by Naomi West
“Be careful with your hand,” he says.
I’m about to laugh when he kisses me forcefully on the lips, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me close to him. We breathe frantically as we kiss, both of us completely caught up in the pleasure of it. His lips are rough, warm, everything I need to lose myself in the moment. I place my hand on his crotch, feeling the swelling of his package, already rock-hard for me. I rub it up and down, loving how quickly he gets excited, loving the urgency in the way his hips twitch as if unable to wait to be inside of me. I rub quicker and quicker, and soon his heavy breathing turns into grunting.
He grabs my upper thigh so hard it almost hurts, but his fingers moving between my legs feel good brushing against my clit. I feel my pussy getting wet. Everything feels hot and close and tingly. It’s like my body’s sensitivity has increased with Rocco’s emotional sensitivity. I’m beautifully alive to every touch, every sensation. He rubs two fingers up and down the crotch area of my pants, stroking my clit. When he presses down, I can’t help it. I let my head fall back and start moaning. I twist and writhe with his hand between my legs, savoring the heat. It feels so damn good.
“I need you!” I gasp. “I need you right now. This second.”
“I wanna see you come. I wanna feel you come.”
He falls to his knees and grabs my pants, pulling them down quickly. I help him by half-sitting up, propping my good hand on the back of the couch. Soon I’m naked from the waist down, my aching pussy bare for him, ready for him.
“Do you want this, huh?” He grabs me by the hips and yanks me to him, his mouth near my pussy. I feel his breath on my clit, whispering over my hole. “Is this what you want, Simone?”
“Yes,” I moan, loving the way he says my name. “Yes, yes, yes.”
He brings his tongue to my pussy, stroking it up one lip and then down the other, taking his time, teasing my clit by only brushing the side of it. I moan and twist, trying to get him to touch my clit. I don’t hear him laugh, but I know he’s laughing by the pattern of his breath, three distinct warm puffs on my pussy. I grin, can’t help but grin. For two or three minutes he licks up and down my lips, driving me wild with anticipation. I reach down and place my hand on his head, but don’t push him. I just move my fingers through his hair.
“You’re gonna come for me, Simone. Hard. You got that?”
“I’ve got it,” I moan. “I’ll do anything. Just—oh, yes, yes, yes!”
He grips my thighs and pulls me even closer to him, devouring my pussy with his mouth, his tongue licking my clit so fast I can barely think. I just squirm and gyrate, pulsing my hips and moving my pussy in time with his licking tongue. Soon the heat becomes almost unbearable. I close my eyes and see red. I keep thinking: Rocco the president is licking my pussy. This rock-hard biker man is licking my pussy. It drives me wild. The heat builds and builds, the pressure in my clit almost too much to handle.
The orgasm hits me like a thump to the chest. I collapse onto the couch, my body going limp as the pressure in my clit releases. It’s like there’s a tight ball of energy and now it’s exploding, spreading outward, sending sweet pleasure to every single part of my body. I curl my fingers and curl my toes, bite down, arch my head back. Vibrations move through me, the orgasm claiming me completely. I can’t stop shifting around the couch. And all the while Rocco still licks my clit, unstoppable, pulling me closer every time my vibrations send me twitching away.
When the orgasm has passed, he stands up and starts taking off his jeans, his eyes locked on my legs.
“Look at me this time,” I moan, lifting my legs for him, lying on my back. We’ve never done it in this position before. At both the booth and the rooftop, it was from behind. “I want to see your eyes, baby.”
He moves his gaze from my legs to my face, his dark eyes fixated on me. He looks like he sometimes does in fleeting moments, as though I’m the only woman in existence. Right now, nobody else exists for him, and nobody else exists for me. The forest tries to emerge in my mind, but it is pitiful next to this perfect moment. He kicks off his pants and takes off his jacket and his T-shirt, leaning over me completely naked, his muscles tensed up. I grab his arms, which are on either side of my head, feeling the immense muscles.
He reaches down and grabs his cock, guiding it to my pussy, always looking at me, never breaking eye contact. I have never felt this close to a man before. I have never felt even close to being this close to a man before. As his cock pushes inside of me, a tiny smile touches his lips. I feel myself returning the smile. It’s like we’re orchestrating this moment together. He’s not fucking me, and I’m not taking it. We’re fucking each other. I sit down on his cock as he pushes inside of me, the size of it causing momentary pain. But then my pussy is filled with fiery warmth as the tip presses up against my sweet spot.
I take my hands from his arms and wrap them around his shoulders, pulling him close to me. He pumps into me hard, but not aggressive or rough like before. Hard, but smooth, both of us moving in rhythm, building the pleasure slowly. It’s almost like we’re one person, we move together so well. Rocco’s eyes never move from my face, nor mine from his. I’m amazed that I don’t find this uncomfortable. With any other man, I would. With any other man I’d have to bite the pillow or look over his shoulder or something, but with Rocco, eye contact heightens instead of diminishes the pleasure.
