by Harper Riley
If I wasn’t already pretty hardcore crushing on David Grisham before now, having lost my virginity to him sort of cements that I’ll forever be a little swoony in his presence. Waking up with him like this moves me beyond crushing. I think I might like him, like him.
I’m not stupid enough to think he’ll ever love me. He probably regrets what we did, for whatever stupid man reason he’s concocted to convince himself that this is wrong. I’m too young, or I’m Drew’s daughter, or he can’t ever love another woman like he loved Giselle.
It’s okay. It really is. Because I don’t regret it one bit. I wanted him and he was a little drunk and a lot emotional and I took advantage of that. So whatever else happens, I’m fine with what went down. It felt good—so good—better than I expected for my first time. I mean, it hurt a little, at first, and women aren’t supposed to come like that when they’re doing it for the first time, right? Or maybe that’s just because most women lose it in high school, usually with a boy who has less experience than I had. Grisham, however, is a man. A man who knows his way around a woman’s body. Score for me. Whoop!
I get up, dodging Grisham’s temper-tantrum remnants as I head to the bathroom and wowza! My thighs feel like I ran a marathon and my pussy is tender like a young chicken. Holy cow, is that normal? I do all the standard morning things, and then crawl back into bed. Grisham finds me, his eyes opening as he wraps an arm around my waist.
“Good morning,” he says roughly.
I wrinkle my nose. “You have morning breath. Pussy mouth. Go brush your teeth and come back to try that again.”
He chuckles. The first time I’ve heard him laugh. Score!
When he returns, minty-fresh, he kisses me softly. As he pulls away he says, “You were amazing last night.”
I blush ten thousand shades of pink. He gets hard, his cock pushing against my belly.
“You have no idea what effect you have on people, do you?” he asks as I lift my leg, inviting him in.
Belly-to-belly, we move together, a slow salute to morning. I’m sore, but having him close to me feels so right that I simply don’t care. I grab his ass and he sucks on my neck.
“Can you come for me?” he asks. “I want to feel you come on my cock.”
Oh, the dirty talk. Grisham has a wicked mouth and I love it. I push my hips to meet his, my clit rubbing against him. The pressure builds and it’s not long before I feel that tingle of pre-release.
“Almost there,” I whisper against his mouth. “Keep going.”
He takes it up a notch, his cock stiffening inside of me as I fall over the edge. I had no idea. No idea. Christ.
We lie there, staring at each other.
For no good reason, I blush again. He rubs his thumb against my cheek and leans in for another kiss.
“I should have someone clean this place up,” he says. “I’m surprised neither of us got cut last night.”
“Yeah, it’s a ... bit of a mess,” I agree. “Let me see your hand?”
As expected, he’s got a deep gash that’s now crusted over. “This probably could’ve used stitches,” I say.
“I’ve had worse,” he says.
“I heard. Where’d you get shot?”
He turns, showing me a puckered scar in his side. “Just grazed me, really. I dove to push my buddy out of the way. Two guys in two other clubs got in an argument at a party. They started getting physical and then one pulled a weapon. My friend Sam tried to be a peacemaker, because that’s just the kind of person he is. He thought everything was fine so he started walking away, but the guy was blitzed and he got a shot off. I dove and pushed Sam, because he had his back to the guy. Bullet grazed me. No big deal.”
“You have friends?” I ask, hoping he hears the humor in my tone.
“A few,” he admits. “But that’s what you got out of that story?”
“Well, it surprises me, honestly,” I say, cringing a little. “You seem really closed off,”
“I guess I am,” he says. “Just a byproduct of losing the people you care about.”
“Where’s Sam now? Not in the club?”
“Nah,” he says. “He stopped riding. Married his old lady. Went legit.”
We kiss a little, just brushes of the lips. He asks, “What about you? You have friends?”
“Sure,” I say. “One thing my father never limited was time with my girlfriends.”
“But he locked the chastity belt nice and tight?”
