I Was Born Ruined

by Stunich, C. M.

  There so fucking is.

  “Cat’s too lenient with you, if you ask me.”

  “Did I? Ask, I mean. You can fuck all the way off.” I lean back into the pillows and cross my hands over my belly, enjoying the fresh surge of a glorious, glorious high. I could float away right now, drift off and never come back, and I’d be happy to say goodbye to this hell on earth.

  “What you need is a good spanking,” Grainger says, and I’m not entirely sure that when he says it, he intends the double meaning. It comes out anyway, and there’s this sudden, tangible heat in the air. My eyes lift to his, and he glares right back at me. “It’s true,” he growls, leaning in toward me. “Somebody should throw you over their knee, and give you a good smack.”

  “Are you volunteering for the job?” I breathe, without even meaning to. The edge of Grainger’s cruel mouth turns up in a smirk, and he leans even closer to me, until his lips are close enough to touch. When he talks, I can feel his words as much as I can hear them.

  “You fucking wish,” he snarls, pulling away abruptly and standing up. “Why don’t you start begging Sin again? Maybe he’ll take pity on you and offer up his dick for the sacrifice.”

  “You’re a real piece of work,” I snap, launching myself to my feet and shoving him hard in the back. May as well have tried to push a dump truck up a hill. Grainger turns slowly around to look at me, his expression edged with violence.

  “Really, Gidge?” he asks, when I shove at him again. He turns around in an instant, grabbing me by the wrists and yanking me close enough that I can smell that wonderful black pepper and vanilla scent of his. “You like dicking around with grown men?”

  “I wouldn’t know. None of you will give me the time of day,” I retort, trying to pull my wrists from his grip. There’s no way in hell I could get free from Cade if he wanted to hold me here.

  “Keep pushing and somebody might just push back.” He releases me, and I immediately shove at him. The reaction snaps him into action, and he grabs me again, pushing me down onto the bed and climbing over me, one knee between my thighs. “This isn’t a game you can play, and win.”

  My face is burning with a hot flush, my heart hammering like crazy behind my ribs. But my body likes the feel of Grainger above me like this. My core throbs with want, and I have to resist the urge to arch up into him.

  “Screw you.” Not very creative, but it’s all I can get out. Grainger’s umber eyes move from my rust-red ones, dropping down to linger on my lips. My tongue slides out and runs along my lower lip, all without my permission. I swear, it just happens. I’m just reacting to Cade’s presence without meaning to, like a girl possessed.

  “Screw you, huh?” he asks, almost contemplatively. Grainger leans down and runs his own tongue across my bottom lip, making me groan. I struggle a bit, doing my best to free my arms, so I can put them around his neck.

  He won’t let me.

  “Fat friggin’ chance,” he growls, biting my lower lip and making me groan. “You want to test the waters, Gidge? I’ll show you how deep they are.” Cade captures my mouth, thrusting his tongue between my lips, taking over the moment completely.

  He destroys me with his kiss, crashing through walls I hadn’t even known were up. And it’s sublime, downright transcendent. Pisses me off at the same time, that I’m letting this asshole twist me into knots like this, but I can already feel my body responding, promising me more of that hot-white bliss, that decadent oblivion that I’m craving so damn badly.

  Grainger pushes his knee forward, rubbing it against my aching heat. My body reacts against my will, back arching, cunt pushing against his leg in search of pleasure. The more I wriggle, the harder Cade kisses, like he’s punishing me for my reactions. That’s what I want right now, to be punished.

  Losing it to this prick, that seems appropriate. My life has never been a fairy-tale, so why would I want a prince now? Unless that prince is dressed in leather, scented with tobacco, and packing serious heat, I’m not interested.

  Deep, deep down, I realize that I don’t feel like I deserve someone to be nice to me. I don’t deserve romance and love, gentle hands and soft mouths. Instead, I want hard and unyielding, pain to crash up against my own, like waves against a rocky shore. Nothing but storm and salt and sea, unending and violent.

  Heat blooms between us, but like a rose with thorns, it’s both soft and hard at the same time, silken petals limned in blood. Grainger uses his right hand to hold my wrists above my head, leaving his left free to roam over the curve of my waist and hip. His fingers are rough when they grip my pelvis, pushing his knee into my core hard enough that I gasp. I want more, and I want it quick, but Grainger seems determined to teach me a lesson.

