23
Cherry
He pushes me through the door to his room with his ravenous kisses, his hungry, powerful arms gripping me all over my body as he explores me with utter abandon. All of our restraint has long been gone, but now that the storm is past us, it feels all the more thrilling.
Even as we stumble through his room to the bed, his mouth is at my neck, and I’m rolling my head back with a breathy gasp as his hand works itself down my pants, expertly finding my slit and starting to rub it voraciously. Behind me, his other hand squeezes my ass. He wants me so badly, and I couldn't stand not to have him inside me for another minute.
He tears my clothes off urgently. His need for me is just as bad as mine for him, even if it is a little more disorganized, more animalistic. I can hear it in his grunts, his breaths, and of course, I can feel it in the hardness between his legs.
The steady, untamed hum of a motorcycle under me has become comfortable over the past few weeks. I thought the thrill of it would wear off after a while, but it’s become only more exciting over time, the vibration only more arousing, especially with Leon in front of me.
Leon. God, I never saw any of this coming, I realize. A few weeks ago, I was just another journalist doing puff pieces, and then we storm into each other’s lives. I feel a laughing smile sneak up across my face as I think about the two of us as a pair of investigative vigilantes, and Leon breaks away from my face after laying me down on the bed and grins back at me.
“What’s that for?”
“I was just thinking how weird it is, how this all worked out,” I say, reaching up and letting my hand brush across his rough stubble. “You were just some vagrant I thought was beating up shopkeepers when I came back to town.”
“You’re not completely wrong,” he answers, and I give him a playful push while we laughs, but it only teases him on, and in another moment, his hands are on my breasts, savoring their feel as he grinds his hips up into me. I close my eyes and let myself revel in the sensation, in the feeling of this fiery rebel claiming me and every part of my body. Then I gasp as he takes a handful of my hair, holding me with a strong grip as he leans in to whisper into my ear.
“We did a hell of a lot before you got here,” he growls in a low tone, “but fuck, Cherry. Everything I really want to remember happened after you got back into my life.”
Now my hips are pushing back up against the stiff bulge in his pants, and my breaths are coming hot and heavy, I realize. Even without my conscious willing, my body wants him. I need him, and now.
My bra is already halfway across the room as he works off my pants. He’s not gentle, and I love it. Living this life on the road, rough and dirty, tracking down criminals and putting our lives on the line for the greater good every day, it’s awakened something in me I never knew I had. I feel more alive coming home from a day tracking down traffickers and getting my clothes ripped off roughly by Leon than I ever did in a cozy apartment in New York.
He works his own pants off next, one hand holding my hair while the other pushes up the small of my back, and he isn’t wasting any time in pressing his bare cock up against me. I look down and see his dark crown, bulging in need before me as he presses it against the surface of my cunt, and I gasp.
We’ve had so little privacy over the past few weeks, sharing motel rooms with the club and riding from sunrise to sunset. How many times have I seen him, gun out and blazing with a fierce glint to his eye, knowing he’s fighting for people who can’t fight for themselves? How often have I seen him putting his life on the line to bring justice to people who’ve bought their way out of the law’s justice their whole lives?
Each and every time made my desire for him grow all the stronger, fanning my lust into something beyond my control. I’d grip him as we rode the day after, letting my hands trail to his cock and rub up against him, and all that tension felt so fucking good to finally let go.
I let out a scream of all that release when his cock impales me.
Immediately, his hips are like a piston in my slick insides. My cunt has been ready for him all afternoon, knowing we’d be back in town and in private again. Finally.
His cock feels bigger than ever, swollen with desire for me, precum mixing with my honey as he bucks into me, and I thrust my hips up in rhythm with him.
He reaches up and grips the backboard of the bed, pounding up into me more and more fiercely, and my hands slide up to his rock-hard abs, feeling every muscle and ripple in his hardened body.
This man is a killer. You’ve seen him kill in front of your very eyes, and he used to do it for money. What the hell are you doing, Cherry?
I’m doing something better for myself than I’ve ever done before, I realize as I clench my cunt tightly around his shaft, stars in my eyes as he bucks wildly into me.
“I’m all yours, Leon,” I moan, “fuck, I’ve wanted you to ride me like this from the moment I saw you!”
He doesn’t respond with words, animalistically pounding into me all the more fiercely, and he looks down at me with those piercing eyes of his. Through all the fire, all the passion, I can see something more behind that gaze.
“I love you, Cherry,” he says at last, slowing his pumping just enough to bend down and kiss me deeply, and my hand reaches up to meet his face and pull it into me.
As he does, I arch my back up into him, and while we kiss, I feel my orgasm boil up within me, and I moan loudly into his kiss, my cunt tightening and my honey flooding his shaft. I never want the kiss to break. I want to stay here, with him inside me, and I want him to fill me up entirely.
The harsh bucking he responds to my tightness with tells me he can pick up on my desire, like a musk in the air. I’m his. He’s mine. And I never want that to change.
“I love you, Leon,” I gasp, each word punctuated by a breath as he rams into me, the tip of his dark, purple crown striking the inner depths of my cunt, harder and fiercer than ever before. As his balls slap against me, they start to tighten, and his cock swells up within me even more.
