Peyton lunged at her. “You lying cunt! I’ll kill you!”
Ironside grabbed Peyton and pulled her back, Whiteshirt doing the same with Honey.
“You’ve been fucking this club from the beginning, and it’s finally caught up with you.” Honey sneered. “Ironside can’t see it, but Whiteshirt and I can.”
“Fuck you, bitch! This is all because I kicked your ass, twice, and you couldn’t hold onto Ironside! I guess I kicked your ass in fucking, too!”
Honey tried to break away, but Whiteshirt dragged her back. “Knock it off! Both of you!”
“Or what, Whiteshirt?” Peyton sneered. “This bitch is leading you about by the cock, making you see things that aren’t true. Why would I tell the Saracens shit after what they did to Melissa? Remember the notes? What about them? They were shooting at me! Why would I help them?”
“What of it?” Ironside asked. “She’s got a point.”
“Did you tell her about the notes?” Whiteshirt grumbled.
“No, he didn’t fucking tell me! I heard you two talking…as we were fucking,” she added just twist the knife in Honey.
“Goddamnit! No wonder she knows everything that’s going on! You can’t keep your fucking pants zipped!” Whiteshirt snarled.
“This has nothing do with who I’m fucking.”
“So how’d the Saracens know?”
“We have a mole.”
“And she’s standing right there,” Honey sneered.
“I agree,” Whiteshirt said. “Why would Honey lie? There’s nothing in it for her.”
“Except to confirm what you already believe,” Ironside suggested. “You two have gotten pretty thick since the pit.”
“Just because you can’t see what’s happening because you’re thinking with your cock doesn’t mean I can’t! Fifteen dead, Ironside! Fifteen brothers dead, including Dolch, because of your cock.”
“You’ve crossed the line,” Ironside rumbled.
“And you crossed it six weeks ago!”
Ironside glared at Whiteshirt. “The pit. Ten minutes.”
Whiteshirt gaped at him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“You think I’m fucking the club? This is your chance to beat some sense into me.”
Whiteshirt stared at him. This was bad, very bad, the President and Vice President going to the pit? Over women?
“Come on, babe, I know you can take him,” Honey purred.
“Stay out of this,” he growled.
“What’s it going to be, Whiteshirt?” Ironside rumbled. “The pit or you get off my ass.”
“Ten minutes,” he snapped.
***
“What are you doing?” Peyton asked as she trotted after Ironside.
“He’s seemed to have forgotten I’m the fucking President of this club and I’m tired of his shit. He’s got nothing, nothing, and he’s blaming you for everything that’s gone wrong and, by extension, me. That shit’s going to stop, and now. We need to clear the air.”
“I’m telling the truth! Except when I didn’t tell you I was fucking Andrew, I’ve always told the truth!”
“I believe you. I don’t know why Honey’s lying. Whose phone did you borrow, and when? You were with me, then you went to the bathroom, then we left. Unless you used Honey’s phone I—”
“I don’t want a fucking thing from that bitch! Except maybe another shot at her in the pit.”
Ironside smiled. “Somehow I knew you felt that way. So why is she lying?”
“I don’t know. Why can’t Whiteshirt see that?”
“Because she’s a Knights girl. Despite what you think, Whiteshirt has the best interests of the club foremost in his mind. He’s become fixated on you because you were with the Saracens and we’re having all these problems. He needs a target.”
“I’m not, and never was, a Saracen. I’m the wrong target!”
“I know. But you’ll be gone in a couple of days, and it won’t be your problem anymore.”
“Bullshit! I’m not leaving, not after that bitch lied about me, not until you, we, the club, whoever, find the mole. They tried to have me killed! What if they come for me in Florida?”
“Don’t go to Florida. Pick someplace else. We won’t tell anyone where you went.”
“Who did you tell this time?”
He paused. “Nobody.”
“But they knew we were going to the airport, and they knew the time. How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you sure they wouldn’t eventually find out where I went? I’m not.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, unless you’re going to go with me to protect me, I want to stay until the mole is found. I’ll sleep here if you don’t want to share your bed with me anymore.”
He smiled. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
“Good,” she smiled. “I have a lot of pent up anger and frustrations I need to work off.”
***
Ironside was waiting in the pit when Whiteshirt and Honey stepped out. The mood was festive when she faced Honey in the pit, but it was somber now. Whiteshirt stepped into the pit, removed his shirt, and handed it to Honey. She took it, kissed him thoroughly, then stepped out of the pit.
This was the first time Peyton had seen Whiteshirt without his shirt on and she had to admit he was impressive. He was perhaps a little bigger than Andrew, but not as muscular as Ironside, his chest and arms rippling in the sunlight as he swung his arms to loosen up.
Ironside removed his shirt and handed it to Peyton. He’d already ruined one shirt today and he didn’t want to ruin another. “No low blows and no rabbit punches,” Ironside said.
“Agreed. None to the kidneys, either. I don’t feel like pissing blood.”
“Fight naked!” Peyton called, causing a ripple of chuckles to pass through the crowd.
