by Raven, Jo
I still, trying to gather the shreds of my self-control.
This isn’t about you, Riot. You’re not allowed to come. Not until she comes. Not until she says you may.
“Riot?” she breathes, and my gaze snaps up to her face.
“You okay?”
“Just…” Her hips tilt up and I grunt, fighting the rush of pleasure before it drags me under. “Move?”
Move.
Oh, yeah. Watching her face like a hawk for any sign of pain, I pull out an inch or two, then slide back inside.
Fuck. My breath comes out in a shudder. Can’t remember the last time it felt so good. My hips roll without conscious thought and I have to struggle to still them again.
Need to check. See her face. I plant both hands on the couch, on either side of her, and do a little push up that has us both gasping. Lightning pleasure shoots up my dick at the change of angle, and it’s all I can do not to come on the spot.
“Pax. Okay?”
Her face is scrunched up, and at first I’m not sure if it’s pain or fear or something else, but she tightens her hold around my neck and pulls me down to her.
“So good,” she whispers and brings our mouths together in a long kiss. “More.”
Yeah, baby. I move faster, in and out of her warm hold, her pussy clenching around me like a fist, and I shake with pleasure.
“Oh God, Riot.” She writhes, her body arching into mine, one leg hooking over my hip. “Like this.”
Shit. How am I ever gonna stop myself from coming now?
Shivers ripple through me. My muscles tense, my stomach is one hard ball of need, and I keep moving, drinking in the tiny sounds she makes, taking in her naked body, sprawled like dessert underneath me.
Need her to come. Before I do. Before I tumble headfirst into something that will shatter me completely.
I lift her other leg over my hip, deepening my thrusts, and I reach again between us, touching her clit, and lower, where our bodies are joined.
Wet. Hot. Slick.
She cries out my name and clamps down on my dick like a vise. She starts coming, long shudders moving over my hard cock, and fuck, holding back hurts like a bitch. Sounds spill from my throat, moans and grunts, and her name, choked out and mangled. My jaw is clenched so hard it aches.
I bend over her, panting, slowing down. “Pax...I need to come.”
No reply. She’s still rippling around me, her nipples hard points pressed to my chest. She feels so fucking good it’s insane, and thinking about it isn’t helping. I try to keep still, but she’s still moving, shifting, milking my cock.
Shitshitshit.
“Pax,” I try again, burying my face in her neck. “Please.”
“What?” She turns her face, her lips brushing over my cheek. “What is it?”
“Can I come now?”
There’s a stretch of silence. The sound of blood rushing in my ears, the thumping of my heart, her breathing, it’s all too loud.
“You haven’t come?” she whispers, sounding horrified, and I would’ve laughed if I wasn’t so wound up with need I’m about to snap in two.
“You can’t tell?”
Her hips rock a little and I moan miserably, biting her neck lightly to stop the sound. My cock jerks and my balls pull up more, so fucking ready to spill.
“Why not?”
“You haven’t told me I could.” I hiss as my dick twitches again. I lift my head. “Agency regulations.”
“God, Riot.” She lifts a hand to my face, strokes my cheek. “Yes, you may come. And it’s a given from now on.”
From now on. She means…?
My thoughts spin and fade into a whirlwind of sensation as she runs her hands down my chest to where we’re connected. Her fingers circle the base of my cock, then dart lower and cradle my balls.
One touch, one squeeze is all it takes. I can’t stop a cry at the orgasm slamming into me, or the way my hips snap up and I hunch over her, my dick pulsing in great jolts of blinding pleasure.
Oh shit, fucking hell, oh...I think I black out for a sec, my body shaking and my balls aching and my dick jerking and, fuck, too much. Too fucking awesome.
And then she says, “Are you a fan of the Hellfire Fighters club?”
Bringing the world tumbling down around me.
***
Her fingers are buried in my hair, tugging lightly, sending tiny sparks of pleasure into my scalp and down my neck. I’m lying half on top of her on the sofa, half on the cushions, my dick still inside her.
Shit. The condom.
