by Tara Oakes
Clink walks over and kisses Sunny on the cheek. “Sorry little lady... the boys are busy tonight. It could've been worse.”
She pops her hip out, and throws him attitude. “Oh yeah? How's that?”
He smirks. “It could have been Tiny.”
Sunny rolls her eyes and leans to look past him, to me. “Good luck!” She takes another long sip of her drink and stalks off.
“You wanna clue me in here?” I bring his attention back to me.
He trails his eyes ridiculously slow up my body. “Guard duty, sweetheart. Blue's here to watch over the girls.”
His eyes settle on my chest and his hand moves over his denim covered dick, adjusting himself. Ugh.. I think I just vomited a little. His whole manly-man thing just smacks you in the face sometimes.
I point my finger to him. “And you? Why are you here?” As if I don't already know the answer.
He slits his eyes and continues to visually undress me. “I'm here to watch over you, Sugar.”
******
The music is loud, almost too loud. The preppy-looking guy grinding his way over to me is relentless. He's already offered to buy me a drink, have a dance, and take my phone number. All of which are promptly followed by my: “I don't drink,” “Maybe later,” and, “I lost my phone.”
What do I have to do to drive the point home? Lil's and Sunny are chatting it up with some of the other MC girls in the VIP area. Christine is flirting with the bartender, and I'm trying to enjoy the music and dance. But this fucker just will not let up. I turn to move, getting out of dodge, and see Clink watching me, grinning from his perch by the front door. Ugh!
This fucker wants a show? Well, then I'm gonna give him a show. I reverse course and head right into the arms of my stalker. He looks pleasantly shocked and immediately pulls me close pressing us together while slithering around. He reeks of bottom-shelf liquor, and his movements become more and more sloppy.
His lanky arms clumsily reach around attempting to feel me up. I close my eyes and try to imagine stronger arms, arms that can really hold onto a woman, arms I can get lost in. I try to imagine his slender frame growing in size until it dwarfs me, powering over me, intimidating me in the sexiest most surreal way possible. I reach my hands up blindly and slide them into his short buzz cut, but fool myself into feeling the thick silky strands that beg to be held onto, and tugged, enticing him further.
I veer myself around using my hips to steer our movements. He instantly falls in line, letting me take the lead, and I find myself purposely skipping the beat, baiting him to seize the chance and take control. He just bides his time, rocking in place... lost, until I guide him further.
I give up and grab his hands, pulling them up to my chest and place them where I need to be touched. I imagine his fragile hands to be the big, strong, dominating hands that I want. The ones that know how to touch and tease me, claiming me for his own.
I need the scent radiating from this standin to be the musky sweet, smoke-filled, earthy scent that is only his. But it's not. I can try to trick myself, convince myself that his body is the one I want but it's not.
“Agh!!” I scream under my breath in failed frustration and storm off the dance floor, abandoning the fool. I walk, determined, past the man I yearn for and out the main entrance.
In the humid night air, I walk further... trying to shake off the realization that's setting upon me. “Fuck!” I call out, projecting my hostile disappointment in my own weakness. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“Whoa!” I hear his voice. I turn to face the culprit himself. “You want to stop ranting like a damn lunatic in the middle of the street?”
I am so mad at this point, I'm shaking. “YOU!” I accuse him. “This is all your fault!”
He holds his hands up in innocence, ignoring the passers by and continues toward me. I stomp my foot on the ground like a petulant child and pull at my hair in blind madness.
He finally reaches and stands over me, waiting for my tantrum to end. I reach the bottom, the last bit of anger and let it out. He takes it as my clenched fists land pathetically on his solid chest. I drop my head in exhaustion, my shoulders heaving irregularly.
“What are you doing to me?” I ask him. “This isn't me! I'm not that girl who turns into a damn pushover for some man. What the hell is happening to me?”
