“I want your cock.” I said, the words barely escaping my lips audibly.
Without responding, he reached for his belt. With my eyes fixed on his tattooed hand, I watched as he lowered his jeans past his hips. As his thick shaft sprung free, my throat went tight.
I dropped the water bottle.
His jeans and the bottle hit the floor at the same time.
With my eyes glued to his twitching cock, I fumbled to rid myself of my shorts and panties. Like a high school teen in her first sexual encounter, I struggled with the denim fabric for an inordinate amount of time.
“Here,” he said.
I watched intently as he pulled my shorts down my thighs, taking my panties with them in the process. With care, he lifted each of my feet, pulled the shorts free, and then cast them aside.
“Thanks,” I said, but the words were silent.
He didn’t bother standing.
Kneeling at my feet, he stared at my pussy for a few seconds, and then looked up.
I swallowed hard.
His mouth twisted into a smirk.
He buried his face between my legs, took my wet mound into his mouth, and then flicked his tongue against my clit. Again, and again, the tip of his tongue tickled my swollen nub.
A tingling ran through me and my legs went weak. I reached for the counter, found it, and then sucked in a breath. With my head tilted back and my eyes pinched closed, I stood on shaking legs and tried to focus on what he was doing to me.
When he touched me, the feelings he created were new. Convinced he was a master at the art of sex, and that I was his student, I eagerly allowed him to continue, excited to experience whatever it was he was introducing me to.
The licking stopped. My eyes opened, and I looked down.
He glanced up. “Your pussy tastes like honey.”
I couldn’t speak. I simply bit into my bottom lip and nodded.
And, once again, he buried his face between my thighs.
I gulped a breath as he pushed a finger deep inside me. He added another, and I twisted my hips back and forth in response.
While his fingers fucked me slowly and predictably, he began to suck my clit.
Don’t stop.
Please, God.
Don’t. Let. Him. Stop.
With my clit pinched between his soft lips, he began to moan. A buzzing ran through me from his mouth to nipples. Pressure built within me. I arched my back, opened my mouth, and cried out, but it escaped me as a silent gasp.
My eyes shot open and then fell to the floor.
In my kitchen, I had the baddest of bad ass bikers on his knees – sucking my pussy like a boss. For that instant, my life was a dream.
I gripped his head firmly in my hands and commenced to fuck his mouth, hoping he wouldn’t object.
His moaning continued, growing more prominent with each thrust of my hips.
My knees buckled.
I struggled to remain standing, forcing my pussy hard against his mouth in the process. In return, his fingers pushed deeper.
My muscles tensed, and then relaxed. Every ounce of emotion that had slowly built within me exploded.
His fingers continued, in and out of my wetness. His tongue teased my clit. His free hand gripped my ass, pulling me into him firmly.
The orgasms continued, one after the other, until my legs collapsed.
He caught me before I hit the floor, and lifted me into his arms. While he carried me into the bedroom, I studied his face.
I wished, with each step that he took, that things could be different between us.
But, they couldn’t, and I knew it.
Knowing it saddened me.
As he laid me on the bed, I decided to live in that moment, and that moment only, realizing it would be our last night together. It had to be. I couldn’t continue without falling in love with him, that I was sure of.
He tossed his shirt aside while I recovered from my trip to sexual outer space, and then he rolled to the side and looked at me. He’d already seduced me with his walk, and now he was doing so with his eyes.
“I want to ride your cock,” I whispered.
His mouth curled into a guilty smile, and he gripped his cock in his fist. “Come get it.”
My pussy was dripping wet. I straddled him, and then watched as he guided the tip of his swollen cock between my legs. As it disappeared into my wetness, one thick inch at a time, my breath escaped me and my eyes went closed.
Once he was inside me fully, I opened my eyes and gazed into his.
He was perfect.
But he was unavailable and incapable of becoming attached.
This is it.
One last time.
