by Lee Savino
I choke, hands suspended in the air above his hard thighs. My tears mingle with the shower spray. He tugs me off, his grip sharp enough to bring tears to my eyes. A breath, and he forces me back down. I let my spine loosen, my whole body a puppet in the hands of a master. A groan tells me it’ll be over soon. Something salty flows over my tongue and then Mason pulls back. I twitch my face away, eyes closed as the shower washes everything away.
A gentle touch on my jaw. Good girl. I reach up to cover his hand, but he’s already stepping away, turning off the water and walking off in wet jeans. I’m still on my knees, wondering what the fuck just happened.
Later that night, I lay in bed stroking my belly, What to Expect When You’re Expecting beside me, hidden under a large print thriller.
“You doin’ okay?” Jagger slouches in the doorframe, waiting until I wave him in.
“Yeah. Just tired.”
“We wear you out?” His eyes crinkle with humor.
I laugh. “You know it.”
“Seriously, though,” he sits by my feet, picking them up and plopping them in his lap. Still not big on boundaries is Jagger. “You holding up okay?”
“Oh yeah,” I yawn and stretch. His thumb strokes up the arch of my foot, and I melt into a moan. “Oh, do that again.”
“Everyone treating you right?”
“You sound like Lincoln.” The big crew chief came in after tonight’s dance to quiz me carefully on what I thought of the job thus far.
“What did he say?”
“He just wanted to know if I was cool with everything. I told him so far there weren’t any OSHA violations.”
Jagger keeps kneading my feet, chuckling. “Who’s night is it?”
“Uhhh, I think it’s still Mason’s.” Except Mason and I already had our moment. Sorta. “I don’t know. Saint wants me Saturday. I did everyone else, except Roy and Tommy.”
“Mmmhhmmm,” Jagger murmurs knowingly.
“What? What do you know?”
“It’s Roy and Tommy.”
“Yeah, and… They’re so sweet. I think they like watching but they always go off alone afterwards.”
“You mean they always go off together.” He emphasizes the word ‘together.’
My mouth drops open. “What? No…”
“Yes.” Jagger waggles his eyebrows. “Shhh. Don't ask don’t tell. But we're cool with it.” His voice lowers. “The other crews might not be. But Lincoln made it clear he was and we keep our shit tight. He’s such a good leader, perfect safety record, the company will give him anything he wants.”
“Just to be clear: Roy and Tommy are together,” I spell out. Jagger nods. Gay lumberjacks. Who knew? “No wonder they don’t want a night.”
“So that frees up your schedule.”
I shrug. If Jagger is angling for an extra night, he’s going to have to do all the work. Although, if he rubs my feet like this on my nights off, I might jump him anyway.
Jagger laughs and I realize I said my last thought out loud. “So sleeping with all these guys? You really don’t mind?”
I shrug again. “I’m cool with it. Saint gave me this book.” I sift through my pile of borrows, careful to keep the pregnancy guide hidden. “It theorizes how human communities used to be poly. Polyamorous,” I clarify when Jagger’s eyebrows go up. “Specifically, one woman would mate with multiple males.”
Jagger’s hands still as he stares at me.
“What? I didn’t make this up!” I page through the book. “They think they have evidence based on physical qualities. For example, the penis is shaped like a shovel so it can scoop semen out of the vagina before making its own deposit. And women cry out during orgasm—which could’ve been a way of calling more men to come inseminate her.”
Jagger’s eyes are frozen on my face. I wave my hands in the air as if they can help me explain.
“They think it explains a lot about why women take longer to orgasm. And premature ejaculation. If their theories are correct, a guy finishing early would be a trait that meant their seed was the first in, and the first to take root. Evolution would select for it. I don’t know,” I finish, mumbling and not meeting Jagger’s wide eyes. “I think it make sense.”
“Sierra, I...” Jagger keeps shaking his head. My foot is still between his hands, and I attempt to remove it. He hangs on and keeps massaging it, even as he looks at me like I’m a zoo animal. “I don’t know what to say. This is not what I expected to talk about.”
