by Zoey Parker
I’m pushing knuckle-deep inside of her with each pass, now, and swiping my thumb across her clit each time I extract my fingers. The wet smack of my hand against her dripping pussy fills the stall in time with her growing moans.
“Try it, Rose. Say my name.”
“Vince,” she whispers. Her eyes are still shut. The bouncing of her body is rocking the pane of glass, wiggling it in its frame. I clamp down tighter on her. I want to feel every rock and twinge riding through her.
Her right hand is seizing my right thigh for balance, while her left is laid on top of the hand I’m keeping on her throat. She tugs a finger up towards her mouth and bites on it hard.
“Again,” I instruct her.
“Vince.”
She’s trembling uncontrollably now. The rocking has become more like a shiver. I’m sliding my fingers in and out of her as fast as I can, keeping my thumb pressing on her clit.
“Now scream it, babe,” I tell her, “as loud as you can.”
When Rose yells my name, it reverberates around the sealed bathroom for the entire length of her coming. Her pussy clenches hard on my fingertips as the second orgasm tears through her. Her teeth on the finger she holds in her mouth are sharp and painful, but I don’t care. Let it hurt. Feeling her come underneath my touch is too satisfying for me to worry about anything else.
She turns around in my arms, mouth parted, fire blazing in her eyes. She doesn’t hesitate to fasten her mouth on mine and pull my cock towards her. It stands out straight from my body, primed to dive into her. I pick her up in a bear hug and she locks her ankles at the small of my back, still thrusting her tongue past my lips. Using one hand around my neck to keep from falling, she reaches the other down to line my tip against her opening and then inside her.
I want to erupt the moment I enter her, but I force myself to wait. Stepping forward, I smash her body against the glass and bend my knees to begin pounding. There’s no hesitation, no slow start. We are too hot and needy to do anything but collide into each other with as much force as we can muster. I’m impatient. Every second spent outside of Rose’s sweet pussy is a waste of time, as far as I’m concerned. The instant I withdraw, I want back in. It’s like a drug, and one hit will never be enough. I need it over and over and over again.
She tucks her face against my neck as I drive inside of her. Sweat and water loop across my chest. I can feel the flush rising in my face, the heat building in my balls, the fire dying to be unleashed. My body is threatening to crack under the pressure. Rose’s nails in my back are painful little pinpricks tying me to her, tethering me and keeping me from going anywhere else but deeper inside.
My wet skin glides easily over hers, aided even more by the juices dripping from her cunt. She murmurs a train of “Ohs” into my ear while I continue to pound my thick cock harder and harder. I’m fast approaching the point of no return. The water keeps rippling over us, only adding to the heat I feel mounting ever higher in the base of my dick.
Finally, there’s no more holding back. I pump hard, withdraw, and when I slide back into her, I let loose a thundering shot of cum, followed by another, and another, until I’m so empty I forget what it was ever like to be full.
We collapse to the floor, exhausted. Rose’s skin shines. The water gushes around us. I lean through the stream and kiss her.
I may have done some foolish shit to risk getting her back. But goddamn—it was worth it.
Chapter 16
Rose
I’m tucked under Vince’s arm as we lay in his bed. I’m sore all over, the weeks of captivity and the hot sex having finally caught up to me, but I can still feel the fading flicker of my climaxes dancing under my skin. It’s an incredible sensation to be warm, dry, and bundled under a heap of blankets. I’ve never felt safe in my entire life, and I don’t know if I ever will. But this is the closest I’ve ever gotten. It’s a nice feeling.
I wish I could let go and truly enjoy it, but there’s something else lurking in the back of my head, a thought that won’t go away and hasn’t since the first morning I woke up with a queasy stomach and a horrifying realization.
I look up at Vince. He’s asleep, eyes closed peacefully with his head resting on the pillows. His arm stretches protectively around my shoulders. If I close my eyes, too, it would be so easy to imagine this lasting forever. The warmth of his skin, the strength of his muscles—these things are so reassuring and so easy to trust. If they belonged to just about anyone else, maybe that would be enough.
But with my eyes open, I glance down at his torso. The tattoos lancing across his skin tell an entirely different story. I see barbed wire, demons, jagged designs whose meaning I don’t fully understand but that give the impression of something dark and bloody. And glaring out in the middle of it all is that winged skull with its empty, haunting gaze.
I heard enough on the motorboat to get some idea of what kind of man Vince is. I’d had my suspicions before, of course. Not many normal guys come flying into a strip club parking lot on the back of a motorcycle and effortlessly beat up two members of a vicious cartel. That alone triggered alarms. But in the wake of everything that happened after, it had been easy to ignore Vince’s background and trust solely in those hands, those arms that held me.
Now, though, all the details are catching up, and I’m not sure I can weather this particular storm. War with the cartels, weapons, patrols—Vince and the two men who’d rescued us from the water are involved in some horrible business, the kind that often left people dead, regardless of how innocent they may or may not be. I’d spent my whole life trying to stay away from men like him, for whom the law was merely a “don’t get caught doing this” list. To survive all the shit that I’d survived just to run straight into a threatening situation with an unknown man would be the height of stupidity. More than that, it would be suicidal.
