by Bella Jewel
Kissing is a must.
Like it, or not.
Boston’s hand moves up and he cups my cheek, surprising me. I don’t see him as the affectionate sort, hell, not even close. He seems like a hit it and leave kind of man, and why wouldn’t he be? He’s got the looks to do whatever the hell he wants. So, his thumb stroking over my skin and moving down the side of my face has most certainly thrown me off guard.
Also, I don’t think a man has ever touched me like that.
I’ve only had one long-term relationship, but it was only a few years, and he was mostly a dick. After that, I’ve been single and proud. I like being my own woman. But the touch of a man is definitely one you miss, and when Boston is touching me like I’m fine China, my heart awakens and bursts to life, thriving on the affection.
“You’re fuckin’ beautiful, without a doubt the prettiest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he murmurs, stopping his thumb at my lips and pulling my bottom lip down, almost as if he’s plumping it up.
But those words. Nicest anyone has ever said to me. I know it isn’t true—Boston has probably seen some of the best looking women out there—so to hear those words come out of his mouth makes me feel confident and sexy.
I know I’m beautiful.
But his words, they make my heart ache.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
He leans forward, slowly, making my body hum with anticipation. His lips slowly inch toward mine, and it nearly kills me to hold still and wait. Finally, they brush against mine, soft at first, just a gentle glide of skin against skin, and then his hand slides around to the back of my head, and he kisses me.
For real.
Deep and slow.
Not hard, once again, surprising me.
His tongue connects with mine, little flitters of connection, but his lips, they devour me. The kiss is passionate and long, and he tastes so incredibly good. So good, I don’t know that I’ve curled my hands in his jacket until I pull away from the kiss on a pant.
“I need to fuck you,” he growls. “Now.”
I’m in full agreeance.
He reaches for the hem of my dress and, in seconds, pulls it up and over my head, tossing it to the side. I sit in front of him in a pair of red panties and a matching red bra. Both lacy. Both do wonderful things for my body. His eyes drop to my breasts and then slowly drag down over my stomach, over my thighs, right down to my toes and then back up again. He’s taking me in, and he looks like he’s fully appreciating it.
Every inch of it.
“Fuck me, you’re stunning.”
I swallow and reach around to unclip my bra. He watches in hooded fascination as I remove it, exposing my breasts. A husky growl leaves his throat and he’s standing before I know it, leaning down for me, grabbing hold of me and launching me up into his arms.
I’ve always wanted to be fucked like this.
But nobody has ever done it.
Boston holds me like I weigh absolutely nothing.
Nothing at all.
And I know, for a fact, that I’m a curvy girl so I’m not overly light.
His hands grip my ass, my legs curl around his waist, and he turns us, walking over until I’m backed against a wall. He doesn’t put me down. He releases one hand and jerks his jeans down, and I want to look, but I don’t want to move, because he feels incredibly good wrapped around me. His big, powerful body making me feel like a virgin, curious about what’s going to happen, safe and protected.
I need him.
“Don’t have a condom,” he growls.
“I’m protected,” I whisper. “And I’m clean.”
“Clean, too.”
Do I trust that?
His cock nudges my panties and his hand finds its place against my ass again. I swallow, looking into his eyes.
“Not a liar, lady,” he murmurs. “Promise you, I’m clean.”
I believe him.
Because, well, that club. They’re all good. Good, solid men. And Boston is one of them.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Are you going to fuck me now? I can’t wait a second longer.”
He reaches down between us and takes my panties by the side, and with one, swift motion, tears them off. He tears them as if they’re made of nothing more than flimsy paper. I bite my lip and stare at him—that was so incredibly fucking hot. He tosses the torn panties to the side and his fingers go between us, finding my slit and sliding directly up, through the wetness and to my clit.
I whimper and curl my arms around his neck, bringing my mouth closer until I find his lips again. His fingers work me over gently, massaging my clit until I’m panting against his mouth, my fingers curled into his hair at the back of his head. I tug slightly and he growls, removing his fingers from my pussy and slapping my ass.
Then his cock is back.
And I want nothing more than for it to be inside me. Deep and fucking hard.
“Fuck me,” I plead. “Please, Boston.”
“Fuck, say that again.”
“Which part?” I gasp as he lowers me a little and the tip of his cock presses against my entrance, lodging in place, ready to slide in.
“Beg me.”
“Please baby,” I mewl, clutching his hair so tightly it must hurt, but he doesn’t even flinch.
“Fuck,” he hisses and then thrusts upward.
My entire world stops.
I notice two things straight away.
Boston is fucking thick, and he’s pierced.
I know this, because I can feel the rings in his cock slide into my pussy.
I stretch and burn around him, not sure I’ve ever felt anything like it before. It’s a delicious mix of pleasure and pain, and I feel so full that I wiggle my bottom from side to side to try and loosen the full space.
“Keep wigglin’ like that, and I’ll cum before I’ve had the chance to fuck you.”
I stop wiggling, arching my back, and holding my breath as he drags his cock out and then slams it back in. And then he’s fucking me.
