by A. C. Bextor
Adjusting herself in my arms, as we round the hall to my room, she adds with a slight pout, “You’re always angry with me.”
“No I’m not,” I hush.
Mindlessly jabbering, she asks, “Can we have a talk about why you’re always angry with me?”
“No, we can’t,” I return with irritation.
“I mean, our talks seem to go so well,” she smarts.
“I’m not pissed. Not at you. I’m sure as fuck not happy with Hank and Runner.”
“They were so nice!” she carries on, slapping my shoulder just as we reach the door at the end of the hall, which is my room.
For a brief moment, I think about taking her to her room, dropping her ass on her bed, shutting out the light, and locking her inside. However, she’s blitzed and may not settle until she passes out, which means someone will have to watch her. And no one will have fun at her expense.
“Runner didn’t do much, but he kept helping me get on and off Hank’s bike.”
“I’ll bet he fuckin’ did,” I seethe, seeing red and mentally noting to find this Runner.
He wanted hands on her, and like most men, figured if he was ‘helping’ then he was getting permission to do it.
“Hank nicknamed me,” Mia goes on to brag. “He calls me Miss Kitty. How sweet is that?”
Add now that I’m going to find Sty’s bar buddy, Hank, and have a word with him too, as soon as I find out who the fuck he is.
“That nickname isn’t sweet,” I inform, not giving the first fuck as her smile falls.
“Yes, it is!”
Stopping to give her my complete attention, I repeat, “Angel, it’s not.”
“You’re always so crabby!” she shrieks, leaning her face into mine.
The strong scent of whatever she was drinking comes hard. If I were any other kind of man, I’d inch further and taste her lips.
Jesus Christ, but it’s tempting.
No time now, as liquid courage continues to march her forward.
“Do you ever laugh?” she challenges. “’Cause I’ve never seen you laugh.”
“You know what, Miss Kitty?” I give in. “Have it your way. It’s a great name.”
“You still livin’ on that high, Mia?” Leglas interrupts, standing at our back.
Mia struggles in my arms, shoving at my chest as she tries to see who joined our group.
When she finds Leglas, she thrashes her legs wildly and points. “You’re always crabby, too. Why? Why be mad all the time? Why not be like Hank? Hank’s not a crabby.”
“Really fuckin’ tired of hearin’ you talk about another guy when you’re in my club, drunk, and in my arms.”
“Crabby,” she utters with petulance, then thankfully shuts up.
Leglas gives no fuck about being compared to anyone. Instead, he cites, “Hank called you Miss Kitty ‘cause he and his friends consider you fresh pussy.”
She gasps, slapping her hand over her mouth. Her eyes grow wide and she shakes her head. If she were standing, I’d bet a single feather would knock her to the floor.
Leglas takes this as he has her attention and continues, “That’s what he was tellin’ his friends, but not sayin’ to you.”
“That’s not true!” she shrieks in denial. “You weren’t even there. You don’t know!”
Turning around with Mia in my arms, Leglas smirks, eyeing us together.
“Need some help?” he asks.
“Fresh pussy?” Mia spouts, finally coming to her senses. Before I have a chance to answer, she shrieks, “Really?”
“Door,” I clip to Leglas, not wanting to engage another argument until she’s out of my arms. He takes the key from my hand and steps in front of us to unlock it.
“Also!” Angel calls louder than needed. “Where’s Cricket?”
A soft giggle comes from behind Leglas. When Leglas stands to the side, Wren is smiling ear to ear as I fight to keep Mia still. Once she latches eyes to Wren, the fight to keep Mia in place goes from rough to extremely difficult.
“Hank really liked Mia,” Wren tells me on a wide and knowing grin. “Like, he really liked her. Runner took interest, but he has a woman. Hank put him in his place.”
“What’re you doin’ here?” I question, looking down to another person responsible for this.
Wren shrugs. “I left early with my man, but he was called in to work. I’m not tired. So I came out here to see how Cricket and Mia were doing.”
