by K. L. Savage
He spins me around and lifts my leg around his waist, his nose touching mine, as we breathe in each other’s ragged breaths. The wall next to us continues a steady beat, and the woman wails her passion, causing my nipples to bead and poke against my shirt. I’ve never been so turned on in my life.
Even the one-night stand that got me pregnant with Aidan was nothing like this. Whatever I feel for Skirt is on another level, one too difficult to understand and too high to jump off of to run away.
Skirt’s fire is the same as mine; a twin flame born out of the same heat and ferocity. It’s dangerous. Eventually, there’s a melting point.
Which one of us will it affect first?
“Dawn,” my antagonist gravels my name low in his throat, sounding like broken glass.
He’s a fighter, but he doesn’t have to fight me.
I melt first. Fuck it all. Fuck everything. I throw my arms around his neck and smash my lips against his and take control. The rough coarse hairs of his beard scratch along my lips and around my mouth. I feel raw, exposed, and I want more. His kiss burns just as much as his touch does, and the more I try to extinguish this passion, the hotter I become.
“Fuck,” he hisses, biting my lip and tugging it until there’s no more give, and it hurts to the perfect extent.
Just what I needed. Fuck that cock, Candy. Faster.
Bullseye’s dirty talk to one of the cut-sluts has me moaning into Skirt’s mouth, and my clit throbs for his touch. I rock against him, seeking the friction, seeking something to ease the ache he’s causing inside me.
“Ye have no idea what I want from ye,” he mumbles against my lips, licking the seam and outlining my mouth. I never thought that would be erotic, but it is. I want him to lick my entire body, set me ablaze.
“Tell me,” I beg, whimpering into his mouth as his cock slides over my clit. I haven’t dry humped since I was sixteen, and if we keep going like this, I’m going to come.
“No,” he says. “I want ye to listen to Bullseye and Candy fucking.” He pins my arm above my head and seals his mouth on mine again, rocking until my eyes are rolling back and my groans of pleasure are meshing with Candy’s.
His fingers dig in my side, and his kisses his way down my neck, sucking on a spot below my ear. I stretch my neck back, giving him as much access as I can. And then he pulls away from me, leaving me needy and in pain.
He rubs a hand over his mouth, and his cock strains against his kilt, so I know he wants me. “We need to stop. I—ye don’t need this. I don’t know—”
Before he can finish, I shove him in the chest, and he stumbles back against the window. I grab his cock through his kilt and he hisses, then I grip his chin in my hand and sneer, “You will not leave me aching. I haven’t felt like this in years.”
He pushes me off him and wraps his hand around my throat and squeezes. My hands wrap around his wrist as I suck in a lungful of air, then he slams me on the bed. “Ye don’t get to decide, Lips.” He bends down and kisses me, but I don’t kiss him back, which only makes him growl and kiss me harder.
I’m not sure of the dynamic we have going on right now, but it’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. He likes the fight, and I like to give it to him. I never got to fight before. I’m always subdued, and I don’t like to be.
There’s a difference between abuse and consensual roughness. With what has happened to me, I didn’t think I’d like another man touching me like this.
Skirt is letting me fight back where as Cohen, if I fought, made me taste my own blood from hitting me across the face so much.
“Fuck her harder, Bullseye!” Skirt yells to other side of the wall, and the sound of skin slapping stops for a second, before a giggle sounds, then they start back at it again; this time, it’s like they are in the same room. They must have gotten off the bed and Bullseye is fucking her against the wall. “Ye like that,” Skirt notices, keeping a tight grip on my neck as he cups my pussy. “I can feel how much ye want it.” He slides off my shorts, keeping his eyes locked on mine, waiting to see if I protest.
Again, there’s a difference between protesting and fighting for more.
When I don’t stop him, Skirt’s mouth parts when he sees my pink panties. His throat bobs, and for a split second the confidence drains from his eyes. His thumb presses against my clit, sliding the material over the swollen nub, my back bends and his hand loosens around my neck.
