Tyler raised her arm straight,. with her fist pointed down. She drives a punch into the side of Judah’s neck. His eyes roll and close, and his body immediately goes limp. I pull the automatic from his hand and pass it, held flat, to Saul.
Tyler clambers off Judah, coming toward me. Her face is flushed and damp. I never saw a more beautiful sight.
“Good punch.” I tell her.
“Lucky,” she shakes her head, “Benny told me about it but I never had to try it before.”
I put an arm around her shoulders as she climbed as the table.
“On behalf of the club, for all of the Outcasts,” Saul says, “I’m so sorry for what happened to your brother.”
Tyler is looking at him, about to reply. I have her under my home, leaning into my chest.
Judah has a knife in his hand as he jumps up from the table.
No time to think, I shove Tyler to the floor with one hand, raise the other to block Judah. His arm arcs with the huge knife blade swinging.
His left hand drives me back. Slams me to the wall.
His eyes blaze hot and mad. He lifts the jagged blade to my throat. I’m winded. I’ve got no breath and I’m out of time.
I put all I’ve got into one move.
I swing both hands, fingers straight, together, into each side of his neck. I strike hard, both sides of his windpipe. Neither connection is perfect, but he’s stunned. In the moment while he’s fazed, I land a hard chop, square with the side of my fist, on to the side of his neck.
His eyes glaze and go still as his body goes limp and falls to the floor, crumpling at my feet.
Saul looks down at him. “You won’t be getting up again this time, Judah.”
I never even knew that I wanted a woman. Certainly not a full-time woman. Not until I saw her. But I knew in that moment. Seeing her crouched in the dark. Like a hunted animal, but ready to fight. I knew then.
The little cabin in the woods seems as good a place to start as any. It kind of feels like ours. We can stay a day or two. Maybe lick each other’s wounds. See how we feel after that.
Two people, both chained to our own independence, it may not be easy to start on a relationship.
Hell, we may not even be able to do it. But I know that she’s ready to try. And, hell, I certainly am. I was ready for a change. I never figured anything like this being a part of it. But I can see it working out.
Epilogue
We brought food, a couple of bottles of bourbon. More beer.
I’m on the couch with a beer. He’s stood by the window. I guess we’re both still wary of each other. He tells me “I’m sorry about your brother, little wildcat.”
“It was going to happen, sooner or later. Our daddy always said Benny had a good heart, but a bad head. Everywhere he went, he would find the meanest, baddest, biggest ugly motherfucker and start a fight with him. I think he must have done that damn near every day of his life.”
“Did he win many of the fights?”
“Not one, as far as I know. I don’t think there was a bone in his body that he hadn’t gotten broken. I asked him why he did it. I really don’t think he knew. He just had to.” She stretches her eyebrows up and blinks. “Knowing that it’s come to an end, I hate to say it, Iron, but it is kind of a relief.”
The silence is easy and comfortable. I guess that’s where I really start to know. It’s important to be easy with someone, but being able to have comfortable silences, that’s a different kind of closeness. That’s something special.
He says, “I love how you dress, quiet. Not flashy.”
“Oh, scooter-boy, have you got the wrong ideas about me. This is my, go-to-a-biker-bar-interview-without—getting-eaten-alive uniform.”
“How do you dress usually?”
“Slutty bike chick would probably cover it.” I tell him, “Tiny, baggy, ripped up tank top or vest, micro-skirt, denim or pleather. Stockings, usually ripped.” I watch his reaction. There’s a movement in his pants that interests me particularly. “Hi-leg Doc Martens’s, or white fuck-me pumps.”
His eyes narrow.
“Running mascara and pineapple hairdo?”
He moves toward the couch. I straighten up and back myself into the seat. “You’re getting it, scooter-boy.”
“You bet your sweet ass I am.” He swings his hand out toward me.
I laugh as I jump up and away. “You’ll have to catch it, first.”
Now I’m moving along the wall. He prowls after me. I let him get near. Then I jump away.
He speeds up. Instead of getting into a race, I get trickier. As he gets close I spin. Reverse. Duck and dive.
Until he has me trapped in a corner.
His face comes close. Close enough that I taste his breath. His lips part. I duck and spin. But he has me too well covered. I’m trapped even tighter in the corner now.
His arm slips around me.
“Kiss me.” His eyes are dark. Smoldering hot.
“Make me.”
“Is that what you want?” His eyes flash, and his hand is on my neck.
“Find out.” I bite the side of my lip.
“Will you put up a fight?”
“What if I do?”
His nostrils flare. “You want me to win?”
“If you win, you’ll know it’s because I let you win.”
“Oh, yeah?” He holds my neck. Pulls my face toward his.
“Yeah. Scooter boy.” I duck and shove him and scoot out under his arm.
He turns in time to catch me around the waist. My legs are still running, but he’s holding me off the floor. I beat my arms at him. My forearms and elbows connect on his chest. It has no effect. He’s hard as iron and strong, too.
“Now, little wildcat,” nobody calls me ‘little.’ Never. He holds me up like I’m a rag doll or a struggling kitten. He pulls me to him. Holds my body against his. His huge, hard pecs crushing my soft breasts. H takes a long, savage kiss.
