Dirty

by A. C. Bextor

  It’s the only form of freedom Anna has ever known.

  My best friend, and biggest pain in the ass, Tommy, has called every fucking day asking me if I’ve accepted a cut and if I’ve become a member of Creed MC yet. My intention is to avoid this as long as possible, if that’s even in the cards. However, he doubts my sincerity toward this objective.

  I don’t.

  My parents have also called a few times this week, but it’s more so they can converse with Em. Especially my dad. Seems he’s now all-knowing of the younger generations’ world of dating, so he’s been feeding her advice.

  Because of that, tonight she’s coerced me into taking her out of the apartment for a nice, quiet dinner. I’m not used to dating, so it’s entirely possible I’ll royally fuck this up, but all week has been spent watching movies and cooking at home. She needs to experience freedoms outside of my apartment. Until Greg is found and handled, however, it will be kept minimal.

  Each night has been spent together in the apartment. Although I’ve enjoyed our quiet time together, I sensed three days ago she was getting restless.

  “Are you ready?” she asks, standing at the door.

  My eyes scan her body briefly. She’s wearing a tight, black, strapless mini dress and shiny black high-heel stilettos. I hadn’t known she owned them or I can say with certainty she would’ve been wearing those at least one of the times I’ve fucked her this week.

  “I am,” I answer then point to her. “You’re wearing that?”

  Looking down and clutching her designer red handbag, I hear her release a huff of agitation before she speaks through it. “Yes, Max. You’re taking me out and it’s our first date. I thought I would do what I could to look nice for you.”

  Not nice, fuckable.

  I look down to what I’m wearing and frown. “You look like that and I look ridiculous.”

  Emma’s got me dressed in a pair of nice, dark brown Dockers and an ironed, button-up, black dress shirt, along with a pair of shiny dress shoes which happen to hurt my fucking feet. I’m not used to wearing this kind of get-up, and I most certainly don’t appreciate wearing it in public.

  “I look like I’m dressed to go to a funeral,” I explain.

  Her small smile doesn’t go unnoticed, when she responds, “We’re celebrating, Max. So you look like you’re about to take a woman out for a quiet and well-deserved celebratory dinner then come home early and get very lucky with said woman.”

  I’ve been very lucky all fucking week. Each night I’ve spent wrapped around her body in one way or the next. It doesn’t matter where in the apartment I’ve taken her; each time is just as good as the last. My favorite so far, though, is the back of the couch while she watches me move in and out of her.

  “What are we celebrating?”

  “The fact that I got to finally have sex with Max Taylor, heartbreaker of Dekalb County.”

  Grazing her body with my eyes again, appraising each curve which molds to the short dress, I missed her answer.

  Fuck dinner.

  “Max!” she exclaims, pulling me from my perverted thoughts. “Reservations are at eight. Let’s go.”

  “Don’t want to miss that reservation,” I mumble, tongue-in-cheek.

  On the way to dinner, my phone buzzes with repeating calls from Aimes. One after another, Em and I watch it glow. We both stare at it without commenting on what he could be calling for. We’ve agreed no outside distractions for the sake of this date. I haven’t let on that we’re at a standstill in getting Casey free. My fear with taking the call in front of her is that if it’s good news, she’ll get her hopes up, and if it’s bad news, it will devastate her further.

  “I can’t take it,” she snaps, grabbing the phone from the dashboard.

  And there goes my plan to avoid this.

  Rolling my eyes, I look out the front window as we sit stalled at a stoplight in the middle of a busy intersection.

  “Em here,” she says. “What do you got?”

  I smile and my body jolts with a single syllable laugh. She talks as if she’s awaiting orders or receiving information regarding the low-down plot we honest-as-fuck do not have scheming.

  “You can talk to me, Aimes. I can relay the information to him. He’s busy.” She pauses and I hear Aimes on the other end of the phone, losing his temper. “Nope,” she tells him simply. “You tell me. He’s driving and can’t be . . .”

  Risking having her upset, I reach over and grab the phone from her hand once traffic starts to move. Her face displays her disapproval for my quick move.

