by Naomi West
“Goddamn, just sit the fuck down. What’d you want to drink? Don’t give me any of that cheeky shit. It’s not often I offer to buy a lady a drink.”
“I’ll just take a water.”
“All right then.”
I lock the door, get the drinks, and return. She’s in the exact same spot I left her in. Which makes me think she’s been snooping around the room. She jumped back into place when she heard me coming, I reckon. I grin at the thought and hand her the water. I sip on a soda. My head still pounds from the whisky last night.
“You need to tell me what you were doing back there, Scarlett.”
She makes a huffing, annoyed sound. “I’ve heard stories about you. Cage … Morrow, right? Cage Morrow?”
“Yeah, and what’ve you heard?” I pull up the desk chair to the bed, sitting close to her. Her legs are crossed. It gets me thinking about sliding my hand up between them and prying them apart. She’s moaning, and I’m running, and … “Do I drink blood, eh?” I move a little closer. “Do I kill babies?”
“People just say you’re scary,” she mutters. Her eyes keep straying to mine and then flitting away. Like she’s nervous looking at me.
“Yeah, and what’d you reckon? Are they right?”
She blushes. Damn, she looks good when she blushes.
When she doesn’t respond, I tell her to explain herself again.
“I’m a journalist. Well, I just graduated with a degree in journalism. I came here looking for a story. I was going to just walk in and ask to see—well, somebody. I don’t know who. But then I heard the commotion and …” She shrugs. “It was a stupid thing to do. I just couldn’t stop myself.”
Part of me respects that, though I don’t show it. There aren’t many ladies who’d go toward a noise like that, at least none that I’ve met.
“That took some stones, Scarlett. But you’re wasting your time here. There’s not a fella in this place who’ll talk about the club, or the life. Or shit like that. See, brotherhood means loyalty. This club is family. Folk don’t talk about their family round here. It’s not how we do things.” I clench my fists and unclench them. We can’t have a reporter snooping around here. The boss won’t have it. The brothers won’t have it. Hell, I won’t have it. Suddenly I wish she was a saleswoman, something like that.
“You’ve gotta go.” I stand up, pushing the computer chair back. If I don’t, I’m afraid I’ll pounce on her. “We can’t have you here.”
“You’re just going to kick me out?” She pouts at me. Does she know what effect that has? Is she playing me? The pout is damn enticing, though. It makes me wanna kiss her, bad. It makes me wanna do other things too. I’m getting hard; can’t even fight it. Those legs. “Really? You’re going to kick me out and make me walk all the way home on my own?”
“There’s no story for you here!” I snarl, walking over to the window. I look out at the river. As if it’s not bad enough with the Bloody Talons breathing down our damn necks, now we’ve gotta deal with reporters too.
“You don’t have to be mean about it.” She sounds genuinely upset.
I spin on her. She’s on her feet. “I don’t even know you, lady. The fuck you talking about?”
“What about a drink?” She tosses the question at me.
“It’s ten in the morning.”
She giggles. The whole room feels different with the sound in it. “You’ve never had a drink at ten in the morning before, tough guy?”
I walk over to her, standing close. I can feel the fear coming off her. But there’s something else. I’m almost sure of it. I move even closer. I could wrap my arms around her now if I wanted. She doesn’t move. She stares bravely up at me.
“You reckon you can get me drunk and I’ll start talking?” I laugh harshly. “That’s not how it works around here, Scarlett. I’ve been drunker’n anyone you’ve ever met and done things you wouldn’t believe. I don’t lose control just ’cause I get a few drinks in me. You said you went to college, eh? I’m not like those little college boys you hung around with.”
Her face is bright red now. She giggles again, but this time it’s shaky. Maybe it’s the fear. Maybe it’s that other thing.
I grab her by the shoulders, kissing her on the lips. I kiss her hard. Her lips are dry, but she feels good. She’s warm. She opens her mouth, letting out a little moan. Goddamn! I move my hands down to her tight ass. I’m about to grab it when she breaks the kiss off. She leans back in my grip, letting out panting breaths.
“You little dog!” she cries. “Get your hands off me!”