Slowly, slowly, we build the rhythm until he’s sliding in and out of me hard and fast and I’m bouncing up and down on the couch, the fabric scratching my butt and my back. But I don’t care. His muscled body feels too good against mine, his abs against my belly, his pectorals against my breasts, all of him pushing down on me, trapping me—and I want to be trapped, need to be trapped by this man. Nothing else exists. Only the apartment, no, only the couch. Only this couch and this giant man, his cock repeatedly driving into my sweet spot.
I ride the pleasure, listening to Rocco’s grunts, loving how captivated he sounds. His cock feels incredible pushing right up against the walls of my pussy, filling me completely, every movement accompanied by a thousand spots of friction. I can’t take it anymore. The harder he thrusts, the more his eyes burn into me, the closer the orgasm gets. We’re hurtling through space together and the orgasm is a giant comet, and soon it’ll hit. Hit hard. And the harder we fuck, the larger it grows.
“I’m going to—”
“Do it,” he moans, pumping his hips faster. I can tell he’s struggling to contain himself. “Do it, Simone. Fucking do it.”
My body wills me to close my eyes. Suddenly it occurs to me that I’ve never had an orgasm with my eyes open. I will them to stay open as our bodies collide with the comet, as the orgasm explodes inside of me, my sweet spot becoming fire and pressure and a thousand sensations of perfection. I sit down harder on his cock as the orgasm moves through me, my vision blurry with pleasure-filled tears. Euphoria unlike anything I have ever dreamed of hits me. But I won’t look away. I grab his face, gripping his cheek with my good hand, forcing us to stay together. The orgasm claims me, throws me about the place, pumps my body with so much pleasure I can’t reason. All I think is, Rocco, Rocco, Rocco. The rhythm of his name becomes the rhythm of his thrusts.
And then the orgasm is passing and Rocco is groaning loudly, driving into me one final time as he empties himself inside of me. And we look at each other. And we smile. And it’s closer than I’ve ever been to anybody, man or woman.
As we fall apart, the connection severs. The wild, inexplicable bond that held us together for the duration of our lovemaking seems slightly bizarre now. Moments ago we were one. Now we’re two distinct people. I crawl across the couch to him, laying my head on his chest, desperate for the feeling to return.
We lie there for a long time in silence. His heart beats in my ear, and as I fall asleep the beating of his heart turns into the beating of my heart. Maybe I’m confused. I feel confused. I feel lost. Despite that, I feel as close to content as I’ve felt in years.
Chapter Nineteen
Rocco
“I’ve just been busy, Mom. No, nothing’s going on. What do you mean, bikers? Why would I be hanging around with bikers?”
At some point in the night we moved into the bedroom. I stand up and go to the door, pressing my ear against it. It’s clear that Simone is on the phone. Either that or her mom has the quietest voice imaginable. I feel stupid standing here naked, but I need to hear her.
“No, Mom! I have more important things to do than hang around with a bunch of bikers. Please, just stop talking about it! For God’s sake! Will you just leave it, okay? I’ll think about it. I said I’ll think about it, didn’t I? Yes, that’s what think about it means! What do you want me to say, I’ll go on a date with him this morning? I’m busy, Mom. I have things to do. The MGM accounts for one thing . . .”
I go to the bed and sit down, wondering what else I expected. Why would Simone be honest about me? She’s not exactly going to call her mom and say, “Hey, did you know I fucked a biker last night, just like Cecilia did, and I know it broke one of your daughter’s hearts but just trust me that it won’t break another.”
But even if I understand it on some level, I think about last night, about how close we were. It was damn weird and damn amazing. It was like nothing I’ve ever felt with a woman. I didn’t really know what was going on. It was like the two of us were dancing, completely in sync, but we hadn’t rehearsed at all. It was like riding at the back of a line of bikes with the wind in my face and the slipstream making me faster, feeling like this is the only place I belong. And now she’s out there pretending like none of it happened.
She’s from a different world, I remind myself. Even if last night was amazing for us both—and it was amazing for her, I know that—she still has to play her rich-girl games. She still has to lie to her snooty parents. That’s just the way it is. Maybe that’s the way it’ll always be.
I wonder why I lied to her about the man in the forest. I dragged him off and I hit him and hit him until he was on his face, and then I throttled the bastard right there in the woods. The reason it took me a while to get back to her was that I was calling Beast to deal with the body. What point was there lying to her if she’s embarrassed by me anyway?
I think about going to the door again but decide against it. Instead I go around the room collecting my clothes. Some of them are in the living room but I pull on my underwear and my T-shirt, and then sit on the bed, legs stretched out, clicking my neck from side to side. Last night was like magic. It was something I had never experienced, had never dreamed of experiencing. I opened up to her and now she’s talking to her mom like even the idea of being with me is laughable. I know I’m being sensitive, letting emotions get to me in a way I never have before, but I can’t help it. I’m learning that you can’t let someone in by an inch. You let them in by an inch and before you know it they’re all the way in, and there’s jack you can do to change it.
The bedroom door opens. Simone pokes her head in, smiling. “Morning, you,” she says. She’s smiling, looking sexy and playful in her pink tank top and pink pajama shorts. “I didn’t realize you were up.”