I look up at him, my eyes pleading, begging for some explanation for why my senses have abandoned me. His eyes are smoldering, letting me have my moment before he's decided it's enough. He pins my wrists behind me, fixing them to my lower back with one hand while twisting my hair with his other, holding my head and my attention hostage.
“You're finally accepting it. Finally accepting that you want me just as much as I want you.” He kisses my top lip, preventing me from arguing a moot point.
He kisses my bottom lip, and stifles my whimper. I nod, welcoming my fate, knowing that the longer I fight it, the longer I will be without him.
“Yes... just, just do it already,” I plead.
His eyebrow cocks. He yanks my hair just within the threshold of pleasure.
“Do this?” He throws his lips down to mine and answers my plea with his powerful kiss. It quenches the thirst, just a taste of what I need.
“Or this?” His demanding lips intensify on mine and his hands grab hold of my ass lifting me an inch off the ground.
“Yes... yes. All of it.” I succumb.
******
CLINK
Sugar can barely keep up with my pace as I push through the crowd, finally reaching the back of the building, kicking open the swing door to the ladies' john.
“Get the fuck out!” I direct the three or so bimbos applying makeup over at the counter.
Sugar stands stunned behind me, wanting to talk... opening and closing her mouth.
I hold my hand out to her, silencing her, while the chicks gather their chick shit and mumble to each other while scurrying past.
I follow them and shut the door sealing us in, and click the knob locked. Charlie looks on cautiously. I take the needed steps toward her, jingling as I unfasten my belt, watching her like a hawk.
This place isn't one of my usual hangouts. It's a bit too... upscale for my tastes. If I wanna go grab a beer and hear some music, I don't need to pay forty bucks for a cover charge and feel like I'm in the goddamned ritz. The bathroom alone is nicer than most people's houses.
The marble lounge is spacious and filled with velvet lounge chairs and round poofy things. The imported floor looks expensive, immaculate, expensive... and hard. Perfect.
“Get on your knees, Sugar.”
Her eyes grow round, large. I nod.
She hesitates, eyeing around the empty room. I'm patient. My dick may be rock solid but it's nothing a little delayed gratification won't take care of.
She finally accepts the inevitable, and lowers herself painstakingly slow to rest her bare knees on the fancy stone. I watch as her chest begins to redden, staring down into glorious abyss between her tits. She doesn't normally dress like a slut, but man... when I saw her wrapped up in this tight little number I nearly blew my load right there, like a high school freshman caught in the girls’ locker room.
“That's it, sugar lips... show me how sweet those babies feel wrapped around my cock” I encourage her.
The door behind us rattles, the lock serving its purpose and denying the poor fucker on the opposite side entrance. She clearly ponders her options, swallowing hard while glancing at the metal handle as it moves slightly. There's nothing stopping her from getting up, unlocking the door, telling me to fuck off... leaving me standing with my cock out and my jeans around my ankles.
She opens her mouth, and I wait for a sound, her words. But they don't come. Instead, she brings her widened mouth to me and takes in the head until it disappears in the wet warmth. She hollows her cheeks, and I grab hold of her hair.
I'm tempted to close my eyes and get lost in the sublime, as my girl's beautiful mouth fucks me... but
the mirrors plastered all over the walls are too much temptation. What's hotter than watching Charlie give in and bow down before me? Watching it five times over, each giving a different angle, a better view.
******
I help Sugar stand, the fuck-me heels she's wearing prove too unsteady for her to manage on her own. Her swollen lips glisten, testament to their recent work out. I take my thumb, and gently wipe away any evidence of myself from them. She extends her tongue and slides it over and around it, licking it clean.
Fuck me! My girl is such a fucking minx, and she knows it. I recover my thumb and use it to aid in securing my belt.
“Next time... it's you on your knees.” She coyly informs me.
I laugh, pulling her close. “Glad we understand one another, Sugar.”
She bites my shoulder hard. “Don't... call me Sugar.”
