by Wolfe, Layla
I stroked his stubbled jaw with my other hand. I had a full view of his magnificent profile—that stupendous aquiline nose, those full, cherubic lips, like a Roman statue come to life.
I had never been able to hold out against him. And when he turned his face to mine, I just lost it. His beautiful rich root beer eyes were shimmering with unshed tears, too. My great big tough guy needed someone. My giant brawny, rugged love of my life needed comfort.
“I need you, Maddy,” he said quietly.
I kissed him.
What was supposed to be a sweet, tender kiss immediately turned into a no-holds-barred mackfest. The second I parted my mouth over his juicy lower lip, Ford grabbed me and vaulted me into his lap. He slammed me down over his fat, erect penis, and I instantly began gyrating like a pole dancer. We went at it like maniacs, twelve endless years of pent-up lust just gripping us in a massive clinch.
Within seconds my pussy had soaked through to my scrub pants, and I could smell myself. I knew the scent would probably set Ford off on some primordial, basic level—pheromones driving him over the edge.
He twisted a handful of my carefully coiffed bun in one hand. The other big, wide hand held me up by my ribcage as he licked my lips, my tongue, the roof of my mouth. My pussy quivered with arousal, fluttering and clenching like it had a mind of its own, wanting cock.
I had been fucked a lot in the past twelve years. I let Moe do it every night just for letting me stay with him while I finished nursing school. Then when I got my first nursing job I got my own condo, but I still had that emptiness that needed filling. It was still more of an existential loneliness that made me seek out other nurses, interns, doctors.
Men in the medical field were some of the most twisted bastards on the planet. I fucked an oncologist for a few months once who would only screw if I had inserted a urethral sound into his penis. His favorite was a “trailer hitch” with a ball that went up his ass, the pointy silver part up his urethra. Whatever worked, but I was ready for something a bit more vanilla. Dr. Dubois and I currently only engaged in a bit of mild BDSM, a little spanking here and there.
Sucking on Ford’s swollen lower lip, my sighs brought out the beast in him. He gave a couple of little hops and unfolded my legs so I straddled him completely. My sopping pussy was now plastered directly over his throbbing dick, and with both feet on the ground I could gyrate in any direction I wanted, bringing the most sensual growls from deep within his chest.
He pressed down on my shoulder to leverage my pussy against his erection. My two layers of flimsy cotton were so soaked I could actually feel the corona’s ridge of his fat cock against my slick lips. I released his lower lip so I could moan.
“Ford. I can’t.”
“Yes you can.” He slanted his mouth against mine and nibbled, effectively shutting me up.
“No, I mean…” I wrenched myself from his lap and staggered like a juiced football player on a bender.
“Maddy, don’t.” It was a cross between a plea and an order.
I don’t know how much sterner he would’ve gotten, but he saw I was only locking the door. People could do that if they wanted utter solitude, although security cameras ensured they weren’t doing anything untoward, like with dead bodies.
I didn’t care. I stumbled back to where Ford sat low in the chair, one long muscular arm swinging at his side, his knuckles brushing the floor. Over his jeans, his other hand squeezed what looked like the thickest prick I’d ever had the pleasure to deal with, almost like another limb. I fell to my knees between his thighs, my fingers making quick work of his Bare Bones belt buckle.
He pressed a palm against my forehead. “No.”
No? Why no? What sort of man didn’t want a blowjob? What sort of man didn’t want a hundred blowjobs?
Sliding his hands under my arms, Ford picked me up as though I were a kitten and placed me in the chair I’d been sitting in. What the fuck? Am I not good enough?
Encircling my thighs in his hands, Ford pinned me down with his fiery eyes. “I don’t want you to think of me like every other guy. I’ve never been every other guy, Maddy. Wearing this VP’s cut, everyone knows who I am. I stand out, just like I stood out in my SEAL gear. Different uniform, but still a uniform. And it gives me pride, Maddy. Pride. You talked Speed out of patching into Bare Bones, like we were some kind of scumsucking douches.”
“No!” I cried. “I didn’t want him to patch in because I didn’t want him to be…” I had to stop there.
