O Come, All Ye Sinners

by Amo Jones

  I didn’t argue, you didn’t argue with patched members.

  I gave Linda a look. “I’ll be back in two hours to help.”

  She nodded. “You’ll be betting your ass you will be.”

  I turned my gaze to Hansen and Macy. Macy’s tears had started again. I wished I was the kind of person who could give her a soft look, a hug. But that wasn’t me. So I just met her eyes for a second. She met mine, her gaze soft, comforting and understanding. Something I definitely couldn’t fucking handle.

  I nodded to Hansen.

  He nodded back.

  I started in the direction of the sleek black Harley that almost melted into the darkness behind it.

  “Scarlett,” Hansen called.

  I turned back. “Thank you,” he said. “For tonight. You stepped up.”

  I nodded once and then got on the bike.

  I’d been on the back of plenty of bikes through the years. Strictly in the literal sense, though, not the metaphorical. Sure, men who were enamored with the way I sucked dick wanted to lock me down for all the wrong reasons and had offered me the coveted title of ‘Old Lady.’ I declined. For more reasons than their not so noble intentions.

  But being on the back of this bike, pressed up to the white-hot heat of this man, it was different.

  Not just because his hand had covered mine when I’d fastened my arms around him after he’d taken off. It was an intimate gesture that shouldn’t have felt weird to a woman who was used to bikers yanking her into bed with them before they’d even learned her name.

  Not that I cared.

  I didn’t want to know their names either.

  I realized I still hadn’t gotten his name.

  And I wanted it.

  I wanted a lot more than his name. More of these strange intimate gestures. More information about what lay behind his eyes. And by the way my panties were soaked by the time we pulled up at my apartment building, I wanted him in the simplest of ways too. His eyes illuminated in the flickering lights of the parking lot told me he wanted that too. I was somewhat adept at recognizing arousal in a man.

  We’d just experienced death together. It made sense to want to feel alive in as many ways as we could. Fucking was one of the best and easiest ways to feel alive.

  But there was an undercurrent.

  One I didn’t need to inspect. Welcome in. Because it was dangerous.

  Luckily he snatched my hand and started dragging me toward the stairs before I could do any more dangerous introspection.

  I told him my apartment number but other than that we didn’t speak. Not when I unlocked the door, not when he closed it behind us.

  He followed me through the hall to the kitchen. I opened the door to the freezer.

  “I hope vodka’s okay.”

  “Fuckin’ methylated spirits would be okay,” he replied.

  I didn’t bother with ice, I poured us two hefty glasses and handed him his.

  We both downed the bitter and welcoming liquid in a couple of swallows.

  “Bed,” he declared, setting the glass on my dining room table.

  He didn’t give any chivalrous declarations about taking the couch. I chose a world without chivalry. And I liked it. In fact, my entire body was clenched with desperate need. I liked that he wasn’t noble, wasn’t trying to be decent.

  It turned me on more than nobility ever could.

  “Bed,” I agreed, putting my own glass down.

  Again, he followed me, not touching me as we walked down my narrow hall to my bedroom. But he didn’t need to touch me. The air was wired with his presence. I felt emotionally fucking flushed with the heat he was somehow awakening in me.

  The fact he was in my apartment was a big deal.

  No one from the club had been to the apartment.

  I didn’t entertain the idea that the relationships I had with these men were more. They didn’t come into my space, learn about my life, snuggle on the sofa with me watching some stupid TV show.

  I didn’t want that shit.

  I liked my solitude.

  It was painful, lonely and almost unbearable. But the only thing I knew how to like was pain.

  My tiny apartment was suddenly bursting with a definite lack of solitude.

  With him.

  I was yanked back into a granite body as I reached to turn on the light in my bedroom.

  “No lights,” he growled against my neck. “Just need to feel you.” His hand tightened on my hip before running lightly upward, ghosting the side of my body, missing all the parts of me that were screaming out for his attention.

