Rebel’s Property_A Motorcycle Club Romance_Satan’s Martyrs MC
Page 16
“Me neither.” I lift my arm, and as though we are communicating without talking, she falls into me. I lower my arm and bring her into me.
“It’s so peaceful,” she says. “So, so peaceful.”
“Before you, peace never made much sense to me,” I say. I should be embarrassed to speak words like these: words which reveal some inner part of me, but I’m not. Not with Hope. Because, I realize, she’s the person closest to me. Out of everyone, it’s her. “Before you,” I go on, “I hated peace. But when I’m with you, pretty lady, I think I could get used to it.”
She leans up and kisses me on the cheek. Such a simple gesture, but it makes me shiver with the feel of it. “Me and you, yeah?” she says.
“Me and you,” I say. My voice is choked, as though I’m one of those soft men who can’t speak to a woman with getting all emotional. Man, what has she done to me?
Hope looks up at the stars, a thousand of them glittering down. “Do you ever just look at them?” she asks. “I never do, not anymore. When I was a kid, before Mom and Dad, I used to. Dawn and I would lie side by side in the grass and look up at them and talk all sorts of trash.”
“I know about them,” I say. “The constellations, I mean. Dad made me learn them all just in case I was ever lost at sea.”
“You’re joking?” Hope sits upright and gazes at me. “Do you really know the constellations?”
I nod. “Yeah, I do.”
“Prove it!” she demands.
Laughing, I point up at the sky. “Follow my finger. See that one, it looks like two backward triangles? That’s Orion. And there, the chair, see there’s the cushion and there’s the back. That’s Aries. And see the horns on that one, and then the legs? That’s Taurus. And over there is Lacerta, and just there is Auriga, and over here, pretty lady, in Lepus. And there we have Sculptor and Fornax. Caelum and Delphinus.”
Hope claps her hands frantically. “So you’re not just a bag of muscles then?” she squeals. “There really is something underneath all of that.”
“I guess so.” I smile. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
She kisses me on the cheek again, a quick peck. I look down at her legs, shimmery in the starlight. Damn, those legs, that dress cut high on her thighs, leading to that beautiful place of pleasure.
I leap to my feet. “Follow me!”
Then I pace toward the dock. Hope jogs after me, and then walks with quick steps to keep up with my large strides. “I hope you’re not taking me out here to drown me,” she says.
“Oh, don’t tempt me.” I smirk.
She shoulders me and giggles when I pretend to fall over.
When we reach the dock, I take her down the wooden platform to a smallish boat covered with a tarpaulin. I kneel down and grip the tarpaulin, and then pull it away, like a magician pulling away a tablecloth from underneath dishes.
“Do you think you should be doing that?” Hope asks uncertainly.
“I’m not sure.” I drop the tarpaulin in a pile at my feet. “You tell me.” I point to the writing on the side of the boat. It reads: Numb.
“It’s yours!” she laughs.
“It’s mine.” I turn to her, take her hands in mine, and gaze at her so hard, and with such lust, that she begins to fidget with her legs, squeezing her thighs around her perfect cunt.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that, Mr. Biker,” she breathes. “It gives me ideas.”
“Good,” I say.
I release her hands and leap onto the boat. Then I hold my hand out. “Come on, let’s go for a cruise.”
“In the dark?”
I point up at the stars. “I can read the sky, remember? Anyway, we won’t go far.”
She takes my hand and steps into the boat. As soon as she’s on the boat, I reach up between her legs and grab her, press my hand forcefully down on her. She moans loudly in surprised pleasure, and then begins writhing on my hand. I snatch it away and go to the wheel and the controls.
“You’re a mean man!” she calls after me.
I find the key hidden underneath the driver’s seat cushion, slot it in, and turn it. The boat coughs into life.
Chapter Nineteen
Hope
The boat is small, but not as small as it looks from the outside. There’s room enough on the deck to walk around, and cushioned seats line the decked area. The cockpit is covered with a sort of balcony, which you can climb up to, if you want to sunbathe or admire the view. There’s also a decked area at the front of the boat, in front of the cockpit.
Killian cruises for about five minutes until the streetlamps which line the boardwalk are small dots in the distance, and then he kills the engine. I know we’re still in the harbor, because the waves are soft, lulling, but we seem very far away. We’re the only people alive right now, I think. Or, we might as well be.
Killian emerges from the cockpit. He’s taken off his biker leathers so all he wears is a plain black t-shirt, tight around his muscles, scuffed jeans and his brown boots. His tattoos are dark and difficult to determine out here under the stars. Killian himself looks like a silhouette, an intimidating, commanding silhouette.
Then he walks right up to me, and I see that his face is serious, intense, full of lust and passion.
“You want it,” he says.
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway.
