by SE Chardou
My mind shut down all the horrible experiences from the past as my tongue teased the head of his cock. I parted my lips and began with the mushroom head first, and tried to take more into my mouth with every bob of my head while my hand caressed the part I couldn’t possibly imagine ever fitting into me orally.
“You’re not quite the cocksucking vixen I imagined you to be, babe.” Pyro grabbed my hair and tightened it around his fingers. “Suck me off like you mean it. Like the way you claim to love me. Maybe I’ll actually believe you.”
I opened my mouth wider and forced more of his length into my mouth until he took control and pushed himself all the way inside my mouth and down my throat. My gag reflex worked against me but I managed to keep my stomach contents down as he did this not once but three times, relishing in my discomfort and feelings of helplessness.
Finally, he let me go and I stumbled onto the floor, flat on my back.
I fought for breath but he only flipped me onto my stomach and whispered, “Get on your knees, bitch, unless you want to be treated like a pedophile on his first night in prison.”
I complied and he shoved his cock inside me to the hilt. I was turned on, disturbingly so because there was no resistance and no noise except for my wet pussy grasping onto his cock like a fucking drowning man to a life preserver.
Despite all his dirty talk, every time his dick hit my G-spot, I crumbled underneath him, and he wore me down that much more. I didn’t even bother fighting him as he grabbed my waist with strong, bruising fingers and pounded me like I was a club whore. In fact, I loved every delicious minute of him being inside me.
I wanted to tell him to fuck me harder and faster. He should make me hurt yet the ecstasy I’d received when I came would make up for the pain tomorrow.
Instead I whimpered and moaned like a bitch in heat and he took advantage, slowing down when he thought I was too near orgasm yet speeding up when it suited him.
Pyro’s hands were all over me, one minute pinching my nipples so hard until I had to bite my lip just to manage from yelping in pain and the next, using my own juices running down my legs to invade my asshole with his fingers.
The pressure became too much. Pain, pleasure, shame, abandon and wanton, naked need filled me until I couldn’t take it anymore and I came so hard, my whole body shuddered. My heart galloped in my chest, and from the top of my head to the tip of my toes, I became nothing but nerve endings ready to explode as he continued to make me come. I rode out my seemingly never-ending orgasm until he finally followed with his own climax that had him shouting out loud in sheer ecstasy.
He leaned over my body for a moment with sweat dripping off both of us, intermingling with the scent of our sex, and the sweet smell of his breath against my ear.
“Goddamn it, why can’t I learn to live without you?” he murmured before he withdrew from me.
“If you learn the secret, can you share it with me because I don’t ever want to be without you,” I replied in a quiet tone, my voice raspy from all the activity.
Pyro stood while I lay there on the floor and curled into a ball. I wanted this man so badly yet he hated he had any feelings for me at all. I wasn’t buying the whole “falling in love” bullshit he was selling but whatever helped him sleep at night was my simple rationalization.
Moments passed before he came for me. He held a warm hand towel and cleaned his leaking cum from between my legs and anus before he tossed it near my discarded clothes. His arms felt like a welcome embrace from a home I’d never known as he picked me up and placed me in bed gently.
I slid underneath the covers and he joined me, pulling me close to his warm body as he kissed my shoulders.
“You’ll never know what it will mean to me when I lose a woman like you. After tonight, you shouldn’t be here in the morning. You can leave. I raped you and forced you to do lewd acts you didn’t say ‘yes’ to, Mira.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I declared boldly. “If I didn’t want it, I could have walked away but I didn’t. I’ll take you however I can get you . . . for now.”
Pyro breathed deeply before he sighed out loud. “Surely you didn’t enjoy that? All those moans and pants were for my benefit.”
I laughed out loud as I leaned my head against my chest. “You wish. I don’t fake orgasms, and I sure as hell couldn’t fake the amount of currents flowing through me when you gave me a G-spot orgasm. Sorry, babe. I’m just not that good of an actress.”
