DAMON: A Bad Boy MC Romance Novel

by Meg Jackson

  You’d be surprised what people leave behind in hotel rooms. Usually it’s just crap, but sometimes you find interesting things: photographs, mysterious pills, strange powders in baggies, gold jewelry. Some of the girls I worked with, I knew, were prone to taking such finds home with them instead of bringing them to the front desk, like we were supposed to. I didn’t hold it against them, but I always brought anything I found straight to the clerks to hold onto or dispose of as they saw fit.

  It wasn’t worth the risk of getting caught, for me. And besides, I didn’t do drugs, and I didn’t need jewelry. Jeremy, though he had many flaws, was an excellent provider. Or, I should say, the police force he worked for was an excellent provider. We didn’t want for money. The fact I had this job at all was due to one of his whims.

  After we’d married, three years before the shit hit the fan, he didn’t like the idea of me “sitting around at home” all day. Unfortunately, he also didn’t like the idea of me getting a job that would be “too mentally taxing” or take up “too much time”. Really, he just wanted me to get a job where I’d come home too dog-tired to do anything but put up with his shit, and working for housekeeping at the hotel was the perfect mix of physical labor and mind-numbing repetition.

  “But what did I get a degree for, if I can’t do anything with it?” I’d said, still so naïve.

  “Well, I don’t know what you got a degree for, I sure as hell didn’t tell you to get it. I mean, what can you even do with a degree in philosophy? You’d have to go to grad school if you want to make anything of yourself, and we can’t afford that right now. Besides, if you went back to school, you’d have your nose in a book all the time again, no time for me. I waited two years to have you all to myself, I don’t want to wait another four,” he’d replied, appealing to that sappy part of me that loved him beyond reason.

  “I guess you’re right,” I’d resigned, not wanting to have the same argument again for the third time that week. After our honeymoon, that had been our first major issue. The first of many, I’d like to add.

  So I’d started looking for a job. With almost no work experience, it was tough. I could flip burgers, but that seemed beneath me, and with a degree I was way overqualified, anyway. I wanted to take a position as a secretary at a law firm, but Jeremy had thought that would be too stressful for me, with crazy hours and demanding lawyers to cater to. He was the only man I should be catering to, in his opinion.

  So, I’d taken the gig as housekeeper at the Gateway. I’m pretty sure I was only hired because I looked like I could speak Spanish. Which I can’t, by the way. Well, I can, but only curse words. Plus, my name, Gabriella, is only one “l” away from the traditional Hispanic spelling of the same name, blurring the line even further. Being half Puerto Rican and half Italian, I’m what they call “ethnically ambiguous”, which is a nice way of saying “no one knows what the hell you are right from looking at you.”

  With large, almond-shaped, dark chocolate eyes, a deep tan complexion, and crazy, kinky, black hair that does whatever it wants at all times, I’ve been mistaken for a Jew, a Mexican, a Filipino, and even, on one occasion, a Hawaiian. My body, though, is pure Latina. I blessedly missed out on the dark body hair and stick-thin frame of my Italian mother, and got my paternal grandmother’s luscious hips, large, C-cup breasts, and wide, womanly thighs.

  Not that I always appreciated that, mind you. In fact, when I was with Jeremy all those years, I hated it. He was as Irish as they get, pale as the moon and thin as a rail. He always made me feel like I was fat.

  He’d buy clothes for me, intentionally buying sizes too large, because he knew that it made me think I belonged in the “plus” size section. He’d make little backhanded compliments about my roly-poly tummy, which never seemed to shrink no matter how much I tried to diet or exercise.

  Now, of course, when I look at myself in the mirror and see the slight pudge in my stomach, I know it’s just a necessary evil of being what they call “voluptuous.” But back then? I did all I could to hide my body, thinking that, since it didn’t look like a fashion model’s, it wasn’t any good.

  But that was just par for the course when it came to Jeremy. I was never good enough, never pretty enough, never smart enough or funny enough. He never ceased to remind me, in little ways, never outright, how he’d “settled” for me because he loved my personality, not my mind or my body. And how much could he have loved my personality, anyway, considering how much he thought I screwed up on a daily basis?