I wrapped my hands firmly around his calves, arched my back, and then rode his stiff cock like I was trying out for the sexual Olympics.
When it was over, and he was long gone, I wanted him to realize just what he was missing. I hoped to convince him that I was different, and the only way I knew to do so was by fucking him like he’d never been fucked before.
I wanted him to want me no differently than I wanted him.
I released his legs, and dug my fingers into his thick chest. His eyes went wide as I sank my fingernails into his flesh, bucking my hips wildly the entire time, milking his thick cock with each complete stroke.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he moaned.
“You like my tight pussy?”
He squeezed my tits firmly in his hands. “Fuck yes.”
“I. Love. Your. Fucking. Cock.” I said, barking out one word with each thrust of my hips.
He gazed directly into my eyes, and then grinned. “I. Can. Fucking. Tell.”
I allowed myself to become immersed in his eyes, which for some reason seemed to have turned from blue to grey. With his gaze fixed on mine, I writhed and bucked my hips, hoping to find that perfect position.
The one that would send me to the moon.
I rolled my shoulders, arched my back, and ground against the length of his thick shaft.
Oh fuck.
The tip of his dick rubbed against my g-spot. I closed my eyes and exhaled heavily. While I got lost in the feeling of his cock against the most sensual spot I possessed, his hands kneaded my boobs with perfection.
Firm enough that I knew who was in control, but not so harsh that it was uncomfortable, he squeezed my tits masterfully. Every few seconds, he’d pinch my nipples between his thumb and forefinger, and when he did, a tingling sensation ran from my boobs to the tip of his perfect cock.
I lifted my hands, arched my back further, and reached for his ankles.
Oh my fucking fuck.
Fuck yes.
Don’t. Fucking. Move.
My eyes rolled back so far it hurt. My lips parted slightly. “Don’t. Change. Anything. Don’t move.”
With my legs spread so wide I ached, I forced my ass against his thighs. The smooth skin of the head of his cock continued to torture me, grinding against my g-spot. I moved my hips ever so slightly, sending an electric shock through me with each movement.
I bit against my lip and closed my eyes.
I felt myself reaching climax.
Like a volcano preparing to erupt, the pressure built within me until it could build no more. And then, at that instant when the act of fucking goes from physical to spiritual, his cock swelled.
My pussy contracted, clenching it like a vise.
His breathing became labored.
“I’m going to…”
“So am I,” he breathed.
Together, magically, we reached the brink.
I felt as if I burst into a million sensual pieces, showering the room with emotion. I wanted to cry, scream, dig my nails into his flesh, and die, all at the same time.
Instead, I opened my mouth and said nothing.
Because I wasn’t able.
I was frozen in time. It only lasted a nanosecond, but I was frozen nevertheless.
Almost as if I was hovering over him, lo
oking down upon his climactic finish, I watched as he erupted inside of me.
His jaw stretched wide, and he let out a growl with the intensity of a powerful beast. His eyes met mine, and he smiled a shallow and slightly guilty grin.
As countless micro-orgasms shot through me, I collapsed onto his chest, incapable of holding myself up for one more second. I remained motionless for some time, and then raised my head from his shoulder and looked him in the eyes.
I knew he enjoyed it just as much as I did, but he’d never admit it, and that saddened me. I wanted to hold him, hug him, and tell him how good it felt to fuck him, but I didn’t dare.
I wasn’t some sappy weirdo who was falling in love after fucking him twice. In fact, I was far from it. But I liked him. I liked looking at him. I liked fucking him. And, I loved how his cock made me feel. I wanted to get to know him, and in doing so, allow him to get to know me.
I wanted to do all the things he wanted me to do, each one without instruction. I wanted to know his deepest of desires, and hoped I could satisfy each one of them.
Yet.
The way it felt knowing all we would ever have was sex crushed those wants and desires into dust.
For whatever reason, admitting I was nothing but a hole for him to fill hurt me. And, I’d been hurt too many times in the past to allow it to happen again.