“Skirt!” I moan, shouting into the room, being loud on purpose. I want the other room to hear me. It fuels their passion, and the banging against the wall becomes quicker, and the faster they fuck, the quicker Skirt circles my clit. It’s been years since I’ve had an orgasm. Cohen never let me have pleasure.
I was always expected to wait for him on the bed after a fight, ass up face down, and he’d use me. So right now I’m extra sensitive. The sound of material tearing and a cold burst of air over my bare pussy has me glaring at Skirt, narrowing my eyes. “Those were my favorite pair.”
He lifts me by my legs and sets my knees on his shoulders. “I’ll buy ye more.” On those final words, he feasts on me. He growls into my cunt, tongue fucking my hole and flicking my clit with his fingers at the same time.
“Skirt, yes! I’m going to come. I’m going to come. Yes—” My stomach quivers and spasms. “Yes!” My hands run through his hair, and I grab a fistful and pull as hard as I can. I’m going mad with how good he’s making me feel. He yanks up my shirt, pulls my bra down, and smacks my tit with his hand, over and over until my skin is red and my nipple is swollen. “Skirt! Oh, fuck,” I cry out when my legs tighten around his neck, and I squirt into his mouth with a powerful orgasm that’s been oppressed for far too long. Skirt laps me up eagerly, sucking down every drop.
He pulls away, lips shining with my slick, and his beard has droplets of my cum scattered in the hairs. He kisses his way up my body, dipping his tongue into my navel, and then his hands cup my tits. My right breast is burning from the hard slaps he gave me, and he licks up my body, sucking a nipple into his mouth, then letting it go with a plop.
“So perfect,” he says to himself.
“Skirt.” My hands grip his hair as reins, and I pull him up to my face, then lick his beard and mouth to taste myself.
“My god, yer going to make me come licking yer cum off me like that.” He bends his head to steal a kiss. I snake my arm down and lift up his kilt, then scratch my nails along the inner part of his thigh. He trembles, but as I’m about to wrap my hand around his cock, he stops me, then rolls off.
My legs are parted, my underwear are ripped, my breasts are exposed and one is red from being hit, and he just … stops.
“Skirt—”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s not ye, it’s me. I—” He presses his palms against his forehead and growls. “Fuck!” He hurries out the door and slams it shut behind him.
I don’t feel used, so I have no reason to be hurt. If anyone should feel used it’s Skirt because I got off. Oh, man, did I get off.
I’m coming! I’m coming! Bullseye, oh, Bullseye.
Bullseye grunts and slams his fist against the wall, “Take it, you come slut.”
“Oh god…” I cup my hands over my face as it heats with embarrassment.
What the fuck just happened?
Chapter Ten
SKIRT
I’m avoiding Dawn at all costs today.
Whatever happened yesterday cannot happen again. Fuck, as if she couldn’t be more perfect, her pussy had to taste like heaven, and she loved to fight me just like I’ve been fantasizing for myself.
She attempted to grab my cock, and I was already so on edge I knew I’d come right in the palm of her hand, and then I got nervous because—what if she wanted to fuck? I’m a biker, the one thing I should know how to do is fuck, but I don’t. So I got nervous. She has a walking, talking, four-year-old proof that she’s had sex.
What if I disappoint her? I can’t just eat her pretty cunt for the rest of my life.
I mean, I could, no hardship for me…
“Hey, Skirt,” Ellie grabs my arm as I’m about to go talk to Reaper. “You still want that puppy?”
Damn it. Forgot all about the damn mut. “Aye, I do.” I pull out my wallet hand her a hundred bucks. “Just take care of him for me, okay? I have to go do something. Just a few more days.”
“Sure,” she says with a gleeful grin on her face. She’s going to be a knockout when she’s of age, and Poodle knows it. He’s already punched a few of the guys in the face for looking too long. I’ve seen Ellie have eyes for Braveheart too, which will only sign his death warrant. At least they are closer in age. Braveheart is young and in his twenties. Every time Ellie comes into the room, Braveheart runs.
“Thanks, El. I owe you.” I give her a quick hug and leave, heading down the hallway to look for Reaper.
