Rough and Ready

by Cathleen Ross

  She ran her hands over his chest, making sure to avoid the dressing she’d placed over the bite mark. “Okay, let me think. I want you to take the long dressing mirror I have in my bathroom and bring it into the bedroom. Place it up against my closet so I can see us from the bed.”

  He walked into the bathroom, picked up the mirror, and carried it into her bedroom, putting it where she said.

  She lay on her side on the bed, her whole body on fire for him. “Tilt it lower. That’s it. I want to watch you. I hated the fight last night, but the way you moved while you boxed, you were like a panther.” And just as deadly.

  “You want to watch me licking you in the mirror? I need you slick with juices. I’m going fuck you hard tonight.”

  A shiver of pleasure moved down her body to her pussy. When it came to sex, this was the right man for her.

  He moved to the bed and lay down. “Straddle my face. You’ll be able to see everything.”

  Heat and need bloomed through her body. “Oh my God, that’s a sexy idea,” she said, getting up and positioning her knees either side of his face.

  He ran his tongue along her slit.

  She rocked over his face, watching herself in the mirror, her eyes half hooded, her cheeks pink, and her mouth slightly open. Every time he swiped his tongue over her, teasing her clit, her hips jerked and she moaned.

  “I wanna hear you scream, honey. Feel your body tremble.” His hands gripped her thighs, widening them, forcing her down onto his face.

  There was no more embarrassment, no more self-consciousness. Instead, as his hot tongue slid up her seam, she moved back and forward, seeing her breasts jiggle in the mirror and her muscles in her thighs flex.

  She looked down, her gaze meeting his. His green eyes were gleaming as he licked her like a man who was addicted to pussy. He lathed her as if she were a melting ice cream. Even though she was on top, his big hand gripped her thighs so that she could just move her hips.

  He was in control.

  Then he speared her with his tongue.

  She gasped. Her hips jerked forward, and she clenched down on his tongue, wishing it were his cock. He did it again and again, then he swiped his tongue up her seam, circling her clit.

  She was on fire.

  Her whole body started to tremble. She was writhing, pumping up and down on his tongue, mashing her vulva onto his mouth. And he took it all. Sucking and licking until the tingling sensation started in the small of her back and rushed up her spine, exploding in her head.

  She sucked in a deep breath, arched her back, and cried out.

  He changed his movement to large circles, sweeping his tongue from her opening to her clit, and she pressed her clit onto his tongue as another orgasm, fiercer than the first, claimed her, until finally her whole body became Jell-O and she slumped forward.

  She slid sideways onto the bed, gasping.

  He climbed on top of her, holding his torso off her, so that she could breathe. “Want to play hard?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. This is how I like you. Helpless. You’re going to do my bidding now.” He gave her a sardonic smile, shifted onto his knees, and flipped her onto her stomach. He pulled her up by the hips, grabbed the condom off the side table, ripped it open with his teeth, extracted it, and slid it on. Then drove in hard.

  Her whole body shunted forward. All she could think of was how good he felt as he fucked her in a frenzied motion.

  Remembering the mirror, she turned her head to the side to watch through half-shuttered eyes.

  “You feel fucking fantastic,” he said, his face hard, his lips pulled back in a grimace.

  “And you’re the perfect fit.” And satisfying.

  “You can take me.” He slid right out of her, his big cock glistening, and drove in hard to the hilt, rougher this time.

  “You can’t make me care for you,” she said. The game had begun.

  “I can make you addicted to my cock,” he said with a sneer.

  She could see his powerful shoulders and rock-hard abdomen as he took her. His huge thighs straining and his butt muscles clenching. What a superb creature.

  He took her in long, hard movements, his skin and balls slapping against her with each stroke. His big hands kept a tight grip on her thighs, so she couldn’t get away.

  She tried inching her hands forward.

  “Don’t you damn well move,” he ordered, digging his fingers hard into her flesh.

