No sister, no Scotty, no putting engines sighing by the highway...the only other thing I heard were the croaks of fat frogs, and the buzzing of flies. Tentatively, I became aware of my own skin. I brought a cool hand up to my temple, and found it no longer throbbed. I took a deep breath, and was pleased to feel no pressure around my throat. Running a hand down my form, I realized that someone had eased me out of my leather pants, so my legs lay smooth beneath a stiff blanket. I watched my lover sleep for another moment.
I felt so good, so easy, that I wasn't at all surprised to find an amber-colored bottle of Vicodin resting on the sundial, near the half-drunk pitcher of water. Beyond the grounds, a stray cat screeched. Carter jolted awake at the noise. For a moment, we both looked at one another, utterly silent. Then, he broke into a grin.
“What's so funny?”
“Oh, nothing. Just—you take care of me, I take care of you.”
“Softie.”
Another moment passed, and I felt myself growing self-conscious. We'd had so much fun the evening prior, yes—but things looked different in the dull glow of what I now assumed was afternoon. So much had happened in the past twenty-four hours. And even through an ample drug haze, I felt a little...shy.
“You feeling better?”
“Yes. Much. How's Tati?”
“That's right! I met your twin! She's resting inside, now. A little shell-shocked, maybe. Guessing she'd never shot a person before yesterday.”
“Don't think so.”
“Yeah. She's a tough one.”
“Pretty tough.”
“Not as tough as you, though,” Carter smiled. “And not as pretty, either.”
In spite of myself, I smiled. My bones felt light. The world was turmoil around us, and yet this all felt so easy, him and me—nothing about us being together felt hard, or unbalanced—as was the case so often with all the other riders. I thought of the Coffin Cheaters—their faces masks of fury as they rode out to confront an enemy. I was different than they were, on some fundamental level. Carter was different, too.
It took another moment to realize that he'd crept towards me, and his shadow now blocked a portion of my vision. Against the setting sun, he looked so powerful. He looked so strong.
Wordlessly, gently, he brought his meaty hand down to cup my chin. As he raised my gaze to his, he leaned forward and kissed me, with no particular fanfare. The first kiss was soft. Tentative, even. But after a slick moment of our mouth's connecting, he wanted more.
He eased himself down onto the chaise beside me, so my naked legs were flush with the seat of his pants. Keeping his grip firm along my chin, he drew me closer and closer toward the full of his face, like he was trying to draw me all the way inside. His tongue was soft, but assertive—his mouth pressed against the parts of my own palate, with precise, serious movements. His lips tasted daiquiri-sweet. It was easy to fall into the pillowy smoothness of those lips, framed by that strong, hellbent-sculpture's face. I brought my hands up to feel the thick stubble striping his jaw. Then, I drifted my palms slowly up and toward his temples, so that my fingertips brushed the fullness of his dark hair. His locks were damp and soft, and each time I fluttered against some dangling strand, the air around my face seemed to fill with that gingery, peachy, dash-of-tobacco smell that was so unique to him.
Yet I felt him growing more persistent, wanting more of me. Leaning forward, Carter pressed himself fully into my space, moving his rippling biceps so they flanked either side of my ribcage. I'd always felt so gangly and awkward, but he made me feel dainty and small. While our mouths were still locked together, our kiss increasing in speed and intensity, I felt his legs part. He heaved himself across the chaise, so he was straddling my legs. For a second, I felt all the weight of his sinewy strength, and the furniture creaked below us.
Carter reached down between my legs and whipped the thin blanket away, so I instantly felt the cool breeze against quivering thighs. He broke away from our kiss for a moment, and hovered a few inches from my face. I brought my hands to the back of his shaggy head, so it appeared I was holding him up. We regarded each other, for a long, silent, sweet beat. Then that sonofabitch arched an eyebrow, and made to grip my waist. He had stopped being gentle.
I wanted him bad, so badly now—and the painkiller I must've taken was abetting my desire, if anything. Pinned below his daunting form, I let myself go lax to his grip. Pitching forward, emboldened, I whispered:
“You can do whatever you want to me, you know that? You can fuck me just the way you talked about.”