I see Tongue sitting at the table, along with Knives, and both look bored out of their minds. Things have been a little quiet since dealing with the strings that came with Melissa coming into Poodle’s life.
“Where’s Reaper?” I ask them, gripping the back of one of the kitchen chairs. I turn my head to look at Tongue, then Knives. Both of them blow out a breath at the same time. I roll my eyes.
“He’s at his house with Sarah, and he’s not to be disturbed,” Tongue says, throwing up air quotes. “Whatever.”
“I’m so bored,” Knives groans. “Badge still hasn’t found anything on the kid, so we’re just sitting ducks.”
My heart aches for the boy. He’s probably terrified without his Ma, and I know Dawn has been going out of her mind with worry. I hear her at night crying herself to sleep in my spare bedroom. There are times when I’ll go and lay next to her, stay awake all night and up all day, just so she knows she isn’t alone.
I have to keep avoiding her. She can’t know I’m a virgin. No grown man my age is a virgin. I think about Poodle, and why he didn’t tell me his secret, and while his is darker than mine, do I have a right to be mad at him when he doesn’t know this about me?
I don’t have time to think about it. I need cash. Now. And if Reaper isn’t available for me to ask for work, then I only have another place to go.
Maximo.
I flip open my phone and type out a message.
Me: “Any room for an extra fighter?”
Almost instantly he messages me back.
Maximo: “Always room for the best, my friend. See you in an hour.”
Shit. I only have an hour? By the time I get there, that barely gives me time to warm up, but if I can fight every opponent, I can win around fifty-grand if I’m undefeated. Maximo treats his fighters good. Every day that passes, fighting for him sounds more appealing, and if Reaper is already in business with him, what’s the big deal? I’m not breaking any rules.
Me: “I’ll be there.”
Maximo: “I know.”
I debate on telling Knives and Tongue so they can come along, but I keep my lips sealed shut. It’s better if no one knows where I go.
Over the last few months, Reaper has set up legal, safe fights for me. Ones that raise money for charity and shit, which is great, but I need more. I need blood, grit, a fight without rules. Reaper hasn’t brought anyone into the playroom for a little roughening up, so I’m getting an itch just like Tongue and Knives are.
Things are getting slow around here. Slow is good. It means there’s no trouble, but with no rival MC, no gangs, or the mafia wanting our heads, sometimes MC life can get dull. Sure, we live hard and die harder, but damn it, where’s the damn grit these days? Surely, there’s someone out there who wants to take us down.
“Where you going?” Tongue shouts after me.
“Out!” I reply, not giving him an actual answer. I fling open the door and run down the steps to see Reaper sitting on his bike and Sarah between his legs as they talk. His hands are on her ass and when they see me, Reaper juts his chin for me to come closer.
Fuck.
“Where you going?” he asks.
Shit. He knows. That’s impossible.
“I need to clear my head. Going for a ride.”
“On your way back, can you pick up another bag from Circus, Circus?”
“Another one?” the question slips out of my mouth before I can stop it, and Reaper pats Sarah on the arse, telling her to go inside.
She flicks her blonde hair over her shoulder and gives me a ‘what the fuck’ look. Yeah, what am I thinking? I keep questioning the Prez, I’m going to have to pay the price.
“Sorry, Prez. I guess I’m just getting worried. It’s a lot of money. I don’t mean to question you.”
“I’m calling Church tonight. You might not be back before then, so I’ll go ahead and tell you.” He lights a cigarette and puffs it. “Maximo is Moretti’s brother. He’s giving us sums of money the other casino owed us before it burned down. He wants to come see his brother after all the debts are paid. He knows it isn’t looking good and that he might have to take over the family business.”
“That’s why Moretti’s men haven’t been here. I bet Maximo called them.”
Reaper shrugs. “None of my fucking business. I just want us to get our cut and be done with it. And if we grow a good relationship with the mafia, that’s even better.”
“And you’re the one going to get the duffle cause I’m putting you in charge of the monies. Pirate can’t do it anymore. He’s having the title stripped. You’ve proven yourself. You question me when things need to be questioned. I trust you.”
