by Zoey Derrick
I feel a tingle and tremors course through my veins. My body locks down as something explodes out of me and I cry out his name.
Realizing it’s an orgasm, I start to panic a little, but Loki doesn’t stop sucking my clit, my legs twitch with each swipe of his tongue until his hand is between my legs. His fingers, callused and dry, touch my center. He spreads his juices along my entrance before he slides a finger inside me. I cry out again. He only dips his finger in a little, but it’s enough to make my legs quake again.
After a few small strokes in and out with his finger, he releases my clit from his mouth and sits up. I can barely see him as he wraps a meaty hand around his cock before he’s sliding it up and down my slit. I moan. “Loki, I…”
“Shh,” he says before he’s pressing into my entrance. “Fuck me, you’re tight as hell,” he groans as he pushes a little farther into me before pulling back.
I grunt as the pain registers.
He’s huge, spreading me wide open, but he doesn’t stop. I don’t want him to stop. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.
He continues moving with tiny thrusts in and out of my sex for a few more strokes, then his hands slide under my hips, lifting me up, giving him a better angle and once he’s satisfied, he pushes in hard and fast.
I scream as pain ignites in my body as he rips through my virginity and growls, “Fuck,” in anger. “Why didn’t you stop me?” He’s pissed, but he doesn’t pull out or push in farther.
“You wouldn’t let me talk,” I counter, tears stinging the backs of my eyes as rejection slides through me. He’s going to pull out, get dressed and end this. I feel it in my veins.
“You’re a fucking virgin,” he groans.
“Not anymore,” I mutter. He goes to sit up and pull out. “Don’t,” I say, wrapping my legs around his waist. “Finish it,” I tell him.
He shakes his head, but I clench my muscles involuntarily and it’s like an animal takes over and he starts thrusting in and out of me in little bursts. It hurts at first but then the longer his strokes get, the more rhythmic, the less it hurts and the more it starts to feel amazing.
A sensation similar to earlier starts to creep through my sex and outward through my body. I feel my muscles tighten around him and he grunts.
“Fuck,” he groans, this time the anger is gone. “So, good. So, fucking tight. Tight fucking cunt.” He starts pushing into me harder and faster. My orgasm builds again. It doesn’t take but a few more strokes before the pleasure overwhelms me and my orgasm takes over.
My inner walls clamp around his cock and he pushes into me hard and fast until I feel a hot rush inside me and he grunts out my name.
His body twitches with his orgasm.
He collapses on top of me, our breathing ragged and uneven. He presses his forehead to mine, but he says nothing, just lets his breathing return to normal while his cock softens and he rolls over, taking me with him as he wraps his arms around me, holding me tight. My back to his front. His hand comes to rest over my left breast, his fingers twitching slightly against the tight, sensitive pebble of my nipple.
After a few minutes, his breathing levels out and he starts snoring softly in my ear.
My heart explodes with something I’m not sure of. I’ve been in love with Loki for years. I’d always hoped he’d be the one to take my virginity. I snuggle into him a little deeper, his cock hardens between us, and I know I’ve gotten my wish. I follow him in slumber moments later, wrapped tight in his arms.
While it’s still dark in my room, I awaken to Loki’s fingers pinching my left nipple and his mouth wrapped around my right. I moan.
The next thing I know, he’s pushing back inside my sore, aching center, but within a few strokes the ache is gone, replaced by an overwhelming orgasm. He pushes into me harder and faster as if he’s reading my mind. I moan and cry out his name when my orgasm consumes me and he pumps in once, twice, three times before he explodes inside me. We fall back to sleep without words.
The sun is hot and pouring in my window.
I roll over, breathing deep, pulling in the scent of Loki on the pillow until realization hits me that I’m alone. Disappointment slices through me and I sit up. His boots, jeans and cut are gone; the only thing left is a black t-shirt, the same one he was wearing during dinner. Excitement fills me. There’s no way he left without his t-shirt. I head for the bathroom, but something on the bed catches my eye and I pause to look.
