by Danika Fox
Get a damn phone, I told myself, trying to shake off a semi as I opened the door and stepped inside.
I grabbed myself a cheap burner phone and paid the man behind the counter in cash a bottle of bourbon. The guy didn’t bother trying to make conversation, which I was more than grateful for as I made the walk back to the motel, going through the steps to activate the phone as I went.
A phone like this was perfect. It was almost untraceable—at least in the sense that there was no paper trail leading back to myself, which meant I could call without worrying about being identified. Usually, you’d use a phone like this a time or two and toss it in the trash. That’s why you called them burners.
As I walked out, I glanced over the lot again. Still no sign of anything being amiss. That was a good sign. The fact that I still hadn’t softened after cumming into Chrissy’s mouth was not.
When I got back up to the room, Chrissy was still locked in the bathroom, and that was okay by me. I really needed something to take the edge off and get my cock down, and since she’d been indulging since the limo ride, I figured a couple shots were the least I was owed.
I unscrewed the top off the bottle and took a nice, hefty swig, feeling the burn running down my throat as it went. It’d been way too long since I’d had a drink, and after all of this shit I sure as hell needed it. I’d just been shot at, chased from a parking garage, received the best blowjob of my goddamned life, and and all the while I was just trying to make sure she didn’t get either of us killed by the goddamn Russians.
Jesus, I still couldn’t believe that. I’d not only got mixed up with the Italians, but the fucking Russians, too. Seemed our club was a damn magnet for mafias lately. They say bad things come in threes, but I was hoping our second run-in would be our last.
I sat back down on the bed and dialed the number Don Falcone had given us in case of emergencies—one of the few things I could boast about was being able to remember shit like that without having to hear it a second time. Thankfully, Crush stuck as a nickname a little better better than Rain Man.
I dialed the number and waited, listening as it rang once, twice, three times before someone on the other end finally picked up.
“Who the fuck is this?” Don Falcone snarled. “And how did you get this number?”
“It’s Crush,” I said, sitting up a little straighter in bed. “Chrissy and I were attacked in the penthouse—”
“You think I don’t already know that?” he screamed, his voice trembling with each syllable. “Four of my best men are dead because of what happened today. And I swear to God, I’m going to make these bastards pay in blood.”
“Don Falcone,” I tried to interject, but there was no talking over a man like that.
“Where’s my daughter?” he demanded. “She better still be in one piece, or—”
“Chrissy’s safe,” I told him before he could run me over again. “We made it out of there without a scratch. Not one fucking hair on her head… but I need to talk to you about something.”
“Spit it out,” he snapped.
“They came in through the elevator,” I said pointedly. “Mr. Caputo told me that there were only three people in the hotel who had the key to use that—you, him, and me. I sure as fuck didn’t let the Russians in.”
There was silence over the line for a moment—palpable, thick silence that tugged at the pit of my stomach.
“Are you making an accusation, Mr. Crush?” he asked, enunciating each word, with special emphasis and disdain for my name. “Because if you are, you had best come out and say it.”
“I know you didn’t have anything to do with it,” I said, “but Caputo—”
“Lonnie has been my right hand man for years,” the Don said. “Ever since we were know-nothing little shits like you. That man is more loyal to me than any piece of biker garbage can even hope to come close to being. I trust him with my life, and before you think about bringing that shit to me, you had better have something to back it up, are we clear?”
I felt the tightness in my chest growing, heat creeping up the back of my neck the longer Falcone continued to berate me. I knew that any other time I would have hung up on this piece of shit, but I had to remember what was at stake.
Goddamn, this girl was under my skin.
“There’s something else,” I said, managing to get a word in when he stopped his tirade in order to breathe. “Something that goes back to what Chrissy said last night.”
“I don’t have all fucking day,” Falcone snarled.
“The men who attacked us were definitely Eastern European or Russian. I can’t be completely sure which one. But it lines up with her description of the shooters at Earthly Delights.”