“He just made it intimidating for any guy who came around. No one wanted to cross him,” I answer. “Plus, I ...”
Grisham makes a questioning face.
“I never ... I mean, I messed around some but I never felt ... like, whatever that was between us.”
“Chemical attraction,” he said.
“I guess. Sure,” I say.
He sucks in his lips and rolls away, tiptoeing around the broken items that remain strewn about the room, finding clothing and dressing without another word.
“I’ll send someone to clear this out right away,” he says. “I need to prep for a club meeting tonight. Grab yourself some breakfast and do whatever you want today. If you want, I can send for someone to give you a massage.”
“That sounds nice,” I answer, my tone confused.
We were just having a nice chat, learning more about each other, and then—bam—he’s cold again. Rolling away, all business. I mean, I sort of figured he’d be out the door as soon as he woke up, so our sleepy little conversation was a really nice surprise, but now he’s doubled back, the open Grisham gone.
I look around, knowing that the next time I come into this room, it will look different. New artwork, new lamps. Who knows, maybe the furniture will change. It occurs to me that this may have been a room he shared with Giselle. My heart breaks for him, destroying things that may have reminded him of her. I can only begin to imagine what that must feel like. All that loss in his life—he’s lost so many people he cares about, it’s a miracle he has anything left to give. Or maybe that’s it? Maybe he doesn’t think he has anything left in the emotional tank. Being here with me, close to me, sharing his stories with me—there’s an emotional price for that kind of interaction, and I suspect that David Grisham might have spent every penny before he ever even knew I existed.
Pity, really. Because I really like him a whole lot.
Strange, how this place has started to feel like home to me. It feels like I belong here, and that alone has me feeling all kinds of feels. Disloyalty to my father, to his club. Excitement for feeling like I have a place that could be only mine. Angry that I had to discover it by being a pawn in some political game. Emotional. Strange how much this man has come to mean to me, how much I find myself feeling like I really am his, really am claimed.
I sit in bed for a long while before finally rising to find a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Slipping on my flip flops, I clack out into the hallway, off to attack the hell out of some pastries.
Who knew sex would work up such an appetite?
Chapter 30 - Grisham
“Report,” I grunt at Dexter, who’s popped in on his way out to his shift at the garage where he fixes cars.
“Blazing Pistons scouted last night,” he says. “Nothing major. Three of our guys spotted them a mile away and chased them off, but I’ve got a feeling they’ll be back.”
“I’m sure they will,” I say, not looking up from the newspaper I’m reading. “We need to have a full deck for the next few days. Nobody gets time off, full-guard rotations, loaded weapons. What else?”
“There’s a deal going down this afternoon at Nelson and Pike,” he says.
“Why Nelson and Pike?” I ask. “This is with the Oberov family?”
He shrugs a skinny shoulder. “I don’t know why that location, but yes.”
“Seems risky. That’s very near Blazing Pistons’ territory. Anything else?”
“Spree is leading the team,” he says.
“Goddamit!” I snap, pounding my
fist on the desk. “I specifically told him to back off until all this business with the girl was done.”
“He says he can’t sit around and do nothing all day,” Dexter says. “And the girl ...”
“What?” I growl.
He gives me a placating hand gesture. “She’s nice,” he says. “That’s all I was gonna say. She’s a good girl, worth keeping claimed, I think.”
“Get the fuck out of my office,” I say. “Stay out of it.”
He mumbles, “Who pissed in your Cheerios?” as he shuffles out. At least he knows how to follow directions.
Thing is, he’s not wrong. I wouldn’t call her nice, per se, but I do like her. More than I should. She’s intelligent, opinionated, sexy as hell ... I’m shocked as all get-out to realize that I do like having her around, and not just for sex. I need someone to challenge me, to tell me to get my head out of my ass.