There is no denying the physical connection between us. I can think anything I want about who Vince is or what he does for a living, but the second I focus my attention on the touch of his hand or his lips, all of that disappears. The question is, can that be enough? Enough not just for me, but for…a child?
My hand falls to my stomach unconsciously. I still don’t know for certain that I’m pregnant. A huge part of me doesn’t want to know. It’s not a problem until it’s a problem, right? Or at least, that’s what I’m telling myself. I want to ignore it as long as possible, though God only knows how long that will be. I hardly know anything about having a baby. When will I start showing? Can I keep the morning sickness under wraps so Vince won’t notice? Too many questions with a nearly infinite number of answers.
I wish I knew what Vince would say if I told him. He’s got so much confronting him right now, I can’t imagine that adding a future baby to the mix would be anything welcome. I’m terrified of him demanding that I get rid of it or sending me away to let it be someone else’s issue to deal with.
It’s not like I can just go home right now. I have no doubt that the Diablos know one of their girls got loose and that they will be on high alert in case I show my face anywhere. If nothing else, they’ll torture me for information about Vince before killing me to tie up loose ends. No, going home is definitely not an option. The only thing waiting for me there is a bloody murder.
But staying here and hiding a pregnancy from Vince seems just as impossible. I rest my forehead against his ribs, sighing deeply as open-ended problems spiral endlessly through my head.
A fingertip on my cheek startles me. I look up to see Vince is awake. I blink back budding tears I didn’t even realize were there and force myself to smile in spite of the confusion boiling within me.
“All good?” he asks.
For a second, I consider letting everything out. I imagine him holding me close, telling me he’s happy, that he wants to keep the child, that we should get married and stay safe forever. I picture a white dress and a baby in blue.
Then I catch sight of the skull tattoo, and I remember none of those t
hings are in Vince’s future. He is not the kind of man who gets married or raises a family. He’s the type of man who fucks a girl and rides off on his motorcycle, leaving her to deal with the consequences. In spite of all evidence to the contrary—him saving me over and over, the way his eyes soften when he looks at me—I just can’t allow myself to believe that he is who he appears to be when we are together. Sooner or later, he will show his true colors. I can’t leave myself vulnerable to a situation like that. Keep my secrets safe and my emotions locked away, that’s the only way to do it.
I want so badly to tell him everything and let his touch reassure me. But when I open my mouth, all I say is, “All good.”
If only that were true.
Chapter 17
Vince
One Week Later
“It’s been a week, and still nothing,” Mortar grumbles, tossing aside the folder in his hand. We’re sitting in his office at the clubhouse, Steezy, him, and I, hunched over in our chairs and brooding.
“We’re getting close to a breaking point, prez,” Steezy says. “If you thought our guys were nervous before, you oughta take a look at them now. The new prospects are liable to shoot someone, they’re so on edge. They’ve never been at war before, and all this waiting around with guns drawn is wreaking havoc on their confidence.”
“I know, I know,” Mortar says. He’s got stress lines etched across his forehead that I’ve never seen. I trust him implicitly and there’s no one else in this world I’d rather have leading the club in a time like this, but it’s not exactly reassuring to see him looking so worried. “But what do you want me to do? There’s no other option but to sit tight.”
“But no news, no sightings, not a goddamn peep anywhere! How is that possible?” asks Steezy, waving his arms around. “These cartel douche bags aren’t fucking ghosts! If they’re here, somebody’s seen them. Right?” He looks at me. “Right?”
I shrug. “Look, no one is comfortable. We’re all sitting on the edge of our seats, jumping a mile in the air every time somebody twitches or sneezes at the wrong time. But Mortar’s right. What else is there?”
Steezy collapses back into his seat. “I don’t know, man. I just don’t like it. That’s all I’m saying.” We fall into a dark silence, brows creased in deep thought.
Steezy’s right to be tense. I don’t like this situation any more than he does. I thought for sure that the Diablos would start making moves immediately after the yacht incident, especially since they had to know there was a risk I’d uncovered their plans. They might not know who I was or what faction I was associated with, but if I were El Diablo Blanco, I wouldn’t want to give a spy any time to report back to his men and get ready. The fact that they hadn’t been seen once was unsettling. We’ve all been wondering what they’ve got up their sleeve. The longer they make us wait, the more vivid our imagination gets. We’re doing ourselves damage without them having to lift a finger.
“What about the cop?” Steezy says after a while. “Maybe he’s got another scoop.”
Mortar rubs the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I haven’t been able to get in touch with him since the last time we met. It’s like he fucking disappeared. Tell me, how does a uniformed cop just up and vanish? It makes no sense, and it sure as hell isn’t helping my nerves.”
I shake my head. That’s hardly welcome news, but I don’t know what to do about that either. It’s the same answer as it is for everything else we’re dealing with—just sit and wait. What a fucking nightmare.
