Lawless

by Teagan Kade

  I look over her pubic bone and see her nipples standing tall, hard and dark, her soaking gash filling my mouth with a fresh flood of arousal.

  I moan against her as my tongue works, vibrations running through her body when I lift my head to suck on her sensitive clit. I run two fingers inside her while I attend to it, hooking them up so they press against the corrugated roof of her sex.

  She bucks immediately.

  No g-spot, my ass.

  I make my tongue into an arrowhead and spear it inside her. She moans in sensory overload, thighs clamping around my ears, my breath hot on her delicate skin.

  Before long she’s a wet mess before me, her pussy juicy and warm around my fingers. They squelch inside her. I press them deeper, pushing against the sensitive no man’s land there as my tongue flicks back and forth like a wet brush over her clit.

  Her back arches. She lifts off the bed. My hands come against her thighs, pressing her back down, holding her firmly in place. Here, I need to be in control.

  I build into a nice rhythm, slowing the pace before picking it up, constantly ramping up and then teasing out the pleasure until she’s a wreck of sensation, pleading for release.

  I suck her clit, harder and harder, pulsing at it with my tongue. I wait until she crests, rising before the fall, and just when she’s about to tip over, I pull away, my tongue and fingers coming free.

  She sits up in shock. “Come back,” she begs.

  A place a finger against my lips and shift forward. She moans softly as my lips cover hers. As my tongue moves into her mouth, her fingers raking through my hair, I reach down and fuck her with two scooped digits until she’s panting hard, her heart galloping against my ribcage like the hooves of a stallion against the earth.

  I break the kiss, standing and guiding my cock towards her mouth.

  She opens it, eyes upturned, lifting her bound hands so I can hold them.

  I’m sure I’m done for when the head of my manhood touches her lips, they opening to draw it in and her tongue darts out to taste the line of pre-cum that’s gathered in my slit. Somehow, I manage to hold it together.

  She sucks on my cock with enthusiasm, jaw stretched wide. Slowly, I swing my hips into her face until I can take no more.

  I let go of her wrists and gather her hair in my hands, fisting it there, using it to lever myself against her quicker and quicker as I fill every inch of her mouth.

  I stroke deeper, running into her throat, just enough to stop her gagging but surely more than she’s ever taken before. All the while, she runs her tongue over the silky underside of my cock, pressing it against my glans. I groan with satisfaction, rising fast towards my own release.

  I start to grunt, my chest and balls tightening.

  She sucks it greedily, sucking the full length of it until her lips leave the angry helmet of it with a resounding pop.

  She pulls away, gasping for air. I move forward, but she draws back. “Take me,” she says, a simple commandment. “Put your cock inside me.”

  Hearing that word come out of her baby-doll mouth is enough.

  I flip her over until she’s on her knees, elbows pressed into the mattress.

  We’re sweating, bodies glistening in the light, the golden bronze of my skin in stark juxtaposition to her pale flesh.

  I rear up behind her and run my cock up and down the wet crevice of her sex. I brush over her hole with the head of it, teasing her, letting it sit there held in place by the puffy lips of her pussy.

  “Take me,” she repeats. “Fill me with your fat cock.”

  Who is this girl?

  I don’t know, but I like it.

  I take her ass cheeks in my hands and drive forward, filling her with my member.

  It’s like I touch everywhere inside her body at once. Her inner walls clamp around my shaft as I plunge inside her, her desire pressed out between us as I slam into her backside over and over, lost in my own pleasure, drunk on it.

  “Yes,” she cries. “Yes.”

  I hear the wet slap, slap, slap of my hard body coming against her rump. I run my cock almost completely out before hammering it back home again, hand running down under her hips to cover her clit, the pad of it working the sensitive bundle as I pound into her hard.

  The air’s heavy with sweat and testosterone. It’s everywhere.

  I run my hand down to where my cock pistons inside her, gathering up her own warm juices to lubricate her clit.