“Fuck,” he groans, and as I open my eyes to look at him, he isn’t closing his eyes to revel in his impending orgasm — he’s looking straight into my eyes.
As I look into the face of that untamed man from my past, I feel my own cunt starting to tighten again, and my mouth hangs open involuntarily as everything within me starts to come to a great, disjointed rise.
His hot, dominant seed shoots up into me, and I feel a body-wracking orgasm shake every nerve in my body, my eyes rolling up into my head as all of my senses are overwhelmed under him. He lets out a throaty groan, and I can tell that every part of him is just as ecstatic as he pours himself into me, and I can feel all my insides getting filled up by him as he puts his hands on my hips, pulling me further up onto his spear as we come together.
As the last of his seed spills into me, he stays hard, gently rocking back and forth as we just kind of look into each other’s eyes, stillness descending like a spell all around the simple room. All we can focus on is each other, and it’s wholly and utterly satisfying.
“You know,” I whisper to him after who knows how long, his cock pulsing within me softly, “I was wrong about you, Leon.”
“How’s that?” he asks with a small, cocky smile.
“For the longest time, I thought you were just a bandit under another name.”
“You were right,” he says, pressing into me a little further, still hard as a rock, and I gasp involuntarily. “Only difference is, I do it for a better cause.”
A long pause passes between us as I just smile up at him, then I give his hand a light squeeze. “I want to stay with you, Leon. I really do. There’s a lot of good to be done, good that needs to be done where the law only holds it back. I want to be a part of that. And I want you.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he says in a husky tone, bending down and pressing his lips to mine for a long, passionate kiss. “I want you to ride with me, Cherry. Be my girl. My ‘old
lady’. Official.”
“When the law won’t do what it takes,” I answer, holding his face lovingly, “we will, Leon. Together.”
Epilogue - Cherry
“I remember when this place was just an empty lot filled with broken-down car parts and stuff,” comments one of Eva’s many cousins, whose name I can’t place.
“Me, too!” I exclaim. “I used to ride my bike here with my friends and play with the metal scraps. I suppose a park is probably a little safer for the kids, though.”
We all laugh, gathered together on checkered blankets and handmade quilts offered earnestly by Wanda Lawrence. The Lawrences are perched at a wooden picnic table nearby, the sweet elderly couple beaming at each other over a basket of cheese and fruit. I smile, leaning into Leon’s shoulder. He kisses the side of my head and tugs me closer.
“I’m just glad we were able to make something good come out of this whole ugly mess,” Anya says, holding hands with her new boyfriend, none other than the former Officer Samuels. After everything that went down, he quit the force and started hanging around the Glass, earning his stripes until he was finally, officially initiated. Ever since the day he threw down his badge and gun, he’s been latched to Anya’s side. The two of them are an unlikely couple — but he’s such a lovable goof that he helps her lighten up and laugh a little. I’ve never seen her smile as much as she has in the past few months that they’ve been together. And the Lawrences are over the moon that their former daughter-in-law has found someone who makes her happy. Wanda tells me it’s what Henry would’ve wanted.
“This park is beautiful,” Genn comments, leaning back in the grass. “I’m so glad the kids have somewhere cool to hang out now.”
“Yeah, and it’s nice to see some of the local resources finally taking care of this part of town. God, it used to be such a sad place. Now it hardly looks like the same neighborhood,” Vasily says. He’s standing proudly a few feet away, surveying the park with a grin.
We’ve all spent the past six months finagling with city planners and gathering the funds to get this park up and running. Hard to believe eight months ago this field was the horrific site of so many shallow, unmarked graves. Such a sad place filled with dark memories — but we refused to let it stay that way. With the assistance of the feds, we’ve managed to track down the family members of those who were buried here, allowing the families to give their loved ones a proper burial. And now, across the field, there is a beautiful black marble memorial plaque with all their names etched into it with golden lettering. We want to be respectful of those whose lives were carelessly, cruelly squandered away. On the bottom of the list is my dad’s name, immortalized.
But that doesn’t mean we’re going to let this field rot and fester in sadness.
Now, it’s home to lovely green grass, an impressive playground, an outdoor barbeque area, several picnic tables, and even a bike trail cut through the surrounding wooded area. The field, first a desolate scrap metal yard, then a heartbreaking crime scene, is now bustling with activity and filled with laughter and love.
I am proud of what we’ve all accomplished, and I am bursting with joy to think that one day, my own child will play here, too. I wonder if he will be just as daring and determined as his father, or if he will be impossibly curious and loyal as me. I plan to name him John, after my dad. I think I’m finally living up to my potential, carrying out all the dreams my father had for me. Ellen Hardy was impressed with the article I produced about Doyle and Chandler’s big scandal, and she has agreed to keep me on staff as a writer and editor — while allowing me to work remotely. I have my big-city dream job, but I still get to live in my beloved hometown!
We’ve moved back into my dad’s old house, and with the help of the Club, Leon and I have given the place a massive makeover — restoring the house to its former glory without losing any of its distinctive, vintage charm. It’s just enough to suit the three of us, with room to grow.