And good lord.
There are moments in your life you’ll never forget.
Losing your virginity, definitely.
Your first boyfriend.
The firsts for everything.
But being fucked against a wall by a powerful and strong man, his big arms closed around you, his body using yours almost like a toy to bring him pleasure, his panting breaths against your lips, his muscles bulging … That is something you will never, ever, not-fucking-ever forget.
I moan as I loosen just a little around him, letting his cock slide deeper. The pain slowly merges into pleasure, a pleasure I’ve not felt before. I’ve always had to use my fingers to stimulate my clit to get myself to cum during sex. But this is something else. The way he’s working his hips, the parts of me his cock is touching, the way his body is turning me on, has me feeling something I’ve not experienced before.
“Boston,” I whimper, clutching his shoulders. “I think I’m going to cum …”
His head, which was buried in my shoulder, lips kissing my neck, pulls back and he stares at me, slowing his thrusts, dragging his cock in and out and making it feel that much better. “You think?” he rasps, his voice gravelly. “What do you mean you think?”
“I’ve never … not just from sex but I think, oh god, yes …” I can’t even finish my sentence, because the pleasure is building, my pussy feels tight and like it’s constricting around his cock.
“Fuck me,” he growls. “Your pussy is so fuckin’ tight. You goin’ to cum on me for the first time?”
“I think, oh, god, I think …”
“Fuck. Yeah.”
He picks up the pace, just a little, and he hits all the right spots. I tip my head back, mouth open in a silent scream, body so tight I don’t know he’s able to thrust in and out of it.
“Fuck,” he barks. “Your pussy is clenchin’ so fuckin’ hard.”
“Boston,” I scream. “Baby, oh fuck.”
Something incred
ible happens.
It starts as a pressure, a tight pressure in my core, and then suddenly it just releases. A hard, powerful rush of heat that explodes, making my pussy pulse, my body tremble, and my silent screams turn into loud yells of pleasure. I toss my head from side to side, clutch his shoulders, and, for a moment, I completely forget where I am.
I’m caught up in pleasure.
Pure, raw pleasure.
Boston is saying something, his voice low and thick, but I can’t make out the words. He fucks me harder, so hard our skin slaps together and then he’s bellowing his own release, and I feel every pulse inside me as his cock explodes.
It’s fucking heaven.
Every single moment of it is fucking heaven.
I drop my head forward onto his chest, and we both stand there for a few moments, neither one of us letting go.
And I know, in that exact moment, I’ll never forget Boston.
Not for a single second.
And I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.
~2~
EARLIER – PENELOPE
“How are you feeling today?” I ask Cassie, Boston’s sister.
She smiles up at me from her spot by the window where she spends most of her time reading. She’s a major book worm, which is awesome because I love books, too. We spend hours talking about them, which is a nice distraction from my chaotic world. Being here with her is without a doubt one of the better jobs I’ve had. I only work four days a week, and another carer works three, but it certainly isn’t a drag.
I thoroughly enjoy it and was super thrilled when Boston took me on.
“Pretty good, I’m finally getting over the flu,” she tells me, putting her book down on her lap, still open.
She refuses to read a Kindle, not that a blame her. I too enjoy the rustic smell of an old book, the way it travels up to your nose every time you turn a page. There is nothing quite like that smell—it’s delicious.
“I feel you,” I tell her, “I’m trying to avoid it but it’s slowly catching up on me.”
She studies me. “My brother isn’t working you too hard, is he?”
I laugh. “No, not at all. I enjoy being here, more so than my other job.”
I wish I could say working for Boston is enough, but unfortunately it isn’t. After a rather ugly divorce, I kept my home, but with that comes a mortgage that isn’t cheap. I’ve taken jobs I really don’t want just to pay it. Looking after Amalie’s ex-boyfriend was one of the less than extraordinary jobs I’ve had, but, if I hadn’t taken it, I would have never met her and created such a great friendship. So really, it isn’t so bad.
My mother tells me often I should just sell my house. What she fails to understand is that house is my everything. I worked hard to save a deposit for it. I worked hard to save every little penny to decorate the inside. Don’t get me wrong, my husband worked, too, but he didn’t put his money into the house. Not the way I did. It’s my pride and joy. It might not be big but it is mine, and I’ll do whatever I can to keep it.
Boston saved my bottom giving me the job when he did, because I was starting to wonder what the hell I was going to do after I quit my job working as Caiden’s carer. I also managed to pick up a job working nights at a local bar two days a week. So, in total, I work six days. It’s not really enough, but it covers everything, just. I’m not cut out to work at a bar, I’ve been told I’m far too nice, but I’ll take what I can get right about now.
“Are you still working at that bar?” Cassie asks, scrunching her nose up.
She looks a lot like Boston only she has lighter hair. She has the same yellow-like eyes, and the same soft skin. I don’t know much about why she lives with him except that their parents wanted to put her in a home and Boston wasn’t having a bar of it. He took her in five years ago and hasn’t looked back since. She’s only twenty-five, so she’s a solid six or seven years younger than him, I’m guessing.
