A Sinful Vow: Inked Angels MC

by Zoey Parker

  There were no words that could capture all the feelings bubbling up through me. I could only touch.

  I reached down and wrapped my fingers around his member. It came to life in my hand, thick and throbbing. I ran my thumb down its whole length, letting the friction say everything that I couldn’t.

  We rolled over so that I lay on top of him. I slithered down his torso, marking my way with a path of suckled bites along his chest, his abs, his hips.

  I kept one hand on his cock and began to pump it slowly up and down with the lightest of touches. At the same time, I took his balls into my mouth and bathed them with my tongue.

  His dick fit perfectly into my hand. I opened my mouth and moved my tongue upwards so that I could lick one long stroke from the base of his shaft all the way to the tip, which glistened already with pre-come. Reaching the top, I settled my lips around his girth and moved slowly back down.

  As I descended, I swirled my tongue around and around. I wanted to taste every piece of him, give every bit of his flesh my fullest attention.

  When his entire cock was in my mouth, I looked up at him. My lips were stretched to their fullest to take him in, and I could feel him all the way in the back of my throat, but still it was not enough.

  I started to slide my lips up and down his manhood. As I did, I used two hands to stroke and delicately twist it, starting to build the heat that would lead to the fiery eruption I was craving. Up and down my mouth went, suckling all of him, pushing him into me, where I wanted him to be, no, where I needed him to be.

  I couldn’t wait long. I pulled his dick out of my mouth. I loved how it was shining with my saliva, and stood now at full attention, ramrod straight and ready to be plunged into me.

  I looked Blaze straight in the eyes and told him, “Take me.”

  He didn’t need any other encouragement. Grabbing my hips, he pulled me forward so that I was straddling him. I leaned up on the balls of my feet so that a few inches of space lingered between my drenched cunt and the head of his steely cock.

  Taking himself in his hand, he angled it against my opening. I started to settle down on it, but he laid his palm on my thigh to make me wait. Instead, he rubbed the head of his erection in maddening circles around my throbbing clit.

  I let a moan slide between my lips. “Don’t tease me, Blaze,” I begged him. “Please.”

  He pulled his hand away from my leg, giving me silent permission to slide him into me.

  Every inch of him felt better than the last. I could feel my pussy yearning to accommodate all of him. It took everything I had to allow his whole member into me. There was an exact fit, as if we had been designed for each other.

  I bent forward and sucked greedily on his lips as I began to ride him back and forth. I was his wife, his woman, and I let the motion of my hips tell him everything that that implied. I rocked forward, almost to the point of letting him escape me, and then slid back down so that he filled me again, over and over.

  His arms encircled me in their bulk and warmth. He began to thrust back against my descending hips, so that we pulled away until we were almost two again, then collided back into each other. The whole thing was like a refusal to let the world tear us apart.

  Each stroke filled the deep need I had. This was what I needed to feel complete—Blaze inside of me, filling me and making me stronger. I belonged to him and that came with everything I had ever wanted or needed.

  This was it.

  The speed of our thrusts increased. I leaned back up and put one finger to my clit, rubbing frantic circles while I bounced up and down on the hard cock of the man I loved. I squeezed my nipple in the other hand. It sent threads skimming through me that connected to the burgeoning tension behind my clit and deep in my pussy. My whole body came alive like that, one connected, glowing circuit of feeling that tightened and tightened with every successive entry and exit of Blaze’s dick.

  I opened my mouth to suck in air and fill myself further. My lungs were bursting, my pussy was bursting, my whole body was becoming so full that there was nothing to do but implode. I could feel Blaze’s tensing quads behind me and I knew that he was as close to coming as I was.

  I put my hands on his chest and rode him as hard as I possibly knew how to. Our skin slid over each other’s. I couldn’t get enough contact. I wanted to share all of this with him. I had to show him what he did to me.

  Slam, slam, slam, went his dick inside me. I was utterly, irreversibly his.

  “Fuck me,” I cried.

  Almost…almost…there!

  I came in a whimpering torrent that flooded through every nerve and muscle, from the core of my bones to the outer edges of my skin. My pussy spasmed around Blaze’s thick cock, and I could feel him bursting, too, filling me with wave after wave of hot come.

  It felt like years went by as a million iterations of the orgasm kept attacking me relentlessly. There was no mercy and no hiding from it. Blaze kept his dick immersed in me as we rode it out together, the sharp daggers of our breath coming in the exact same tempo.

  I loved this man.

  * * *

  “Despiértate!” commanded an unfamiliar voice. “Get up, bitch!” it said. I felt rough hands slapping at my face.

  I stirred and came to, groggy from the intensity of the dream I’d just had. The man smacking at my face to wake me up was staring at me with a snarl. He had a long, skinny face, and a jet black goatee that surrounded his mouth.

  “Vamos, puta,” he ordered. “Estamos aquí.” I knew enough Spanish to know that he wasn’t exactly treating me like a princesa.

