Forbidden Beauty

by Abriella Blake

  “I want you,” I said aloud, unbidden. “Please. You can take me, if you want.” Pulling away again, Carter looked up into my flushed face and smiled that devilishly coy biker smile. My eyes darted down—there was a firm erection pushing through the leather of his pants. What had Tati told me? You'll just know what to do, when the time comes. With the right guy, it'll be easy. Huh.

  “Come this way, baby,” he said, grabbing my hand again and pulling me further down the hall. I followed like a puppy; I would've followed him anywhere. Our footsteps were dampened by the plush carpet. Silently, Knox pushed opened a door onto a tiny but well-appointed bedroom. There was a made double bed, piled high with fluffy white pillows. An antique white vanity rested in the far corner. And—oddest of all—there was a long, wide mirror on the ceiling, directing light back towards the bed.

  “This is Scotty's room. And before you get grossed out—he hasn't lived here in years. Not since his ex-wife flew the coop.”

  Dropping my hand, Knox wandered towards the bed and sat down with a heavy squeak.

  “It's an old boxspring,” he said sheepishly. Then he reached a hand out for me. “But who cares. Bring that sweet little ass over here.”

  Because I couldn't not, I fell into Knox's embrace once more. I loved the feel of our skin connecting—his rough-but-soft touch, the thick fuzz along his thrumming chest. Straddling him across the bed, I pressed a tentative palm against his member and felt it throb below my hand, watched my lover's (!) eyes roll up and back into his head. He groaned at my touch. For a few tentative beats, I ran my palm up and down across his bulge. I marveled at his stiffening. The fabric around his dick was straining against his size. He was breathing hard. Still, Carter didn't waver when I returned my hands to the sides of his face. Surprisingly, he seemed content to make out.

  I, meanwhile, continued to keep mental turmoil at bay. My heart beat wildly against the cage of my chest. I wanted more, yet I wanted the kissing to continue. I wanted to make love to him, but I couldn't do this in good conscience when I knew he was a Knight of Styx—then again, maybe he wasn't, there was still the smallest chance...in what was becoming an eerie move, Knox read my mind again: with two fingers, he tugged lightly against the waistband of my jeans. With shaking digits I reached down and popped open the top button, liquid with want. My thighs were already slick with desire, and I couldn't help but press a finger further down into my mound. I touched myself for a moment, writhing above him, but then Carter nudged my hand away with his own, and pushed down deeper, deeper, until he was cradling the whole of me. He rustled his fingers against my wetness. I thrust my breasts towards him, bucking. I shuddered.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he called below me, “Are you still 'not so sure you can do this?'” Outside, the sounds of the club were still at a fever pitch. Scotty had put on some kind of swing-dancing number, and the older couples were laughing.

  Despite my silence, Knox eased upwards onto his elbows, beginning to kiss my breasts through the thin fabric of my undershirt. With one hand, he continued to rub circles into my clit. My spine tingled with anticipation. Yes, yes, yes, yes, my body cried out. But—cliché of all clichés—my mouth was forming a different sound.

  “I'm not sure.”

  He didn't look surprised. If anything, he looked more willing. Gently picking me up and placing me beside him, he rotated me so my back was facing the bed, then gently pushed me down onto its squeaky surface. Scotty's pillows were surprisingly soft. Gazing up, I saw myself in the ceiling mirror: anticipation was drenching my skin, and my face was beet-red. I saw the back of Knox's head—that thick, dark hair—hovering over my jeans. His strong hands gripped the sides of my legs like they were handlebars. Along his muscular, naked back, I glimpsed the outline of a large tattoo: a skeletal but hooded figure, steering a crooked boat. Having briefly studied Greek mythology, I remembered this image from books: his tattoo depicted the shepherd of the dead. Charon, on the river Styx.

  Knox knelt before me then, his head level with my belly button. I reached to my sides and began to draw the shirt up and over my head. I hadn't worn a bra today, and was momentarily embarrassed once I felt the breeze on my chest—but Knox seemed pleased at the sight of my naked tits. He leaned forward to kiss my nipples again, and I arched my back so my chest might curve to his mouth. He flicked his strong tongue across my tits, first one, then the other, kissing, prodding, becoming more fervent all the time. I felt his stubble against me when he began to suck—hard—on a pert, wanting nipple. Then he drew my full breast into his mouth, massaging with one hand what he couldn't reach with his tongue.