  Namely my nipples and my clit.

  His lips against my neck was enough to have me panting.

  Freaking panting.

  I’d never had a reaction to such a small contact in my life.

  And my life had included a lot of sex.

  With a lot of men.

  Most of it, I enjoyed.

  With notable exceptions. The biggest exception being the one that put me on my path of no morals or self-respect. The time I’d lost my virginity. Against my will.

  But I’d learned to separate the horrors of what happened to me from what came after.

  I was whirled around before my thoughts could be plunged into the darkness that was blanketing us.

  His hard cock pressed into my stomach. I ached to take control—I was known for that, after all—but his hand was on my neck, yanking our mouths together before I could breathe.

  He wasn’t gentle, or tender. He kissed me like it was war. And in a way, it was. We were battling against new and unfamiliar demons that had taken up residence within us after today. We were using each other to do so.

  He lifted me and I immediately wrapped my legs around his hips, sinking my teeth into his lower lip as his hardness pressed right into my aching core.

  “Fuck,” he hissed into my mouth.

  Then he threw me onto the bed.

  He was already advancing on me, little more than a shadow that welcomed me into the abyss.

  I kicked off my boots and attempted to lift my shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine, to revel in the heat of it. I was forgetting about my lifelong quest to stay cold.

  Cold meant safe.

  But I wanted hot and dangerous sex with him.

  Iron hands circled my wrists, yanking them to my sides and pressing my arms into my mattress. The grip was hard. Painful. Perfect.

  His heat hit mine as he pressed his body into mine. “You do not fucking move,” he hissed.

  My pussy clenched at the chill in his tone, in direct conflict with the utter heat of the moment, of whatever the fuck it was between us.

  I expected this to be frenzied, uncontrolled. And if anyone had the power, it needed to be me. I was used to that, and most of the strong, manly men in the club liked that. It was a heavy piece of leather to wear on their backs and they secretly liked to be dominated in the bedroom. Which worked perfect for me, considering the only way I’d learned to enjoy sex, to crave it, was when I was the one in control.

  I wasn’t in control right now. His grip rendered me little more than helpless, he wasn’t afraid to use his size and strength against me. I didn’t panic, didn’t feel like crawling out of my skin, with that power taken from me. I’d give him my fucking hollow heart right now if he asked.

  He took my stillness for what it was, submission.

  One of his hands circled my neck, gripping it enough to disrupt my air supply, but not cut it off completely.

  My panties got wetter.

  Sweat beaded on my forehead as desire burned through me like an inferno.

  “You do what I say when I say it,” he demanded, moving my hands upward so he could peel my shirt off. “And you’re gonna suck my dick with that beautiful mouth of yours,” he said tightly, his hands still clenching my arms above my head. “But not until I’ve tasted every inch of you. Not until I’ve tasted your cunt.”

  He bent down to fasten his lips around my nipple.<
br />
  I let out a harsh hiss as I felt this right in my core. He didn’t pause, didn’t show restraint. He ruthlessly worshipped one nipple then the other, before moving downward.

  I was breathing heavily at this point, my climax already threatening to shatter me from this touch alone. This never happened to me. I climaxed almost every time, mostly because I was selfish in the bedroom. But I worked for it. Never had I been brought this close without a man even touching my pussy.

  His fingers expertly found the zipper at the side of my skirt and pulled it down. I lifted my hips to get it off me. I was desperate to be free of all the barriers that separated us, aware he was fully clothed.

  Another disruption in the power between us, me fully naked apart from some lace panties, and him fully dressed down to his boots.

  This worked only to soak my panties further.

  He didn’t hesitate to lean his face in between my legs, pressing his lips on the lace and inhaling. He was smelling me. The gesture was so simple, so intimate, I almost lost control right there.

  “Can smell your cunt,” he hissed, breath hot against one of the most sensitive parts of me. “Smells like fucking heaven, angel.”