  As I went into the bathroom, gathering towels and making note of what toiletries needed to be restocked, I instinctively paused to check myself in the mirror.

  I’ll need a touch-up soon, I thought, brow furrowed, hand gently touching the tender spot above my left eyebrow where my concealer was just starting to look splotchy. You could just barely, if you looked hard enough, make out the dark purple markings underneath my make-up. I flinched under my own touch, the spot still tender although it’d been three days.

  Here’s something you should know about humans, if you are one.

  None of us are of one mind.

  Or, maybe I shouldn’t be so broad. But I’ve met a lot of people, and there’s always two sides to the coin. It’s not like some old, tired, trope, like good and evil or black and white. It’s just…there’s the “you” that you’ve always believed yourself to be, the one you want to be, and there’s the “you” that you’d like to ignore, that you don’t want to take ownership of.

  I don’t tell many people about that time in my life, because in that time of my life the latter “you” was in charge of me. I thought of myself as feisty and smart, with a spitfire wit and a take-no-prisoners attitude. The way I’d been raised, in a household that was half no mames, guey! and half fangul!

  But, of course, that wasn’t who I was. I was – and this pains me to write – a “battered women”. Ugh. What a horrible phrase. It makes me think of cake, or cookies. When, in reality, there was nothing sweet about my marriage. Jeremy, love him though I did, was a gigantic asshole. A disgraziat. A so pendejo.

  He didn’t always hit me. Maybe once, maybe twice a month. But I never deserved it – does any wife deserve it, really? I can maybe see if you walk in on her banging three dudes at once, or if she’s got a knife to your head. I wouldn’t put someone in jail for smacking their woman if she was about to go full-on Misery on the guy. But a good, hard, close-fisted slug because you spilled coffee on his shirt in the morning?

  But, the thing is, he made me feel so low, emotionally, that I thought I deserved it. Even though, deep down in the back of my mind, I knew that it was all a lot of macho bullshit and that he was wrong about me, he was really, really good at making me feel like I’d have nowhere to go, no one to turn to. He made me feel like being his wife was really my only purpose on this earth. And lord, even if it was the most fucked-up love in the world, I did love him.

  How’s that for honesty? I can still admit – now, after everything – that I loved that man with all my heart.

  But some loves are just no damn good. Heroin addicts love heroin, don’t they?

  See, this is the thing I need you know about me before I go any further. I’m not stupid. I’m not pathetic. I’m not a mindless bimbo. I was, and am, smart as hell. I graduated top of my class from Baruch University, with a degree in philosophy. I can think my way out of a steel trap.

  But back then? I had the emotional wisdom of a slug. And as much of my own will, or even mind. It had only been three years that I’d been married to Jeremy, but, like most lifelong abusers, he was good at mind games and manipulation.

  We’d dated for two years prior to being married, when I was still in school, and when I look back I see all the signs. The little concessions I’d make for him, starting way early in the relationship. The little power struggles, which he always won. By the time my story gets started, I’d lost pretty much anything that had once made me proud to be Gabriella.

  2

  Reign
barely looked up from the girl whose legs were draped across his lap as Endo walked into the back office.

  “’Sup,” Reign said, his hands busy playing with the girl’s tight curls, bouncing them up and down. She was giggling like a lunatic. It wasn’t exactly a sexy sound, more annoying than anything else, but Reign was tired, and she was there, and she wasn’t a challenge.

  He wished she had something to say besides “like”, “cool”, and “hot”, though. He knew that in reality she probably had a hell of a lot more to say than those few words, but she probably thought he wanted her to be a bimbo. Whatever.

  It wasn’t worth the effort to explain to her that, sometimes, men like a woman with a little substance to her – in mind and body. The girl looked cute as shit in booty shorts and a crop top, but she also looked cold, and young, and thin. The word squeaky came to mind.

  “So, you know that dealer, the one who thought we were giving him the run-around on that dope deal?”