“It’s interesting to think about, anyway.”
“Yes, it definitely is. But what about your feelings? Forget premature ejaculation and natural selection. How are you feeling, being with a bunch of guys?”
I open my mouth to answer, and a shadow falls across the door. Mason steps in my room, rapping his fist on my door as if he didn’t just barge into my space, knocking as an afterthought. “Am I interrupting?”
Mouth still open, I try to think of what to say. Jagger frowns. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s my night, right?” The beautiful man is already turning away. “Come to my room in fifteen.”
“Uh, wha…” I manage to get out before Jagger’s on his feet.
“It was your night. Last night. You passed. She’s resting.”
Now my mouth is hanging open at Jagger defending me like this. His shoulders bunch up, hands curling to fists. Mason pivots neatly and the two guys face off. They’re not as huge as the rest of the crew, but they’ve got enough anger and muscles to cause some danger.
“Hey, wait,” I say weakly. “It’s okay.” I look at Mason, wondering if he enjoyed himself in the shower so much that he wanted more. I don’t want to mention it; it seemed weird that Mason was at the lodge while everyone was on shift. I don’t want to get him in trouble.
Me defending Mason is also weird.
“I’m all right,” I tell Jagger. “Mason’s right. It’s his turn. I’ll be right there.” I stand up and busy myself organizing my books. What should I wear?
When I turn back, Mason is gone. Jagger has his arms folded across his chest. “You don’t have to do this.”
“It’s fine.” Despite everything, I’m excited, a telltale tingle creeping up my thighs. “He’s just grumpy. It’s probably all an act for attention.”
“No, it isn’t. He’s dangerous.” Jagger leans on the door, chewing his lip.
I shrug, even as excitement ripples through my body, remembering the water running over Mason’s impossible cheekbones, his harsh commands. No, I tell myself severely, it was not hot. It was rude. You did not like it.
But I did.
A few minutes later, I wander down to Mason’s room. My nemesis stands at the door, jaw clenched. He turns and walks in, expecting me to follow. His room is neat, no books or clutter or signs of personality. The bed looks like no one has ever slept on it. Maybe he sleeps upside down, hanging from the ceiling, like a bat. A giggle escapes before I can stop it.
Mason’s black brows knit together. “Face the wall,” he orders.
“This again?” I mutter, but turn toward the wooden dresser as he comes at me. His hand claps against my bottom, making me jump. The spank doesn’t hurt, but I look back at him, curious.
“Stay where you are.” His arms reach around me and he roughly undoes my jeans and peels them down. I hang onto the dresser for balance.
“Are you going to frisk me?” I can’t keep from snarking. Shut up, Sierra. I tell myself a second before he says the same.
“No underwear?” he asks, and I shrug. I changed from my pajama bottoms into jeans for the walk down the hall, but left my camisole. No bra or underwear; I didn’t see the point. “Fucking slut.”
“That’s me,” I murmur and suck in a breath as he shoves his fingers into my pussy. Not because it hurt—because it felt good.
I twist to see his reaction. If he expected to dry fuck me, he’s outta luck. His eyes widen as his fingers glide right in.
“That’s right,” I whisper as
every cell in my body focuses around the welcome intruder. “I’m fucking wet for you. Must be your pretty, pretty face.”
His eyes are hostile, his fingers stretching and reaching, thrusting crudely. He looks like he wants to hurt me, but he can’t. I’m too wet.
I laugh right in his face. “Is it hard, Mason? Being the prettiest one in camp?”
“Shut the fuck up,” he breathes, his pupils growing until his irises are thin umber rings. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard. You’re gonna do what I say, because I’m paying. You’re the whore.”
“Your wish is my command.” I twist off his fingers and slide to the floor, slowly, so I can watch his body clench and eyes catch fire. Halfway down he grips my hair, hard enough to sting, and presents his wet fingers to my lips.
“Suck it, whore,” he orders. “Show me what you can do.”