“Fresh pussy, Wren!” Mia spits, ready to fight. With the word pussy flying from her mouth, I’m not sure to laugh or tell my cock to be still.
Christ. How the fuck did we get here?
Wren looks up at Leglas as he towers above her, paying her no mind.
Asking anyone who will answer, I prompt, “Where the fuck is Cricket?”
“Bed. Bitch is blitzed.”
“Stop calling her that! It’s not nice!” Mia warns, furious.
“You’re so rude,” Wren sneers.
“Good call, letting the cubs out of their kennels tonight, El,” Leglas snarls back toward Wren.
As soon as Leglas opens the door fully, Mia stops her struggle and settles.
Finally.
“I’ll check on you in the morning, Mia,” Wren promises. “Tonight you need Advil and water.”
Mia waves over my shoulder and as she’s about to say something else, I stop her.
Once we’re inside, I put her to her unsteady feet, where she immediately backs herself up against the farthest wall. Her eyes narrow. She’s pissed, but still takes in my space.
Clothes are all over the floor. Boots are stacked in the corner. Dollar bills, change, keys, and other unimportant items are scattered along the dresser across the room.
“She’s fine, Wren,” I assure, as I close the door to find Wren standing guard outside. “She’ll be safe in here for the night,” I commit.
“Oh, I’m so sure she will,” Wren notes with another smug grin.
“Don’t you have someplace you gotta be?” I prod. “Any fuckin’ place but here?”
She purses her lips, and puts her index finger inches from my face where she warns, “I’ll go. But I’ll be back tomorrow. And Mia better be just as I left her.”
Leglas on the other hand, sticks close. “Fuck, let’s hope not.”
“Nice posters!” I hear Mia yells through the door. “I’m sure your mother is so proud.”
As any man, especially a man like me, I have an array of posters posed with nearly naked women in bikinis lining my walls. These were added years ago, when I first got this room. Most are out-of-date. I don’t keep house well. If anyone cleans up in there, it’s Lane. Or Mom if she’s in the mood for frustration.
“His mother isn’t proud of anything,” Leglas yells back. “Elevent’s mother is dead.”
Mia rips the door wide open to ask, “Your mom is dead?”
“Yes,” I reply.
Her eyes gentle and her head tilts drunkenly to the side. “I didn’t know.”
“Well, now you do,” Leglas clips.
Ignoring Leglas, she insists, “Why am I in here?”
“Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”
“Why did you put me here?” she prods.
“Angel,” I warn.
Mia thinks, about what I don’t know. But as she slowly blinks, she complies. “I’ll sit tight.”
“Jesus Christ, she’s a handful. I’d strangle her myself, but somethin’ tells me you got this,” Leglas comments, as I lean my back against the closed door.
“Thanks for draggin’ their asses in.”
“Not a problem,” he assures, turning to go. “Need anything else, let me know.”
After Leglas walks away, and once I’m back inside, Mia again has her back to the far wall. She looks as if her drunk mind is running twenty miles a minute.
“Explain ‘claimed,’” she demands, crossing her arms over her chest.
Taken off guard, I ask, “Explain what?”
&
nbsp; “I’ve heard this word thrown around,” she tells me. “And a person can’t claim another person.”
Tilting my head to the ceiling, I pray for patience.
“Well?” she prompts. “Explain.”
“How about we talk tomorrow?”
“How about we talk now? Any other time you fluster me, and I want to know what claimed means.”
I fluster her. A sliver of satisfaction settles deep. I affect her much the same way as she does me.
Giving in, I make for quick explanation. “Claimed is just a word, Angel. It’s a term we use. Only means that a man in the club takes a woman, marking her off limits to every one else in, or outside, of it.”
“See?” she shrieks, as if we’re in the middle of a conversation. “A person can’t ‘take’ another person!”
Going at this at different way, direct but carefully, I ask, “Angel, have you ever been filled?”
