Poundtown with Mr. Forbidden

Jappa Drive to Poundtown

IRIS

"Pick up your goddamn phone, Victor." I mutter under my breath. My chest tightens, nervousness sinking in deeper with each second.

I arrive at the club about thirty minutes ago, and I’ve been dialing his contact, but it keeps dropping. People are lined up, eager to enter the club, and after a while of standing there and contemplating, I decide to join them. Everyone looks so hot. If not in body-revealing clothes, they’re showing off elegance and money like it’s second nature.

Anything to catch the eye, and that makes me linger from one foot to the other out of intimidation. I feel out of place. I look so odd compared to them.

When it’s my turn, I show the bouncer my ID, and he lets me in. My dropped stomach lifts slightly as my eyes flare at the sight before me. There are like a thousand people here.

There’s literally no space. Everyone is rocking and grinding against each other like the world is ending tonight and this is their last fun. I try to avoid the crowd, weaving through bodies as I dial Victor’s phone again.

Just then, I hit something—a table. I quickly turn to apologize, only for my eyes to catch one of the many empty bottles tipping over.

"s**t, the bottle..." I trail off, reaching for it, but my screech makes the man at the table bolt. Acting on reflex, he tries to catch it, but it shatters instead, and one sharp shard pierces his middle finger.

"Goddammit. Fuck." He curses loudly, and I quickly move toward him.

"I'm so sorry. It’s my fault." My voice trembles, and it shows in form of raised brows, parted lips, panic settling in my chest. "Please, let me see."

I clamp a hand over my mouth when I see how deep the wound is. He must have caught the bottle right as it shattered. The club goes on like nothing happened, music pounding around us, bodies still moving like we’re not standing here bleeding.

The man before me looks familiar. The way his hair is tousled, still neat except for a few stubborn strands resting on his perfectly shaped brows, pulls my attention. The shadow of his beard along his jaw sharpens his features, and his simple brown shirt paired with woolen pants adds to his aesthetic. I almost want to give him Charles’ contact so Charles can learn, especially when I notice how smooth and moisturized his skin looks.

This man may be an alcoholic, but he sure is some fine s**t. Like damn.

I snap out of my thoughts quickly. "I should get some spirit to disinfect this. I need to get the pieces out. Please, allow me."

He waves off my formality. "Nah, it's cool. I’m planning to leave anyway. My car’s out back."

His Japanese accent blends into a British tone, shaping his words in a way that makes his English sound even more refined. Not only is he built like some cocky Naruto, but his voice carries this deep bass that makes you want to hear him whisper things you probably shouldn’t be thinking about.

"Oh, goodness. I'm losing my mind."

"What did you say?"

"What—nothing. Let me help you to your car." I say, and he shrugs like it doesn’t matter either way.

He stumbles when he stands, and I instinctively reach for him, my hand pressing against his stomach to steady him. Or maybe not a stomach—more like a rock. His muscles are tight, solid, unreal.

Outside, the night wind brushes against my skin, making me shiver lightly. We get to his car, and I notice the blood starting to drip more steadily from his finger.

"Do you have something I can use to disinfect this? You can't even drive with this, you know." I say, squinting slightly, my voice still laced with concern.

He doesn’t say a word. He just opens the car door, grabs something, and comes back to the bonnet where I’m already waiting, arms wrapped around myself.

"Here."

"A bandage, yeah—but gin? For what?"

"Spirit is spirit." He twists it open and pours it directly onto the wound. "f**k, that fuckin hurts." His eyes squeeze shut tightly as I carefully begin to remove the tiny shards.

When it’s clean, I take the bottle from him. "I’m going to pour a little more before I use the bandage. It’ll sting."

"Right... argh, shit." He throws his head back as I wrap his finger properly.

He takes the bottle again, what’s left of it, and drinks. "Something tells me you’re not a club person. Am I wrong?"

"What’re you doing?" I snatch the bottle from him. "You already reek of alcohol, and you look like you’re about to drive yourself home."

"So what, you my doctor now?"

"No, but do you wanna have kidney problems and end up relying on dialysis—or die?" That didn’t come out right, but I can't take it back either.

