by Jessie Cooke
Dallas could hardly breathe. She’d never felt like this before. She was like a wild animal who had to breed, right then and there. She had to have him inside some part of her body…it was like a compulsion and an uncontrollable one. She let go of his big, hard cock and began to slide down so that she could take him in her mouth…but he stopped her. He put his big hand around her throat and kept her pressed into the wall. For just half a second she was afraid, but when she looked into his eyes there was no malice there, it was all desire. She’d never been manhandled like that and she was surprised to find out how much she loved it. Her pussy was so soaked that it was running down the insides of her thighs. Her core was so tight that she could hardly move, and her blood was flowing so slowly through her veins that it was like hot lava hissing its way through her body.
“Tell me, Dallas,” he said. She knew what he wanted her to tell him. He wanted her to say she was his and only his…but what about him? Was he going to give up the girls, like Jamie and Amy and God knew who else? Was the big, bad boss of the Southside Skulls ready to be an old man? His grip on her neck tightened and he said, “Tell me.” When she didn’t respond right away, he put his other hand between her legs and without preamble, he shoved two of his fingers up inside of her. He held her, firmly but loosely enough that she could breathe while his fingers explored the most sensitive, private parts of her body. She had come to hate the idea of him being with anyone else, but those fingers…they knew exactly what they were doing, and she was sure that had come with some practice. “Tell me,” he said again. His voice was hoarse and the hand on her throat tensed.
“I’m just yours,” she said. She might regret that later but at that moment she wanted it to be true. She wanted to make a deal with the blue-eyed devil that meant she got to feel what he was doing to her right then, again and again. Suddenly he let go of her throat and he was biting at her lips and sucking them into his mouth. He bit and licked at them and then down her chin and surprising her, he then kissed her softly across her throat where his hand had just been. His other hand was still doing wild things to her between her legs. As his fingers tickled her insides, his palm pressed hard into her clit and he moved it back and forth, almost violently. Her body couldn’t take it much longer and just as she felt the tingle of her orgasm beginning to build…he pulled his hand away and his fingers slid out of her. She whimpered, pathetically, and she heard him chuckle.
“Patience,” he said. “It’s a virtue.”
“I want you so bad,” she whispered.
“Just me.”
“Yes, Doc, just you.”
“No one touches you, Dallas. No one but me.”
She nodded. It was so unlike her. She had no idea who the woman was that had suddenly taken over her body, but she was ready to agree to anything he wanted. “No one,” she whispered. He brought his hand up to his mouth, the one that had just been inside of her and he began to lick his fingers. He licked them, slowly, while she watched, his face showing just how much he was enjoying it.
“You’re so sweet,” he said. “And all mine.” She nodded again.
“Doc…please fuck me.”
He tortured her instead. He made her watch as he finished licking his fingers. He held her pressed into the wall with his hip as he did. He was so much bigger than her and so much stronger that she couldn’t move. She had no idea how much being dominated would turn her on…but it did. When he finished licking all of her juices off his fingers and hand, he pressed his mouth against her ear and said, “Now, I’m going to fuck you, Dallas…and my cock will be the last one to ever enter that pussy. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“Nobody but me.”
“Nobody but you, Doc. Just you. I’m yours. I promise.” What was she doing? Fuck if she knew. She’d never wanted anything this badly. She was willing to say whatever she had to in order to get it. She called him the devil, but she was just as bad…and she didn’t care. “Please, Doc,” she said, pathetically, again. Her plea was desperate; at that moment she would have said or done anything to have him inside of her.