Her eyes widen and her mouth falls open.
“Answer me,” I push. “Have you ever had a man fill you?”
“Seriously?” she asks.
Without giving way, I clip, “Yes.”
“Filled?” she mocks, moving her head side to side.
Leaning my hand on the wall beside her head, I get close. So close, her flowery shampoo assaults and the want to close my eyes and savor this comes fast.
I resist…but barely.
Whispering, I press, “Have you ever had a man fuck you?”
“Yes,” her answer comes, and when it does, my body tenses.
Her dark blue eyes scan my face. Using her pause, I take advantage in time to finish this. For her own good and mine. “No doubt Hank and Runner are going to fuck their women harder tonight because of you.”
“What?”
“Or their side pieces or whores. Whoever makes themselves available first.”
“You’re disgusting,” she scorns, but her breaths are coming out hot and heavy.
“If they don’t find a woman for their bed, they’re gonna fuck their fists thinkin’ of you.”
“Stop it.”
“And tomorrow, it’ll be the same.”
As her cheeks flush, she scans my face and quietly states, “I don’t understand why you’re saying this.”
Looking down between us, I watch her chest move up and down. Not even breaths, but gasping pulls. When I catch her eyes, they’re already closed. She’s either incredibly pissed or her thighs are quivering with need.
I’d be satisfied to know either.
Pulling from the wall, she walks around me and makes a small circle. When she stops, she looks in my direction. “Your mother is dead?”
“Died when I was a kid.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs with sincerity. “How did she die?”
“Doesn’t matter because I don’t care. Don’t think about her.”
Mia takes this in, but asks, “Where’s your dad?”
“He’s dead too.” When she winces, I include, “Don’t be sorry for either of them.”
“I haven’t had parents for a long time. I had grandparents, though. Grandpa died of a heart attack when I was twelve,” she remembers. “But Grandma hung on as long as she could without him ‘til she passed last year.”
I remember Vlad mentioning this briefly during his call, saying Mia had no other family and nowhere else safe enough to go.
I hadn’t thought about it before, probably because I’ve never had any other blood relation. Makes sense now why the sisters are so close. They’ve been through some shit, as we all have. Maybe not as dirty, but still, whatever happened to her along the way likely changed her path forever. Yet she still managed to keep that same path free of dirt.
Mia takes off her shirt. Her body wet from the rain, she’s left in a small gray camisole, which sticks to her body like a glove. Her long wet hair is down for the first time since we met, no longer in its braid, but that’s not where my focus is.
When she makes a move for her zipper, I step in close and stop her hand with mine.
“What the fuck are you doin’?”
As if she’s undressed herself in my room every day since she got here, she simply answers, “I’m getting ready for bed.”
Grabbing one of my shirts from the floor, I toss it at her and turn around. The curves of her body are as good as any verbal threat—or opportunity.
I hear the rest of her clothes coming down, dropping to the floor with the weight of water, as she smarts, “Claimed. How ridiculous. I mean, really. How does one person claim another?”
This again.
“I’ll explain another time,” I tell her impatiently, staring at the opposite wall of my room.
“Whatever,” she utters.
When I turn around and get the view of her wearing my shirt and nothing else. Against my mind’s will, I chance a glance down at her jeans, socks, shoes, and shirt on the floor by her feet. Her toenails are painted pink with white flowery designs on the first nail of each.
Figures.
“Jesus fuck, you’re exhausting when you’re in a state,” I tell myself, and the floor, more than her.
“Elevent?” she calls and I look up.
Her expression is serious. Her mouth is open, her cheeks are pink, and she looks like she has more to say but doesn’t.
“You need somethin’?”
“I’ve never been fucked,” she admits so quietly I nearly miss it. She swallows hard. “I’ve had sex, but I’ve never been—”
“I know.”
“And now I’m curious.”
“Curious about what?”
“Is that what the girls mean when they say they’ve been claimed?”