  With the flat of his other hand, Carter pressed me all the way back, so I now lay flush against the bed. Staring up into the mirror again, I thought for a moment of my twin. I suddenly understood the odd ecstasy she'd described in all those letters—though I was pretty sure her grubby rocker boyfriend had nothing on the hunk I currently had between my thighs.

  Carter's attention had returned to my pants. Namely, he seemed concerned with getting them off. Pulling my legs up so they rested on his shoulders and dangled across his back, he began to peel my jeans away. His movements were slow, but certain: this was going to happen, and I was going to like it. Once my shredded Levis had fallen to the floor with a soft whump, I felt his lilac eyes on my panties. He pushed the full of his face into my clothed center, beginning to nibble lightly on the insides of my soaking thighs.

  “Fuck,” I moaned again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  “Shhhh,” he whispered into my folds. This tickled so much I could barely keep from rearing back. “Relax, baby.”

  There it was again: baby.

  Still gripping my legs, hard, he flicked his tongue against the elastic sides of my underwear. I continued to squirm at the overwhelming pleasure. Finally, he yanked the cloth aside. When his tongue landed lightly on my clit, I might have come immediately. I had to bite my lip to prolong the feeling.

  Carter sucked on me barely at first, alternately flicking his tongue in small circles around my crest and pausing, teasing me away from the ultimate pleasure. I softly placed my hand on the warm thatch of his hair, drawing him further into me. I widened my legs for him, so I was in near-splits across the mattress. Urged on, Carter slid a hand towards my entrance. When I didn't recoil, he pushed two strong fingers inside of me. After a moment's pain, my body seemed to open to his touch. I felt my sweetness sliding down over his fingers. In another moment, I cried out, sharply: his touch had reached some inner part of me, some part that I hadn't even known existed. I pressed my palms into the flat of the squeaky mattress, raising my hips so he might touch me in the exact same spot again.

  Abruptly, Carter pulled his fingers from me. In the mirror, I watched him suck my juices from his fingertips.

  “Get on your knees,” he grunted, huskily.

  I didn't think; I merely followed his orders. When my ass was in the air before him, I felt a trill of fear—but I also knew that whatever he wanted to do to me, I'd let him.

  More aggressively than before, he pushed three thick fingers inside of me, beginning to pump against my groin. He'd found the spot again—and I began to moan with the pleasure. I arched my naked back, spreading my legs wider and wider.

  “I want your cock. I want you to take your cock out,” I breathed, barely. But instead of obeying my command, Carter slapped my ass, hard. The pain mingled with the frenetic feeling in my pussy, and I gripped a piece of soiled sheet like it could save me.

  “I'm not going to fuck you yet,” Carter murmured. “But I am going to make you come.” His fingers pressed upward into my spot, and he bent his head low. With his free hand, he spread my ass cheeks wide. His tongue darting and quick, he began to lap at the smooth surface of my asshole.

  I was self-conscious for a split second, but after another moment, I couldn't think. I couldn't see, from the sweat running into my eyes. His tongue pressed against my flexing hole while his fingers jammed back and forth across my wet center, and wi
th his other hand he grabbed and pinched the skin of my cheeks. I sank my spine low, so the full of me was close to his face. I whimpered, I wanted, I was.

  My lover began to push into me faster and faster, while his tongue began making small, rapid circles. When I was just about to beg for his entrance again, he returned his mouth to my clit. He sucked on my mound slowly and deeply while he pumped into me faster and faster, and the two rhythms coincided on some plane. I'd never been so wet, I'd never been so turned on. He worked his hand and his mouth for a few long, aggressive beats until I reached back and pressed his head deep into my pussy, in order to feel as much of him as possible. Casting upward, I opened my eyes for a split second and saw my splayed naked form in the mirror above me, convulsing with ecstasy. I rode his fingers. I ground myself against him. I saw his dark head moving, intent—I saw his lean, muscular, rippling back—and then I came furiously, for what felt like minutes, and once every nerve had seized then relaxed, I collapsed against the sheets, utterly unable to move.