The reddish brown evidence of my virginity lingers on the sheets. A shiver slides up my spine as I remember him between my legs. Desire ignites and I swing open the bathroom door, only to close it again when I realize I’m nearly naked. My tank is askew and my shorts are nowhere to be found.
I look on the other side of my bed and nothing. “Where?”
Then I look out the window, the same one I saw him pull up through yesterday and his bike is gone. Sticks’ bike is in his place. My heart sinks into my stomach.
I find a pair of pajama pants in my suitcase and throw them on with a t-shirt after righting my tank top. I leave the t-shirt Loki left behind in my room as I head downstairs to find Sticks sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee. “Where’s Loki?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “Wasn’t here when I got home.”
“When was that?” I ask.
“About an hour ago.”
I look at the clock on the microwave- it’s six forty-five in the morning.
My virginity is gone.
Loki is gone.
It’s only now when I realize that I lost my virginity to a badass biker douche who couldn’t even face me in the morning. Or wear a condom.
Part Two
Chapter One
LOKI
Six Years Later
“Yeah, I get you, Big Daddy,” I say into the phone before pressing the end button. Shit is finally going down around this hellhole of an MC club.
Rooster is about to fry.
Gunnar and the rest of his goons are going down with him.
I step into the clubhouse. Taz, one of the clubhouses long-time whores, is putting her tits in the face of Rack, one of the recent additions to Wicked Angels. He’s all too willing to suck one of her huge nipples into his mouth.
My cock hardens.
Ignoring the slut desperate to get laid, I approach the bar where Pyro is sitting and flicking his lighter. He has long hair, dark chocolate brown, and a wicked scar on the side of his face from hairline to his Adam’s apple. I asked him once where it came from and he just grunted in his gravelly voice and that was the end of it.
When he showed up here a few years ago, he was already sporting it.
He was sent down from Boulder because we needed some more muscle here.
At least that’s what Big Daddy told Rooster.
I’m the only one who knew the real reason for his visit, or rather, extended vacation. But that’s beside the point. Big Daddy and the Tucson guys are finally ready to make their move on Roswell to extricate Rooster from his post.
Since Tryke’s death six years ago, no one has dared challenge Rooster for president, no one except Pyro and me. Though we’re not exactly running toward that opportunity. It’s something he and I have talked about, privately. It’s not something you bring other people in on. You do that, you get dead.
Pyro flicks his lighter again. “What’s goin’ down, brother?” I say to him.
“Same shit.” His voice is gravelly, like he’s smoked a dozen packs of smokes a day for years. The truth is the wicked scar caused some damage to his vocal cords. The girls around here find it sexy as fuck. Swear to God, this man gets more pussy than a strip club on payday. I shake my head. My eyes land once again on Taz, who’s moved to hike up her skirt and straddle Rack. It takes everything I have to not walk up behind her and slip it in her ass while she rides him.
“Leave it,” Pyro says. “She don’t deserve a double team,” he grumbles before swallowing back his whiskey.
He’s right, but still, i
t would be fun as fuck to watch Rack’s eyes bug out of his head as I did it.
The prospect behind the bar moves away. “One more,” I whisper so only Pyro can hear it.
“About fucking time,” he whispers harshly back.
“It’s been six years, what’s one more month,” I whisper back.
“Pyro,” a voice calls from the hallway. We both look over to see Rooster standing there.
“Yeah?” he says.
“Need you and Loki to get over to Iron Wings, Loni’s got somethin’ for you,” Rooster says.
“What would that be?” I ask.
“A new piece of ass? How the fuck would I know? Just get ya’asses o’er there and find out,” Rooster orders. The man has not aged well these last six years. His face is lined with wrinkles, he cut off his hair because he couldn’t take care of it, and he’s lost a hell of a lot of weight. Frankly, he looks like shit. Good.