I admire that he wasn’t going to let her life be ruined because her parents didn’t want to care for her anymore.
They sound selfish to me.
Cassie was born with Cerebral Palsy. She has had constant care her whole life, and spends most of her time in a wheelchair, though she is slowly learning to strengthen her muscles and use a walker for little bits of the day. She has trouble controlling the muscles in her legs and also her hands. It doesn’t stop her, though. She’s determined, and beautiful, and smart as hell. She manages to read those books, no matter how hard it is for her at times.
She works hard to strengthen herself.
She’s determined that one day, she’ll not have to live with her brother, but on her own with a carer in her own place.
I admire her for that.
She’s an incredible human.
“I am,” I answer her. “I don’t really like it all that much, but it pays the bills.”
“You spend so much time here, it sucks you have to pay for a house you’re rarely in.”
I shrug but nod in agreement. She’s right; sometimes it would be easier to just sell it and get something cheaper, but I’m determined to give it my best shot. “That’s true, but I worked so hard for that house, parting with it feels like I’m giving up a piece of myself.”
Cassie smiles. “I can understand that. It’s good your ex-husband didn’t make you sell it, after all that.”
My ex-husband gave up on getting me to sell it, eventually. When he started seeing another woman and got distracted, I managed to get him to sign it over. He still got a lot, and he still doesn’t leave me alone. Neither does his little girlfriend. I’m grateful we never had kids, because I don’t think I could live with any child of mine spending time with people who behave like they do.
She has serious problems with me and is constantly starting fights or trying to cause problems. This encourages him, and then I end up with both of them on my back. It’s like a vicious, never-ending cycle. I left because he was becoming abusive, and now, when she gets in his ear, he tries even harder to get under my skin. Right now, he’s demanding I sell the car because he’s entitled to the money from it because I got the house.
So, it’s safe to say they’re a constant pain in my backside.
“Well, I guess he didn’t get much choice, it certainly doesn’t stop him from harassing me for other things. Even now.”
Cassie shakes her head, her eyes flashing in the same way Boston’s do. “That makes me so angry. He sounds like a pig. Him and his little girlfriend should go away.”
“You’re telling me. You want to go for a walk?”
She nods. “Yes, I would love to get outside. Take me past the park where those hot men are always working out.”
I laugh. “Sounds like a good plan to me.”
I help her out of the seat and into her chair, and once she’s settled in, I push her into the kitchen and gather up some morning tea before pushing her out the door and over the road onto the foot path, headed toward the park a few blocks down. Boston has made his house accessible for her chair, so everything is easy. He’s even got a car that makes it easy for me to take her out. He’s thought of everything, through, which is kind, because he has gone out of his way to make sure she’s comfortable.
He has a nice house, big, two stories. He’s basically set out the whole bottom level for Cassie with her own room, bathroom, living room and even a little library. The kitchen and washing room is all down there, so everything is easy to access. He lives upstairs with his own bedroom, bathroom and living room. He’s thought out what house he has purchased well, because it is one that allows them both their space, while living together. Although, like most of the men in the club, he isn’t home a great deal anyway.
“Oh,” Cassie says, pointing at a man jogging down the path. “He’s super cute!”
I laugh and study him. He is super cute. Tall, blond, well formed. We both watch him as he jogs past us and then break out into a fit of giggles. Very nice.
“You should have asked for h
is number.” Cassie giggles.
“Stop playing match maker, Cass, I told you. I’m not interested in men right now.”
“Not even my brother …”
I snort, but my cheeks flush.
I won’t lie, being around Boston isn’t a difficult task. He’s gorgeous, and rugged, and mysterious, yet surprisingly easy to talk to. I’ve spent a few afternoons sitting and chatting with him. When he first offered me the job, I hesitated. I didn’t know what it would be like working for someone that was a member of a biker club. Not to mention he seemed mysterious, and quiet, and hard to read.
But it turns out, he’s actually one of the best men I’ve had a conversation with.
He carries demons with him, no doubt about it. I’ve heard enough to know that he and Maverick had big problems and, to this day, still struggle to be friends. They can work together, for the clubs’ sake, but that’s about it. Everyone saw the news a few months back of the two of them fighting on the street.
I guess you could say things are tense.
Really tense.
And whatever went down, it destroyed something in Boston. Closed off a piece of him. And that’s sad, because from what I’ve seen he’s a really great man.
“Boston and I are just friends,” I tell Cassie, inhaling the fresh air.
“Really? Just friends? I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He likes you, Penny. A lot. He’s fond of you.”
“And I’m fond of him, but I don’t think we’re really a match, to be honest.”
Cassie wiggles her finger in protest. “Because he’s a biker?”
“No, because I just don’t feel we are. I think Boston needs someone with a little more fire than me. We can talk easily, I won’t deny it, but we’re almost the same level of broken, and I’m not sure that’ll ever compliment the relationship. He needs someone to bring a spark back into his world.”
“While I do agree with that, I also think you two could bring a spark back into each other, if you played it right.”