But fuck. I do not need this. I do not want this. I just want shit to settle down so I can be a dad. Run my business. Spree alone is a bag full of shit right now. Having a woman to deal with just adds a little cherry on top
I rub my temples, a fucking monster of a headache brewing. I try calling Spree to tell him to put someone else on the Oberov deal. I don’t want his busted ass fucking things up worse than he already has. He doesn’t answer, so I throw my phone against the wall. Just as it smashes to bits, the door opens and Tanzie’s blonde head pops in. Her slim body follows, one hand balancing an obscenely large pile of breakfast pastries.
She kicks the door shut and wanders over to my desk. “What’d that phone ever do to you?” she asks.
“I’ve got three more. I’m apparently known to throw a tantrum or two, every so often.”
She grins, taking a bite of cinnamon roll and then holding out the half-eaten remainder to me. “ I believe that, as the person who woke up to a room full of broken glass,” she says. “Want some?”
I stare, open-mouthed, at this girl who’s literally talking with her mouth full and shoving half-eaten breakfast carbs at me.
“What?” she asks, still with food in her mouth.
I take the pastry and set it on the desk. “You bit off of that.”
“So?” she asks with a shrug, picking it up and taking another bite. “I’m sharing.”
For some reason, I’m turned on by this whole interaction. I adjust my growing dick under the desk. “Need something?”
She sits on the desk, laying the pile of pastries on my newspaper. I eyeball it with one eyebrow raised incredulously. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask. “You just put those on my newspaper?”
She flips herself around so she’s sitting facing me, her long legs stretched out on either side of me. “I thought maybe you could use a distraction.”
“With pastries? Not going to happen. I work out too many hours a week to fuck it up with cinnamon and sugar,” I answer.
“Was that a ... joke?” she asks.
“No,” I say.
“Oh,” she says, frowning. After a heartbeat she says, “You take yourself too seriously. You should lighten up and have some fun.”
I sit back, folding my arms over my chest. “Are you high or something?”
She laughs. The sound goes straight to my already-alert cock.
“Do you ever smile?” she asks, ignoring my question. “Laugh?”
I consider telling her that’s none of her fucking business. That’s what I would say to anyone else. But instead, I say, “I do. With my daughter.”
Her breath catches. “I ... I suppose you would.”
We stare at each other. She cocks her head, a thoughtful expression on her face. After a moment, she scoots forward and finds her way onto my lap. She leans in and kisses me.
I don’t respond at first. This is the last thing I need right now. But then again, her mouth is amazing. Her tongue begs for entry and I allow it, my hands finding the hem of her shirt, pushing under the soft material, splaying across her back.
Our kissing becomes intense, feral. I stand up, pushing her back onto the desk, lifting her shirt and finding her gorgeous tits. I meant it when I told her she had the best tits I’ve ever seen. They’re on the smaller side, but damn, so perfectly shaped. Her nipples are pink and hard. I could spend a whole day just enjoying these tits.
She arches her back up, a soft moan escaping her lips. I work her jeans off of her slender legs, slipping them to the floor while continuing my exploration of her chest, stomach and bare mound. My hands on her inner thighs, I push her legs far apart, burying my face in her folds. She moans again, her hips bucking against me. Two fingers go into her cunt, wet and slick and already pulsing, ready to explode.
I’m ruthless in my assault, wanting nothing more in that moment than to make her come. I have this beautiful, waifish young woman naked and open to me, splayed on my desk like a trophy. I feel ... lucky.
Lucky that she was the one bound on my bed. Lucky that she didn’t hate me. Lucky she’s so sexually responsive. Lucky she hasn’t tried to kill me.
And that pisses me off. I should kick her out, tell her to get out of my office, out of my life.
But I don’t, I just pound my fingers into her, bite and suck at her clit, dig my free fingers into her thigh hard enough to leave bruises. And she loves it. She bucks her hips wildly, lifting her legs so I can get more leverage.
When she comes, it’s like a bomb going off, an explosion of energy, and my fingers are suddenly in a vise, trapped by a contracting pussy while she literally stops breathing, stops moving, just rides what seems like an endless wave of pleasure.