Ford didn’t wait for me. His words tumbled out of him in an avalanche. “I’ve loved you since I first laid eyes on you, Maddy. When I kissed you in that pool I wanted just to throw you down and fuck you till jism seeped out your eyeballs. That’s how hot I was for you. I used to jack off in that garage thinking of licking your perfect, juicy tits. And it hasn’t gone away over the years. I still jack off thinking about you, no matter how many whores are in my house, if you can fucking believe that. And I want to do it right, not like every other asshole doctor who demands a fucking blowjob in some supply room.”
How did Ford know about Dr. Kinsey? Had I accidentally told Speed?
Now he got onto his knees in front of me. For a split second I was afraid he was going to ask me to marry him. Then I laughed at myself for such a whacked idea. As he talked so earnestly, he untied the bowtie beneath my belly button and urgently yanked my scrubs down. “Madison Shellmound. I’ve dreamed of tasting you for over a decade now. Give me the honor of burying my fucking face in your sweet trim. I will lick your delicious box until you cry for fucking mercy.”
Any one of those words—tasting, face, trim, mercy, hell, even decade—was enough to bring me off. Ford hadn’t even touched my cunt yet and it was fluttering in a mini-orgasm. The entire walls of my inner pussy, up to and including my womb and ovaries, were clutching at an invisible cock. I speared my fingers through his glossy hair. He’d let it grow longer since the military and the lovely curls and waves just spilled over my fingers in shiny locks.
I fiddled with his hoodie zipper, wanting desperately to see his beautiful chest again, but he’d yanked my pants and panties below my knees. He just dove in open-mouthed, his deep groans resonating so far into my innards I actually felt my uterus shudder.
Crying out as though it hurt, I squeezed a handful of his hair. I lifted one bare leg and brought it over Ford’s shoulder. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. He was a cunnilingus expert—an unexpected talent in an unbreakable, tough-as-nails biker. One simply didn’t go down on whores, and nobody cared about pleasuring sweetbutts. Where in hell had he learned this skill?
I couldn’t tell him his talent was being wasted. I was frigid.
Incapable of orgasming with another man.
That was probably why I gave so many blowjobs. Men never turned down a blowjob, and it took the focus off my own dysfunction.
So few men tried that I hadn’t even noticed I was incapable of it until several years ago, maybe when I was twenty-four. I had a boyfriend who tried and tried, bless his heart, and nothing happened. I could still accomplish the feat alone, in the shower, or with my BOB—battery-operated boyfriend.
I was simply incapable of letting loose and allowing another man to get me off.
I didn’t want to tire Ford out, piss him off by allowing him to go on and on. But he was so damned talented, his tongue a fat, rapid blur against my stiff clit. Jjust watching him, his exquisite face planted between my thighs, knowing he was tasting me, breathing in the scent of me, that that stunning aquiline nose was buried against my pubic mound, well, I got higher than I ever had before.
I even felt myself squirt, that little gush of female juice that usually warns of a full-on orgasm. Ford didn’t seem repelled by any of it. His moans continued jacking me higher as he enthusiastically lapped away, his broad shoulders hiking up my thighs until it seemed my mound wanted to kiss the ceiling.
Then something happened. It was like Ford’s greedy tongue just hit the exact right spot.
&n
bsp; I went off like a rocket.
It was so unexpected that I practically shrieked. The shockwave of intense ecstasy that tore through my pussy and innards had me bucking back in the chair, banging my head against the wall, practically ripping locks from Ford’s skull.
But he persevered. He knew he’d hit the sweet spot, and he lapped away doggedly, snorting hot breaths against my slit. He thrust a couple of fingers in and out of my slit, unafraid of the snuffling, groaning animal sounds he made. He was a pig for my pussy and he made no bones about it.
The orgasm washed over me. My entire body from the roots of my hair to my curling toes was one orgasmic roller coaster. My uterus clenched so violently I was afraid something would break.