I laugh at the insult. “Little dog?” I take a step back. I need that body. My cock is roaring at me. “Fuck it, Scarlett. I’ll take you for a drink. But you’re not gonna get a damn thing outta me. And maybe I’ll get somethin’ outta you.”
She blushes even deeper. Smooths her dress down. “That was very inappropriate,” she whispers. But she’s smiling. “I’m not smiling!” she snaps when I point it out. “I’m … Just shut up, Cage Morrow. Just shut the hell up.”
“Wait here a sec, Scarlett.”
I go into the bar and find Jax. He’s leaning against the wall, barely awake. He had a hard one last night too. He’s smaller than his big brother Boulder, the leader of the club. He’s skinny and shorter’n some women. But he’s a damn good brother. He has the same shaggy black hair as Boulder, with a scar across his cheek from an old fight.
I punch him on the shoulder. “Eh? What?”
“Good to see you’re always ready, Jax.”
He grins, punches me back. “Go fuck yourself. What’d you want?”
“When’s the warehouse job? It’s around three, eh?”
“Yeah, three.”
“All right. I’m taking a lady for a drink. If anythin’ goes down—”
“Yeah, yeah.” He offers his knuckles. “You’re a madman, Cage. Taking a girl for a drink? What? You didn’t get enough last night?”
I just growl out a laugh. We bump knuckles. I head back to the dorm.
But Jax doesn’t know. He was too wasted. I didn’t touch a single club girl last night.
I never do.
3
Scarlett
I go to the mirror and rub at my lips. My lipstick is all smudged. And my rouge is smudged, too. Then I remember I didn’t apply any rouge. It’s just my face turning red. I go into the en-suite and splash myself with some water, ruining my makeup even more. I correct it quickly as best I can. The kiss sent pulsations through me, right down to my toes. I take a breath. I tell myself to calm down. This is work. I got a meeting with Cage Morrow. That’s quite the achievement. But is it really just work? He said he won’t give me anything and I believe him.
“It’s work,” I say firmly at the mirror.
He comes back into the room, that same look on his face. It’s easy to read. It terrifies me as much as it interests me. It’s a look that says: I’d bend you over the sink right now. I’d fuck you harder than you’ve ever been fucked. I push those thoughts away. I’m just letting my imagination get the better of me.
“All right.” He tosses me something. I catch it. I didn’t even realize he was holding anything, I’m so consumed by his face. It’s a pair of jeans. “Put them on over your tights.”
The jeans fit snugly. We go outside into the parking lot. He leads me to his bike, which looks the same as all the other except this one has Isaac carved onto handlebars.
“Who’s Isaac?” I ask.
He ignores the question, but an odd look passes across his face.
He tosses his jacket around my shoulders. When I’ve put it on, he hands me a helmet. He stands there in a black T-shirt, his arms bulging. I remember how his hands felt creeping down my body toward my ass. My clit aches. I need to get a grip.
“You ready?” he asks.
“Yeah, I think so.” I pull the helmet down, fiddling with it.
He reaches across and sets it right with one hand.
“Come on,” he says. “
I haven’t got all damn day.”
He climbs onto the bike.
The ride there is perhaps the most exhilarating thing I’ve done all year. It’s not the bike, exactly. It’s more the bike and Cage. I grip onto him without even meaning to, my fingers digging into the grooves of his abs. His abs are rock hard. It’s like they’re carved out of marble. I’m surprised I don’t break my nails on them.
We stop outside a restaurant on the edge of town. Steep Rock isn’t big, but it isn’t small either. It’s one of those towns where everybody half recognizes each other. It’s not as anonymous as a city but also nowhere near as intimate as a really small town. I don’t recognize the restaurant. It looks upscale, though, with a big entrance, the white stones sand-blasted. When we go inside, it’s even more impressive. Chandeliers hang from the ceilings. The floor is shiny. Every knife and fork glistens like diamond.
I look askance at him.
“What?” he grunts. “You think the Angels only own shitholes, eh?”
“You own this place?”
He growls at me like an animal. “Stop with the damn interrogation.”
