Patchwhore

by Kim Jones

  “But…” Cook takes a step back and crosses his arms over his chest.

  I mirror his stance. “But?”

  He gives me an evil grin. “Mine or not, I still won’t share. You wanna flirt with these guys to make Jud jealous, fine. You wanna spend your weekends with a bunch of immature pricks, fine. But if you’re fuckin’ me, you’re fuckin’ only me.”

  At the mention of fucking him, my mind dips right back in the gutter. It would be so easy to let him take me right here in the bathroom. My skin heats as I think of all the ways we could do it. On the counter. In the shower. Me bent over, him behind me. It’s what I’d expected tonight. What I hope to still get. But first, we need to clarify a few things about his demand for monogamy.

  “You know,” I start, leaning my hip against the counter. “My daddy always said what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

  “Given what little I know, your daddy sounds like a smart man. I’d probably agree to whatever the fuck it is you’re saying if I understood hillbilly.”

  I press my lips together to try and contain my smile. It doesn’t work. “It means, that what’s good for a woman is good for a man. So if I’m only screwing you, then you’re only screwing me.”

  “You’re fucking me,” he promises. “Only me.” Then he closes the distance, gripping my hips and pulling me flush against him. “And I only want to fuck … you.”

  He stares down at me. I look up at him. “Well what are you waiting for?” I ask, my voice velvet. Body molten. Heart beating so hard … I can’t even think of an idiom to compare it to.

  “I’m waiting for you to agree.” His patience is slipping. Still, he waits. Keeping me close. Daring me to say no. I won’t. But I can’t speak either. So I just nod. His eyes narrow. “Say it,” he demands. The promise of what’s to come when I do, burns in his eyes. And it’s enough encouragement for me to find my voice.

  “You,” I breathe. “I’m fucking only you.”

  His hungry lips find mine—kissing, claiming, owning. My fingers seek out his skin, searching for the heat beneath his clothes. The moment they move beneath his shirt and brush across his hard stomach, a bolt of electricity courses through me. Fiery jolts of razor sharp passion shoot through every nerve. Through every fiber. I’ve never wanted something so much. My body has never felt so alive. And just knowing that it’s going to get better—feel even better—has me climbing his body.

  “Sexy, gorgeous girl,” he growls, his mouth hot against my neck. “So eager.” My back hits the bed. I didn’t even realize we’d left the bathroom. “So hungry.” His hands jerk the towel from around me. “So fuckin’ delicious.” I shake my head, wanting to tell him that’s my word. But he’s looking down at me. Famished. Then his face is between my thighs. He’s eating me. Like I’m delicious.

  Miss Delicious…

  “Don’t stop,” I beg, my fingers knotting in his hair as his tongue swirls around my clit. Lips cover me. He sucks hard. My back bows. Hips jerk. And within seconds I’m coming. Moaning. Collapsing. Lost as bliss engulfs me. Rapture surges through me. It lasts for moments … minutes … hours … who knows? Time stands still.

  Then the haze starts to dispel. Through the break, I see him naked. He’s kissing his way up my stomach, to my breasts. Taking the tiny brown peaks in his mouth. Sucking. Teasing. Nipping. Eliciting another moan from me. Another wave of heat. Another electric current that wakes me. Makes me aware. Recharges my entire system.

  “I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” he promises, pressing his gloriously huge cock against my opening that still weeps from the onslaught of his mouth. “When you walk, you’ll think of me.”

  In a single, harsh thrust, he impales me. It’s so much. So filling. So motherfucking wonderful. Then he’s still. Waiting. My body adjusts quickly, eager for more of him. I tighten. Clenching his massive length. Fervently begging for a reminder of him long after he’s gone.

  “Be careful what you wish for, baby.” Had I pleaded with him out loud? He leaves no time for my thoughts to wander further. Instead he distracts me with long, powerful drives that immediately cause a tightening in my core.

  The intensity has me squeezing my eyes shut. My mouth hangs open. Hands tighten around his arms—my nails digging into the hard muscles. The pressure borders on discomfort. Pain a hairsbreadth away from pleasure. I want to scream at him to slow down. I want to whimper my plea for him to never stop. But he seems to know just what I can’t say. And his body responds to mine, giving me everything I never asked for.