Silence once again reigned between us, and I could imagine that the Don must have been thinking what to do next. If the implication here was that the Russian mob was gunning for Falcone, then that meant a hell of a lot of trouble for him—hell, this could mean all-out war between their factions.
“If the Russians are behind this, then you can be damn sure I’m going to find out,” he finally said. “But right now, the only thing you need to worry about is keeping my daughter safe, is that clear?”
“Crystal,” I said, doing the best I could to keep the sarcasm from my voice as I leaned back on the bed.
“Now, tell me where the hell you two are so that I can have some of my men pick you up and get you to a safe house.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I quickly replied. “These guys knew where we were, and knew exactly how to get in. We’re at the Golden Grove Motel, but you’re not going to tell a soul. Lets keep this between us, and make sure nobody comes knocking.”
Falcone grunted, obviously annoyed, but then heaved a sigh. Made me feel triumphant as fuck. “Fine. Just remember what I said and keep my little girl from getting into trouble.”
“You have my word, Don Falcone,” I said, trying to put a little more respect into my voice. “I won’t let anything happen to her so long as I’m around.”
The call ended without another word and I let my breath burst from my nose in relief, leaning my head back on the headboard and closing my eyes.
At least that’s done with, I thought, letting my shoulders go slack for the first time since the penthouse. Now I just have to make sure Chrissy doesn’t do any more crazy until this shit is all cleared up and I should be in the clear.
It took me a moment to realize that the room had gone quiet, the sound of the faucet no longer drifting in from beyond the bathroom door. But it wasn’t until I heard the clatter of the doorknob turning that I decided to open my eyes. Part of me wished I hadn’t.
Chrissy stood in the doorway, her eyes locked on mine, and she wasn’t wearing a goddamned thing. My heart stopped, and I could feel my throat dry up instantly as she leaned against the doorframe, bathed in the golden light from the bathroom, a smile curling her lips. I knew right then I was about to be in some major trouble—trouble I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find my way out of, with the way she was staring at me.
I felt like a defenseless animal in the sights of a predator, trapped in a corner and about to be devoured—a pretty big switch from the way my sexual encounters usually went. No, I couldn’t let this go that far—or I’d be a hand short by the time all of this was over.
“Chrissy,” I said, about to protest before she held up a hand and began to close the distance between us, her hips swaying in a hypnotic way. Already I was beginning to feel myself stirring. “We shouldn’t.”
“We already did,” she replied as she reached the edge of the bed. “It’s just you and me in here… and I won’t tell if you won’t.”
She crawled closer to me I fought to keep my eyes from appreciating the way she moved…
I swallowed, trying to gather the strength to resist, to fight my own desire to have her, but the longer I looked into those hungry eyes the less I felt like I could deny myself.
“Fuck,” I hissed as her lips pre
ssed against mine once more.
15
Chrissy
I’d never in my life needed to feel someone against me more than Crush.
My fingers slid through his hair so smoothly, gripping it ever-so-gently as I pull closer against my hungry lips. I felt a fire burning in my chest, a radiant warmth that only seemed to burn hotter and hotter the longer I felt his body against mine. The feeling of his skin beneath mine was incredible—intoxicating more than any drink I’d ever tasted.
For the briefest moment, I thought that just maybe he wouldn’t kiss me back, that once again I’d be left hanging. But just when I had begun to pull away, ready to walk back into the bathroom and know once and for all that Jackson Monroe was truly not interested in me, I felt his hand on the small of my back, keeping me exactly where I was. He claimed my mouth with his own, gently taking my bottom lip between his teeth.
That’s more like it, I thought.
He shrugged off his leather jacket, and I peeled away his shirt once more and allowed myself to enjoy the rocky topography of his muscled torso, delighting in the warm sensation of him beneath my fingertips. I’d never get over how gorgeous he was, with or without his clothes on, and seeing him beneath me as I straddled his waist only made me want him more.