I should get angry at the way he’s talking to me. If it was some boy from college, I’d probably snap at him, most likely never talk to him again. But he’s not some college dweeb. If anything, part of me likes it. The kiss still lingers on my lips.
He swaggers over to the bar as I stand back, taking off the jeans and the jacket. The place is empty apart from one woman around my age sitting on a stool behind the bar. It’s not even lunchtime yet, after all. One couple is leaving after finishing up their breakfast.
“Wakey, wakey,” Cage tells the girl.
She leaps to her feet. “Sorry, Mr. Morrow. I didn’t see you there.”
“That’s all right. We’ll be up in the booth. Just a drinks menu’ll be fine.”
We go upstairs to the corner booth, which is big enough for ten people. I feel tiny sitting next to Cage in this giant place. The booth closes off completely. There’s a lock on it, too, sealing us off from the outside. The only light is a red glow set within the center of the table. When the waitress gets here, she knocks on the door.
“What’re you having?” Cage cocks his head at me. He has a smug smile on his face, as though challenging me to a drink. I’m the one who offered, after all. Maybe he thinks I’ll order a soda even if it means losing face.
“Vodka and Coke,” I say. “Make it a double.”
He laughs. “All right, then. I’ll have some whisky.”
He leans forward, shoulder brushing up against me. His breath tickles my forehead. We half turn to each other, half to the table.
“You’re pretty damn brave,” he says after a sip of whisky.
“Am I?” I sip my vodka and Coke. I can’t remember the last time I drank this early. But I can handle alcohol better than most college girls, I think. I never got myself into the messes some of them did, anyway.
“Not many women’d have the stones to come to the Angels’ house. They teach you stones like that in college? What’d you do in college again, journalism? I didn’t even know there was a course for that, damn.”
“They have courses for everything these days,” I say.
“Really, like what?”
I shrug, thinking. “Philosophy of South Park.”
“Goddamn!” He laughs. It makes me smile. “Is that a real course?”
I nod, giggling. The vodka doesn’t taste as harsh as it usually does.
“They must really have courses for everything, then. But that don’t explain that grit.”
“You’ve never met a brave woman before?”
“A few, maybe. I don’t know. In my world, women are brave in different ways. They don’t sneak around alleyways. And they don’t try’n piss the brothers off.”
“You’re talking about club girls,” I note.
He groans. “Didn’t I fuckin’ tell you I’m not gonna talk about the club?”
“Don’t swear at me, Cage,” I mutter.
He grits his teeth, but he doesn’t say anything. He takes a long sip of his whisky. Then he presses a button under the table. A minute later, a knock comes from the booth door.
We order more drinks.
“I won’t swear at you, all right? Goddamn.”
“You just did it again!”
He looks at me in confusion. “Did I?”
“You said ‘goddamn.’”
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” he growls. “Since when is …” He trails off when he realizes he said ‘fucking.’ He shakes his head. “I don’t agree to the swearing rule. You’ll just have to get thicker skin.”
“My skin’s plenty thick, thank you very much.”
“Is it?” He moves closer to me. I don’t back away.
“Yes, it is. Thank you.”
“You don’t have ta keep thanking me, Scarlett.”
I sip my vodka and Coke. He’s looking at me intensely, his dark green eyes boring holes into me. I feel myself flush. The alcohol has rushed to my head. But that’s a lie. It has nothing to do with the alcohol. It’s the kiss. It keeps coming back to me. I want another, I realize painfully. I want it bad.
“Tell me about the club!” I blurt. As though I can still make this work. As though I can force him to go along with it just by shouting.
“You know I’m not gonna do that.” He slides his arm around my shoulders. The fabric of the dress is thin. His hands send shivers all down my back.
“What are you doing?” I breathe.
This is the part where the college boys would get awkward. They’d say sorry. They’d go as red as I am. He just stares at me unflinchingly. “I’m putting my arm around you,” he says.
“Oh, okay.”
“You got a problem with that?” he challenges.
“No,” I admit. “I don’t.”
“Why’re you breathing so damn quick?” He has a cruel smile on his face. And I like it.
