by Jaci J.
Actually, it’s funny. So fucking funny, I fist my cock in my hand and shove it inside of her, making her yelp as her pussy tightens around me. “Pregnant yet?” I growl, pulling back out of her softness slowly, savoring her slick tightness.
“Maybe,” she whispers, hooking an arm under mine and pulling me on top of her. “If not, then try again.”
She’s sick and a little twisted. I fucking love it.
“Hard or slow?”
“Hard and fast.”
I give it to her exactly how she wants it—rough.
Pumping in and out of her, I fuck the Princess hard, like I’m fucking mad at her. Tits bouncing and ass jiggling, I can’t get enough. I could spend forever between her thighs and deep inside of her, but I’ll settle for tonight.
Lying back on the bed, hands braced behind my head, I watch Samantha walk out of the bathroom, butt ass naked.
Long tan legs, a set of tits worth dying for, and the face on an angel, the bitch is more than I deserve. Fuck, she’s gorgeous, but she’s frowning. Looking at me like she wants me dead.
“You mad, baby?”
“I fucking hate you, King,” she whispers, running her fingers under her eyes, wiping around the smudged black makeup.
Scooting up in the bed, leaning back against the wall, I laugh at her. “You tell me that shit every time, yet here you are.”
She hates me – nothing new.
Bending down, she grabs my tee from the floor and slips it on, throwing her hair up in some knotted mess on her head. “Yeah, because there’s something fucking wrong with me,” she mutters, crawling back onto the bed and under the sheet next to me. “I just keep lettin’ you come back.”
This is the only time this shit happens. Only time I stay after sex. Only time I let a bitch lay her head on my chest and hook her leg over mine. Samantha is the only bitch that gets this shit from me, and she’s the only one that ever will.
“Why are you here?” Looking me directly in the eyes, she lays her head on my chest. She thinks she can tell if I’m lyin’. She’s cute. Lyin’ is like breathing for me.
“Here for the charity run.”
“Really?” She’s looking at me incredulously, eyebrows damn near in her hair.
I chuckle, enjoying her skepticism. “Yep. Charity and shit.”
She rolls her eyes, not buying it. “Sure. Charity. So how long you here this time then? A day or two?” she asks, not knowing why I’m really here. I won’t be the one to tell her.
Her hand on my stomach floats, sliding down toward my dick. “Here to hit it and quit it?” Her voice smooth, teasing. “Get some pussy and go?” she adds, wrapping her little fingers around my cock, squeezing, making me harder—if that’s even fucking possible. I may have just nutted, but with Samantha in the room and wearing no panties, I’m hard and ready to go again.
“Yeah, baby,” I groan, eyes sliding closed, enjoying her little hand working my dick up and down slowly. “Drove through the night to play with your pussy.” I lie, watching her crawl under the blanket and disappearing.
“It’s good pussy,” Samantha mutters, licking a wet path up my rock-hard cock. Fuck, the woman gives head like a goddamn goddess. “Good enough to hang around for a while?” I know exactly what she’s implying, and the bitch knows exactly how to get me to agree.
I want to go, but I’ll stay—for a while.
Sucking me hard, I grunt and nod, agreeing to whatever she wants. She could ask me for a ring right now and I’d probably give it to her. “Yeah, baby, I’ll stay.” For as long as it takes me to catch and bury your stalker, and then I’m gone. But I don’t say that. I just close my eyes and enjoy the princess on her knees with my cock down her throat and her hand on my balls.
The club is eerily quiet. Everyone’s asleep, passed out on couches and the floor. It’s a big ass biker slumber party.
Creeping through the main room, stepping over sleeping bags, I make my way into the kitchen in search of coffee. I need coffee after the night I had. Desperately need it.
In the kitchen, I find the coffee maker with dried out coffee grounds in a filter that I’m sure has been used more than once, crusted to the coffee maker.
“Gross,” I mutter, peeling it from the sides and chucking it into the garbage can. The thing lands with a thud.
It takes some digging and searching, but I find the new filters and the coffee, both on opposite sides of the kitchen, nowhere near where they should be.
Dumping the grounds into the filter, I plop it in, pour in some water and start the beast up.
