Poodle

by K. L. Savage

  I want to ask her how rough she likes it, what she needs and wants because I have this shadow lurking in the forbidden depths of my desire, wanting to push the boundaries of what she and I are used to.

  Taking a chance, I press my finger in the tight muscle of her pucker and groan when I feel how tight she is. “Anyone ever been in here, sunflower?”

  She shakes her head, and I growl in approval. I pull my finger out and slide it back in, loving the low trills escaping Melissa. I need to be inside her.

  Now.

  I guide myself to her entrance with my free hand, and in one stroke I fill her pussy with my cock, filling her body in every way I can. Her heat grips me, her ass sucks my finger in deeper, and I’m still not getting enough. I slither my hand up her body and wrap it under her throat, stretching her neck back until those golden orbs are locked on mine.

  Sweat beads along her hairline, and the tip of her tongue flicks along her bottom lip. She looks high, dazed, like she doesn’t know which way is up and which way is down. I do this to her. Me. Every hard stroke of my finger in her ass and my cock fucking the soft channel of her cunt, whimpers fall from her mouth as I do my best to bring her that high we want.

  “Tighter,” she says, and the one word as my balls clenching to my body.

  I do as she says and tighten my palm, fucking her harder as the urge hits when I hear that choke of air.

  “Tight … er.” Melissa stutters the word again, gasping for breath as I apply more pressure on her airway.

  My palm engulfs her neck, my fingers touching her nape to constrict the blood flow. Her face turns red, and the veins in her neck bulge as she tries to breathe. I slide another finger into her ass and watch as the whites of her eyes greet me, as if she’s possessed. Slamming into her cunt, finger fucking her ass, it’s all too much for me.

  My toes curl, and I close my mouth over hers as I release the hold on her throat. The rush of blood and the sensations I’m giving her body, she keens and thrashes under me as a loud, and a screeching cry fills the room as she orgasms, milking the cum right out of my cock.

  “Fuck, fuck! Take it!” I grip her throat again, pumping my hips harder and deeper.

  “James! Oh, again, again. It’s happening again.”

  I squeeze her neck at the same time her orgasm hits and then let go, watching as the intensity heightens, loving when she crashes down. I lift us onto our knees and bring her head to my shoulder, pressing my fingers against her cheek. I take her lips in a slow kiss, pouring everything I feel for her in the moment.

  We’re tired, panting, and struggling to breathe.

  My hand is still on her neck, with a light caress, a barely there touch as I hold her face to mine so I can kiss her how I want.

  She groans when I slip my fingers out of her ass and with a grunt, my semi-hard cock slips out of her. My cum dribbles down her thighs while her asshole puckers, as if wanting my fingers again.

  I stand on shaky legs, my body like sludge from the best orgasm of my life. My vision swims, and it takes me a minute to get my bearings. There’s a light sheen of sweet coating her beauteous body. The light coming in from the window reflects off the perspiration and glitters, her flesh suddenly the finest of diamonds.

  If I keep looking at her, I’ll want her again. Her eyes are closed, breath even, so I can’t have her again. She’s sleeping.

  That makes me feel damn good.

  “Looks like you still got it,” I whisper to myself as I strut to the bathroom with a smile that hurts my cheeks. “Still fucking got it,” I throw my fist in the air to celebrate silently. I’m allowed. It’s been a long time. I feel like a new man. I glance at myself in the mirror above the sink and notice something I haven’t seen in a long time.

  Happiness.

  I wash my hands and then grab a cloth, dampen it with warm water, and go into the bedroom to clean between Melissa’s legs. She doesn’t move. Aiming the cloth to the laundry hamper that’s settled in the corner of the room, I toss it. I gather Melissa in my arms, and she searches for my chest.

  Her vanilla fragrance relaxes me, and before I’m too far gone in my dreams, I cover us with the comforter, close my eyes, and embrace my second chance at life.

  22

  MELISSA

  Every muscle in my body aches.

  Sex with Poodle is everything I never thought sex could be.

  It’s intense and hot.

