HIS VIRGIN VESSEL: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (War Cry MC)

by Nicole Fox

  I took a deep breath and heaved Dominic inside. His leather outfit and ten-ton boots looked huge and ridiculous on my soft, white carpets, and yet I thought the place improved. Sweating, and puffing my hair away from my lips, I set him on a kitchen chair.

  “Okay,” I told myself. “The first thing I need to do is clean him.” Gazing down at his tattooed, leather-armored body, I thought, Good grief.

  I started by wrestling off his jacket. It was so sodden with blood and naturally heavy that it felt like it weighed fifty pounds. At last, after pushing his massive, muscular arms through the sleeves, I was able to wrench it off him.

  Beneath that he was wearing a white t-shirt, now splattered with as much crimson as a Halloween costume. For this, I simply grabbed a kitchen knife and cut it away. It was cheap, and––after everything we’d been through tonight––I could imagine that he could afford a new one. The sticky, stiffening fabric hurled in the trash, I finally saw the wound.

  “Good God,” I mumbled. There it was, a divot deep in his hipbone, a little valley of blood and gore amid blood-speckled skin. As I bent to examine it, I realized that while it was not wide, it was very, very deep, and that I needed to close it up immediately.

  I threw a sheet on the ground, lowered him onto it, and then with a wet towel, I began to sponge bathe the wound site clean. Every once and awhile, Dominic’s eyelids would flicker, and he’d mumble something incoherent. When he did this, I simply stroked his long, rich brown hair and muttered comforting nonsense. “Don’t worry, Dominic. You’ll be okay. I’ve got you.” I whispered, time and time again. I am not sure if it helped. Perhaps I was saying it to comfort me as much as him.

  At last, the spot was clean, except for the rivulets of blood that flowed from it every time I removed the pressure from my hand. Nervously, I pushed a towel down upon it then rushed to my cabinet, where the first-aid kit was waiting. From it, I yanked a series of gauzes, and, after desperate searching, several butterfly bandages. I unpeeled these and, as quickly as I could, used them to seal the wound shut.

  Then came the gauze, then the bandages, and then, at long last, a waterproof plastic seal, covering the entire site. It had been awhile since I had taken first aid in college, but, nonetheless, I was impressed with my handiwork. Sighing deeply, I set the coffee pot to brew and threw Dominic’s jacket in the wash. Was it dry clean only? Probably, but at that point, I’d decided Dominic could suck it.

  At long last, he stirred.

  “Erica…?” He mumbled, his voice as weak as the hiss of a flame. Immediately, I rushed to his side.

  “Thank God, you’re okay,” I said, cupping his head in my hands. I knew I had only just met him, but, for some reason, I felt strangely protective of him. I guessed that was what happened when two people saved each other’s lives.

  “Jesus Christ,” I muttered aloud. “I saved your life!” It had never, ever occurred to me that I could do that for someone––for anyone. To save a life. Wow.

  Dominic blinked at me, then smiled. “Maybe,” He grunted, straining to sit up. “Maybe not. I’m a tough guy to kill.”

  “Apparently,” I said. “And an even harder one to undress. Your jacket’s in the wash. I hope I didn’t stretch it.”

  “Trust me, taking off my clothes is not usually a problem,” he replied, “especially with a woman like you around.”

  I blushed. I could not help it. Him––a criminal, a bad boy, a man with a gun––complimenting me like that!

  He scratched at his chest, which was still caked with dried blood.

  “Man,” he moaned. “What I wouldn’t give for a shower.”

  I gaze at him. Though his wound was clean, the rest of his skin was caked with drying blood. His hair was stiff and sweaty, and from the way he smelled, he had absorbed a handle’s worth of liquor, gliding across the bar.

  An idea––born from pity at first, but then morphing into reckless titillation––burst in my head.

  “Here,” I said, leaning down to aid him getting to his feet. “I can help.”

  He took my hand and stood. I reached out to hold him up, but he swatted my hand away.

  “No,” he said. “I can do it.”

  And he marched solidly to my bathroom.

  There, with me hovering around uncertainly behind him, he began to unbutton his pants. This he did without a problem. It was bending over, to actually remove his jeans, that was a challenge. I figured he would want to tough it out and do it himself anyway, but as he strained I could see little blossoms of blood forming on the fresh gauze, so I gently took his hands away.

  Then, fully aware of what I was doing, I bent down onto my knees.

  “I figured you wouldn’t object to this,” I laughed, as I hooked my fingers into his belt loops and pulled gently down. His pants slid off, revealing clinging black boxers that outlined an enormous bulge.

  I gasped. Brian had been big enough, sure, but he didn’t even come close to this. And Dominic wasn’t even fully hard.

  “Enjoying yourself down there?” He asked, ruffling my hair. I gave him a fake glower and pulled off his boxers in a single pull.

  “This is serious!” I said, rising to my feet. “If you want that wound to stay safe, we have to get the rest of your body cleaned up. Got it?”

  He grinned, because he noticed me, despite my firm glare, stealing a glimpse or two of his cock. If he wasn’t injured, I would have pushed him and his smug face right into the shower.