“Fuck.” His sweet breath was near my ear again. “I needed that especially when we’re about to go out on a run. I wish it wasn’t like that but it feels like . . . the military all over again. I didn’t have an outlet in Afghanistan or Iraq but being home . . . I feel like the animal part of me I should have left over there is unleashed every time there might be a chance we have to kill someone.”
My hands covered his own and grabbed them. “What do you mean?”
His fingers entangled with mine. “The beast is unleashed and all that sappy lovemaking just goes straight out of the window. I need to degrade someone the way I feel like I should be degraded and humiliated. I never wanted you to see that side of me. Ever.”
“Don’t be afraid to show me who you are, Maarten.” I sighed. “I care a lot about you, and no one is perfect. Maybe that’s my dirty little secret. I need to be treated like a whore to get off in ways that straight lovemaking would never provide. We all have our demons, baby. Believe me, you’re not the only one with skeletons in your closet.”
“You’re not a whore and I will never ever consider you one. If I went too far, you’d tell me, right?”
“What constitutes as going too far?”
Pyro chuckled out loud. “Fine, let’s just drop it. I’m so fucking tired I can barely keep my eyes open.”
I grabbed one of our entangled hands and kissed his knuckles. “Baby, tell me you guys don’t have to kill that guy in L.A. Kitaev or whatever his name is.”
He yawned out loud. “Course not. If he’s smart, he’ll just agree to go along with what we want him to do and make all the big bosses happy. It would be easier for everyone involved.”
“What if he doesn’t?” I questioned with the slightest bit of hesitation.
“Then it’s a double-tap to the back side of his fuckin’ head with a semi-automatic and he leaves a widow behind.” He kissed my shoulder again. “I don’t make the rules, babe. That’s just the way it is.”
“Isn’t it always?” I wondered though I didn’t expect an answer.
My question had come minutes later and Pyro’s heavy breathing indicated he’d gone to sleep.
Chapter Twelve
Pyro
The open road.
The sound and vibration of the motorcycle rumbling between his legs.
There was nothing better than being on the back of his favorite Harley with great tunes in his ears courtesy of the built in sound-system installed into his helmet, and a pair of clear night goggles to protect against the elements.
Pyro had promised himself he wouldn’t tell Mira anything but one intense fucking orgasm that had him seeing fucking stars, and all the sudden, he was singing like a motherfucking bird.
This run was the best thing that could have happened to him.
If only to get her out of his system for a few days.
Unfortunately for him, that’s all it took. When they came back from L.A., he’d be like a fucking crack fiend jonesing for his next hit.
Pyro only wished he had a drug problem because being addicted to Mira was even worse, and not only was she bad for his health, she could destroy his life, his career, and potentially get him killed.
She’d never know that though because he wouldn’t ever tell her.
It was funny how she assumed he didn’t trust her when if he was truly being honest with himself, he couldn’t trust his will to let her go when the time came. And if Eve Kerrigan had her way, the time would come sooner rather than later.
All he could hope at th
is point was Estelle would keep her busy enough to not think about Fernando and when he got back to Vegas, he would sit her down and tell her all the shit he should have told her from the beginning. Maybe she would cooperate, and not loathe the day they were ever re-introduced to one another.
As much as she claimed to hate her family, he couldn’t believe she would spill all of the White Knights’ dirty little secrets. Not when she was close to Jake. For his sake, she might blow the whole deal and take prison time instead, which tortured him night after night.
Why did Eve have to find out she was the wink link? Why hadn’t Loire protected her sister and refused to admit she didn’t know the paternity of Mira’s father? Why had everyone she’d ever trusted betrayed her in the end?
Him included.
Pyro hated his part in this game he would have to play because he honestly had never felt so much depth and emotion about anyone who wasn’t his family. He was falling in love, something he vowed would never happen, and the worst part was he couldn’t even stop himself.