CHAPTER FOUR
JAY
It's like he's a ghost. Like he never existed at all. Clink wasn't able to get anything from the fat guy. Leo's been trolling around the internet for days now, looking for this “Pretty Boy.” So far, from what we're able to tell... he didn't exist before eight months ago. No school records, service records, arrest records. Then, all of the sudden he has a driver's license a criminal history and an address. Conveniently, right around the time he popped up on the Slayers’ radar.
It looks like he only prospected for about five months. That shit's unheard of around here. No Kingsman has ever worn that patch without paying his dues as a prospect for a good long while, and being fully vetted. It's also one of the reasons our MC requires each new prospect to be sponsored.
Shade must have been pretty damn desperate to increase the number of members, that he just let any damn wannabe in. The more we look into this “Pretty Boy” kid, the worse things look. I know he's a big piece of finding out what really happened that night at the farmhouse. I'll feel a hell of a lot better when we get our hands on him.
My eyes fuckin' hurt from looking at damn computer screens with Leo all night. It takes a while to adjust to the dim lighting as I step out of the back office and into the bar area. A few hangarounds are lurking about... word's been spread that we're gonna take on a few more prospects soon. It's like fucking ants crawling out of the woodwork at times like this.
We don't open our doors very often, and there's always tons of interest... but we're damn selective when we shop for new brothers. Odds are, none of these asshats buzzing around will be invited back.
T.J. is behind the bar tonight. He hasn't been around much lately... but we've been cutting him some slack. The poor bastard's been torn up raw by that Emily girl. I know nothing's gonna make up for that, but he's about to get patched in soon. Hopefully that will help take his mind off it for a while.
He's got to know we're planning on giving him his patches soon, with all the wannabes coming around looking to fill the soon to be vacancies. What he doesn't know, is that we're gonna mix the patch-in party with my bachelor party tomorrow night. Should make for one fucking hell of a good time.
Lil's and her girls are making a night of it tonight. I know my baby girl won't be able to fully let loose in her condition, with not being able to drink, but I've been getting periodic text updates from Blue that she is having a damn good time... even sober. Blue wasn't my first choice for guard duty tonight, but the dumbass begged and pleaded. The draw of half naked, tramped up, sloppy drunk pussy was too much for him to pass up. No way would I have let him go if Clink hadn't stepped up and volunteered to chaperone the little shit.
Originally, Clink wasn't even on the short list for the assignment. The girls may not be able to have a night out completely unsupervised, given their associations with the MC and all the risk that came with it, but we weren't complete dicks. The least I could do is make sure I didn't send any of their ol' men to go babysitting them.
With Clink's chick being one of the bridesmaids, I hesitated to even contemplate sending him to watch over them. But, this girl has been getting under his skin. No way in hell am I getting in between him and his piece of ass. They can sort through that shit themselves. I've got enough to worry about with my own little lady.
“Bottom's up, boss.” T.J. lifts his shot glass quickly and throws back the amber liquid with one gulp, while I tilt my beer bottle to him before savoring the ice cold thickness of it.
That boy's been hitting the booze just a bit too hard. I'll let him drink himself numb until after the patch party. Then it'll be a dose of five-finger rehab if need be, to knock some sense into him. I've been in this kid's shoes before... looking for answers in the bottom of a bottle.
******
THEN
The empty shot glasses lined the width of the bar, and I slammed the newest of them down hard on the wood. The deep thud rattled the empty ones, confusing my already blurred vision. My eyelids were heavy, weighing down on me.
I used my clammy palms to push away from the wooden bar top, wobbling as I struggled to catch my balance. Satisfied that I wouldn’t fall over, I managed to move my feet somewhat effectively in the general direction of the back crash rooms. At this point it didn't really matter which one I ended up in. A bed is a bed.
Barely making it half way down the length of the bar, a trampy looking blonde girl who'd been eyeing me all night, manages to slip under my arm and help carry some of my weight.
“Don't you worry, baby. I'll help you.”
