by Forgy, M. N.
Fisting my right tit, I push into his hold for more. All I want is him to touch me everywhere. I want his fingers imprinting every inch of my body, and I never want it to end. His mutual thirst for my hands to be everywhere at once has us both groping and scratching at each other like a couple of teenagers burning with intimacy.
His lips skim my neck, kissing, tasting, breathing the scent of my skin inside of his body.
Wrapping my hands around his neck, I strangle his soft hair, pulling his body closer to mine. My nipples glide across his hard chests like rocks on ice, and my sex drips with desire.
“Don’t stop,” I moan, my head falling back mid-ecstasy.
“Definitely not stopping,” he grunts, hands all over my arched back, and lips on my neck.
Teeth nip into my collarbone, and a mewl escapes my swollen lips.
His hands slide down and fist each of my butt cheeks, causing a breeze to sweep between my legs that has me practically begging Mac to take me already.
.
“You like that?” he whispers in my ear.
I nod, the words I want to moan catching in my throat. I’m delirious, out of my mind and into my body.
His hand slaps my backside, and my swollen lips part with pleasure. My skin blooming with warmth and a single handprint.
“Turn over,” he demands.
Kissing him on the lips, I pull away and roll over on all fours. Hair in my face I peek over my shoulder. Mac’s on his knees behind me, his eyes every shade of black. One hand fists into the bed whilst the other skims down my spine he dips in between my cheeks before slipping a large finger into my warmth.
My head falls back, my fingers digging into the mattress it feels that good.
“Why do you wear my shirts?”
I clench my eyes, my breathing labored. It’s hard to focus on his question when all I want is him to take me. He pulls his fingers from my tightness, and my eyes open. I feel lost; disconnected. Glancing over my shoulder he stares back at me with hooded eyes.
“Tell me, why do you wear my shirts. Is it really because they fit or is it something else?”
I look back to the bed and exhale a nervous breath.
“I want to wear your stupid t-shirts, and hold your stupid hand because I want to feel you, is that what you want to hear?” I confess, my heart beating a mile a minute that he’s going to run out of this room thinking I’m a clingy woman.
Crawling up the length of my body, his chest presses against my back. His lips on the shell of my ear.
“Yes and no,” he whispers, and he flicks my earlobe with his tongue. Our eyes meet, our breathing labored.
Fisting his cock, he pumps it a few times before sliding it over my clit.
I moan, and it’s not a modest moan. No, I sound like a trashy porn star.
Slowly, but way too fast all at the same time he pushes inside of me. My entire body becomes rigid as he fills me. Stretching me.
“Fuck, how are you so tight?” He groans, his forehead pressed into my back.
“Don’t stop,” I beg. Every hair on my body is raised, my nipples once soft swelling into hard throbbing buds.
He pumps into me, and pressure instantly races from my clit to my toes, making them curl and cramp. My body tingles, and the pulsing of my clit intensifies.
Again, and again he slides in and out of me, hitting that little bundle of nerves that has me pushing for more, and pulling away because it’s so intense.
He wraps my hair around his hand, and pumps into me, watching his slick cock take me without mercy. His lips brush against the back of my shoulder, tasting and kissing every square inch of the soft skin.
“Oh God, I’m going to—” I clench my eyes, my nails chipping as I claw at the sheets. He speeds up, causing my tits to rock back and forth. His warm body spread across mine, his heartbeat syncing to mine, a burst of stars rocket behind my eyes, and I combust into a million little pieces.
My jaw clenches, I can’t catch my breath, and my sex throbs so hard I can’t help but cry out in pleasure and pain.
He growls, pressing his knees into the bed as he comes seconds after me.
Slowly I feel my body retain its normal blood flow, every little piece that was on cloud nine seconds ago pulling back into a whole.
He falls next to me, situating the pillow under his head. Slowly, I roll over onto my back trying to catch my breath. My body flushed, and so fucking sensitive I feel every stitch of the sheets around my legs.
“I didn’t hurt her, did I?” he asks, resting his hand on the top of my ballooned belly.
“No, I think she’s actually asleep,” I breathe hard. He doesn’t take his hand off me, and it’s heartwarming. I can’t help looking at his hard as a rock cock, it’s dripping cum down the sides.
“My real name is Rhett,” he confesses out of nowhere.
Holding my breath, I look at him, but he keeps his eyes forward. He’s opening up to me.
“I’ve never told anyone that,” he mutters with furrowed brows, almost as if it was painful for him to tell me.
“I like it,” I whisper. I’ve never heard that name before. I grab his hand, and interlock my fingers with his, taking the risk he might pull away and ruin this whole night. He holds my hand, and I bite back the smile. His hand is bigger than mine, but it fits perfectly at the same time. It’s hard to explain.
