FILLED BY THE BAD BOY: Tidal Knights MC

by Paula Cox

  “You’ve got a beautiful cock.” She rests her chin on my chest; her new favorite position. “Has anyone ever told you that before?”

  “Nope. Never.”

  We sit like that a little while longer. It starts to rain, and I’m not really worried about any happy families wandering around the parking lot looking for their car and finding a half-naked bodyguard straddled by a little blond-headed pixie. It’s even nice. I haven’t done anything in a car since I was in middle school. Even Maya telling me I had a beautiful cock is sort of nice, though I’m still not at all sure how to take it. Probably the same way I took the giant wrapper sculpture.

  The forecast for the whole week shows rain. Nothing but cold rain. A possible mix of ice and sleet. It’s only early November, but northern New Hampshire is already having some scattered ice storms and there’s more on the way from what we see on the forecast.

  No way in hell I wanna take Theo’s Mercedes to New York with weather like that. Maya doesn’t have a problem with it. “Not much of a musical girl, anyway,” is how she puts it to me, though I’ve got a feeling that isn’t quite true.

  “We’ll drink up more of the local culture,” she pronounces. Her chin is still on my abs. She likes keeping it there while I take deep breaths, her head rising and falling.

  “You wanna go back to the modern art museum? Or try the exhibit of indigenous photography?”

  “Where did you learn about the exhibit of indigenous photography?”

  “When I was with you.”

  “Oh.” The rain beats down harder. It beats down like a bunch of kids throwing pebbles at our car. “You’re serious about those museums?”

  “If you’re serious, then yes. I’m still watching over you.”

  “I guess. But there hasn’t really been all that much watching recently.”

  “You want me to do something else?”

  Maya takes the tip of my penis and bends it back so that it snaps back up and hits me like a catapult. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I think I do.”

  I peel out of the parking lot just as the freezing shower breaks over us. There’s an unholy roar from the sky. Lightning crackles in the direction of the bay. Maya grabs my arm, and I think she’s just trying to be cute. When I hit a light, I see her face. She looks as frightened as a little girl.

  “I don’t like thunderstorms,” she says. Another big crack of thunder bursts above us. Her fingers dig into my shoulder like claws. “I absolutely do not like thunderstorms.”

  I put my hand over her freezing fingers and stroke them back and forth.

  “You’re safe. Nothing can get you here. We’ll be back at the hotel in a few minutes, and everything will be okay.”

  The light goes green, and I put my hand back on the wheel.

  “No,” Maya says it as an order. “Put it back. Please, Quinn. Put it back.”

  I know better than to argue with the boss’s daughter and do what she says. We drive back like this: I don’t let her hand go once.

  The storm turns out to be nothing more than a leftover piece of another thunderstorm further south, according to the radio station weatherman. A few more minutes and all the rains disappear like nothing ever happened. The sun even shines, a little feebly like a new bruise.

  “Is that everything?” Maya looks around like she’s never seen the sun before.

  “Yeah. That’s everything.”

  “No more thunder right?”

  “Were you listening to the guy?”

  “No,” she says quickly. Then looks at me. I’ve only seen it twice, but I already recognize it. She wants me to roll over onto my tummy so that she can scratch my belly and make me moan.

  “Pull up out back, near the restaurant.” Her hand gravitates towards my thigh.

  “Why?”

  “You damn well know why.”

  “Again?”

  “No. Not the same thing. This time I want you inside me. I want you to spread your arms so that it’s like a cage and I want you to fuck me against the door in the backseat so hard the whole car will move.”

  “Wait five minutes, and we’ll go inside the hotel.”

  “No, Quinn. Out back. Right now.” Her grip on my thigh tightens. By the time we even get to the parking lot I’m sure she’ll have left permanent indentions. “And don’t you ever try to talk me out of it again. I know what I want, and I know when I want it, and it’s your job to get me what I want.”

  There’s part of me who wants to do exactly what she says, who would spend the rest of my life making love to this beautiful girl wherever and whenever she says it. Part of me who lives for taking her up against the backseat in the car or in the shower or against the wall. Who lives for her moans and her whispers and her hands moving over my body like she’s trying to find her way through a cave.

  And there’s the other part which comes when I’ve got her in the crook of my arm or when I’m lying staring up at the hotel ceiling, reminding me of how crazy-stupid all this is. It comes not just because if Theo heard one word about this he’d send in big guys with guns and I’d be made into a splatter on the wall. Or because I’m worried about being found out or discovered with Maya while we’re shaking the car. This part comes because it worries for her - that she’s going too fast and too hard for both of us. That it’s not me who’s dominating her, but her who’s trying to dominate both of us. It worries that she has got enough fuel to both get a rocket airborne and then crash when all the fuel runs out. And crash hard.