I rolled to the side, stood, and turned toward the bathroom. Facing away from him, I cleared my throat. “Do you…uhhm. Do you mind…would you just let yourself out?”
God.
This hurts.
“Wow. Really?”
I didn’t bother turning around. I couldn’t allow him to see my face. Hiding my feelings at that moment would have been impossible, and if he knew how I truly felt, any rejection that followed would surely crush me.
“I’m going to shower,” I said. “I’ll take my time. I’d appreciate it if you’d be gone when I came out.”
He cleared his throat. “Alright.”
While I showered, I came close to crying several times. It seemed ridiculous for me to feel the way I felt, but Smokey was different.
I could sense it.
I could feel it.
And, I could see it.
But. His unique situation wouldn’t allow him to accept anyone in his life that caused him to feel.
I dried off, got dressed, and walked into the kitchen. Although the home was void of his presence, his scent still lingered in the air. I closed my eyes, inhaled a shallow breath, and shuddered at the smell of him.
I opened my eyes.
A folded piece of paper laying on the countertop caught my eye. I walked toward it. On the outside of the note, my name was written.
I eagerly unfolded it.
The script was handwritten, and elegant.
Sandy,
You satisfied me more in two days than you’ll ever know. If you’re thinking this comment is about sex, you’re wrong.
It’s about your fun-loving attitude, your great personality, and the way you put up with my shit.
For a minute, you tricked me into thinking I was normal.
But, I’m not.
Probably be best if we called it quits.
I’m enjoying this too much.
Smokey
I read the note, and then re-read it.
With reluctance, I folded the note, walked to the trash can, and dropped it inside.
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Three
Smokey
It had been a week since I’d seen Sandy last, and Cholo and I were a foreclosure property that he’d purchased to flip for a profit. I’d expressed my disappointment in knowing I would never see her again, and Cholo seemed shocked by the decision.
While I took the last of my measurements, he loomed over me with his hands on his hips.
“You’re a fucking weirdo,” he said.
I extended the end of the tape measure to the wall, made note of the dimension, and wrote it down.
“Says who?” I asked over my shoulder.
“Says me.”
“If I valued your opinion, I might give a shit about that remark. But I don’t, so I don’t.”
“You ever think that having a woman around your daughter might help matters?”
Cholo wasn’t the Filthy Fuckers Sergeant-at-Arms, but he was the club’s enforcer. A bald-headed former boxer who was built like a body builder, he wasn’t a man to get sideways with.
Regardless, his comment hit a nerve, and I was ready to fight him, if need be.
I stood, clipped the tape measure to my pocket, and shot him a laser sharp glare. “And what in the absolute fuck makes you think matters around my house need help?”
“I’m just saying--”
“And, I’m just saying that you better back the fuck up, or you and I are gonna tussle, motherfucker. Don’t fuck with my daughter. She ain’t the club’s business, and friend or not, she sure as fuck ain’t any of yours.”
He tugged against the bill of his cap and shot me a look. “God damn, Smoke. You said you liked that Sandy chick, but that you weren’t going to see her any more. Lex says she’s a damned good chick. I was just trying to say…” He clenched his jaw and shook his head. “Fuck it. I said what I had to say. No disrespect intended.”
I gave a nod. “None taken. I’m short tempered right now. Sorry.”
“Something you want to talk about?”
I knelt, took another measurement, and then wrote it down. “Daughter turns seventeen in three weeks.”
“Is that a big deal?”
“Around my house, it is.”
“Why’s that?”
“She starts dating when she’s seventeen.”
“Kind of a late start, huh?”
I looked at him, cocked my eyebrow, and gave him one of Eddie’s famous stink eyes.
He raised his hands in the air and turned his palms toward me. “Sounds like the perfect age to start dating to me.”