“I’m not,” I lie. But I am. My breaths come as though they’re attacking me.
He slides his other hand onto my knee. He squeezes it. Not hard, but not soft either. Suddenly my breathing gets even quicker. I try and force it slow, force it quiet. But I can’t. My body burns. My clit aches. My pussy buzzes from the inside. My belly is warm. No, hot. Fire-hot.
“Really?” He laughs. “Don’t seem that way to me.”
He slides his hand higher up my leg.
I will myself to grab his wrist and push him away. I can’t let him do this, not after only knowing him for a few hours. I know in my head that I need to stop him. I’ve never been with a man when I’ve known him for less than a day. I’ve seen other girls go through that and I want no part in it. But now, with my body so hot I can barely think … I grab onto his wrist. I mean to push his hand away, I really do. Instead, I guide it higher up my leg, all the way to my panties.
When he presses his finger down, I let out a gasp. Stabs of painful pleasure shoot through me. I push on his hand even harder. He grinds his fingers up and down my pussy. Then he pushes aside my underwear. I look into his face. It’s serious. Captivated. It’s like he has a very important task to complete. Wordlessly, he leans across and closes the latch on the booth. We are alone.
“Kiss me, Cage,” I whisper.
He crushes his lips against mine. It’s a relief not to have to think. I lose myself in the kiss, our teeth clicking together. He presses his body against mine. The table screeches away from us under his massive bulk. It jams up against the door. I’m trapped. But it feels good being trapped by Cage. He pushes aside my panties and slides his finger inside of me.
It’s callused. It’s rough. I almost come right there. He slides it deeper, moving it around. He massages my sweet spot. I bite down on his lip. He doesn’t flinch when I draw blood. He just lets out a growl and rubs me all the harder, as though punishing me. I want to be punished, I realize. My chest drums like dubstep. I reach down and grab onto the front of his pants.
; I let out a moan when I feel how huge his cock is. It bulges through his jeans. I worry at the button as he continues to rub me. I unclasp the button, yanking at the belt. His cock springs out. I can’t see it. We’re kissing and my eyes are closed. All I see is red hot. My belly gets tighter. My pussy is on fire. I twitch my hips. I find the best angle for his rough, strong fingers. He slides another inside of me, pressing against the walls of my pussy. I moan right into his mouth as we kiss.
It happens when I grab onto his cock. I squeeze it tightly. It’s rock hard and huge. It’s bigger than any cock I’ve ever touched. It must be ten inches, maybe bigger. I can feel his veins pressing against my hand, he’s so hard. The tip is wet with pre-come. I stroke it down the length of him as the orgasm rushes madly through me.
I have to break off the kiss and clamp my mouth closed just to stop from screaming. It attacks me in puncturing waves. They twist through me like something alive. I sit down harder on his finger, barely able to go on stroking his cock. He moves his fingers even quicker … and then he lets go of me and lifts me up. I don’t even know how he does it. One second I’m sitting, and the next I’m bent over the table.
“Fuck me,” I whisper, when he pushes his cock against my clit. I’m still coming, the after-shocks warbling through me. “Fuck me, Cage. Oh, fuck me.”
His cock sears into my pussy. It’s so big that, for a moment, I’m not sure I’ll be able to take it. I push my ass out, sliding back on the impressive length. He pushes right up to his balls. I grip the edge of the table, pushing back even more. My ass flattens against his abs. Everything about him is hard: abs, hands, cock, everything.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he growls. “Fuckin’ hell, Scarlett.”
“Fuck my tight pussy,” I whisper-moan. “Fuck me.”
“You can take it hard, eh?”
“Yeah, baby. Yeah.”
If I thought I knew what getting fucked hard meant, I was wrong.
Cage grabs onto my ass cheeks, leaving red marks. He slides his cock out and then smashes it into me. I let out a gasp of shock as the pain-pleasure roils through me. He does it again, and again. Each time, I’m surprised I don’t go flying over the table, the impact is so powerful. After about a minute, I fall into the rhythm. My pussy opens for him. Warmth floods between my legs. I scream when the second orgasm erupts inside of me.
