Wring: Road Kill MC #5

by Marata Eros

  He kisses them.

  Wring shuts off the water and binds a towel around his waist. He waggles his eyebrows, and I smile.

  Wrapping a strong arm around me, he walks us to a door that is partially ajar. “Do you proper here,” he says.

  He sets me on the bed, and the towel falls away from my breasts.

  Wring stares at the view just as a stray beam of moonlight hits my body. “You make me crazy, Shannon.”

  He makes me crazy, too.

  My inhale is sharp. Reluctant. “I have to tell you something, Wring. It's important.”

  He's probably been with a hundred women. And I've never been with a man.

  Not once.

  He strides to me, whipping the towel off his waist and tossing it on the back of a chair.

  Naked, he sinks to his haunches and pushes my legs wide. Only my bunched damp towel is between us.

  My eyes latch onto his penis. I gulp at the size.

  I tremble. “I'm a virgin.” I clench my fingers tightly, feeling stupid.

  Feeling brave.

  When I look up at Wring, his eyes are solemn. Then a grin breaks out, moonlight caressing his expression.

  “That's okay,” he says a second time.

  I smile.

  Chapter 14

  Wring doesn't attack the obvious. He moves slowly as I lie back on the soft unmade bed.

  First, his lips touch the bone at the inside of my ankle, his left hand moving slowly up my calf, kneading the flesh.

  “I can't believe—”

  “Shhh, Shannon, believe me when I say I'm not going anywhere.”

  I hike up on my elbows, and his face is between my thighs. Again.

  “What's ‘property’?”

  His expression arranges into tight lines of irritation. “It's a MC term. Means you belong only to me.”

  Wring's strong hands press my thighs apart.

  I want this, but I'm afraid of what giving that piece of me up means. Afraid to enter into a culture I know nothing about. Afraid for my future. Tomorrow—and beyond.

  Then Wring's thumb sweeps across my open entrance, spread as wide as a woman can be and still have legs, and my breath stills in my throat. Caught. Hot. Wanting.

  His teeth lightly abrade my labia, and I shudder, my hands finding his head.

  “You like it,” he says, and his voice vibrates against my sensitive flesh.

  Oh God. “Yes.”

  Wring made me cum in the shower, and he'll make me get close now.

  “I don't have a hymen—lost it when I was riding horses at my grandfather's ranch.”

  He lifts his head, an amused smile ghosting his lips. “Why did you wait?” he asks after a heartbeat.

  I don't know. I could use Mom as an excuse—and that's the truth. The real truth hurts too much. That I let taking care of someone else get in the way of taking care of myself. I've never allowed myself to live.

  Mom's right. Her affliction has stolen my life's time.

  And I'm here to take it back. Right now, with this man. This moment. But what I say aloud is, “I just never found the right man.” And that's true, too.

  Wring accepts what I say at face value as his tongue finds me again, and I writhe under the hot wet touch he provides.

  Crawling up my body, he leaves my drenched entrance and works up to my face, trailing kisses. Cradling my face in his hands, he looks deeply into my eyes as his cock moves into position between my legs.

  “You don't have to. But whether or not we do this now or later, you're mine.”

  I knew I was his when he beat down Vincent, then when he came for me at the gangbanger's place. I just couldn't let myself believe that a turn of fate would shape itself into this moment with Wring.

  I can't deny it. “I know.”

  His eyes are serious, never leaving mine. “I won't lie—this is gonna hurt. Even though I made you ready, it'll hurt.”

  I nod. I definitely know the mechanics. I've isolated myself by choice, but I understood what to do.

  And if the shower is a taste of what sex with Wring is, I'm so ready to be with him. Still, I'm tense as Wring begins to rock inside my body. The first bit of him inside me feels incredible, stretching and filling me perfectly.

  As he goes deeper, my body resists. Never having had a penis inside keeps me from relaxing. My walls clench around the foreign invader, and I still. Trying to stave off the image of how all that size is inside me.

  “No,” he holds my head, forcing me to see only him. “Look at me while I'm in you, Shannon.”