  The man jerked at the rope that bound my wrists together. I stumbled out of the bed of the truck. My body was humming with aches and pains from the uncomfortable ride out of Austin.

  I had no idea where we were; somewhere deep in Mexico if I had to guess, judging by the brutal sun boring down from overhead and eliciting beads of sweat from my pale, bare skin.

  I was still shirtless, ever since Lobo had cut my garment off of my body. As I clambered down from the truck onto the dirt, the man dragging me palmed an aggressive handful of my tits. His face transformed from a grimace into a broad, leering smile.

  “Quizas, we will have some fun later, sí?” he drawled in a heavy accent.

  “Fuck off, you sicko,” I told him. My anger only made him grin wider. His companion came around the corner in time to hear my retort, and he broke out in a similarly creepy smirk.

  “Es más divertido cuando pelean, verdad?” one said to the other. They both laughed.

  It is more fun when they fight. I swallowed, breathed deeply, and tried not to show my fear. God only knew what was about to happen to me.

  We left the car where we had parked it. I didn’t know where Lobo had gone.

  The men fastened the leash back around my neck and took turns yanking me along a rustic dirt path that wound between clumps of trees. After a mile or so, we reached a low-slung compound of nondescript houses. The buildings were made of a plain adobe material that blended well into the desert environment.

  I was being shepherded between homes, headed for the heart of the compound.

  “Where are you taking me?” I asked, but the men just laughed between themselves and ignored me as they conversed in rapid Spanish.

  I tried to figure out where we were as I was dragged along. The place looked rural, but I saw men hunched over on the roofs, holding high-powered snipers in well-practiced hands as they scanned the distant horizon. Sentries.

  This must be the Diablos headquarters.

  We slipped between two buildings and came to the front of the biggest one I’d seen yet. It was only one story, but long, maybe a hundred yards from end to end.

  “C’mon,” grunted the man holding the rope, nodding his head towards the door. He gave a savage jerk on the leash and I fell to my knees, barely able to break the fall with my restrained hands.

  “Get up!” he cried, nudging the sharp tip of his boot against my exposed ribs. I look
ed up at him from the ground. The hot Mexican sun framed his head, making it look like horns protruded from the top of his skull. “Ahora, puta!” he repeated, tugging again on the rope.

  “Calmaté, Jorge,” said a sickly sweet voice I knew all too well. I twisted my head to see Lobo striding out of the long building. He had changed into a fresh set of clothes, but it was still the same outfit—pure black, head to toe. I stared at the wolf that crowned his boots. The thing was a disgustingly life-like sculpture.

  Lobo walked over and plucked the rope from my captor’s grasp. “She is our guest,” he said to Jorge in a voice like a lecturing parent. “We must treat her with respect.” He turned and offered a hand to me where I lay on the hard-packed dirt.

  I ignored the hand and struggled to my feet. The sun was scorching hot overhead. I could feel my chest and shoulders beginning to burn.

  Lobo pivoted on his heel and gestured for me to walk through the doorway. I furrowed my brow, but did as he suggested, pushing aside the beaded curtain that hung in the frame as I walked inside.

  The room within was refreshingly cool and dark. I followed Lobo down a hallway. Rooms branched off of either side. Through slots on the windows, I could see women seated on threadbare beds in each of them, wearing only shoddy dresses. Some were sewing or folding clothing, but most just sat and stared at the wall of their cell.

  Jorge opened the door to the last room at the end of the hall. I walked in and sat down on the bed. Lobo entered after me, pulling the door closed. It locked with a sickening thud.

  Crossing the room, he laid a thin dress on the bed at my side. “For you, señora,” he said, indicating the garment.

  I looked at it. “No, thanks,” I told him with an edge to my voice.

  Lobo cocked his head to the side. “I am not a man who is often told no” he said to me.

  “Get used to it,” I told him. My blood was icy with fear, but I was still the wife of an Inked Angel—I wouldn’t give an inch to this sadistic son of a bitch.

  He studied my face. I didn’t blink, but instead looked straight back at him, locking my eyes on those black holes that moved side to side without betraying any emotion whatsoever. He opened his mouth to speak, but right then, there was a knock at the door. One of his men unlocked it and stuck his head in the room.

  Lobo raised an eyebrow. “Sí?” he asked threateningly. The man jumped to attention, looking straight out over the room.

  “Hay un problema que necesita su atención, jefe,” he reported. I could see that even he was scared of his boss.

  Lobo sucked his teeth in frustration. He turned to me. “Another time, then,” he said softly. He ran a finger across my collarbone, then brought it to his tongue to taste my sweat. I heard him murmur in satisfaction. As badly as I wanted to lash out, to do something, anything, to exact revenge on this man who had tortured my brother and his men, I had to face the facts: I was trapped in his lair. I needed to do everything I could to stay alive, and just pray that somebody would come save me.

  Temporarily sated, Lobo spun to his feet and hurried out of the room. Jorge gave me a sickening grin as he locked the door shut and stood outside to watch over me.