Carter just groaned into my ear in response. His mouth moved downward, aggressive now, and he began to suck hard on my neck. His hands still kept me pinned to the mattress, so my movements were restricted. But below me, he'd spread his legs across my pubis, so through the fabric of his pants I felt his manhood quickening against my waiting pussy. I cooed as he sucked and sucked on the small, naked space between my collarbone and shoulder, rapacious. His mouth was so avid that he might have been biting me, but it felt better than it hurt.
His hands intent, Carter moved one palm down to cup my breast through the thin fabric of some borrowed t-shirt. His thumb flicked softly across my rising nipple as he squeezed the whole of my tit, burrowing into me with a pulsing, furious motion. Once he'd finished ravaging my neck, replacing a would-be killer's scars with his own marks, he turned his mouth's full attention to my chest. Rearing back, he slid both hands up towards my softness, and began to squeeze me while his pelvis moved against mine. As he continued to gyrate against me, I reached down to help him pull away the gauzy remnants of my shirt—only instead, Carter pinned my arms up over my heard.
“You let me do it,” he commanded. And just as easily, I consented. I kept my hands stretching towards the sundial, and watched as he dragged the shirt over my head. The fabric seemed to catch for a moment on my elbows, but rather than ease its passage, Carter took the material in two hands and ripped it ragged, down the middle. I cried out.
Lurching forward, Carter took the ruined t-shirt and looped it quickly around my wrists. I felt a thrill of something like fear, but I was too turned on to question. Once the ruched cotton had circled my hands three times, he tied it neatly, with a shoelace knot. He looked down into my face again for a moment, perhaps to take stock of my reaction. His eyebrow arched, as if to challenge me—but I was only craving more.
I imagine that my whole face must have been beet-red with feeling, but Carter's attention remained fixed on my naked chest. He angled his palms so as to massage the fullness of my heavy breasts, reaching thumb and forefinger up to squeeze my nipples until they hurt. He kept his eyes on my face while he did this, as if to feast on my pain and pleasure. When the pressure grew too strong to bear, I arched my back up towards him, pressing my wrists hard against their confines. In response, my lover bent down and began to suck hard on my left breast, while gripping my jerking ribcage between his hands.
“Fuck,” I whispered. And then I repeated it again, so it became a kind of chant: “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
He continued to flick his tongue back and forth across my nipple, and his hips continued to gyrate above me, confined by those leather pants. His mock thrusts had grown harder now, and I felt the fullness of his erection pressing into the damp space of my pubis. I could barely wait.
“Please get inside of me,” I asked him, bucking my hips so we continued to grind against one another. “I really, really want you to come inside.”
“You do, huh?” Carter whispered, his head still bent low in the valley of my cleavage. I saw that a crop of bright red bruises were emerging on my tits, like a constellation. All the places that he'd sucked on me, all the spaces he could claim.
“How badly do you want it, baby?”
“Bad. Please, Carter.”
I opened my eyes, and he'd peeled himself away from my chest and was grinning above me. Arching back, he reached down and pressed a forceful index finger against the blooming surface of my clit. My panties we
re soaked.
“You want this big, thick cock inside you?” he grunted. I looked into his eyes, and he began to move his finger in small, tight circles. I started to pant.
“Yes. I want you to put it in deep.”
“Beg.”
This was the same script he'd spoken of last night: “In the Knights of Styx, we make them beg for it.” Before I could respond, however, Carter had removed his hand from the surface of my crotch, and had begun to slide his fingers under the waistband of my underwear. His warm palm on the soft thatch of my pubic hair was almost too much to bear.
“Please. Please, baby.”
“Beg harder.”
“Please give it to me. I want it so bad.”
His fingers had reached my unclothed clit, and slowly, he began to resume the delicious, whirling motion. I felt my thighs and shins tense up. While he was still gazing into my eyes, his movements picked up speed.
“You can put it anywhere,” I breathed, barely, surprised at how easily I was able to speak in the moment—and how good it felt, talking dirty to him. The sweat from my temples had begun to occlude the vision in the corners of my eyes. I heard a ringing in my ears. I had thought the night before had provided a pleasure no feeling could rival—but I'd been so, so wrong.