I yank down his boxers and engulf his cock instead. He hisses, staggering back until his calves hit the bed I cup his balls and hum as I work my tongue around his length, dragging it along the bottom and poking it into the dent under the flared head. He grips my hair harder, but I press forward, ignoring the pain in my scalp, taking him deep.
“Fuck.”
“Your wish is my command.” I rise and peel off my shirt in one movement. My small breasts bounce, catching his eye. I use the distraction to make my move, pressing my pale body against him, embracing him like a lover.
He turns us and rolls so I’m on my back. His hands lock around my wrists and wrench them away from him.
“Don’t touch me,” he grits out.
“Hard to fuck without touching you,” I shoot back, and he frees a hand to swat between my legs. His palm connects with my pussy and I yelp. “Fuck.” I buck against the bed, fighting to get my wrists free from the punishing shackle of his right hand. Evil glints in his eyes as he smacks me again, this time hitting my right haunch like a rider encouraging a horse.
“I make the rules,” he warns and I nod. Fine. My pussy is too eager for me to keep arguing.
Smirking as if he knows how hot his dominance makes me, he rolls a condom on his glistening length.
“I’m clean,” I say automatically and he gives me a look that makes my cheeks burn. He wants to fuck a dirty, dirty whore? Fine. I can play that game.
“Roll over,” he commands. “All fours.”
“What’s the matter, don’t want to look me in the face while you fuck? You gonna pretend I’m a little boy?” I taunt. His face darkens and I know I’ve pushed him too far.
“On your back then,” he snaps. “Not like that. Spread your legs. Wider.”
As soon as I—bravely—take the vulnerable position, he’s on me. He thrusts inside with brutal force, so rough he’d tear me if I wasn’t so sopping wet.
“Yes,” I can’t stop myself from sighing. If I was smart, I’d shut up. Mason slams forward, sending me sliding further onto the bed. Tears pop into my eyes—tears of pleasure.
“Come on,” I grunt, locking my ankles behind his iron hard back. “Prove you’re more than just a pretty face.”
His hips snap forward and he drives into me, so deep stars fill my vision. My nails dig into his smooth skin. I could claw his sleek shoulders, leave red marks marring his perfect tan. I scratch down his back and grip his tight ass to pull him deeper. His glare stabs me, penetrating me in a different way.
I close my eyes.
“No,” he barks. “Look at me when I fuck you.”
“That’s my line,” I laugh. His expression says murder, but his dick sings a sweet, rhythmic song. I plant my heels on the bed and thrust up, mashing my pelvis against his in time to the deep, sexual beat. For as long as I live, I will remember the rocking strength of his body, the perfect bow of his lips tempting, daring me to risk it all for a kiss. My orgasm gathers in the far corners of my body, rivulets of pleasure running through me, head to groin to feet. It slams into me, breaking me, wringing me out, leaving me breathless.
I will forever compare this fuck to all others. I will have sex dreams about this glorious hate fuck. The best sex of my life.
“Here.” He tosses something at me. Money. The bills smack me in the face.
Shaking, weak with anger and melting pleasure, I rise and slip on my clothes, my tip crushed in my fist.
“Not bad for a whore,” he yawns.
“I’m not a whore.” I give him a hard smile, as friendly as a kick to the gut. “Whores fuck for money. I’m here for the sex.” I toss the bills on the bed, and swagger from his room.
In the middle of the night, demons rise in my mind.
“Sierra’s a hot little piece.”
“Yep,” Jack agrees, taking a pull on his beer.
“She’s been around the club, what, a year?”
“Little longer. Her mother used to hang around the Hell Pit before she died.”
“That’s right. Wannabe old lady. Hit by a car and left her girl all alone,” Dex says thoughtfully. “Dried up old hag, the mother. But the daughter… she grew up just right.”
“Yeah,” Jack answers. Through the screen door, I watch my boyfriend bob his head, eager to agree with the club leader, so oblivious to the satanic glint in Dex’s eye. “Sierra’s great.”
“Mmm.” Dex takes a hit of his joint, passes it to Jack. The light from the silent TV reflects off his brass rings. “You know how it is in the club. Before you take an old lady, you gotta give her to me.”