Moving, getting up is like swimming against a rip current. And besides...Holy shit, did she ask me about the club?
“Need to throw away the condom,” I mutter and push myself up, pulling out of her. The pleasure is excruciating. I’m still half-hard.
Yeah, insane. How much I want her. And now…
“Those flame tattoos you have, and the one on your back. It says Hellfire.”
“Just a sec.” I tug off the condom, tie it off. “Be right back.”
“Riot.” Her voice stops me. “It’s a fight club.”
I swallow hard against fear and anger. “You asked about it?”
“I was at a tattoo shop with a friend. I was curious.”
Fuck. I get up and find the bathroom, get rid of the condom and take a moment to breathe. I wash my hands, splash cold water on my face.
When I return to the living room, she’s curled sideways on the sofa, watching me with her bright dark eyes.
“You’re a fan?” she asks. “Of a fight club? That’s not a crime.”
“It’s an illegal club,” I say. She thinks...“Why would you think I’m a fan?”
She laughs. “Because of the tats?”
Okay. Relax. She doesn’t think I’m a fighter.
Probably because the agency say they screen their escorts. But I don’t have a rap sheet. No record of my past at the club.
“Yeah.” I try for a smile, go to sit beside her, pull her to me. She doesn’t need to know. We’re not dating. My past is private. “Do you have any tats?”
“No.” She shifts, pressing her back to my chest and I wrap her in my arms. Can’t believe she trusts me so much now. “But I think I’d love to get one, some day.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. My back?”
“Love your back.” I kiss her nape, feel her shiver. “Love every part of you.”
She hums, a content sound. She fits so perfectly in the curve of my body. I clutch at her as if she’ll vanish when I blink my eyes.
“This is nice,” she murmurs and strokes my hand where it’s pressed to her belly. “Tell me more.”
“About what?”
“About the Hellfire Fighters.”
Shit.
“What’s wrong?” She tries to twist around, but I hold her more tightly.
“Nothing’s wrong. Hellfire Fighters.” I close my eyes, and time reverses. I’m back at the club, having my hands wrapped up for a fight, my heart racing. “It’s one of the fight clubs of the southern suburbs. Quite well known in underground fighting circles. Been up against clubs from Detroit, Milwaukee and Madison and won many times. It’s a tightly-knit group of guys—a few girls, too—and they train hard. For money. They come from poor families and foster homes. Sometimes, fighting in the club is their only hope.”
“A hope for what?”
“A future. Money needed to live, to rent a place, to get food on their plate. Not to worry about every dawning day.”
“Riot…” She turns her head, trying again to see me.
“Shh.” I’m so tired I’m falling asleep, and I don’t even care how long I’ve been here, or if I have any appointments later. “Everything’s fine.”
Because right now she’s in my arms and nothing else matters.
Chapter Thirteen
Paxtyn
It’s been a week since I did it. Since I had sex with Riot, and it was amazing. He felt so frigging good, o
n me, in me, his mouth and hands all over me. He looked so sexy as he came, and so…vulnerable at the same time. The raw need in his eyes, the sounds escaping him, the way he lost control of his body, lying heavy on top of me…
Loved it all. Loved how he held me afterward. Cuddling. On my sofa.
God, love everything about him, and it’s…
Not good. Not at all.
At least Christmas is approaching fast, and Christmas break. I need time at home to catch up on my studies. Hard to sit still and read when my thoughts keep returning to Riot.
Or to why I can’t seem to be able to make another appointment with him. I glance at my cell phone that’s sitting on my bedside table as I struggle to focus on my history of psychology. Suddenly Riot’s one busy escort. I must have called the agency twenty times since I last saw him, but it seems he’s booked every day solid. Sold out.
Holy crap. Shaking my head, trying to dislodge images of him with other women, I return to my reading. Or try to.
What wasn’t he telling me about the fight club? Did he work there? Somehow I feel the answer under his words, that little, passionate speech about the sort of people working at the club, about their background and their fears and hopes.
As if he was one of them, once.
I want—no, I need to know more about him.