“Yup,” Pyro says before slamming back the rest of his whiskey and setting the glass on the bar and heading for the door. I follow him out into the warm Roswell sun and we climb on our bikes. He kicks his over first, I follow and off we go down the street.
Ten minutes later and we’re pulling into the Iron Wings Saloon, a Wicked Angels owned bar that’s just off the highway and our biggest money making joint in Roswell. We don’t hold a candle to Boulder, but it works well for us.
There are a couple cars in the lot, none of which I recognize, not uncommon, but the bar doesn’t open for another couple of hours. Odds are we’re here for a pick-up. Loni, the bar’s manager, usually holds funds until the end of the week, but on big nights, she has it picked up the next morning.
The bar is a front for many things, including, but not limited to, drugs and prostitution. The bar’s lot is shared with a truck stop. Best marketing plan on the planet, fuck you very much. You get bikes, dykes, and trucks, most of the time, in the same night, every night.
I lead the way inside. Pyro hates coming over here. I can’t say it’s my favorite either, but I do it because I have no choice.
We step inside and I pull my shades off my eyes and tuck ‘em into the back of my cut. Easier to keep them back there. “Loni,” I call out.
“Back here,” she answers and I head toward the back office.
“Thanks, Skit, for coming in.”
I hear a soft laugh that rattles a memory in the back of my brain, but I bury it before I let it consume me.
“Skit, that’s a new one,” I hear the voice say and it’s sexy with a southern twang worked in.
Loni laughs back, “The hair, it looks like skittles.”
I shake my head. Must be a new hire. Which means Rooster wasn’t too far off. Then again, Loni hires who she wants, when she wants, and she doesn’t give five shits if anyone else is interested in them.
“Can you start tonight?” Loni asks whoever she’s speaking with in her office.
“Absolutely, what time?” the girl replies, and again the southern accent is almost sweet, or maybe it’s just her voice.
She has to be a new piece of ass, though I doubt Loni had time to call Rooster about it before she offered her the job.
“Six to close?” Loni asks.
“I’ll be here, thanks Loni,” the girl says.
They exchange good-byes and the next thing I know, this gorgeous five-foot something in hooker heels with green hair and black streaks that remind me of the inside of a kiwi, slams face first into my chest. The scent of strawberries assaults my nose and my mind flies back to six years ago and the night I took the virginity of my best friend’s sister.
No way.
Chapter Two
SKIT
“Sorry ‘bout that,” I drawl.
“Where’s the fire, sugar tits?”
“Back off,” Loni, the woman I just interviewed with, snaps.
I don’t bother lifting my eyes to look at the man I ran into, I simply skirt around him and head for the door. I can feel his eyes boring into the back of my head as I look up into a pair of chocolate brown eyes framed with full lashes. A wicked scar runs down the side of his face. The eyes narrow at me in confusion. There’s something familiar about them, I can’t place them before he shies away from me. Putting his scar on full display. The ragged looking line runs from hairline, over his jaw and down his neck.
“What the hell, Lon, hiring virginal newbies to work for you?” I hear the man I ran into ask.
“Fuck off, she’ll be fine. She’s been working in a biker bar for the last five years. I’m pretty sure your hulk-ass being in her way didn’t help.”
“Whatever. What you got for us?” I don’t stick around to find out why she’d called these two over before I’m plowing through the front door and headed toward my car.
The moment I finally look around, I realize I am in a shit ton of trouble when I see a very familiar bike sitting in the parking lot.
“He’ll be back,” I mutter.
I climb in my car, throw off my hooker heels before turning on the car and backing out. Just as I’m about to pull from the lot, the bar’s door opens and out steps the two men I ran into before.
“Shit,” I grumble before turning away and peeling out of the parking lot.
Once I get home, I head into my ensuite bathroom to strip myself out of the getup I’m wearing.
I stop to look in the mirror and my eyes land on the picture of me that was taken a couple days after arriving in Colorado. I had it taken so I could remember who that girl is, regardless of where I am.
