by Forgy, M. N.
His hand raises, and the words of rejection lodge in my throat as his hand gently grasps the back of my neck.
He slowly begins to lower his lips to mine, stopping short.
“Tell me no.” His voice is guttural. My eyes flick back and forth between his brown irises.
“Why?”
He swallows hard, but doesn’t reply. I don’t want to tell him no. What happens if I tell him yes? Why does he want me to tell him no? The string of thoughts slips through my mind briefly.
“Yes.” My heart slams against my chest so hard with adrenaline a harsh breath escapes my lips.
His brows pinch together like he’s in pain.
“You dumb girl.”
His lips devour mine, his tongue coaxing into my mouth like the Devil himself, sliding against mine in a way I can’t deny. This is so bad, so wrong, yet it feels so right. He growls into my mouth and I inhale sharply, taking in his breath of danger and sin, filling my world of innocence and justice, with something dark and unholy. My eyes open and I watch him; his brows are furrowed angrily, his breathing harsh.
The taste of him sobers me, but the world that was once blurry doesn’t become any clearer; if anything, everything just got a whole lot more confusing. His other hand rests on my hip, my breath becoming sporadic from the contact. My eyes lock with his, and the hand on my hip slowly slides under my shirt. His fingers skimming along my stomach, my body trembles in reaction. I open my mouth to object, but he stifles my words with his tongue diving into my mouth, his large hand taking the leap and grabbing my left tit. My nipple hardens painfully, my body warming between my legs in a way I have never experienced. My eyes close, enveloping me in a world of make-believe, his lips feeling perfect against mine, his hands up my shirt making me crave more. I am so lost. So drunk on lust. So conflicted. I want to disappear into the dry air of Las Vegas, free of judgment and rules.
He brings with him a course of adrenaline that my body eats up, and is attracted to like no other. An addiction; one taste and I'm hooked. Judgment and reality out the window, my only focus is finding that heart-racing, world-stopping high.
A car passing by honks its horn and I jump out of my blind lust, out of temptation and into reality.
What am I doing?!
I put my hands against his hard chest and push him away, our lips trying to stay connected despite our bodies' departure.
He finally steps back, his tongue sliding against his bottom lip like he can’t get enough, his eyes glazed over.
“That was a mistake,” I whisper, rolling my lips over one another. What the fuck did I just do?
I swipe my hands into my hair. He’s vile. A murderer. A ruthless Outlaw. Yet, I find him unbelievably attractive, and interesting. It’s beyond infuriating, and irritating.
“Think it’s time for little girls to go home, Rookie. You don’t belong in my world,” he rasps. His words anger me more than ever, offending beyond comprehension.
“Fuck you, Zeek! I am an officer of the law, and you!” I point at him, words starting to slur. “You’re a criminal, one everyone around here seems to pussyfoot around—”
“Everyone except you,” he interrupts. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?” he whispers, his head leaning back, eyes gleaming down at me. His question is laced with so many emotions, and I'm not sure how to answer.
Truth is, I am afraid of Zeek. I'm afraid of him for so many reasons.
“Who says I’m not? You’re a bad guy, Zeek,” I mutter. Citizens and law enforcement are conditioned to fear him, what he represents.
He steps forward, his hands slipping into his jeans pockets.
“I could be a good guy,” he whispers, looking at me as if he’s trying to tell me something. His hair falls in his face, his eyes peering at me from underneath. He’s so handsome, so ruggedly good-looking, and strong. If I follow him, his footsteps would lead into the darkness, a side of the world that would surely scar me, bleeding me of any hope that love does exist.
I shake my head, my brows furrowing. “Your record would suggest otherwise, Zeek.”
He chuckles and looks down, like my words pain him. That I marked him a criminal without really getting to know him, and it hurt. Bile rises in my throat at the thought, my chest aching that my words were so cruel.
“Yeah, well, nobody said being a good guy was ever fun. I do what I do, it’s who I am.” I scoff in response, my eyes rolling. “Ya know, Rookie, not all law enforcement are so-called good guys.” I wince, not sure what he means by that. “We call you guys fucking pigs for a reason. You’re greedy, dirty, and unreliable.”
