Reaper

by K. L. Savage

  And I want her to.

  “Suck my cock, doll.”

  Her eyes dilate as she unbutton my pants, and she trembles. “I’ve never—”

  “I know, and I can’t wait to fucking come down your throat knowing it’s all mine.”

  “Jesse,” she gasps.

  “Don’t call me that right now. Call me Reaper, understand?”

  “Yes,” she hisses as she wraps her hands around my dick, tugging down my jeans with her other. I don’t know if my cock is really that big or if her hands are really that small; either way, she makes me feel like a king.

  “Stop,” I tell her, and she rises on her knees.

  Her cheeks are rosy, and her lips are wet with that gloss still, but not for long. I fist the middle of her shirt, and with one quick yank, I rip it off her body. She’s wearing a white satin bra, her tits spilling out of it, and her pink nipples are hard, fucking taunting me again.

  I really love to be taunted.

  “Take off your pants,” I say, kicking mine off until I’m naked.

  She stares at me, roaming her eyes over every inch of my body. I’m all cut up still, burned, but I feel great. My tattoos are marred, and my body won’t ever look the same, but she seems to like what she sees, and that’s all that matters.

  Her pants hit the wall, and the blonde tuft above her pussy gleams in the light. She didn’t wear underwear today. Fuck.

  “Spread your legs. Let me see you.” I stroke my cock with both hands, squeezing tight like I know her pussy is. She does what I say, and her pink folds open for me when she pulls them apart with her fingers. Her clit is erect and swollen, and her sweet cream is leaking out of her cunt, inviting me in.

  With a savage growl, I grab her legs and lift her hips off the bed until her pussy is a breath away from me. I don’t wait any longer. I dive in, licking that cunt like I’ve been dreaming about. I hum in appreciation and lay my forehead above her belly to keep her still. She’s wiggling, trying to get free as I feast.

  I dive my tongue into her hole repeatedly, gathering that juice that I can’t get enough of. It’s better than any cigarette, drink, and drug that I’ve ever had.

  “Reaper,” she moans my name. “Fuck, Reaper. Oh, god. Yes. You’re so good.”

  I fucking know.

  She’s better, though.

  I lift her higher until only her head lies against the bed, and her hands are looking for something to hold on to; something better than the sheets. Moving my hands to her ass, I hold her globes tight, pushing her further into my face. I lick up, sucking her clit into my mouth and nibbling the candy.

  It’s enough to make her explode.

  I push two fingers inside her heat, needing to feel her muscle contract around me as she comes. I kiss her clit, appreciating it, adoring it, just like I would her lips. Every part of her body deserves the same amount of attention.

  Her thighs shake, the muscle and skin jiggling from the spasms. She can’t seem to stop. It’s as if she is freezing, but I know better because there is a light coat of sweat all over her body that gives her body an eternal glow.

  Gathering her juices, I slip out of her sheath and inch a little further back. I watch her face for any protest, but when all I see is lust, I decide to keep going. I push my wet fingers against her puckered star, swirling the tight muscle and lightly probing it; nothing too much, just enough to see where I stand.

  “I want in here,” I say.

  “You won’t fit, Reaper. You’re too big.”

  “Not today, or tomorrow, but one day. We will work our way up to it.” I slip my pinky inside, and she moans and pushes down, starting to ride my finger. “You are greedy for it, aren’t you? You like all your holes filled. You’re a little slut for me, Sarah. You gonna let me fuck all your holes?”

  “Yes, they are yours.” She squeezes her thighs as she thrust onto my hand.

  “Damn right, they’re mine. You’re mine. You saved this body for me.” I pull out and drop her legs onto the bed and crawl over her body, straddling her head. I grab the headboard and look down. “Suck me.”

  She stretches up and runs her tongue down the length before sloppily taking me between her lips. My body shudders from the first feel of her searing mouth around my cock. Leaning back, my eyes fall to her, watching her lashes flutter, and her lips stretch to accommodate me. When she places her soft amber irises on me, I nearly lose it.

  I hold her head down and start to fuck her face, pumping my cock in and out as hard and deep as she will let me. Her nose hits my stomach, and my sack slaps against her chin. She can take me all the way down her throat.