  It’s for the best, Emma.

  “Aimes. What do you got?” I mock her forceful words and hear her call me an ass as she sits and seethes beside me.

  “Got him,” Aimes informs. I can tell he’s smiling. “Greg’s a dot.”

  “I can’t really talk,” I try to explain while coaxing him to continue.

  Hearing him exhale a laugh of his own, he says, “Yeah, figured as much.” He pauses and laughs at me again. “So, little badass is in this now?”

  “Negative.”

  “Greg’s been handled in a way he won’t be a problem for her anymore,” he tells me, getting to the point. “And I got creative.”

  “Thank fuck.”

  “I gotta tell ya, friend. I wasn’t the only one who got resourceful.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means Em got him good. Fuck, I think he looked worse than she did. Her nails are talons. I’d check your back in the mirror. Just sayin’.”

  “Don’t you worry about my back,” I say as Emma stares at me with wide eyes.

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t piss her off, though.”

  “Glad it’s handled,” I say out loud and look over to Emma again. She looks nervous.

  He smiles into the phone again; I hear it through the ease of his words. “Asshole may be book-smart, but he’s dumb as fuck when it comes to keepin’ his mouth shut.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I ask, turning my head and catching Emma sticking her tongue out at me.

  Later, sweetheart.

  “Yeah. Anyway, no charges will be filed. Told him Em’s done and she’s filing for divorce. He had the nerve to look surprised. Then I smacked him around a little.”

  “Or a lot.”

  “Yes,” he confirms. “A lot. He’ll need some time off work to recover.”

  “Thank you, Aimes. Em thanks you, too.”

  “No problem,” he responds, clearing his throat. “One more thing.”

  “What you got?” I smile again, and this time I’m greeted with a hit to the shoulder from Em.

  Aimes laughs. “You’re really tryin’ to piss her off, aren’t you?”

  “A little,” I tell him. “What were you going to say?”

  “Low and I have an idea. I need you to go with it.”

  “Idea for what?”

  “Casey.”

  Most definitely not wanting to have this conversation in her presence, I need to stop him from talking. “This something we can discuss later?”

  “No. This is something we can’t discuss at all. I need radio silence for a few days. Low and I have called in some favors from some boys down south. They taught Low and me how to do what we do. We’ll be off the grid for a few.”

  “Not sure I like this,” I admit. “You two are crazy enough.”

  He sighs. I hear the phone being repositioned on his shoulder then hear his lighter flicking before he takes a drag from his cigarette. “Max,” he says, exhaling his first hit. “I’m gonna level with you. You asked us for help. We’ve been in these situations before and if you want our help, you’re going to have to trust us. Got it?”

  “Not so much.”

  “Max, you’re not the only person in the world who can infiltrate a ridiculous joke of an MC.”

  “Fuck, Aimes. I do not like what you’re sayin’,” I tell him with meaning.

  “Good. Now that we agree, take that hot piece of ass you have sitting next to you and
show her a good time. If possible, change your personality for the next few hours so she can enjoy her evening.”

  “Fuck off, asshole.”

  “I promise if you don’t, I’ll make her mine,” he threatens, and not in a jovial tone.

  I remind him, “You don’t like ’em tough, Aimes. I’m not worried.”

  “I’d have a fuck of a good time making her come to heel, though. Don’t mistake that.”

  Narrowing my eyes, even though he can’t see it, I say with more ire in my voice than I intend, “That’ll get your ass kicked.”

  “Out,” he answers, then disconnects the call.

  Fucker knows how to push my buttons.

  * * *

  It isn’t until after dinner when I realize my date is a lightweight who can’t hold her liquor. After I broke it to her gently that Greg had been handled in a way Aimes saw fit, she ordered a Long Island iced tea against my sound advice.

  Since Em insisted we stop at O’Malley’s on the way home, I’ve decided to continue feeding her alcohol in hopes it teaches her a lesson.

  It’s only been a week, but I’m already getting acquainted with a very drunken Emma Richards.