  Those cut-sluts need to be jealous because Poodle has been holding out on them. He’s fucking amazing in bed. He gives me everything I need and more.

  And he’s all mine.

  “You’re blushing,” Sarah says as she sips a gin and tonic at the bar.

  Everyone is finally at Kings’ Club, and it’s busy. Tool and Juliette have done a great job in creating a classy chic, yet badass vibe to the business. It’s one way for the club to start making legitimate money along with the garage. Poodle told me a few nights ago that they forge documents for people who need it, which isn’t legal, but the club is doing a good service for people trying to escape bad situations. They give them new passports, driver’s license, social security card, birth certificate, and a death certificate because who the person used to be can no longer resurface.

  He told me they used to run guns and drugs, but all that ended when Reaper took over. They still do security gigs for hotels, and they own the plot of land the casino was on that exploded. They used to be in business with Moretti, and now they don’t know what to do with the lot. A casino? On the strip? It would make tons. They can always rebuild, but personal issues have gotten in the way.

  There’s plenty of time. Reaper seems to be happy with the money Kings’ Club is making, and the garage is doing well. Seems everything is on track to be alright. I want it to be.

  “I’m not blushing,” I finally tell Sarah and sip my Hurricane. Pirate knows how to make a damn good drink, and I’m not sure if it’s because he enjoys his job or because he has a heavy hand when it comes to alcohol.

  “Oh my God, look at those cheeks! They are on fire.” Sarah pokes my face and hisses, pretending her finger is burnt.

  “Shut up.” I swirl the cherry in my red concoction, and my skin comes alive with an electric buzz when I feel his eyes on me.

  That damn stare.

  “You got it bad,” Sarah giggles.

  “And you don’t. Oh, Reaper, I’ll do anything you tell me to. Oh, Reaper,” I mock her, and she gasps, throwing a small piece of ice at me.

  “I do not sound like that.”

  “Yes, you do.” Reaper kisses her cheek and wraps his arms around her, placing his hands on her stomach. I feel sad for them that after all this time they haven’t been able to get pregnant. They started IVF treatments, and now it’s just a waiting game.

  I hope they win. I hate seeing Sarah defeated.

  “You better hush, or I’m not going to do that thing that you like so much.” She holds her chin high, and Reaper growls in the nook of her neck. He must whisper something dirty because she’s blushing. “Stop it, Reaper.” She giggles like a schoolgirl, and it makes me smile.

  I turn around and give the couple my back as I really appreciate the atmosphere of the bar. Tool really out did himself. The place is amazing. There is a line out the door, and the place is packed. It always is when Juliette is going to sing. Tonight is different. It’s her first full night of singing, and everyone in Vegas has come to see the show.

  She’s made quite the name for herself in the city, and Tool couldn’t be prouder. He even made billboards and plastered her gorgeous face on them, her red-painted lips near a vintage microphone. He’s really brought in the business.

  Mostly males.

  Which Tool didn’t really think through, I suppose, when he posted her face all over town, so now he upped security and is constantly at her side to protect her. His alpha jealous streak works out for him because there are times when she gets on stage late, and her lipstick is just a teeny bit smeared.

  I
sit on the barstool and take in the low hanging lights; mason jars shine just bright enough to give the bar a sexy glow. The original hardwood floors are the sky soaking up the stars the mason jars cast. Small tables line the stage, and the round chairs surrounding them are made of plush velvet.

  The walls are painted black and the ceiling is painted a blood red color.

  While the place looks great, it’s nothing compared to the food.

  The kitchen door opens, and the waiter walks by me carrying the house special. A delicious burger and truffle fries. I want that. My stomach grumbles, and I look around the room for Poodle to see if he wants to sit and eat. I roll my eyes when I see him arguing with Tool. Do they ever just have a conversation?

  I get out of my seat, making sure to take my delicious drink with me, and step around a few people. Someone grabs my hand and spins me in his arms as music blares over the speakers.

  “Hey beautiful, you’re looking lonely. Do you want some company?” The man is handsome, tall, short hair almost buzzed to the scalp, which I don’t like, and his teeth are perfect.