Sitting down at the bar, a donut in my hand, I breathe in the alluring aroma of fresh brewed coffee. If King is heroine, then coffee is coke. I’ve got addictions, with coffee and King being two of them.
Elbows on the bar, I practically come out of my skin when someone says, “Princess” near my shoulder.
“Shit!” I yelp, hand on my heart.
“Jesus, girl, calm down,” my dad chuckles, scratching at his beard. He just woke up, and he’s wearing his hangover proudly, with bloodshot eyes and a massive five o’clock shadow.
“You scared me.”
He laughs, walking around the bar toward the kitchen. “Want me to grab you a cup?” he asks, looking at the coffeemaker, and then at me.
“Yeah, please.”
I watch him fill two cups—one black, and the other a creamy shade of perfection. “Don’t know how you drink this sweet shit,” he mutters, handing me my cup, a grimace on his face.
“Addiction,.” I shrug, taking the piping hot mug, wrapping my hands around the ceramic and inhaling the sweet scent of familiarity. Coffee smells like my dad. Coffee and motor oil.
Sitting down next to me, he says, “So you stayed last night.” He looks at my oversized T-shirt, disastrous hair and messy makeup.
Rubbing at my forehead, I sigh. “Yeah. It was a rough night and I had to. Someone blocked my car in,” I grumble, eyeing him.
Feeling the effects of alcohol and King, I listen to my headache beat along to the rhythm of my rolling stomach.
I can’t believe I let King fuck me. Again. I’m stupid. Beyond stupid. The man is heartbreak in a cut.
My dad just nods, understanding. He knows I’ve been a mess. A disaster, really. My life has been anything but normal my entire life, and these past few months haven’t been much different. “Who’s shirt?”
I lie. I know he’s assuming it’s Tags’, even though we’re over. My dad knows we’ve been back and forth for a while, and as much as I don’t like him much anymore, I almost wish it was Tags I was with last night. It would be easier. “It’s Tyler’s. Stayed in his room last night.” That’s not a lie. Not his shirt, but I did stay in his room.
“He didn’t sleep here last night?”
“Nope.”
My dad rolls his eyes. “Must’ve taken off with that bitch wearin’ that short skirt, her ass-cheeks hangin’ out.”
That makes me laugh. My dad’s a biker. Rough and crude, but every now and then, the disapproving dad he tries to hide comes out. “Was she something special?” I didn’t see her. I didn’t see my brother either, not that I’d expected to. Tyler’s always on the go. Never in one place too long.
“His usual.”
“Gross.” I shudder, sipping my coffee and picturing his “usual.” Bleach blonde hair with dark roots out to there. Short something or other, either showing serious underboob or ass cheeks. Hair reaching the heavens and makeup from the dollar bin. His ‘something special’ is nothing special. I wish my brother would find something real, something sweet, and settle down, but that’s not T.
Shoulder to shoulder, we drink our coffee in silence, until my dad says, “You saw King, yeah?”
My stomach rolls just hearing his name. I hate that my dad doesn’t know about us. Hate hiding things from him, but I’m not brave enough to tell him. Pretty sure I never will be. “Yeah?” I answer carefully, not sure where this is going and what he’s about to say.
&
nbsp; My dad sets his cup down and turns toward me. Must be serious. Maybe he does know. Shit. In my head, I start coming up with excuses and explanations, until he says, “Now before you lose your shit and cop the attitude, hear me out, okay?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not that bad.”
He barks out a loud laugh. “You’re bad, baby.”
“Whatever.” I’m not as bad as they make me out to be, but I just wave him on anyway. I’m not about to argue with him this early in the morning, and without a second cup of morning cocaine. “What about King?”
“He’s here for you.”
Excuse me?
I almost choke on a mouthful of coffee, damn near spitting out the warm liquid. “Why?” I cough, swallowing the coffee and wiping at my mouth.
“That motherfucker that’s been giving you a hard time is provin’ to be a little more than just your run-of-the-mill asshole. He’s been givin’ us the runaround, and with national run here, I need someone who can focus on that shit. Get it under control.” What my dad means is that he’s busy and needs this stalker dead and buried before the weekend rolls around. I trust my dad can handle the issue, but I also know if someone needs a body dead and gone quickly, King’s the man for the job.