He put his hands on her hips then and shoved them back so that her butt was pressing hard into the side of the greenhouse, and then he lifted her up and before she could lift her legs and get them around his waist, he had shoved his cock up into her, roughly. He filled her up in an instant and she let out a long, almost tortured cry while at the same time scrambling to wrap her legs around his waist. They were both covered in sweat, and she slipped and slid up against him each time he thrust up into her. His mouth went to her neck and he bit down on it and held her flesh in his mouth while he drilled into her, over and over again. She felt herself reach her peak, and then come down, and then reach it again. At one point he turned and used one arm to clear the plants off a shelf and he flipped her over and pushed her down on it so that her stomach was pressed into it. The smell of cannabis filled her nostrils as her face was shoved down into the silky leaves of one of the plants and at the same time, he filled her up again with a wild thrust, this time from behind.
He fucked her then, hard and fast and with seemingly no thought to whether she was enjoying it or not. He was taking what he wanted, what he had labeled as his…and she was more than happy to give it to him. His cock throbbed inside her and when he reached up and grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back she cried out his name and came again. He put his mouth back down against her ear and said, “Tell me, Dallas.”
“I’m yours, Doc. Just yours.” With a wild, feral, primal growl he finally reached his peak. As he filled her up with his come she panted and gasped for breath, and it wasn’t until he finally stopped pushing into her and slowly let his softening cock slide out that it dawned on her what she’d just done. She promised Doc Marshall that she was his and his alone. She had in effect allowed herself to be branded by a man she herself believed had no conscience and no love for anyone half as strong as his love for himself. Maybe he was one of those men that just got off on hearing it. Maybe none of it meant anything other than wild, sexy foreplay.
Doc lifted her up and slowly turned her around in his arms. He did something crazy then; he kissed her softly on the lips and whispered, “Are you okay? Was I too rough?” Just when she thought he didn’t care.
She smiled at him. God, he was beautiful. “I’m okay. It was…amazing,” she whispered. That made him smile and then he pressed his lips to hers again and with them against hers he said:
“Mine.”
It wasn’t just a sex game. He meant it. He expected it. Dallas was trying to process that when the sound of someone pounding on the greenhouse door caused them both to jump. “What? What the fuck? Don’t open that door!” Doc yelled, causing her to jump again.
“Doc, I’m sorry.” It was Coyote. “I tried to tell you before. It’s your mom.” Dallas was still holding onto him and she felt his body tense as soon as Coyote said “Mom.” It was funny, but she hadn’t even thought about Doc having parents. Of course he did, at least sometime in his life. But it was hard for her to imagine him having a mom. He let go of her and grabbed his pants. He was still pulling them on when he made it to the door. They were unbuttoned and unzipped when he pulled open the door.
“Where is she?” was all he said.
“Boston Memorial,” Coyote said. And just like that, he left her there, naked in the greenhouse wondering again what the hell she had just done.
10
Doc hated hospitals. His entire life his parents pushed for him to go to medical school. His mother begged him not to “waste” his “brilliant” mind, and his father just assumed Doc would do as he demanded. His mother wanted stability for him, but it wasn’t about Doc’s life to his father, it was about what it would look like to other people. His narcissistic ego would be stroked by having a son who followed in his footsteps. The fact that Doc joined the army embarrassed Landon Marshall. The fact that he started an MC was the final straw. Landon disowned him completely…not that Doc
cared; he’d disowned his father already. What he hated about it was that it made it hard for him to see his mother. At least that’s what he told himself. As he rode his bike to the hospital he counted the times he’d seen her over the past year and a half. He’d only seen her three times, and none of those times had been in his father’s house. He met her for dinner twice and coffee once…but it had been months since the last time. Every time she’d called, he had been too busy, and now the guilt was eating at his guts.
When he’d gone back to his room to change before going to the hospital he saw that he had three missed calls from his father, he’d left messages on the answering machine. The first two just said, “Your mother had a heart attack. She’s at Boston Memorial.” He said that she’d just come out of surgery, and gave him the room number she was in. The third message said, “She’s dying, but I’m not surprised that you haven’t shown up.” Doc felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach when he heard that one, but he was also angry because he knew that was exactly what his old man wanted him to feel. At least he knew she was still alive. He couldn’t bear the thought of her dying and knowing he wasn’t there.