“You’re just doing this to piss your daddy off,” he gasped as I traced the cord of muscle in his neck with my tongue. “Aren’t you?”
As I lapped lower, grazing teeth over his chest, I looked up at him through my lashes. “Does it matter?”
The haunting pallor of his eyes fixed me for a moment. Then he brought a hand up to my cheek, fingers playing in my hairline.
“No,” he conceded. “It doesn’t.”
I mouthed each one of his abs, sweeping my tongue up along their crests, then down the valley between them and to his navel. A hot, harsh breath escaped him when I caught one of his hip spurs with my teeth, then blew cool air across it. His hardness was throbbing against my chest and throat, swelling through his jeans. When he popped open his fly again, my jaw dropped.
Dear God. Did I seriously have that in my mouth? In the full light, his dick had to be at least eight or nine inches long, and thick enough that I could just barely get my fingers to touch my thumb when I wrapped my hand around it. With all the adrenaline coursing through me when we’d arrived, I didn’t even give it a second though… but now I was wondering if he was going to split me in half.
He gave a low, gravelly moan as I ran my fingertips over his length.
Then he slipped his hand further into my hair, grasped, and pulled me back down onto his cock. Good thing my mouth was already open.
I took him onto my tongue, savoring the taste of his velvety flesh. He smelled good—smelled like man in ways I hadn’t been exposed to in a very long time. The scent of him beckoned me, pulling me downward toward his base with every bob of my head, and the more I swallowed the more he seemed to have to give, filling out even further.
He slotted into the back of my throat, and I hummed my approval, undulating my tongue along the underside of his shaft. Crush gritted a curse between his teeth and threw his head back, his hips giving a short, involuntary buck against my gag reflex.
I didn’t mind. With a cock like this, it was an honor to choke. I could do this every fucking day and never get tired of it.
I pulled off a moment later, using my hand to stroke his saliva-slick member while my lips worked at his balls, brushing over them lightly at first just to watch him shudder and twitch, and then with more purpose. I fit my tongue along the seam between them and lapped, then took one into my mouth, sucking softly as I quickened the pace of my hand. Crush moaned, using his free hand to push his jeans farther down, while the other—still tangled in my hair—brought me up to his reddening tip again.
“Suck,” he commanded breathlessly, the head of his cock pillowed on my lower lip.
Hungrily, I obeyed.
“Oh, shit,” he snarled, helping me find a rhythm by taking control of my head, pulling at my hair so fiercely my scalp tingled. And yet all I wanted was for him to pull harder, to treat me rougher, to handle my curves the same way he handled the road on his bike.
I was getting so fucking hot for him. My pussy was buzzing with excitement. Crush was throbbing in my mouth, tasting like exotic spices, rich and creamy and…
I wanted more. If he didn’t stop me soon, I was going to suck him dry.
But he seemed to understand my desperation. With a single motion, he pulled me off him again, cupping my face in his hands to kiss my bruised and tender lips, dragging me up his body. Immediately, his thumb and forefinger found my nipple, plucking at it in a way that inspired gooseflesh all over me. I clamped my thighs tight around his waist, and he swallowed my resultant, desperate moan.
Crush’s mouth clutched at my throat, then lower to the hollow between my collarbones, then lower still to the valley between my breasts. He laved a hot path with his tongue to my pebbling nipple, took it between his teeth, and bit down until it pinched.
An arc-flash of pleasure struck and smoldered in my core. I threw back my head and cried out as he flicked his tongue hard and fast over the aching nub.
“Crush…!”
He chuckled, sweeping his lips back up my chest, my neck, and toward my ear. “Not ‘Jackson’?” he asked.
I squirmed, settling my pelvis against his to saw along his pulsating hard-on. “Crush,” I whispered, an affirmation and a plea. “Crush…”
There was no stopping him. His strong hands were gripping my hips and moving me slowly into position. With one smooth, wanting thrust, he was inside me, breaching my heat until only an inch or so of distance remained. I saw stars.