  “You mean, the one we are giving the run-around?” Reign asked with a chuckle, drawing his eyes away from the lollipop on his lap long enough to look at Endo expectantly.

  “He’s out front, rantin’ and ravin’,” Endo said. “Honey’s doing her best to placate the guy, but he’s hollerin’ for blood.”

  “Look, that ain’t my deal, it’s Knicker’s. Get him on it, Endo,” Reign said, annoyed. He’d just gotten back from a huge illegal immigrant job, hustling migrant workers and pregnant women over the border to Utah. He wanted to enjoy this perky brunette for an hour, drink himself into incoherence, and sleep for a day and a half. Lord, Reign loved to sleep, and he hadn’t had much of it the past three days.

  “Knicker ain’t here,” Endo said. “You’re top dog right now.”

  “Well, fuck, have we even changed money with the guy? Ain’t it all just been talk?”

  “Yeah, think so. As far as I know, we ain’t even got specifics down.”

  “Fuck it. Tell him he can calm down and come back when Knicker’s here, or the deal’s off altogether and he can try and sell ten pounds of dope in a small town in a state with a population of 2 million. He needs us more than we need him,” Reign said. “I’m serious. Tell him no one here cares about this deal. It’s Knicker just trying to show off to the boss. He can come back and talk to Knicker, or he can fuck off and never show his face around here again.”

  “Alright, boss,” Endo said, disappearing through the door he’d come in through.

  “Go lock the door, honey,” Reign said to the giggly, squirming chick. She bounced off the sofa, exactly like a bunny from her hopping little gait to her twitchy little nose. Returning to the sofa, she seemed to be trying to walk seductively. It seemed forced. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Reign reached out as she got closer, grabbing her by the belt loops, pulling her giggling form in between his knees.

  He looked up at her as she blushed, taking the top of her barely-there shorts in his teeth and snarling comically. She laughed again, the sound getting a little bit sexier now that Reign was actually getting turned on.

  He released her shorts, bringing a hand up to them, unbuttoning them and letting them slide down her long, smooth legs to the floor. She was wearing a sheer thong, and Reign leaned forward, nosing his way between her shaven folds, breathing deeply. She giggled again, pushing his head away. He, in turn, pushed her hands away, then proceeded to pull her thong down to join her shorts on the floor.

  “Fuck, baby,” he said, unable to remember her name. He leaned forward again, wanting to pry those pretty pink lips apart and lick her until she squealed for real. But she stopped him once more.

  “No, that’s gross!” she said, backing away.

  “Gross? C’mon, let me taste you, girl,” he said, pulling her back, hands cupping her ass, pulling her slit towards him once more. His tongue darted out in anticipation. The only thing Reign loved more than sleeping was feeling girls come under his tongue. In fact, if he could eat girls out in his sleep, he’d be the happiest man on planet earth. He’d only wake up to eat, piss, and make money.

  “No, really, that’s weird, Reign, I don’t like it,” the twiggy girl said, her tone turning serious. Reign let his hands fall to his sides, ire spiking. He didn’t like being turned down, but he wasn’t about to rape the poor thing.

  “You don’t know what you’re missing, doll,” he said, hoping to entice her.

  “Mmmm, neither do you, baby,” she said, suddenly dropping to her knees and crawling forward, somewhat awkwardly, until she was between his legs, one hand on each of his thighs. Reign sighed inwardly, but he forced a smile. What kinda man would I be if I turned down a nice BJ from a nice girl? He thought, still disappointed but willing to take what he could. He kind of just wanted it to be over so he could crash.

  The little brunette teased him slightly, or at least tried to, wiggling her scant-but-perky chest under his nose while slowly unzipping his pants, releasing his huge cock. She gasped, 100% genuine, when she saw it, and seemed to rethink her plan of attack. Reign encouraged her with a slight stroke on the back of the head, nudging her forward. She flicked her tongue across the purple, puffy head before pulling back with another grin and smile.

  “You’re the biggest I’ve seen,” she said, clearly nervous.