  She bucks and shakes, quivering before me.

  We’re both struggling to breathe, but Dawn’s completely out of control.

  I bring my hand down, lightly spanking her ass cheek. I don’t know why. I don’t even think about it. It just happens.

  “Yes,” she responds, rocking back against me, my cock barreling into her depths.

  Once more I have to stifle the intense need that’s drilling into my core, telling me to give in and fill her, but not yet.

  “Fuck me,” she says, cautious at first, timid, before repeating the words louder.

  I reach forward and hold one of her shoulders, lifting her up so her back is pressed out, her bound wrists dangling in the open.

  I playfully swat the underside of her strained breasts, the left and then the right in quick succession until they’re flushed and pink.

  I withdraw and lie down, pulling her on top of me. I notice the way her eyes have clouded with lust, the way she quivers when I fill her in a single, upward thrust.

  She begins to lift herself up and down on my cock, letting me hilt myself inside the warm confines of her pussy, my balls flat against her backside as she squats and lifts. Her breasts bounce on her chest, nipples swollen with need.

  I take hold of her ass, separating her cheeks. I apply the pad of a finger to the tight rosette of her anus, stroking it.

  “Yes,” she pants, barely audible now, eyes closed.

  I add pressure, the finger moving past the tight ring of her asshole and into the fiery compression beyond.

  Her mouth couldn’t open any wider. I drive upwards, filling and stretching her, taking her to new plateaus of pleasure, and I know then we’re close, lifting together.

  “Yes. Yes. Yes,” she moans, repeating it over and over in breathy gasps, rocking down on my pelvis.

  She trembles, all coherence of speech lost.

  I sweep aside her hair and lightly bite the skin of her neck. Her body relents, her clit pulsing against the granite plane of my abs, her sex convulsing around my cock.

  I hold her tight as she comes, shaking and jerking, her ass gripping and releasing my finger in turn. I can’t hold off any longer. I let go, coming like a locomotive, pleasure smashing into me.

  My sight flickers. I clench down before releasing in a hot torrent, the pull of it stronger than anything I’ve felt before, transcendent.

  Spent, we collapse sideways in a sweaty bundle.

  Dawn’s wrists are still bound, sitting on my shoulder.

  My cock slips from her body, but, surprisingly, it hasn’t lost any of its stiffness, still fierce and hard, but now slick with our mutual arousal.

  “How was that?” I ask her limp form.

  “In-cred-ible,” comes the broken reply.

  Dawn

  I’d never considered using the word ‘excruciating’ to describe sex until last night. I came… and came, and came. By the end of it I could barely move. I kept telling Max to save his energy, but he wouldn’t have it. He couldn’t get enough of me, of my body and lips.

  I roll over, the sheets wrapping around my waist. I place my hand on his chest, holding it there until he stirs.

  His eyes flutter open. He smiles. “Morning, beautiful.”

  I pull close to his side. “Morning, you. How are you feeling?”

  An arm shifts behind his head, his bicep ballooning. “Never been better.”

  “I thought you might do a runner, had your fill and all that.”

  He reaches up to stroke the side of his face, eyes darting down to my
breasts. “I don’t think I could ever get enough of you. Now that I’ve visited the Garden of Eden, I never want to go back.”

  Should I? “Are you saying you can see yourself with me?”

  He sits up on one elbow. “I do want to be with you, Dawn. I want to protect you, pleasure you, and I’ve never wanted anything more, but…”

  Here it comes.

  “You have to understand the risk.”

  “What?” I say. “Do you think I’m making you soft or something?”

  He glances down at the sheets tented around his crotch. “Do I look soft to you? No, I’m a Hershey’s bar.”

  “Hard on the outside, soft on the inside?” I suggest.

  “Unhealthy.”

  I run my hand under the sheets, lightly stroking his cock. “Unhealthy or not, I could do with a little excitement in my life.”