  His mouth moves along my jaw, tracing a hot line of fire to my ear. When he bites down on my earlobe, I just about lose my shit.

  “Stop teasing,” I snap, but he just laughs at me, and there’s nothing at all nice about that sound.

  “Spoiled little brat. Shut your mouth. Who begged who for this, huh? You’re at my goddamn mercy.”

  “I hate you.” The words are true, and they hang in the air like smoke, bringing a hazy, almost dreamlike atmosphere to the moment. Grainger takes that in and grunts, putting his mouth against my ear as he grinds his knee into my throbbing heat.

  “I’ve always hated you, Gidge. Cat has a soft spot for you that’s going to get the whole club in trouble one day. He needs to pack your ass up and send you to boarding school.” Grainger’s left hand slides up and under my shirt, finding the lacy bra underneath, his fingers kneading the soft flesh of my breast through the fabric. “I almost lost my shit when I realized it was you, rubbing that sweet, wet pussy of yours all over my hand. Having you around the clubhouse would drive me nuts.”

  “I—” I start, but Grainger quickly covers my mouth with his right hand, freeing my wrists. I put my arms around his neck, and he pinches my nipple hard enough to make me bite back a scream.

  “Did I not tell you to shut up?” he growls, adjusting himself so that his pelvis is cradled between my thighs. I can feel the hard, thick length of him through his denim. When he moves his hips against me, I feel another wave of heat crash into my soul, sweat dripping down the sides of my face. I’ve never wanted a hit on such a dangerous drug, wanted it with every beat of my heart. “When I see you, I feel sick to my stomach.” Grainger punctuates his words by licking his way down to my throat, his tongue as sharp as a blade. He kisses the pulse in my neck, and that’s when it really hits me how dangerous he is, how reckless this whole moment is.

  Only makes me want it more. How sad is that?

  “Every time I see you, I hope it’s the last.” His words piss me off, and I like it. I want more. I want to hear him tell me how much he hates me. Later—much, much, much later—I’ll realize that Grainger was saying something so much more than I hate you. He was telling me a secret he hadn’t dared to voice to a single other soul, not even his brothers in the club. The sergeant-at-arms of the Death by Daybreak Motorcycle Club was trying to tell me how fine the line that separates passion and violence is, pleasure and pain, hate and love.

  “Ditto,” I murmur, but that’s the last coherent sound that escapes my lips for quite some time. Instead, I get lost in Grainger’s kisses, the malicious darkness with which his mouth closes over mine. He doesn’t let me talk, dominating the silence with his body, with hard, undulating motions of his hips.

  I’m aching on the inside, breaking into pieces, burning up and cracking with lines of molten heat.

  This is gonna be quick, hot, and dirty, I think as Grainger pulls back and reaches beneath my skirt, tearing my fishnets, and then pushing my panties aside. Shit, shit, shit. This is my last chance to pull away before he ruins me.

  And yet … I want nothing more than to be ruined.

  “You’re still soaking wet,” he tells me, almost scoldingly, fingers sliding along my inner thighs. My breath rushes out in a gasp as Grainger slides his thumb up my slick
folds and over my clit, rubbing the hard nub in a slow, languorous circle. I imagine it’s the only slow, languorous thing he’ll be doing with me. “You think you can take me?” he asks, his mouth a wicked line of arrogant male surety. He undoes his jeans, letting his shaft spring free, the tip glistening with pre-ejac. Gripping the base of his dick, he smirks at me and waits for me to examine him.

  I hate to admit it, but … he has a beautiful cock. It’s thick and long, and definitely puts the one dildo I have to shame.

  “What kind of a stupid question is that?” I snort as he slides a condom from his pocket and slips it over his cock, stroking the pre-lubed latex with a tight grip.

  “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” Grainger asks, raising one eyebrow. There’s a mocking glimmer in his eyes, like this is all a fucking game to him. Good. That’s what I want, something shallow, something that burns hot and fizzles out quick. Romance isn’t in the cards for me right now, maybe not ever.