  He glanced at the mirror. She couldn’t hide her admiration of him despite the game. His hands grasped her ass cheeks, stretching them wide.

  “No!”

  “You’ll take what I’ll give you.”

  “No. Not that.” Her heart pattered in her chest. “We agreed, not that.”

  “No part of you is off limits to me.” He leaned forward, pushed down on her back so that her chest pressed onto the bed. She was prostrate. A sacrifice. Then he slipped his thumb in her ass. She clenched around his thumb.

  He reached around the front of her with his other hand and slid his forefinger over her clit.

  She wiggled, trying to get away from his intruding thumb, shoved up to the hilt, but he kept her in place. It was like having two cocks. An invasion. Hot. Somehow the rhythmic stroking of his forefinger on her clit intensified the burn, turning it into pleasure. She arched her back, offering him her sex, the ecstasy of the game, the intense moment of fear, and being taken so completely made her moan. Another orgasm, deep this time, roared through her, and she screamed and bucked.

  “That’s it,” he growled. He rammed his cock home over and over into her pussy until at last he groaned deeply, his beautiful body shuddering, coming hard.

  Finally, he eased out of her, pulling her down onto the bed to spoon her. Her breath eased in and out in rhythm with his. “You’re evil.” She patted his thigh.

  “I scare you?” he asked.

  “Yes. I thought you were going to plunge that ridiculously huge thing into my ass.”

  “I want to. There isn’t a part of you I don’t want, but we agreed that’s off limits.” He stroked her hip, his touch reassuring.

  “I’m glad I can trust you.” She closed her eyes, happy in the comfort of his arms.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  He had to tell her. Hugo slid out of bed and placed the comforter on a dozing Alice.

  “Honey?” she said.

  “I’ll be back soon,” he said with a lump in his throat. He stood for a moment watching her lying there, her blond hair in a tangled mess, her fine features as lovely as a sculpture. God, she was special. The bed was a mess. This whole fucking situation was a mess. There was no coming back from this, but he owed her the truth.

  He left the bedroom and entered the bathroom, showered quickly, dried himself, and dressed. When he returned to the lounge room, he packed up his computer, scanned the apartment to check that he hadn’t left a trace of himself. His duffel bag was packed. He was ready to leave.

  He strode into her bedroom, sat on the bed, reached down, and stroked her face. “Alice?”

  “Hmmm?” she said, sleepily.

  “Wake up, honey. I need to talk to you,” he said.

  She blinked, her eyes widening like an owl, when she noticed he was fully dressed and wearing a jacket. “What is it?”

  He brushed the hair away from her face. “There’s something you need to know. Your father couldn’t talk to you when you called him because he was about to have an altercation with the Slayers. You see, your father ordered a rocket launcher.”

  “What?” She pushed herself to a sitting position and put her hands to her face as all color drained. “Has he hurt someone?”

  “No one’s hurt. The Slayers intercepted the delivery.” He watched as confusion washed over her face.

  “How do you know this? Did Daddy call you when I was sleeping?” She paused and frowned. “He never talks about business. Not to me. He wouldn’t confide in you either.”

  “Alice, I work for t
he Slayers. My job was to infiltrate the Banderos club and find out about the weapon’s delivery.”

  Her eyes widened like a startled doe under a gun. She scrabbled back from him until her back met the wall. “You’re a Slayer?”

  He put both his hands up in a stop position to calm her. “No. I’m a friend of Troy DeLance’s.”

  “You mean that fucking maniac Beast who stuck a dagger in your throat?”

  “That was playacting. I owed him. He saved my life.” He watched as realization dawned. She put her hands to her cheeks, and her eyes watered.

  “You’re a spy?” she asked, blinking rapidly.