  “I’m going to come,” I warn her. “Fuck! I’m going to come.” Gritting my teeth, I pull my saliva-drenched cock free and lift her legs, thrusting into her in one fluid motion. She cries out, and on the third pump, I come just like I said I would, and fill her up. My hot seed is dripping from her, soaking my path to take her more.

  I don’t stop. I keep pounding, fucking her through my orgasm. I don’t plan on leaving this bed all day and night. I want her pussy to cry from our lovemaking. Her golden-spun hair is fanned over the pillow, and every guttural groan that leaves her mouth is heaven.

  It means I’m doing something right.

  I slam into her as hard as I possibly can. I’m taking out every anger and stressor I had this week. It’s an abusive pace. Some would call it punishing with how hard I’m fucking her, but guess what? My ol’ lady fucking loves it. Her pussy is soaked, and she cries out for more.

  “This cunt feels so tight, doll. You were made for me.” I can’t take my eyes off her round tits as they bounce from our movements. Her hands are above her head, and her mascara is smudged under her eyes. That cherry gloss is ruined, smeared all over her cheek and chin.

  She’s debauched and famished.

  Just how I like her when we fuck.

  I spread her legs as wide as they can, watching the show that my cock and her pussy are putting on for me. It’s so riveting watching those pretty swollen folds suck me deep. Strings of my cum are on my cock, coating me with every stroke.

  She could be pregnant right now.

  And the thought of my baby inside her, growing, tying her to me, it makes me fuck harder. I want that. I need it. “Fuck!” I scream when I lose all control. I pull out and flip her over, smacking her ass until a bright red mark is burning the pale cheek.

  I press her head against the mattress with my hand and slide into her slowly. I brush my lips against her ear and groan from how good she feels. “I’m going to fill you up, doll. I’m going to have you leaking my cum for hours, for days. Every time you walk, you’ll feel me there.”

  “I always feel you,” she manages to say even though her lips are conflicted against the mattress.

  I know what she means. I always feel her too. In my mind, my body, my soul, and in my damn bones. She’s everywhere. Sarah has made my soul her house, and she is the one that anchors me home.

  I kiss her cheek, neck, and lick down her spine. I stop fucking her. I need more. I want to see her. I flip us again and turn her around until she is straddling me now, staring at me through dazed eyes and red cheeks. The imprint of the sheets shows on the side of her face, and I grin, loving that I somehow leave these marks on her.

  Her hands fall to my chest and skim over the scabs on my heart. “I’m so full in this position.” She bites her lip when I thrust up, letting her get a feel of how good this is going to be.

  “Ride me, doll. Show me how you want to fuck me.”

  She stays still, pressing her tits together from taking leverage on my chest with her hands. The pressure they bring, the small palms are nothing. I can barely feel the weight, but I’d know the touch anywhere. The way the warmth awakens me, only one woman does that, and she is right in front of me.

  “I might be bad at it.”

  I cup her jaw with my hand and shake my head. “That’s impossible. Everything with you feels better than anything I’ve ever e
xperienced. It’s you and me. It doesn’t get better than that. Ride me, Sarah.” My hands fall to her flared out hips, settling in that curve.

  Made just for me.

  I slide them up her lithe body, cupping her tits in my palm. There is a suntan line from her bikini. Her chest is tan, and her breasts are pale. The triangle shape of the bikini covers each mound, and the skinny straps tie up and around her neck.

  Mmm, I can’t wait to take her swimming because I know what is underneath that swimsuit.

  I roll her nipples between my fingers, and she takes the first rock. It’s slow and trepidatious, getting a feel for me being so deep inside her. Sarah rocks faster and cries out when I brush that spot inside her. She stops, staring at me with wide, surprised eyes and then, she does something I don’t expect—she fucks me.

  Really grinds her pussy against my cock.

  My hands fall to the crook of her hips again, holding tight. I never take my eyes off her. I want to soak up every expression she makes. Her pussy is getting wetter. Our skin slaps together, my sack pulling tight to my body, warning me about my next orgasm.

  “Oh god, Reaper.” She squeezes my pecs and rocks faster. The bed slams against the wall, and this time I’m the one shouting, holding back my cum as long as I can until I feel her clench around me.