  My eyes find his, and he presses in another burning inch. “Hurts,” I whisper.

  Wring nods, and a slight smile take hold of his lips. “Hot as fuck that I'm the only prick that's ever been in your pussy.”

  A short laugh bursts from between my lips, and my muscles spasm around him. We groan together.

  “You have a way with words,” I breathe through my pain.

  Wring places his forehead against mine. “I say what I'm thinking. I know it's not smooth. It's crude. But it's me, Shannon—and you're getting all of me. No one else. Just you.”

  He pushes stray hairs out of my face and kisses me.

  I lift my hips, and he slides in the rest of the way. I gasp at the feeling of fullness, and Wring throbs inside me.

  “It's so hard not to go inside you, baby. You're so tight. Fucking perfection.”

  “Why don't you?” I swivel my hips a little, and my pussy gives an answering pulse to the motion. I groan at the sensation.

  As the initial pain recedes, Wring feels so good.

  He chuckles. “Because I want you to come around my cock.”

  Sliding a hand between our bodies, he begins to swirl my moist clit, and I sigh, my thighs automatically falling farther apart. Then Wring begins to move deeply inside once more.

  “Ah,” he breathes and rises up on his hands, push-up style, pressing deep and withdrawing, thrusting in slow rhythmic pushes of flesh.

  I meet each one, burning beginning to give way to pleasure.

  Wring sits on his knees and grabs my hips, bringing my body back and forth, using it to fuck him. The sight of his length buried inside me causes my pussy to squeeze and release around him.

  “Stop,” Wring says through clenched teeth. “I'm gonna go.”

  I can't stop. His thumb has found my clit again and works it hard, swirling and rubbing, peeling back the small hood and flicking a fingernail over the sensitive tip.

  He seats himself with a final thrust deep inside, gripping my hips as he plunges and simultaneously tramping his thumb on my clit.

  I come so hard I feel like I'm losing consciousness.

  Deep warmth spreads inside me as his release bathes my womb with his seed and we pulse together.

  We stay locked like that, and Wrings spreads his body over mine like a flesh-wrapped steel cocoon of heat and protection.

  His eyes never leave my face. He whispers one word, and my nod is shy.

  Mine.

  *

  I wrap my arms around Shannon's fragile body and briefly wonder why she's so thin.

  Gonna fatten her up first thing.

  “Got your cast drenched,” I mention, stroking her long silky hair out of her face.

  “I don't care,” Shannon says in a languid voice.

  “Good damn thing.” I kiss her temple then frown. “Hey, I'm sorry.”

  She turns in my arms, and her right breast sort of falls into my hand. I mound the soft flesh with my fingers and kiss the tip of her light-pink nipple. It hardens against my lips.

  “Why are you sorry?” Shannon asks in a breathy voice, arching into my caress.

  My exhale is soft. “Not good with words. Just sort of stole you away from your life and forced you—”

  Shannon puts her fingers on my mouth. “No,” she begins in a low voice, “I'm the one who's sorry. I mean…” Her eyes drift from mine, and only an ancient nightlight plugged into the wall behind us shows me any part
of her expression. Regret is etched on her features. “My mom kept telling me to improve our lives by getting rid of the house and getting more hours, pursuing a career.”

  I put a finger on her chin and turn her to face me again, wrapping part of the sheet around her body.

  “Mom knows she's dying. And she's been encouraging me to live. I just haven't found a good enough reason to.”

  “Vincent's dead,” I remind her.

  One Blood tormenter down. The entire gang to go. Fuck.

  She slowly nods. “He's gone.”

  Shannon trembles in my arms, and I tighten my hold. “But now there's Lopez—and I had this Realtor come by the house, and he's working for them. If I sell the house now, the only people who'll buy it is one of those gang losers.”

  My feelings swell as I listen to her problems. They're mine, too, now. I admit quietly, “I don’t have much to offer.”

  She touches me, and I go hard.

  “You have something to offer, Wring.” Her smile is sly.

