Judgment Road

by Christine Feehan

  The third orgasm had her entire body shuddering with pleasure, but her hands fisting in his hair, trying to pull his head away. "You have to stop." He had to or she was going to go insane. She'd lost the ability to think properly or reason, she could only feel, and her body couldn't keep up with his wild tongue.

  His head came up as if scenting something trying to deprive him of his prize. She looked into those blue eyes, so dark now, so wild, and he looked terrifying in his intensity. His face was slick with her, and that just added to the sensual, wanton lust stamped so deep in the lines there. "Belongs to me. All of this body. All of you. You take what I give you."

  She couldn't. She couldn't. Anya shook her head, and then his mouth was back and he was once again taking control of her body and mind. Every word reverberated through her mind, bouncing off the walls until she was wailing again, his teeth raking her clit, sending her flying.

  He stood, still wedged between her thighs, his eyes holding hers as he leaned down, caught her bra in one hand and ripped the stretchy lace right off her, exposing her breasts. Keeping his eyes on hers, he began to slowly pull his colors off, folding them neatly and setting them aside.

  "Understand what's happening here. You're in my world. That means you live by our rules. This is done, you don't whine or cry or give me grief. When I say it's over, it is. You got that? I need you to say you understand."

  She did. She so did. He was on board with the one night of pure, blazing sex, although it was daytime, but what difference did it make? This was so perfect. She needed this desperately. All those nights of looking at him, wondering what it would be like, and it was so much better than she'd imagined. Better, and yet, terrifying. She couldn't possibly keep up with Reaper's sexual needs. He was truly beyond her imagination.

  "I understand. No whining. I promise."

  She couldn't look away as he stripped. She felt exposed, vulnerable, her body throbbing with aftershocks, shuddering with anticipation. His body was rock hard, but covered in scars. So many. Tattoos slithered up his chest and curved over his arms. They were beautiful. Exquisite work. She wanted to explore every one of them, taste his skin, trace his muscles with her tongue. His cock was amazing. Beautiful. She wanted that too.

  He didn't remove his boots or jeans, just pushed them down, caught her ankles and rolled her over, yanked her hips up so she was on her hands and knees, and then drove into her. Hard. Pushing through tight folds, so her body was forced to accept his invasion. The feeling of fullness was shocking. Stretching, burning, streaks of fire, it all was the most amazing sensation she'd ever felt. Her heart pounded. Her breasts jolted with every hard thrust.

  He wasn't gentle. Not his hands, fingers digging into her hips, controlling every movement, forcing her body back into him, pushing her away and then slamming deep. Over and over. Her arms couldn't hold her and she dropped to her elbows, but he held her hips mercilessly, his cock a ruthless piston.

  The fire was scorching hot. Every stroke hit a spot deep inside that sent waves of pleasure rolling through her. There was no air to breathe, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the way his cock ruled her, the way it sent fire storming through every cell, building, building. He was so hot. His heartbeat thundered through her, felt through her tight muscles as his body raged in hers.

  There was no holding back when the tsunami came, roaring through her, sweeping him along, his cock swelling, pushing at the sensitive tissue, striking like a hot iron, branding his name deep as she cried out, nearly sobbing as he emptied himself, as her orgasm drained him, milking every drop.

  She lay there, her head on the sheet, eyes closed, fists tight, while her heart pounded out a wild rhythm. It had been the most insane, perfect storm of pleasure, and she couldn't move. She'd heard of that. Sex so great one couldn't move, but it had never happened to her. No one had ever taken control of her body like that.

  Reaper lay over top of her for long moments, recovering his breath, his hands still tight on her hips, his cock pulsing as the little aftershocks shook her. Then he withdrew and she collapsed forward. He let her, standing there, pulling up his jeans. She heard the zipper. She opened her eyes and saw his back. The tattoo that covered it, that same scary tree with so many branches, crows and skulls that was on his jacket. He caught up his jacket and without a word, left the room.