  I didn’t even have time to react to the nickname as he moved the fabric aside and put his mouth there. Without having to look for it. Without effort. He found the perfect spot and worked with the perfect pressure, moving his fingers so they entered me at the same time his mouth was working my clit.

  I cried out. Loud enough for my neighbors on both side to hear. And I didn’t give a fuck. The walls could collapse around us and I’d still only care about this man’s mouth on my pussy.

  My orgasm hit me hard and fast, as relentless as the mouth and the man that brought it on. He didn’t stop his pursuit, his beautiful assault until a second orgasm rocked my foundation, cracked them. And then, as aftershocks worked at those cracks, I was left with the cold, empty air as he stood.

  “Stand up,” he commanded.

  I blinked rapidly, unsure if my spent body had the energy, the ability to stand.

  “Don’t make me ask you again.” His voice was filled with menace.

  Beautiful fucking menace.

  I peeled myself up to stand shakily in front of him.

  Enough light filtered through the window to show his large outline, the lines of his body.

  “Take off my clothes.”

  He didn’t touch me. Didn’t steady me as I shook.

  I stepped forward, hands going to the edges of his cut, fingering the leather for a long moment before I shrugged it from his shoulders.

  It fell to the floor without the thump that should’ve signified the real weight of the item of clothing.

  “Lift your arms,” I said, my voice husky, broken.

  He did so silently and I peeled off his Henley.

  My hands trailed across his naked torso in wonder, exploring the hard, muscled ridges of his skin. I couldn’t help myself, I leaned forward to take his nipple in his mouth like he had done with me.

  He let out a low hiss, his hand tangling in my hair roughly. I grazed my teeth along his nipple, my core clenching, aching for him to fill me up. He grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking me backward with enough force to turn me on more but not enough to hurt me properly.

  I wondered if anything could really hurt me properly now. That’s why I craved pain, to find out the depths of my emptiness.

  “You’re gonna suck my dick now,” he growled.

  My pussy clenched.

  “Yeah, I am,” I whispered.

  “First, you’re gonna give me your mouth,” he said, yanking me flush to his body. “You’re gonna taste your cunt on my lips.”

  And then I did. I tasted myself mingled with him as he kissed me without mercy, yanking at all the barriers I usually put up during such moments. I didn’t have the energy to do anything more than respond to the kiss. To survive it.

  He pulled me back. “On your knees.”

  Again, the command should’ve sent chills down my spine with the power of memory, had me rebelling against a man trying to take control from me. It didn’t. I yearned to submit to him.

  I immediately found myself on my knees, hands at his belt, furiously undoing it so I could free him. The second I did, I paused, holding his hard length in my hand. Squeezing just the right amount to earn a hiss from the man above me.

  I moved my hand up and down his beautiful, fucking huge, cock. I ached for it to fill me up, to move inside me, to bring me to what I knew would be the most intense climax of my fucking life.

  And his mouth on me was already pretty fucking intense.

  I fastened my mouth around his cock, reveling in the power I had over this brutal man, even though I was on my knees.

  Though it was an act I was talented at, it wasn’t one I really enjoyed doing. Sure, I didn’t mind, especially when a man was returning the favor, but I could definitely take it or leave it. Right now, I was greedy for his cock, I ached to continue sucking it for all fucking eternity. Especially since hands tore into my hair, clutching at my strands with a wildness, a brutality that told me I was pushing him over the edge.

  “Fuck,” he hissed, exerting pressure over my head so I stopped moving.

  I let out a frustrated moan.

  He yanked so my head moved to look up at his shadow. “Not gonna cum for the first time in your mouth, though that will be happenin’ tonight.”

  I licked my lips in expectation. Again, not something I ever invited. But I wanted it. I wanted him inside of me in all senses of the word.

  “But I’m gettin’ inside that pussy first,” he growled, leaning down to lift me to my feet.