  I cock my head. “Not very virginal, Shannon,” I tease. It's worth it to make out her blush in the gloom of the bedroom.

  “True, but I'm not one anymore.” She smiles. “But when it comes to us—and whatever we have here—I don't care.”

  Shannon sits up suddenly. “My mom.” Her eyes fill with anxiety.

  “Storm's there.”

  Her pale-blond eyebrow rises, silvered in the oblique moonlight cast through the old window. “How do you know?”

  “Checked my cell as I got off my ride. Hell—we were too busy to check before then.” I give a lopsided smile and the low light from the nightlight showcases the deepening red on her cheeks.

  “She okay?” She bites her bottom lip between her teeth.

  I nod. “Storm's dumber than a box of rocks, but he's a solid guy. Gonna be a brother soon.” Helluva lot sooner than Trainer, I think with a smirk.

  Shannon falls back against the pillows, and I prop up on an elbow, crossing my ankles. Could use a smoke about now.

  “Come on.” I hold out my hand.

  Shannon takes it, and I tow her behind me to the bathroom. I put a washcloth under warm running water then wring out the excess water, placing it on the rim of the sink. Turning, I put my hands at her waist and boost her on top of the vanity.

  “Wring!” she squeals, giggling.

  Love the way her face looks right then. Happy. “Hang on, gonna clean you.”

  The corners of her mouth lift. “I think you've done a fine job of it.”

  I roll my eyes to look at her, already between those fine thighs. “A man doesn't take a girl's virginity then do nothing to take care of her later.”

  “Oh,” she says, her voice small.

  I stop, washcloth in hand, and stare at her. “Hey, I mean it. Let me take care of you, Shannon.”

  She puts her hand on mine and squeezes. “You already have. Crude and brash, tender and hard, you take care of every part of me, Wring.”

  I nod. She's got it.

  I get to work, cleaning her gorgeous slit of my cum and her blood. Hymen or not, I'm washing the proof of her innocence away forever.

  It wasn’t stolen by the fucking gangbangers, but taken by a guy that's falling for her like a ton of bricks.

  *

  “What is this place?” I ask Wring, looking out over the jagged landscape. Rolling hills with spears of dark trees surround the driveway. The road beyond is a ribbon of shadow.

  He sits in his tight boxer briefs, smoking a cigarette while I admire his stomach muscles bunching with his small movements. The tip of the cigarette glows like a small torch as he takes a drag.

  His feet land on the wood porch as he puts the cigarette out. “Road Kill MC prez's place. He's letting me use it while my house is being built.”

  I feel my eyebrows rise. “You're getting a house built?”

  He nods, folding his hands behind his head. “Yeah, out by my brother, Snare. Orting.” He grunts when he sees my face. “Don't looks so surprised.”

  I laugh, thinking I'd definitely been a little judgey.

  Wring's eyes cruise my expression. “Come ʼere.”

  I stand and shuffle away from the rocking chair where I’d been sitting, holding a fluffy blanket covering my nudity.

  “What put that look on your face. Because”—he looks up at me then pulls me down on his lap as his face goes low—“I love the look I put on your face when I make you come.”

  Heat rises to my cheeks, and I fight not to touch them. “But I like this look, too.” He runs a finger down my hot skin, and I lean into the caress.

  “I like the country,” I say simply, remembering my parent's conversations of a once-rural Kent. Riding horses. Watching shapes in clouds under the protection of towering trees. The smell of clover in the summer. The sound of crickets as autumn approaches. Or the wind through the trees. A wistful sigh parts my lips.

  “Me, too,” he confesses.

  We sit for a time, me safe in Wring's arms.

  “What was that thing you did to Lopez?” I finally ask softly.

  He chuckles in the darkness that shrouds the place so heavily. “Which part?”

  “The rope stuff. You and Noose—and—Lariat?” I ask, not sure if I got the guy’s name right.

  “That's right.”

  “You guys have funny names.”

  “The name my parents gave me is Sam Walker.”

  “Sam,” I muse then shake my head. “Can't see you that way now.”