  “Why the hell would you think that?” I snap as he crawls onto the bed, putting his huge, muscular form between my legs. Grainger ignores me, pinning my wrists above my head again before positioning himself at my opening. He looks me dead in the eyes for a long moment, torturing me with the feel of him so close and yet so unattainable.

  And then he thrusts in hard and deep, filling me up, and driving the last scrap of innocence I had from me. It’s like a cleansing, an exorcism of sorts. Pleasure courses through me in waves, and I can feel my body clamping down around Grainger with a grip that’s a hundred times harder than his hand. He makes this sound that can’t be faked, this wild ecstasy that precedes his next thrust, sliding almost entirely out of me before ramming his hips forward again.

  There are no words left in me, no quips, no witty repartee. I’m full, completely and entirely filled with Grainger and his heat, his cock, his hatred. And that last part, that’s the most exciting bit of all.

  My lips quiver, but I can’t get the words out—more, harder, faster. He seems lost, too, in total oblivion as he grinds into me like he’s got a vendetta. There’s a slight bit of pain edging the pleasure, but not much. I might be a virgin, but I know how to masturbate, and I’ve done plenty of it. Still, there’s something so different about sharing your body with another person, this intimate edge that I resist at the same time I embrace it.

  The bed creaks beneath us as Grainger moves inside of me with long, deep strokes, pulling all the way out before he moves back in again. I feel like a bowstring, pulled taut, ready to snap.

  And then the door opens, and there’s Sin, standing there with his mouth hanging open.

  Crap, right before I pushed Grainger, he’d unlocked the door. We never locked it again.

  “What the fuck?!” Sin snarls, just as the storm picks up and the power … abruptly goes out. Sin moves into the room, reaching for Grainger like he plans on picking a fight. Grainger slaps his hand away and gives him a look that I can just barely see limned in the glow from the solar-powered porchlight.

  “If you touch me, I will break your face,” Cade snaps, his voice on edge. “You don’t interrupt a man while he’s fucking.” My face is on fire, but I’m turned on by his words anyway. I shouldn’t be, maybe, but I really am. I must be a masochist and a sadist all wrapped up in one messed-up package.

  “Gidget isn’t some club-whore, Grainger! This is Cat’s daughter.” Sin’s voice drops to this low, dangerous point, turning the darkness into a shadowy pit of violence and need. There’s some of that in his voice, too, regret and want.

  “I want oblivion,” I whisper, my voice cracking as I strain against Grainger’s grip and find that he really means business. I’m not getting out of this unless I specifically ask him to stop for good. Even then … “Cade is giving it to me. Leave us alone.” My face flames as Sin gapes at the pair of us, looking like he both wants to kill Grainger … and fuck me. Lifting his beer to his lips, Sin downs it one go, and I realize that the slight quaver in his voice is a sign that he’s drunk off his ass.

  Grainger turns back to me, looking down at me through the darkness, and then he begins to move again, mercilessly, hard and fast and hateful. He fucks me until his muscles tense with the effort of holding back.

  Sin watches the whole thing, eyes on me as Grainger comes with a low, violent groan, pumping into me a few last times before rolling off with a curse. Meanwhile, he leaves me rife with heat and want, desperate for another orgasm, like the one I had in the bathroom.

  “Jesus, are you still here?” Grainger snaps, giving Sin a dark look that I can’t quite read in the shadows. “Thinking of taking a turn?” He smirks, snapping off the condom and chucking it into the wastebasket at the end of my bed.

  “You deranged psycho,” Sin snaps, but when I sit up, our eyes meet, and I realize with a thundering heart that I’d do it, that I’d fuck him, too. He grabs my half-empty beer from the side table, and throws that back, too. His eyes, though, they never leave my face.

  Closing my legs, I rub my thighs together, feeling my own wetness slick and hot on my skin.

  “You promised me,” I whisper, voice broken with lust. “Don’t be a total dick about it.”

  Sin stares me down, and then curses under his breath, sharp, hot sounds that I can barely hear. But when he turns back to me, I can see it in his eyes: he wants to do this. He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t stop himself.

  “If you touch her,” Grainger says, his voice tinged with malignant intent, “I will end you.”