  “Come with me!” I shout. “Sarah!” I can’t hold back anymore. She’s too good. “Damn it! Oh, fuckkk! Take it, doll. Take it.” I press her hips against me harder, continue to violently rock, and sneer to keep myself from blacking out. The edges of my eyes blur, but I have to see her fall apart.

  Just like I am.

  “Reaper!” she screams, leaning back as the first wrack of her body vibrates my cock. She throws her head back, the sweaty ends of her hair tickle my thighs, and her hands grip my legs. Every spasm of her pussy buckles her body, and another spurt of cum leaves me as she milks me.

  She falls forward, laying her cheek on my chest. We don’t move; we don’t dare to. We lay in silence, trying to catch our racing breaths as the thunder rolls outside, threatening a storm. It won’t compare to the hurricane that just happened in here.

  Sarah is a force to be reckoned with.

  My cock is still inside, and she kisses my chest, the spot that almost killed me. It reminds me of Bullseye when he throws his darts.

  “Next time, I want you to wear my cut.” Just the thought has my cock twitching in her cunt.

  “Oh?” She reaches for it and slips it on, the lapels covering her tits. “How about right now?”

  Fuck yeah, I’m one lucky son-of-a-bitch.

  22

  Sarah

  “Sarah, you got a package!” Poodle slams the metal door and shakes it. “It’s light.” Next, he presses his ear to it. “Silent. What did you order? Is it panties?”

  Skirt scuffs Poodle on the back of the head. “Don’t ask Reaper’s ol’ lady about her panties!”

  “I was just wondering!”

  “Don’t wonder about her panties, Poodle!” Reaper shouts from the basement.

  Poodle’s jaw drops. “How did he hear that?”

  “It’s his ol’ lady. He has bionic hearing when it comes to her,” Pirate slurs, taking another swig of rum. I worry about him. He always has a bottle of rum in his hand. There isn’t a day when he isn’t drinking. What’s his story? What happened to him to make him want to drink his life away?

  I snag the box from Poodle’s hands and tuck it under my arm. “Whatever you think it is, pretend it is because I’m never telling you a thing.”

  “Mean. Just mean.” Poodle drops his head as he walks toward the bar like his favorite toy got taken away.

  “Stop wondering about her panties, Poodle!” Reaper yells from the basement again.

  Poodle scoffs, spreading his arm out to point at the basement door. “How?”

  I giggle and sit on the black leather loveseat. Hmm, I don’t remember ordering anything. Maybe it’s from Reaper, and maybe it is panties or something dirty. With that thought, I tear the tape off and rip it right down the middle, excited to see the gift he got me, us. I grab ahold of the rough cardboard edges and spread the top open to see paper. I push it aside and freeze when the paper starts to turn red.

  Wet.

  Dripping.

  I swallow, trying to find the courage to open it. I’m afraid to see what it is. I lift my head from the box and look around to make sure no one is paying attention to me. My palms sweat, and my heart pounds against my chest, like a wrecking ball slamming against a solid, strong structure ready to break me down. Carefully, I pinch the paper that doesn’t have blood on it and move it to the side.

  Loud pants raise my chest when I see a letter that says, ‘I have something you love.’ It’s in a plastic bag, the paper clean and white, stark against the blood. I nudge the plastic bag out of the way and scream.

  I can’t breathe. Oh god, I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I shove the box off my lap, and everything slows. My vision blurs, my chest tightens, my lungs—I can’t feel my lungs working. The taste of my own blood coats my throat, and hot tears sting my cheeks. I fall off the couch and onto the floor. The wood rubs my knees raw from the force of the fall, and Skirt catches me around my waist, so I don’t fall face-first onto the ground.

  A few other brothers come and help me onto the couch. Reaper’s roar can be heard from the basement as he climbs the steps to get to me. His boots shake the entire clubhouse as he tries to get to me as fast as he can. He pushes all the guys out of the way and picks me up, lifting me onto his lap.

  “Sarah, what is it; what’s wrong?”

  But I still can’t think; I can’t figure out how to breathe. I point a shaky finger to the box, and Tool bends down to grab it. A few lumps of paper fall on to the floor, blood dripping off the corner of the box. Tool gives Reaper a quick glance and takes the Ziploc bag out where the letter is safe.