He’d tried scaring her away but his “tough guy” act was no match for the horrors Mira must have faced growing up. She could honestly take the hits and keep coming at him like a dark horse.
He couldn’t frighten her away, and he truly never wanted to either. If she’d packed her clothes and walked out of his life, there was no way he’d ever be able to recover. Sure, he’d fuck women again, have a steady old lady and pretend to be happy but since he’d been forced into his position as an agent with the FBI, that’s all he fucking did was pretend, day in and day out.
Yes, he belonged to a one percent motorcycle club, and he pretty much had carte blanche to murder with impunity. Nothing would ever happen to him or his brothers, regardless what illegal business they decided to try out because they were the Fed’s cash cow. They brought down all the other clubs, sent bad men to prison, justice prevailed, and safety on the streets was restored with every one percent club they slowly decimated.
Pyro couldn’t do his job any better unless he was ever promoted to the International Terrorism Department but that would mean working for the CIA, and moving to the East Coast. He had no wish to pursue any of ISIS or the bad guys of the Middle East. He’d done enough damage and killed more than a few innocent people while he’d done his tours of duty in Afghanistan and Iraq.
The only reason why he wasn’t sitting in a prison cell and dishonorably discharged was because he’d gone to the United States Naval Academy.
He was second generation; his father had also attended the prestigious military university. His dad and uncle couldn’t have been more different if they tried yet here he was . . . following Riggs Reynolds’ path after doing his duty to make his father proud.
Sure, he was a Fed but he also was a full-fledged member of the Saints, a club made up of Fed agents, SIS agents and the like. It was an international organization run like a one percent biker club to bring other one percent clubs down.
That was their job despite the nefarious company they kept. As far as the American and British governments were concerned, it was better to side with an outlaw gang they had complete and total control of rather than shut them down. Not to mention all the valuable informants they’d brought onto their side from the cartel and Mafia outfits. Hell, even Raymond Jackson was on the payroll, and would roll over on an enemy in a heartbeat rather than spend a day in prison.
At the heart of all outlaws was the need for brutal survival at any cost. The Lucifer’s Saints had made a deal with the most powerful devil in the world but it also allowed them to keep their profits and not have to worry about looking over their shoulders. The only people they truly had to fear were the criminals they did business with, and most of them were a nuisance—if any threat at all—at best. All they had to do was pull the strings, make the deals, catch them in compromising positions, and allow the Feds to raid just as they were driving off into the sunset.
Pyro truly wondered how long the ruse would last. They had the best technology and were always ahead of their competition but one day, they’d run into the wrong outlaw gang who would put two and two together. Blood would be shed and people would die. However, it was the chance he was willing to take rather than face a dishonorable discharge, and a lifetime at Supermax over his involvement with the “Murder For Sport” squads in Afghanistan and Iraq.
Life wasn’t fair and in the end, he knew if there was a higher power, he wouldn’t be so easily forgiven. Until then, anything was better than the disappointment he would witness in his father’s eyes if he ever brought shame to the Reynolds’ name.
Uncle Riggs had finally pulled his life together and looked what it’d cost him? A bullet to the head along with the murder of his beloved wife, and a daughter who would be forever changed by her father’s actions.
Pyro hated to think of that happening to Mira except instead of being fucked by the outlaws, it would be the Feds that would wear her down until she had nothing left to give.
Family was everything, and hers was far from perfect but he’d be damned if he would see that happen to her. She shouldn’t have had to pay for the sins of a father who never wanted her in the first place, and had treated her more like a stray dog than a daughter.
“Earth to Pyro,” Ronan snapped his fingers in front of his brother’s face.
He removed his helmet and glanced quickly at his VP before he looked away. “Sorry, bro. Just . . . got lost in my thoughts.”
“And here Ronan and I were taking bets on you thinking about that prime piece of gash you had to leave in Vegas.” Cricket laughed at his own joke followed by Chemist.