  Carter rose slowly, extracting himself from my little leg prison. He leaned across the bed and pulled the downy comforter across my body. I hadn't even realized I was cold, but nestling into the little blanket cocoon felt like sweet relief.

  Knox climbed into bed beside me, cradling my body so his still-raging erection was flush against my quivering ass. He let his hands wander around me, gently massaging and kneading my skin. He traced circles along my back, the damp flesh of my thighs, my ass, my breasts. He kissed the nape of my neck.

  “Thank you,” he said. “For trusting me to do that.”

  “Oh baby, you can do that whenever you feel like,” I blurted. Apparently any demure-damsel-charm I might ever have possessed was obliterated, post-orgasm.

  But Knox merely laughed at this—that hearty, miraculous laugh I'd already come to love. “Do you mind me spooning you like this? Or would you like some privacy? I could build a little wall of Jericho.”

  “What's a wall of Jericho?”

  “You still haven't seen the movie!” he cried. “It Happened One Night. Get on it! American classic.”

  “We should rent it sometime,” I said. My body was already drowsing towards sleep—still I felt Knox seize up beside me at my words. Oh, Christ. I'd gone and dropped a 'we' bomb. Way to play the cool card, Gizzy...

  “You and I both know that would be hard,” Knox said, his voice suddenly quiet, serious. “Us coming from opposite sides of the tracks and all.”

  I rolled over to face him.

  “Did you know? All along?”

  He was silent.

  All I could see then was red. I felt blinding rage. Tripping, I unswaddled myself from the blanket nest and began to grope the floor for my pants.

  “Hey! Hey, baby!”

  “I'm not your baby. Did you know your miserable MC killed my father? How could you know who I was and not tell me?”

  “Oh, give me a break. You didn't seem so concerned a moment ago, when my head was between your legs.”

  It seemed for a moment like all my cells would burst. I took a quick step towards Carter, then reared back and slapped him across the face.

  The slap resounded so I was sure that the whole club could hear it, even above the joyful din of couples being adorable. I wheeled around, my damp hair slicing through space—but my movement was jerky and confused. How was it possible to know such pleasure and such pain in the span of a few moments?

  In my hesitation, Carter rose and moved to block my exit. “You're right. I'm so sorry. That was a horrible thing to say. But please, let me explain.”

  “You're just a fucking guy. You want to bust a nut and keep moving, that's your prerogative—but why me, huh? What are you trying to prove, asshole?” Hot tears were murmuring behind my eyes, but I refused to give this dickwad the pleasure of seeing me cry. I started to wail on his limbs, but he wouldn't budge.

  “Gisele, listen. I figured out you were a Coffin Cheater a few days after we met. Of course I couldn't track you down. But when I saw you tonight, I couldn't not--”

  “What? Try to fuck me?”

  “Yes.” His violet eyes were blazing with conviction. “I couldn't not touch you. I couldn't ignore you. I've been thinking about you all this time. Would have left town a few days ago, if I wasn't half-hoping to see you again.”

  The room felt hot and muggy, the air too close. I sat down heavily on the squeaking bed.

  “Your MC killed my father,” I repeated. “And now that there's word the Styx are back in Miami, we're going after you.”

  “So you were spying on me?”

  “It wasn't my decision, believe it or not. I don't want a war.”

  We were silent. Somewhere in the house, I heard a clock ticking.

  “I'm sorry about your father,” Carter said slowly. “I know there's no reason for you to believe me, but I've never condoned violence. Whenever the Styx had fights, I tried to minimize the casualties. I've never killed another man.”

  “But the rest of your MC?”

  “Well, I can't speak for them.”

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  “This was a mistake,” I said, rising. At the very least, my tears seemed quelched for a moment. I was still so furious. “Do you know how fucked up it was for you to pretend you didn't know who I was?”

  “You did the exact same thing. You wanted this just as much.”

  “Well...”

  “Well, what? I like you. You like me.” Something in his voice at that moment reminded me of a little boy. My big strong rider man sounded like a little boy—petulant, a bit afraid.