Rubbing my swollen belly, I turn to look up into my husband’s handsome face. His vivid green eyes meet mine and that same exhilarating thrill passes down my body. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being amazed by him. I’ve never known love like this, and I’ve never been so happy in my entire life. I can’t help thinking that all my aimless wandering, my inability to really find my happy place in New York, was all just a series of road signs pointing me back home. I have become a firm believer in fate. Leon and I are a testament to the existence of destiny. After all, he’s the one who saved me from drowning so many years ago — but I’d like to think that, in the end, we really saved each other.
Thank you so much for reading and, hopefully, enjoying this book :) If you’d like more, please make sure you’re subscribed to my newsletter. On the next page is a glossary of Russian terms used in this book, and a special sneak peak at my next novel, Captive to the Hitman, due out in May.
As well, remember to check out your bonus books!
Glossary
Kotika - Kitty cat
Nichego - Nothing
Klyanus - I swear
Zasranec - Asshole
Da, da, moy drug - Yes yes, my friend
Podruga - Girlfriend
Politsiya - Police
Khorosho - Alright
Devushka - Girl
Sotrudnik - Officer
Mudak - Asshole/dickhead
Chert voz’mi - Damn it
Byet ostorozhen - Carefully
Zatk’nis, mu’dak - Dumb asshole
Pidarasy - vacation
Vy prekrasny - Beautiful
Obeshchayu - I promise
Ne volnuytes, kroshka - It’s okay, baby
Ochyen priyatno, sestra - Nice to meet you, sister
Moy brat - My brother
Bratishka - Little brother
Pozhaluysta - Please
Smelaya devushka - Daring girl
Sestra - Sister
Spasibo - Thank you
Da svidaniya - Goodbye
Fsyevo harosheva - Safe travels
Pizdoon - Fucking liar
Captive to the Hitman
This book is not yet released and has not undergone editing. It’s available for a limited time as a thank you to readers who enjoyed Saved by the Outlaw. You might recognize Mikhail ;)
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Enjoy!
Mikhail
My cock throbs in my hand as I stare at the page in a glossy magazine. It’s not like I need it. It’s not about her, the sexy woman sprawled along the centerfold. Even jerking off is all business.
My veins pulse as my grip tightens, and I lick my lips as I start to stroke myself. It’s a slow, rhythmic thing, letting the tension gather in my shoulders. I need to feel tense now, so that later, I can find that perfect calm.
Not too fast. Slow. Teasing. My thumb gathers the precum at the tip, running it along my swollen head, adding a hint of lubrication. It’s been too long since I’ve been with a woman, through my own choice. I don’t have room in my life for a girl, not even a fling. My job is too dangerous to drag someone into, even if I wanted to.
So instead I stroke myself to a skin mag, and growl as the stress keeps building in my gut. I have a big job tonight. Something important, and nothing can distract me, especially not this fucking urge to fuck. To go to a club, find some hot piece of ass, and take her. Meaningless, useless, unfulfilling sex, but it’d be something.
I grip myself harder as I lean back on the couch, the tension travelling from my shoulders down to my back and into my belly. I force it lower, so that when I start jerking myself faster, I can rid myself of this fucking stress.
Gritting my teeth, my breathing speeds up, and I close my eyes. The centerfold doesn’t do much for me. Most women don’t.
So instead I just focus on the feel of my hard cock, pulsing like mad in my hand. This is what life should be made of. Pleasure exploding in my brain as I get closer and closer to the edge
.
And when finally I burst, my entire body empties. It’s not just my balls as they tighten and spurt their cream over my abs. It’s not just my mind that clears of its fog.
My entire body feels lighter for that perfect, pure moment of orgasm, and I feel ready to do my job tonight. There’s no room for error. There’s no fucking this up.
Tonight, I’m a killer.
The group of revelers spill out of the limousine. All but one are men, dressed in expensive tailored suits; ties mostly loosened. They look like they just came from Wall Street, pretentious and full of themselves and whatever perceived victory they’d just been celebrating.
Some of them hold bottles of ridiculously expensive booze, but it’s clear that a few of them are on something much harder, looking wired. But it’s the sole woman in the group that catches my attention once the others are tallied.
I hate excess casualties in my line of work. It’s an increased risk, and one I don’t care to take. The other men are all on my list, but this woman? A young blonde, in high heels and a red dress? She’s stumbling a bit but somehow managing to make it look gracefully natural. She’s had more intoxicants than she’s realized, I can tell. I’ve seen that vaguely confused look before.
By my reckoning one of those shit heads has slipped her something extra into her drink before they head up to the penthouse for the real party.
All targets accounted for, and one extra person isn’t too much for me to handle, not even close. But there’s something about her, that bright smile upon her face, the twinkle in her eyes. She doesn’t strike me as the usual sort of drugged up bimbo these sort of guys haul back for their debauchery. There’s a spark to her.
I push her from my mind though. I have to, there’s no other option. Civilian casualties are sometimes an unavoidable thing. I saw that first hand more often than I cared to remember.
Saved by the Outlaw: A Bad Boy Romance Page 18