  “I’m not alone. I’m just heading to my date now. Thank you, though.” I try and be polite and gently tug my arm away, but he tightens his grip. I wasn’t panicking before, but now I am. “Please let me go.”

  “I want you to dance with me.”

  “I don’t want to dance,” I spew through clenched teeth. “Let me go.”

  He yanks me to his body and cups my ass, thinking he can touch me any way he wants. “Don’t fucking touch me!” I scream, throwing my drink in his face. I thought doing that would buy me some time, but it doesn’t.

  He rears his hand back and slaps me across the face. My hand flies to my cheek. My jaw burns and aches. My eyes meet his, and I try to place where I know him, but I can’t remember.. This guy just attacked me.

  The crowd falls eerily silent from witnessing a man hitting a woman

  “You son of a bitch!” Poodle pushes the stranger, and the man drunkenly falls onto his ass. Poodle straddles the man’s chest and brings his right fist up, then his left, then right. He alternates each one, pounding the guy’s face until it’s unrecognizable. “I’ll kill you for touching her.” Poodle grabs the guy’s shirt and lifts him off the ground and then slams him down, the back of his skull slamming against the wood.

  The crowd roars for Poodle, chanting, “Kick his ass!” Their excitement falls short when the guy falls limp on the floor, not moving. A few groans sound in the group of customers, sad the fight didn’t last longer.

  The guy is officially unconscious, and there’s a room full of witnesses. This is bad. This is really bad.

  “If anyone says anything about this, they’ll have the Ruthless Kings at their doorstep. We’re more than happy to continue on with the night,” Reaper announces as Bullseye picks up the guy and carries him away, Knives right behind him.

  It’s so quiet I can hear the cars drive by on the strip. The patrons cheer and lift their beers. I let out a breath and hope this doesn’t bite us in the ass, especially Poodle. He cups my face, and I hiss when his thumb grazes over the exact spot the man slapped me. His eyes flare with new anger.

  “I’m going to kill that fuck. Tonight was supposed to be perfect. You deserve that much. Come on, let’s go to Tool’s office so I can clean up this beautiful face.”

  “Are you okay?” Tool steps in front of us. “I can cancel tonight and send every one home.”

  “What? No. I’m not going to have some drunk asshole ruin this for everyone. I’m fine. If you can place an order for a burger and truffle fries with an extra-large Coke, I’d be in your debt forever.”

  Poodle snorts and shakes his head, placing a kiss on my temple. “Leave it up to you to want to eat.”

  “I can do that, Mel. I’ll bring it to you in my office. Show starts in thirty.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” I stand on my tiptoes and kiss Tool’s cheek. “Thank you.”

  Poodle’s jealousy surges forward, and a thunderous rumble comes from him as he drags me backstage where Tool’s office is. I would smile, but it hurts too much to move my face. As he tugs me behind him through the red curtains, I notice how nice the back of the bar is. Usually places have boxes or something half-ass back here like maybe the building in incomplete, but not Tool. He made sure to make this place exactly how he wanted it.

  Poodle comes to a door that reminds me of what a cop’s office would look like inside the precinct. The door is plain mahogany wood, and the glass is frosted with a name I don’t recognize. “Who is Logan McGraw?”

  “That’s Tool,” Poodle opens the door and my brows shoot to my hairline. It’s dark with no window to bring in natural light, and because of that lack of heat from the sun, the room is really cold. The desk is piled high of paperwork, and there is a picture of him and Juliette next to the computer. Other than that, the walls are bare, and the floor has old, worn carpet. Tool must not have gotten around to updating this room yet.

  “Tool’s name is Logan? Huh, he doesn’t look like a Logan.”

  “What’s he look like?” Poodle asks as he rummages through the drawers to find a first-aid kit. “Sit, sunflower. Relax. Let me take care of you.”

  I sit on the couch and curl up my nose. It’s the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever sat on. It’s hard as a rock. “He looks like a Tool,” I deadpan him. Duh.

  “Do I look like a Poodle?” He pops his head above the table, and his voluminous hair flutters along his shoulders, answering the question itself.

  I stifle a giggle.