  Instead, I leaned in, turned on the water, and waited until it was warm but not scalding. Then, I stripped down myself, aware of his eyes upon me as every inch of clothing fell away.

  “I’d wear a bathing suit,” I said mock-scathingly, “except I’m worried you’d get blood all over it.”

  “Uh-huh, sure,” he replied, his gaze heating my breasts as if I was leaning close to a fire. I blushed. It had been a long time since I’ve felt like a man truly enjoyed my body. Brian certainly hadn’t made me feel that way. Then, his eyes widened. “Ouch,” he whispered, reaching out to touch my hip. I glanced down, past my breasts, and was startled to see a huge bruise, running up the length of my hipbone. It looked as if a biker had dipped his wheels in purple ink before riding over my flesh. He ran his fingers along it, wincing as I winced, and tracing the bulge of flesh that swelled beneath the bruising.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For getting you into all this.”

  “Just get into the damn shower,” I said, having fun ordering around a man who could obviously have snapped me over his thigh like dry kindling the moment I pissed him off. “We can worry about apologies later.”

  So, together, we stepped into the shower.

  “Oh, yeah,” he moaned in satisfaction as the warm, soothing water washed over him. It turned his already dark brown hair jet black and cast his rich, thick bangs over his furrowed brow. I gazed at his face, outlined by the water. A scar on his cheek. A cleft chin, strong and pointed, emphasized his solid, salient jawline. Lips firm and full, unaccustomed to smiling and yet prone to laughter. A strange mixture. A joyful frown. And above all this: his eyes. Dark and glistening as a horse’s. Intelligent and yet savage, and also––the longer I looked into them––sad. They had both the hardened wisdom of an old man and the youthful energy of a young one.

  I reached out and touched his skin. Beneath the scars, and the roughness, I could feel something else: it was soft, and clean, and beautiful.

  Then, he blinked. Some of that embattled strength faded from his eyes, and he sagged against the wall, wincing as the skin on his side stretched.

  “Sorry,” he murmured. “Still recovering, I guess.”

  I smiled, took the bar of soap from its resting place beneath the shower head, and rubbed it between my hands. “Don’t worry,” I said, my hands now full of suds. “I am having a great time.”

  I touched the suds to his skin.

  His body poised before me, sleek and glistening beneath the flow of water. I ran my fingers over him, relish
ing the rippling hardness of his muscles, the v-shaped indentation of his abdomen. Where there was blood, I pressed against him, watching the water whirl away in red streams, until the flesh beneath was pink and clean.

  Satisfied, I leaned back to admire my accomplishments, when he seized my hand and kissed me. “Good girl,” he growled. “Now, wash lower.”

  He grabbed the soap bar, slammed it into the waiting palm, and guided my hands down, down between his legs.

  I grinned, and began to wash.

  His manhood was huge, and warm beneath the water. I watched the bubbles form around the rough black hair that covered his chest and zipped down in a happy trail all the way beneath his belly button. His balls were large, filling the whole cup of my hand, and as I moved to his shaft I heard his breathing deepen. He grew harder and harder in my grip until it burst from the length of both my hands and touched me on the belly button.

  I gasped. The contact was electric. Even in the flowing water of the shower, I felt myself growing wet in a different way.

  “Okay,” he grunted. “My turn.”

  He took the soap and began to wash me.

  Circles around my tits. Pausing, pinching on my nipples. Great swirls around my hips, ever–so-careful of the bruise that had formed there. His hands slippery with suds, he pulled me against him, his cock hard and throbbing against me, reaching all the way up to my navel. His fingers fastened upon the flesh of my butt, and began flexing, like a chef kneading dough.

  “You have,” he growled, “A great ass.”

  He lifted, spreading my cheeks wide. He began rocking his hips, rubbing his dick against me, and I moaned, throwing my arms around his shoulders and letting him do as he would. Carefully, deliberately, inch by inch, he finger-walked his hands down between my glutes, spreading wider and wider.

  I felt something warm and liquid slide down my inner thigh. It was not water.

  “Ah,” I murmured. “Ah.”

  And then, one of his fingers––his big, calloused, biker’s fingers––dipped inside me.

  “Oh!” I gasped, as his pressure increased. Pleasure surged through me, such that I had not felt for years. Brian never touched me there with his fingers. He was an on-your-back, in-and-out kind of guy.

  “You need it bad, don’t you?” Dominic whispered. As he stroked and pushed upon my pussy, I could feel the strength flowing back into his body. Terribly injured? Maybe. But that wasn’t going to stop a man like Dominic from a fuck when he saw one.

  “How’s the cut?” He asked, relinquishing his grip for a moment.

  I bent to inspect it, while his hands fondled my breasts.

  “It looks okay,” I said. “The tape is keeping the water out, and I don’t see much more blood.”

  “Good,” he said. “Now towel yourself off. We’re going to the bedroom.”

  Chapter Eight

  Dominic

  She was stunning. Her hands, as they navigated my body, expert. I knew I should probably rest. It was important that I heal up soon, with the heist coming up. But I did not care.

  I must have her.