Seeing me waver, Carter finally slid three thick fingers deep into the center of my pussy, while keeping his thumb fixed on my crest. He never broke eye contact while he pushed into my moist center, and I brought my hips towards his, so as to guide his thrusts. I felt myself widen with each stroke, as if in preparation for the fullness of his dick. After the fourth stroke, I experienced a new ceiling to my pleasure: he'd found my G-spot. His hands moved faster now. I could not tamp down a scream.
“Are you on the edge, baby? You want me to make you come?”
I couldn't form the words anymore, so I nodded weakly, instead. The whole space below us felt wet with my want. Though I hovered on the lip of an orgasm, I couldn't imagine feeling better than I did at that moment.
Intuitive again, Carter gently slid his fingers out of me, leaving me to pant and writhe for a moment below his bulk. I watched the hair on his bare chest ripple in an evening breeze. I tried to reach out and touch his muscles for a moment, before remembering that I was bound.
Lifting his hips slightly, Carter began to fumble at the buttons of his pants. My heart leapt, with a mixture of desperation and fear. This was happening. I was about to fuck Carter Knox. And I couldn't fucking wait.
When he unfurled his cock, I saw it in a different light than the evening prior: he was perfectly smooth, straight, and thick as the bottom of a glass coke bottle. A strand of pre-cum rose along his top. His thighs, dressed in dark hair, framed his manhood neatly.
I was ready.
His eyes still fixed on mine, Carter stood briefly, to remove his pants. I watched the swell of his taut ass appear, round and ropy and perfect, as the leather slid to the floor. Once he was completely naked in front of me, he turned his attention to the sopping remainder of my underwear, and peeled these way from me, flung them to the floor. My heart was racing. I wonder if his was, too.
When he climbed on top of me again, he swept his hands from the bindings at my wrists down to the scoops of my breasts, and then, finally, to my waiting pussy. Gently, he parted me with his fingers. Slowly, he slid inside.
He was so wide that it hurt like a bitch, at first—but I felt my body aching to open itself to him. My walls were aware of the pressure. But he was slow, and he never turned his face away. His first thrust was incremental, but deep—and once he'd secured himself fully inside, he rested for a moment. Above me, his eyes were fluttering in his skull. His hands, returning to flank me on the chaise, trembled under his weight. I felt his member throbbing inside of me, and after a few seconds of pain, the pleasure returned. I felt whole, holding Carter inside of me. I felt open, and free, and full. This was nothing like the fumbling sex I'd had with Dog, on my childhood bunk bed. The two acts had nothing in common at all.
“Keep going,” I said, my voice hoarse. It was my turn to make demands.
The second thrust was just as slow, but somehow easier. Instead of resting at the top, he continued his rhythm, pulling out slowly and returning stronger, harder. I winced slightly at the increased pressure, but Carter kept thrusting. I watched his ass arc towards my hips and I drew him further in, lifting my ass to ease his passage. This felt better, instantly—I felt the roundness of his sizeable cock begin to press against my G-spot again, and I let out a coo.
“You like that?” he grunted into my ear.
“Yes,” I whispered back.
Slowly, we found our way toward a rhythm. Carter pushed in deep, and I continued to grind myself against his hips. I widened my legs, so I could use my feet to raise myself towards him. After minutes of this, the full joy returned. My thighs were slick with the both of our juices. I craned my face forward towards his moving chest and kissed the damp hair along his pecs.
He thrust harder, and harder, each time bringing more pleasure and less pain. At one point, he reached down to cup one of ass cheeks, so as to hold me even closer. He moved in and out with ease, and I groaned and groaned with want. I felt that I needed every single inch of his cock.
“Fuck,” he murmured above me, his nails digging hard into my ass. “I'm gonna come. I want you to come with me.”
I arced myself higher still, so his thrusts rammed against my G-spot again and again, faster and faster and faster. Carter licked his index finger, and returned this to my clit. He rubbed me in tight, furious circles as our rhythm reached a fever pitch. I felt every part of my skin grow hot—my face, my thighs, the bottoms of my feet.