  This wasn’t going well. How could it? But he owed her the truth. He couldn’t just disappear out of her life as if she meant nothing to him. “Yeah. But I want you to understand, I wasn’t being paid to find out information. Troy rescued me on the battlefield when I was hit.” His hand moved to his chest to where he’d been struck by a bullet. “He could have left me to die, but he didn’t. I owed him a life debt. He wants peace between the Banderos and the Slayers, but your father is determined to have war. The intercept is done, so I need to leave.”

  She looked like she was going to puke. “So what we had…what we are, was just part of your spy game?”

  “No. I didn’t know you were part of the picture. Hell, Alice, I didn’t know you existed when I accepted this job. I cursed when I found you in that bar.”

  “Yet you slept with me anyway.” Her shoulders curled, and she clutched at her stomach and throat as if in real pain.

  “You wanted me, too, remember? A no-strings affair.”

  She choked, and her lip trembled. “But I told you the truth. I told you how men treated me, a biker’s daughter. You made me feel good about myself. Made me think you cared about me even though we both knew it couldn’t last.”

  “I do care about you,” he said softly.

  Her eyes narrowed in disbelief. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better? How can you even say that? This whole thing’s a lie!”

  Fuck. He watched the devastation play across her features. He wanted to take her in his arms, to hold her, to make love. “Hell, Alice, I had no idea that you would make me feel what I do. I’ve had meaningless sex before. It was never special like it was with you.”

  She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around herself as close to a fetal position as possible.

  He swallowed. There was a lump the size of a rock in his throat. “You liked what I did for you, too.”

  “You are special,” she spat. “There’s a special place in hell for scheming men like you.”

  “Alice,” he choked out, “I had a life debt. One last mission to complete. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  Her face hardened, her eyelids became slits of hatred, and her mouth tightened into a thin line. “But I am going to hurt you.” She launched herself at him, her fingers outstretched like talons.

  He caught her easily and bound his arms around her like cords. He kept his legs together, protecting the one place she could hurt him.

  She fought, her naked body bucking and straining for release, her head thrashing from side to side.

  God, she was beautiful.

  She howled, an untamed creature, full of ferocity, of misery, of grief as she struggled.

  He eased his hold on her, knowing she would attack him, needing to feel her punishment.

  Once released, she raked her hand down his cheek, drawing blood while he looked at her, his arms relaxed by his side.

  “You deceiving beast.” She slapped his face with such force, a thunderclap sounded in his ear. Her pain was his.

  “Let it out, Alice,” he said.

  “You’ll never understand the depth of your cruelty.” She slapped his face using both hands, one after the other until his cheeks burned and there was blood on her palms. Her aggression, her hatred, her passion was real. His heart thundered in his chest.

  Alice. Was. The one.

  And he had lost her.

  Suddenly, she stopped, breathing hard so that her breath fanned his face. Her top lip curled. “You’re enjoying this,” she said, clearly realizing he wasn’t going to fight back.

  “I’m trained to take pain. You know I like fighting.”

  “But I don’t. It kills me inside, one little bit at a time.” She cried then, not tears of rage or shock but tears of misery, her whole body trembling.

  He put his hands on her hips, her skin warm under his touch, his blood marking her skin. God help him. It made him want her more. She made him feel alive.

  She made him.

  How well she knew him in such a short time. He wanted the pain. The marks on his face. The bruises. It was the only way he could take part of her with him when he left. Even if it was hatred. It was still something. Her essence. Her very being. He hugged her close and buried his face in her hair. “Oh, Alice, I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “Get your fucking hands off me.” The words spewed out of her, but he was reluctant to release her, knowing it would be the last time he held her.

  He breathed in her scent, feeling her bird-like bones in his arms, allowing himself the heartbeat of reverie before he got down to business. “Quit struggling, Alice. You’re not used to fighting, and I don’t have much time.”

  She twisted in his arms, trying to free herself. “I want you to die. I hate you. I will hate you every day of my life.”

  “No, you won’t. You weren’t born to hate.” Reluctant to let her go and out of his life, he took in her ferocious beauty. He’d done this to her. She’d always seemed so calm before; instead, she stared at him with a deadly intensity that he’d only seen in war.