  And so, with her hair sopping wet, hanging in glimmering cascades past her breasts, and water streaming down the slopes of her breasts to spray in soft fans from her nipples, I ordered her from the shower. I waited for her to towel off, and then leave the bathroom. I wanted to dry my body myself, for if I was to wince, I did not want her to see me do it.

  Now was the time for hardness. No more pain. No more recovery. I would show her what a real man was.

  Even with my blood loss, I was as hard as a rock. When I marched completely nude from the bathroom, it bounced up and down in rhythm with my steps, slapping against my thighs, all the way up to my belly button. I tickled my balls with my fingertips, inviting them to swell, to impress her with their size and their force.

  She was waiting on the bed, sitting neatly like a lady, with her arms and legs crossed.

  “No,” I said, seizing her by the wrist. “Put away the lady. I want the slut.”

  And I hurled her headlong across the bed.

  Her body splayed out before me like a Greek statue, all marble busts and curves, dips and mounds. Her breasts bounced on the impact, her little nipples hardening at the sight of me. For a moment, she looked afraid of my aggression, but then a wicked grin spread across her face.

  “Alright, bad boy,” she chuckled. “Show me what you got.”

  I was on her. In an instant, she was pinned against the bed, her arms outstretched over her head, her wrists held fast by my own.

  “Put it in me,” she begged, but I just smiled.

  “No, darlin’,” I replied. “You’ve got some work to do before that.”

  So then, with my legs shimmed up to either side of her neck, I took my cock in hand and rammed it down her throat.

  “Suck it, you little slut,” I ordered, and she automatically obeyed.

  Oh, the ecstasy! The slick, wet pressure of her mouth upon my dick. Like an expert, she rocked her head up and down, lengthening her movement along my shaft, tightening her lips around my tip, and never, ever grazing me with her teeth.

  Most women would be afraid with me up and on their face like that. My balls pooled against her neck. I could have crushed her throat with my thighs. And yet, all of her focus was on pleasing me. It was a great view: her mouth flexed and poised for sucking, her lovely hair splayed out in a fan across the pillow. Already, I could feel myself throbbing as she built the pleasure up inside my cock.

  “Now your turn,” I grunted, and wrenched myself from her mouth. Like a predator, I dove between her legs, slapped her thighs aside, and pounced upon her pussy. My lips closed around her clit, sweet and small as a berry. With one hand, I worked my way below my chin and stroked at her lips, spreading them wide with my fingertips.

  “Oh, fuck…” She moaned, and her legs spread wider. Already, I could feel wetness coating my hands, and slipping its way up to her clit. She tasted delicious, salty and sweet.

  Then, without warning, I ceased stroking the outside of her pussy and drove two fingers inside her, hard. She screamed out, but not in pain. I could tell by the way her pussy flexed and throbbed that she liked it.

  “You gonna cum for me, huh?” I growled, forming my fingers into a hook shape and scraping them along the soft tissue of her g-spot.

  “Yes!” She cried, bucking and writhing on the sheets. “Yes!”

  “What, already?” I teased. “It must have been a long time then, huh?”

  “I…I….ooohhh!” Her screams reached a crescendo. I felt her whole body tighten, lifting up off the bed into a bridge. Her fingers dug into the sheets. Her toes curled, and her eyes rolled back into the whites.

  And still, I kept pounding with my fingers. I felt wetness gushing past, not a trickle now but a flood. The muscles of her pussy spasmed again and again as she came, until, at long last, I slowed my assault.

  Slowly, she sagged upon the bed, like a deflating balloon. Every now and again a tremor would run through her, as if she’d been touched with an electric wire. I waited until her breathing calmed, and she was able, at last, to blink her eyes into focus and look at me.

  “Alright, Erica,” I said, grinning down at her from my perch between her legs. “Now, it is time for some cock.”

  I grabbed her by the hips, flipped her over, so she was on her knees, bent down, with her ass on proud display before me. I gripped the left cheek appreciatively, relishing its size and its lovely tone. The right cheek, I slapped with my hand so hard her flesh rippled with the impact.

  She moaned aloud, and reached behind her to grasp both her cheeks in hand. With her face buried in pillows, she spread herself wide, opening her pussy to me.

  “Perfect little pussy,” I murmured, running my finger along it. It was still soaking wet, and throbbing from her last orgasm. I could ram it right inside. So, I took my cock in hand, gave it a quick rub to make sure it was at maximum firepower, and pressed it against her opening.
/>   “Please,” I heard her beg, as I teased her with the arrow-head hardness of my tip. “Put it in me.”

  I stroked the hair behind her ear, then gripped her scalp, hard. “I fuck you,” I growled, “when I want to fuck you.”

  And I rammed it inside her.

  Her tightness was incredible. The pressure on my cock, from the squeezing of her pussy’s lips to deep within her, enormous. “Oh yeah,” I moaned, and slid up and down the length of her, relishing the elastic strength of her opening to the gentle ripple of her g-spot along my tip and the length of my shaft. That’s when I noticed, as my balls slapped upon her pussy, the most amazing thing: she could take all of me in.