by CM Genovese
“Get that motherfucker!” one of them yelled. Definitely one of the Samoan gangsters.
“Just shoot them both and we can go,” came the voice of the other. Colder. Russian.
“Carla, get down!” I yelled as I launched myself backwards and onto the mattress.
It felt like I was moving in slow motion as my body bounced, my hand came up with my gun, and I shot the big motherfucker in the face. The bullet punched straight through his nose and came out the other side of his head.
The other guy, the Samoan, tripped over his now dead comrade and fell onto the floor, luckily missing my next shot. The Russian had his gun out and aimed it at Carla, his idea was to make me hesitate and stop shooting, but I already knew the drill. If he was going to kill her, she’d be dead. If not, I’d kill him much faster than he’d pull that trigger.
“It is the girl we want, for revenge on—”
He swallowed the rest of his words with the bullet I sent down his throat. The next hit his neck, and the final one tore into his chest. Only one shot came from his gun. It went high and into the ceiling. I only hoped nobody was staying in the room above us.
The Samoan guy who’d hit the floor leapt through the window and scrambled into the parking lot. I rushed out of the room with my gun raised and pointed it in his direction. A van waited for him, the same one I’d seen at the pub, and he dove into it before I could shoot. I was going to let a few bullets fly into the side of the van, but I heard someone to my right and up above say, “Oh, my God.”
Panic set in as some of the other motel occupants came out of their rooms to see what all the commotion was about. One woman whipped out her cell phone, and I quickly put my gun behind my back. Not that the cops wouldn’t be all over me in no time anyway.
The van sped off, and I was left standing there with at least ten witnesses. This time I was the victim. I might have been the last man standing, but it was pretty fucking clear the attack was on me. The room was registered in my name and there were two armed dead men wearing ski masks on my motel room floor.
I looked back through the shattered window to see Carla sitting on the mattress, her knees tucked under her chin, and her hands over her eyes.
She was the one they wanted.
When I went back into the room, you would have thought I was the one who’d led the attack on her life.
“I need to go home,” Carla said, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t… Pipe… I can’t.”
“Shh,” I said as I sat next to her and pulled her closer to me.
“I need to go home,” she repeated. “Pipe, I’m sorry. I have an easy life. A boring one. This… this isn’t me.”
That was the moment I decided I wouldn’t push things with Carla, but I’d protect her. These motherfuckers, I didn’t care what country they came from or what gang they represented, they could all line up like dominoes and I’d knock over every fucking one. The first two were down, right here in this room.
Get ready to fall, motherfuckers.
A botched robbery at a pub was one thing, but a hit on a Royal Bastard was something else entirely. This was personal now.
9
It was early morning by the time Carla and I finished up at the police station. It was late, or early rather, when the attack happened, so by the time we told our story umpteen times the sun was rising. Carla had no desire to ride on the back of my bike. She understood the hit was on her for taking out one of the guys at the pub, but it didn’t matter. She thought of me as an outlaw. There’d be no changing that now.
She rode home in a police cruiser, but I followed close behind, and when she was dropped off, I met her at the door to her apartment building. Her eyes shifted from side to side the entire time. She was a nervous wreck.
“I wish I could rewind time,” she said, “back to the night I shot that guy. I keep seeing him, the way he went down when I pulled the trigger. If I didn’t. If I waited. Maybe they would have left without anybody else getting hurt.”
“You did good,” I reminded her. “They’d already shot one of their own. The chances of them shooting somebody else were pretty high.”
She nodded and wiped fresh tears from her eyes. “How do I make it go away?”
“First off, you were right to want to stay away from me. On a personal level anyway. A good time ain’t worth the hassle of me.”
“You are a bit of a hassle.”
We both smirked but neither of us laughed.
I took one of her hands and rubbed her knuckles with my thumb. “I was gonna talk to you about protection anyway.”
“Of course, we were going to use protection. What do you think I am? A who—”
My laughter interrupted her. She was caught off guard and glared at me.
“What’s funny about that?” she asked.
“Not that kind of protection. Protection from my club.”
“No,” she said immediately. “That will only make it worse.”
“It can’t get much worse,” I said, rubbing both of her arms to warm her up and keep her from shivering. “Three guys tried to shoot you tonight. You need protection. With my club around, nothing will happen to you.”
“What does that mean for my diner? My pub? I’ll owe your club monthly payments for the rest of my life?”
“No, that’s for scumbags who borrow money and don’t pay it back or people who come to us for other things and don’t make good on their end. I talked to BP, my club president, and it’ll be like hiring us. You pay us – we can discuss the amount – and we protect you. If you’re done with us, you stop paying us, and we go away.”
“It’s that simple?”
“It’s that simple.”
She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Finally, she nodded. “And now?”
“Now?” I asked.
“Who protects me now? Or any other night at home?”
It was a great question. We could protect the pub, but how would we keep her safe when she was away from work?
“Well, I don’t know. You just said you wanted to stay away from me, so…”
She laughed. “What? You were going to stay with me and keep me safe?”
I shrugged. “Not all the time, but I would’ve stayed with you now.”
