True North: A Wordsmith Chronicles MC Standalone

by Harlan, Christopher

  “Are you ready?” I ask to build up the anticipation even further.

  “Uh-huh. Don’t be gentle.”

  “I’m North, darling,” I tell her, forcefully. “I don’t fuck gently.”

  She starts to say something back, probably a witty response, but I don’t let the air leave her mouth before my swollen member is halfway inside of her. I use my hand at first, but once I feel the warm wetness of her soaked cunt, then I let my hips do all the work.

  She takes every inch of me like a champion. I’ve never felt a pussy like hers. Usually having a cock as big as mine is a challenge—something women say they like and fantasize about, yet are intimidated by when it’s real. I’ve had women turn me away, or stop me midway through, or just tell me later that it wasn’t enjoyable because it hurt too much. Delilah isn’t doing anything like that. In fact, I know she’s not intimidated by my size when she starts to do the work for me, slamming her ass backwards and forwards so forcefully that she almost knocks me back a step.

  Her confidence turns me on, and I feel liberated to fuck her properly, like she needs to be. I finally grab onto that hair and go to town, pulling her head back so that her back is arched. My other hand goes to her hip, and I start to destroy her pussy one powerful thrust at a time. She’s screaming uncontrollably, turning her head to see what little of me she can see from that angle, so I lean into her and whisper in her ear. “I know you’ve never been fucked like this before, have you?”

  “Never,” she screams. “Oh, my fucking God, North, go deeper.”

  “Careful what you wish for, darling.”

  I let go of her hair and commit both of my hands to her hips for more control, and that’s when I really get my rhythm going, hitting her from behind and slapping her ass every few strokes, so hard that a red hand print is visible on both of her ass cheeks. I see her reaching underneath herself to tickle her clit. I know it won’t be long now.

  About a minute passes and I feel her wrist going full force underneath her body, hitting her clit as I go deeper than any woman has ever let me go before. “Oh, shit, North, you’re gonna make me come.”

  That’s when she erupts. If you only saw her body at this moment, you’d see little difference between her and someone being electrocuted. Her body moves like she’s possessed by a demon, every muscle in her pussy constricts around my long cock as I watch the rest of her convulse and tighten. The only loose part of her right now is her mouth, as she screams my name again and again as she comes on my dick. The tightness is so intense that it brings me right to my own orgasm unexpectedly.

  When I tell her I’m going to come also, she stands up straight and turns around, dropping to her knees and grabbing onto me. “Come for me right now, North. Give me all of your hot white cum!”

  “Ooh, fuck!”

  Come is the wrong word—I explode all over her, and my explosion is so epic it almost hurts. I lean back as I let her have every drop of what’s inside me, tightening my whole body as she holds onto me until I’m done.

  When it’s over, it’s like I’m waking from a dream. I’m completely drained—literally, and her face and chest hold all the evidence of that. She gets up and cleans herself off in her bathroom. My cock is still rock hard, standing so far in the air that I don’t dare try to put my pants on yet. I sit down on her couch naked, not giving a fuck if that’s rude or not. I need to sit, and my cock needs rest.

  She comes out of the bathroom naked and I get another good look at her hot body. She’s cleaned all of my juice off, and she joins me on the couch. Her head presses against my chest, and I wrap my arm around her. “That was epic,” I tell her.

  “You’re telling me. You were right. I’ve never been fucked like that in my life.”

  I pull back for a second so that she can see my expression. “Of course you haven’t. You’ve never been fucked by me. But don’t worry, next time I’ll show you all of my tricks.”

  “That wasn’t all of them?”

  I laugh so loud that I practically shake the walls.

  “Delilah, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

  Twelve—North—Way Back When

  I wake to the sound of footsteps, and in the dark I have flashbacks to being in prison. I jump up, ready to fight—if need be, for my life. But then I see Delilah standing in her kitchen, getting a glass of water in nothing but an oversized tee shirt.

  “Fuck, you scared the shit out of me.”