“I don’t think so,” Ironside said, turning to grin at her. “I don’t want sand in my dick.”
“You ready, you asshole?” Whiteshirt growled, dropping into a wrestling stance.
“Whenever you’re ready to have your ass kicked.”
The two men circled each other before Whiteshirt exploded into motion, slamming into Ironside and driving him back, almost to the edge of the ring, before Ironside could dig in and prevent himself from being pushed out of the pit. As he stopped, he wrapped his arms around Whiteshirt’s waist to trap his head under one of his arms. Whiteshirt’s arms went around Ironside’s thighs as the two men grunted and strained, their feet digging into the sand as they pushed against each other.
Ironside twisted, throwing Whiteshirt off balance. Whiteshirt stumbled, then fell, pulling Ironside’s legs out from under him as he did. The two men went to the sand, Whiteshirt jacking up with his legs and forcing Ironside to his back.
“You don’t fucking realize what you’re doing!” Whiteshirt grunted as Ironside held his head down while he struggled to his feet.
“Who I fuck is none of your fucking business,” Ironside snarled in response. He kicked at Whiteshirt’s foot, driving it back and causing Whiteshirt to fall to his knees again as Ironside kept him in close.
The two men froze for a moment, regaining their strength, before Whiteshirt heaved, groaning in effort. Ironside’s face twisted in effort, trying to hold Whiteshirt, but their sweat was making Whiteshirt hard to hold. Whiteshirt slipped, then slipped a little more, before he popped free. The two men scrambled but Whiteshirt was faster and got behind Ironside, his arm going around Ironside’s throat.
***
Peyton gasped when Whiteshirt took Ironside into a chokehold, but Ironside managed to get his arm inside the hold. He snarled, pushing up with his hips, every muscle in his body bulging as he strained. He roared, his face twisting in effort, Whiteshirt snarling as he fought to hold him. Watching the two gorgeous men strain, their beautiful, sexy, bodies covered in sweat and sand, one of them her knight fighting for her honor, she could feel a heaviness form in her loins.
She’d yelled out ‘fight naked’ as a joke, but now she wished they were.
***
Ironside slipped Whiteshirt’s hold then spun, the two men trying to take the other into a head lock, but succeeding only in wrapping themselves up, one arm around the back of their opponent’s neck, the other under the arm. They rolled, once, twice, three times before coming to rest at Peyton’s feet as Ironside began to drive with is legs, gasping and panting as he strained, both men crying out as their shoulders threatened to dislocate.
They released their holds before they could damage each other and rolled away, bouncing back to their feet. “You’re letting Peyton lead you around by the cock!” Whiteshirt growled as the men slowly circled.
“Then Honey is doing the same!” Ironside responded before he lunged in, the two men taking each other in a classic wrestling hold. Bent at the waist, their arms tangled, they pushed and shoved.
“You’re not seeing what’s happening right in front of you!” Whiteshirt panted.
“And you’re seeing shit that doesn’t exist!”
“All I know is brothers are dying!”
“Not because of Peyton!”
Ironside kicked at Whiteshirt, missed, then kicked again, hooking his leg and knocking Whiteshirt off balance. They went to the ground again, scrambling and tumbling until Ironside was sitting in the sand, lying back against Whiteshirt’s chest, Whiteshirt’s head trapped under his arm.
They were still for a moment, panting, trying to regain their strength and catch their breath.
“You always were a horndog!” Whiteshirt snarled as he began to strain, catching Ironside under the chin and levering his head back, trying to break Ironside’s hold.
“And you always were neurotic!” Ironside panted, struggling to free his face and maintain his hold.
“Fuck! I give,” Whiteshirt gasped, slapping Ironside on the back.
Ironside immediately turned him loose and sprang to his feet, turning and offering a hand. Whiteshirt took it and Ironside pulled his friend to his feet then into a hug.
“I know what I’m doing with Peyton. If she turns out to be the mole, I’ll kill her myself,” he murmured as he slapped Whiteshirt on the back.
“I don’t know why Honey lied, but I’ll find out.”
The two men gave each other another hard slap on the back then parted. Ironside turned toward Peyton. “Fight naked?” he asked with a grin as he took his shirt from her.
She pulled his head down into a kiss. “I want you to take me home and fight me naked.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Peyton was practically panting as they rode along in the van. Ironside and Dolch’s bikes had been picked up from the side of the road, but they were going nowhere anytime soon, not with a hole in the engine. Ironside had been reduced to using the club van to get home, but if he didn’t hurry, she was going take advantage of that fact, make him pull over, and fuck him right then and there in the back.
She’d said she had a lot of pent up anger and frustration, and that was true. She was angry with the Saracens for taking her friend, angry at Melissa for killing herself, angry with herself for allowing it to happen, and for feeling guilty about it at the same time, and she was angry with Whiteshirt for thinking she was a mole after she risked her life to help the club. Most of all, though, she was angry with Honey…for lying, and because it was Honey, and she fucking hated that bitch!