I suck in a breath, jerking back in the shadows where I’ve been hiding. I knew Dex was up to something. The president of the whole MC doesn’t single out a lowly patch to hang out with, like a school girl desperate for a BFF. Jack was so excited about this meeting, so hopeful. Like the rest of the club, he hero worships Dex. And now we’re stuck at Dex’s house.
I glance back at the fire pit, where my backpack still sits. I don’t want Jack to share me with his club prez. The thought of Dex touching me makes me sick. Should I run? Maybe just walk down the street for a bit, come back when the guys are high and half asleep and no longer in the mood. I can leave my backpack and just say I needed some fresh air. My stomach’s not feeling right anyway.
I’m so busy planning my escape I miss Jack mumbling something.
Dex doesn’t answer right away. He plucks the joint from Jack’s hands and stabs it out. “I think you’ve waited long enough. Call her inside, Jack. It’s time to share.”
I jerk awake. For a moment, I’m not alone. Memories lurk in the shadows. Jack coming out the door to call my name. Me hiding alongside the house, holding my breath until he goes back inside, tells Dex I must’ve run. The slam of the front door followed by the roar of pipes: the prez leaving.
Is that what really happened? Must be: when I went back inside to Jack, Dex was gone.
The next thing I remember is the sound of the gun. The shot echoes in my memory as I scrub my face. Try as I might, I don’t remember what happened before the gun. Before the blood.
I remember what happened after all too well.
I stare at the ceiling, willing it to turn grey with the dawn. I can’t sleep, I can’t settle. I’ve spent too much time on the run, paying penance for that night, Jack’s death.
But here in the lodge, with a chance to breathe, maybe I can remember why Jack had to die.
6
Elon
“Hey, redhead.”
I stop in the hall even though I don’t want to. Jagger sits splayed on his bed, a cloud of smoke over his head.
“No smoking in the lodge,” I parrot. “You know Lincoln doesn’t like it.”
Jagger rolls his eyes, but he rises to lean against the window and blow smoke out the crack. I wait while he stubs the joint out and turns to me with an obnoxious smile, hands splayed to show me the obvious. Like I’ll believe he’s done for the night. As soon as I continue to my room, the joint will be back in his mouth.
“What do you want?”
“Can’t I say hello to my favorite redhead?”
“What’s my n
ame, Jagger?” I wait while he squints at me, lips parting as if he’s going to guess.
“Okay.” Jagger laughs like he told a hilarious joke. “You got me. I never can tell the difference between you two.”
“I’m Elon,” I say patiently.
“Right. You got any booze left, Elon?”
I shrug. I have a bottle of port I’m saving for the first day of fall. My tradition. But Lincoln doesn’t like us drinking on season. One of his funny rules.
Not that it stops Jagger.
“Guess I’ll have to wait until I’m in town,” Jagger sighs dramatically.
“Guess you will,” I say, and turn to keep walking.
“No, no, wait.” Jagger scrambles to the door, staggering a little in his haste. I wrinkle my nose. Jagger’s always heading off into the woods on his breaks. I’m not sure how much stuff he smokes, or how he manages to hide it, but he won’t be long for the crew if Lincoln catches on. Too bad, too. Lincoln’s crew is a sweet deal, even before we got Sierra.
“So the girl,” Jagger lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Whatcha think?”
“She’s all right,” I say. She was more than all right. She’s so sweet, the way she cares about us. Most people look at me and see my brother’s doppelganger. Not Sierra. She pauses to study me carefully before addressing me by name. Every time.
“I’m trying to figure out where she came from, what her deal is. She say anything?”
I shrug negative.
“A hundred bucks says she was turning tricks in town and approached Lincoln.”
I wrinkle my nose. “That doesn’t seem like Sierra.” There was something about her. A freshness, a spark of joy. I can tell when she dances.
“Come on, bet me.”
“No.” I step back. “If you need money, go ask Saint for a loan.”
“Awww, no,” Jagger whines. “He’ll throw me out. Right after he turns me down.”
I shrug. “Guess that’s your answer.”