I glanced at the sheet of paper, did the math, and looked up. “Fifteen grand even. Don’t fuck with me about it, Cholo. That tile that’s got to come up in the back bathroom is asbestos, and there ain’t another flooring contractor that’ll do this job for a penny under eighteen. Make a counter offer, and you can find another tile man.”
“Fifteen’s fine,” he said with a nod.
I stood, picked up my notepad, and wiped the dust from my jeans. “Sixteen is too fucking young, if you ask me. And, making her wait until she’s eighteen’s is cruel. So, at my house, seventeen’s the age for dating. She told me the other night I was a sadist.”
“Your daughter did?”
I nodded. “Yep. Said preventing her from going on dates was whittling away at the fiber of her being, and the end result was that I’d pummeled her confidence into a pile of mush. She compared what was left of it to a bowl of grits.”
His brow wrinkled. “What the fuck are grits?”
“Boiled ground corn. Or hominy. Nasty shit, if you ask me. It’s a southern thing.”
“Like oatmeal?”
I shrugged. “Cream of Wheat.”
“You smashed her self-esteem into Cream of Wheat, huh?”
“She said I pummeled it. Same difference, I suppose.”
“Was she serious?”
“Nope. She’s like me, if you can imagine that. She’s dramatic, full of shit, and rarely cracks a smile. People that don’t know her think she’s serious, but she’s laughing at ‘em on the inside.”
“Sounds like you.”
“She’s a good kid. But in three weeks I’m gonna start interviewing her potential dates, and it scares the shit out of me. I’ll have my pistol in my lap when I talk to ‘em, though.”
“I don’t envy you, that’s for sure.”
“Find out what you and Lex are having yet?”
“Nope. Can’t for a while. Too early, the doc said. I think it’s a girl, though.”
I nodded. “Girls are cool. Easy to get attached to ‘em if you ask me.�
��
“A boy would be cool, too.” After gazing down at the discolored tile for a moment, he looked up. “You saying you wouldn’t love a boy the same way?”
“The way I said that sounded bad, huh?”
He chuckled, tugged against the bill of his cap, and looked at me. “Yeah.”
“You love Lex, right?”
“Fuck yeah.”
“Can you think of anyone that could replace her? Like, step into your life, take her place, and satisfy you as much?”
“That’s a stupid fucking question,” he snapped back. “Fuck no.”
“Well, you can take that love and multiply it times a thousand, and that’d be a fucking molecule of the love you feel for your kid. Just wait, you’ll see. Boy or girl don’t matter, you’ll love ‘em, and you’ll get attached to ‘em, too.”
He lifted the bill of his cap. “What you’re saying doesn’t make sense, Brother.”
“Girls need sheltered from fuckers like us. Protected, or whatever. Providing that protection draws us closer to ‘em, but it’s different than love. It’s hard to explain. A parent ends up thriving for that provision. To be the one who they turn to when they need something, or when they’re in pain. Girls always need someone to go to. Someone they can count on.”
“Makes sense,” he said. “Kind of.”
“We act out of love naturally, but I think it’s the interaction that we become attached to. The conversations we have, and seeing their growth. Bottles to baby food. Crawling to walking. Talking. Learning how to read. Middle school to high school. Oh, and diapers to potty training.” I chuckled. “Wait till your kids drops a fuckin’ log in the hallway and doesn’t tell you, and then you step on it. I about broke my fuckin’ neck one night on one of Eddie’s random turds.”
“Not looking forward to that.”
“You say that now, but just wait. A day will come when you’ll wish like hell you had a shitty diaper to change. And, not having it’ll make you sick.”
For me, that day had long since passed.
And, I wished like hell it hadn’t.
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Four
Sandy
Dancing was a job. Some looked at it as more; a stepping stone or gateway to being an actress. I knew better. The club was a place for the dreamers to gather. The dancers who dreamt of something better than what they had at home, and the patrons who dreamt of the same.
Filthy F*ckers: The Complete Series Box Set Page 61