an eyebrow back at me in a silent challenge. I narrow my eyes at him, shaking my head slowly before I sigh reluctantly and slide my hands up his thighs and he smirks and slides down in the chair victoriously, spreading his knees wider.

I tuck my fingers into the waistband of his basketball shorts and he lifts his hips as I slide them down his thighs and drop them at his feet. I press my torso between his thighs and I can feel him long and thick against my ribs as I push his tshirt up under his arms, fingers dragging slowly down his ribs and over his sides as I kiss and lick the soft skin of his belly right above his boxers, eliciting a moan low in his chest.

I grip his thighs, fisting the material of his boxers as I tug them down his hips slowly, torturously, exposing the flesh beneath his navel inch by inch, and I stop just before the elastic waistband is at the base of his hardening cock, trapping him down beneath the soft cotton material. He releases his head back, groaning loud in protest but I smile against his skin as I suck slowly on his hipbone, licking down into the crease where his thigh meets his hip, and I can feel his dick twitch against my breasts as I bump him gently between the legs with my body. He sighs and pushes his hips up impatiently as I turn my attention to his other hip and I just laugh softly.

"C'mon…" he's almost whimpering, his voice tight and breathy in his throat. I lift my eyes to his and his head is pushed to the side, back arching a bit in the chair, wiggling anxiously. I laugh again, returning my focus to his lap and I bite at my lower lip instinctively as I see him outlined perfectly against the thin material, begging for release. I glance up at him quickly once more before lowering my face between his legs, reaching the tip of my tongue out to run it slowly up the length of him, right over his boxers and I hear him curse as his knees fall farther open in reaction.

I finally slip him out gently as I push his boxers to his ankles and his head falls back as I take him in my hand. I hold him steady at the base, giving him a light squeeze, smiling as I watch him take his full bottom lip between his teeth. I lick my lips before closing them around the tip of him, sucking sweetly as my mouth pulls off before I run my tongue along the ridge underneath the head of his shaft and his mouth falls open, eyes rolling back slowly as they slide closed.

His hand reaches out slowly, touching my shoulder and I feel his long fingers wrapping around the back of my neck, threading up into my hair to palm the back of my head like a basketball, pulling me gently toward him in suggestion. I consent, opening my lips and sliding my mouth down the length of him, pressing up on the under side of his thickness with my tongue until he hits the back of my throat, and I hear him groan from deep in his gut, his thighs tensing under my palms.

I suck hard as I pull off, working my tongue around him the best I can and I feel him fist my hair in his hand, grunting out expletives as I slide back down again, faster this time, but I pull back with the same slow pace, licking lazily around the head. He's panting now as I work him at a steady pace, fast down, slow pulling back, much like he would do if he were fucking me, pulling out slow and slamming back into me forcefully. I feel his other hand in my hair and his breaths are quicker now, moans and sighs falling from his lips as I bob up and down the length of him at increasing speed, fucking him with my mouth.

I move one of my hands up to his stomach and feel it contracting under my fingers, his dick twitching against my tongue as his orgasm builds and builds. I slow down suddenly just before he comes, grazing my teeth gently against his overly sensitive flesh and he screams out, unable to hold it in. I laugh softly as I pull off, not letting him get his release just yet, and I suck at my mouth a little, enjoying the way he tastes before I press my lips back to the smooth head of him, feeling it pulse against my lips before I open them around his length again, dipping down quickly until he hits the back of my throat with a grunt.

I fall back into a rhythm once more, bringing him back to the edge, delighting in the way his fingers curl into my hair, his fingertips pressing into my scalp gently, pushing and pulling me just slightly, guiding me as I pleasure him. "Shit…fuck, I'm gonna come," he breathes out the words and I give him a few more hard sucks and I feel him spill into my mouth, warm and thick down the back of my throat and I don't fight it. I suck gently at him, working him slowly through his release, swallowing as I finally pull off and draw the back of my hand across my lips, my breathing slightly labored.

He's sunken back into the chair, head to the side, eyes half open with a lazy grin spread across his lips and I can't help but smile at him, kissing his inner thigh lightly before standing to my feet and crossing the room to sit back on the couch. He leans forward slowly, grabbing the waistbands of his boxers and shorts together before sliding them back over his thighs, lifting his ass as he pulls them over his hips, reaching down to adjust himself between his legs as he sits back upright in his chair and gazes at me across the room with a grin.

"What?" I give him a pointed look, pulling my legs up underneath me.

He chuckles a bit. "I wasn't even fucking mad when you got here. You sure did get on those knees fast though…"

I groan loud, getting up quickly to leave. Fuck this, he's such an asshole sometimes. But he's out of his chair too fast, bringing his palm down hard against the door from behind me, preventing me from getting it open.

"Justin fucking stop!" I turn the handle, snatching at it violently, but the door doesn't budge.

He laughs.

"Stop! Fucking let me leave right now. You're a fucking piece of shit, you know that! A cocksucking bastard, you fucking asshole. Motherfucker! Let me go!" He lets me struggle for a while with the door, calling him every name under the sun before he picks me up over his shoulder and carts me back into his bedroom.

"Justin! Godammit!" he lays me down on the bed and I start to get up, but he lays flush on top of me, pinning me down with his weight. I fight against him, but he's smirking down at me and I can feel the only result of my thrashing about underneath him is his dick against my thigh, getting harder and harder with the friction between our bodies. I finally lose the fight and still my body, huffing out a frustrated sigh and turning my head to the side.

He laughs softly at my antics, running a hand down the side of my face, "are you done now?"

I glare up at him from the corner of my eye, scowling, but he just grins at me.

My eyes fall shut as he kisses my neck slowly, nuzzling me gently with his nose, moaning softly in my ear. I hate him because he can tell I'm trying to resist him, but he knows just what to do to me to make me hot for him in a matter of seconds.

"C'mon girl...I'm not even mad anymore. And you were gone for almost a week...you didn't even miss me a little? You didn't think this is right where we'd end up when you walked through the door?" he moans against my neck, but I just exhale noisily, pushing on his shoulders.

I snap my gaze up to his as he lays over me. "So you were waiting for me to come back so you could get some pussy? This is all about the sex?" He rolls his eyes at my questions and my lecturing tone.

"Shut the fuck up, you know its not," he kisses my neck again, his lips right against my ear as he breathes out the words, "but right now it is...so just enjoy it."

I feel a smile playing my lips and I pull them in between my teeth, trying not to break my defense, because then he'll know he's won. He always fucking wins me over.

I push back on him until he's looking into my eyes. "You're such a cocky asshole" I say it when I can finally keep a straight face. He just smirks, bringing his face down to touch his nose to mine.

"I know. Just let me make it up to you. Let me apologize…"