by Brogan Riley
His mouth touches my cleavage and he showers me with kisses. He licks my breast, sucking on my nipple, and kisses his way down. I feel his tongue between my thighs. Such torment. Such pleasure. I need more. I need higher.
He kisses me down there as jolts of pleasure send me into shivers. I push his head towards my pussy and pull at his hair.
“Jackson, I need more.” It comes out in a moan.
He sucks and licks until golden bliss consumes me.
I tremble as a stream of hot liquid covers my tummy, and his lips connect with mine. He growls and curses and kisses me.
My eyelids grow heavy.
Jackson
I lay her on the bed and she drops off to sleep.
Fucking hell. She’s a natural with fucking. No restraints. And it’s all mine.
Yep, I am a monster.
I tidy up the kitchen and then the bathroom, cook lunch and check on my little princess. She’s still asleep so I go to the kitchen and grab something to eat. I bite into the sandwich and turn on the radio. A rock ballad starts playing.
The front door swishes open and Fiona walks into the kitchen.
“There’s food in the oven,” I say.
She looks at me with curiosity. “You look younger, you know.”
“I feel younger.”
“You look like a human being.”
“I’m a happy husband.”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course you are. Go, I’ll take care of your little wife.”
“Don’t touch her.”
She smirks at me. “She likes me.”
“She loves me.”
“I know. That’s the problem, you know.”
“Diana—“
“Don’t.”
I can see something is wrong. “Talk to me, woman.”
“Ah, it seems like we’re not meant to be, that’s all. End of story.”
Right, she’ll probably be single again very soon.
“Tyler is interested in you,” I say.
“Men are so crude and disappointing. I quit on them a long time ago.”
I nod. Her boyfriend cheated on her and after she discovered that, the piece of scum raped her. She ended up in a coma and remained unconscious for six weeks. She came to my club, seeking justice, so I gave her justice and soon after the scumbag rested six feet under, I gave her asylum. Her first beloved wife Jessica who was working as a waitress at my bar died in a car crash. Diana, her second wife, helped her heal.
Fiona and I never fucked. We’re friends and friends don’t fuck. Fiona always says she’d throw up at the sight of my dick. I can’t imagine myself in bed with her. That’s just gross.
I had a soft spot for Jessica. Each of us had. Fiona and she were soul mates, the first and only married couple in the clubhouse, the embodiment of a good relationship. Their bed was sacred, no other people were allowed in it.
I’ve had two girls a few times. It’s fun watching them fuck, but not something I want in life.
Poppy is my life.
Fiona’s face lights up. “You dick. You look like some fucking angel.”
“See you.”
“You never show us that part of you, Jackson.”
“See you.”
“See you.”
I walk out of the house, cross the parking lot, and enter the bar. The piano is seated on the platform in the corner. Tyler’s grin greets me. Priest and Doctor stand in front of me and pat my shoulders. Priest’s grim gob lights up like he’s a fucking saint.
“Congratulations on your marriage,” he barks.
In his old life, he was a catholic priest but had a weakness for brunette pussy. Six years ago, he was excommunicated after one of the parishioners had seen him fucking his wife.
Doctor was a psychiatrist, but his weakness for whiskey sent him to jail for five years. He’d killed a patient, administering the wrong medication.
Doctor slaps me on the back. “Where is she?”
“You’ll meet her in the evening,” I say.
We have a glass of beer at the bar, and then we go to the office.
We spread around the oak table and I start church with a strike of the gavel.
“Mrs Richards and her two daughters are safe in France,” Priest says.
“The pedo scumbag is six feet under,” Doctor adds.
I nod. “Good.” I raise my eyes to Declan. “The next job we get is yours.”
Some people find out about our services by word of mouth. I check every client so there’s no shit that could threaten my club. It takes time so we have a job or two of them every three, four months.
“Aye, Prez,” Declan says.
“Go get drunk you all,” I say.