  “Well, I do now. I want you to suffer,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “One day, I hope you’ll see I stopped carnage. Stopped your father getting killed.” He pushed her back onto the bed, needing a moment. His whole body pulsed, his cock hard. He wanted her. The wall was behind her, and if she wanted to get off the bed, she’d have to go through him. He pushed the thought aside. “We need to say goodbye, honey.”

  “Don’t you ‘honey’ me!” She sat, her chest heaving, her eyelids swollen. She pulled the sheet up to cover herself as if sensing his thoughts underneath his words. “You hard-hearted bastard. You will never know what it is to truly care for someone.”

  “I care for you, and I don’t want to,” he said softly.

  “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

  “What I feel for you is real. I want you to know that.” He reached out for her, but she pushed his hands away.

  “Don’t touch me.” She sucked in a huge breath as if trying to fortify herself. “You’re a cruel, unfeeling bastard.”

  He stood, knowing he had to go, aware of the ticking clock. It wasn’t that he was afraid of Glass and his men, but he was worried about what he’d have to do to defend himself in front of Alice.

  She didn’t need more trauma. He’d hurt her bad.

  Normally resilient, she suddenly seemed so fragile. “I can’t take any more pain. No more pain,” she wailed. She clutched her heart. “What you did. It hurts. My heart. I feel like it’s breaking.” Her body heaved as she started sobbing again.

  “Alice, I have to leave now because your father will work it out. He’ll come here. I don’t want to kill him.” He knew how to shield himself from pain, but this. This terrible keening sound she made as she sobbed on the bed shredded his soul.

  “If you need anything, you call me. Damn it, Alice, I owe you.” He didn’t know if she could hear him, she was so lost, so hurt in her world of grief. Her arms around herself, her eyes closed. Rocking. Just rocking.

  Seeing her lose it was killing him.

  He’d hear her sobs for the rest of his life.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Heart like lead, Hugo drove the night-black freeway from New Orleans to Baton Rouge. He’d hurt Alice, and she’d never forgive him. Truth, born out of lies, was a bastard.
>
  He knew what it was to fight, to give it everything he had and to be powerless. It was time to confront his father. Then fuck it. He couldn’t settle down here. Nothing felt like home except in Alice’s arms.

  He’d sign up again, go back to war, and not care whether he lived or died. She was right about him. He was a coldhearted bastard. Cruel. But she was wrong, too, because he would give everything to put this right for her. There were innocents hurt in war. Collateral damage.

  He didn’t want it to be her.

  He’d completed his mission and paid the price. Alice. Alice. Alice. Her name resounded like a heartbeat.

  An hour and a half later, he pulled up on the street outside his parents’ home in Prairieville. No one got to beat him to a pulp and get away with it.

  His mother hadn’t left even though he sent her most of his army salary for two years. That was her choice. Not one he agreed with. He needed closure. He wasn’t a seventeen-year-old boy now challenging a well-seasoned soldier.

  He was a man.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The next morning, Alice strode into Tulane Private Hospital to sit by her mother’s side. She tried not to think about the pain of Hugo’s betrayal, but it rose again and again, swooshing over her like a wave, carrying her helpless like flotsam until dumping her on the sand.

  Her phone rang, and she looked at the number, recognizing the Tulane hospital number. She didn’t answer the call. She was here anyway, and she wasn’t in a fit state to talk to anyone. Tears seemed to burst out of her on their own accord, and she needed to get a grip. The only phone call she’d take was her father’s.

  No matter how many times she rang him, he didn’t pick up. What if Daddy was dead? She called through the list of the brothers. No one picked up.

  What if Hugo had lied to her?

  The Slayers had kept a low profile since Beast had blown up the Banderos clubhouse over a year ago. Not that he’d been charged. There were no reports of the Slayers killing anyone in the newspapers, but that didn’t mean the Slayers couldn’t kill.