"That's a good sound, baby, but it still isn't begging," he said, pushing up as he rolled his hips in a circle, making my walls tighten so hard that it almost made the orgasm crash through me right then and there.
And right then, I did it.
For the first time in my life, I begged.
Sure, it sounded like I was choking on it, but it came out of me regardless.
"Please fuck me," I gasped.
"'Bout fuckin' time," he growled, shifting back, then slamming forward, his cock claiming every last inch of me, my walls squeezing him tight, afraid to lose him now that I had him. "Fuckin' tight," he growled into my neck, taking a deep breath before pushing up to look down at me, eyes intense. Piercing really. Maybe for the first time, I felt almost open, like he could read me.
That was, well, terrifying.
I yanked hard, catching him off-guard enough to get my wrists free, grabbing him by the back of the neck, dragging his lips down to mine.
Eyes closed, the uncomfortable sensation shifted away.
As his lips crushed harder, his hips shifted backward then pressed all the way back in, not fast, just hard, hard enough that it pinched in a way that was uncomfortable yet hotter than anything I had maybe ever known.
"Harder," I demanded against his lips, wanting, needing more of it. Needing everything he could give me.
Then he gave me harder, each thrust making my bed slam hard against the wall.
My hands stayed on the back of his neck, holding him to me.
But he pulled back suddenly, sitting backward, yanking my legs up straight, putting both up on his shoulder, one hand going between my thighs as he kept fucking me, working my clit. His other hand moved forward, pressing down on my lower stomach, making me feel his cock stronger, more acutely.
"You gonna come for me, baby?" he asked, thrusts suddenly not as hard, but faster, not giving my body a chance to lose the orgasm that was creating a pressure inside that was threatening to make both orgasms before this pale in comparison.
"Yes," I gasped, reaching out toward the hand at my stomach, wrapping my fingers around his wrist as my eyes did something of their own mind; they sought out those eyes that saw right through me.
And the second that connection was made, his cock pressed forward, his thumb stroked, and his hand pressed.
And I freaking... broke apart.
There was no other way to describe the way the orgasm racked through me, starting where our bodies met and ricocheting outward until it felt like it overtook me completely.
"Fuck," Sugar's voice hissed as my pussy spasmed around him, as the vise grip on my lungs let up, and I could suck in air to cry out, back arching, muscles tightening, body shaking.
It seemed to last forever, my muscles aching, my skin glistening slightly when I finally came back down, feeling Sugar slam deep, hissing as he came.
He sat there for a moment after, head ducked, eyes closed, seeming - like me - to try to come back down.
But then his head lifted; his eyes opened, and there it was again.
I felt like he was seeing me.
Seeing too much.
I pulled my legs up, curling to my side, and rolling off the bed. "One sec," I said, not bothering to grab clothes, rushing out of the room, half-hopping over Hannibal on my path to the bathroom, figuring that if he had been around the block as much as I imagined he had been, girls rushing off to pee after sex wasn't exactly unusual.
Besides, there was no way he could suss out the real reason I had needed to run away. Because I was feeling off. Exposed. Vulnerable. In other words, completely not myself.
I closed the door, taking a deep breath, placing my hands on the sides of the sink, looking up at my face.
Post-orgasm content.
That was the look.
I recognized it.
I'd seen it on my face before.
The flushed cheeks, the crazy hair, the tired eyes.
But they weren't just tired. They were freaked. I was a total Bambi - deer in the headlights.
And I needed to get it the fuck together.
What the hell?
Going all gooey over a biker who knew how to use his tongue, and hands, and cock?
Ridiculous.
I took a deep breath, grabbing my robe off the back of the door - a light pink silky number with little brass knuckles and crowns all over it. It had been a gift from Scotti - my, well, sorta but not really sister-in-law - who had come across it on some nobody website.
The sketchy kind you have to open a Paypal account to buy from because you'd never trust them with your credit card information.