“Just leave me alone,” I whisper, my head spinning. I turn, racing up the steps to my door, needing to escape him.
“Fuck this.” He sounds as if I’m a waste of time, cutting me. His defeated posture now arrogant, he's back to the Outlaw I was trained to know.
I unlock the door and slam it behind me. My chest heaves up and down, and tears fall from my eyes.
What am I doing? Why am I doing it? I know it’s bad. I worked so hard to get where I am, and I’m throwing it out the window by flirting with the dark side. I am the light, I am the one who makes peace, yet I am getting wet at the thought of exploring the toxic world of an Outlaw.
Chapter 5
Jillian
Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!
Groaning.
Head pounding.
Body aching.
I roll over and slam my fist onto the alarm clock until it shuts up.
The sun blazes a trail of heat right across my face, causing me to wince and pull away from it.
Jinx meows, jumping on my bed. I got him when I first moved into my house. He’s a black Persian kitten. I named him Jinx after the cat in my favorite Halloween movie—I love Halloween.
He meows again, wanting breakfast. Well, looking at the clock, lunch.
“All right, all right,” I respond, throwing the blanket off.
My house is small, but it's perfect for the two of us. My bedroom is simple, with shades of purple and gray. My queen bed is made out of recycled barn wood, with a matching dresser. Across from my room is my bathroom, which I hand-decorated in shades of blue.
Stepping out of my room, I pass by my study, which is just a small space that makes up the other side of the living room, before coming across the front door and living room. I grab my mail that the mailman pushed through the front door before heading into the kitchen to get Jinx’s food.
“Bills, and more bills,” I mutter, heading into the kitchen. My kitchen is little, the appliances not top-notch, and the gray granite countertop is chipped in some places. The wooden floor is scuffed bare in some spots, showing the wear from the previous owners. A lot of people would stick their nose up at this place, but I love it. It shows character, tells a story.
“There,” I groan, pouring kibble into a bowl. I grab a box of cereal—actually getting a bowl and milk is too much work—and head back into my room. Sitting on the bed, I stuff my hand down the cereal box, and like lightning, memories from last night strike me. Pulling my hand free of the box, I rub my bottom lip with the pad of my thumb. He kissed me. I had been kissed twice in my whole life before last night. Once on the playground when I was younger—it was a dare. The other on prom night by Mike Maddox, which was sweet and simple. I thought it was perfect until Zeek kissed me last night, and then I realized what a kiss really felt like. It was wet, and warm—sexual. Almost angry. My whole body responded in ways I couldn’t understand. I felt on fire, but didn’t want the burn to subside. I could feel that kiss in my fingertips, my toes. My chest ached, and my lips begged for more. It was exhilarating. But why did he kiss me? Did he think I would have sex with him? Did he think I wouldn’t expose what I saw if he wooed me? Is he attracted to me?
Shaking my head, I grab some cereal and pop it into my mouth. The thought that Zevin DeLuca is attracted to a sheriff is ridiculous. The thought that I might be attracted to him absurd. He’s an Outlaw, selfish and deem
ed beyond saving. That’s what I was taught, what I was programmed to believe by the best of trainers. Hell, you don’t have to be in law enforcement to see that the Sin City Outlaws, that Zeek, are not the type you can take home to your parents, or could trust around your kitten, for Christ's sake.
I roll my shoulders, trying to push the thoughts of last night and anything Zeek out of my mind. I should get a shower, maybe play with myself. It could help my racing thoughts.
Yeah, right, like that will help with the sexual frustration winding me up like a music box.
I have tried to have an orgasm for years, wanting to experience the addiction of sex, but it just leaves me annoyed and frustrated by the time I give up. I’ve read a lot of women go through life and don’t have orgasms, that’s its perfectly normal to never experience it... I pray I’m just doing something wrong, that Deputy Quick Dick was doing something wrong and I’m not one of those women who will never orgasm.
