Craving Me, Desiring You

by C. M. Stunich

  “About time you showed up,” one of the men says. He has a long silver beard and a rugged face that I'm starting to recognize. We've met one too many times, this guy and me. “We were starting to wonder if it might just be best to burn the house to the ground and let bygones be bygones.”

  I pause, making sure I'm underneath a streetlight, so the asshole can see the smile on my face.

  “If we're gonna keep meetin' like this, I think it'd be nice to get to know one another. My name is Austin Sparks, but I think you knew that.” I put my hands on my hips and enjoy the way the man's eyes lock onto Beck. Oh, he remembers 'im alright. “Now, it's your turn. State your name, and explain to me why you think it's alright to camp out on our front lawn.” I can barely see the man smile through his tangled beard. His dark eyes are like shadows, the dim light from above highlighting the crags of his face but doing little to illuminate it. I just stand there and take comfort in the gun at my hip and the crazy asshole at my side.

  “Oh, I don't know,” he says, running his rough fingers down his beard. “I think you lost your chance for pleasantries when that redheaded fuck disrespected me and my club. I think we'd better stick to strict business here.”

  “And what's that?” I ask, feeling the tension bubble around me, desperate to erupt. My people never got to take their anger out on anyone for the shooting, and they're itching for it. I hope nobody's finger accidentally twitches on no trigger. I keep the smile on my face.

  “Same demands as before, except this time, the price has doubled. We want your bitches, we want their cuts, and we want double the amount we were asking for before. You can make your first payment when we return the girls after a fun filled weekend out.” The man pauses and glances around at his men. Most of them are impassive, like they ain't got feelings or fucking balls in their ragged ass pants. No real man would ever want a lady that didn't want him back. It takes bigger balls to respect a woman and show her your pride than it does to belittle and intimidate. I've known that for a long time, but some folks are slow on the uptake. I resist the urge to growl when he continues speaking. “Or, we could fight it out, shed some blood, and see who comes out on top. I can't imagine that you've got much of a choice here. Bested by Crows has a new president, and they're ready to speak with you about Kent's death. I imagine they'll be here sometime tomorrow.” Silver Beard grins at me, making my lip curl unconsciously to the side. Fuck my stars. This is not good news.

  “You come here saying you want to uphold your brotherhood, but you don't realize that we got a sisterhood with these girls. What you're asking isn't going to happen, so you can shoot us if you want.” I glance over at Beck. “Or at least, you can try, but first, I've got a message for you.” I try to keep the glee out of my voice when I speak. “Seventy-seven Brothers is on their way, and they've also got some business they'd like to discuss with you.” I let the implications linger in the air, and I don't miss the twitch in Mr. Silver Beard's cheek when Beck starts to laugh his ass off.

  Chapter 6

  Amy

  “Are you tense?” I ask Austin, running my fingers over his bare shoulders. “You feel tense.” I don't miss the way his hands clench on the bedspread as I press my breasts against his back and lean over to kiss his ear. It's embarrassing to admit, but flirting and kissing and lovemaking, those are skills like any other and I think I've gotten quite good at them. After all, I have had quite a bit of practice. “You won't tell me what's going on, so I have no way to judge your mood.”

  “I don't want you to worry your pretty little head about it,” Austin says mildly. I can tell though, his mind is far, far away. I resolve to change that. I slide my hands forward and continue down his chest, feeling the hard points of his nipples as my palms glide over them. He shudders in my arms as I smile down at the rising bulge in his pants. And I only blush a slight bit while doing it.

  “You said we could be partners. You told me I could be more than an … than an old lady to you,” I say, and the words sound strange coming out of my mouth. I might be catching on quick, but I'm still a newcomer to this world. The terminology doesn't flow as freely from my mouth as it does from Kimmi's or Mireya's. I imagine that one day it will though. Austin sighs and leans into me, looking up through a fall of sandy blonde hair that I find just as attractive as the day I met him. I run my fingers of my right hand through it.

  “Do you ever worry that you're not good enough?” Austin asks, letting his eyes fall closed for a moment. I stare at his face, at the tiny scar on his lip, the golden stubble along his jaw, and I can't figure out what he means.