Having Ironside go to the pit to defend her against Honey and Whiteshirt, then watching the two men sweat and strain while arguing over who was right, fighting over her, had built a fire in her that was making her crazy. Ironside had beaten Honey’s champion, and seeing the hate in the other woman’s eyes made Ironside’s victory sweeter still.
As he pulled into his drive, she felt like she was sitting in a puddle of her own juices, her imagination running away with her, dreaming she was fucking Ironside in the pit after his victory as Whiteshirt and Honey sulked on the side, Whiteshirt’s cock limp and useless in defeat.
The moment they entered Ironside’s house she turned on him, throwing herself into his arms and kissing him furiously as she tried to climb up his body. He responded, his cock already throbbing from watching Peyton unconsciously stroking her thigh and the swell of her breast on the drive home, her color high and eyes bright.
He picked her up and clasped her to him, his hands under her ass, her legs snaking around his waist as she humped him through their clothes, their tongues engaged in an intimate wrestling match. As they reached the bed he peeled her off of him and tossed her to the mattress, her arms pin-wheeling furiously as she squeaked in fright until she landed softly in the center of the bed, Ironside bounding in pursuit and pinning her down with his weight.
She grinned up at him, thrusting her hips against his. “Fuck! I’m about to come and we haven’t even started yet!”
He grinned, pulling her shirt roughly over her head, knowing exactly how she felt as he bared down with his hips, the feel of her thrusts incredibly erotic. He manhandled her breasts before taking her lips in a torrid kiss. As they kissed, she pulled at his shirt, dragging it over his head, the feel of sand granules peppering her skin making her moan as she remembered the men in the pit. Bodybuilders turned her on, and watching two big, muscled men wrestle, their skin glistening as they grunted and strained, their skin moving as their huge muscles worked underneath made her blood roar. She imagined them naked, their giant cocks hard as they…She gasped as her orgasm crept nearer.
“I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before,” he growled, his passions carrying him away. “You liked watching me fight in the pit?” he snarled as he slammed his hips into hers.
“Oh, God, just fuck me!” she cried, so turned on even his dry humping was going to give her an orgasm.
“Tell me,” he growled. “You liked watching me fight.”
“Yes!”
“You wanted to fuck me in the pit, didn’t you? You wanted to fuck me in front of Honey.” She didn’t say anything. “Tell me!”
“Yes! I wanted to fuck you so bad! I wanted to show that bitch!” He slammed into her harder still, battering her with his hips. “Shit! You’re going to make me come! Fuck!” she cried.
She imagined Ironside and Whiteshirt, naked and covered in sweat and sand, their cocks hard and throbbing, rolling and tumbling as they grunted and strained, until Whiteshirt surrendered. She grabbed his head and pulled him down, kissing him hard as she teetered on the edge of orgasm, thrusting her hips as in her mind he rose from his vanquished opponent, threw her roughly to the sand, and fucked her hard and fast. She moaned into the kiss, thrusting, imagining his cock plunging into her, trying to push herself over the edge.
He powered out of her embrace and roughly jerked her shorts down, dragging them over her legs and throwing them to the floor. She reached for herself, desperate to feel the cleansing rush of orgasm, but he jerked her hand away before plunging two, then three, fingers into her. She howled as he furiously pistoned his fingers into her, his hand a blur. Her orgasm slammed into and she wailed, long and loud, her ass rising off the bed as he continued to thrust his fingers into her, snarling in lust as her wail rose in pitch and volume before cutting off. She kicked away from him, rolling to her stomach, her body alive with motion as she moaned, her legs and arms quivering as she struggled to escape the all-consuming pleasure tearing her apart.
He panted as Peyton moaned, her hands twisted in the linens as she shook, her legs slowly pistoning as they pushed her up in the bed. Finally she gasped, becoming still before a final hard shudder passed though her as she lay gasping.
He smiled, delighting in the orgasm he’d given her, rising and shoving his pants down as she lay on the bed, the linens twisted in her hands, her face relaxing as her eyes slowly opened. She smiled slowly and took a deep breath.
“You fuck…” she breathed, then smiled as he moved over her, his lips taking hers as she gripped him, his cock already wet and slick with his desir
e. “I want that inside me.” She slowly turned then leisurely, erotically, licked him clean. As wet as he was, she didn’t want to risk him losing the condom, because once they started fucking, they weren’t stopping until he couldn’t keep it up.
She slowly rolled the condom over his cock then smiled at him as she laid back, her head at the foot of the bed, motioning to him with her fingers. He entered her, drawing in a breath at his passage, then looked down at her, his face intense.
“Fuck me,” she snarled. “You fuck me hard, and don’t stop.”
He began to drive into her hard and fast as she pulled him down. He’d wiped off the sand but hadn’t showered, and she could feel the grit between them. Again she returned to the pit, watching him snarl in effort, his body glistening as his muscles flexed and bulged as he strained against Whiteshirt.
CRASH: The Rogue Sinners MC Page 42