King never stays longer than a day or two so… “How long will he be here?”
“However long that shit takes.”
“Yay,” I mutter around my mug, eyes closing in pain, but my dad levels me with a sharp look. “Don’t give him shit, Sammy. He’s here to help. Stick close to him. Be nice.”
“I’m always nice.” As I nice as I can be.
It’s my dad’s turn to roll his eyes. “Right. You’re a ray of fuckin’ sunshine. I love you, baby girl, but you’re a pain in the ass and you know it.”
Finishing my coffee, I get up, leaving my cup on the bar. “I’ll be an angel,” I tell him, kissing his cheek. “The sweetest.”
He chuckles. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
Holding up my hand, I say, “Scout’s honor.” I walk away, smirking. King lied. He lied to my face and he knows better.
“You were never a scout,” he calls after me as I walk off, laughing.
Before I disappear through the door, I yell out, “But I could’ve been.”
Laughing, he shakes his head. “Scouts are for people with dicks.”
“Whatever.” I don’t care. What I do care about is killing King.
Sitting on a couch, a drink in one hand, and some bitch in a low-cut dress damn near on my knee, I tune out her constant yappin’ and bullshit with Buck. Well, I fucking try to, but she keeps talking about her dress—where she got it and how hard it was to get on. I don’t fucking care about her goddamn dress. She could be on fire and I wouldn’t give a shit. First, it’s the dress, and next it’s her shoes. I can’t do it anymore, not with this bitch anyway.
“Listen, you can sit here and get me drinks and shit, but shut the fuck up while you do it,” I groan, tired of her voice, which sounds an awful lot like nails on a goddamn chalkboard.
Buck chuckles, head shaking.
“Sorry,” she giggles, clutching her pink drink. “Tequila makes me chatty and horny.” She looks at me. Like I fucking care. Alcohol or not, if I wanted some pussy from her she’d hand it over, no questions asked.
“Jesus, these females,” Buck mutters, giving the bitch the side-eye when she giggles again about nothing. The girl’s about twelve cells shy of a functioning brain.
I have no comment for that because the only bitch I can stand is Samantha, and that’s not saying a lot. She gives me a run for my damn money most of the time. “Her house, got a lot of neighbors?” I ask Buck, getting a little backstory on Sam.
“A couple. She’s on a cul-de-sac in that new development up by the hospital. Last house at the end.”
“Wooded area behind her place or more houses?”
“I live in an apartment,” Botox Barbie butts in, still giggling. The bitch is bouncy, looking like she’s stroking out. Jesus fucking Christ.
Tossing back the rest of the liquid in my glass, I shove the empty at her. “Get up. I need another drink.” I’m done hearing her voice.
I don’t even know what the fuck she’s doing sitting here. I sat down and so did she. The bitch has been here since.
“Oh,” she mumbles, her smile gone. “What do you want?” She looks at me and then the drink, a stupid glazed look in her eyes.
Fucking annoyed, I shrug. “Don’t care. Need a burger too. And fries.” Anything to get her to go the fuck away.
“Okay,” she agrees, smiling again, her pink lips stretched from ear to ear. “I’ll cook you up something good.” It’s fucking doubtful the bitch can even turn on a microwave, but as long as she leaves, I’m good.
Buck laughs. “Grab me a refill too, yeah?”
She takes both of our glasses and smiles, perking back up. “Yeah. Be right back.”
“Take your time.” Jesus fuck, please take your fucking time. Get lost. Find another guy. I don’t care what you do, just get the fuck away from me.
“Anyway, I gotta go over there, look around. Know anything about her security?” Because I know damn well Danny Boy hooked her up with something.
“Doors and windows. Linked to the cops and here. Nothin’ more than we usually do because fuck knows we don’t usually have this issue.”
I have no doubt Danny set her up, but I’m guessin’ it’s not enough now.
Talkin’ shop, security, and strategies to find this fucker with the yappy bitch damn near on my lap again, the front door opens and in walks Samantha.