I push him, hammer the sides of my fists on him., Kick and thrash my leg at him. Nothing has any effect. The more I struggle, the more and the harder I hit him, the hotter and more turned on I get.
I’m still locked in his kiss and trapped in his arms as he puts me back on my feet. His big hand strokes and squeezes my throat. His thumb tips my chin up to open me up more. His body leans over me, surrounds me. Engulfs me. I’m trying to resist the urge, the need in my hips, the craving to grind against his huge hardening ridge.
He pulls back from the kiss, then leans in to whisper in my ear. His hot breath makes me wriggle and squirm. “I’ll nail you to the wall.”
I gasp. His hand is on my mound. He can feel my the heat of my treacherous need. I grab at the front of his pants. He’s so big and hard, my knees weaken, but I force myself to speak.
My voice scrapes as I tell him, “I’ll squeeze you so dry, when I’m through you’ll be a little bitty prune.”
He opens my jeans. Slides his hand inside like an invader. Takes over my wet lips and my opening. As his fingers find me, my pelvis rolls and my back arcs. My fingers dig into his arm. I grab his hair with my other hand.
My leg snakes around his. Then slips upward, I rub my calf up his thigh, exposing myself, opening myself to him more. I tell him, “You’re going to go off so hard in my hand you’ll paint the roof.”
The low rumble of his laugh turns my insides to gel. With one hand in my pants, his other is squeezing and teasing my tit. First outside the loose tee shirt, then I judder inside as his hand comes inside and grabs my bare flesh. He kisses and bites my neck as his fingers encircle and hold my firm breast, making me shiver as he twists and tugs on my bud.
I can feel this man seeping into me. Making me feel ways I never felt before. I want him. And it scares me so much. And I want it so bad.
I rub his stiffening length, hard, while my other hand slips inside his tee shirt. My nails trace and scrape the landscape, the geography of his bulging pecs, his velvety ribs, reach back for the muscular contours of h
is back. Scraping, grasping, squeezing. Feeling, scratching and pressing on every part of him.
I want them all. I want them all at once.
I’m feeling open, needy as his fingers slide around and over and between my swollen wet lips. He slips up, in between them. Pushing me open. Entering me.
Now, I can’t wait anymore. I pull and tug on his tee shirt, yanking it up and away. I grab at his belt. Yank and pull the buckle open. Pop the rivet buttons on his jeans.
His voice rasps, low and thick, “I’m going to fill you full of iron. I’m going to pump you till you shout and burst and cry out.”
Dragging his jeans down, seeing the bulge in his white cotton shorts bounce out and stand, proud, my voice croaks at the size of it as I tell him, “I’ll suck you dry before you get the chance, scooter-boy.”
My hand clenches in shock at the hard heat of him as I pull him out of the cotton shorts.
His hips writhe. He says, “Oh, that’s it. I’m going to stick this so far up you, you’ll be able to lick the end of it.”
I dive down, holding him in both hands. Rubbing, pulling, squeezing on the fat pole, feeling the sweet saliva sluice into my mouth as I lick my lips.
He tastes dark, smoky and musky. And hot. After the tang of his slick bulb slips across my tongue, into the darkness at the back of my throat, I’ve got less than half of him in my mouth. This is going to be a hard task.
He’s gentle, stroking my hair and keeping fairly still as I perform the operation. His moans and sighs are appreciative. He encourages me, saying, “Yes, oh, God, yes. Go on, little wildcat. Eat that iron.”
Only occasionally, he slams his hips hard at my face, jamming the girth of him deeper.
Saliva coats my tongue and gushes over the roof of my mouth as I bob my way down his fat shaft. I nibble my way along, a little more each time. Taking his rod deeper until the bump, when his head bores into the soft, wet grip of the muscles in my throat.
That's when his fingers curl and grip in my hair. I’m holding the clenching cheeks of his hard ass as he begins to push harder into my mouth, driving deeper into my throat.
I’m buzzing with a feeling of power, of control, and a powerful hunger.
“Okay,” he says. I’m sucking hard and resisting as he pulls me off. He has to use some force. So I resist some more. And he pulls harder. I wonder if I can just suck enough to make him come, before he can peel me off his delicious flesh.
He’s too big. And too strong.
He takes a long, fierce, wet kiss. “You do that so fucking well, little wildcat. But now I got to get you nailed.”
He yanks down my jeans. Pulls my panties off after them, then the tee shirt. I’m naked and feeling like he’s taking ownership of me.
After another long, wet kiss, he lifts me up, high enough to push his face between my thighs. He hangs my thighs over his shoulders and I crouch, curled over his head. My hands grip and tug in his hair as he sucks, licks, pulls and ravages me with his mouth.
Convulsions rip and flash through me as his tongue burrows impossibly far into me.
Tremors and shivers tear through me as his lips and his tongue devour me.
Relentless, without mercy, he shakes me. On and on until one explosion after another erupts inside me. On until I shout through my second, then my third plunging crest.
Wet faced and glowing, he spins me down. On the floor to face the corner of the cabin. I put my hands out on the walls, and he splays my legs apart.