“Angel,” I hiss. “Let it go.”
“Do their men fuck them as like part of some claiming ritual?”
“Damn it,” I clip. “Enough.”
“No, Elevent,” she whispers. “I want to know.”
Taking two strides toward her, Mia’s eyes widen and she backs up until the wall stops her from going further.
In no uncertain terms, I state clearly, “Do not tempt a starving man.”
“I’m not trying—”
“’Cause as drunk and turned on as you are, you’d let me have you without argument.”
Without missing a breath, she comes back. “Then don’t try to talk to a woman, who’s never been fucked, about how it feels. Because I don’t know.”
She’s close. The center of her eyes are wide. So wide I catch my own reflection and suddenly wonder how she sees me. Truly sees me. Not as a biker in a club, but as a man on this earth.
She felt something after hearing my parents were gone. I saw the emotion in the flash of her eyes. I wonder how she’d feel knowing they weren’t good people when they were alive, and I’m not sorry they’re gone—that I actually prefer them dead and buried.
“I’ve never really been anything,” she tells me, dropping her gaze from mine to stare at my chest. Her fingers run the inside length of my cut, and just as I think she’s about to remove it, she takes her hands away. “Coming here, I see more now.”
“See more of what?”
“What I couldn’t before.”
“What?”
“I’ve never had this.”
“Had what?”
“I’ve always been alone.”
“Go to bed, Angel,” I insist.
“But I don’t feel alone when I’m here.”
“Angel, I said bed.”
Whispering again, she tells me, “I’m not tired.”
“Baby,” I gentle, watching her eyes grow hooded. “Go to bed.”
A loud clap of thunder booms in the short distance. Mia jumps in place and her fingers clench my shirt. Lightening follows, lighting up my room. The rain patters the window, matching the throb of my aching cock.
I could have her. I could take her now and she’d let me. I meant what I said about not tempting a starving man. I’ve had a taste of only one woman for the last year, and she belonged
to many others before. Now, here alone with Mia, in my fucking room, my tastes have suddenly changed.
“Do you kiss a woman like you fuck her?” she questions. Coming from any other woman in this building, I’d call bullshit. A play to get a man in bed.
Not her, though. Mia’s question is genuine and from a newly born curiosity.
Closing my eyes, I fight not to get too close. Without a chance to deny her plan, Mia’s soft lips touch mine. We’re face-to-face and chest-to-chest. My hands cup her cheeks at the same time both our heads tilt. Her skin is warm from all that’s her. A not unwelcome glimpse of hope and fear all rolled into one.
She releases a throaty sigh, as her mouth drops open and our tongues meet. With my control all but lost, I step forward and she follows my lead. Easily. Gently. Carefully. The kiss becomes urgent and she fights for control. My cock pulses with need to find out what else she has to offer.
She pushes on my chest and I take a step back. Her arms wrap around my waist, forcing us to fall to the bed in a rush. If I didn’t hold my hand out to brace for impact, I would’ve crushed her. Fisting my hair, her teeth clash with mine. Her thighs split, inviting my hips to center between them.
She smells good but tastes better.
Her hands fight between us, and she settles when my cut drops over my shoulders. Exploring every inch of my arms and back, I start to do the same. With one hand holding my weight, I slide the other down her small, taut body. She lifts her legs, draping one around my waist. My jean-covered cock digs deep, searching for the warmth of her.
Clean. Innocent. Alive.
As soon as I break from her mouth and look down, her eyes open slowly. A shy, small smile crosses her lips and she licks them clean of where mine rested.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“The Scarlett Letter or the Virgin Mary,” I tell her.
“What?”
“I don’t know where to begin with you.”
Her lips touch mine once then again. Her breath mists against them as she admits, “I like the way you call me Angel.”
The immediate and incessant knock at the door fucks all thoughts of taking her out of mind.
Angel pushes me away, bites her bottom lip, and looks up with disappointment.