  “So, Max-a-million,” she addresses with a slur. “Where are we headed after this?”

  “Home.”

  Her nose scrunches as she sits back and looks around the bar. We’re seated at the bar because the place is packed and I need her facing forward, rather than have her sitting on an open floor where the men can eye-fuck her, or worse, approach her.

  “I didn’t think you’d be such a boring date,” she admits.

  “Seriously, Em?”

  Slamming back the last taste of her drink, she wipes her mouth crudely with the back of her hand. “I thought it would be all heavy breathing and pawing.”

  I repeat again, trying to keep my body from shaking with laughter. “Really? That’s what you thought?”

  “Thought?” she asks, nudging Earl in his shoulder from the other side, nearly tipping the poor sap over. “It’s what I was hoping for.”

  “Dear God, Emilyn. Stop.”

  Earl, moving back in his stool to make eye contact with me, belly-laughs. “She’s got a point, Max Taylor. You’re known around here as the Casanova, yet you’re bringing your drunk girl to the bar for a good time when you should be laying her down in rose petals and worshipping her.”

  “Exactly!” Emma chides and clinks her empty glass with Earl’s full one.

  After Em and Earl continue to chastise me for fucking up this date, Em’s face gets serious. Her mouth forms a frown.

  Past drunk, into weepy. Never good.

  “What is it, sweetheart?” I ask, holding my voice to a whisper.

  Setting her elbows on the bar, she lifts her head and lays it on my shoulder. I continue playing with the beer bottle’s label, waiting for her to talk.

  When she finally does, it nearly breaks me.

  “I got all dressed up tonight. I took time getting ready so I could impress you.” She stops and inhales.

  Kissing the crown of her head, I return, “You did, but you don’t have to do any of that. I’m already impressed.”

  “We ate a nice meal at a gorgeous restaurant. Candles were lit, music was played in the background, and the company was perfect.”

  Moving the hair from her eyes, I wait for her to continue.

  Looking down, I see her bottom lip shake as a tear falls and hits my shirt. “Casey was in that sickening place, doing God knows what with God knows who.”

  I see where this is going. “Emma, Casey is okay,” I try to convince her, even though I’m not sure. “I told you she looked okay. We’ll figure this shit out, but not tonight.”

  “I want to go home, Max.”

  Standing up, I pay Maggie and help Em from her chair.

  Earl turns in his stool and watches as I get her ready to leave. “Interesting sounds a little depressing right now, Max. Anything I can do?”

  I shake my head after making eye contact and say nothing.

  “Thank you for the company, Earl,” Emma tells him. “We’re headed to the store so he can buy some flowers to lay out on my bed.”

  “Bet she’s asleep by the time you get there,” Earl tells me, not her.

  “Bet you’re right,” I agree.

  Emma, straightening her posture and trying to play badass, says to us both, “Betting is for fools.” She turns to me, resting her hands on my chest. “Are you a fool?”

  Leaning down and kissing her forehead, I pull back and whisper, “I’d have to be to let you get this drunk on our first date, being that I already knew you were a sure thing.”

  “That’s right, Max,” Earl comments and turns back around. “See you two later.”

  On the way home, we sat in Em’s car in silence. I knew she was thinking about Casey, and there was nothing I could do to take her mind off it. I can’t ease her worry or lift her guilt. Truth be told, as long as no one bothers or harms Casey in her one-room cell, she’s probably safer there than anywhere else within that God-forsaken hole.

  For the first time since he’s been gone, I’m actually hoping to see Ci’s ugly and silent face soon.

  Missing Cilas is what I’ve been reduced to.

  “Cock or face?” Emma asks, slurring only a little now, but still trying to remain sitting upright.

  She’s on the floor, between my knees, resting her elbows on my thighs.

  It’s hard not to laugh.

  “Em,” I tell her, looking down and trying not to smile. “You’re still drunk.”

  “We celebrated, Max,” she tells me. “The wicked wizard is gone.”

  “Gone, but not forgotten. Don’t underestimate a scorned man.”