My boys bang their fists on the table and howl. We tumble out of the office and then into the bar and settle ourselves on two couches. Santi is still on a job. He’s dealing with a white collar who loves beating his wife. I bet Santi’s big fists are breaking the scumbag’s ribs in this moment. His Afro-American father taught him to fight well, taught him what honour is. His Afro-American mother taught him to care for people.
I’m sipping my beer when my little treasure walks in. She looks beautiful. She’s wearing a black corset and a black leather skirt with a black tulle cape thrown over her shoulders. The cape has a delicate vampire collar.
I bow my head to Fiona who is accompanying her.
Doctor flashes me a grin and nods several times.
Poppy moves closer to us and introduces herself to Priest and Doctor. They kiss her knuckles and she sits in my lap. Good girl. She knows what to do.
Fiona stands behind the bar and the party begins.
“The piano,” Poppy whispers into my ear.
“Yes,” I say, “but first I want you to be nice to me.”
I am a dick, I know, but I love her delicate focus on me. Only on me.
I rise to my feet and pull her towards the centre of the bar. Romantic music is playing as I wrap my arms around her chest.
“I can’t dance,” Poppy says.
“Neither can I.”
I never dance. I hate it, but surprisingly, I want to do such things with Poppy.
She chuckles and I kiss her breath away.
We sway as I kiss her deeper and something unexpected happens. Her body feels light and fluid in my arms. I realise she is dancing.
Fuck me. She can dance. She’s a natural.
She’s moving like a sensual mystery, all grace and liberty. Her eyes are closed. When she opens them, it seems like she’s floating somewhere else.
“The piano,” she finally says.
“Later,” I say, pulling her towards the couch.
I’m drunk on her.
Poppy
I’m dreaming about sitting at the piano. When I play, I feel normal. It’s one of the very few things I can do properly in life. Sabine sold off my piano when my dad died.
I encircle Jackson’s neck with my arms and straddle his lap. My knees press against his hips. I grind myself against the bulge in his jeans, and a gasp leaves his mouth.
Fiona shoves a glass into my hand and winks at me. Yes, she told me what to do. We practiced for an hour, using a mirror. Only a few movements, but I’m a slow learner.
I take a sip of my drink, put the glass on the armrest, and then run the tip of my tongue up Jackson’s neck. I suck on his lower lip and slide my tongue into his mouth. He likes it. His grip on the back of my neck tells me this.
We kiss and he’s in control. I just rub myself against the bulge in his jeans. His hands land on my hips and I feel his fingers dig into my flesh. He moves me faster up and down his hardness. My forehead rests against his and I inhale the smell of beer and tobacco. I breathe him in and let his brutal aura fill me.
My core heats up. I need faster. I need harder.
Jackson’s mouth captures mine. The kiss is almost violent. My lower lip stings and the metallic taste of blood layers the tip of my tongue. I feel his fingers slip under my panties and pinch my
sensitive nub. My pussy clenches.
Jackson slides a finger into my heat, our gazes connected. He pumps it in and out. I grab his wrist and urge him to work me deeper. A mix of amusement and surprise fills his eyes. He adds another finger, stretching me, giving me a sting of pain. I feel his thumb massage my swollen nub. I shoot towards the stars.
Jackson
I watch her climax. She’s my angel and my whore.
Then I grind her against my cock and cum.
Right. So much for privacy and decency. I’ve been dry humped out in the open. Not to mention that I need another pair of jeans.
Poppy buries her face in my neck as her ardent breaths tickle my skin.
So good with her. Everything is so fresh and new with her. Even naughty things feel so pure with her.
“You can go try to play the piano,” I say.
We kiss and Poppy runs across the bar. She settles herself at the piano and rubs her hands together.
Doctor drops onto the couch beside me. He scratches his head and leans towards me. “She fits in here.”
I put my elbows on my thighs, ignoring the wet mark on the front of my jeans.