  Chapter 13

  Flash forward to Thursday. The sky is churning with some poisonous gray mass that looks like radioactive sludge from another planet. We’ve been getting rain pretty constantly over the past few days, but it hasn’t stopped us from running around Westtown, ducking into bars, restaurants, and cafes, and then doing it right there in the parking lot. Sometimes twice if Maya’s in the mood for it. She’s getting more and more aggressive. I’ve got the bite marks on my shoulder to show for it.

  But something’s off about the whole thing. It’s not paranoia. Not fear. Or any kind of thoughts I’ve been running through recently. Like wondering what’s going to happen once I’ve dropped her back off at her dad’s place, and we’ve just got to go on pretending I’m doing a job making sure the slimeballs in the clubs or the hits on the street do anything to harm her. I don’t give a damn about any of that stuff. What gets me is how desperate she seems. Like something in her thinks she can save herself by making love.

  I run my hand over the windshield and try and see through the fogged-up glass, into the store where Maya’s been gone for at least thirty minutes. It’s a nondescript place near the edge of town that looks like a bomb shelter. Minus a beat-up yellow Pontiac and a BMW, I’m the only one in the lot.

  It’s the kind of place where you imagine a bunch of bookies with their cheap cigars and sweat-stained wife-beaters playing poker inside, which is why I’m asking myself over and over again why in the hell did I let Maya go in by herself? She said she’s been in there dozens of times and that it’s a surprise and if she found that I’d taken one step out of the car she’d get my ass fired so fast I’d be doing spins.

  Another minute. Another two minutes. I reach into my pocket for my case of Tic Tacs and realize I’ve left it in the pocket of the second pair of jeans Maya helped me pick out yesterday. The windows fog up again, and I wipe them again. Then I see Maya. She’s just come out of the store with a big black bag she’s swinging from side to side. At least, I think it’s Maya. Everything matches exactly, except for her long, brown hair. She taps on the side door for me to unlock it.

  “You bought a wig?”

  “Well done, Sherlock.”

  She fiddles inside the bag, snapping it over her arm so I can’t see what is inside.

  “Bought you a present, too.”

  She hands me something small, furry, and bowtie shaped. A fake mustache.

  “There’s no way you can be serious.”

  “Serious as a heart attack. T
hat thing isn’t going to leave your face until we’re through security.”

  I rev the engine. The rain, predictable gray November rain, starts to fall. “What security are you talking about?’

  “At the hotel,” she says. “We’ve got a room reserved.”

  “We already have a room reserved.”

  “That’s Maya Butler’s room, dear. But Stella and Arnie Smith are only now about to check in.”

  “Wait.” I maneuver onto the service road and try sticking the mustache on. The glue has a harsh and bitter smell like latex. “If we’re really doing this, shouldn’t I get to decide my fake name?”

  “Of course not. Why should you decide your fake name when you never even decided your real name? The reservation is in your name anyway, so it’s too late to change anything. Better start getting into character.”

  “What kind of character is Arnie Smith, anyway?”

  “That’s a surprise. Wait ten minutes, if you can.”

  In ten minutes we’re walking through the Four Seasons entrance hall, and I’m trying to keep my mustache on straight while Maya pops her bubblegum and adjusts her sunglasses and slings her black bag of whatever it is she’s bought over on one shoulder like she was Paris Hilton. The receptionist is the same one as on Monday—Sara—and she’s got a look of recognition in her eyes and a smile which fades a little once Maya starts talking. She’s putting on this overblown British accent for no reason whatsoever, stretching her ‘a’ sounds like they were ‘aws,’ and all that time smacking away at her gum.

  We’re on floor two, room sixteen. The lift operator smiles at us as we strut our way down the hallway.

  “See? That was kind of fun, wasn’t it?” Maya says once we’re inside. The suite is identical to the other down to the color of the furniture. The only difference is that everything’s mirrored over. “The mustache doesn’t look half bad on you, either.”

  “I look like an idiot.”

  I tear the thing off and throw it onto the ground, next to Maya’s brown wig.

  “Mustaches are dignifying. And Stella Smith happens to think they’re sexy as hell.” She throws off her coat and grabs the black bag. “Now get undressed. And turn off the lights while you’re at it. I’ll be a second.”

  She disappears into the bathroom.

  I yank off my pants and shirt and shut off the lights, including the lamps. Then I close the drapes and begin to wonder just what kind of kinky sex game this is. I take a look at the bag but don’t go through it. I don’t know if this is because I know she doesn’t want me to, or if part of me doesn’t want to spoil the surprise.

  When the bathroom door opens, Maya chucks me a smaller black plastic bag. It lands with a metallic thud on the bed. So this is what she meant by a surprise. I rake my hand through the coils of leather straps and chains. These aren’t the pink, fuzzy handcuffs she’s bought. “Funny. You never seemed like that kind of girl to me.”

  “And exactly what kind of girl did you think I was?”