  He laughs, his cock thickening in my hand. “I wouldn’t call near-death experiences ‘a little excitement.’ I’ve done a lot of bad shit to a lot of bad people. One day it’s going to catch up with me. I don’t know if I want you in the way.”

  His head falls against the pillow. He thrusts up into my fingers.

  I stroke faster. “And what about what I want?”

  My yellow wristband bounces up and down as I jerk him off.

  “And that is?” comes his disjointed reply.

  “You.”

  He reaches down and pulls my hand away, rolling us to the side so he’s on top. He runs his hand between my legs, pulling my panties to the side.

  I wait, breath held. “I’m yours.”

  He drives inside my wetness, runs into me until I’m full once more.

  We order room service for breakfast. I’ve never seen such a selection of food.

  “You really go all out, don’t you?” I say, stuffing another croissant into my mouth.

  Max laughs, standing by the window. “Nothing’s free. It always comes at a price.”

  I place the rest of the croissant down and stand, walking over to the window, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my head on his shoulder. “Are you going to be okay today? This O’Neil guy sounds serious.”

  He turns, planting a single kiss on the side of my head. “I’ll be fine. That said, if things go south I want you to call the number on the card over there by the phone.” He points to the breakfast bar. “Take it. Keep it on you. Sam’s an old friend. He’ll help you out.”

  “And you?”

  “Don’t worry about me. It might get ugly. That’s all I’m saying—worse before it gets better.”

  I nod against his back, wishing Max didn’t have to fight, that I’d never met Rick in the first place.

  But then you never would have met Max.

  That’s true, but has it been worth it? I think back to last night. Oh, hell yes.

  Rick never went down on me, never considered my pleasure for a single second. He’d get behind me and pound flat out for what seemed like hours. It was a relief when he finally came. That’s all I knew, but now my eyes have been opened, there’s no going back.

  There’s more to a relationship than sex, you know.

  I do, but the more time I spend with Max, the more that hard exterior begins to crack and the real Max shines through. I see him for what he is now—a good, honorable man forced into a bad situation by circumstance and poor choices, but no one should be defined by their past.

  A limo picks us up downstairs just before lunch. I don’t recognize the streets outside from any brochures or postcards. Wherever we’re going, it’s a place far from the tourist traps, the slots, and the overpriced drinks. “Where are we?” I ask.

  Max continues to stare out the window. “Getting further away from Kansas, that’s for sure.”

  We arrive at a large factory quite literally sided by desert. It’s desolate out here save for a string of high-end cars parked in the lot, men milling about in suits, bikers by the side door, all kinds of shady individuals.

  The driver opens the door and I step out after Max. There’s a guy with a ponytail standing there. “This way,” he says.

  I follow Max around the back of the factory, through a door and down a hall. As we walk, we pass a window that looks out onto the factory floor, but there’s no machinery here. It’s been turned into an arena complete with lighting and cage at its center. My stomach drops. This is real underground. If Max falls, there aren’t going to be any emergency services to come to his aid. He’s on his own.

  We’re led into a small white room and the door closes behind us. There’s water and towels on a table, but that’s it.

  Max takes me aside. “Are you okay?”

  “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

  Max bounces away, pulling off his shirt and jumping on the spot, shaking out his limbs. “Like I said, I’m fine.”

  “You keep saying that.” I see the bruising on his ribs and cringe inside. “You don’t have to do this.”

  He stops. “Dawn…”

  I put my hands out. “Okay, okay, but promise me you’ll watch yourself out there.”

  “I will.”

  There’s a knock on the door. Bobby enters with the ponytail guy. He lights a cigarette and leans against the doorway, Ponytail standing to the side. “Feeling up to it, New York?”

  Max nods. “Bring it on.”

  Bobby smiles, sucking on the cigarette, sucking the life out of it. He holds it away from his face, eyes darting towards me. “I trust your accommodation was suitable?”

  “It was,” comes Max’s stony reply.

  Bobby waves me over. “Come now, my love. The show’s about to begin and you have front-row seats.”