  “How so?” I ask as he sighs and reaches up, clasping his large hands around my small ones.

  “Just … not good enough,” he breathes, opening his brown eyes and putting on a smile that I know must be fake. You don't ask a question that profound and suddenly feel happy about it.

  “Austin,” I begin, but he's already chuckling and releasing me, turning around and pulling me onto his lap as we perch on the end of the floral drenched bed. The look in his face has changed from contemplative to hungry. I swallow hard and try not to think too hard about the ending of my book. Sali and Glance's final chapter had me sweating so profusely that Kimmi stopped her pacing and worrying to stare at me with wide eyes. She'd thought I had a fever or something. When I think about what they did in those deliciously sultry pages, I feel feverish. “Austin,” I say again, but my voice comes out shallow and breathy, making my stomach tighten almost imperceptibly.

  “It's gettin' late,” he purrs, nuzzling against my throat and scraping the smooth skin with his stubbled jaw. A sizzling kiss follows, burning my skin and drawing a gasp from my throat. “I reckon we better be climbing into bed. We've got an early start in the morning.” Austin brings his face back to mine and presses his mouth against my lips. I moan against his kiss, arching my back when his hand finds my breast. From virgin to sex Goddess – I certainly have come a long way.

  I kiss him back, trying to put into my tongue the feelings that won't come out of my mouth any other way. I love you, I think at him, wishing he'd say it first. I so desperately want him to. We're bound together now, he and I. I feel like our souls are tangled, but I still won't say it first. If anything, my favorite book character, Sali Bend, has made me quite wary of blurting out those three words. I've only said the L-word three times in my life and every time it ended the same way: with a rugged kiss and an excuse about the time. I never did see any of those men again. Not that I think Austin would run off and leave me, but still. Maybe I'm just a coward? Maybe that's it?

  “Maybe we should get into bed,” I admit to him, pulling back from his mouth just long enough to say the words. Austin grins and plants another big one right on my mouth before depositing me onto the bed and rising to his feet. I keep my gaze locked into the skull tattoo on the center of his chest as he backs up and, with a dirty grin and a chuckle, flicks the switch on the lights.

  The room falls into perfect darkness, broken only by the single shaft of moonlight that penetrates the room from the crack in the curtains. I feel suddenly tense, like my skin is stretched tight across my bones. My body thrums with excitement and nervousness as my eyes adjust, and I try to spy Austin coming across the room towards me. I catch a glimpse of him as he steps into the moonlight, unbuttoning his pants and sliding them over his hips. The three M tattoos on his body tease me mercilessly as I close my eyes and lean my head back. Father always used to preach that sex outside of marriage was a sin, but if that's true, then this is the dirtiest, most delicious sin there is. I would risk the fires of hell for you, Austin Sparks, I think as the bed creaks and he appears above me, all hard muscles and sharp lines.

  “You are so fucking hot, Miss Cross,” he says, and his voice, while strong and dripping with need, has a hint of uncertainty in it that I don't like. I think it must be because of whatever happened today, and I never dream that it has anything to do with me.

  I clear my throat.

  “Right bac
k at you, Mr. Sparks,” I say as he reaches his right hand down and slides it up my thigh. Thrills of intense pleasure rocket through my nerve endings, frying my poor brain before we've even really gotten started. His warm hand is a nice contrast against the coolness of the air conditioned room.

  “Talk nasty to me, sweetness,” he whispers as his hand travels up and finds my nonexistent underwear. I've taken to forgoing panties as of late. They seem to do more harm than good.

  “I'm not very good at it,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat. Mostly, I tell him this because I'm embarrassed and not because I really think I'm lacking any skill. My books have taught me well. I swallow and lift my arms up, allowing Austin to pull my nightgown over my head. “But I'll try if you'd like.”

  “Oh, I'd like it alright,” he growls, bending low, tasting my ear with his tongue. He keeps this frustrating distance between our bodies, his cock hovering close to my opening but not touching me. His chest is several inches above mine, and it's infuriating. I want to feel his body pressing me into the bed, covering me with his hard heat and his tight muscles. I wind my fingers together behind his neck and try to pull him to me. “Not yet, sugar,” he whispers. “Not until you beg for it.” I make a false pout with my lips, but I don't know if he can see me with his face already halfway to my bare breasts. Hit breath tickles my nipples and before I can utter a single word, he's massaging me with his tongue, tasting me and pulling a harsh gasp from my throat.

