All the Sky by Susan Fanetti Page A

her pussy muscles rolling up his cock, like she was milking him. That was cool.
    But the best part about Debbie was she kept her yap shut until she came.
    Knowing Debbie was game for whatever, he stopped paying much attention to her, once he got his rhythm established, and let the sting in his palms roll up through his arms and down to his cock. The extra twinge from the cut on his hand only made it better. When he was getting close, feeling the familiar knot deep in his gut, he refocused and was surprised at what he saw. He had her beet red from her waist almost to her knees, and she was starting to flinch and jerk when he swung, before he made contact. As far as he knew, though, she hadn’t uttered more than a gasp.
    Thinking he should wind things up, he stopped slapping and grabbed her hips—wow, her skin was hot—and drove into her, hard and fast.
    When he was through, he pulled out and dealt with the condom, tossing it in the trash after he tied it off. Debbie usually came, or at least faked it. This time, she hadn’t. Now, she was easing herself off the bed and standing slowly up.
    He must have hurt her. He wasn’t into hurting women. He wasn’t sure where his head had gone that he’d been paying so little attention to what he’d been doing. Feeling like he should say something, but not sure what, he finally struck on, “There’s lotion in the john.”
    She gingerly pulled her jeans up over her legs and ass. “Thanks, but I’m okay.”
    He closed his jeans and watched her finish dressing. When she headed to the door, she turned and smiled. “You need anything?”
    He shook his head, and she left. He felt weird. Guilty and pissed all at once.
     
    ~oOo~
     
    After a quick shower, to clear his head more than anything else, Havoc went back out to the Hall. Well after midnight, the party had hit its usual state of down and dirty quiet, with most of the still-conscious people neck deep in somebody else’s personal space. Looked like Debbie had gone home.
    Not everybody left was passed out or getting it on. The TV was going, with a Resident Evil game up and running, and as Havoc ambled to the bar for another bottle, he heard Omen and Dom trash talking.
    As he pulled a fresh bottle of Jack from the shelf behind the bar, Havoc froze. He could have sworn he’d just heard…no way. He turned and looked over at the back of the couch facing the TV. Omen’s head. Dom’s head. And between them, a little shorter, a dark head topped with a shaggy mess of curls. Fucking fuck on a fuckstick.
    He’d just heard Nolan laugh.
    Around the bar and across the room in about five strides, Havoc faced the couch and saw a clearly soused fifteen-year-old slouching between Omen and Havoc, grinning spacily, a half-empty bottle of Jose Cuervo between his legs. Havoc looked around. No Cory. What the fuck? And how was he already drunk? Havoc had been back with Debbie for twenty minutes. Thirty, tops, with the shower.
    Then Omen took a hit on a fat doob and passed it to Nolan.
    Havoc lunged forward and snatched it out of Nolan’s fingers. “What the fuck, you morons? The kid is fifteen!” He handed the joint to Dom and grabbed a fistful of Nolan’s t-shirt, dragging him to his feet. Omen and Dom looked surprised but unbothered by Havoc’s outburst, and he knew why. It wasn’t all that unusual for fifteen-year-olds to hang around.
    But this fifteen-year-old was different. And he was wasted out of his head. Havoc wrapped his hands over Nolan’s shoulders and gave him a little shake.
    “Your ma know you’re here?”
    He smiled up at Havoc, his eyes heavy and red. “Nah. But it’s cool.” His speech was running at about half speed. “I go out at night all the time. She won’t stress.”
    Havoc didn’t believe that shit, but he wasn’t going to argue with the little wastoid, who looked green around the edges. “You okay, kid?”
    “Yeah, I’m cool. Gonna hurl.”
    “Not on me, you’re not. C’mon. John’s this way.”