  He snatched my neck and yanked me in for a kiss, this time tasting himself on me. He ran his hands over my body roughly, greedily. Tweaking my nipple hard enough for me to cry out, kneading my ass with enough pressure to leave bruises.

  I raked my hands down his arms, sinking my nails into the skin. I wanted him under my fucking fingernails.

  Then his palm was on my chest and he pushed me back down on the bed.

  “Don’t move,” he commanded.

  I submitted.

  He made quick work of his boots and jeans, the rustling of foil telling me he was being smart. That was good, since I was usually religious about protection—I’d never been taken raw in my life, apart from the first time—and then he settled on top of me, positioning himself at my entrance.

  “I’m gonna fuck the death outta us,” he murmured against my lips.

  Then he surged into me.

  White lights exploded in my vision at his brutal and beautiful intrusion.

  He didn’t wait for me to become accustomed to him, to his size, he just took me, hard, fast and beautiful.

  My fingers sank into his chest, desperate to draw blood, to cause him pain to add to our pleasure. He did the same, circling my neck with his hand, never slowing his thrusts.

  It was utter fucking perfection.

  In our imperfect and fucked up world.

  “We should get back,” I whispered against his chest.

  He was still, but awake, I knew.

  We hadn’t closed the blinds, and morning sunlight taunted us with a new day.

  “Christmas morning dealing with the death of a whole chapter,” he said, voice raspy and his arms flexed around me.

  I grappled for the grip on my cold heart within his warm embrace at the mention of the death he had indeed fucked out of us.

  But there was only so long we could stay tangled in an erotic fantasy.

  One that I had completely and utterly fallen into as we’d fucked each other every way we knew how. And he was a biker, I was a biker whore—we knew a lot of ways. Every single one of my muscles ached. My inner thighs were covered with bruises. I was sensitive in all of my most delightful sated places.

  Christmas morning tangled up in a man who was something more than just a fuck. That was apparent. We were cuddling. And the worst thing was, I lik
ed it. He knew when to hurt me, and he knew when to be gentle. When to kiss my temple with unbearable lightness, when to press his fingertips into my hips with uncontrollable roughness.

  He got me in ways I didn’t even get myself.

  And I’d known him for less than ten hours.

  And I didn’t even know his name.

  I pulled myself from his arms, forcing myself out of the bed so I could find the proper emotion—or more accurately lack of emotion—to get me through this day, and the ones afterward.

  He was leaning on the headboard, sheets pooling at his hips and frowning at me at the same time he was shamelessly checking out my naked body with hunger. I flushed, not with embarrassment—I was used to many men seeing me naked, there was not a private part of me left, on the outside at least—but from a hunger of my own. A need to crawl back into the arms that promised safety.

  Comfort.

  I caught myself.

  Safety? Comfort?

  No. Those things didn’t exist. They belonged in fairy tales with princesses and dragons.

  I strode to snatch my robe off a chair in the corner of my room, covering myself as if the thin fabric would make a difference. But I needed a tangible shield since my emotional ones currently weren’t working.

  I turned, fastening the tie and he was still watching me silently. “We need to go,” I told him.

  “Yeah,” he agreed, eyes on me, not moving.

  “I don’t know your name,” I blurted, unable to go a second without knowing it.

  It was so stupid.

  Names were nothing. Meaningless.

  But nothing was meaningless with him.

  “Which one do you want?” he asked.

  I raised my brow. “How many do you have?”

  “Well, I’ve got one Gwen started callin’ me after she decided I looked like a certain wrestler. Then all the other bitches started along with it. Wasn’t worth the fuckin’ drama of tryin’ to fight it, so I went with it.”

  I immediately knew which wrestler he was talking about. And it was true, with his tanned, exotic skin, his huge muscles, bald head, and tattoos illuminated in the morning light—he looked a fuck of a lot like Dwayne Johnson.

  But there was no way this man was like anyone, anything else I’d ever encountered.