He rolls his eyes. "s**t, I’ve got the money."

"That’s not—"

"Then you drink it." He cuts me off smoothly. I stare at him, stunned. "Yeah, drink it or I do."

I narrow my eyes and puff my lips slightly. He’s daring me. "You don’t say." I gulp it down all at once.

Instant regret. My eyes squeeze shut as I cough, clutching my chest like something hot just burned its way down my throat.

How do people even enjoy this?

After I recover a little, he asks, "So, you here with someone?"

"Actually, yes, but I can’t find him."

"Same here, actually." I turn to him, and he adds, "My bodyguard."

"You’ve got a bodyguard?"

He nods. I find myself watching him more closely now, like everything about him is sharper, clearer. His eyes are slightly dilated, his lips shaped just right, his warm-beige skin colour is smooth like milk.

"You know, I broke up with my boyfriend today, and I’m supposed to meet my childhood friend here so I can cure that depression."

He looks intrigued. "What did he do?"

"Bastard cheated on me..." I slur slightly. "Especially with everything I’m going through. He’s such a dickhead. Never treated me right, but I stayed because we’ve been together so long that love turned into pity."

"I think you’re drunk."

"Nah, you’re definitely wrong..." I try to move, but I lose my balance, and he catches me.

My head feels heavy. My vision blurs. Tingling moves through my fingers, like little currents running from my fingertips down to my toes. And in the middle of all that, I feel so light. Too light.

"Now I don’t think so." His warm hand rests on my back, close enough to my ass to make heat coil deep in my core. My thoughts slip, turning dirtier by the second. The word d**k circles in my mind.

"Come in the car. You need to rest."

He sits me in the passenger seat, and I swear I want to tell him to send me out, but it’s like I’m helpless against my own thoughts. From my peripheral vision, I notice he’s checking me out too.

Does he think I’m hot? That he wants to f**k me just like I really want to be f****d too?

The thoughts flow so easily that I don’t even feel shame.

"Please kiss me." I whisper, breath shallow. Then I shake my head slightly. "No... I want you to f**k me."

He exhales sharply. "Crazy thing, I was thinking the same thing."

He kisses me hungrily, and I return the energy just as hard. Before I can process anything, he’s with me in the passenger seat, his mouth on my neck, leaving marks as my fingers dig into his hair. He pushes the seat flat, giving us more space. He turns me around, lifts my ass slightly, and slides my skirt up to my waist.

His voice drops, husky, words slipping past me as he slides my panties aside and pats my wet p***y. Heat floods through me instantly, and I moan, my body reacting without hesitation.

Like my body has been waiting for this.

His fingers slide in, and I expect the usual discomfort I feel with Charles but instead, I’m relaxed, open, responding. Maybe the alcohol.

Then his tongue.

The sensation sends me somewhere else entirely. My grip tightens, my voice breaking into sounds I can’t even control.

I don’t care how loud I am or what I’m saying.

By the time he’s done, I’m already trembling, already gone. He frees his pants, pressing against me from behind, and starts knocking on my entrance.

Even without seeing it, I feel the size of him. The stretch is intense, almost too much, forcing my back to arch deeper as my fingers dig into him and my mouth opens for air.

"s**t, you’ll rip me open."

The space feels smaller now, hotter, filled with breath and need. He thrusts again.

"Oh, shit... you’re filling me..."

"You love it, yeah? Love the pace?"

"Oh, God..."

"Sexy peach... I’m the one making you feel this. Give my Jappa d**k the credit for taking you to poundtown."

"Mhm... mhm..."

He increases the pace, his stroke game insane. My walls swell up, tightening. My core pulse, a new sensation building fast, too fast until I can't hold it anymore.

"s**t, I'm coming. I’m fuckin coming." My scream is muffled under his hand as my entire body shakes.

He groans behind me, pulling out just in time, spurting warm c*m against my skin.

We collapse into the seat. I rest against him, breathing unevenly, his hand brushing through my hair slowly.

As my eyes close, one thought slips in quietly.

Did I even think of the consequences of what I just did?