by Lena Pierce
I grab the thickness of him and lead him to my pussy, aching, hungry. My body is screaming at me for the length of him inside of me. Right now everything else is forgotten: the store, Jackson, even Sissy. It all fades to nothingness as I guide his massive, hard cock inside of me. I lean back on him, gasping as it drives deep inside of me. He grabs my ass and presses even deeper, growling from low in his throat like an animal. I turn and half-look at him. His face is twisted in pleasure. He squeezes onto my ass cheeks, hard, and then thrusts into me with such force that I stumble forward and have to catch myself on the shower wall.
I grab the showerhead holder and the counter where the bottles rest, using them as handholds as I writhe up and down on his cock. He smashes up inside of me, his helmet crushing into my hot spot over and over. I hear myself moaning but it is low over the rushing water, the deafening euphoria, and Dirk’s animal grunts. We made love before, but we’re fucking again now. Fucking like mad, and I love it. I keep bouncing on his cock, chasing an orgasm which always seems just out of my reach. Then he spanks me, a wet spank, a spank that causes his hand to slide away from my ass cheek. The orgasm gets closer. I sit down heavily on his cock, reaching internally for the pleasure, the ever-growing pleasure.
Then, just as he reaches around to cup my breasts—and tweak my nipples between his fingertips, massaging them until they go hard—the orgasm comes hurtling at me. It crunches into my pussy, a pressure so intense I think I might burst. My clit throbs with it and soon I don’t feel Dirk behind me, but just cock, and then not his cock but just the pressure inside of me. Everything else is blotted out and I turn and catch a glimpse of him, to remind myself that the pressure is him, and now that drives me even crazier, because Dirk Dvorak, soldier, biker, is the one thrusting madly inside of me. And I’m his old lady, only his, and he can do anything he wants with me …
I let out a guttural cry as the orgasm tears through me. My legs shake and I almost slip on the soaking wet floor, but somehow I keep my footing. Dirk grabs my breasts harder, pressing them near-flat against my chest, pounding into me harder each moment, so hard that I can’t even hold on anymore; he holds me up by grabbing my breasts. Then he lifts me off my feet and throws me up and down on his cock. I let out more screams as the orgasm makes my pussy tight, my everything tight—and then releases, shards of pleasure flying throughout my body, touching my toes and my fingers and making it feel as though my mind could just float away.
When he places me back down, I’m drawing in frantic breaths, trying to center myself. But then he grabs me and turns me around, looks into my face for one long moment, and then presses down on my shoulders. I fall to my knees and take his cock in my mouth. He’s hard, fit for bursting, and no sooner have I forced my mouth down onto his cock than he shoots his come inside of me. I gulp, swallowing, salty and normally off-putting … but this is Dirk, so it’s different. I gulp it hungrily, tasting water and come all mixed together. Then I lie back, breathing heavily, and he stares down at me with a wicked grin on his face.
He blasts us both with the shower and then picks me up and lifts me over his shoulder. He carries me into the bedroom and throws me, still wet, onto the bed. I sit up. He’s hard again, already, staring at me with the same animal lust. He could fuck for days, I realize, the thought sending a thrill through me.
He climbs onto the bed and leans over me, parting my legs with his knee, and then reaches down and grabs his cock. He guides himself to my pussy, staring at me all the while. It’s like before, this time; we make love as much with our expressions as with our bodies, and as he thrusts and I move up and down, it’s like both of us are moving both of us. I rock with the motions of his thrusts, panting breathily, and then I reach up and grab his face. His stubble has grown a little in the past couple of days, his goatee thicker. Rougher. I run my hands down the roughness of his face and sigh in pleasure as his cock tickles my sweet spot.
I push my hips down to the base of his cock, feeling every throbbing inch of him, and then, to my disbelief, I am coming. As quick as that, as sudden as that, the orgasm captures me in its warm hands and locks me in place; directs my gaze to Dirk’s serious eyes and holds it there. I gasp, moving my hands from his face to his shoulders as the orgasm tightens me, loosens me, tightens me. It throws me about and yet I hardly move at all. My whole being is fixated on Dirk and his, I think, on me.
Then it passes and Dirk is groaning, an animal growling sound, back arched and cock pressed right up inside of me. I pull on him, pulling him closer inside of me, and then—I swear it, in this moment—I feel him empty himself inside of me, feel his come shooting into me. I take it, moaning at the oppressive warmth, and then he falls aside and I fall with him. We lay beside each other for a long time, his hand in my hair, my cheek resting against his chest muscles.
“I can hear your heart beating,” I say after a long pause.
“Is it loud?” he asks. He sounds like he’s smiling but I don’t look up to see.
“Very loud,” I tell him. “It’s the heartbeat of a boy who’s too nervous to ask the girl to the dance.”
He grunts out a laugh. “You think I’m nervous, after what we just did?”
“I’m nervous,” I say.
“Why?”
“Because there’s something I want to say, but it’s crazy and far too soon and makes no sense—”
A pause, and then: “I love you, Meghan.”