  “Wring's my road name. Name we go by in the club.”

  In my head, I tick off the names I've heard him mention. Noose, Snare, Lariat, and Wring. There's something about them all… I'm missing the connection. “What do they mean?”

  He gives me a sidelong look. “Not into question and answer, Shannon.”

  I stiffen a little. Well, excuse me. I cross my arms, wrapping myself tighter within the blanket. “I just gave you my virginity inside of knowing you about a week. You know everything about me. I'm entitled to answers, Wring.”

  He frowns, his features intense. “That's where you're wrong, sweetheart. You're not entitled to dick. Anything I give you, I give you because I want you to have it. Not because you demand shit.”

  I feel like crying. Wring had been so tender with me. So vital. So protective. But I ask a few questions, and he's running from the answers.

  Like he has something to hide.

  Suddenly, I don't feel so safe in his arms. I feel spent. Tired. Uncertain.

  I move to stand, and his hold tightens.

  “I don't talk. It's not who I am, Shannon.”

  I know my expression is fierce as I look at him. “Well, I'm taking a huge risk here, Wring.”

  “And I'm not? I stuck my nose in where it didn't belong. I protected a girl marked by the Bloods. Road Kill has been carefully negotiating territory and all kinds of other bullshit. Now I've blown it all to hell—for you. Forgive me if I don't just puke out my life's story.”

  I lift my chin. “Why then? You said I wasn't special.”

  “Ya are. I just couldn't admit it.”

  Okay.

  “Noose, Lariat, and me were in Afghanistan together, SEAL teammates. Patched in to the club after. None of us could be citizens again after fighting for our country. Had to do our own thing, on our own terms.”

  “The names… they're all—”

  “We're knotters. Expert knotters.”

  I pull away, looking at his face. It's void of expression. In the darkness of the porch and surrounding woods, I can see nothing of what he feels.

  I know a little bit about Navy SEALs. “You mean assassins?” I ask in a voice that's icy calm.

  His eyes are serious, not budging an inch. “What me and the guys did while serving. That's not something we're ever gonna talk about. Ever.”

  My heart sinks. I can't be with a man who's a killer. What does it matter that he did it for America? I saw what he did to those gangbangers back there. Wha
t he could do with a length of rope.

  I let Wring's protection cloud my judgement. My lust for him led me into a bigger mess than what I have with the gang.

  How could I be so dumb?

  “Okay,” I say, my voice is hollow.

  “Let's get to bed. Gonna be a long damn day tomorrow.”

  He stands, easily lifting me in his arms.

  Carrying me into the bed, he unwraps me like a gift and climbs in next to me.

  Wring holds me in his arms and falls asleep almost instantly.

  I don't sleep for a long time.

  Chapter 15

  I wake up with a start, feeling my chest, thighs, and head. What the fuck?

  I look around and squint at the vaguely illuminated hands of the clock.

  One o'clock.

  Holy shit. That means I slept for ten hours straight.

  I look beside me. Shannon's gone, but the side of the bed where she slept is still warm.

  Where is she?

  And a better question: how did her being beside me help me rest? And not kind of rest. I slept like the dead. Feel fucking swell.

  Swinging my legs out of bed, I stand then walk to the bathroom and take a leak. I saunter out to the kitchen and fill a glass of water from the spring-fed aqua system Vipe's got out here, my eyes scanning the cabin's interior.

  No sign of Shannon.

  Hmmm. I stride to the bed and wrench my jeans on. I grab the rope that I always have on my nightstand and stuff it, knot first, in my left-hand front pocket.

  Tearing open the front door, I survey the landscape with a narrow gaze. “Shannon!” I bellow.

  Nothing but birds, bees, and breeze.

  Fuck.

  I think back on our little chat from the night before. She didn't seem to warm up on my lack of chatty. Never tried for anything past a quick lay with most chicks. New to this relationship garbage.

  And I’ve never dealt with the virginity thing. Never had to. Sweet butts sure aren't fucking virgins by the time they're servicing the club. Everybody's been in those cracks.