  “Small. Cute. Clueless. A kid who just wanted attention.”

  “Who says I don’t want attention?”

  The bathroom door opens. Maya is wearing black socks tall as her thighs and a little swishy black skirt thin as a tissue. Her bra is so small her breasts are white with the pressure of it. She’s taking these big deep breaths too like she’s strapped into a car on a roller coaster and she’s about to take the plunge. It’s the first time I’ve seen her nervous.

  “Quinn,” she says softly. I don’t know why it is. None of the times before when she said my name have made me want her more than I want her now. But she was never so innocent as she is now. She’s still standing there in front of the bathroom door holding her hands in front of her like she’s about to recite a lesson and I can tell she’s putting on an act for me. She twists her toes into the carpet and bites her lower lip. “It’s—it’s my first time. You’ll go easy on me, won’t you?”

  My impulse is to laugh, but I don’t follow it. I stand up and throw off the blanket. Maya flinches, but I know what she wants. She’s been the one trying to keep control. Now she’s tired. She wants me to take her, and some of her wants me to punish her. Even if she doesn’t know it yet, she will soon enough.

  “No,” I growl. “I won’t.”

  I tangle her into my arms and shove her to my chest. Her elbows wing out and she throws her head back. “Kirill’t struggle. Kirill’t you dare struggle. It’ll only get more difficult.”

  “Please, Quinn. I thought you’d go easy if I—”

  I find her mouth and put mine over it and suck her into my kiss. She pushes against me. I lock both of her wrists in my hands and press them against the wall. My penis squishes up against her inner thigh, and I press up and in. Locking both her wrists with one hand, I move the other down her leg until I find the waistband of her tights.

  “You thought I’d go easy on you? Because you’re small? Because you thought we were just playing a game?” I kiss her so hard it hurts me. “Because you don’t want me to destroy you?”

  I move my tongue out of her mouth and kiss her throat, before moving my kisses up behind, nearer to the sensitive skin above her ear. She tilts her head up and empties out a long sigh. Her hand on my back presses me even closer to her. I slip two fingers down her waistband.

  “I don’t want a girl who only wants to play games.” I trace her ear with my tongue; the way she did with mine our first time. “I don’t need a girl who acts like a princess with me even while I’m fucking her. Out there you do what you want. Be your own person. But when you’re with me, you’re mine. All of you.”

  Her heart’s beating like mad, but that’s fine because mine is too. I’ve never talked to a girl like this before. Never told her the things I’m saying. It’s like Maya is there in my mind, helping me to force all of this out. A part of me I leave buried and show only when somebody’s got an Item aimed at my face, and it’s killed or be killed, and you know you’ve only got a few seconds to decide which one you’re gonna be. The part that wants violence.

  So I twist away a little bit and take a fistful of Maya’s beautiful blonde hair and tilt her head back so that she’s staring directly up at me. “You want that, don’t you?” Her hair is messed up, and I move a few strands out of her eyes. “You want to be mine. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “What do you see?” she strains the words out. The fingers I’ve slipped down her tights are petting the few short soft pubic hairs above her clit.

  “I see the way you’re looking at me. How wide your eyes are. I know you’re afraid. You want me to be tender and soft with you, as I’ve been. But more than that you want me to take control of you. And you’re afraid I won’t. You’re afraid I’m going to leave you.”

  I hold my fingers still, just above her vagina. She’s wet enough my fingers could just slip down and inside with just the slightest amount of pressure. I don’t give it to her. She squirms a little, even grabs my hand to move it down but I lock her wrist in mine.

  “No. You still haven’t learned that I’m the one who decides your pleasure. Not you. This isn’t your body anymore. Do you understand?”

  “Quinn…”

  “Tell me you understand, or we’ll stop right now, and I’ll leave you here by yourself. Yes or no?”

  “I understand,” she whimpers, moving her lips to my neck to try to kiss me. I move away. Her heartbeats explode against my chest.

  “That’s not good enough. Try again. Beg me to take control of you like you did before.”

  “I beg…”

  “Louder!” I slip both fingers into her clit. She’s so wet they go in even further and more easily than I’d imagined. My cock is still pressed against her thigh.

  “I beg you, Quinn!”

  She opens her mouth and lets me suck her back into my kiss, but just for a moment. I’m not going to give her an inch she doesn’t earn.

  “Get on the bed,” I order, releasing her. “Lay down and spread your legs.�
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  Kinky sex hasn’t ever really been my thing. Up against the wall and doggy-style and different positions, and even spanking. But I’ve never had a girl who’s wanted me to use toys. Or tie her up. Or punish her. But the second I see the straps I know exactly what I’m going to do.

  “Here.” I toss her the pair of handcuffs from the end of the bed. “Which hand do you masturbate with?”

  “What?”

  “You heard what I said. Your left or your right?”

  “M-my right.”