  “Be gentle with them,” I whisper. “They're sore.” All that gets me is a growl and the scrape of teeth. My eyes flutter and I feel like I'm about to pass out. My breasts are sore, but it feels so good I can't bear to ask him to stop. Austin settles himself down, lighting my body on fire where our skin touches, but he doesn't enter me. Instead he keeps kissing his way down, pausing at my belly button in an agonizing display of self-control.

  “That ain't much of a plea,” he says, holding my hips with his hands and pressing small kisses to the lines of my pelvic bone. “Are you sure you really want it?”

  “I do,” I whisper, pausing to pull Sali's words again. One day, I'm sure I'll find some of my own, but for right now, this will have to do. “Fuck me until I can barely stand,” I say, and then flush from head to toe. Good thing the lights are off. I may be able to retain some of my dignity this way. Austin moves between my thighs with another growl of pleasure, pressing his mouth to my opening and teasing me with his tongue.

  Lights sparkle beneath my eyelids, and I swear, I'm halfway to orgasming already.

  “Fuck me until I can barely breathe. Until I suffocate and drown in the … ” Sali tells Glance she wants to drown in the throes of his undying love, but I'm not I'm prepared to toss that statement out, so I switch things up a bit. “Heat of your passion.”

  Austin laughs, a full on belly laugh and pulls away for a moment. I grab at his hair and tangle my fist in the sandy blonde strands.

  “If you stop, Mr. Sparks, I swear on this depths of this earth that I'm going to be fucking pissed at you.” If I'd known curse words felt like silk fluttering across your lips every time you said them, I would've started mouthing off in the third grade.

  “Oh, you want me to keep going?” he asks, and although I can't quite see the grin on his face in the darkness, I can hear it. “I thought you were quoting a damn Shakespeare poem or somethin'.”

  “I could if you wanted,” I tell him haughtily, pulling his head up and feeling my heart speed up as our chests align. I want to feel his, too, to know that it's beating for me the way mine beats for him. Fuck. I just want him to say I love you, Amy. “Shall I compare thee to a summer's day/thou art more lovely and more temperate.”

  “You smart-mouthed little bitch,” Austin grunts as he thrusts inside of me, opening me up with a single motion, slicing into me with hot heat and the slam of his hips. I give a wet gasp and run my tongue over my lips, curling up into him and biting at his throat. As soon as my teeth make contact, he's groaning and moving against me harder, rocking his pelvis into mine so hard that I feel like my bones are going to shatter. And I'd never want them put back together. It would be broken bliss.

  “Austin,” I moan, letting myself go. I've learned a very valuable lesson in the past few months: losing yourself makes it easier to find yourself. And if you want to orgasm, you'd best know how to find yourself. Otherwise, you get good sex but no climax. I bend my legs at the knees and spread them as wide as I can, enjoying the feeling of being full, like a puzzle that's just found its missing piece.

  “Keep talking to me, babe,” he grumbles against my cheek, moving his mouth back to mine and kissing me, even as he roughly pushes my legs apart with one hand and clenches his fingers in my hair with the other. “Keep talkin'. I want to hear your voice.”

  “Fuck me, Austin,” I moan against his mouth, struggling to get the words out between kisses. “Fuck me and … tell me how good I feel.” His tongue slides against mine, hot and hungry while his cock moves inside my pussy, dragging me to the precipice of coming over and over again. Each thrust fills me up another notch, making my body feel itchy and frantic, like it can't happen fast enough. At the same time, I don't want it to happen. I want to keep going, to keep feeling this way forever.

  “You're the hottest damn lay I ever had,” he snarls into my ear, giving me the chills when his silky hair brushes across my cheek. I doubt he'd like to hear that. I don't think many men strive to achieve silky hair, but damn it, he's got it and it's mine. “Tighter than any woman I've ever been with.” I don't want to hear about other women, not even in the context of my greatness, so I kiss him again, locking my mouth to his while we grind our bodies together. My stomach twists again, but I ignore it. It doesn't matter. Right now, only this matters.