“Yes,” I say. The hint of a moan creeps into my voice.
“You want it,” he repeats.
“Yes,” I moan again.
“You want it, hard, dirty. You want to be used. You want me to take charge of you.”
“Yes!” I cry.
“Good.”
He takes me by the shoulders, gripping me hard, with all his strength. It makes me realize that he’s never truly handled me before. Before, it was tough but not impossible. Now, I couldn’t even try and break free. His grip is like steel. He turns me around, walks me to the railing at the edge of the boat, and bends me over. I prop my knees on the cushions and grip the railing, bending over the side of the boat.
My panties are wet, soaked, dripping. No other man has made me this horny before. Hell, even Killian hasn’t made me this horny before. My clit tingles, sure, but more than that my hole tingles, vibrates, begs to be filled. It’s like there’s something missing in my cunt. I want it. I need it. Despite the cool autumn air, sweat drips down me. Sweat sticks my hand to the metal railing. My legs shake, but not from the cold. My knees click together from lust.
Then he pulls down my panties around my ankles. I step out of them and arch my back, displaying my pussy for him, wanting him to fill it, just fill it, fill it all up until it hurts.
He unzips his jeans and pulls then down, and then his cock touches me. But it doesn’t slide into me. The tip of his cock presses into my clit, just below my hole. He doesn’t rub it, doesn’t move it, just keeps it there, hard, pressing.
“What are you doing?” I moan, unable to hide my frustration. I’m panting with lust.
“You want it, don’t you, you dirty little girl?” he breathes.
“I want it,” I moan. “I need it! I need it!”
“Then tell me how badly.”
I feel dominated. I feel controlled. He has complete power over me right now. One-hundred percent control. There’s nothing I can do to fight him, nothing I can do to fight the lust he provokes in me.
“Please,” I moan, moving my pussy up and down against his cock. “Please, please, I’m so wet, please, I beg you.” Damn, I want to be submissive. I want to be used. It’s never been like this, with anyone. I never knew I wanted this. But I do. Right now, I want it more than anything. “Please, please, fuck me, fuck me hard. Make me scream. Please, I’m begging you.” Moving my pussy up and down. Rubbing my wet pussy against his hard cock. “Please, do it. Please, please, please.”
He brings his hands to my ass cheeks, pushes them together. “You’ve got a perfect fucking ass,” he breathes. “And you beg like a good whore. Do you want
your reward?”
“Yes, yes, please, yes!” I cry. “I want it! I need it!”
“Good.”
Gripping my ass cheeks, he slides his cock into my hole.
I’m soaked and it slides in without any resistance. My hole opens for him. His tip touches my sweet spot, and that’s all I need. My pussy seizes up, three of my fingernails break on the railing, my legs become wobbly. I come all over his cock. Right then, after one quick thrust, I squirt all over him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I cry. “Please, keep going, please, please, please!”
He fucks me harder than he ever has before. His cock pounds and pounds and pounds my cunt. He’s dominating me. He doesn’t care if he hurts me. He just wants to use my hole. Fuck, who knew how exciting that could be?
“Beg!” he roars.
I come and come and come, my pussy going tight around his cock, squirting all over it.
“Please, keep fucking me. Please, please, please! I want more, please! Fuck, please! Oh, fuck, fu—”
He’s using me, I think as I come. He’s using me and I’m his whore and he’s a bad biker and he’s fucking using me. Yes, yes, he’s using me. Oh, yes, he’s using me!
I come for the tenth, eleventh, twelfth time, and then he leans over and bites me shoulder, groaning into skin.
“Bite me! Use me! Come in me! Yes, yes, yes!”
He empties himself inside of me. When he pulls away, my pussy and my shoulder ache. But I don’t care.
I collapse into the cushions and pant out the pleasure.
“Fuck,” I moan, turning over.
“Fuck,” he agrees, staring at me in shock. “You like being dominated, pretty lady.”
“I do. I never knew I did. But I do.”
The deck is cool, but we lie on it anyway.
I nuzzle into Killian and he keeps me warm. Together, we gaze up at the stars.
“This has been quite the adventure, me and you,” I say.
“It has,” he agrees, stroking my hair. “I never knew that sexy waitress would turn out to be such a little sicko in bed. I really didn’t.”
“You make me sick,” I laugh, slapping his hand.
“Of course I do, Hope, of course I do.”
We stay like that for a long time, just hugging, talking about nothing in particular.
And then Killian says, “Imagine if we could just stay at the cabin, forever. No worries, no stress, nothing to concern us apart from each other. Wouldn’t that be perfect? Wouldn’t that be heaven?”
“Be careful, Killian, you’re sober now.”