  My eyes flutter; I’m surprised by how much strength it takes to keep them open. Despite the overwhelming need to close them, or the desire that prompts them to roll back in my head, I can’t pull them away from this man. The corner of his bottom lip is tucked between his teeth. A strange look of determination on his face. Those darkening blues are lava—fucking me with the same heated intensity of his cock.

  “You remember me,” he gravels. “When you’re with them…” Sharp tingles of pain and pleasure burst inside me with a merciless jerk of his hips. “You remember who fucks you.” I nod, lost in the abyss of his stare. “Remember who makes you scream.” Gripping my hip in his hand, he lifts my body slightly before thrusting roughly. I scream—pleasure exploding inside me as he connects with my sweet spot.

  “Right there,” I pant, losing the battle with my eyelids as they flutter closed. But even in the darkness, I see his face. That look. Those eyes.

  “That’s right, gorgeous. You remember who knows how to give you what you need.” His voice is smooth, confident. He knows I’ll remember. Because he’s making damn sure I won’t forget. “You know who can make that sweet pussy come, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I whimper, so close to release. My hands tighten around him. Needing something to hold onto. Knowing I’m nearing the inevitable fall.

  “Open your eyes.” The urgency in his tone is clear. And with an energy I didn’t know I had, I do as he says. There’s a thick vein bulging from the side of his neck—pulsing with every beat of his heart. His jaw is tight. Nostrils flaring. Eyes narrowed. Voice strained and snarling when he speaks. “Say it, Carmen.”

  He pumps harder into me. I don’t know what he wants me to say. I couldn’t even if I did. I’m speechless. Unable to breathe. He’s rendered me completely immobile.

  I’m losing focus. Beginning my descent that will have me spiraling out of control. But he holds my gaze. Demanding I keep my attention on him. That I see who he is. Feel what he’s doing to me. How he consumes me. Erases my every thought. Infiltrates my every fiber.

  “Tell me whose pussy this is.” The demand is rhetorical. There’s only one response. Because in this moment, the only thing I can think of is him. I see only him. Feel and hear—him. And so I answer his demand on a strangled cry, using the only word I can formulate in my mind.

  “Cook!”

  I slowly blink my way back into consciousness. The first thing I notice is that I’m alone. The second thing is how cold the room feels without Cook. I look down at my exposed body, lying in a hot, wet mess on my tangled sheets. The bastard didn’t even cover me up. But the thought is fleeting as I feel warmth seep into my pores at the sight of him walking through my bedroom door.

  “Hey there, gorgeous.” His sweet tone and boyish smile makes me feel shy. And he’s looking at me with those clear, blue eyes full of appreciation. “You fell asleep on me.” I’m expecting him to pull his cut over his shoulders and tell me bye, considering once again, he’s dressed to leave. But he surprises me by coming to lay at my side—propping his head on his elbow as he leans over to place a kiss on my nose. When he lets out a breath, I inhale. The scent of him makes the muscles in my back relax as I breathe him in.

  “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” I say. But the words have me stifling another yawn.

  His lips turn up on one side. “Am I exhausting you?”

  Shaking my head, I smile as I turn on my side to face him—pulling the covers over me as I
do. He reaches out to tuck them around me before running his hand over my arm and gripping my hip through the blanket.

  “Will you be there Saturday?”

  He nods, smirking at me. “If there’s a club function, I’ll be there.”

  “Don’t you have a job?”

  “This is my job.”

  “So you get paid?”

  His eyes fall to my lips, that smirk still on his face. “You’re just full of questions tonight.”

  “Are you avoiding the answer?” I quirk a brow at him.

  “No.”

  “No you aren’t avoiding the answer or no you don’t get paid?”

  He meets my gaze. “No. I’m not avoiding. Yes. I get paid. But in experience, not money. This is something I want, so I took the time off to make sure I could give the club the one hundred percent they’re owed.”

  “How do you pay your bills?”

  “With money,” he quips. I roll my eyes in exasperation.