Mortar starts shuffling through a ream of papers on his desk. They contain the same intel he’s gone through a thousand times in the last week alone, but maybe he’ll find something new in it this time. I can only hope. We’ve done just about everything else possible. All of our weapons have been centralized in a single warehouse by the docks, with armed coverage around the clock. We’ve kept a close eye on the spread of information throughout the club network, but everyone seems to have checked out. We can’t find any sign of a rat. I’m happy about that one. I would hate to discover that one of my brothers had betrayed us. Still, it’s worrying to have that thought lingering in the back of my head.
“No use in all of us sitting around here playing up each other’s nerves,” Steezy says, standing with a stretch and groan. “I’m gonna go take a ride, see what’s happening around town. Keep me posted if anything comes up.”
Mortar grunts in response. I follow Steezy out the door. When we’ve stepped outside, he turns around to me with his wolfish grin.
“Gonna go home and fill her up, big man?” he says, slapping me on the shoulder.
I suppress a chuckle. Ever since I came clean to Mortar and Steezy about everything that had happened with Rose in El Cruce, Steezy had been giving me shit about her, even though it’s mostly because he’s happy I’m acting normally again. Mortar had merely smiled. He understood what it was like to go through hell for a girl.
“Fuck off, Steez,” I retort. But he sees the upturned corner of my mouth and just laughs again. I can’t lie to him; he knows that part of me is thrilled about going back to my house to find Rose there, waiting for me. It’s an alien feeling, and one I’m still coming to grips with, but the thought of her body makes my dick hard and the thought of her smile makes my smile soft. The combination is definitely going to take some getting used to.
“Tell her I said hello!” Steezy jokes as I climb onto my bike.
“If I remember,” I reply as I rev the engine. “Lots of other stuff to do.”
* * *
“Vince?” a soft voice lilts as I walk in through the front door. “Is that you?”
“The one and only,” I tease. I drop my keys on the counter and stroll into the kitchen to see Rose rolling out dough for empanadas. Her arms are caked to the elbow in flour and she’s wearing one of my old button-down shirts that hangs just past her ass. I wanna know what’s underneath.
I swing her around and push her up against the refrigerator, pinning her hands above her head as I sneak my tongue through the slight part in her lips. My other hand dives under the edge of the shirt and finds the frilly edge of lace panties on her hip. I slide it towards her center and provoke a soft moan as I start to rub where the heat pours out from between her legs.
She nips me on the ear and pushes me back, leaving white floury handprints on my shirt. “Back off, mister,” she warns. “I’m in the middle of something. Don’t interrupt.”
I stare her down with a wry smile on my face. “I’m about to be in the middle of something, too. But my definition is a little bit different.” Ignoring her giggled protests, I scoop her up in my arms and stride over to the couch, burying my face between her breasts as I walk.
“Put me down!” she exclaims, hammering on my back with small, playful fists.
“Never in a million years,” I shoot back.
“I mean it, Vince, put me down!” She laughs.
“Okay, fine.” I dump her on the couch. The springs wheeze as I fall on top of her. I nibble on her earlobe while I unbutton the shirt she’s wearing one at a time. Each opened button reveals another swathe of creamy, delicious skin. Like always, I’m desperate for a taste. It’s never enough, never satisfying.
It’s crazy to think that it’s only been a week since I pulled her from the yacht. The energy of her company is already so familiar, as much a fundamental part of my life as anything else. I get the same rush of excitement opening the front door every time. Hell, I could probably get up right now, walk in the front door again just for fun, and it would still make me swell in anticipation of seeing Rose. The blue eyes don’t haunt me anymore. They’re part of my waking life. I still can’t get over how quickly she became my new normal, and how fast I forgot about the way things were before her.
I brush those thoughts aside and focus on her body as I unclothe it. The last button falls open to give me a full view of her body. She’s wearing only those panties underneath. I get a fleeting glimpse before she snatch
es both sides of the garment back over herself and sticks a finger in my face. “You’re gonna ruin a whole afternoon’s worth of work if you don’t let me get up and finish those empanadas,” she says sternly. She’s so damned cute when she pretends to be angry. Her eyebrows angle sharply downwards and her mouth takes on a firm clench while in the middle of it all, her eyes sparkle warningly. I can’t help but want more. Fuck the empanadas. There’s always delivery.
Sliding my hand between her legs, I rub her slit over the panties. Her faux anger falls away immediately, twisting from the slashed line of her pursed lips to an eager whimper. “Vince…” she tries to say, but there’s no use in stopping me anymore. She wants my touch as bad as I want hers.
To say we’ve been fucking like rabbits in heat would be a gross understatement. I’ve taken her in every room of the house, every conceivable arrangement of limbs and furniture. I’ve heard a whole symphony’s worth of sighs and groans and shrieks, and yet I want more, always more. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to exhaust my desire to coax her body over the edge again and again. And when she teases me to my own completion, the world goes dark for a moment. It’s a drug like no other.