  He stands and palms the white container, flicking his hair over his shoulder. “Don’t answer that.” He gives me a crooked smile, and my heart is gone, fallen into the trap of his hands, and I never want it back. It’s his, and if the day comes he decides he no longer wants it, my heart will remain his. His thumb grazes my jaw, and I wince when I feel it starting to swell. It was a slap across the face, not a punch; how the hell does it hurt this bad already? “I want to kill that guy,” Poodle says, opening up the first-aid kit. His hands are shaking, his knuckles are bleeding, and he tries to open the alcohol pad, but his blunt fingers are too thick.

  I lay my hand over his to calm him and in a blur he has the back of my head cupped and his lips on mine, passionate and hot. He pulls away, robbing the breath out of my lungs, and in his wake, he leaves me with a pulse between my thighs. “God, the thought of losing you,” he says, laying his forehead on mine. “I can never lose you.”

  “I’m never going anywhere. It’s going to take more than an abusive drunk to take me away from you.” I lay another soft kiss on him, and he sighs in content, finally accepting that I’m here and safe, all because of him.

  He puts the packet in his mouth and tears it open, and when he inches toward my jaw with the alcohol pad in hand,= he has a guilty expression on his face that curls his lips down. “This may sting. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ve felt worse,” I admit, waiting for the pain to come.

  “I never want you to feel anything other than bliss,” he says, the low baritone of his voice is scratchy, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swipes the pad across my jaw. It does sting, but not for long. He lays his lips gently on my cheek, and when I tell you I’m nothing but a melted pile of goo, I mean it. “I hate that guy for doing this to you; he must have been wearing a ring. I should have been right next to you.”

  “I’m fine. You can’t protect me twenty-four seven, Poodle. It isn’t realistic, and who would have thought a drunk asshole would be someone to worry about? Not me, not after everything.”

  “His hands on you,” he utters through a firm, grim lip line.

  I swing my legs over his lap and wrap my arms around his neck. “What about his hands?”

  “They weren’t mine,” he states, cupping my ass cheeks with his palms.

  I’m still sore from earlier. My pussy, my ass, my throat; I feel divine. I want him to fuck me like that every time.

  My jaw hurts, but I te
nd to have a thing for pain apparently. I run my fingers down his chest. “You know, I think my hero deserves a reward.”

  One of his brown brows lift, the arch in direct line with the corner of his forehead, and it gives the mirage of an invisible string tugging it into that shape. “Is that so?” His eyes drop to my chest where a fair amount of cleavage hangs out of this dress. I wore it for him, to tease him, to make him want me. Even if all of my insecurities are screaming at me to cover up, the way he looks at me makes my decision worth it.

  We don’t have time to fuck. But maybe…

  I get between his legs and fall to my knees, and the carpet digs into my skin, burning me slightly. I rub my hands up his thighs. “Yeah, I think so. Don’t you?”

  His knuckles graze over my uninjured cheek, staring at me with all the love in the world. I hope one day he can tell me. My hands rub over his cock, long and hard against his thigh, that big dick just aching for my mouth to please him. Poodle unbuttons his pants and slides down his zipper, and I look toward the door to make sure no one is there. A thrill shoots through my body.

  What if we get caught?

  The door is unlocked, and anyone can come in at any time.

  I give Poodle my attention, and he’s gripping the base of his cock with one hand, stroking the inches with a tight grip. My eyes land on the bulbous head, the corona of the helmet, and my mouth waters to feel the spongy head in my mouth.

  “It isn’t going to suck itself, is it?” Poodle asks when I take too long to wrap my lips around his cock. I lean in to lick the pre-cum, but he pulls his cock away. I pout my bottom lip. “You think you deserve my cock after making me wait?”

  I nod, caressing the muscles of his thighs through the black denim jeans.

  He slaps the mushroom-shaped crown against my chin and then hits my bottom lip with the wide tip. I moan from the sensation, and Poodle takes the opportunity to push between my lips. Unlike most men, who place their hands on a woman’s head, he stretches his arms along the back of the gray sofa and gets comfortable.