She pursed her lips. “I don’t know what to do, Pipe. I’m fucking scared. Scared shitless to be honest. But I also know I shouldn’t be around you. I was so close to… to you know.”
“To fucking me,” I said.
She nodded.
Shrugging my shoulders, I said, “It’s only a fuck, Carla.”
“You’re so crass.”
“I’m not trying to be, but—”
“Remember? You told me you were going to be crass. The night of the robbery. At the pub.”
It took me a second to remember and then I laughed. “I did warn you.”
“Come on,” she said as she took my hand and led me into the building.
We rode the elevator in silence up to the sixth floor. She led me into her apartment, which was a cozy one bedroom. It was what one would expect from an older, single lady. An embroidered blanket lay across the back of the couch. Her coffee table had copies of Reader’s Digest and People magazine. On her kitchen counter was a ceramic cookie jar shaped like a kitten. You know the place.
“You’re on the couch,” she said. “And I’m taking a shower and going to bed.”
“Seriously? The couch?”
“You’re here to protect me. That’s all.”
I was about to argue, but I was so fucking tired. It had been a long night. She disappeared, and I heard the shower running. The bad boy in me wanted to slip in there with her, but after what she’d gone through last night, I might scare the shit out of her. So, I waited, and I fell asleep.
“Let me get you a pillow and a blanket. I’m so sorry.”
Carla’s voice woke me. She wore a long T-shirt, her hair was wet, and her rosy scent lingered. She was fres
h, clean, and so damn pretty. She left the room and returned with a folded-up blanket, a pillow, and a towel.
“Goodnight then,” she said.
“Good day,” I reminded her. It was six o’clock in the morning. The sun was shining outside.
“Good day then.”
She went into her bedroom and closed the door. I was exhausted but still had blood caked on me from my fight with the thugs at the motel. The shower felt great. Hot water sprayed with such force it felt like it was massaging out the knots in my shoulders. I was going to wash my hair until I got a whiff of the shampoo and realized that was where the rosy scent came from.
Ain’t no way in hell I’m smelling like fucking roses when I go back to the clubhouse.
With no change of clothes available, I went back to the couch with only a towel wrapped around me. I was fine sleeping that way. Carla might freak out when she came in, in the morning, but I was used to sleeping naked, so a towel would have to do.
Some women are rough. They’re eager. They rush into things. Others, usually the more experienced ones, know to take things slow. They relax. They savor the moment. The silky, wet, warmth of Carla’s mouth around my cock told me she was the latter. Surprisingly, I woke slowly and not in a violent tremor. If I’d kicked her, we both would have been in serious pain.
Instead, I lifted my eyelids to see her still in her T-shirt, her hair up in a bun, bringing my cock to full erection with her lips. She wasn’t looking at me. She had no interest in my reaction. This was her moment. Who knew how long it had been since she’d performed the act? She may have loved giving head in the past. Or maybe it had been more of a task she felt necessary to complete. Either way, it looked to me like she was lost in thought, maybe caught in a memory as she accepted my hardened form with her hand and slowly let her fist rise and fall over my shaft as her mouth took care of my head.
I must have breathed harder than I meant to because she looked my way and stopped. She didn’t remove her mouth, but she froze and watched me for a second. I nodded, and she closed her eyes and continued. One hand went to my balls where her nails lightly grazed them, driving me nuts. My back arched involuntarily, and I accidentally lifted my hips, fucking her mouth.
With one hand, Carla gently pressed my hips back down against the couch cushion. Then she moaned as she lowered her face over me again, stroked my cock, and massaged my balls all at the same time.
She pulled her mouth off me and said, “Do you like it?”
“Are you kidding me?”
She laughed.
All this time I’d been torn between showing Carla respect and simply fucking her the way I would any other chick who’d come onto me but wasn’t the relationship type. It had never been an issue before. If I found a woman sexy and she wanted me, we fucked. Then we both went our separate ways. Why was I treating Carla differently? Why was I making it a thing?
I wouldn’t any longer. I didn’t need to walk on eggshells with her. I needed to fuck her and fuck her good. She clearly wanted to be dirty. She needed to be ravaged. That was all. Doing this lovingly might shake her up and make her feel like she was dishonoring her husband, but hardcore fucking was an escape. She could later say she made a mistake and only needed to get it out of her system. I’d been a mistake before. I could handle it this time too.
She didn’t require someone to stick around and help pay bills, she didn’t want someone to control the TV remote, and she wasn’t interested in cleaning up after a man. All she wanted was one good moment of sexual bliss. I intended to give it to her.
“Come here,” I told her.
“Not yet,” she said.
“Now,” I insisted. “You keep doing what you’re doing but put your pussy right here.”
I pointed at my mouth. She raised her eyebrows and laughed.
“Yeah?”
“Why not?”
“Why the hell not then?” she replied as she lifted her T-shirt. She wasn’t wearing any panties and was shaved completely bare.
She climbed over me awkwardly. Getting into the sixty-nine position is never smooth. But once she was in place, she hesitated and I had to reach around, dig my fingernails into her ass cheeks, and pull her to me. My tongue found her clit easily, and as soon as I flattened my tongue against it, she moaned and pulled her mouth off me.