  I let out the breath I had been holding.

  What the hell was going to happen to me? Did anyone know where I was? I had no idea if Luke or Blaze were even alive. I didn’t know if I’d ever get out of this place. The thought of dying in this hell almost made me vomit.

  I looked at the dress that Lobo had left. As much as it repulsed me to dress like he wanted me to, I pulled it over my head. I shimmied out of my blood- and dirt-encrusted jeans and dropped them to the floor. The vent in the ceiling over me blew cool air over my legs as I twisted onto my back in the bed and stared up. If I squinted hard, the stucco texture took on shapes like constellations.

  I saw the skull of the Inked Angels, the logo that had defined my brother ever since I could remember. I wondered what would happen to him now, whether he would be kicked out or punished for what he had done.

  I saw my mother and father. I wondered where they were and what they were doing. I wonder if they cared about the children they had left behind. I wondered if she thought of me.

  Last, swimming into crystalline focus, I saw Blaze. I wished so badly that I could reach up and touch my fingertips to the stubble of his jaw. If I could just feel the brush of his lips on mine, I’d be able to tolerate everything that was crashing down around me. He had to be out there somewhere, on his way to rescue me. I had to believe in that. In him.

  If I didn’t, then I was all alone.

  A few hours passed as I pictured the people I had loved and lost, swaying across the ceiling in the dots. I was probably losing my mind, but at this point I didn’t give a damn anymore. What was there left to care about? Just this tiny thread of hope, the last thing I had to cling to. Once that was gone, I would have nothing left.

  There was a tiny slit of a window, high in the far wall. I watched the last rays of light shine through, and then night fell. It was eerily quiet in the compound once the sun had set. A few muffled yelps came from the other rooms in the hall from time to time, but I couldn’t tell what, if anything, was happening. I didn’t want to use my imagination either.

  I drifted in and out of consciousness—not really sleeping, but not fully awake either. It was like half of me was immersed in frantic, half-remembered dreams, while the rest was lying on the itchy bed, just staring up at the ceiling and desperately trying to do anything but reflect on what had happened.

  I hadn’t heard anything new from outside the door in a while when there was a sudden tap at the handle. I heard a key fumbling in the lock, then it caught the mechanism and clicked. The knob turned, and the door swung open a few feet.

  Jorge slipped through the crack.

  I shot up in bed and tried to scream, but he was too quick. He leaped across the space between us and clamped a hand over my mouth, stifling me.

  “Get the fuck off me,” I tried to yell, but he was too strong. He produced a length of cloth from his pocket and used it to tie a makeshift gag. The cloth stopped any noise from leaving my throat. No matter how hard I tried, I could not shout.

  “Mucho mejor,” he hissed. He stuck his long tongue in my ear and cackled softly under his breath. Seizing a fistful of my hair, he yanked me out of the bed and spun me around, one arm wrapped under my throat while the other crossed over my waist.

  He moved his tongue down my neck and collarbone like a sticky slug, tasting me. My throat was raw.

  But it was useless. No one was coming for me.

  “All to myself, qué lujo,” he said in a sing-song voice.

  What a treat.

  Panic was racing over me. Hadn’t I had enough? What did I do to deserve this, being groped by a slimy cartel enforcer in the middle of fucking nowhere? I kicked and thrashed, but the man held onto me, laughing at my efforts.

  He squeezed my breasts between his hands. Not satisfied, he took the folds of the sheer dress that Lobo had given me and ripped, tearing the fabric open across my chest. His fingers were cold on my nipples, which were hardening in spite of my fear. I could feel him pinching them and chuckling.

  “Someone is excited, no?” he said, his breath musky and hot next to my face.

  He palmed his way down the front of my torso, reaching where the dress had tucked in between my thighs. I squeezed my legs together, trying to keep him from touching me.

  “Relax, mujer!” he barked under his breath. “Open your legs!”

  My thighs were burning with the effort of keeping him away from me at all costs. I did not know how much longer I could last before he shoved his grubby digits inside of me.

  We struggled back and forth. The blanket scratched my face as he pressed my head harder and harder into the bedding, cursing at me to give in.

  Suddenly, the door banged open.

  “Basta!” came Lobo’s voice. I felt Jorge’s grip slacken and release me. I fell to my knees against the bedpost,
heaving and sobbing.

  Behind me, I heard Jorge begging Lobo for forgiveness. “Por favor, jefe!” the man sobbed.

  The flash of a knife in Lobo’s grasp caught the moonlight as he raised it, then dropped it in a quick arc across Jorge’s face. The man screamed as the blade drew a slice open across his cheekbone. He pressed his palms against the laceration to stem the bleeding as Lobo picked him up by his shirt and threw him out of the room. I heard his footsteps as he tore down the hall, probably in search of someone who could stop him from bleeding out.

  The door clicked closed quietly. My head was in my hands, but I could still hear Lobo’s smooth breathing. When I had regained control over myself, I wiped the salty tears from my face and looked up.