  “Austin,” I cry again, letting him move me closer to climax. “Austin, Austin, Austin.” His rhythm speeds up and his body tenses, back muscles clenching as he groans and spills his seed inside of me. I let go of my hold and come, too, trying to match him as he slams into me with a few more, well-placed thrusts. “Austin, I love you.”

  The words come out, even though I don't mean them, too.

  Perhaps … perhaps fate was involved in this one?

  Chapter 7

  Amy

  “You look decidedly miserable,” Mireya says, slamming her plate down on the table across from me. I don't worry about that – Mireya slams her plate down every day. But today she's actually sitting with me. That's a good sign, isn't it? I sit up straight, sliding my elbow off the table and letting my hand fall into my lap. It's nice to have girlfriends to talk to about man troubles, but what does one do when said girlfriend used to … well, have sex with one's boyfriend?

  I focus my gaze on my half-eaten scone and avoid looking at Mireya's frowning face. She's so different than I am. Sometimes if I look at her too hard, I get jealous, just a bit. I was born and bred to be an innocent Southern girl, and I feel like even with these faded jeans and this old T-shirt, I still look like one. Mireya looks like a biker. She has this hard edge to her pretty, this sexy flare that I don't think I could ever achieve. She's curvier than I am, and her lips are fuller. I try not to sigh. Nobody likes a whine, not unless you're serving cheese with it. Another favorite phrase of my mother.

  “It's Austin, isn't it?” she says with a sigh of her own. I look up and follow her red nails as she picks up a piece of toast. We're starting late today. Usually we all get to the house before eight in the morning. I glance up at the clock. It's half past nine already and we're still here having a leisurely breakfast. Or at least some of us are. When I woke up this morning, Austin was already gone. I'm not sure what to think of that. “You might as well just ask me. I've known the asshole for ten years.” I lift my eyes up to hers, but she isn't looking at me. She's staring at the tablecloth like it holds all the answers. She seems distant but not upset. Not anymore. Gaine has really transformed Mireya, whether she knows it or not.

  Mireya lifts her dark eyes up to mine.

 
; “Well?” I run my suddenly sweaty palms along the fabric of my jeans and take a deep breath, pausing to adjust my ponytail before I speak. This is an awkward moment at best, but I have a feeling that Mireya and I are going to be around one other for a very, very long time. Possibly forever. It might be best if we work through our issues.

  “I, um.” I bite at my lower lip and reach for my tea. It's ridiculously sugared – like any proper Southern lady's tea should be. “I think I said something to upset Austin last night.” I take another sip. “I didn't mean to. It just sort of … came out.”

  “During sex?” Mireya asks, absolutely unabashed. Me, I think I blush a bit. I look around at the empty tables, letting my eyes scan the breakfast buffet, before I turn back to Mireya. The last thing I need right now is Gaine or Kimmi or goodness – Beck – appearing without my knowledge and overhearing what I'm about to say. I wish I could talk to Christy about this, but she's been skittish when it comes to conversations about sex.

  I swallow and adjust myself on the seat, lifting my chin and locking gazes with Mireya.

  “I told him I loved him, even though I promised myself that I wouldn't be the first to say it.” I blow out a breath and take another sip of my tea. The warm Earl Grey soothes my nerves as I wait for a response. Mireya leans back in her chair, leather jacket crinkling as she purses her red lips and taps her wedding ring against the table. I try not to stare at it, but it's so different from the ones I always saw back home. I swear, there must be some secret committee of women from my church who get together and decide unanimously what rings everyone should wear: 18K white gold with pave-set diamonds, always expensive, but never flashy. Mireya's is actually just the slightest bit rusted with a gleaming red jewel set in the center. I think it may be an actual ruby, but I'm too afraid to ask. It seems so personal somehow.

  “What did he do?” she asks me, sounding genuinely interested. I put down my tea cup and pick at my scone again, unearthing small blueberries in the dry dough. What didn't he do? is more like the real question. He kissed me, told me I was beautiful, stroked my hair and held me while we fell asleep. He absolutely, one hundred percent did not say it back.