Shit, he’s been testing me, and I didn’t even know. I hold out my hand and shake Reaper’s powerful palm. If he ever finds out I’m fighting for Maximo, maybe give Ruthless a bad reputation again, I’ll have more than my title stripped, but my dignity and possibly my flesh too.
If I win tonight, I’ll go straight to Reaper and give him a cut of the winnings and be upfront. I’ve seen what the man can do when he wants to get his way and, honestly, it scares the hair off my chest.
“Make Church. It isn’t a request,” Reaper flicks his smoke about five feet away and then pushes off his bike to head inside.
“Fuck me.” I blow out a breath once he’s gone and breathe in and out. I’m so fucked. Why the hell is Maximo getting involved with us? And he’s Moretti’s brother? Something doesn’t smell right.
As I throw my leg over the seat of my bike and crank it, something moves out of the corner of my eye. I see Dawn, gnawing on her perfect bottom lip. I expect her to stop, but as always, she exceeds my expectations and walks over to me, arms crossed, seeming small and fragile. Nothing like the woman I know, the one with a fighter’s heart and a tongue as wicked as the damned.
“I know where you’re going.”
I rev my engine to drown out her voice.
The light red highlights in her hair capture the sun as they shine a beautiful copper. She glances off into the distance, her lashes curling up as she blinks. She’s a goddess. Something so beautiful doesn’t need to be ruined by my hands.
That’s what I do.
I ruin.
“I’ve seen the look on Cohen’s face before a fight. I’ve been there before.”
“I don’t expect ye to go there again, Lips.” I can’t help myself. I reach out and rub my thumb over the plump pillow of her lip and tug it free from her teeth.
“I’ll go there again for you, Skirt. You’re different than him.” She sighs and places her hands on my face, softer than how she grabbed me last night. Dawn places a soft kiss on my mouth, and it’s filled with so much care, so much worry, for me, that I need more of it. I wrap my arms around her and pull her close, enjoying the slow kiss as she pours what she feels for me into my body.
I drink it up with greed, wanting more and more, until I’m fucking drowning in it, and the only way I’m breathing is through her.
Our tongues tease one another, and my hands slide down her back, giving her arse a good squeeze. She brings the kiss to an end and lays her head on my c
hest. “Come back to me unbroken, Skirt.”
“Rohan,” I correct her. I want her to know my real name. The name I never hear anymore.
“That suits you. It means red, right?” She strokes her fingers along my beard. “My red warrior,” she whispers. “Be safe.”
I grab her hand and kiss the inside of her palm before letting her go and reverse my bike out of the parking lot. When I come back from this fight, I’ll tell her the truth and why I’m so nervous to be around her, to see if she’ll still want me.
I don’t look in my side mirror to take one last look at her. I can’t, or I’ll turn around. I need the release of the fight before I bring it to her. That’s my worst fear, that this amazing, beautiful woman is giving me a chance; she’s trusting me not to hurt her the way her ex did. I’m so scared I will. My temper, my need to feel people fighting against me, their life struggling in my hands, is a terrible curse.
My bike flies down the road, passing a car every few miles, and the sun is beating down on me until the fair skin on my shoulders is hot. With regret, I flip my blinker on and take a right, then turn into Circus, Circus. There are people everywhere. Women are in short dresses, a few have on matching shirts. Something about a bachelorette weekend, and I assume the one wearing the veil is the bride to be.
Parking it, I kick the stand down and steady my bike before getting off. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m going behind my Prez’s back. My woman knows. My woman reads me better than my brothers, and that says a lot considering she’s known me for a week.
It’s been a damn good week.
Shit. I just thought of her as my woman. I pause mid-step with the shock, and then I see Maximo waiting at the door for me. He’s dressed in a black shirt, black trouser pants, and his black hair is slicked back. I can see the resemblance between him and Moretti.
I eat up the distance with my heavy boots and hold out my hand. “Maximo,” I greet.
“Rohan, you’ve made me a very happy, very rich man.”
“Already?” I ask, wondering how the hell that’s possible.