Not sure if it's the quarter gallon or so of whiskey settling in me, or the words she was spewing that were making me nauseous right now. I most definitely was not this chick’s baby. Hell, I was no one's baby anymore. Hadn't been for a while. But, fuck it... a hole's a hole, right? Besides, leaning on her medium-sized frame was about the only thing keeping me from hitting the floor face first.
She managed to steer us through the back hallway and into my room where I promptly threw myself down on the unmade bed, groaning as I rolled over to my side, hoping it would help with the sick feelings.
I felt the mattress dip and creak as the chick started to crawl up my legs, making her way to my fly. I threw my arm over my head and closed my eyes. I didn't need to watch... they were all the same. They all looked the same, they all felt the same. At least it will help put me to sleep.
The over-enthusiastic slurping and gagging sounds the bitch was making was keeping me up. Her tongue is rough, but she damn well knows what she's doing. Probably been doing it much longer than any girl would ever admit to.
Now, being piss drunk can have different effects on a guy. Most can't get hard for shit when they're all liquored up. Ever since Lil's left me, though... I can't get hard any other way.
Just when I think I'm good and ready to end this and then be free to roll over and pass out, I hear a faint unzipping sound. My eyes fly open to the dark ceiling above, on high alert, despite the overwhelming sluggishness of the booze trying to creep in.
The girl released her suction on me and trailed her tongue up the shaft before leaving me wet and in the cold room air. She fumbled around and I could sense her legs pulling themselves free from her bottoms.
Dripping herself up my leg she tried to straddle me. Fuck no. My reflexes sobered up enough to push her head back down.
“Finish the job, sweet thing.” I gave her no time to respond before stuffing my engorged cock back into her warm mouth and use my own fist to help finish the job.
Her whimpering disappointment echoed in the hollow her cheeks were making while polishing me off. Just when I'm about to come, I twist one hand in her hair and gently pull her away while I rub myself out with the other.
I could hear the faint splashing as it makes contact with the girl's skin. My abs convulse, as I spill myself out over her, no doubt soaking her top. Once the last bit was released, I crashed back into the soft mattress and exhaled slowly.
“Close the door on your way out, will ya' darlin'? I need to sleep this off.”
I heard the heated huffing and mumbling from under her breath, before
she did as she was told.
The door closed behind her with her bouncy little ass disappearing through it, as I slipped into a semi sleep-induced pre-hangover coma.
******
I felt light, weightless. That didn't seem right. The alcohol should have been weighing me down. My cell vibrated from within my pocket. I reached to answer it with much more coordination and dexterity than a drunk person should be able to use.
I didn't bother to read the number on the screen. It was damn late, whoever was calling must have known what they're doing, waking me up this time of night.
“Yeah?” My voice is clear.
Silence.
“You need something?” I'm getting irritated now.
More silence. Well, almost. There was breathing. Shallow breaths, muffled through the phone. I rolled over and scanned the room for the block numbers on the cable box. 3:48 in the fucking morning.
And then I heard it.
The tiniest of little squeaks as if the person had tried to speak and then thought better of it. I bolt up. It's her.
“Lil's? Is that you?”
I heard a breath catch on the far end of the phone call. It was her, I knew it. I hadn't seen or spoken to her in almost five months... since she took off on me. But sure as I am of anything in this fucking life, I was sure it was her.
I close my eyes tight. “Why Lil's? Why'd you do it? Why'd you leave?”
Just as sure as I knew it was her, I somehow knew I wouldn't get an answer. The clicking sound was almost immediate, the ringtone not long after. I threw the phone as hard as I could against the wall opposite the bed and crashed back down to the blankets.
I had kept my word, kept my promise to Butch. I'd stayed away. Well, almost. About a month after she took off, I got word of her address. I rode my bike up there and got as close as the street nearest hers. I couldn't do it. I couldn't see her.
Part of me wanted nothing more than to show up at her door and demand answers. The lump in my throat and acid in my stomach gave me reason to pause. What was I gonna learn, huh? Would any reason be good enough?