Her hips rocked, and I had to take control of her early, to remind her we were in this together. I slid my nose through her folds and tongued her all the way up, back to her clit, where I circled it and flicked against it. She was horny as fuck. I tried to control her, but she bucked her hips, lifted her ass, and slapped her pussy against my mouth.
She needed a tongue lashing. She’d been deprived of pleasure. I gave it to her as I clenched her ass as hard as I could and thrashed my tongue against her clit, hitting that sweet spot until she couldn’t hold on any longer. When she sounded like she was about to lose her mind, I mashed my widened tongue against her and lapped her up, sipping her juices and tearing into her until she held her breath and whined. She was about to burst… so I sucked on her. With her clit sucked between my lips and teeth, I wiggled my tongue against her.
Her panting quickened and she stopped blowing me. That was the moment I knew I had her. She couldn’t participate anymore. She was no longer a giver. Receiving was all she was interested in. Her head fell against my thigh and she cried out, whimpering and groaning as I fucked her pussy with my tongue.
“James,” she cried out.
It was her husband’s name, and I was okay with that. I flinched for only a second, surprised to hear a name that wasn’t mine, but then I went back to eating her pussy and she fell apart.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
I didn’t reply, I just found my spot and dashed my tongue against it until I felt her legs quiver.
“Oh, God!” she yelled.
She cupped a hand over her mouth and groaned into it.
“Oh, fuck! I’m coming. I’m coming. I’m coming, Pipe!”
No response was necessary other than completely devouring her. I wanted her to come.
“I can’t anymore,” she said.
I lifted her up and she turned around to face me. Her chest heaved up and down as she looked me in my eyes and climbed onto me. With a knee to each of my sides, she sat down on my cock, closing her eyes, and moaning as she sank onto me.
She lifted and rose with the rhythm of my hands at her hips. Her eyes never left mine until they began to water and she started to cry. She buried her face in my shoulder and kept fucking me.
“Carla,” I said.
“Don’t,” she replied. “Don’t stop. But let me keep my face here, okay?”
“You can’t look at me?”
“It’s just… it’s hard. I feel like—”
With a frustrated sigh, I lifted her off me.
“You shouldn’t be doing this if it hurts you that bad, Carla.”
“Pipe, please. I just need to be treated like a woman. This once.”
“You want to be treated like a woman?” I asked, my temperature rising. This was nothing more than a fuck, and I was starting to feel used. I shouldn’t have, since I knew in the beginning this was what she wanted, but I couldn’t help it. It hit me at the wrong time, and I guess I realized I meant nothing in this situation. Then it occurred to me that I’d been thinking of Tayla as she rode me. We were doing the exact same thing.
I was only a cock. She was a pussy. We were using each other I supposed. More than anything, I wanted to come and get it over with.
“You want to be treated like a woman?” I repeated.
She nodded. “I do.”
“Then bend the fuck over,” I told her as I pushed her toward the couch.
She bent at the waist and held onto the sofa arm. I wasn’t easy and I wasn’t soft as I lined the head of my cock up with her opening and shoved my way in. She slapped the couch as I drove deep into her.
“Ouch,” she said.
“I’ll stop if you
want me to.”
“No, please.”
“You like it like this?”
“Yes.”
So, I fucked her. She was so fucking wet, and I was so damn hard I just slammed into her over and over and over again. With my eyes closed, I fucked all my anger and depression out on her. In my mind, it was Tayla in front of me. It usually was in these situations. It was Tayla bent over in front of me the same way I was sure it was James behind Carla. She was imagining her husband’s cock inside her.
My voice was his. Her voice was Tayla’s.
I don’t know if Carla came again. I retreated into my own thoughts, memories, imagination. When it was time for me to let loose, I pulled out of her and came on the small of her back. As soon as it hit her back, she snatched up a couch pillow, put it to her face, and sobbed.
Nothing had ever felt so wrong as standing naked, my hands on my hips, my cock dangling, while a naked woman cried hysterically. All I could think to do was go to the kitchen, get a paper towel, and wipe her off. Everything about this felt wrong.
I placed the balled-up paper towel on the coffee table and sat on the couch, on my towel, and pulled Carla to me. She turned away at first, but she was a wreck, and she needed to be held. She cried there in my arms, sitting sideways on my lap like a child, curled up, with her head against my chest.
“I don’t know shit about heaven or hell,” I said, the words flowing out without me putting any real thought into them, “but I think your husband was probably a good man. You’re a great woman and you wouldn’t have chosen any less. Wherever he is, he knows you love him. He also knows that what just happened with us was only a physical need. It wasn’t emotional.”
She whimpered in my arms. Her sobs receded. She was listening.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Carla. You have needs. You did nothing wrong.”
“You’re not upset that I was thinking of him?”
“Are you upset that I was thinking of someone else too?”
She paused and I knew it was a difficult thing to hear, but I figured if she was being honest, I should be too.
“I guess it’s better that way,” she said. “It really couldn’t mean anything if we were both inside our heads.”