  Anya lay there on the bed. Alone. He hadn't even looked at her. Not one glance. She reached for the pillow and pulled it to her, holding it tightly. She knew what she was getting into. He'd told her. She'd seen enough of club life. The women vying for their attention. She'd just become one of them. He'd spelled it out for her too. It wasn't like he hadn't. He'd said not to whine or cry. She'd wanted this.

  She rolled over, wrapping her arms around her middle, staring up at the ceiling. She'd wanted this. So, would she do it all over again? Hell, yes. It had been that good. She'd wanted her one night of perfection, of wild, primitive, savage sex, and she'd gotten it with whistles and bells, and a million thundering orgasms. It wasn't like he hadn't been generous. She was a big girl and refused to cry over the abrupt way he'd left.

  Reaper wasn't a nice man. She'd known that too. He wasn't a hearts and flowers man. He'd made that very clear. She'd said she understood. She had to be okay with the fact that it was a one-time deal. It didn't matter how great the sex had been, probably for him it was like that every single time. For her . . . She put the pillow over her head. For her, it was the best sex of her life. So worth it. No talking, no bossing her with his attitude. She scored. Hot. Hot, hot sex with no strings. Hell no, she wasn't going to whine.

  She wasn't certain she would ever walk again. Every step would remind her of him. She felt like his name was burned deep inside her. Her breath caught in her throat. Had he used a condom? He had to have used a condom.

  Oh. My. God. "Tell me he used a condom," she whispered to the universe, trying to remember if she'd heard him tear the wrapper off one. Her blood had been pounding in her ears, roaring so loud she hadn't heard much of anything.

  No. She'd felt him. Every thick inch of him stretching her. Hot. Scorching hot. Burning her raw. Scraping her raw. She groaned and threw the pillow against the wall. She knew by the way his seed seeped out of her and coated her thighs that she'd been so irresponsible.

  "Damn it!" she yelled and rolled over, burying her face in the sheets. There was no getting away from that shame. She'd been too crazy, too needy. Too desperate for his cock to think about protection. To think about modesty. She'd acted just like the women who hung around the club, eager to be used.

  He'd carried her through the common room in just a bra and her jeans. He'd said something to someone, which meant she'd been seen. Did that mean, when she went to work tomorrow night, they'd all feel as if she were a fair target? Before, she'd been off-limits and no one in the club hit on her. She wasn't all that modest. She'd lived in shelters where there was very limited privacy, but she didn't want anyone to think she was going to be available to any other member of the club.

  She sat up, groaning as her body protested. What if he went back to the barbecue and everyone was talking about her right this minute? She couldn't blame them if they did, but she wasn't sticking around and waiting for one of the others to walk in and expect her to have sex with them.

  Anya reached for her bra and saw it was ripped to shreds, into two pieces, the scraps lying near the top of the bed. Sighing, she looked around for her top. He'd thrown it off of her. Where? She couldn't remember. She groaned again and buried her face in her hands.

  "You're a big girl, Anya. You knew exactly what you were getting into before he even spelled it out for you, so no whining. No regrets. You want every minute of this time to be burned in your memory." It was burned deep inside of her for all time. She would probably have a spontaneous orgasm just thinking about it. "Okay, think." She whispered it aloud because she had to keep her brain working when her body was still in meltdown. He'd kept hold of his flannel, and she spotted it scrunched
up in the corner. Very slowly, she climbed out of bed.

  She'd keep this memory, not because Reaper had made her feel special, just the opposite, but because she knew she'd never have sex like that again. Never. She pulled on his shirt. It was long enough to cover her and she didn't want to put on her jeans until she washed up. Washed him off her. Out of her. For a moment she stood there, pressing her thighs together. Squeezing her inner muscles as if she could keep him.

  "What are you thinking?" That was dangerous. That would lead to whining, and she'd promised. She'd meant that promise. She might want only one night for different reasons than Reaper had, but they both wanted the same thing.