My cell phone rings, vibrating like crazy on my nightstand. Looking at the caller ID, it's Alessandra. I scowl, and accept the call.
“You picked up!” she answers cheerily.
“You sound shocked,” I reply, crunching on some cereal.
“Well, after everything that happened last night, I figured you would be pissed as hell. I had no idea that would happen, Jillian.”
“I had a pretty good idea it would.” I half-heartedly laugh.
“I’m really sorry. I’m so mad at Bunky for that, he really put us in a bad position. Did you have fun at all though?”
As confusing as I feel this morning, and even with the slight banging in my head, I did have fun last night. It felt good to see how the other side lives, to laugh and run. It was exciting, in a way.
“I did, yeah.” I smile thinking about it.
“That’s all that matters then,” she replies, the tone of her voice giving away that she is smiling big.
“Who did you leave with last night?”
“Oh, he’s nobody. I was just dancing with him, but then when everyone started freaking, he told me to follow him, that he would get me out of there. I looked for you and saw you running with Zeek, so I ran, too.”
I inhale deeply, my anger calming. Hearing that she didn’t just up and leave without thinking of me is a relief.
“Anyway, I wanted to call this morning to make sure you made it home okay, that you weren’t held captive in Zeek’s bed or something.”
My eyes widen with her words, but I can’t decide if it’s a scary thought or an appealing one.
“Yeah, I made it home fine.”
“Yeah? Did Zeek drop you off? How did that go?” she rambles. I want to tell her what happened, ask her what it means, but I decide against it. I was drinking, Zeek was drinking—it was nothing but drunken lust.
“Yeah, he dropped me off, and then took off. I’m sure he just didn’t want a dead sheriff where his club was last seen,” I scoff, but the thought could have really been the truth behind him saving me. It makes much more sense than the bad boy being attracted to the good girl.
“Hmm,” Alessandra replies, disbelieving.
“What?”
“Nothing. I gotta go, I work tonight. You working?”
“No, I'm off today.”
“Enjoy!” she sing-songs before hanging up.
I fall against my pillows, Zeek and his defined jaw outlined in perfect scruff coming to mind once again.
Stepping off my bed, I stride to my desk, waking up my computer. I type in 'Sin City Outlaws', and Zeek’s mugshot is the first thing that pops up. Just seeing his face makes my heart beat faster. His hair has fallen in his eyes, a villainous grin fitting his face. Those eyes of danger and temptation are looking right back at me.
God, he’s so bad, but it fits him so well.
Zeek
“Zeek! Zeek!” My arm is shoved, waking me up. Giving a sideways glance, I find a naked blonde chick sitting on the bed.
“What?” I croak, sitting up. Grabbing the sheet, I wad it around my dick, trying to jog my memory of who the hell she is. I remember dropping of the rookie, that fucking kiss, the way her tit fell into my hand like she was made for me—all of it strings in my mind. I was fucking horny as hell, and angry as a beast with blue balls.
My forehead wrinkles, my lips pressed into a straight line. That dumb bitch. She thinks she knows me based on shit she was told and trained to know in her job, but if only she really knew anything about me, she’d never have kissed me.
My head aches, my mouth dry.
I came back to the club, drank way too much—not enough, though, because I swore to God I could still smell her on me. So I grabbed the closest bitch and brought her back here, proving to myself that I'm an asshole.
An animal without emotions.
“Hey, so I gotta go soon. I was curious if you wanna...” She bats her lashes, her eyes skimming my torso. Her face looks like someone left crayons out in the sun, with her makeup running down it. Man, I must have been wasted to bring that back here.
“No,” I snap, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“No?” she asks with disbelief. “But we had sex last—”
“No, we fucked. Big difference.”
Her face scrunches, her mouth popped open like I just dismantled her honor.
“Excuse me, but you came on my face! Look at my—”
“Look...” I stop, her name not coming to mind. Did she even tell me her name? “Whatever happened last night, it didn’t mean anything.” I should just get this shit printed on business cards or something, hand them out after every fuck. It would save a lot of hassle.