  “But if you don’t work…”

  “I’m not poor, babe. I have money.” A deep sadness shines in his eyes, but he quickly blinks it away, replacing it with a smile. “You ready for your big date?”

  I let out a groan at the reminder. “You really know how to ruin the moment.”

  “We were having a moment? I wasn’t aware.” He winks. I melt. Again…

  When his phone vibrates in his jeans, I find myself frowning. I don’t want him to leave. I’m enjoying his company. Our simple conversation. The teasing banter. The scent of him. But he doesn’t return my regretful look. He simply raises a brow in curiosity when he notices mine.

  “Yeah,” he says into the phone. His voice alert, his body stiffening in preparation for a command. “I’ll be there.” It’s similar to the same line he always gives. Then just as expected, the moment he hangs up, he moves to leave.

  “Don’t forget Drake wants you there at ten. Not a minute later.” He’s fighting his laughter. I’m struggling with the urge to throw something at him. He’s such a … smartass. But then as if it fell from the sky, a thought hits me. Not only is Saturday my chance to make Jud jealous, but Cook too.

  Beaming at him, I sit up and watch as he pulls his cut over his shoulders. “Oh, I’ll be there. With bells on.”

  “Bells, huh?” He grins, sliding his phone into the inside pocket of his vest. “Want to make sure everyone knows you’re there?”

  “Trust me, Cook.” I sneer his name. “I won’t need bells to alert anyone to my presence. I plan to stop the whole show when I arrive.”

  “Showstopper … that’s gonna be tough. You’d be surprised how many women go unnoticed when there’s a parking lot full of Harleys. But hey…” He points his finger at me, his look serious. “If anybody can do it, it’s you, gorgeous.” Then he laughs. The bastard laughs.

  “Patronizing asshole,” I mutter through my smile. “We’ll see who’s laughing Saturday.”

  “Well hopefully it won’t be at your expense.” I narrow my eyes on him, but he’s undeterred. “But if that happens to be the case, which it likely will, I’ll happily break the jaw of any man who laughs at you.”

  “No one is going to laugh at me,” I snap. He lets out another chuckle, but has the grace to try and hide it. “Will they smile? Look at me with lust-filled eyes? Drop their jaws when I step out of my car? Probably so.”

  “Conceited much?”

  “Not at all.” My tone is defensive. “I just know how all men think.” My admission doesn’t sit well with Cook. And I know his next comment will be in an attempt to bring me back down to size.

  “So what? You think you’re just gonna show up and render everybody speechless?” Having already predicted his snarky remark, it’s easy for me to appear wounded. For a moment, he looks a little apologetic. Perfect.

  “You know,” I start, making a show of studying my nails, “if the image of your eyes rolling in the back of your head while you came balls deep inside me, weren’t permanently indented in my brain, I might consider your little comment an insult.”

  Shaking his head, he lets out a laugh—licking his bottom lip as he drops his head. Then, peeking up at me from beneath his lashes, he smirks. “Is that how you wanna play this?”

  “Play what?” Feigning innocence, I lean back against the headboard. Propped up against the pillows like a queen. “I’m just saying that since you are clearly so affected by me, then maybe you should double check your armor on Saturday. You wouldn’t want to find any chinks in it,” I whisper.

  Crossing his arms, he gives me his best, confident smile. “Oh, game face on, baby. This is one jaw you won’t drop. Remember…” His voice dips, “I’ve already seen that sexy little body you hide behind your clothes. Tasted it. Touched it. Fucked it.” He lets the words hang in the air a moment before shrugging, as if seeing me naked wasn’t very impressive. Although his eyes tell a different story. “Not much left to the imagination.”

  It takes me a moment to calm my heavy breathing and spiked heart rate. When I finally do, I meet his challenging stare. “I better not see even a ghost of a smile on your lips.”

  “Don’t worry, gorgeous. You won’t.” He stalks over to me. Slow. Predatory. When he closes the distance, he leans down—bringing his face close to mine. “That tight cunt of yours might have the power to distract me when I’m inside it, but my game will be on point come Saturday.” His nose brushes against mine. I hold my breath, refusing to inhale his intoxicating scent. “You can bet your sweet little ass on it.”