Once he arrived at the hospital a cloud of doom descended on top of him and he was having a hard time breathing. He hoped his father had been being his typical, dramatic, asshole self when he said, “Your mother is dying,” but something in his gut told him that it was true. He’d stopped in the gift shop and bought a garish arrangement of colorful flowers. His mother loved flowers, and if the lack of personality in the hospital hallways was any indication, she could use the color in her room. If she was dying, Doc was going to make sure she went in a colorful, fragrant environment.
When he got to the nurses’ station on the private floor where his father said she was, he was told that she’d recently been moved to the ICU. That was bad, and with the dark cloud sitting heavily on his shoulders he made his way up to the tenth floor. Where the hallway on the floor with the private rooms had at least been decorated with modern art prints, the ICU was completely sterile and void of decoration or color. It was all hospital, almost frighteningly clean. The floor was a slate gray and so shiny that Doc could almost see his own reflection in it. The walls were off-white and looked like they’d never been touched, or even bumped with a gurney. The ceiling was made of polystyrene squares and laid out in a grid. The lights were so bright that they were almost blinding, and the semi-circular nurses’ station was lined with huge monitors, monitored by staff who were all dressed in perfectly sterile, pressed, white uniforms.
“I’m looking for my mother,” Doc told the woman at the reception desk. “Rose Marshall.”
“Your name sir?”
“Adonis, Marshall.”
She looked something up on the computer in front of her. He wondered if his father had approved his visit. After several long seconds the woman looked up and said, “She’s in I-1067. I’m sorry, you can’t take the flowers in there.”
He looked at the colorful burst in his hand. Reluctantly, he handed them to the girl behind the desk. He noticed then that the nurses’ station was filled with flowers in plastic, colored vases. “I’ll put them in a vase with her name on them,” the girl said. Doc nodded and when she pointed him in the direction of I-1067, he shoved his hands in his pockets and slowly made his way down the hallway.
The rooms were all glass, each enclosed by a sliding glass door and lined on the inside with lime-green curtains. When he found hers, he took a deep breath and slid open the door. He had to duck behind the curtain to see inside. His father was sitting in a chair at the bedside. He turned to look over his shoulder and for a second Doc was distracted by how much the old man had aged since the last time he saw him. His white hair, always thick and lustrous, was thinning in the back, so much so that there was almost a shiny bald spot showing. The bags underneath his eyes hung down to his cheeks and his light skin was spotted up with dark liver spots. The eyes were the same, though, dark green…and accusing. He was looking at Doc like he had reached into his mother’s chest himself and squeezed her heart until it exploded.
Doc finally tore his eyes away from his father’s judgmental ones and looked at his mother. She was almost camouflaged against the white bedding. Her white hair, which she usually kept up in a neat bun away from her face, was fanned out all over the pillow underneath her. Her skin was pale, missing the rosiness he was used to in her cheeks. Wires were coming out of monitors on the walls and disappeared underneath the sheet that covered her, and an IV pole, heavy with at least five bags, stood sentry at the top of the bed with tubing that ran down into her hand and dripped life slowly into her body. The worst of it all was that there was a tube that went into her mouth, and every second or so, the machine it was hooked to would send a big breath of air to her lungs and cause her chest to expand and then deflate. The machine was breathing for her, and Doc knew that was a bad sign. He walked over next to the bed and as his father watched him with suspicious eyes, he slid his hand underneath the sheet and touched hers. Her body was cold and her skin so thin that it felt like paper. Wishing there was someone else there to ask, he finally looked at his father and said:
“How is she?”
“She had a heart attack. I found her down on the floor. I did CPR as soon as I got there and when she got here, they did a coronary artery bypass.” Doc knew what that was, thanks to his work as a medic in Nam. It was a fairly new procedure. It had only been used in the United States for about fifteen years and was constantly being changed and perfected. He had seen men die on the table in Nam while undergoing the procedure…men younger and stronger and overall healthier than his mother.