I look up at him. My lips are trembling. My eyes ache from would-be tears. “Do you mean that?” I ask.
“I do,” he says. “I really, really do.”
“I love you, too,” I say, and the force of it almost sends me into another round of tears. “How can that be possible?”
“A friend once told me that love don’t make much sense. I reckon he was right.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Dirk
I ride out to one of my caches in the middle of town, hidden in the back of a movie theater under some old film that nobody ever goes near anymore. I remove the film and unlock the safe and take out my revolver, my Uzi, and my dissembled shotgun. I put it all in a duffle bag and then ride back to the motel.
“Hopefully we can shame Jackson into leaving, but if not—” I cut short, snapping two pieces of the gun together. “I’m not letting him hurt you. I still don’t want you to come, Meghan.”
She sits on the chair opposite me with her hair in a ponytail and a cap pulled low over her ears. She looks like one of the female operatives overseas. “I know you don’t,” she says softly. “I get that. But I’m going and I don’t think talking about it is going to change anything.”
I sigh. “Goddamn, Meghan, things were easier when I didn’t care about you.”
She tilts her head, pouts her lips. “Well, I’m so sorry about that.”
I take my regular pistol from the holster and press it into her hand. “Point and shoot, if it comes to it,” I say. “But don’t get trigger-happy. Only shoot if you see me shooting, okay?”
“Okay,” she says, taking a breath. “I’ll keep one eye on you and one eye on my brother.”
“Your brother,” I mutter. “God, this is fucked.”
“Life is fucked,” she says. “We’re trying to unfuck it.”
“Yeah, well, just stay behind me and … Hang on.” I take out my cell and dial Angie.
“What are you doing?” Meghan asks, but I ignore her.
“Hey, doll,” Angie says.
“Reroute me to Ghost, will you?”
“I don’t know what you mean …”
“Cut the shit, Angie. He told me.”
“Okay, I’ll get the kid.”
A few minutes later—during which Meghan goes around the motel room with the safety on the gun, practicing looking down the iron sights—Ghost answers. “Yeah?”
“I need one last favor,” I say.
About forty-five minutes later, Kenny is standing at the door. He tips his head to Meghan. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” h
e says, walking into the room with two bulletproof vests. “This one’s for you.” He hands it to me. “And this one is for the lady.”
“Help her put it on, Kenny,” I say, pulling mine over my head.
“Thanks so much,” Meghan says, shaking Ghost’s hand. “Maybe we’ll see each other again one day.”
“You two are always welcome,” he says, smiling at us before leaving.
“This is heavy,” Meghan says, shifting the vest around.
“Better heavy than bleeding out on the sidewalk.”
She stops messing with it.
We go out to the bike and soon we’re riding toward the clubhouse. I’ve got a pit in my belly I never have when I’m riding to a job normally; it’s a pit I didn’t even have overseas. At least then if something went wrong I was only fucking myself and other folks who knew what they had gotten themselves into. Meghan’s a civilian, and if that ain’t bad enough, she’s a civilian I cannot lose. If I lose her, man … I see myself going off the rails, completely crazy, killing everyone and destroying everything that crosses my path.
I stop outside the clubhouse when I see that Jackson and all of the brothers are already outside, gathered around the bikes in the parking lot as though ready to ride out on a raid. And that’s it, I see as I get closer. All the men hold guns. There’s a clear split in the crowd between Jackson’s pledges and the regular brothers, a line of parking lot separating them. That’s my lifeline. I stand in front of Meghan as we approach.
“Jackson,” I call, interrupting his speech.
He stops dead-still at the sound of my voice. Rider grimaces at me, going for his gun. Jackson raises his hand, stilling him, and then turns to me with a smile on his face. “Dirk!” he cries. He looks drawn-out. Half dead. Sleeplessness and drugs and guilt, maybe. “It’s so good to see you, my friend! You’re just in time. We’re going to raid those bastards the Broken Sinners and get rid of them once and for all.”
“And why’s that?” I say, walking closer to him, almost right up to him. I have my hand near my hip holster, my shotgun and Uzi slung over my back if my revolver runs out of ammo. I pray it doesn’t come to that. “What did the Broken Sinners do to us, Jackson?”
Jackson squints at me, and then at Meghan, and then lets out a cackle. “Have you gone mad?” he demands. “You know what they did to us!” He shouts as much to me as he does to the watching men. The pledges aren’t his problem. They nod stupidly, agreeing with every word that comes out of his mouth. But the regular men watch suspiciously, hands near their weapons, but I get the sense that whereas before they were ready to draw on me, now they’re ready to draw on him. “They’ve been hounding us like dogs!” he cries.
“That’s funny.” I take a step forward so that I’m so close to Jackson I can smell his fear. But I keep my voice loud as I say: “Because I had a talk with Badger Burnes and it turns out he’s been sending messages to you, Jackson, to try’n resolve this all peacefully. And you’ve given his messengers a damn hard time. Tortured one, we heard, right in this clubhouse. Tortured a messenger.”