He rubs my channel with his thumb, then holds me by my ass. My knees give way as he gouges me open on the prod of his iron-hard shaft. My lips stretch sore and my wet velvet walls tremble, trying to grip him.
He reams me wide, allowing his hands to explore me, taking strokes of my stomach, squeezing on my breasts and twisting them, trilling and teasing my clit, and running his thumb around and into my clenching ass.
I push back, rocking and spreading my hips to take more of him, to feel him higher. Deeper.
“God, Iron. You are so fucking huge!” My head swings from side to side and I’m shouting, as sensations sweep through all of my body like liquid fire.
“You’re tearing me in half.”
“That’s what it takes,” he growls, “to make little bikers.”
And that flips me over the edge again. My little butterfly tries to grab and squeeze him, but it’s no match for his iron battering ram.
After I’ve started to come down the third time, he lifts me and turns me to face him. He holds me, cradles me, tenderly. With my head on his shoulder and my arms around his neck, I wrap my legs gently around his hard trunk, finding the tip of his erection with my flower.
Then his eyes pop wide. My ass cheeks meet his hipbones as I drop all of my weight, straight down along his pole.
“I’m riding you now, scooter boy.”
Holding on to his shoulders, I slam along his rod, cannoning as hard as I can go, hammering to get him as far up inside me as I can. Ignoring the red-raw stretch, the sore burn. I want all of him. All of him. I want to pump him dry. I want him to fill me to overflowing. I saw on his length, faster. Deeper, longer. Harder.
His hips rock and roll, keeping up, taking it all, hammering in. Nailing me.
A rumble like a volcano under the ocean starts. I’m shaking, brimming. Ramming him into me. Squeezing and clenching in my thighs, my ass, my stomach, with every muscle in my body.
My toes curl and my fingers claw at him, scraping, scratching everywhere I can reach as my head tips back and a long, raw cry rips out of my throat. “YES, god, yes, Iron. Fuck me!”
The thickness of his post pulsates, pounding and impaling me. Thick, sticky, hot blasts fountain into me, paint and fill me, burst and dribble out around my trembling lips.
He leans forward, cradling my back on the palms of his hands. My legs are up and wide as he pistons and hoses into me. I feel like a little light blinks on, glows deep inside me.
Epilogue
Curled up with her in my arms, I’m feeling like I’ve slipped into a whole new world. My voice is lighter, Softer. Like I don’t have as much to prove somehow.
“I’ve been thinking about making changes. Getting away. Going nomad, officially.”
The little wildcat murmurs, “You sound restless.”
“Maybe I could follow up on some of the outreach work for kids that the club does.”
She nuzzles closer. “I can see you being good at that.”
“I was setting something up for the club with a guy I knew, long ago. Football star, a great guy. Harlan Stone. I could follow up, maybe.”
“You know him? You are full of surprises. He’s hot.”
I lift her chin, “I can see how teasing me is going to be your main addiction distraction from here on.” I take a soft kiss. “But, yeah. He’s a good guy. You’ll meet him.”
“I’d like to meet all of your friends.”
“Honestly,” a laugh rumbles out of me, “It wouldn’t take long. But, yeah. There was talk of a football camp for kids in trouble.”
“You do have a good heart, Iron. Not quite so ‘cold as steel,’ after all.”
I squeeze her. “Maybe we could travel some, too. I only really ever traveled with the military. It could be good to go places where I didn’t have to kill anyone and no-one was looking to kill me.” She hugs me and I tell her, “I got interested watching the news. About that climber, Jake Rockwell?”
“The tech billionaire explorer guy? Wasn’t that something?”
I look into the shine of her eyes, “You were just impressed by his athletic build.”
“No.” she pouts, “Well, yeah. Maybe. His blue eyes.”
“Yeah. And the eight pack. Right?”
“Anyway, you want to do that kind of thing?”
“Trying to change the subject?” I squeeze her tighter. “Well, sure. Apart from the tech billions, obviously.” My mind feels like it’s waking up. “I don’t know. What about you? What are your plans?”
; “My plans are to be wherever you are.”
I look down at her again, “Really?”
“How else am I going to keep driving you crazy?”
“And finding new ways to put my life at risk.”
“That, too.”
“And where else would I get this?” She’s ready again. “I’m glad you said that, though. Because you’re what I want. You’re all of it. You’re mine now and forever.”
She’s opening up. Planting a kiss on my chest, she murmurs, “Should we ask the Outcasts to give us a biker wedding?”
“Do you want a biker wedding?”
“I might if someone asked me to marry them.”
I laugh and tell her, “You obviously never went to a biker wedding. It usually starts when a guy slings a woman over his shoulder.”
“You can try that with me. If you want to know the real meaning of pain.”
“Another great idea.” and I roll her over.
WANT TO READ ANOTHER EPILOGUE, WITH THE BIKER’S WEDDING?
Read more about Jake Rockwell, and Harlan Stone?
I hope you loved Iron and Tyler’s story as much as I do.
READ ALL the fantastic, hot, power packed Hard for Her stories, featuring Jake Rockwell, and Harlan Stone? AND THE OTHERS
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Hard as Iron: Hard For Her 5 Page 4