20
Mac
Laying on my side, I watch Simone sleep. Her olive colored face looks soft, her black lashes nearly reaching her cheeks. She’s fucking beautiful. Lopez and Rooster have me irritated as fuck and I can’t think about anything else. Slowly lifting off the bed, I decide to do something about it.
I grab my shit off the floor and walk into the main living area to get dressed. I can smell cocoa butter on my skin from Simone, and her eyes rolling in the back of her head while I was buried in her to the hilt flash in my mind. She was so soft to touch, smelled so good, and felt fucking amazing.
I’ve never had sex like that before. I was so close to her, needing to touch every inch of her. I don’t know what made it different, but it was.
I try Rooster’s number one more time, and he finally answers.
“’Sup, man?”
“Where the fuck are you?”
“At the club, why?”
I hang up, and text Zeek to send a different prospect up here to watch the door.
I pace, fucking angry as I wait for someone to show up. I’m going to kill Rooster. Fucking strangle him and slam his face into my searing hot exhaust pipe. Lopez coming in here is a fucking risk, one that is not good for anyone involved.
A knock sounds at the door and my head snaps up.
Pulling the door open, it’s Felix, not a prospect. I step out and close it gently behind me.
Felix pulls his long hair into a bun as he eyes me with concern. Felix is the vice president of the club but is probably more level-headed than our own club president, if you ask me. I trust him though.
“I need to go handle some shit, can you keep an eye on things for a couple of hours?”
Felix’s eyes pierce right through me with questions.
“Since when does Mac have shit to go take care of?” he mocks. “Best Buy have a sale on computers?” He chuckles, taking a sip of his beer.
I roll my eyes. “I don’t buy computers, I build them, dumb fuck.” His face goes blank. “I’ll be back.”
Heading down to the club, I try and tell myself to act cool, handle it like an adult, but the matter of the fact is he moved from his post without telling anyone, and a fucking cop went inside the suite.
Finally reaching the doors to the back of the casino, I push them open. The warm dry air making the back of my neck sweat as my feet stomp into the pavement. I can still smell Simone on me, I think I’ll fuck her every day so I can smell like her.
“Hey, Mac baby!” One of the girls coo at me. I can’t remember her name, just the blonde crazy hair that reminds me of an eighties porn star. S
he’s a regular fuck, but I’m not interested in the least bit. I hold my hand up, conveying my intentions. Fuck off.
It doesn’t go unnoticed that for the first time I’m not wanting to get my dick wet by a club hangaround. Simone is definitely changing the way I see and feel.
The doors to the club are propped open, probably for a breeze as it gets stuffy with so many bodies inside.
Stepping inside, the music of Zombie playing “Bad Wolves” vibrates through the speakers. A thick cloud of smoke hangs close to the ceiling, and a wave of bodies makes it hard to see anyone in particular.
I spot Rooster, his reddish hair pulled into a short ponytail, the bottom half of his head shaved. His face is sharp to the chin, and his lip is pierced with a multicolored hoop.
I crack my knuckles, any idea of being calm out the fucking door now that I see him.
“Whoa, brother.” Machete steps in front of me, his hand on my chest. His red hair is swiped back with sweat, and he’s shirtless under his cut, showing off his detailed tattoos.
Noticing my aggression, he pats me on the shoulder, urging me toward the door. “You look like you need some fresh air.” I shove him out of the way, not in the mood for one of his confusing lectures.
Pushing bodies out of the way, elbowing those that don’t get the fucking clue I’m coming through, I slam both of my hands into Roosters back, making him stumble into a few girls.
“What the—” He turns around with a confused look, one I want to punch off.
“Where the fuck were you!?” I point at him, and his face falls. His hand holding a beer halfway to his mouth freezing.
He opens his mouth to explain and I have no time to hear his lame ass excuses. Closing the small gap between us, I grab him by the lip ring and tear it out, the sound of skin ripping, him screaming, causing a lot of eyes to focus on us.
“Man, what the fuck?” he grunts, holding his hands under his bleeding mouth.
“You fucked up!” I seethe and slam my knuckles into his fat fucking mouth. He drops to the floor, and I’m on him in seconds, jabbing fist after fist into his ribs. Him leaving his post scared Simone into having Braxton Hicks. She was in pain and I wasn’t there. I want Rooster to feel the pain she felt. Before I know what’s happening, Machete and Zeek are on me, pulling me off the bloody fucker. I don’t back down, I try and shove past them to get to Rooster.
“Rein it in, brother!” Machete barks, tugging me backward.
Both Rooster and I are dragged out of the clubhouse away from the party, and nearly thrown on our asses from Machete and Zeek.
“What the hell is going on here?” Zeek demands, his arms crossed over his chest. His hair is pulled up in a small ponytail, beads of sweat dripping into his dark questioning eyes.
Wiping the blood from my hand on my jeans, I stand. Adrenaline racing through me so hard, my knees wobble.
“Rooster left his post today and let Lieutenant Lopez inside the suite where she threatened Simone and the fucking club,” I inform.