  “I scared the shit out of you?” she asks. “Jesus, North, why’d you pop up like that?”

  “Prison habits die hard. I apologize, I’m just not used to sleeping with another person.”

  “I’m sure you’ve had your share of women,” she says, taking a sip of her water.

  “I have. But you misheard me. I meant sleep, literally. The last person I slept in the same room with was my cell mate, Frank. And he wasn’t nearly as sexy as you.”

  “How bad was it?”

  “Rooming with Frank? Not so bad.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  I know exactly what she means. I don’t usually talk about my doing time, but I’ll make an exception for her. “Prison is about the worst thing yet invented by man. Worse than any capital punishment. Worse than torture. It’s the total absence of any hope, one minute at a time. I was one of the lucky ones who only had a little over a year to do, which kept me sane. But if I’d been there for much longer, I’m not sure what I would’ve done.”

  “Well you can relax, it’s just little old me. I’m not going to shank you in your sleep, don’t worry.” I lie back down on the couch and relax. We both fell asleep there after that incredible session we had earlier. “And no wonder you’re waking up, that couch isn’t comfortable enough to sleep on, come to bed with me.”

  She takes my hand and leads me into the bedroom. I collapse onto the softness of her mattress. She was right, in hindsight the couch feels like I was sleeping on a bed of sharp rocks compared to this. I put my head back and she nuzzles up against me. “How close to killing that guy in the bar did you come?”

  “Closer than I like to remember. If the other guys hadn’t pulled me off of him, I wouldn’t be here with you now, I would have been locked up for manslaughter. Does that scare you?”

  “I don’t scare easily, North. I never have.”

  “That’s a good thing. You would have done well in my world.”

  “I would have made a terrible biker, if that’s what you mean. I’m too independent.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Will you hate me if I ask you one more thing?”

  “I could never hate you, so ask away.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why’d you almost kill that man? You’re a big guy. Intimidating. I’m sure you can more than hold your own in a fight. Why didn’t you stop before it escalated into a situation that could have cost you your freedom?”

  I’m not used to a woman who gives enough of a shit about me to ask deep psychological questions about my past so she can get to know me better. I’m not sure how I feel about it yet, but I promised to be truthful with her, so I think about it for a few seconds before answering.

  “Here’s something you need to know about me. For better or for worse, I protect my own. If you threaten someone I love, or hurt them, or threaten the handful of people in this world who I call family, I’ll do everything I can to make sure that you don’t exist anymore. Fuck the consequences. That’s just the way I’m hardwired, and it’s never going to change. I need you to know that right now, because if you’re going to be with me, you need to know all of me. No one screws with my loved ones. If they do then they die, simple as that. I’m not a violent man, Delilah, but I’ll visit unspeakable violence upon anyone who crosses the line with me.”

  For the second time in a few days, I’m worried that I’ve frightened her, so I wait for a lecture on how irresponsible what I just said is, or how violence isn’t the answer to solving problems, but it d
oesn’t come. Instead, she presses against me even harder.

  “I think that’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life. Goodnight.”

  I don’t know what gods are smiling down on me, but I’ll be keeping this girl around for a long time.

  Thirteen—North—Now

  Yup, that’s a cell phone the goon is holding.

  That little electronic device is my ticket out of this prison. Travis messed me up, but the fact that he wants me alive is to my advantage. The sick bastard wants to see my reaction to all the terrible things he’s going to do to Delilah, but that’s never going to happen. He knows that I’m a tough son of a bitch, and that the only way he can get to me is by getting to those I love.

  Knowing that gives me the idea I’ve been waiting for.

  I have to act quickly, and I can’t hesitate, otherwise I might end up getting myself killed before I can save my wife. I’m barely holding my own body up, so this little show I’m about to put on needs to be more than convincing— I have to take it up a notch so that he believes me. “Fuck!” I yell.

  No response. I wince and squint my eyes before trying again. “Ah, Jesus, it fucking hurts.”