I screamed out as he hilted entirely. Now there was nothing between us but sweet friction, and panting breaths as we traded thin, choking whispers.
“Chrissy,” he breathed, nuzzling at my face, rubbing his coarse stubble along the fine grain of my skin as he pumped into me from below. I fell forward onto my hands, my hair cascading around us both, wreathing our faces as I kissed him harder, more ravenously than I’d ever kissed any man before. And maybe I never would again.
At Crush’s urging, I moved in tandem with him, finding our synchronicity between our stuttered cries. He hand his hands all over me, rough palms abrading my flesh, squeezing, slapping, leaving bruises I knew would be in the perfect shape of his fingertips. He held me like he owned me, fucked me like I was his. And for a few moments, I was. I was his, and no one else’s in all the world.
“Fucking hell, woman,” he gasped, sitting up and taking me with him. He dug his fingers into my shoulder blades, biting his lip as he worked his cock into the most delicious reaches of me. “Gonna be hard not to come in that pussy, you keep riding me like this…”
“Uh-huh,” I said, swiveling my hips on the way down to his balls. His lashes fluttered, and I fucking loved it. “That’s the plan.”
Crush barked a laugh that was half a horny, primal growl. “You better mean that, baby. ‘Cause I’m not joking. You keep squirming like that, and I’m going to fill that pussy up to the brim, and then I might just keep going because goddamn, you’re so fucking sweet.”
My face colored fiercely. No man had ever talked to me that way. Ever. What came out of his mouth now wasn’t just dirty—it was outright filthy. And it was getting me so incredibly wet I could feel it dripping down onto the sheets below him.
“I can take it,” I told him, certain that I could. I was on the Pill, and I trusted him. Whatever complications there were to Crush, I knew he’d never let anyone or anything hurt me. Not even himself.
“If we do this,” he said, breath hitching as he drove up into me, “then we do it my way.”
And he turned me so my back was to him, pushed my face into the bedspread, and got up on his knees to mount me, spearing into me deep and hard.
The stretch was sensational. He felt even bigger like this, like maybe he was more than I could take, but oh, God, I did
n’t want him to stop. I slapped the mattress, clawing at it as Crush pulled my hair, forcing my head back and drawing from me a strangled wail.
“That’s it,” he huffed, spreading my knees wider so that my chest was fully pressed to the bed, leaving my ass the only part of me still in the air. “Scream for me, Chrissy. Tell me this is how you like to be fucked.”
It was. I’d never known it before now, but being helpless to his need… the recipient of overwhelming pleasure… yes, this was how I liked it. This was how, all these years, I had needed to be fucked.
“Yes,” I hissed, biting my lip as Crush pistoned into my sweet spot. “Oh, God, yes. This is how I like to be fucked…”
Groaning, he slid his free hand over my ass and down my hip until his fingers could spread the slick seam between my thighs. I gasped as he found my aching bud and flicked his fingers up and down it, then in circles, pinching it softly and then coaxing it all the way out from under its hood.
“I’m not coming until you do…”
I nodded. All he had to do was keep the pressure up, and I’d have no choice.
“Oh, sweet Jesus, Chrissy—this pussy is so wet. You sure you want me to make it wetter, baby?”
I clenched the sheets hard in my hands, biting at the threads. “Ohh, fuck yes. Please, Crush, don’t stop…”
I wiggled, trying to increase the friction of his cock stretching me and his fingers tapping a staccato beat against my clit, and felt Crush thicken in response. He twitched inside my channel, and I yelped.
“Close,” he warned. “Goddamn, woman. Nobody’s ever got me as worked up as you…”
The ecstatic tattoo of his fingers on my bundle of nerves reached a crescendo, and for a moment time seemed to stop, to condense, to form a thicket of silence all around me just before it shattered with my scream. I thrust my body back against him, taking him balls-deep, letting my pussy work and milk him as I writhed in the throes of an unyielding orgasm.