by Jaci J.
Samantha shivers, but jerks away from my touch instantly.
With her long blonde hair, wet and hanging all over the place, she looks like an escapee from a mental hospital. Immaculate makeup running and fancy blouse wet, Sam is goddamn mess. “Have someone else drive me,” she suggests. “I’m not goin’ with you.”
“Nah. You’re comin’ with me.”
“You can’t tell me no,” she says fiercely, a fire igniting in her blue eyes.
I chuckle, finding her funny as fuck, as usual. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.” She should know this shit. My reputation speaks volumes of me not giving a flying fuck if you do or don’t like what I do, or what I tell you to do.
Throwing her hand in the air, she growls, “It’s been like, what? Three years? We don’t even know each other anymore.” Samantha puts her hands up, shaking them back and forth between us. “Stranger danger.”
We don’t know each other? That’s fucking hilarious. I know every inch of that body, having spent nights inside of that tight cunt. I fucking know her.
“I’ll fuckin’ show you stranger when I take your ass behind the club and show you danger.”
She scoffs. “Whatever.”
Samantha thinks she’s funny. She’s not. But she’s even less funny when she turns on her heel and marches her ass back inside the club and away from me.
I’m not one to chase a bitch, but Samantha isn’t just any bitch, she’s the goddamn Princess, so I follow her, keeping my distance.
I watch her walk off, her hips swinging and ass swaying, damn proud of herself. It’s cute how she thinks she’s won. The woman is the biggest pain in the fucking ass, her attitude about as big as her sassy ass mouth. She’s a fucking know-it-all and a smartass. But Jesus Christ, there’s just something about her. It’s been years, but every fucking time I see her, I can’t help my goddamn self. I want a piece of her every fucking time.
Following her inside, I watch her walk through the crowded clubhouse and right up to Tank’s old lady. Sam says something to the chick and they both look at me. Lil doesn’t like me, and neither does Rampage’s old lady. The feeling’s mutual.
“She stayin’ then?” Danny Boy asks, walking up and standing next to me.
“Guess so.” I don’t know what the bitch is up to. Can’t be good by the way she’s looking at me though, eyes narrowed and lips curled.
“Fickle little shit. Always has been.”
I’ve known Samantha since I joined the club. I was eighteen, she was eight. She’s always been this way—bad, bossy, wild. But she’s the Princess; she does what she wants and we comply. “Wasn’t interested in catchin’ a ride with me.” She was more than interested a few years ago, but that’s a whole other story.
Danny Boy just shakes his head. “I need a beer. You need one, brother?”
Nodding, he holds up two fingers and waves over a prospect, who promptly brings over a couple of beers.
I should feel bad for fucking his daughter behind his back. Bending her over his desk and stuffing my cock in her tight wet cunt like I did the last time I was here, but I don’t. Sam takes it as good as she gives it, and the president’s daughter wanted it. Friend or not, his daughter’s body is mine.
“Charity run giving you hell?” I ask him, watching the way he’s staring at the group of people.
Dan chuckles, rubbing his temple. “Fucking things are a nightmare to put together, and to top it off, I’ve got fucked-up gun shipments. Goddamn Mexicans have been screwing with my bottom line so I cut ’em off, which put sales down, and now this.” He motions toward the room. “I’ve got problems comin’ out my damn ass.”
A charity run, a way to show the community we’re not a club full of bloodthirsty animals by giving back and shit. It’s also a chance for clubs to get together and swap war stories and ways to be better criminals. Ya know, important shit.
“And now the club’s fucking’ packed. People comin’ out of my damn ass too,” he adds, looking around at all the motherfuckers clogging up the stools, tables, and spaces in between.
“Lot of fucking bodies.”
He nods, agreeing.
We bullshit for a few more minutes until Dan’s pulled away.
Standing alone, I watch the party.
Samantha’s over with the other females, all of them shooting fucking daggers at me. Crazy bitches.
Walking behind the bar, I grab a bottle and lean back against the wall, watching her.