“She…” I start.
“The boys say she’s disabled,” Doctor says.
I don’t want him to play a doctor. It’s his past. The past he left behind the moment he joined my club.
“A learning disability?” Doctor continues.
Well, it looks like he wants to play a doctor, so I nod.
Poppy starts playing. As the first tunes reach my ears, I freeze. It’s music—nostalgic and saddening. I thought she couldn’t play. But she is playing like a professional.
I rise to my feet and walk towards her with Doctor thumping beside me. We lean against the wall.
Poppy is in a trance, looking so deliciously innocent. I’m mesmerised. She stops playing as a wave of hoots and howls rolls over the bar.
Doctor watches her with narrow eyes and turns his face to mine. “This is not a learning disability. Absolute pitch I’d say.”
“I didn’t dig,” I say.
Why would I?
Tank told me enough. Poppy belongs to the club so her past has stayed behind her. She tells me what she wants to tell me and I don’t need more. She’s here to feel better not worse. She left all the shit behind her the moment she became my wife.
But Doctor’s comment intrigues me.
“What do you think, Doctor?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s a form of autism, but to be sure I’d need to talk to her, do a few tests.”
“Up to you, brother.”
I know he suffers from PTSD. He’s scared of hospitals and hates watching TV series about doctors. They remind him of what he did to his patient. It’s kind of weird that he chose such a road name. Maybe it’s a form of self-help?
I never order him to take a human life. He saves innocents, using his brain and fists just like Santi.
The others including Priest and me are never faced with such a dilemma. Some thugs just deserve to die. We call it cleaning not killing.
Doctor nods a few times. “I want to do this. There’s something strange about her.” He grins at me. “And man, she can dance.”
“Yeah, she can dance.”
Something cold brushes against the back of my neck.
No, everything is fine. She’s my Poppy.
A tiny hand squeezes my shoulder. I turn around and see Cara with a pair of jeans thrown over her forearm.
Chapter 10
Poppy
I empty my glass and the world becomes more colourful. We’re seated on the couch. We kiss. Music plays as the people laugh and rumble.
“Let’s go home, Poppy,” Jackson says.
He said ‘home’. Warmth washes over my heart.
I nod. “Okay.”
Jackson is drunk. He rises to his feet and sways. A drunken smile plays on his lips.
He’s funny.
We exit the bar and saunter towards the lighthouse.
“You love me, Poppy?”
“I do.”
“I love you so damn very much.”
His arms wrap around me from behind and we lose balance, almost falling to the ground. I bend slightly forward, my feet apart.
“You’re my little treasure, Poppy.” His hands squeeze my breasts.
He is very nice when he’s drunk. But people can’t be drunk all the time. Even I know this.
We step inside the lighthouse and he trips over the stairs, pulling me with him. Pain claws at my knees, but I ignore it. I need to help Jackson to get to the bed.
“You have the tightest cunt I’ve ever had, Poppy. I want to fuck you in the ass.”
“You’re rude, Jackson.”
“You love me being rude.”
I chuckle. “I do.”
He pulls me into a kiss. It’s hot, scented with alcohol and tobacco, and clumsy. It’s wonderful.
“You should get some sleep, Jackson.”
He salutes me.
A sense of fulfilment washes over my heart.
Alcohol can make a beast out of a man, but there’s only goodness in Jackson. Always.
I’ve seen a real beast.
No, no, no. I haven’t.
Stop thinking, Poppy.
We climb the stairs, tumble into the bedroom and fall onto the bed. I wiggle out of Jackson’s embrace and remove his boots.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Poppy.” He waves his hand to me, touching the front of his jeans with the fingers of his other hand. “Come here, baby. My dick wants your wet cunt. Come here and ride your daddy.”
I stiffen. Ice fills my veins.
No… no… no…
I move back, turn around, and run. My head threatens to explode. I kill it. Kill it. Kill it.