Both Machete and Zeek’s head snap in Rooster’s direction.
“Look, man, she said she was with us, and that she had it from there! I tried to refuse, and she put a gun to my head and told me to go or else!”
“’Or else,’ always chose or ‘else’ when it puts your duty as a brother on the line.” I point at him, my face red with rage. I want to kill him, fuck I want to so badly my hands are shaking.
Zeek looks at me with an unreadable look, probably because he’s never seen me act like this before. I’m past losing my temper, I’ve gone off my fucking rocker.
“Give me your cut.” Zeek waves his hand at Rooster. That has me calm down for a second.
“What? Come on, man.” Rooster’s voice edges on the line of a child begging.
“You want to puss out when a gun is pointed at your head, I don’t want you behind my back when shit goes down. You didn’t mention anything to anyone about a cop showing up, and come to my club and drink my beer without a second thought. You’re out!” Zeek waves his hand again, conveying he wants the cut.
“You heard him, give him your fucking cut!” Grabbing him, I jerk him out of the cut. Fucking pussy doesn’t deserve to ever wear our colors.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Machete growls. Rooster lifts his chin with what pride he has left and saunters away from the club for good.
When he’s out of earshot, Zeek looks at me with narrowed eyes.
“I knew this cop bitch was going to be a problem. What do you plan to do about it?”
Shaking my head, I rub my chin. She threatened Simone and my club. Nobody gets away with that. My hand trembles as a complete thought out plan falls perfectly into place. My eyes light up, and I stare at Machete.
“I’m going to take care of it. Can I borrow Raven?”
Raven is Machete’s ol’ lady, and is crazy as fuck. Death doesn’t scare her, she harbors the grim reaper in her damn soul. The more fucked up the situation, the better for her. It’s like therapy for the psychotic.
“For what?” Machete questions, and Zeek rubs the black stubble on his cheeks.
“I won’t hit a woman, let alone kill—”
“So, you want to borrow Raven so you can sleep better at night?” Machete sneers. I curl my fists, my nails digging into the palm of my hand. I don’t want to punch Machete in the face, he’s three times bigger than me, but he’s really starting to piss me the fuck off.
I’ve seen my old man beat on enough women growing up, I don’t have it in me to do it. I couldn’t look myself in the mirror the next day without seeing my dad. But if it means keeping Simone and this baby safe… I’ll take down every goddamn mirror in the casino and lick my wounds with a mouth full of Jack.
“Fuck it, I’ll do it myself.” I push past Machete, and Zeek grabs me by the arm. Stopping me.
“I respect you not wanting to hit a woman,” Zeek adds with a sincere look. “You should take Raven. She’s wearing our club colors after all, she can have our back when we call upon her,” Zeek states, giving Machete a look.
“Fine, not like she’d let me live it down if she heard I took an opportunity for her to fuck some shit up,” Machete scoffs.
“Thanks.”
Machete looks at me with hard eyes, and I return the fucking look. He knows Raven is perfect for the job.
“If anything happens to her…” He points at me.
“I wouldn’t let anything happen to Raven.” My tone grim. Raven is crazy, if anything, I should be making him promise me that she won’t let anything happen to me.
Zeek points at me, and I scowl. “I just want to point out this is the second time you’ve come in here knocking heads over this chick, Mac.”
I look to the ground, flicking my chin with my thumb. I don’t want to go into details with him, because I don’t exactly know what it all means either.
“What is it?” Zeek presses.
Shaking my head, I wet my lips looking off.
“There’s something there, I just- I’m just not sure if the club life is for her and the baby,” I sigh.
“I get it,” he nods.
Being an ol’ lady in this club is more than making sure there’s enough beer stocked at the bar, and riding on the back of a bike. You’re down to ride and die with your man. Serving his club before anything else.
21
Mac
Raven steps outside of the club and looks my way. Fuck she’s scary.
Her dark hair is pulled back tight, making her ominous eyes look demon-ish, and the way she wears a black fitted shirt and black cargo pants loaded with weapons, she looks like she’s ready for the army. The army of the Devil that is.
I head toward my bike but think better of it. We’ll be taking a body with us tonight, can’t take my bike for that job.
“You got a car?” I ask Raven.
She points to a black Mercedes in the corner of the parking lot, her silence strong. I feel confident I picked her for this job. She’s going
to wreck this bitch.
“I’m driving,” I tell, not ask.
Opening the driver door, I slide in and she hands me the key fob to start it. The same song that was in the club plays through the speakers. “Bad Wolves.”
Tires screech when we peel out of the parking lot heading toward our target. I know where she lives, so I can take the freeway, then the back way where nobody can see us.
Side-eyeing Raven as I drive down the freeway, she pulls her pistol out, checking it for bullets. Satisfied with that, she pulls her knife from the holder on her leg and eyes the blade.
My brows furrow with how equipped she is. She’s ready for anything, and excited.