She’s glancing at me, then over at Tags, looking fucking mad and sad at the same time. The bitch is all over the damn place with all her goddamn issues. I know her and Tags had a thing for a while. I heard it was over, but that doesn’t mean that when I was here last year and they were a thing, I wasn’t balls deep inside of his “old lady” because Samantha’s mine. No matter what, she belongs to me. Boyfriend, husband, old man, that shit will never fucking matter. The Princess was mine, is mine, and will always be mine.
Samantha’s standing with her little group, who are exchanging nasty looks with some bitch hanging off Tags’ arm. It’s amusing. First it was me, and now it’s some slut in a skirt. Samantha’s something else, and it’s not a good thing.
Grabbing a beer from Lilly, Samantha walks her sexy ass over toward the bitch, and that’s when shit gets a little wild.
I can see her bucking up, ready for a fight, talking shit and giving the bitch nasty looks.
They exchange some words, and the bitch throws a drink at Sam. Everyone gets loud and Samantha grabs the chick by the hair, hard. In most instances, I’d let it go, let ’em fight it out, but what I don’t fucking like is when some asshole wearing a prospect patch grabs Sam’s arm and pulls on her. Sam’s got the bitch’s hair, hitting her, and the prospects got Sam, pulling on her.
Not gonna happen.
Setting down my bottle I walk their way, watching Sam wail away on the crying bitch.
I don’t care if Sam and the bitch wanna tear each other limb from fucking limb, but no man’s gonna put his hands on her. I don’t give a fuck how much she hates me, I’m the only one touching her while I’m here.
“You stupid fuckin’ skank,” Sam growls, hitting the girl in the face. It’s a punch. A real one. A solid one. I’m proud. I’m even prouder when the bitch’s nose starts to bleed.
Calmly, I grab the prospect and lay his ass out, giving him a mouthful of knuckles. He crumples to the floor, dropping Sam in the process.
Samantha falls to her ass, but that doesn’t last long. She gets up and goes for the bitch again, which I stop, grabbing her crazy ass up.
“Calm down,” I bark, holding onto her flailing ass, arms and legs flying everywhere. Screaming. Swinging. Kicking.
“Fuck you,” she screeches, swinging at me. “I fucking hate you. Fucking hate you both.”
Leaning into her ear, her back pressed against my chest and my arms around her middle, I tell her, “I fucking missed you, Princess.”
“Put me down, you fucking asshole.”
“Not gonna happen.” But it does happen. I set her back on her feet when her dad comes back inside and levels her with a look. He’s not happy, and I’m sure the fuck not getting in the middle of that shit. So I let her go, watching her back as she walks away.
“I’m going,” I grumble, finishing the last of my shot.
My hand hurts, and so does my head.
“Where?” Lil asks from Tank’s lap, a beer in one hand and a burger in the other.
“To shower and sleep.” Away from Tags. Away from King. It’s fucking suffocating. Away from the bitch in the corner with a bloody nose and a death wish. Away from everything.
“You’re not drivin, right?” Lil asks, concerned.
“Nope.” Not that I have a choice. My dad had my car blocked in, so I’m stuck.
Sighing, she nods. “Okay. Want me to go with?”
“No.” I need some damn air. “I’m good,” I tell her, looking at my red knuckles.
“Night, babe.”
/>
Getting off my stool, I give her a quick hug. “Night, Sis.”
I leave the club and walk outside, into the rain and away from the bullshit.
I walk through the back lot and the darkness until something stops me in my tracks.
“You missed me, didn’t you?” King asks, his voice deep and gravely from somewhere in the dark, from somewhere behind me.
I should’ve known the asshole would follow me.
Every hair on my body stands on end just hearing his voice. My heart takes flight and my palms break out in a cold sweat. No man has ever affected me the way this bastard does.
There’s an instant connection and I hate it. As soon as King’s near me, I can feel myself gravitating toward him when I should be running in the opposite direction.