Yes, I know it’s a bad idea. All this is stupid, thinking about him, wondering. Missing him.
Blinking back tears, I jump off my bed and pace my room. Have to get my head out of this funk. Doesn’t help that Corey’s currently obsessed with his tattoo guy and boyfriend number X, and is never around.
At least one of us is happy.
Selfish, Pax. Not nice. You want Corey to be happy.
I do. And I also want to see Riot. How can he be so busy? He’s not...
Nah. I stop pacing, stand stock still. He’s not avoiding me.
Why would he? I thought we had a good time, and—
With sudden clarity I remember how cold he was when he arrived at my apartment. How distant. How he wanted it over with, until I told him my plans for the night.
It can’t be...Can it? Crap, this will eat me alive, this awful doubt.
I need to ask. Will they tell me?
My heart is thumping in my throat as I grab my cell and dial the agency. The phone rings and rings, and then finally a male voice answers.
Not the usual one, though. “Good evening. Bad Boy Escorts. How may I help you?”
“Hi. Uh.” I cock my head to the side, rub the crease between my brows. “This is Paxtyn Page. Look, I called a few times, asking for an appointment with Riot. Riot Gallagher? I was told he doesn’t—”
“Would you like an appointment tonight?”
I open my mouth, close it. “Er, yes?”
“He’s free after nine, if that suits you.”
I pull my cell at arm’s length, gape at it, then put it back to my ear. “Are you sure? I was told two hours ago that Riot’s fully booked and—”
“Maybe there was a cancellation,” the guy says smoothly. “It happens all the time.”
Only not to me, not until today. I have been trying for days. “Okay then. Yeah, nine’s fine.”
“Excellent. Which address? I have here a hotel and an apartment.”
“The apartment, please.” I swallow. “Listen, are you sure he can—?”
“I’ll let him know. He’ll be there. Have a wonderful evening, Ms. Page.”
“And you,” I say automatically as the click of the disconnect sounds in my ear.
Wow.
I stand there for a few moments, trying to wrap my mind around this. I’m meeting Riot. Tonight.
In fact, quite soon. It’s seven already. Have to tidy up and get ready. My heart’s beating so hard I’m afraid I might break a rib. All my doubts, all my fears take a backseat as I run to my closet and start throwing clothes out on my bed.
A backseat to excitement and joy.
***
The doorbell rings kind of late. It’s almost half past nine, and I was about to call the agency, make sure I didn’t misunderstand.
Rushing to my room to check myself one last time in the mirror, I pat my loose curls and check that my eyeliner hasn’t run. All looks good—my blue dress, a narrow belt cinching my waist, my high-heeled pumps, the black choker around my neck.
As ready as I’ll ever be.
The doorbell rings again and I hurry to open before he walks away. Would he? Crap, that would be the last drop to a frustrating week.
I unlatch the door, out of breath and half-scared it will be someone else—I don’t know, Corey, or a parcel delivery, or someone come to ask me if I know my Bible.
Riot looks back at me, a faint smile forming on his lips. He looks tired. A little frazzled, his dark hair sticking up in all directions.
Gorgeous.
“Come in.” I throw the door wide open, grinning at him. “You’re late.”
“Sorry. Got held up.” His mouth twists when he says that, and not like he’s about to laugh. Rather like he’s angry.
“It’s okay.” I usher him inside, grab his arm and tug when he hesitates. “Are you okay?”
“Sure.” His smile returns as I drag him to the sofa and push him down.
“Would you like some wine?”
He sighs. “Do you have something stronger?”
“Whisky? Maybe.” I go to search the kitchen cupboards. “I’m pretty sure Corey brought a bottle once. Hey, I thought you don’t drink when on the clock.”
He grunts. “I’m making an exception tonight.” A pause as I open another cupboard. “Corey?”
“Best friend since school. Ah ha!” I pull out the bottle. “Here we go. On the rocks or straight?”
“Straight. Please.” He’s sitting right where I left him when I return with the bottle and two glasses. He’s shed his jacket, and the flame tattoos on his arm seem to glow. “Best friend, huh?”