  I look to Max. “It’s okay,” he says. “Go.”

  I run forward, giving Max one last kiss before following Bobby and Ponytail out.

  An elderly man bumps into me in the hallway outside.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I apologize, but he simply holds my arm and smiles. “It’s going to be okay. Wait and see.”

  “Wh—” I begin, but he’s already gone.

  Bobby wasn’t kidding. I’m led to a seat front and center wedged between a suit on one side and an Arab man on the other. He nods and smiles when I sit.

  “Where will you be?” I ask Bobby.

  He points to a box up by the roof, the factory’s main office. “In the clouds, little one.” He stoops down low. “For your sake, let’s hope your boy comes through.”

  He leaves.

  I stand and look around. The rest of the arena is filling up. I spy the elderly man up the back to the right, in the standing room. He doesn’t see me.

  I go to stand myself, but a heavy hand presses me back down into my seat. “Let’s stay seated, shall we?” smiles Ponytail, moving away to hover by the cage, snake eyes trained on me. There goes your escape plan.

  The lights dim in the arena save for the cage, cast neon blue. Two porny women in thongs and nothing else hold up cards in the ring before a referee in black and white takes the stage, announcing the first fighters. I don’t hear Max’s name.

  A buzzer sounds and the fighting starts.

  It’s brutal.

  The cage’s within arm’s reach. I can smell the sweat, the blood. The first fight lasts less than a minute, one fighter bringing the other to the ground in front of me and using his knee to hammer down on his opponents face until it’s a bloody mess. I close my eyes, unable to stomach it.

  The crowd roars with approval, the Arab man beside me leaps up, applauding. The loser, limp, is dragged away. The blood is mopped up with a towel, but the stain remains, the iron stench heavy in the air.

  The next fight starts and once more there is no sign of Max. This one is evenly matched. The two fighters are equally skilled. Five minutes pass, ten, the crowd growing restless, their hunger for blood and violence growing.

  I want to be somewhere else. I don’t want to be witness to this, but I’m trapped.

  I flinch as one of the fighters is crushed
up against the cage, his mouth guard coming free, his teeth gnashing against the metal just feet away. His eyes open, wide, and look into mine. I see the fear there. He’s lost.

  He goes down in less than a minute, one of his legs bent awkwardly away from his body.

  God, let it end. Please.

  Another fight and another pass. I’ve been sitting here for over an hour now. I’m nervous and on edge.

  And then the call comes.

  “And now for the main event,” calls the announcer. “Kurt ‘Crusher’ O’Neil against the Wild Horse wild card, Max Davis from New York City.”

  There’s a murmur through the crowd, rumblings. No one seems to know who Max is.

  I look around again. The elderly man is still there, watching intently.

  I tighten in my seat.

  O’Neil is the first into the cage, stripping away his robe. My throat closes, hands gripping the chair.

  O’Neil’s a monster. I thought Dale back at the biker bar was big, but this guy’s a giant. He’s covered from head to foot in tattoos, more ink than skin. His face in particular is designed to look like a skull.

  The crowd erupts. He’s clearly a favorite, slamming his hands against the cage, grabbing the ass of the closest ring girl.

  There’s no such entrance for Max. He’s nothing compared to O’Neil. They look completely mismatched. It’s unfair! He’s going to kill him! I want to scream, but I hold my tongue.

  Max told you to trust him.

  It’s all I can do.

  Max sees me and nods, wrapping tape around his fists and eyeing off his opponent.

  The two separate. “Come on!” screams O’Neil.

  The buzzer sounds.

  It’s on.

  In previous rounds, the fighters were slow to engage, feeling each other out before attacking, but O’Neil comes in full force from the start, roaring and lashing out at Max with a wide kick.

  Max is ready for it, bringing his hands up for the block, but the force of it smashes him against the cage. He barely has enough time to get his hands up again before O’Neil is there, punching away like a man possessed, his hands moving like lightning.