“I'm gonna come,” I cried out. I arched my back upward, so my breasts fell to the side. Carter made as if to kiss my nipples, but we were moving too quickly for him to latch on.
Finally, I felt myself vibrating at the highest possible pitch. His strong, fervent thumb...his thick, powerful cock...flexing down so I might gaze into his eyes, I felt myself begin to spasm around him. I tilted my head back again and began to scream, just as...
“FUCK!” Carter cried, his voice booming and loud—and just as suddenly, I felt him relax into my arms. His head fell against my chest. I could feel his heart racing against my abdomen. Inside of me, his member pulsed in tandem with my own walls. I was aware of our combined wetness, flowing slowly from me. And the sweetest, deepest, sleepiest kind of relief began to spread over each of my pores, from my fingertips to my toes. I can honestly say I'd never felt so fucking good.
“Jesus,” I breathed, after it seemed like a full minute had gone by. “That was--”
“Not bad,” Knox completed. “And down came the wall of Jericho.” His voice was raspy and weak. I was proud, in that moment: I'd been able to tame him, in my way. I had conquered (and been conquered by...), the most badass biker in the Knights of Styx.
“Hey, Mama Owens. I have a question,” Carter was saying now, his breath ticklish against my exposed skin. I became freshly of the evening sounds around us—the frogs croaking, the flies buzzing. I wondered idly where Tati could be.
“Shoot.”
“What would you say, if I asked you to be my old lady?” He tilted his chin so it rested fully on my stomach. His violet eyes were sweet, imploring. Like a little boy's.
“I'd say...untie me first, you jackass”—he cracked a grin, and the dark world felt warm—“But after that? Yeah. Sure.”
Chapter Fifteen
* * *
Though I would have liked to say we spent the rest of the week in that lounge, fighting nothing but mosquitoes with nothing but sex sounds—as soon as darkness had completely fallen, I remembered the work that still needed to be done. Scotty's empty club was just another reminder: of the show-down we needed to derail, the villains we needed to catch. I thought of that young kid, stiffening up in the garage. Had anyone in my club found him yet? Would they know who he was, if they did?
Knox vanis
hed from our love nest in the middle of my second nap—and when I woke next, I'd been miraculously re-clothed, moved to the inside of Scotty's cabin, and placed on the couch. Scotty, Knox and Tati were speaking in hushed tones around my face. Ice clanked lightly in three tumblers of what looked like scotch.
“So what is it you've done?” my sister was asking, her voice striking a familiar, skeptic's tone. “Since you came to—where the hell are we?”
“Casablanca,” Scotty proffered.
“Casablanca, thank you—since you came to this bar, it sounds like you've just been bumming around. Why didn't you try to get in touch with your MC earlier? Last night, after the first attacks? I just feel like every second we waste is another second that could lead to a fight.” T was working herself into a frenzy. “Why aren't we on the road already? We could be halfway to the Styx camp by now, if we'd've left earlier.”
“Well earlier, I had something to do.”
“Oh, I'm sure you did.”
“That's damn right. I had to make sure your sister was okay, after being attacked twice, by two different men, in a single day.”
“I know exactly what you were up to, you goddamned scumbag. Don't talk to me like you're better at protecting my sister than I am. Or, didn't you hear? I shot a guy today.”
Everyone drank in silence for another moment, but I could practically hear Tati and Knox fuming with righteousness. Well, it was nice to know I had two pistols in my corner. I stretched myself into wakefulness, and took note of the strange sensations in my body: my pelvis was sore. My wrists, too, for that matter.
So it hadn't been a dream.
“She's awake,” Scotty declared, rising from his post and making for the makeshift bar. I rose slowly to a sitting position, and drank in the scene. Though the straits were dire, I have to say—it was kind of magic, being around the people who loved me best in the world. These two made me feel capable, and confident; the three of us were tough. Perhaps our motley trio could really defuse this ticking time bomb. I was ready to get a move on, in any case.
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