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Read Online Books/Novels:

The Filthy Series (Filthy #1-6)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Megan D. Martin

Language:
English
Book Information:

**The complete dark erotic Filthy Serial Novel with an epilogue and bonus material**

She runs from darkness
Into more of the same.
She runs to darkness,
She can never stay away.

Faye Turner is a nineteen-year-old homeless prostitute addicted to cocaine.

Her life is simple, bouncing from one high to the next, bent over greasy truck seats for faceless men. But everything changes when Rhett Hale comes back into her life. Her devilishly handsome step-brother brings life-changing news and a special kind of hate reserved only for Faye. But all the hate in the world can’t hide Rhett’s lust for her.

He wants something wild. Something filthy.

And Faye is tempted to give him just that.

But nothing is simple. Rhett isn’t the only part of her past that comes back.
Faye can’t run.
She can’t hide.
She becomes twined up in the razor sharp lies she fought so hard to get away from.

But lies only bloody the path to the truth.

Books in Series:

Filthy Series by Megan D. Martin

Books by Author:

Megan D. Martin Books

The hands pin her down

She’ll never get away

The rocks slice her flesh

She’ll always feel the pain

The lips take her mouth

She’ll never see the day

The darkness swallows her whole

She’ll never be the same

ONE

“Fuck, take it you little slut,” the guy growled behind me. I clung to the headrest of his relaxed truck seat while he pounded into me, my fingers sliding on the greasy fibers. “You like it?”

I moaned in response, acting like I was lost in some sort of amazing passion that only he could give me. I wasn’t though. My pussy was sore from the other five guys I’d already fucked today and my high was wearing off.

His meaty hands gripped my thin hips, biting into my exposed flesh. The little black skirt I always wore was pushed up around my stomach. He pumped his hips faster. I winced at the discomfort as he stabbed into me repeatedly. It would be over soon. His thrusts had become jerky, out of rhythm. That’s when you knew a man was going to cum. When he lost control of his body, lost himself to the pleasure. Men were a slave to that erotic feeling that made the world disappear.

“Yeah, baby!” He thrust one more time, burying himself balls deep inside me, pulsing his cum deep into my cunt. The warm liquid burned me, scalded me from the inside out. I bit down on my tongue.

He pulled out and moved to the driver’s seat. I turned over not bothering to pull my skirt down. His cum could drip on the seat, I didn’t care.

“Fifty, right?”

I glanced over at him. He was probably in his late thirties, practically twenty years my senior. Time hadn’t been kind to him though. His face was worn, creased like he’d done too many drugs and fucked too many prostitutes.

“You got it.” I nodded.

“You work around here often?”

I glanced outside, pushing my dark hair out of my face. Huge semi trucks lined the big parking lot, illuminated by dirty yellow lights.

“Sometimes.” I watched him dig through his wallet slowly.

Come on dude, just fucking pay me. My fingers twitched against my palm.

“So you’re from around here?” I jerked my gaze up to his face. He was studying me. I knew what he saw. My long black hair was a tangled, wavy mess. I’d pulled it from the braid I wore it in earlier, so it would be loose. My Johns tended to like it better. My face was plain, no makeup, but I didn’t need it. I had a pretty smile, with all my teeth, straight, white, and still intact. I knew my big brown eyes stood out against my tan skin with natural beauty. At least that’s what people used to tell me, back when I had a life, a family.

“Sure.” I glanced back at his wallet.

“No time to chat?”

I wiggled my hips, his cum making my thighs slide effortlessly together. “It’s late. I’ve got plans.” With a drug dealer.

He glanced up and down my body, a sneer covering his lips. “I’ll bet you do.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. He didn’t know I had a knife stuffed down in the little purse slung across my chest. He didn’t know how many unlucky Johns had fallen victim to that very blade.

I flashed him a wide smile, knowing it made me look a little crazy with my big dark eyes. “I do.”

He pulled out the bills, finally, and started flipping through them. “How old are you?”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Someone who didn’t know would think this was a strange question for a prostitute to be asked. The image Hollywood gave the hooker was one of either abused torture or sexy wonderland. In reality it was neither of those things. Most of the men I fucked weren’t psycho rapists, no, those men didn’t pay for their sex, they took it. The men I fucked were just lonely guys—truckers stopping for the night in good ol’ Texas, looking for some pussy and the chance to escape loneliness for the few minutes they could keep their dick hard. Most of them wanted to know more about me. This young girl who sucked their cock, and fucked them like it was their first time.

“I’m nineteen.”

“Really?” A frown creased his forehead while he looked me over again. “So young. What’s your name?” He handed me the money. It took everything I had not to snatch it from his fingers. My body ached, needing the high I would soon get now that I had the money for a good bump. I’d spent the rest of my money for the day on food and cigarettes.

I rubbed my nose. “Faye.” I popped the handle on the door while I shoved the fifty in my purse.

“That’s a pretty name. Wait.”

I paused, my stiletto feet dangling over the seat, ready to clack against the pavement below. I glanced over my shoulder. He looked a little sad as he eyed me. Not annoyed and angry like seconds before. I could see it in his eyes, something new. Regret. This wasn’t uncommon either. When they first saw me they were ravenous. Ready. Their dicks hard and pulsing in their dirty pants. Ready to fuck my young pussy. But once it was over, once they shot their load and their dicks were limp again, they looked at me with wonder, with sadness, and finally regret. Regret for letting down the wife and brood of children they had at home. It was always the same.


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