  Surely he doesn’t mean…

  He grins at my reaction. Somehow, I feel like he can read my thoughts. But he doesn’t answer. He leaves me wondering. Nervous. A little scared. Pretty wet. And a whole lot of horny.

  Eagles Road Captain Drake

  Emily swore it wasn’t too much. But despite how sexy the vixen staring back at me in the mirror looks, I can’t help but feel a little self-conscious. It doesn’t even look like me. I look … hot.

  Conceited much?

  Cook’s words have me shaking my head in disgust. I’ve never been vain my entire life. Then again, I’ve never looked like this either.

  I woke early in order to have enough time to hot roll my hair. The process is slow and grueling due to its heaviness and length, but the result couldn’t have come out better. It now falls in thick, brown waves down my back and over my shoulders.

  My makeup is dark and sultry. I went heavy on my eyes, putting multiple coats of black mascara on my lashes and using a smoky grey shadow for my lids. The gold flecks seem to shine brighter now in my hazel eyes. I opted out of blush and used clear gloss instead of lipstick. But my face and hair are nothing compared to the outfit I splurged on.

  The black, leather corset, is tight across my stomach, but the peak-a-boo lacing opens wider as it nears my breasts—exposing their sides and giving a whole new meaning to cleavage. The built in, padded cups lift them higher and make them appear a couple sizes bigger than they actually are. The straps over my shoulders tie into the back which is laced the same as the front, exposing most of my back.

  The website I’d ordered the black, leather stiletto pants from, promised to give me the same “painted on” look as Sandy in the final scene of Grease. They didn’t disappoint. It took me a while to get into them, and I’ll probably have to cut them off, but they fit me like a glove--accentuating my curves and slimming my legs.

  They sit low on my hips, leaving exposed skin between them and the corset. Thankfully, work and minimal food has kept my stomach flat and toned, despite the fact that I haven’t been to the gym in weeks. I’ve also managed to maintain the dark golden tan I’ve had since spring.

  Since I’d used up all my extra funds on the outfit, I couldn’t afford new shoes. But when I mentioned to Emily that I’d be wearing a pair of black flats, she screamed at me. Then she overnighted me a pair of black booties with a four inch, spiked heel that are to die for.

  I pull my eyes away from my reflection and check the time. I
f I didn’t leave now, I’d be late. Grabbing a small, red clutch I’d found in my closet, I stuff powder, gloss, some cash, a few hair ties and a bunch of bobby pins inside. With one final glance in the mirror, I snap a quick selfie, send it to Emily and shove my phone inside my bag.

  This is it. Show stopping time. Time to remind Jud of what he lost. But truth is, it’s Cook’s reaction I’m looking forward to most.

  It’s ten a.m. sharp when I near Pops’ crowded parking lot. I’m so overwhelmed by the number of people and bikes that I nearly run over the guy who’s directing traffic. He comes to my window and I roll it down, not missing the onceover he gives me as he peers inside my car.

  “You here for the poker run?” he asks, sweat dripping from his face and onto my door.

  “Yes. I’m meeting Drake.”

  “Who?”

  “Um,” I struggle to remember his title. “Eagles Captain Drake?”

  “Oh yeah.” He studies me a moment, a confused look on his face. “You his girl?”

  I let out a nervous laugh. “No. I’m just riding with him today.”

  “Lucky fucker,” he mumbles, then points to the back of the lot near the dumpsters. “There’s a few spots left over there. We reserve them for the MC affiliates in cages, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

  I have no idea what any of that means. I assume a cage is a car, but why am I an exception? Isn’t Drake in an MC? Or is that an RC? Is there a difference? Confused, I simply thank him and pull in the direction he points.

  Maneuvering between the endless rows of bikes is challenging, but I manage to wedge my car in a tight spot next to a dumpster. Nervously, I check my reflection and take a breath. Hoping Emily has responded with some words of encouragement, I look at my phone. Sure enough, I have a message. Actually, I have two. The first is from her.

  Holy shit. Now I want to fuck you.

  It’s a definite self-esteem booster. I want to send a reply, but I’m too anxious to read the message from Cook that was sent one minute ago at 10:01.