Outside, between the bar and the rooms out back, I turn toward King’s voice, my body gravitating. “Sure.” My tone sarcastic, but I’m feeling anything but. Still, after all this time, he does something to me. Makes my insides melt, and at the same time, it hardens my heart.
“Sure?”
“Sure,” I repeat, my voice sounding firmer than it really is. The man turns me inside out. Breaks me down. Ruins me.
I watch him step out of the shadows, walking toward me, watching me intently. His body intimidatingly large. Overpowering. Overshadowing.
Grabbing the ends of my jacket, I wrap it tightly around me, suddenly cold and ready to be inside and away from King’s icy stare.
Twisting his head slowly, he looks me up and down, his eyes landing on my mouth. “Princess,” he mutters, a smoke hanging from between his lips. “C’mere.” He beckons me with a crook of his finger.
“No.”
He chuckles, his laugh raspy and anything but humorous. “No?” His eyes heat, the ice melting.
“I’m not doin’ this with you again, King,” I fume, taking a step back when he takes a couple toward me. I’ve been through enough with Tags in the last few months, and this is the last goddamn thing I want to do. But here I am, my feet not moving away from him.
He lifts a dark, teasing brow. “Doin’ what?” There’s something sinister in his eyes… something dark, something dangerous.
He’s goading me, trying to lure the words out of my mouth. King takes great satisfaction in making me do things I know I shouldn’t but want to do anyway. He’s heroine, and I’m an addict.
“Pull me in, that’s what you’re doin’.”
He doesn’t laugh often, but as soon as the words leave my mouth, he chuckles darkly. “Just sayin’ hi.” His voice is smooth and sharp. Hypnotic. “It’s been a while, baby.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. Nothing’s funny—it’s a painful laugh. “You’re messing with me, and you know I fucking hate it when you mess with me.”
We’ve been doing this for eleven years, since he took my virginity when I was eighteen. The man has been under my skin and between my thighs ever since. Ten years older than me, I knew he was a bad idea back then, just like he is now, but here we are, twisted and wrapped around each other in some sick fucking relationship, if you can even call it that.
“I remember it differently. You see, I remember you likin’ it when I mess with you.”
He’s twisting words. Bending them.
Turning on my heels, I walk off. “I’m done. Not doin’ this shit,” I call back at him.
He chuckles again. “We’ll see.”
“Yeah, we will!” I shout. Cold and wet, I’m starting to sober up quickly. I’m not interested in hanging out here with him in the middle of the lot and letting him get to me.
In room five, in the shower, I try to wash King and the day away, but I’m lost in thought about the man that’s haunted me for so long, I can’t remember a memory without him. Which is ironic considering we’ve spent all of thirty days together, in total, in the twenty years I’ve known him.
King the ghost, here one minute and gone the next. I know little to nothing about him, yet I know his body better than my own. It’s infuriating to know someone and not know them at the same time.
He keeps me at a distance, always has.
Rinsing my hair, I flip off the water and step out of the shower. Wrapping my towel around my body and my hair in a messy knot, I walk out into bedroom and stop dead. Sitting in the chair in the corner, smoking a cigarette is King, his eyes trained right on me.
Waiting. Hunting.
“Door was locked,” he informs me.
“Breaking and entering? You could do jail time for that.”
Taking a drag from his smoke, his lips quirk around the filter. “Funny girl,” he huffs, a scolding twist in his words.
Pointing at the door, I grip the towel tighter, knowing where this will go if I don’t get rid of him right now. “Get out of my room, King.”
Taking another drag, a cloud of smoke circling his head, he shakes his head slowly. Never one to do what he’s told, I knew my words were fruitless. King’s not leaving until he’s ready to leave.
Kicked back, knees casually spread, he pulls the smoke from his lips and pinches the smoldering tip, putting it out with his fingers.
Jesus, why does he have to be so appealing, so sexy, yet so absolutely awful at the same time? He’s a habit I just can’t fucking quit. I need rehab.
“You’re full of fuckin’ sass tonight.”
“Go away.”
“Nah. I’m good right here,” he growls, pointing at the chair he’s occupying.