A series of hushed whispers moves across the crowd. I can tell which ones knew and which ones didn’t just by who speaks. Highlander and the old men fall back into a quiet exchange, as do a few other clusters of brothers, but the pledges just stand there blank-faced. They knew, of course; they were the ones who did it.
“What about the women?” I shout.
“Careful,” Jackson whispers, voice strained and pathetic and yet somehow dangerous. “Don’t do this, Dirk. I’ll pay you double. Triple. I’ll pay so much you won’t ever have to think about cash again.”
I smile at him, speaking just so he and Meghan can hear. “That might’ve worked once, it’s true. Maybe I would’ve taken the cash and forgot all about the horrible shit I now know, but things have changed for me. I ain’t about to walk away from this.”
“Nothing’s changed!” he snaps urgently. “We can still end this peacefully!”
“What about the girls, Dirk?” Highlander calls. The old man looks younger as he stands there with his hands spread, apparently awaiting an answer he does not know. Finally, he all but says. We can finally get this out in the open.
“He’s been selling women to traffickers!” I shout, and this time there’s an even fiercer series of whispers. Not making friends with a rival leader is one thing—some men might even respect that—but selling women is not what we’re about. “And hard drugs,” I add.
“Women and hard drugs.” Now it’s Meghan who speaks. Before I can stop her, she steps around me and stares at Jackson with pure hate in her eyes. Maybe she still loves him on some level; maybe she doesn’t want to see him hurt, but I wouldn’t guess that by looking at her now. “You know what I was trying to build here.” She speaks, shakily, through gritted teeth. “And you went out of your way to ruin it, just like you’ve been doing my whole damn childhood!” Her hand darts out. The slap makes a log-like cracking sound.
Jackson stumbles back, hand to his face. He looks at Meghan like she’s a well-trained pet who’s just randomly attacked him. “Meghan,” he whispers, and then remembers that his pledges are watching. “You fucking bitch!” he roars. He approaches her, puffing his chest up. I make to stand in his way but then Meghan leaps past me and gets in his face. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Who burned down the store, Jackson?” she says.
That gives him pause. He deflates slightly, staring at the ground. Then back up at her. “It was that fucker Badger, and clearly he’s paid the two of you off! You traitor fucks!” He looks to the men. I get the sense that he wants to give them the order to attack us, but he’s not sure if it will be followed. “Badger burnt down the store and now he’s made you two his lackeys!”
“You burnt down the store,” Meghan says, fists clenched, staring at him with so much bravery that for a second I forget about getting in her way. “All my life, you’ve been jealous anytime I got anything for myself. Remember just after Dad died when I found that wallet with fifty dollars in it, and you walked up behind me and slapped me across the back of the head and took forty-five dollars from the wallet and tossed five at my feet?”
He rolls his eyes. “Wah-wah!” he snaps. “Stop with the goddamn waterworks, Meghan.”
She slaps him again. His head snaps aside and he stumbles before picking himself up. More from shock, I think, than the force of the blow. I have to jump forward now because otherwise he’ll go for her. I see it in his eyes.
“Somebody check his office!” Meghan breaks out. “My logbook was stolen from the store, which means that somebody wanted to know how much the place was worth. Who would have a better reason than a brother with connections, a brother who could magic up a will and make it so I left the store to him?”
I watch Jackson carefully. His mouth twitches. He visibly struggles to keep a straight face. “You’re fucking crazy.”
“Am I?” Meghan turns to the crowd. A few club girls have walked over from the clubhouse as we talk and now they are standing near the old-school club guys. “Will someone volunteer to check his office for me?”
“I will.” Meghan’s friend Sissy steps forward. She smiles over to Rider, and then looks back to Meghan. Rider twitches. He wants to tear her to pieces, but can’t with the brothers in the way. The tension is taut; any moment it might snap. I keep my hand on my gun. “I’ll do it gladly.”
“No, you won’t.” Jackson moves toward her.
Two brothers step in front of her. One is Highlander and the other is young, tall, strong. A man named Ralph. Both Ralph and Highlander shake their heads slowly.
Jackson glances from the brothers to his pledges and back again. There are about thirty-some brothers and only ten pledges, and the brothers are hard men, men who’ve done this shit all their lives. The pledges, apart from Rider, are criminals and nothing else. He turns to me with an oddly sad smile on his face.
“So this is it, eh?” he says. “I’ve gotta say, Dirk, I�
�m disappointed in you, but I’m also impressed. It takes one hell of a man to pull off a thing like this.”
“Not really, sir,” I say. “Once I started looking, I realized how messy you’d been.”
He flinches. “Right,” he says. “So maybe I ought to be impressed with you, instead.” He turns to Meghan with a twisted smile. “You really know how to make a man forget who he is, don’t you, little sister? I had Dirk under my goddamn thumb. He was an attack dog, nothing more, but you got in there with your slut mouth and your slut tits and cast a fuckin’ spell on him. I ought to sell you, you ungrateful little cunt!”