  “I’ll go easy on you, gorgeous,” Reign said, pulling her head forward a little more. You won’t let me eat you out, you’re acting all weird about the blowjob, little girl, if you don’t want to do this, you should just go home and quit wasting my time. You were the one who approached me, remember?

  But, the brunette seemed to steel herself, and began to perform in earnest, first lapping at his swollen head, then taking his shaft into her mouth an inch at a time. Reign let his head loll back against the couch, his hands coming up to her head, pressing slightly downward, more encouraging than forceful. The brunette moaned around his cock, slathering it with her tongue, humming against the head as she deep-throated him.

  “Oh, yeah, baby,” he groaned, feigning more enthusiasm than he felt. It was just another blowjob, as far as he was concerned. His cock throbbed against her wet tongue, the head massaged by her welcoming throat. He began to pulse his hips against her, slowly, trying to be gentle as he looked down at the top of her head. She brought one hand to his balls, cupping them and fondling them gently while she bobbed eagerly on his cock.

  “You want this cock, baby?” he asked, tired of watching her gag on him, wanting to watch her come as she rode him. She pulled away, a trail of spit from the head of his cock to her lips, and nodded eagerly, biting her lip.

  He grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her up and onto his lap. She straddled him, her small breasts in his face, just asking for his attention. He was glad to provide it. He pulled her crop top up, exposing her bra-less chest, and leaned forward, suckling one of her nipples into his mouth as she slowly lowered herself onto his massive rod.

  “Oh, fuccccckkkk,” she moaned, and looking up Reign watched her eyes roll back into her head as she took the entire length of him into her tight pussy. She felt warm, and wet, and he moaned as he thrust his hips upwards, filling her even more as his tongue darted around her nipples, moving back and forth from one to the other, his hands kneading her ass as she began to ride him.

  “Oh, God, fuck, Reign, you feel so fucking good,” she whimpered, her hands draped around his neck now as she twisted her hips in a circle while pumping up and down on his cock, her face growing red and her breathing labored as she impaled herself on his member.

  Reign brought one hand to her clit, gently pressing against it as she gyrated atop him, lowering herself forcefully onto his cock, no longer aiming to please him, lost in her own pleasure. Just how he liked it. He thrust his hips upwards to meet her, using his strong arm around her ass to help her move faster, harder.

  “Yeah? You gonna come for me, baby?” he said, watching as her eyes seemed to lose all focus, her mouth forced open into an O shape as she got carried away, now not needing his h
elp at all as her body took over, demanding release, filled with his cock.

  She began to tremble on top of him, and he increased the pressure against her clit. She looked down, her face almost pained, pleasure dripping from her lips like nectar as she cried out in short bursts, her pussy dripping onto his thighs. Her grip around him increased, and her eyes popped open.

  “Yeah, just like that, baby girl, fuck my dick, come for daddy,” he growled, knowing that a girl like this was likely to lose her mind just from the word “daddy”. He was right, and seconds later she was clutching him to her, crying out as her pussy contracted around his cock, throbbing and milking it for all it was worth, her body trembling in his arms.

  “Oh, god, fuck, yes, Reign, fuuuuuuuuuck,” she moaned, her hips gyrating against him wildly now.

  “Fuck yeah,” he whispered into her ear, pressing his hand against her lower back to fill her even more as she bucked on top of him. He loved watching her lose control, loved when women went crazy on his dick, begging for more. Finally, the tiny brunette slumped against him, her hips now thrusting with much less enthusiasm against him as she recovered from her climax.

  “That was fucking amazing,” she said, picking up speed now as she rode him again. But he wouldn’t come that way, and he pulled her upwards and off him, taking his own dick in his hands.

  “Take off your top,” he demanded, knowing that if she hadn’t already been willing to do whatever he said, she certainly was now. She obliged quickly, dropping the top to the floor. “Kneel down.”

  Again, she was happy to oblige, planting her hands on his thighs once more as he stroked his cock, now slick with her juices. He looked at her face, still flushed and rosy from her climax, her breathing not quite back to normal.