I make the mistake of turning my back on him. Stupid, stupid girl.
It only takes a moment before he’s out of the chair and standing inches from my back and subconsciously I knew he would be.
I’m a fucking glutton. I miss his hands. Miss his touch. Miss him.
Running a calloused finger down my back, along my spine, from my neck to my towel, I shiver despite trying desperately not to. Don’t fall for his shit again. Don’t slip.
“Don’t,” I whisper, the words stuck in my throat.
“Don’t what?” he teases, his finger working the material of my towel down my back, exposing more and more skin as he goes. “Give you exactly what that greedy pussy wants?”
“Fuck with me. We’re not doin’ this, King.” I can’t.
“We’re not?”
Before I can get a breath in, let alone another word out, he’s got me naked and over his shoulder. I could fight him, tell him no. He might stop, but I don’t want him to, not really. Because when I’m with King, everything else ceases to exist, and right now, I want nothing more than to pretend like nothing exists.
“Looks like we’re doin’ this shit, Princess,” he growls, his hands all over my body.
I land on my back on the bed, naked. I’m not embarrassed or ashamed because the only thing King loves is my body, and he loves it hard.
I’ve got issues, but his are bigger. Mine are pretty, clean, orderly. His? His issues are dark, dangerous, dirty. I’m sick, but he’s twisted.
I let him touch me, run his rough hands up my soft skin, leaving it dirty and scarred.
“King?” I moan, desperate and needy. And he gets it. He knows. King understands me.
“I know, Princess.”
I can’t leave her the fuck alone. Never could.
As much as I fucking hate it, and I fucking hate it, I always find my way back to Samantha and back between her legs. She hates me, and I’m okay with that. She fucking should hate me, but her hate doesn’t outweigh her need for me because here she is, naked, and letting me touch her. Again.
The feel of that tight cunt squeezing my dick? Fucking heaven. The way she clings to me, my name whispered on her lips? Fucking bliss. The Princess knows how to get to me in these moments. The bitch twists me in knots and guts me at the same goddamn time, and I fucking let her.
Pushing my way between her thighs, I touch her. Spreading her pussy lips, I get a good look at the soft pink flesh that’s always so wet for me. “Your cunt missed me.” I could eat the bitch whole.
“Got something’ wrong with you, baby.” I don’t know why she lets me do this shit to her either, because she shouldn’t. Sam should stay as far away from me as fucking possible, but she doesn’t, and I thank fuck for that.
I’ve only been here a few hours and I’ve already got what I really came for—a piece of the Princess. Sure, I came because Dan asked me to, but I stayed because of Samantha.
Licking a path up her belly, I bite the underside of her plump tit. Her body jerks in response. “Scared?” I tease, sucking at the soft skin, loving the way she squirms.
“Of you?” she asks, her voice far away. “No.”
“You’re stupid, baby, because you should be.”
Pulling a nipple into my mouth, I suck on it, while my finger pumps in and out of her soaked pussy. Her body is heaven, soft and smooth. Shoving a second finger inside of her, I take great fucking pleasure in the moan that falls out of her slack mouth and the way her eyes roll.
“Still like my fingers?” I muse, loving the look on her face.
“And your mouth,” she whispers, her voice husky when I stick my tongue in her pussy, tasting her cunt.
“But you like my cock more,” I growl against her, watching her jerk and shake, her pussy smashed against my face.
She nods and throws her head back when I add a third finger, stretching her out, and let my thumb play with her clit. She’s easy. Easy for me anyway. I know what Samantha likes and how she likes it. There’ve been other motherfuckers in between, but I was there first and I’ll be here last. This pussy is mine.
Kicking my boots off, I go for my jeans next, and then my shirt. I’m done playing. I want to be deep inside of her body. Lost in her.
“Condom,” she pants, squeezing her knees to keep me out.
“No.” I want that pussy bare, the way I had it the first time I had it and the last time I had it.
She groans. “You’re trying to get me pregnant.” I know she’s joking, but…