Shaking her head, she looks at the door. “Right. I get it. I’m used to this routine by now. Anyway, I put my name and number in your phone.” Her eyes dart to the dresser, my phone sitting on the side. My brows furrow. For fucking real?
“You wasted your time.”
Bending down, she grabs a pink dress and slides it over her head. It looks like a night gown.
“We’ll see.” She smirks, grabbing some pink heels off the floor before leaving.
Tangling my hands in my hair, I fall back on the bed.
“What the fuck!” I yell, my mind flying back and forth. I tell every chick I take to bed not to expect anything the next morning, and they go to bed with me thinking what? That they’re the one who is going to fix me?
Something sweet wafts from my wrist, something unfamiliar.
I smell her, the rookie.
Her scent lingers on my skin.
It’s annoying me.
Making me fucking furious, even.
I thought drinking and fucking would erase the smell, the feel of Rookie’s soft skin, the softness of her hair between my fingers, from my mind. It didn’t. So I put my cards on just sobering up, blaming it on the booze and wanting what I can’t have, what I shouldn’t have… But I still want her. I fucking want a deputy sheriff. I’m losing my goddamn mind.
Ever since the day I saw her, she’s been on my mind, and I can’t fucking escape her. From her brave tone to her rippling weak stance. The way she looked at me and I suddenly felt like I was kicked in the balls. I was raised to be a killer; I don’t have time to deal with bitches.
I still smell her on me, taste her innocence in my mouth. She smelled clean, like fresh laundry.
Shower. I need a shower. A cold one.
Throwing the blankets off me, I high-tail it the adjoining bathroom, turn the water on cold and step in. The water feels like razors, pelting into my back, but my dick is as painfully hard as it was last night. Grabbing the nearest shampoo, I dump a bunch in my palm and lather it up in hopes to wash her from my skin, and mind.
She’s a sheriff, fucktard, one who wants to put you behind bars. She is one of them, and would step on you in a heartbeat. In the end, I just want to fuck her, my dick is just tired of the same ol' pussy around here. It wants a challenge. That has to be it.
After jerking off in cold-ass water, and with the thought of De
puty Jillian Adams still lodged in my memory, I give up and get out.
I wrap a towel around my lower half, and open a drawer for a pair of clean clothes. My rosary beads shift in the back of the drawer as I shuffle through the shirts. Grabbing the beads, I let them slip between my fingers. My mother gave them to me when I was a kid.
“Zevin, wear these when you feel like you have nobody else to turn to, are backed into a corner without answers. You pray, son, you grip those beads, clutch that cross and pray for forgiveness, for the answers. Because whatever you’re thinking, whatever demon your father implanted in you, boy, will surely guide you into the flames of hell.”
A knock sounds at the door, and I slam the drawer shut along with the memories of my mother.
“Hey, brother,” Felix greets, stepping in.
“Sup?” I jut my chin out.
“You all right?” He lifts a brow in question.
“Yeah, why?”
“You came back last night, and were just hell-bent on something. I couldn’t tell if you were angry or happy, but you were off the fucking charts.”
I shrug, not really remembering much. “Just tired of wasting my time on shit deals. The Gentry boys getting pissed because we rejected their offer? That was some bullshit, and it ain’t over with!” I point at him, avoiding what's really bothering me. If I told him my head is spinning over a certain deputy, I’d have my balls cut off, my position as president of our club questioned entirely. That alone should be enough to stay away from some forbidden pussy.
“Yeah, that was messed-up. They knew better. How the hell are we going to make money on some farm trucks? They need to up their stealing game or something.” Felix laughs. I thought going into business with them boys, they had some high-end cars they were scrapping, but they didn’t. They had Ford trucks from the eighties, which were run to hell.
“They need to do something. That was petty.” I drop the towel and pick my clothes up from the floor, smelling them for cleanliness. They’ll do.
“Dude, can’t you wait to change until I get out of here? I’ve seen your dick more than I’ve seen mine, I swear.”