  My blood goes cold with the sound of violence in his voice … and then white-hot with a bizarre mixture of rage and lust. That was hot, what he just said, I think, exhaling sharply, but at the same time, he doesn’t own me. And he doesn’t want me either, that much is clear.

  “Grainger,” I start, but he’s already standing up and tucking his junk away, like he’s getting ready for a fight. Sin, the much younger and more inexperienced of the two, watches him warily, like he’ll fight if he has to, but doesn’t think he can win. “You said it yourself: you hate me. What do you care what happens between Sin and me?”

  Cade’s eyes are raw with violence; I can see the veins in his neck pulsing with adrenaline.

  “She has a point, Grainger. What the hell do you care? It’s not like we haven’t shared girls before.” Sin speaks slowly, but there’s a thread of steel in his voice. He’s challenging Grainger to fight with his words. Either Cade has to explain why he cares, or he has to let it go.

  He stares Sin down, chocolate eyes boring into silver ones, and then he snarls and shoves the younger man out of his way.

  “You wanted to be a whore in training, Gidge?” he sneers as he yanks the door open and shoves a cigarette between his lips. “You’re off to a real good start.”

  “Go to hell, you—” I start, but Cade’s already storming off, slamming the door behind him and cracking the glass of the framed family photo beside it. It doesn’t fall off the wall though, just shatters into pieces, cutting Queenie’s and Posey’s smiling faces into shards. I’m fuming now, absolutely bristling, but there’s a storm raging outside, and the wild huntsmen of the mafia stalking around inside of it. Let Grainger stalk off. If God’s still listening, then maybe he’ll go outside and get himself killed. I couldn’t think of a greater blessing.

  “I’m gonna go,” Sin starts, but I reach out and curl my fingers around his wrist.

  Lightning crashes outside, so poetic in its timing.

  For a moment there, hot yellow light limns Sin’s handsome face, but it doesn’t last, and we’re both plunged back into darkness, our night vision killed. I yank him toward me, and even though he’s a million times stronger than I am, he lets me pull him close, stumbling just a little from the booze.

  “Gidge,” Sin starts, his voice burning like hot coals. He reaches down and cups my face with two big hands. “You’re too good for Grainger.”

  “So I hear,” I whisper back, loving the way his thumb traces over my lower lip. Poor drunk Colton, tatto
oed in Americana from a time he’ll never see, looking down at me like I confuse the hell out of him. At least he’s a lot nicer when he’s drunk. I hadn’t even realized he was getting there, that he probably drove us home buzzed and then went straight to wasted after arrival. I must’ve been up here entertaining Grainger for longer than I thought. “What does that have to do with anything? We’re not exactly an item.”

  I swallow hard as Sin straddles me, trapping me underneath him. When he leans down to kiss me, I get butterflies. It’s not at all like the way he kissed me at the funeral or in the clubhouse, but something different, something foreign.

  “You don’t mind that I’m drunk?” he asks, but he tastes like whiskey, and I find myself licking my lower lip for another taste as he pulls back again. “Because, I get reckless when I’m drunk.”

  “And screw groupies on the hood of Gaz’s ugly sportscar,” I insert, trying not to get jealous. Jealousy would imply that I care, and I don’t. Not at all. Sin is just … some guy who used to give me a ride home. There are no fucks to give in regards to this idiot.

  And yet, when he smirks, the motion tugs at the scar on his lip and makes him look for the briefest of seconds like he’s the boy next door. I mean, we’re only like eight years apart. It’s not that big of a gap … Reaching my hand back, I grab the edge of the curtain and yank it closed, blocking out the porchlight.

  Oblivion requires darkness, the complete and total absence of light.

  Seeing Sin look like that almost reminds me that there’s life outside of pain, and I don’t want to remember that because it makes it all hurt that much worse. If I go on pretending that the whole world is dark and cruel and broken, then I don’t have to remember that I can’t be fixed.

  “Kiss me, and make me forget,” I whisper, but Sin just barely gives me a brush of lips, like he can’t bear to taste whatever it is that’s between us. Instead, he climbs off of me, and then grabs me by the hips, flipping me over. His fingers curl tight against my pelvis, yanking me toward him.