by Bijou Hunter
“Wait, is this you playing hard to get?” she asks, grabbing my buttoned up shirt. “No way do you get to come over here looking this fine and then not put out.”
Grinning, I kiss her. More like devour her. She tastes so damn good, and I’m an addict looking for my next hit.
In a wild display of lust, Justice tries to tear open my shirt. When the fabric doesn’t give, she frowns at me.
“I need to work out more.”
“More?” I tease.
“Fine, I need to work out.”
“Or I could unbutton my damn shirt for you,” I offer while cupping her tits hidden under a striped blue T-shirt.
“You shirtless without my having to exert effort? I’m breathless in anticipation.”
My lips find hers again. Wrapping an arm around my neck, Justice reaches over for the TV remote. A music station soon plays, covering her moans as I grip her ass and press her against my erection.
“You’re so beautiful,” I murmur against his cheek. “I want you to see how fucking beautiful you are.”
Turning her to face the dresser, I reach around to unbutton her shorts. Justice watches me in the mirror’s reflection as I slide down her pink panties. My fingers linger on the soft skin of her ass. Justice exhales softly, and her pussy clenches when I slide a finger between her wet flesh.
“Court,” she says, speechless again.
My dick pops free from my jeans as I shove them down to my knees. I need to feel the heat of her pussy. Unable to wait, I press the head between her folds. One hard thrust and I groan with relief. Justice wiggles her hips, adjusting to my size inside her.
My hands disappear under her shirt and grip her hard nipples hiding under her bra. Bending my knees to level out our heights, I pump my hips steadily while Justice makes delicious little grunts. My gaze holds hers in the mirror. One thrust after another, faster when the need grows unbearable and then slower when I regain control.
I refuse to stop. I don’t care about the other people in the house. I can only feel the intense heat of her tight pussy around my cock. The rest of the world is an afterthought.
18 Black Sheep
Justice
The concept of sex is great, but I can’t imagine bending over this way for any man other than Court. His touch is the only one I crave. I even find myself wanting his approval, and I rarely care what anyone thinks of me. With Court, everything is different, scarier, and deeper.
My bangs bounce with his every thrust, and I know he’s close when they begin bouncing wildly. Grinning at him in the reflection, I relish the way his jaw tightens and eyes close when he releases all of his desire into me.
The moment his dick slips from my body, I spin around and wrap my arms around him.
“If my dad catches us, we’ll be so grounded,”
“Don’t talk about your dad right now,” Court says, lifting me up on the dresser and pressing his lips against mine until I can barely breathe.
My hands scratch lightly at his chest still hidden under a shirt. Quickie sex is phenomenal, but I want to get this sexy specimen naked.
“Will you stay over tonight?” I ask when he finally releases my lips.
“Are you sure that’s cool with your mom?”
“I’m twenty-three, Court. I can have as many naked guys in my lair as I choose.”
“Fuck do I love when you say crazy shit like that.”
Journey’s voice announcing her need for a clean shirt alerts us to Jared’s arrival inside the house. Sadly, Court is forced to return his impressive cock to the confines of his blue jeans.
Once my shorts are back on, I shake out my arms. “Do I look like we just fucked?”
Court looks me up and down and then nods. I frown and check in the mirror. My cheeks are rosy red while my glazed eyes imply I’m well-fucked or stoned. Yeah, Jared won’t be fooled.
“Whatever. I’m a grown woman and stuff.”
I take Court’s hand and press it against my cheek. He immediately cups my face, and I sense he’d ask for another round if my father’s voice weren't audible from the living room.
“You don’t have to stay tonight. I can go to your place, or you can have your space or…”
“Shut up,” he says, kissing me hard.
My cheeks flame hotter from his unrelenting kiss. I have no interest in leaving this room, but Journey doesn’t generally talk so loudly. She’s clearly signaling for me to stop humping Court and return to the world of the dressed.
Journey stands in the kitchen while Jared tries to coax Hal out of a chair. He even threatens the Pug to no avail.