  “Holy shit,” he whooshes as one breath.

  “What?” Reaper growls. “Give it to me.”

  “No! Keep it away from me. It’s Boomer! It’s Boomer,” I sob. I do my best to wiggle my way out of Reaper’s hold, but he squeezes me tight. I’m trapped. I can’t run. I have nowhere to go.

  “Okay, okay. Tool has it. You’re okay. What is it? I need to know.”

  Bile inches its way up my throat when I think of the bloody finger in the box. “It’s Boomer’s finger.”

  “What?” Reaper sounds devastated and almost like he doesn’t believe me.

  “I’d know that finger anywhere. It’s the one that has the deep cut on it from the hook. The one time when you guys went fishing. He told me that story. It’s his favorite memory of you.” I remember sitting on my bed, watching TV alone when Boomer came into my bedroom. I was sixteen and had been with the MC for a few weeks. I was still scared. I didn’t trust anyone—not even Boomer. I had learned he was my brother, but that meant nothing. I learned long ago that trust is something so easily broken, so easily shattered, that the person does not matter. Boomer worked long and hard to get to know me, and when he handed me a can of pepper spray, I saw the gnarly looking scar. It was ugly and jaded, the scar huge and puffy because the only thing they had to stitch it together was another hook and fishing line.

  Reaper sets me down and kisses my forehead. I wrap my arms around my legs and place my chin on my knees, thinking about Boomer and where he could be. All this time, I thought he had left, but what if he has been tortured? Reaper picks up the box, and a trembling breath leaves him when he sees the finger.

  “There’s a message for you, Reaper.”

  I turn in the loveseat and see Tool on the ground, putting the paper together like it’s a puzzle.

  Him for her.

  “That’s it?” Reaper roars. “No! No. Absolutely not. I’m calling church. Meet me in the chapel, now!” he screams, kicking the box across the room. He bends over and takes my chin in his hands, giving me a hard kiss. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’m going to get
him back. I promise.”

  Whoever has Boomer wants me.

  And I’m going to give them what they want.

  I haven’t told anyone, but there is another sheet of paper in my hand that I’m hiding from anyone. It’s an address.

  And I plan on going.

  I give Reaper a nod, and a stampede of boots hurry to the chapel. I’m alone. The note for Reaper stares at me, mocking me. I wait a few minutes to make sure I’m alone, and when I know that I’m good, I punch the address into my phone and crumble the paper up then throw it on the ground.

  If I walk out this door, there’s a chance I won’t be coming back. It’s a chance I have to take. Boomer would do this for me. I have to do it for him. I leave my heart behind. Glancing over my shoulder, I stare at the door that Reaper is behind. My life has been so good, and at least I got a taste of what it was like to be with him, even if it was only for a little bit.

  I can die a happy woman knowing what it is like to have Reaper’s love.

  I open the front door as quietly as I can, take one last look at the home that’s been mine for the last two years, and close the door behind me. When I turn around, I run smack into a chest, and a piece of cloth is shoved over my mouth.

  “Good girl,” the stranger says, just as my eyes roll back and the unknown takes me.

  “Sarah.”

  My name is whispered, and it echoes all around me.

  “Come on. Wake up, Sarah!”

  Chains rattle, and my head throbs. I wince when I move my neck and groan.

  “That’s it. Wake up, sis. Come on. I really need you to wake up.”

  Boomer. That’s Boomer’s voice. Opening my weighted lids, everything is fuzzy. It takes a minute for things to come into focus, and when it does, it’s something from a horror movie. It’s dark, really dark, with red lights every few feet. I’m in a warehouse of some sort, old rusted barrels sit on the ground around me, and large chains hang from the ceiling.

  “Sarah.”

  I whip my head to the right and see Boomer. His hands are chained over his head, toes barely dragging against the floor, and dried blood rivers down his arm from the man cutting off his finger. “Boomer!” I cry, tugging on the iron bracelets around my wrists. They’re tight, rubbing me raw. My skin tears and breaks, but my wrists do not come free. “Oh my god, Boomer. Are you okay?” I try to keep myself together. I try not to cry. I need to be strong right now.