Swear to fucking Christ, I feel her before I fucking see her. The woman’s like a tsunami. Fierce. Wild. Unpredictable. And deadly.
Her eyes find me immediately and she glares. Hard. The princess doesn’t look happy to see me. In fact, she looks downright murderous.
Fuck me.
Giving me a little one finger wave with her middle finger, she walks right on by, muttering, “Prick,” veiled as a half-assed cough.
Here we go.
Pushing fake boob Barbie off my lap, I get up and follow Samantha, who’s hustling her sexy ass away from me, through the club, as fast as fucking possible.
“Walkin’ pretty fast there, baby.” I laugh when she lets the hall door swing shut right into me.
The bitch is playing hard today.
“Go back to your slut,” she barks over her shoulder, still walking. I fuck other bitches when I’m not here, but when I’m here, it’s always Samantha. Only the princess, and she fucking knows it. She can play this little game, act wounded and hurt, but Sam knows the score. She can be the victim and I’ll play the bad guy.
“Nah. I’m more interested in you,” I tell her lightly, enjoying her frown.
“I’m not here to see you, King,” she snaps, walking down the back hall, heels clicking on the old wood. Fuck, those heels would look good wrapped around my head.
“No shit, baby. The way you disappeared yesterday mornin’ spelled that shit out.”
Woke up to Samantha gone, the bed cold and my dick limp. The bitch pulled a runner on me and I haven’t seen her since. I don’t like that shit. Not when it comes to her.
“Where you been?” I ask her, pretending not to know.
Samantha thinks she clever, trying to duck and dodge me. There’s nowhere on this fucking planet she could hide from me. Not her dad’s house, and not Ellison and Rock’s place. The bitch can try, but I’ll always find her, yet it’ll be fun to hear the lie she’ll spin to try and cover her tracks.
“Here and there,” she says dismissively, a nasty smile on her face. She wants to fight.
“Oh yeah? You have fun spendin’ the night here and there with Ellison?”
Her eyes narrow and her mouth snaps shut. I got her.
“Fuck you,” she spits, her chin lifted in defiance. Wow, that was a clever comeback.
“Okay.” I shrug. If she wants some dick she knows I’ll give it to her. S
he’s only threatening me with a good time.
She laughs, sounding a little unhinged. “You lied to me, King.”
“Oh yeah? Kinda like you just did?”
Stopping, she turns on her heels with her hands on her hips. “Yeah, shocker. You lied.” The sarcastic little shit.
“I am?”
“Liar, liar,” she mocks.
“Cute.”
Jesus, I could do this shit with Samantha all goddamn day. She’s sexy as fuck in her tight black slacks and lacy little tank under some matching jacket deal. All business and class. Makes me want to shove her against the wall and stick my tongue in her cunt and a finger in her ass. Ya know, make her feel dirty.
But that shit ain’t gonna happen. Not with the way she’s staring at me. Not unless I tear her pants off and hold her ass down. Because the woman is mad, and when she’s mad she’s mean, and when she’s mean, we all pay.
“What’d I lie about?”
“Told me you were here for the run, when in reality, you’re here to “save” me from my stalker.” She uses fucking air quotes, like I couldn’t save her ass. Like I wouldn’t.
“I’m not here to save you because there’s no savin’ you, baby. Here to put an end to a problem.” I couldn’t save Samantha even if I rode in on a white horse in a suit of armor, wielding a fucking sword. The bitch is so far beyond saving, it’s comical. Too independent. Too strong. Too smart. Too goddamn tough. But I’m here to keep her alive and breathing, and I take that seriously.
She scoffs. “Whatever. I’m fine. That guy hasn’t been around for a while. I’m good.”
“You’re good?” I tease, walking toward her. She’s anything but good. A mess? Sure. Crazy? Hell fucking yes. Good? Not even close.
Her hair is in some tight little knot at the back of her head. I kinda want to tear it out of that clip and bury my fingers in it while she sucks my dick. “How good are you, Sam?” I ask her, stalking her.
“I’m here to drop some paperwork off with my dad, that’s all.” Hand on my chest, she stops my advance. “Not play games with you.”