I had shorter, strawberry blonde hair, barely visible eyebrows because of the blonde tint to them. My nose was perfect, small and innocent looking. I have no make-up on. That used to be a standard for me. I never wore it. In fact, I hated it with a passion. I never understood why a girl had to cover her face in order to look pretty. My eyes are bright green in the picture. My shoulders were small, just like the rest of me.
My eyes roam to the mirror now. My hair is long, just kissing the top of my butt; my shoulders wider, my arms are stronger, more toned and defined from hours in the gym lifting weights. I pop out the contacts in my eyes and see the purple hue that covers the lens as I place them into the solution until tonight.
My chest is bigger than it was back then. I barely filled in a C-cup before and now I’m overflowing a D. My nose is a little misshapen, complements of a cat fight a few years ago. I got the bitch pretty good, but she broke my nose in the process. My eyebrows are dark, colored, waxed and plucked to perfection and my face is layered in make-up. Everything from foundation to colored-in eyebrows, giving them a fuller look, down to heavy eye shadow, today it’s green with eyeliner, mascara, a little blush to highlight my cheekbones and lipstick. Today it’s red.
It took me a long time to learn how to do my make-up, but working in a biker bar taught me a lot about what men like.
I no longer own baggy jeans and t-shirts, except the shirts I wear to bed. I now have an entire wardrobe of low-rise, boot cut jeans, various skirts, and leather pants, corsets, tight tank tops, basically anything that will show off the womanly figure I have compared to the girlie figure of six years ago.
All in preparation for this, right here and now. But running into him so fast wasn’t exactly part of my plan.
Chapter Three
LOKI
“Why we going back there?” Pyro says.
“I want another look at that sweet piece of ass from earlier,” I tell him.
“Not a good idea, brother.” He groans, “You know how Loni is about us fucking with her newbies. She’ll bust your fucking balls.”
“Better than sitting around this shithole working the same pieces of ass I’ve been tapping for the last eight years. At least there I can pick up a piece of passerby.” Or Skit, I add in my mind.
“Yeah, don’t go there,” he warns.
“Why the hell not?” I ask.
“I don’t know, something about her bugs me.”
I shrug it off.
Pyro is well-known around here for being paranoid, then again, he has a right to be.
I throw my glass back on the bar and turn toward him. “You comin’ or you gonna stay here and sulk in your beer?” I shoulder check him.
He slams back his whiskey, sets the glass down and we’re out the door. “I can’t believe I’m letting you talk me into this.”
I shrug as I throw my leg over my bike and fire it up. Toss it into neutral and push it backward, clearing the other bikes in the gravel before throwing the throttle wide open and peeling out of the parking lot.
Chapter Four
SKIT
Three hours into my first shift at Iron Wings and my feet are starting to ache, but I will do as I always do and suck it up.
I’ve been out of work for the last six weeks, but that was by choice. Wearing these shoes was a choice too, but it’s playing out to be a big mistake.
Give it some time, I remind myself as I carry a tray of shots and drinks to one of the bigger tables in the joint. Tonight, my make-up is done with tones of blue and silver on the eyes, a light pink blush on my cheeks, a dark cherry red lipstick and my hair is pulled back off my face. The length still running down my back. I’m wearing a high-backed corset that wraps around my neck at the top. It doesn’t clasp, but it gives the illusion that it does. I chose this for tonight, not wanting to reveal all my secrets at once.
“Alright, boys.” I smile wide as I set the tray down and start handing out drinks and shots. I think I get them all right, and what I don’t get, they’re handing down the line anyway. As soon as we’re done, I stand up and the unattractive guy on this end grabs my ass. He really grabs it and it hurts, but I plaster my best flirtatious smile on my lips and look at him. He removes his hand, good. “Can I get y’all anything else?”
“Not at the moment, doll,” the nicer, more attractive one says to me.