“Yeah.” I take in the dark in his eyes and laugh. “You jealous?”
“And if I am?”
I don’t know what to say to that. Can’t decide why there’s heat spilling inside my chest. Why I’m so happy.
I cover it up by pouring us both some whisky. Is there a protocol, or a specific quantity I should pour? Not having a clue, I just slosh inside about two fingers and pass a glass to him.
He arches a dark brow and lifts his glass. “Cheers.”
“To alcohol.” I lift mine, too.
“To you,” he says and takes a big gulp.
The heat seeps into my face. I take a small sip, choke on it and cough. “Sorry.”
He cracks a smile. It’s small and tired. “You okay?”
I nod.
He knocks back the rest of the whisky.
Like, whoa. “And what about you? Are you…?” I frown. He has welts on his wrists. Both of them. Deep, crimson wounds. “What happened?”
He puts the glass down on the low table, carefully, his face blank. “Nothing.”
“But your wrists—”
“Come here.” He beckons and I scoot closer. His lashes flicker, his eyes a dark gray, as he takes my hand and lifts it to his lips. “You’re the highlight of my day. Hell, my week. I was hoping you’d ask for me but then realized you were probably busy studying or something.”
What? “You were the one busy. So many appointments. I could never get one with you.”
His brows draw together. Then his eyes widen. “That motherfucker.” He winces. “Apologies.”
“Who?”
Instead of a reply, he crushes his mouth to mine. The glass shakes in my hand, and he takes it, puts it away without breaking the kiss. God, his taste—like whisky and coffee and something dark and spicy, like pain and anger and sex.
Who needs drinks when you can kiss Riot? He’s heady. Dizzying. He’s mine. I can’t share him. I can’t…
He pushes me back against the plush cushions, pressing his body to mine. Bony hips, muscled thighs, and his ha
rd-on digging into my leg. So easy to get lost in him, in his strength, his beauty, his need.
And I want him. Now more than ever. Since he made love to me, I’ve been dying to feel more, have more. More of him.
He’s like a drug, invading my senses. When I lie in bed at night, he fills my thoughts, and my fantasies. I dream of a man kissing me, and it’s him. I dream of tangled limbs, of a cock filling me up, and it’s him.
Always him. If that isn’t worrying…
He lifts a hand, brushes it over my cheek, strokes hair out of my eyes. “Okay?” he whispers. “This what you want tonight?”
“Yes.” Somehow I wish he didn’t ask, that he’d know, that he can’t help himself and has to take me here and now.
But he can’t. Agency rules, I guess. Having to ask every time. And it’s not as if our history so far suggests he should be anything but careful with me.
I can change that. Show him I’m strong. That I’m a thousand times better than at the beginning. That I really want him, want him to stop holding back and unleash his desire on me.
So I wind my hands in the back of his T-shirt and tug it up, to get it off him. Need to see him naked, feel his skin on mine, trace his ink with my hands and lips.
Maybe this is who I was meant to be, how I’d have been like if that night at the bikers’ club hadn’t happened.
He pulls back, lets me divest him of his T-shirt, and I take a moment to trail my fingertips over the impressive muscles of his chest and the flames burning over his heart, the small brown nubs of his nipples. His eyes close, lashes dipping, and he exhales, his chest falling, then rising with the next breath.
“Pax…”
I smooth my hands down his ribs and then round to his back.
He jerks and sits up, catching my wrists. “Pax, wait.”
“What is it?”
“Nothing, just…” He’s panting now, his eyes a bit wild. “Kiss me.”
My body obeys him automatically. I want everything he offers. He winds my hands around his neck and I arch up to meet his lips with mine. His hard cock nudges between my legs, urgent, and I rock back into him, a hot desire flaring in my core.
His hands are everywhere, lifting my dress, stroking my breasts, torturing my nipples until I think I’ll come just from that, while he kisses me deeply, his tongue twining with mine. I don’t know if I’m more lightheaded from lack of air or need.