“I’m up,” I mutter. I can’t meet her eye. I’m afraid if I do I’ll confront her about the phone call, and I don’t want to do that. I’ve never been much good at relationship arguments. And I’m done groveling to her. I’m done making myself look like a damn fool. I’m starting to get pissed just sitting here. I jump to my feet.
She takes a step back, looking at me like I’ve gone mad. Maybe I have. “Do you want some breakfast?” she asks.
“I killed that man in the forest,” I say, walking past her into the living room.
I’m kicking on my jeans when she follows me, shaking her head slowly. “What do you mean?” she says.
“I mean exactly what I said. That man in the forest—the Demon bastard who tried to rape you—he’s dead.”
“But you said you didn’t kill him.”
“I lied,” I say, buckling my belt.
“You lied?”
“Are you a parrot or somethin’, Simone? Yeah, I lied.”
“There’s no need to be rude!” she snaps, looking for a moment like a rich girl talking down to me. I push the image away.
“I’m just telling you the truth,” I say. “What the fuck did you think I’d do? Pat him on his back and send him on his merry way? The prick tried to rape you. I came across him thumping you in the back and . . . Goddamn, Simone. I’d kill him a thousand times over. I don’t regret it at all.”
“I . . .”
I take a step forward, standing directly opposite her. “He was a fuckin’ scumbag. His name was Macky Hill. He’s raped three women that the police know of and probably five times that besides. He only got off because of his Demon connections.”
“How do you know that?” she says. “You could be lying now.”
“I checked his license and called Beast, who called our police contact. It didn’t take more than a couple of minutes.”
She looks deep into my eyes. The anger in her expression confuses me. She’s really going to stand there accusing me of lying when a few minutes ago she was acting like I didn’t exist. And yet beneath the budding anger I feel sorry, sorry that we’re standing up in the living room instead of lying down in the bedroom, sorry that we can’t push past this and be together again. It’s like we’re destined to come together and then fall apart right away.
“I don’t know what to think about this,” she says. “I . . . listen, I want to be with you, Rocco. I really want to be with you. Last night was . . . I can’t even explain last night. But I’m not going to stand here and tell you that you’re my knight in shining armor for killing this man. I just can’t.”
“It was my fault he was there anyway,” I say honestly. “Last night you said you didn’t want to think about that. Well, think about it now. You’ve probably been going over it in your head anyway.”
“Why are you being like this?” She narrows her eyes. “What’s gotten into you? I want to be with you. That’s what I’m saying. But—”
“How long is it until somebody else sees us together? Another Demon? And maybe next time I won’t be there to save you. And here you are basically telling me I’m scum for killing a man who tried to fuckin’ rape you.”
“You heard, didn’t you?” she says after a pause. “My phone call with Mom. You heard it.”
I turn away. “I need to get to the club. I’m president now, and my men are dying and bleeding. They need me to be strong.” I make for the door.
“I had to lie to her!” Simone snaps, chasing me. She grabs my shoulder. “I couldn’t tell her. You must know that.”
“Cecilia told them about Shotgun, I bet. I don’t know for sure, but I bet she did.”
“Are you really going to use Cecilia as an example? Is that really your grand plan to win me over?”
“Win you over?” I break out, spinning on her. “Who the fuck said I wanted to win you over? If you want someone to grovel for you go and find some pampered rich kid. I’m fuckin’ done.”
Her mouth hangs open for a second. She begins shaking her head again, and then swipes her hand through the air and curls her upper lip. “Did you really just say that to me?” she says.
I turn back to the door. “I almost got you raped and killed last night, Simone. Maybe you were right to lie about me to your mom. Maybe I should stay away.”
“Well, maybe you should, then! If that’s how you feel!”
It’s not how I feel, I reflect as I walk down the stairs. It’s not how I feel at all. I walk across the street, half of me wanting to charge back up there and make up with Simone, the other half wanting to leave as quickly as possible.
Heading into the alleyway where the jeep is parked, I notice a piece of paper stuck under the windshield wiper. It reads: We’re almost even
now, Rocco. Macky for Shotgun and Cecilia for our boys. We’re gonna gut that bitch. I never thought you’d fuck your boss’s lady. You must be a bigger asshole than we guessed. You know who this is.
I climb into the driver’s seat, my teeth clench so hard my temples ache. They don’t know that Cecilia has a twin. They think Cecilia is Simone. They think I’m screwing Cecilia, Shotgun’s fiancée. Are they insane?
I take out my cell and dial Beast.
“Boss.”
“I need protection on Simone twenty-four hours a day. And I need you to send two men down to Venice to watch Cecilia, too.”
“All right, consider it done.”
I hang up, watching Simone’s apartment building, waiting for the protection to arrive. I’m right, I reflect. The more time I spend with Simone, the more danger I put her in. It’d be Gerald Hightower’s dream to take me and Simone out at the same time—or me and Cecilia, as he’d see it. Clipping the president and the princess in one hit.