  “Scorned.” She scrunches her nose. “He was fucking his paralegal, for fuck’s sake. He didn’t even want my piece of ass. He wanted hers.”

  Also, I’ve noted, Em swears like a sailor with added liquid courage.

  Running my hand down her cheek, she closes her eyes and leans into it.

  “We don’t have to do anything tonight, sweetheart. You’re really not up to this.”

  “I am!” she exclaims and starts to stand.

  Pulling her down on top of me, the fumes from the alcohol rush my face and I pull back slightly as she exhales. My hands move to her thighs and the tight skirt, that’s been taunting me all night, rides them as I push it to her waist.

  “No cock?”

  “Oh, there’s cock, babe.” My hips lift up so she feels my readiness from beneath her.

  Her eyes close and she moans, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “You feel good.”

  “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  She doesn’t answer. Instead, I get, “You smell good, too.”

  “Em?”

  Leaning down and biting my bottom lip with more force than she’s used before, she whispers, “Yes. Make it good.”

  Pulling my head back, my eyes narrow. “It’s not always ‘good’?”

  She doesn’t answer, but moves her face to my neck. My fingers lift the rest of her skirt, and from the back I move her thong to the side. My finger edges toward the bundle of nerves in the back and she grinds down onto it.

  Drunk.

  “You don’t know who you’re playin’ with, sweetheart.”

  Her hips grind again. The material from my pants strains as my cock seeks the warmth of her pussy. I close my eyes and try to stay still.

  I’ll never get enough of her.

  “I do know who I’m messing with,” she says as her body jolts from the pleasure of my finger dipping into her back entrance. “My hero.”

  Hearing her coin me that name spurs my reaction to take her. She’s drunk, and she’s trusting me to take care of her—in all ways.

  Tapping her leg, I get her to raise off my lap with the strength of her thighs. My fingers rip the material of her thong away. Her eyes find mine and without losing contact, I release the button of my pants, unzip, and p
ull out my throbbing cock, placing it at the entrance of her pussy.

  Without letting me guide in slowly, she impales herself on top and doesn’t give us a mere second to adjust. I slide into her without resistance.

  “Christ, you’re fucking ready.”

  “For you,” she says on a whisper as she moves her body back and forth.

  Her fingers start to undo the buttons on my shirt at the same time I move my hands to unzip her dress. Rather than let me do this, she grabs my wrist and brings it in position between us. Looking down, she watches my fingers massage her clit as she continues working me inside her with deliberate movement.

  I feel she’s already close, her insides constricting around me. Her head tilts toward the ceiling, the vein in her neck protrudes, and she’s about to come undone.

  Using one finger on her clit, I move the other hand behind her. I’m at every angle, and that’s when she lets go.

  “Jesus! Don’t stop, Max!”

  My finger invades her backside, my cock continues thrusting into her as she remains still, and her swollen clit becomes over-sensitive as I continue stroking it without mercy. The smell of her arousal penetrates the area between us and instantly becomes my ultimate undoing.

  “I’m close, Em,” I hiss before I empty into her as I feel her gripping me from inside.

  Grabbing the back of her neck and forcing her mouth to mine, my moan swallows hers and we’re left rocking back and forth in slowing heated fury, drawing out and enjoying the rest of our climax together.

  Emma rests her head on my shoulder, her cheek warming my skin. “I think I’m a little drunk.”

  Laughing quietly, I agree. “That you are.”

  Pulling up, she looks down at me. Her eyes are glassed over, her skin is flushed, and her hands are shaking from exertion. She traces my bottom lip with her thumb. “I know I’m not supposed to say her name, but . . .”

  Shaking my head, I remind her, “Don’t fuckin’ do it. I’m still inside you.”

  “She was an idiot to let you get away,” she whispers softly.

  “She never had me, Em.”

  “I did.”

  She gets it.

  “Yeah, babe. You always did.”

  Moving the hair from her cheek, I lean up and kiss her temple. Then she tempts me into arguing. “Took you a fuck of a long time to figure out it was me you wanted.”