  I finally get his attention. “What the hell is wrong with you?” The man has a voice that’s as unfeeling as someone who’d work for Travis would have. There’s no humanity in it, just the kind of concern that a cattle rancher might have for a steer he’s going to sell to a slaughterhouse.

  “I don’t know, man, he busted me up good. Think he broke my rib.”

  “Good,” the man says. “That’s what happens to scum like you.”

  “Kid, you don’t even know me. Travis has you brainwashed.”

  He doesn’t say anything. He just goes back to looking at his phone. I’m taking the wrong approach—he’s not a person who I can reason with, and pleading for help is a waste of time. I was hoping that maybe he was just a lost kid who still had something worth saving inside, and maybe deep down he is. But I know Travis, and he only recruits the worst of the worst—the ones with no conscience and no regard for the lives of others. I tried. Now I know what I have to do.

  I fall over and start yelling as loudly as I can, and I don’t stop.

  The kid looks at me for a minute as I fake writhe on the floor. I’m doubled over in pain, holding on to my mid section as though I’m in the kind of pain that may need medical assistance. Eventually I hear his boots approaching. “What is it? Stop that shit!” I ignore him just like he ignored me a second ago. I just keep yelling and clutching myself, waiting for the exact moment to come.

  And then I feel it. His hand touching my shoulder, trying to turn me over. That’s when I act. I grab his hand and shove it to the side so that he’s off balance, then slip behind him while he’s trying to regain his footing. Without hesitation, I swing my bound hands around his neck and drop my back to the floor, throwing my legs over his to trap his whole body.

  I’m not a martial artist by any means. If a well-trained black belt wanted to take me out he probably could, and with little effort. But I’m not completely untrained when it comes to fighting. Joaquin’s dad was a big-time martial artist. He was trained in a lot of traditional martial arts like Karate and Tae Kwon Do, and he used to show us things to protect ourselves from the bullies and gang members at school.

  After high school, I boxed, on and off for about a year, picking up on some basic striking and blocking techniques. And in prison I knew a guy who was a jiu jitsu brown belt. He took a liking to me when I saved his ass from some crazy Aryan Brotherhood dudes who wanted to shank him. I asked him to pay me back by showing me some basic self-defense grappling, which he was kind enough to do.

  Long story short, I won’t be making my UFC debut anytime soon, but I know more than most people do when it comes to fighting. That, coupled with the fact that I have the kind of grit and heart that can’t be taught, makes me a very dangerous man when I need to be.

  He does what I expect. He does what most people would do—panic and try to thrash his way out of it, but that doesn’t work. I sink in a choke and control his body—he’s not going anywhere. I squeeze with all of my might, as though my life depends on it, which it does. He claws at my hands, tearing with jagged fingernails, cutting up my hands. It’s his last desperate effort to escape, but it won’t work. If this were a UFC event you’d hear the commentator call this a rear naked choke. It’s what’s called a blood choke because it squeezes the carotid artery to stop blood flow to the brain, and it doesn’t take long for you to go out when it’s locked in. I count in my head as he rips at my hands—one, two, three. . . when I hit seven he goes limp, and I hold only a second longer so as not to kill him. I don’t want him dead. He didn’t do anything to me worth killing over—he’s just a worker bee. But I do need him incapacitated.

  Once he’s out, I shake him off and grab the pocket knife that all the Leviathans are known to carry. Their calling card isn’t shooting victims, it’s stabbings. They shoot plenty of people also, but Travis has these custom knives made as a symbol of acceptance into the club, and his guys look forward to the times they can use their gifts on actual people. I angle the blade up between my feet and saw my restraints off until my hands are loose.

  My adrenaline is pumping so fast that I don’t feel the pain of all my injuries, but I know they’re there. My hands are pretty torn up, and I know that I’m not looking my most handsome. To quote Jesse Ventura in Predator, ‘I ain’t got time to bleed’. I put my ear to the door and listen. I can hear the other guys laughing and messing around in the next room, so I need to be careful. One stupid kid was doable, but if a bunch of guys rush me in the state I’m in, there’s no way that I can fight them off. I’d be a dead man, and that means that Delilah would be a dead woman, and I can’t even let that thought penetrate my mind.