“You need to make him respect your authority,” I tell Jared.
My father looks at me before his gaze focuses on Court behind. An awkward moment passes between the men. Personally, I feel fine. Sitting on the couch, I pet Louise, who immediately takes refuge in my lap.
“Do you think pulling my gun would intimidate your stupid dog?” Jared asks.
“How stupid can Hal be if he’s outwitting you?” I mock as Court joins me on the couch.
My father frowns darkly, and I suspect he’s trying to intimidate Court. This display would be more impressive if he weren't struggling against the will of a fifteen-pound dog.
“Hal,” Journey says from the kitchen.
The dog grudgingly climbs out of the chair and gives Jared a dirty look before trotting to Christine’s bedroom.
“See, Dad, how he respects those who demand respect?”
“Save it,” he says, flopping into the chair. “Journey is making tater tots.”
“We just ate at Grandma’s hellhole.”
“I didn’t eat much,” Journey announces. “I don’t trust food stored in someone’s car.”
“Uppity bitch,” Poppy says, wandering down the hallway as if she’s drunk. I suspect she’s only tired. “I enjoyed the warm potato salad.”
Poppy kneels down before crawling to her spot on the floor where her furry pink pillow waits.
“Dad,” I say, drawing his attention away from Poppy, who is now hiding under a blanket, “I know the motorcycle club is a social club and doesn’t do anything even a little bit illegal.”
Poppy pokes her head out to give me an eye roll while I notice Journey smirking in the kitchen. Court remains silent and edgy next to me.
“That’s right,” Jared says without a hint of bullshit in his voice.
“So what kind of social stuff do you do? Picnics and stuff like that?”
Jared gives me a sly grin. “Many of our members are business owners in town. We organize quite a few charity events.”
“Ah, that’s heartwarming,” I say, patting Court’s knee. “Is the president of the club anyone I know?”
“Joe Wells.” When I only stare at him, Jared adds, “He said he came by the Mart and said hello to you.”
I scan my brain for a Joe Wells. Unfortunately, every person in Tumbling Rock visited me long enough to state how my mom used to live in town, and she was quite a looker back then, and she left my dad when he was in prison, and now she’s back. I always nod at their babble because I’m at work and telling them to shut up would be unprofessional.
“Wait, that old dude, Joe?”
“He ain’t that much older than me, Justice.”
“Are you sure? He looks pretty dang old, and you’re super young and virile.”
My sisters laugh at the compliment, but Jared only rolls his eyes. “Joe’s been running things since our first president died in an accident.”
“Do you mean ‘accident’?” I ask, using air quotes. “Or was he actually in an accident?”
“He was painting his barn and fell off the ladder.”
“Was he drunk?”
“Probably.”
“Joe said something about a carnival and asked if I was coming. Since I didn’t know what in the queef he was talking about, I only nodded and smiled.” I turn my head to smile at Court. “That’s all I do all day is bullshit people. It’s very impress
ive how often and well I lie.”
“I know I’m impressed.”
“Can I lie to you?”
Court loses his smile. “Never.”
“Good luck with that dream, champ.”
I return my gaze to Jared frowning at us. I frown back at my father, but he doesn’t relent like Christine would. Underneath his easy-going demeanor lies the temper of a man accustomed to making problems go away. Does Jared view me as the problem or is Court the bad guy?
“The carnival is in less than two weeks. We hold it at the high school track field and raise money for the local food bank.”
“That’s some sweet charity work there,” I say, still frowning at Jared, who doesn’t realize I’m messing with him. When he refuses to stop glaring, I shrug and lean my head against Court’s shoulder. “What do they have at the carnival?”
“Games,” Court answers when Jared won’t. “Rides. Cheap food. It’s great.”
When I smile at his enthusiasm, he takes my hand in his.
“They have a carnival a few times a year. As a kid, I nearly pissed myself over them.”
“Sexy,” Poppy mutters under her blanket.