I tied the sash loosely, letting it fall open in the front, a deep triangle to my navel. I wanted to cover up, but I didn't want it to look like I was hiding. Just a little shield. Maybe if I could put a small physical one up, I would feel better about the strange fall of my usually strong and impenetrable emotional one.
Walking back into my room, Sugar was on the other side of the bed, condom discarded, but still casually naked. And, well, with a body like that, it was a crime not to be naked as much as possible.
"He finally woke up," he informed me, meaning Hannibal who was situated at the end of my bed being pet on the belly by Sugar's foot. "Along with half of your neighbors, I'd bet," he said, cocky, self-satisfied smile pulling at his lips.
To be fair, he'd earned it.
I wouldn't begrudge him it.
I moved to the other side of my bed, climbing up, reaching into my nightstand for my book.
"Care for a tickle?" Sugar asked, making my gaze immediately shoot over, confused, before I saw what he was holding. My condom bowl. Which I had made at Savvy's last birthday party when she had dragged us to paint pottery. She had the skills for it. Jamie too. Me? Not so much. So mine had a badly drawn pickle with a somewhat squiggly-lined word bubble that said 'Care for a tickle?'
I thought it was hilarious.
Jamie and Savvy had rolled their eyes.
"I have all the art skills of a four-year-old."
"With the humor of a high school boy," he added, putting the bowl back.
"Yep. They do have the best jokes. Alright," I said, finding my bookmark, and flipping the page open. "You can head out."
There were a solid five seconds of silence following that.
"What?" he asked, voice almost a little hushed.
"No need to hang out." At his blank look, I took a breath, squashing down the desire to be nice, to be decent, knowing that being a bitch was the only way to get him out and save my pride. And maybe prevent whatever I was really feeling from being as obvious to him as it felt to me. "Does going over all those potholes on your bike cause brain damage or something? Let me try this again. Me fucked good. Me no want to snuggle. You go now."
To his credit, he didn't look insulted.
Actually, he looked... thoughtful.
His gray eyes were on me, his dark brows drawn together. "You fuckin' serious?" he asked, voice almost... soft? But that couldn't be right. His voice couldn't be soft.
That sound, it was doing something to me.
Something I couldn't let happen.
Because it was something I never let happen.
Ever.
Except with family.
And even then, only rarely.
But I squashed that down.
"Ugh, is this a pride thing? You were great. You rocked my world. I will be wrecked for any future man. Is your ego properly stroked now? I have a woman to watch getting decapitated tonight," I said, holding up my book. "And you sitting here breathing on me is going to ruin it for me."
He watched me with that damn look for what felt like a solid minute.
"Wow," he said, nodding. "Alright."
With that, he climbed out of my bed, reaching out to stroke Hannibal's head before walking out of my room.
Then, after a short pause as he dragged on his clothes, out of my life.
It absolutely should not have, but undeniably
did make a pang move through me.
A pang I was choosing to ignore as I put my book away, knowing there was no way I would be able to concentrate on it, let alone enjoy it.
Reaching for my phone, I scrolled for Jamie instead.
"I'm home and safe."
"What's wrong?" she asked with her superhuman ability to pick up on even the most subtle changes in my voice.
"You know how no guy has ever gotten under my skin?"
"Oh, for god's sake," she said, sounding like she was both groaning and laughing at the same time. "Please tell me it was the bartender and not the biker."
"When have I ever been the one to make things easy?"
"So how did you handle it?"
"I handled it," I said, tone definitive.
And so I did.
Or so I thought I did.
SIX
Sugar
What the fuck was that?
See, I'd known a lot of women in my life. Carnally. I'd fucked them in the clubhouse and scooted them out after. I'd screwed them in their places, rushing out as soon as we'd finished.
But I had never been fucking kicked out.
My brain wasn't exactly working right as I walked bare-ass naked out of her bedroom and through her apartment to shrug into my clothes, looking around at the pile of books on her coffee table and the flower pillo- no, those weren't flowers. They were cocks. On her pillows.