When she finally sags back against the desk, she blushes. It’s almost like she’s embarrassed for coming so hard. I hate her so much right now. Only because I want her so badly. I hate her for not making me hate her.
I kiss her again, slow and thorough, pulling off my pants, climbing up onto the desk, mounting her. Right there, on top of cinnamon pastries and newspapers and written reports, I fuck Tanzie Williams, recent virgin and Blazing Pistons princess. I fuck her like my life depends on it, her legs up over my shoulders, her pussy clenching around my cock, her tongue swirling in my mouth, her arms looped around my neck.
When I come, she comes right along with me, our eyes locked, some unspoken emotion blooming between us.
I withdraw immediately. “Fuck,” I snap.
She sits up, her face a mask of confusion. “What?”
“I have work to do. You’re a distraction,” I say. “Get dressed and go find someone else to bother.”
She pinches her mouth to one side, disapproving, but slips off the desk, walking her beautiful, naked ass into my office bathroom. A few minutes later, she wanders back out, pulling her hair into a topknot. She pulls on her pants and shirt and grabs her pastries, smashed as they are.
“You know what?” she asks.
I sigh and give her a bored look.
“You push people away,” she says. “I get it. You lost people you care about.”
“Don’t act like you know a thing about me, sweetheart,” I say. “You wanted to be claimed. You’re claimed. I’ve fucked you good and hard and everyone will smell the wolf’s scent now. But I’ve got to get back to work now, so go find some other way to spend your time.”
“You act like you don’t care, but you do,” she says. “You kissed me. I don’t think you kiss people when you’re just fucking them, when they don’t matter.”
I roll my eyes.
“Nice,” she says. “Be careful or your face might stick like that.”
“Go, go,” I say, shooing her toward the door.
She flips me off and takes a huge bite of pastry. “Fine. But we’re talking about this later.”
“No, we’re not,” I say. “Beat it.”
She leaves and I will never admit this to a soul, even on threat of death, but I smile when the door shuts. A real, bonafide smile. And I keep smiling. Until one of my guys rushes in.
“Spree’s been shot.”
&nb
sp; Chapter 31 - Tanzie
I change into my bikini and head to the pool. Almost nobody uses it during the day, though it’s a party spot at night, when all of Grisham’ brotherhood relaxes a bit.
They get drunk, push each other into the pool, fornicate ... It’s a weird place between day and night. During the day, it’s all business. People doing jobs, making reports, riding in and out of the property. They obviously don’t bring whatever they buy and sell into the compound, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a bunch of debauchery. I know at least that much from my father. He was very careful to make sure I wasn’t at the club after sundown. Always said guys get antsy and use the evenings to fight and fuck. Guess it’s no different here.
I float around on a swan-shaped floatie, soaking in the sun, falling asleep in the heat. I’m not sure how long I stay like that, but the sound of chaos wakes me up right quick.
Guys are running around like crazy, some pulling on bulletproof vests, some loading weapons. A car flies down the gravel path toward the garage. Shortly behind it, a medical vehicle kicks up dust behind it.
Paddling to the edge of the pool, I peer at the commotion. From the black car, two guys pull a body. A ... dead body? No, he’s shaking his head. I climb out of the pool and grab a towel, padding over toward the action. At the last minute, I dive behind the garage, thinking maybe it’s best if I’m not seen during all this business.
As I peer out for a look, I see it’s Spree who’s injured, a huge blood stain spreading across his upper thigh. He’s pale, doesn’t look good. I hear him saying something about an ambush as someone from the medical vehicle hops out and advises him that he should go to the hospital. As a crowd gathers, Grisham appears, hands in fists at his sides, jaw clenched, eyes hard and furious.
“What the fuck is this?” he demands.
One of his guys, an older, burly-bearded guy, says, “Fuckin’ GR was there at the pickup. They demanded restitution for the girl. The Oberovs tried to get out of the middle of it but one of the GR shot off a weapon. It was mayhem.”
Grisham stomps over to where Spree’s pants are being cut off by a paramedic. “He gonna live?”