“Ignore her. She’s probably passing a large blood clot or something.”
Now Jared frowns at Poppy, and I realize maybe this man wouldn’t have done well in a house full of girls. He certainly doesn’t enjoy the period talk, and that’s the topic of half of the conversations we have in our house.
“Sir,” Poppy says, lowering her blanket to look at Jared, who clearly senses she’s about to mess with him. “Why does your motorcycle club have a misspelled name?”
Jared expression makes me think he’s considering ignoring her question. Deciding to appease the little weirdo, he explains, “The guy that started the club back in the late sixties left it up to his vice president to design the vests. Apparently, Johnny Dove couldn’t spell for shit. That’s the story at any rate.”
“Education is so crucial,” Poppy mutters. “Even in West Virginia.”
“How is high school working out for you?” Jared asks, tempting trouble by engaging with the hormonal teen.
“It’s all good.”
“Make any friends? I’m sure there are plenty of girls looking to spend time with someone friendly like you.”
Poppy shows no reaction to his dig before answering. “The girl cliques were too catty. I like people that avoid snark. The stoner kids smell like pot and the Goth kids smell like pot. I’m too smart to hang out with the athletes and too dumb to hang out with the nerds. I tried sitting by myself at lunch, but idiots kept thinking I was lonely and joining me. I finally met a couple of decent new best friends. Now I hang out with Four-Eyes, Chunks, and Cowlick at lunch. Oh, and Cowlick’s mom is giving me a ride home from school so Justice won’t have to.”
“Do you little friends know you call them that?”
“Sure. They call me Hot Girl. Our friendship is beneficial for everyone involved. I no longer have to worry about stupid people bugging me at lunch, and the bullies stopped hassling Chunks after someone started a rumor that I’m crazy and killed a kid at my last school.”
“You got that rumor idea from me,” I grumble. “I started one like that about Journey in my freshman year.”
“So? You did it first, but I did it better. You only said she killed the guy in self-defense. In my rumor, I stalked my victim for months before finally finishing him off.”
Nodding, I admit, “That is better.”
“So to answer your question, father of my sisters, school is awesome. I have friends, and people fear me, and I’m in classes just difficult enough to keep me from dying of boredom but not so difficult I have to stress out. Life truly is grand.”
“This tiny town ain’t so bad,” I announce. “Poppy’s made friends. Mom’s business is doing well. I have a great job and a sexy slice of meat. Journey exists. It’s all good times.”
Jared stands up and joins my existing sister in the kitchen where she waits on the tater tots. I take this moment to turn to Court.
“Do you think my father will kill you for fucking me so deliciously?”
“I doubt it, but you should probably not mention that deliciously fucked stuff to him.”
“Censor myself? Seems unhealthy but okay.”
Court kisses me quickly but still manages to give my lips a quick lick with his delightful tongue.
Jared loudly clears his throat. “I better say goodbye so your mom can stop hiding out.”
“She’ll get over that eventually,” I lie.
“I’m sure she will,” he lies in return.
Journey hugs Jared, but I hesitate. If he smells sex on me, I don’t want him going on the warpath. Rather than being a wuss, I hug him goodbye and take the chance of his wrath. He only pats my back and kisses me on the top of the head.
“Glad the visit with your grandma didn’t kill anyone.”
“Food poisoning takes awhile to kick in, so let’s not assume anything yet.”
Jared grins and then says a forced goodbye to Poppy hiding under the blanket again. My father shares a tense eye to eye conversation with Court. I don’t know what they’re saying, but I assume a few dick wagging comments are exchanged. Jared finally smiles in a fake way while Court gives me a triumphant expression. Apparently, my man’s dick wagged better or something.
In the end, I don’t care what they want. Their drama is secondary to my desires both to keep Court and have my father be happy for me.
19 Black Sheep
Court
Growing up with only a mother, I craved male approval. Men like Jared were superheroes in my mind. When he took an interest in me, I ate up any damn bit of attention he offered. I still respected the shit out of Jared, even if I suspected he was less than thrilled about Justice and me.