  The door’s not an option, but the window opens to the back of the compound.

  That’s my only shot.

  Fourteen—Delilah—Way Back When

  “He’s hung like a fucking horse, Em.”

  My sister’s in town, so I took her out for lunch. I was going to ask North, but he told me that he had some kind of business he had to take care of. It sounded like a line that a mobster gives his wife in one of those Mafia movies, but I didn’t question him. Last night was incredible—the best sex I’ve ever had. There isn’t even a close second that I can think of, including my now ex-husband. I’m still sore in the best way possible.

  “Come on,” Emily says, giving me the disbelieving eye.

  “I’m telling you, Em, like a horse. No, actually, scratch that. He’s hung like a horse who’d make the other horses jealous. I needed two hands.”

  “Did it hurt?” she asks.

  “Not really. Not a bad pain. It was kind of a tightness, but then it felt amazing. Whoever said size doesn’t matter never got fucked by James North.”

  “So, you’re just like, fucking hot biker guys now? Is this what happens when you get divorced? You live out all the fantasies that you didn’t get to fulfill in your twenties?”

  “It’s not like that, Em. It’s not casual sex with some random guy. There’s something there with North. Something deeper.”

  “Based on what you’re saying, I’m sure it went real deep!”

  “God, get your head out of the gutter.”

  “Me?” she asks. “I’m not the one discussing the gargantuan dick of the guy I’m banging.”

  “It is gargantuan,” I repeat, thinking about it again for a second. “But that’s just the icing on the cake. He’s an interesting guy. He’s an ex con, but he’s also really smart. I feel like there’s a lot going on there.”

  “Wait. So, you’re telling me that you met an ex con biker at some class, went on two dates, and let him fuck you silly on the second, with his huge dick. Do I have the narrative correct here?”

  Hearing her say that makes it sound worse than it is in reality. I guess from her perspective I’m living out some fantasy,
or sowing some oats that I didn’t get to sow because I got married to that prick so young. But that’s not what’s happening at all. “Well, technically, everything you said is true, but you just have to trust me on this one, I’m not just going crazy because my marriage broke up. I like him a lot, and he likes me too.”

  “Alright,” Emily says. “If you say so. You know better than me. So, are you seeing him again?”

  “He said he’d call me later on today. Said he had some business thing to take care of this afternoon.”

  “Biker business?”

  “Jesus, Em, why are you so hung up on the biker thing? A lot of guys ride bikes, doesn’t mean he’s moving meth along the interstate. You’ve seen too many movies and TV shows.”

  “You just said he was an ex con!”

  “Right,” I tell her, getting a little annoyed with the conversation. “Was. Past tense. He did a year for a bar fight when he was much younger. He was protecting one of his friends and things got of hand. No one died, no one was permanently injured. He’s a regular guy now.”

  “A regular guy with a gigantic dick.”

  “Well, yeah, there is that.”

  We both laugh. Emily is my younger sister, but she always looks out for me like she’s the big sister. She was there with me through the messy divorce with my ex. She saw the dark times when I was in a really bad place, and I know she still worries about my state of mind.

  “Does your new biker beau know about your settlement?”

  The settlement. My ex wasn’t wealthy, but he made a very, very good living. While we were married I supported him while he worked his way up the ladder of the Fortune 500 company he worked for. By the time of our divorce he was a senior VP, and making a crazy amount of money. He had no leg to stand on when it came to the terms of our divorce. Once my lawyer looked into it, there was a paper trail a mile long that my ex had left behind with his new family. A second mortgage, tax payments, OBGYN visits, you name it. He had no way to defend himself. For my pain and suffering I got all of my legal fees paid, and I secured a hefty alimony settlement. I don’t have to work, but I try to live modestly. It wasn’t about the money for me, but it’s nice to have that security in my back pocket.