Jackson
I get sober at once.
I jump from the bed and run after her. “Poppy, I didn’t mean to scare you.” My words hit the walls as my bare feet touch the cold floor.
I tumble out of the lighthouse and see her in Fiona’s embrace. Tyler is standing behind them.
Fiona shoots me a stern glance visible in the light of an antique street lamp.
“Poppy,” I say gently.
I hear her sobs and then it stops as though it’s been cut with a knife. Poppy pulls away from Fiona and walks over to me. She flashes me a smile like everything is fine. Like there’re two Poppies. I feel uneasy.
“You should get some sleep, Jackson,” Poppy says.
Something is very fucking wrong, but I don’t ask her any questions. I nod instead.
“Let’s go have a good rest, Poppy,” I say.
I hold her hand in mine as our fingers lace together. Fiona bows her head and moves back, bouncing off Tyler. He wraps his arms around her, evoking her warning growl.
“Hands off, Tyler,” Fiona says.
He pulls away from her, his hands rising in a warding gesture.
Poppy starts walking, so I catch up with her and throw my arm around her back. Something cold grips my heart.
I put her to bed and go to the bathroom. Ten minutes later, I walk out wearing my pyjama pants and see her fast asleep.
I drop into the armchair and guard her like a dog until the sun appears on the horizon.
Poppy
He wakes me and puts a tray on the bed. The smell of food teases my nostrils.
“Doctor wants to talk to you,” Jackson says. “Can you talk to him?”
“I can.”
He exits the room and I start eating my breakfast, which is two slices of toast, a boiled egg, a piece of cheese, a piece of tomato, and a cup of herbal tea.
When I’m finished, I push the tray aside, shower, put a dress on and step out of the bedroom. I walk down the stairs. Jackson and Doctor are standing in the living room. My eyes travel to a navy folder under Doctor’s arm.
“Sit down, Poppy,” Doctor says.
I nod and drop onto the green leather sofa. Doctor sits in the chair opposite
me. The smell of coffee wafts through the air.
Jackson walks off and I feel uneasy, but Doctor’s genuine smile takes this off me. I like his sad grey eyes and brown hair streaked with silver. He looks forty years old.
“Can we talk, Poppy?”
“Sure.”
“Tell me about your home.”
“This is my home.”
“I mean your previous home.”
I put my hands on my thighs. “I lived in a castle. We had servants. My stepmother was evil and she killed my dad.”
He nods, opens the folder and writes something down. “Tell me something about your dad.”
“He loved me.”
“Did he love your stepmother?”
“He did.”
“And she killed him?”
“Yes, but nobody knows about it.”
“How did she kill him?”
I realise I’m rubbing the edge of my hand against my forehead. “With a handful of pills. My dad was making pills, different pills. There were plenty of pills in our castle.”
“Tell me about your mother.”
“She died in labour.”
Doctor scribbles something down and takes a sip of his coffee. My eyes sweep over the bookcases that stand behind him.
“Do you have any siblings, Poppy?”
“No,” I say. I shake my head involuntarily, nod, and shake my head again as sweat pricks my forehead.
Stop thinking, Poppy.
But he is a doctor. Doctors want to help.
Doctor offers me a glass of water, his eyes narrowed. “Do you have any siblings?”
“They’re not my sisters,” I gasp.
“Who, Poppy?”
“No, I have no siblings.”
“But you said ‘sisters’.”
I realise I’m scraping my nails up and down my forearm. “There are no sisters in our castle.”
“Where are your sisters, Poppy?”
Pain burns up to my elbow and my eyes follow the red bleeding line appearing along my forearm.
Doctor flashes me a warm smile. “Where are your sisters, Poppy?”
“They are…” I feel like I’m choking. “No sisters… no sisters. Just me and her. She’s a stepmother not a sister.” Tears flow down from my eyes as I take in a sharp breath and growl, “A stepmother not a sister.”
Jackson