“I mean it,” he says, weaving his fingers through the strands of my hair. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. Just me and you. Nothing else. No club to worry about. No stress. Just sex and love—”
“Love?” I interrupt, squeezing his free hand so hard I’m surprised he doesn’t wince. “Did you just say love, Killian?”
“I did.” He looks down at me, smiling, starlight caught in his bright blue eyes. “I said love. What about it?”
I lay my head on his chest. “I feel the same,” I murmur.
And just like that, we admit it.
Then sleep takes us.
I’m shaken awake by Killian. He’s moving his lips, opening and closing his mouth, and I’m aware there are sounds—but I can’t make out the words. He shakes me and screams at me, screams right in my face, his face full of rage.
At first, I’m sure it’s a dream. That’s the only reasonable conclusion. You don’t fall asleep and then wake up to this. Plus, my body feels numb, detached, and my thoughts come slow and drawn-out. It’s the only conclusion I can reasonably come to. This is a mad dream and soon I’ll wake up.
But the more he shakes me, the realer it becomes. I just wish I could feel what was happening. Everything is fuzzy, like I’ve hit my head. Has he gone mad?
I open my mouth to speak, but my tongue is lead and no words will come. I know what I want to say: What is going on? But no noise comes from me apart from faint moaning.
Then, absurdly, I laugh.
I don’t know where the laugh comes from. It just emerges out of nowhere, a pointless laugh, and the laugh becomes a guffaw, until I’m sweating with laughter.
Killian stands up and stares down at me with a face of disgust, his lips twisted, his eyebrows low, judgmental. I’m sorry! I want to yell, but all I can do is laugh.
Chapter Twenty
Killian
I can’t believe it. I really can’t believe it. I’m not the type of guy who is easily stunned. When you’re in my line of work, you can’t afford to be. Get stunned, you get killed. But as I look down at her, I can’t move. My mouth hangs open in disbelief, in shock. I feel like jumping into the water just to wake myself up.
The scenario plays itself out in my mind.
She woke up when I was asleep, found her needle, and shot up. Maybe she thought I wouldn’t wake up until morning and she could ride it out for the night. Maybe she thought I wouldn’t notice. Maybe she thought it was no big deal. Maybe she thought she could somehow get away with it. I don’t know. I can’t pretend to follow her logic. All I know is that she’s high right now. Her pupils are dilated and she can’t speak and there’s a goddamn track mark in her arm, the faint outline of a belt higher up. She’s taken something and now she’s high.
She’s stopped laughing and now she just stares up at the sky, her face expressionless, a zombie’s face. Seeing Hope’s face like that—laughing, cocky, sarcastic Hope—makes me want to punch something, to break my fist on it. I go over my time with Hope in my mind, searching for some sign that she was an addict all along, searching for something which will tell me she’s been using this entire time.
I can’t find a thing, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t anything. Addicts are skilled at hiding their addiction, at least functioning addicts are.
Dammit, I think, stepping over Hope and going to the boat controls. Dammit!
I told her that was my one rule, that was my one condition. No drugs. I told her! That was it! No drugs! I couldn’t have made it any clearer, could I? I couldn’t have told her any more specifically. Goddamn it! No drugs! How hard is that! No goddamn drugs!
I drive the boat back to the dock as quickly as I can, and then stop it and tether it. Then I go to Hope and kneel down beside her. She lies on her side, knees pulled up to her chest, staring at the deck of the boat.
“Hope,” I say. “Where did you get the drugs? Can you tell me that? Where did you get them?”
She smiles—and then the smile bursts into a laugh.
“It’s not funny!” I roar at her. “You know that was it! That was my one rule—”
I stop myself. It’s no use shouting at her. She doesn’t even know where she is. And anyway, she took the drugs. That’s a solid fact. The track mark is right there, pricked in her arm, right there. I have to keep saying it because I can’t believe it. Hope, my Hope, my woman, a drug addict? It sounds like a sick joke.
I scoop my hands underneath her armpits and pull her up to my chest, so that I can carry her from the boat. Just touching her makes me angry. She’s deadweight, flopping in my arms, not supporting herself in the slightest. I wonder if perhaps Dawn left some gear lying around and that was how Hope got her hands on it. Or if Hope found a number for Dawn’s dealer and that was how she got it. All these thoughts go over and over in my head. I want to find who sold it to her. I want to know.
But most of all I want to be rid of her.
I can’t take being near her right now, not when she’s like this. I heave her over my shoulder, fireman’s lift, and carry her off the boat and lay her down on the dock, as gently as I can.
Then I take out my cell and call Patrick.
“Are you sure?” Patrick says. “Seriously?”
“I’m not in the mood for questions,” I tell him. “Just get here, now, and get her back to her apartment. Is Dawn at the apartment?”
“Yeah, she went home today.”
I cut short, breathing heavily. I feel like I need to be sick, but I won’t with Patrick on the phone.