Hardy’s crystal blue eyes narrowed. “Knock it off, and stop actin’ like a bunch of wankers. Leave the poor guy alone. The job he’s got—I wouldn’t wish on me worse enemies. It’s gotta be hard . . . you betrayin’ the woman you’re fallin’ in love with, yeah?”
Pyro stared at their Prez. Somehow, no matter what he said, his Cockney accent mixed with a slight Northern Irish brogue always made it seem less harsh than if anyone else had said the words to him.
“I don’t want to lose her, bro,” he admitted as he looked down and kicked the stand down before he got off his Harley. “It wasn’t supposed to fuckin’ be this way and it is . . . yet I can’t even pull away. I can’t stop myself from marching towards our inevitable doom. I have never felt more helpless in my whole fucking life—not even when I was facing a Court-martial from the Marines.”
Hardy shrugged his shoulders. “The old girl was able to save you from the gallows that time. I guess it must be all that posh education you got. If anyone can pull Eve’s strings, it’s you. Control your old lady, and make sure Fernando stays in tip-top. If she never kills him then Eve has to give her the choice of Witsec before she makes her testify against her own blood. To be honest, Mira never struck me as the murdering type. She just doesn’t have it in her. Now your cousin on the other hand—Mags would be by my side in a heartbeat if I didn’t already have a drop dead beautiful woman waiting for me when I get home—know what I mean?”
“You better not let Talia hear you talkin’ like that,” Ronan said as he shook his head in a mock-chastising manner.
“Oh you can fuck off, Ronan—I’m trying to express what I’m feelin’ to Pyro and you always have to fuckin’ have a laugh. How the fuck does Naomi put up with you?”
“Well, I do have a charming personality and a big dick.”
“Bro, no one wants to hear that shit,” Cricket said with a look of annoyance on his face.
“Enough jokes—look sharp, all right?”
Pyro and the other guys glanced at Hardy as his facial expression became cold and only too serious.
“We gotta be sharpish around this one, lads. Erik is no fool, and if I’m bein’ completely fucking honest, I would rather sell pussy than drugs and guns any day of the week. Less hassle—know what I mean? He’s got a steady stream of willing women coming here to work for us and I want the whore houses to be our fu
ture, not slingin’ heroin, coke or gun running. We’re safe, yeah? But that don’t mean shit when our product could end up in the hands of a wee lad who isn’t right in the head. You wanna have that shit on your conscience?”
Pyro looked away and realized Hardy was right as usual. They weren’t exactly trafficking women. There were agencies set up by the Kitaev Bratva in Russia, the Ukraine, Estonia, Latvia, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Slovenia, Montenegro and Bosnia and Herzegovina. All the women applied, were well aware what they would be doing in the “Land of the Free and Home of the Brave,” got all the necessary paperwork and visas in order before they boarded a ship in Rotterdam that brought them to America.
They were paid for their services—not as much as American whores but many had family at home and weren’t looking to make the States their permanent home—and were allowed to return to their homelands after a minimum of two years of service. What they made in that two year period was more than enough to set them up for life, and gave themselves opportunities in their country that wouldn’t have been possible if they’d never left in the first place.
Unfortunately, the relationship between Erik Kitaev and his Bratva would still be good with the Saints if the bastard hadn’t decided to marry Moira Cox-Jackson and fuck the whole situation to hell.
Not only was she criminal empire royalty but the niece of two of the most powerful men in the underworld. The joining of a Russian Bratva with an American Gangster’s empire and the Lucifer’s Saints was a no-go.
They would do business with the cartels, Mafia, and Bratva but it was an unspoken code they were never to mix. No one actually said it but everyone knew it.
The Jackson family didn’t marry thugs—with the exception of Gisela Jackson who’d married Cillian Cox, the VP who would one day run the whole Lucifer’s Saints MC empire. Even then, she was a respectable woman with the right credentials, a fierce defense attorney and wealthy in her own right. Truth be told, Cillian needed her a lot more than she needed him.