“And now?”
“She’s having heart arrhythmia. They were talking about putting in a pacemaker, but she still hasn’t woken up and started breathing on her own so it’s too risky to put her under anesthesia again.”
His father’s flat voice and lack of hope pissed him off. “Then they need to do something else.”
With a sigh his father said, “There’s nothing else they can do. She hasn’t shown any signs of coming around. She’s dying, Adonis. If she wasn’t I wouldn’t have ever even called you.” That matter-of-fact statement caused his chest to hurt, and it made him wonder if she’d been sick for a while and this was the first he was hearing about it. Instead of being grateful that his father called him when he did, he was pissed he hadn’t called him sooner.
“Did you know this was coming?”
“Sure,” his father said, sarcastically. “That’s why I left her alone.”
“Why do you have to be an asshole?”
Landon Marshall shrugged. “I suppose for the same reason you do.”
Doc didn’t say anything to that. Now wasn’t the time to argue with the old man. It didn’t matter anyway, he thought, because once his mother was gone, he doubted he’d ever see his father again…alive, at least. He felt the cold hand in his move and he looked back down at his mother. Her eyelashes were fluttering, like she was trying to open her eyes. His father saw it too and came to his feet. “Rose?” The hope his father’s voice had been missing before was suddenly there now. Doc squeezed his mother’s hand softly and said:
“Mom? It’s Adonis. Open your eyes, okay? Dad and I are both here.”
She fluttered her eyelashes hard again. The monitor on the wall was suddenly getting louder. Doc looked up at it and saw that her heart rate had gone from 60 to up over 100, and the machine began to sound an alarm. He wasn’t surprised when one of the nurses, was suddenly rushing in the door. His father stepped back and let the nurse get close to the bed.
“I’ll need you two gentlemen to step out,” the nurse said, just as two other nurses came in the room…one of them pushing the crash cart. Rose’s breathing monitor began to go off then as well, and the sounds were like knives to Doc’s ears. As the nurses at the bedside hooked up new wires and pushed medications into the IV, Doc and his dad continued to stand in opposite corners and watch. Doc’s eyes kept
going from the monitor to his mother. It wasn’t long before the chaotic lines on the screen disappeared…and became flat. The nurse snapped at them this time, “You need to go…now.”
Doc and his father finally both headed for the door. He realized almost shamefully as he watched his Dad limp out of the room that leaving his mother wasn’t as uncomfortable as the idea of being alone with his dad. The old man headed down the hallway toward the waiting room. Doc thought about going the other way, but he was afraid if he wandered away, he wouldn’t be there when they came out to tell them his mother was okay. He kept following his dad and was further disappointed to see that they were the only ones in the waiting room.
The next hour passed in almost complete silence. The only sounds either of them made were the occasional grunts and sighs coming from his father as he read things in the newspaper he was holding that he obviously disagreed with. Landon was an opinionated man. Doc had listened to his opinions his entire life, and when prospecting for the MC hadn’t worked out, Landon’s negative opinions of America’s being involved in the war in Vietnam pushed him into joining the army. Doc didn’t hate his father…but he’d cut off his own arm to keep from being like him, in every way but one. Landon Marshall was an arrogant asshole, selfish and judgmental. But there was one thing…one person…who he reserved judgment for and only one other person he cared about more than himself…Rose. Doc loved the way his parents loved each other. He only hated that his father didn’t have enough love left over for him too.
“Dr. Marshall?”
The doctor was young, and his face was grim. He wore scrubs, like he’d just come out of surgery, and a paper hat and shoes. Doc dwelled on those things so that he didn’t have to look at the man’s face. His first glance had already told him everything he needed to know, but didn’t want to. His father got to his feet. “How is she?” he asked, in a voice that sounded as if every word had to be forced.