Fucking strange ass, interesting, unique woman.
As I slipped my cut back over my tee, I took a deep breath, reaching to lock the door before I pulled it closed.
It wasn't until I was back on my bike that the reality really settled down on me.
I just literally got kicked out of bed.
After giving the woman three orgasms that absolutely surpassed her expectations.
And she had gone from soft and open to closed down and prickly in a matter of minutes.
I had no goddamn idea what to even think of that as I turned over my bike and drove back to the compound, finding Virgin, Roderick, and Adler hanging out in the common area sharing some beers. Beers I made a bee-line for.
"Not bad," Adler said, glancing at the clock. "No waiting until she fell asleep and sneaking out?"
My head shook, my brain a little too overwhelmed to think better of admitting the truth. "She kicked me out after we fucked."
There was a second of confused silence before they broke out in smiles and, in Virgin's case, a deep, rich laugh at my expense. What were buddies for but to laugh at you when you were down?
"No shit," Adler said, still grinning. "What'd ya do wrong?"
"Not a fuckin' thing," I said, dropping down into the empty space beside Roderick.
"In my experience, women don't kick ya out on yer arse if ya do everything right," he told me, smirking. "I know this since I've never done anything wrong," he added.
"Who was it?" Adler asked.
"This mermaid-haired, tattoo-covered chick," Virgin supplied for me. "His whipped ass waited hours for her to come out of the bar so he could take her home."
"The hearse chick?" Adler guessed.
"That'd be her."
"Yer pride a little bruised, huh?" he asked, enjoying my situation. "She probably just had an itch to scratch. These days, it's not just clubwhores who don't want commitment."
"I don't want commitment either," I rushed to say.
"Oh, we're talking my language," Lo's voice said, appearing from nowhere, wearing her usual olive-green utility pants and a tan tank top that did nothing to hide her tits that any woman would be jealous of. Her long blonde hair was pulled back, a smile lighting up her eyes. "Has it finally happened?" she asked, dropping down on the arm of Adler's chair. "Has someone caught his eye?"
"And then kicked him out of bed," Roderick supplied.
"No shit," she said, smile curving higher. "Who is it? A girl who can resist a Henchmen. She must be something special."
"Think her name is Peyton," Virgin supplied, shrugging when I shot him a look.
Lo's smile froze then slowly fell. "Peyton?" she asked, tone suddenly serious. "Does she have a nose piercing, colored hair, and tattoos?"
"Yeah," I supplied, curious at her change in mood.
"The librarian who works with Reese?"
"Again, yeah."
"Peyton Reid," she said, exhaling out her breath slowly. "You do know who her sister is married to, right?"
Of course I did, but Adler spoke up before I could say anything.
"'Spose ya tell us all?" Adler asked. The nosey bastard.
"Eli Mallick," she supplied, giving me a pointed look. "And she's tight with the Rivers brothers too."
"Rivers," Adler parroted. "As in Kingston Rivers?" he asked. Adler knew a lot about all the people worth knowing in Navesink Bank. Not because he had been around long. In fact, he was newer than all of us. But because, unlike men like Virgin and me, he hadn't set out to be a biker, to prospect at the compound. No, he had chosen to shop around, see where he might want to settle down. So he knew about Sawyer and his investigator firm. He knew about Quin and his fixer firm. About the Mallicks and their loansharking and enforcing. About Hailstorm and, well, all their activities. And he knew about Kingston Rivers, a name I had only maybe heard once, and couldn't remember why.
"Kingston, yes. And Nixon. And Atlas. And Rush... Rivers," Lo supplied with a nod. "Who, in case all of you were wondering at all, had been armed robbers before settling down with their new businesses."
Shit.
I could sure pick them.
Of all the girls in town, I went home with one hooked up with enforcers and armed robbers.
Sounded about right.
"It was casual," I said, shrugging, not sure why there was a pit in my stomach about it.