I had studied the anatomy of an orgasm in my efforts to figure out what was wrong with me. There was no such thing as a vaginal versus clitoral orgasm. They were all one and the same. There was a whole mass of internal clitoral erectile tissue, “crura” that became aroused, and wrapped its sexy little arms around the vaginal canal.
So an orgasm didn’t just involve the clitoral button. There were powerful unseen forces at work, and they were all in full swing now, sending wave after wave of sheer bliss rocketing through my pelvis. My chest flushed hot red, and I squirted again against poor Ford’s mouth.
I found myself jerking my pelvis rhythmically against his face, like some kind of roaring twenties dancer. Now that he’d set me off, I absolutely could not stop. One contraction after the other, it seemed to go on for five minutes, breaking even my solo shower record. I held my breath and tossed my head back and prayed silently to the sky that this hellish ecstasy either stop or end my life.
Eventually Ford slowed his lapping. He was probably wondering, too, when he was going to injure me.
“Ahhhh,” he groaned, giving my twitching clit one last long swipe with his tongue.
I still gasped and jumped as he kneeled tall between my thighs. He wiped his beautiful face off with his forearm and I almost laughed at the absurd sight.
I was still twitching and jerking like a beached fish. A flood of tingling shivers raced up and down my body, made me want to slap my own face and chest to get it to stop. It wasn’t unpleasant but I wasn’t used to it, and my clit was so sensitive that when that sly bastard blew lightly on it, I nearly reacted by smacking him.
It was his turn to laugh. I’d never seen Ford so relaxed and fully masculine, as though he were the one who’d just had an orgasm to blow away all other orgasms. “Wow,” he said, wiping his face again. “I’ve never seen a gal come that long.”
I struggled to pull up my scrubs. “I’ve never come that long, Ford. I’ve actually…” I didn’t know how to explain it to him without explaining the reasoning behind it. I decided to keep it to myself. If I confessed that a psychologist thought my frigidity—or “anorgasmia” as they more clinically termed it these days—was a direct result of Cropper’s disgusting molestation of me, the whole story would spill out. Ford would go bury Cropper, the club would fall apart, and Ford would possibly wind up in jail.
Maybe I was giving myself too much credit for deeply affecting Ford. I’d seen him toss beefy bruisers around a boxing ring like they were made of foam rubber, and I’d seen him pull his Sig Sauer on a guy who cut him off in traffic. Cropper had been right about a few things. Ford was no angelic saint, and he was more dark-skinned than anyone knew.
“What?” said Ford slyly, fishing for a compliment.
I made a bowtie with my drawstring. “I’ve actually never had that huge of an orgasm. Damn. I always suspected you’d be one hugely talented guy in bed.”
This was enough to make Ford embrace me and plant an enormous smooch on me. At first it was kind of disgusting, seeing as how he’d just had his face buried between my legs. But he’d wiped his face off and I could only vaguely taste it. I figured these Bare Bones men had put their faces in far worse things before.
A strange thing happened. Love surged through me. It was as though the orgasm opened up the floodgates and it all came pouring out. Such a powerful, frightening deluge of pure love that was so strong my chest literally wrenched with the vitality of it.
It terrified me.
If you never love anyone, you can never be hurt, right?
I didn’t love Dr. Dubois in the same way I’d always loved Ford. My feelings for Jake were safer, more conventional, more shallow. Jake was certainly handsome, a good provider, popular in social circles. He was moody but knew to never cross any lines, to never get too intense.
That’s what I wanted. Love makes you crazy. Love reaches its fist down your throat and wrenches your organs from you. Love consumes you, so you have no room in your soul to think of anyone else.
I couldn’t get involved with the Bare Bones, much less the Veep who controlled everything. It would upset my life. It would take everything and turn it upside-down and shake it until the nuts and bolts and all the embarrassing little broken things fell out.
“Ah,” Ford sighed with contentment against my mouth. “My Maddy. My little Cookie. I’m staking my claim. You’re mine. Mine and only mine. You’re my property, my sweet Cookie.”
I was blown away that he’d remember what he slipped up and called me that fateful day we kissed in the pool. He’d called me sugar cookie and now he was doing it again, in a purposeful and cruel attempt to reel me in.