  She washed, brushed her teeth and dressed in her jeans, shoes and his shirt. She'd need to get to her car, get money and purchase a decent bra somewhere. She had a couple of T-shirts that were clean, folded and stacked with another pair of jeans on her backseat right next to the two sketch pads that had Reaper's image drawn in a hundred ways. She left the bed smelling of sex and them. Reaper and Anya. Let his club deal with the sheets; however they did that sort of thing, they had far more experience than she did.

  She walked through the common room and thankfully it was empty. She spotted her shirt on the bar, where someone had picked it up off the floor and placed it in full view for everyone to see. She left it there. Everyone knew anyway. If they could be casual about sex and whatever else they did, so could she.

  Anya walked out into the bright sunlight, blinking a little. The two prospects who had been in the common room earlier straightened as she came out, but she just sent them a vague smile and kept walking. Hopefully, the next time she saw either of them, she'd be behind the bar working. She was safe there. She knew how to deal with anyone from behind the bar.

  She walked fast toward the garage. It was early in the day still. She could collect her money, hopefully the car, and get out to the Egg Taking Station. Thankfully, she had the night off. That was part of the reason she'd allowed herself to kiss Reaper the first time. She thought they'd have all night for his kind of glorious sex. Well, okay, if she was strictly honest with herself, she'd have to admit that once he put his mouth on hers she hadn't thought about anything but getting to a bedroom. Well, and getting into his jeans. Fast. Anywhere they were. She hadn't thought at all. She'd just felt, and that feeling had been spectacular.

  She had to get to a clinic. Fast. What the hell had been wrong with her that she'd been the world's stupidest woman and had unprotected sex with a biker? He was clearly very experienced. You didn't get that kind of experience by being careful. When she'd run, she'd left behind everything, including her birth control pills. She never had unprotected sex. Never. Pills against pregnancy and a condom to be doubly sure as well as protection against STDs.

  She pushed at her hair, reached into her jeans pocket and took out a scrunchie. He'd pulled her hair free the moment they were off the bike and she'd put down the helmet. He liked her hair. He seemed to like her body--until he was done with it. She pushed those thoughts away. She hadn't wanted a relationship any more than he did, and she wasn't going to blame him for something they had sort of mutually agreed on.

  The garage had a sign on it that said "Back in a few." That was the other thing she'd learned about the club. They would show up when they wanted, no apologies. They lived their lives free of society's rules, yet they seemed to have quite a few rules of their own. Her car was sitting inside, looking miserable. She reached under the tire well and pulled out the spare key she'd hidden there. Nope. Didn't start. Sighing, she took enough money for food and water and hopefully a used sleeping bag. She knew where there were a couple of secondhand stores in Fort Bragg.

  It only took a few minutes to hike up to Highway 1 and then she stood, thumb out. She got lucky. Really lucky. The huge black truck rumbled to a stop and she recognized the driver. Leslee worked at one of the local inns as a spa director. They'd met at the Egg Taking Station when Leslee was walking her dogs. The woman had been there several times and was very friendly, although she'd warned Anya repeatedly that it wasn't safe.

  Anya didn't know her well, but Leslee was the only person she could halfway call a friend. She'd come over to talk to her while Anya sat alone on a picnic table drinking water. Leslee had immediately asked if she needed anything and offered to pick up things in town when she found Anya was staying there. She smiled at the woman, thankful her ride was someone she knew.

  "Hey, lovey, where's your car?" Leslee greeted, steering the huge truck back on the highway. "I was surprised to see you."

  "It's old and gets cranky on me," Anya admitted. "Had to have her towed to the garage for hopefully a very little amount of work."

  Leslee studied her face. "Are you all right?"

  Anya opened her mouth to answer, but closed it again, giving the question some thought. Was she? She didn't know. She had quite a bit of money saved, enough to get her to another small town. If she didn't leave and continued to work at the bar, provided Reaper didn't get her fired now that he'd gotten what he wanted--what they'd mutually wanted, she reminded herself--she would have enough for a room or a studio, if she could find a rental.

  "Yes," she decided. She was all right. She landed on her feet because she took the time to plan. "My car is important so waiting to find out if it's fixable is difficult. I need a few things, like a bra." She tried not to blush. "And a sleeping bag. It's going to be cold without one."