"Yeah. That might be your saving grace," Lo agreed, hopping up. "I know you're new and don't know the Mallicks and Rivers well, but let me tell ya, they are protective of their women. And Peyton is theirs now. They know she's a crazy ass, so they let her have her fun, don't step in much. But if they heard she was getting dragged around by the heart by a Henchmen, you'd be hearing it."
"No worries. She kicked him out of bed," Roderick supplied happily.
To that, Lo didn't even bother trying to hold in her laugh. "Only seen her once or twice, but I have a feeling I'd like her."
"She's a fucking trip," I agreed.
"He couldn't keep his eyes off her at Kennedy's today," Lo's guy from Hailstorm supplied, surprising all of us because they never engaged in our normal conversations.
"Don't need your help," I shot back at him, only making him smile.
"When he wasn't looking at his phone, he was watching her talk to Benny."
"I liked you better silent," I told him, making him chuckle as he moved back outside. "Don't," I told Lo, shaking my head.
"Don't what? Whatever could you mean?" she asked, feigning innocence, a show she didn't put on well.
"It's not what you're thinkin'," I insisted as I reached for another beer. "She was hot. You look at hot chicks. That's it."
"Except then you waited hours for her to come out of the bar," Roderick piped back in. "Been on the town with you countless times, man. You strike out, you move onto the next hot chick. They've always been interchangeable to you."
The thing was, he wasn't wrong.
One hot girl was as good as the next hot girl when it came down to sex. All that mattered was willingness and acceptance of a one-night thing. I had never worked for it. I had never needed to, first of all. But no man could go through life without being turned down a time or two. Even me. And on those rare occasions, I just moved on.
I didn't wait outside like some motherfuckin' lovesick teenager.
So, really, I deserved the ribbing.
I tipped back my beer, shaking my head.
"She asked if going over all the potholes on my bike causes brain damage," I admitted, figuring it was always better to participate in your own ridicule than to sit ther
e and let them know it was getting to you. "Then she told me that she had a woman to see get decapitated, and my breathing on her would ruin it."
"The fuck?" Virgin asked, brows drawing low.
But Lo just laughed. "Reese said Peyton reads really twisted shit. Serial killers. Rape fantasy. Snuff erotica. She sneaks them onto the 'Staff Recommends' section at night, leading all the little old men and ladies to complain the next day. She gets off on that kinda thing."
"What?" I asked when as soon as she finished speaking, her eyes started twinkling.
"Oh, nothing. Nothing at all."
"Why is it I don't fuckin' believe you?" I asked, small-eyeing her.
All I got in response was a sly smile that didn't make sense at the time.
Or the next day.
It was Monday morning when I finally understood the look.
Because one of her guys came up to me in the kitchen, telling me that Lo needed him.
And that I needed to head over to the library to keep an eye on Reese.
Where I was informed I only had to watch her until four when Cy would show up to take her home... because Peyton was coming in for her shift.
Fuckin' Lo.
Wouldn't be happy until she paired everyone up.
But this one time, yeah, she was going to fail.
"What, are you trying to kill me, Ree?" Peyton's voice called a while later as I was sitting just around the bend from the front desk, a stipulation Reese made, not wanting scary outlaw bikers or paramilitary people scaring off the kids and old folks at the reception desk. I had one of Peyton's recommended books in my hands, casually reading it when I could hear Reese talking, so I knew everything was fine.
Lo was right; it was fucked up shit.
I'd been involved with a lot of twisted shit in my life, but even my fuckin' stomach was rolling reading this crap.
"What?" Reese asked, her milk-and-honey voice sounding innocent. But, unlike Lo, it wasn't an act. She just was sweet that way.
"Denver," Peyton said with a sigh, slamming something down on the desk.
"It's a great book!" Reese insisted.
"Yeah yeah yeah. Great."
"Just because no one was brutally murdered in it doesn't mean it wasn't good."
Sugar (The Henchmen MC Book 12) Page 8