I was relieved when someone knocked on the door. Ford being here in the hospital to begin with was a gigantic shock, in and of itself. Him muff diving in a locked hospital room was enough to scar me for life.
I wanted nothing more than to make out with him forever, feel his velvety lips against mine, to take his enormous cock in my hand and satisfy him. But I was a registered nurse, accustomed to forcing myself to do unpleasant tasks. The unpleasant thing right now was to stop being self-indulgent and get back to reality.
“Oh!” I cried, sitting up straight.
Ford’s dopey smile never left his face, and I remembered he could only hear out of one ear. The pressure of the IED blast wave had probably ruptured his eardrum and slammed his brain against the inside of his skull.
I pointed at the door, my eyebrows raised. “Someone’s there.”
“Madison?” It was a muffled male voice.
What the fuck? How did anyone know it was me? I shot Ford a fearful look. “Yes?”
“This is Security. Just wanted to know if you were okay in there.”
Standing, I adjusted my uniform and gestured at Ford to do the same. When he stood, his belt buckle I had undone dangled heavily between his legs, and I motioned for him to fix it.
Weren’t they always going hard at it in the hospital on Grey’s Anatomy? I’d screwed often enough before in supply rooms and on-call rooms. But never had anyone magically known it was me behind the door.
I clung to the locked door. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”
The guy paused, and I could feel his discomfort through the door. “I received a call that you might be in trouble in here. Just needed to check it out.”
It was then that I remembered the security camera. Idiotically, I looked up straight at it. Ford’s gaze followed mine, but he was laughing. I couldn’t take it so lightly, as it involved my job, so I glared at him.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I shouted at the door. I finally opened it so the guy could see I was fine. He left, but Ford was practically busting with laughter.
“Oh, man! That’s a good one,” he said mirthfully. “Pearl diving in the quiet room next to the chapel.”
I started sputtering with the giggles too, but knew I had to sober up. This was serious business. I could get written up for this. Other times, it had been staff members I’d been with. Now I had been caught on film sitting on a biker’s face, and what if Dr. Dubois heard about it?
I grabbed the edges of Ford’s cut and tugged. “Listen. I’ve got to go. My lunch is over.”
His look was incredibly gentle and mild. “I know. I can’t claim you. You’ve got a goo
d life going here, and I’m just a scumbag criminal. But let me see you again, tomorrow, before I go back to P&E.”
I breathed in his scent of mountain air and exhaust fumes. “I can’t, Ford. I live with someone, and I don’t do cheating.”
Ford tipped my chin up so I was forced to look at him. “I get it. You’re an honest woman with integrity, unlike the chicks we hang with. But you know you can always get a job in P&E or Prescott. Or have no job at all. You know if you’re my property you never need to work again.”
“But I like to work, Ford. Being responsible is what got me out of that shithole at Ingrid’s.”
He shrugged. “Then work. Doesn’t hurt my whopping ego.”
I had to know. “Your father. Does he still…come around the clubhouse much? You said he spends a lot of time with his citizen wife.”
Ford frowned. I could tell he wondered why I had changed the subject to his father. “He’s still the Prez, if that’s what you want to know. Why?”
“So he still has a say in what the club does?”
“Of course. Why does it matter?”
I had to squeeze my eyes shut then. Looking at his gorgeous Italian face with his superlative eyes all limpid like that, I was a goner.
I knew our lives could never fit together. He was right. He was a scumbag criminal, and I was an upstanding member of society. We had an ill-fated, star-crossed love that would last our lifetimes, but Ford was a lifer in a different sort of enterprise. One that had been founded by his scumbag father.
“I can’t, Ford,” I whispered.
He drew back from me. I had to look at him then. An entirely new personality had overtaken him. I’d seen this in him time and again—like when he’d almost shot the rude driver, or when Riker trimmed his moustache over Ford’s toothbrush.
Except this time the transformation was more severe. Obviously seeing overseas combat had twisted him in undesirable ways. A hard cast swept over his face. His eyes flashed with anger, and his lush lips firmed with disgust. “Why not? Because I’m a criminal?”