We arrive at the club meeting separately. Normally, we’d walk in together. I’m only a patched member because he vouched for me. My father was a petty criminal and, rumor has it, a snitch. No way would I find acceptance with men like Joe Wells if not for Jared’s lead.
Today, we don’t walk into the tavern together. He parks and makes his way inside without so much as looking at me. I know I should feel bad, but I’m no longer a little boy wanting his surrogate daddy’s approval. As a grown man, I can stand on my own and live by my rules. Justice is mine, and only she gets to say otherwise.
The Rock Tavern is old school with wood paneling from the floor to the ceiling. The tables haven’t been changed out in thirty years. With thick, dark wood, they show the wear and tear of thousands of drunken nights. I’ve always loved this place. As great as my mom was, she raised me in a home filled with pink flowers. In contrast, The Rock Tavern reeks of masculinity.
Standing in the doorway of the back room, I inhale the familiar scent of beer, leather, and varnish.
Joe Wells was never the prettiest man, and he lacks charm. He once said the only way he ever got laid was by chasing a woman until she was tired enough to give up. Rumor has it the first president was everything Joe isn’t. Handsome, pretty even, Daryl Rose loved telling tall tales about his sexual escapade. The guy had big dreams, but he was a drunk and quick to rage. Jared once explained how Joe was too ugly to be stupid while Daryl was too pretty to use his brain.
Rubbing his bald head, Joe sighs in a grumpy way that sounds a lot like a bear growl.
“They call me soft,” he says when everyone is in the room. “I call me pragmatic.”
The men around me are for the most part pushing fifty. The club was once as virile as the tavern, but time catches up to even the biggest badasses.
“Who says that?” asks our vice president.
I’ve seen pictures of Ned Smithy from when he was young. The guy looked like Marlon Brando from The Wild One. These days, he looks more like Brando from The Island of Doctor Moreau.
“People say it. Enemies. Fuckers who don’t know any better,” Joe mutters.
“Fuck ‘em.”
The
two men are like a married couple desperate for a divorce but too old to live apart.
“Boy Scout over here took care of that issue we had. Glad to know we still have friends willing to help us hunt down problems.”
I nod when the guys look at me. They respect me as much as they can while knowing I come from a snitch’s seed. These men feel in their bones that disloyalty is genetic. If your family is full of liars and snitches, you can’t help following in their footsteps. I often reminded them how my mother kept her mouth shut about a lot of things she saw as a waitress at The Rock Tavern. Mentioning her always softens their stances. They remember watching her go from an eighteen year old full of promise to a broken woman ready for the end to come.
“The world’s going to hell,” Joe announces. “Not sure how long we can survive the way things are these days. I remember when we started up our business. Pot and moonshine were the only drugs anyone needed. Now people want meth and heroine. You ever see what that shit does to someone? If we had a guy selling pot and he skimmed off the stash, he only got the munchies. Now we got guys hooked on the project and getting into shootouts with cops. That kind of heat never came down on us in the past.”
Ned taps his pen on the table like a pissed accountant. “Running whores is the same way. We had some girls wanting to make money the old fashion way. We protected them and got a slice. Now our business partners decide eighteen ain’t young enough. They grab up runaways and get the girls hooked on the product and then bring in baby fucking customers. Cops never cared much about a woman spreading her legs to make money. You do the same thing with a twelve-year-old and cops start to care. Every time I send one of you out to check on our people, they’ve got someone underage in their stable. We can’t keep them from bringing that heat down on us.”
“We beat them down, but the assholes don’t listen,” Joe says, sounding like he’ll start talking any minute about the music kids listen to today. “These fuckers claim the demand is for young girls. Boys too. They say we have to cater to these perverts or someone else will. No matter how many times we tell them no, they sneak around. Then they get caught and want to talk about our business to save them from prison time.”