  "You're going to camp out without your car?" Leslee glanced sideways at her. "Anya, you're a woman alone. I go out there with my husband and four dogs--two are big mastiffs. You've been lucky not to run into any drug deals going on, or someone really losing it."

  Leslee wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know. She tried to be as hidden as possible, discreetly using the outhouse and eating cold food so she didn't call attention to herself.

  "I don't quite have enough money saved to get into an apartment or room somewhere. I'm close." She'd saved all her wages so she had "go" money. Renting an apartment was out because of the paperwork. A room in someone's home, that might work, but she had to make certain she had enough to leave on a moment's notice.

  "Seriously, I don't like you going out there alone. I have a tiny house, but you could sleep on the couch, or we could make you a place on the porch that would be more private."

  Anya's heart clenched. Few people would have made the offer, especially since, when they were talking at the camp, Leslee had laughed about how small her house was. She shook her head. "Thanks, Leslee. Really, but I don't mind sleeping at the camp. I've been taking care of myself for a very long time. I just need some supplies."

  "I've got a little bit of time," Leslee said. "I'll take you to the thrift stores and then out to the Station."

  Reaper backed away from the bed, yanking up his pants, his gaze glued to Anya's body. What the fuck had just happened? Everything he was, everything he believed in was gone in one second. She'd done that to him. He couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. He could only stare down at her, his mind so chaotic he didn't even know who the hell he was. He slammed the leather through his belt buckle, desperate to touch her, his body refusing his command to step away, to obey him. That brought him crashing down to reality. He hadn't been under control. At. All. Anything could have happened to her. Anything. What the fuck was wrong with him?

  He kept backing up, a strange roaring in his ears. He couldn't catch his breath. His vision blurred. What had just happened? He never lost control. Never. A man like him couldn't afford to. His body had reacted of its own accord. Completely of its own accord. He hadn't told his cock what to do. He hadn't planned out a seduction step-by-step based on the woman and what he knew of her. This had been all natural. All real. What the fuck?

  He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, his heart pounding out of control. The pressure in his chest was enormous, pressing down on him, squeezing his heart hard. He lifted his hand to his jaw and rubbed it as he entered the common room. Both pro
spects turned to face him. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Anya's shirt on the floor. He bent and picked it up, sliding the material through his fingers in a little caress, wishing he was back in the room, holding her.

  "Watch her, but stay out of her way. Don't let her see you. Anything happens to her, you're both dead." He folded the shirt, placed it on the bar and strode out.

  He meant it. They knew it. At least he'd protected her. The prospects knew he wasn't a man to fuck with. They weren't slouches, either of them, both had attended one of the schools in Russia. He considered those schools for pussies. He could have done that standing on his head. Still, they were both lethal, and that meant while he got his head together she would be safe.

  He hadn't taken precautions. He hadn't even thought about taking them. He hadn't expected to burn until he couldn't think, until his body belonged to her, not him. What if he had killed her? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He could have killed her. He hadn't given her a gun or a knife. He hadn't cautioned Czar or Savage. He'd just taken her like a crazed bull, his mind a red haze, so far gone he could only feel.

  He had no idea how many women he'd had, but never once had that happened to him. Never. He straddled his bike and hit the road. Fast. He needed the wind in his face and the devil at his back. He could have killed her because he'd been so damned selfish he hadn't considered the consequences. It never occurred to him that he would be so out of control. That his body would have a mind of its own. She'd been so hot. Scorching, so tight, surrounding him with a silken sheath that had been so pleasurable it skated close to pain. He hadn't wanted it to end. Everything about Anya appealed to him.

  Her laugh. Her smile. That face. Those eyes. Her tits, so perfect, and he hadn't had time to explore what he could do with those. The way she kissed. Like fire. Like his. She hadn't even protested when he'd been rougher than hell, taking her like an animal, a savage beast gone mad. It had felt fucking great. Perfection.