  “But we can't do this, Carter. You just said so yourself.”

  “I said it would be hard. Not impossible.”

  “What makes you think 'hard' is worth the risk? You don't even know me. We've barely had a conversation.”

  “And yet I want you.” He took a step towards me, dropping his arms from the door's threshold. “I want you so, so badly.”

  I couldn't help it: I thought of my father, then. His beery breath, his bear hug. Whenever I was especially down about his loss, Tati had liked to cheer me up by saying that he knew what he'd signed up for. “They're like soldiers, Gizzy. They live by the sword, they die by the sword,” she'd say, puffing on a cigarette, legs kicking against the jagged top of the compound's moat, or the top bunkbed. I could see her so easily. I missed my sister. I missed my family.

  “I can't do this, Carter,” I said, slowly. And this time, my words sunk in. The biker dropped his arms and stepped aside to let me pass. With his head drooping in that blue suit, he looked especially sad—not a grifter, not a road warrior, but a citizen. Not tough at all.

  “It was really nice to meet you, baby,” my lover muttered to me as I left. “And watch out for debris in those tires.” I couldn't turn to look back, but I did let the 'baby' slide.

  Chapter Seven

  * * *

  Dear Tati,

  So you'll never guess—I am Den Mother now! So far, it's a lot of logistical bullshit. I run (and cook) the books, I keep track of everyone's whereabouts. You'd be shocked to see how much money we spend on GAS. Wouldn't be too surprised if my next responsibility is “cook dinner for the whole MC.” Feel like a fucking housewife. Do groupies have work, too?

  Dear Tati,

  Come home. Come home, like, immediately.

  Dear Tati,

  How do you know when you're in love? Asking for a friend.

  Four days oozed by with the speed of molasses, all with me cooped up in my bunk learning the ropes of my den motherhood. Four days of not seeing/touching/kissing Carter Knox, and four days of trying desperately not to think about him.

  I didn't trust myself to take rides—lest my legs betray me again, and send me back towards Casablanca—so I quarantined myself to the compound. In the cool light of morning, before anyone else woke up, I'd walk the clubhouse perimeter. When it was time for the first rustlings of a wake-up call, I'd station myself in the kitchen, where I could gre
et all the riders before they set off on their days' journeys. There had been no further talk of a war with the Knights of Styx, and it seemed no one else had glimpsed them zooming around our turf. A small, sad part of me wondered if they were gone for good—if Carter, upon being rejected, had asserted whatever authority he had in the club and told his gang to clear out. That would have been just as well, I told myself. He'd be safe from the raging Coffin Cheaters, and I wouldn't have to lay eyes on his snaky, lying, no-good (firm, taut, beautiful...) ass ever again.

  I wasn't thrilled with my new leadership role, but I was glad for the busy work. As complicated as our “second date” (or whatever I was supposed to call it...) had been, I couldn't deny that I still had feelings for the bastard. He'd been so sweet, so sexy. Feeling his body curl up beside mine on that feathery bed had felt unbelievably natural, unbelievably...right.

  But hey, this was life. People didn't get everything they wanted. And the Coffin Cheaters were my family, at the end of the day: I owed them any sense of belonging I'd ever known. Large thing to compromise on a man I barely knew. A man who'd never even bought me dinner.

  I was scrubbing out the oven mid-reverie when Dog burst into the kitchen, visibly distressed once again.

  “Not another meeting at the Crossroads,” I whined. But my buddy's face was ashen.

  “No. Gisele, it's Ra Ra Rodney. He's dead. Someone shot him.”

  I dropped my sponge and leaned heavily against the cabinet.

  Ra Ra Rodney hadn't been close with anyone but Jim Beam, Mary Jane and possibly Nunu, but he was still our established club president. I had memories of him from when I was a little girl—his whiskery face bent always into a peaceful smile. My Dad had always preferred to call him Willie Nelson, because of his excessively chill vibe and love of good country music. Though Rodney hadn't been much of a leader of men, under his authority the group had scarcely seen bloodshed. People always seemed to have work of some kind. There was food. Plus, the cops hadn't come calling in years.