Her breasts were about to bounce free, and he turned to face the other way to give her privacy. That was a surprise, but Tiffany took it as being in her favor. She peeled off her clothes, opened the shower door, and stepped onto the basin.
As far as she could see through the shower door, he was still facing the other way. In case he did turn, she wanted his view to be more than just steam, so she kept the water cool. It really was a relief.
It was a release just to feel the water run, almost cold, over her skin. It rippled across her firm skin, over her pert breasts. Some of her tension and stress drained as the water cascaded over her stomach.
She lathered herself with the body wash carefully, thoroughly. Maybe he still wasn’t looking, she couldn’t tell, but he could hear. He could imagine.
He would surely have to peek, once or twice, if only for reasons of security. She took the opportunity to caress and massage herself all over. It helped her to feel better, and it was bound to stir his imagination.
She turned off the water and stood, let it fall from her while she took a moment to gather her thoughts. She opened the door of the shower cabinet and saw the thin white towel on the rail. It would barely cover her.
“Could you reach the towel for me?” she asked him.
He hesitated, half turning, then quickly looked away again.
“Oh, never mind,” she said, “I can reach it if I stretch across.”
As the cooler air made her shiver, she didn’t think she could go through with it. The biker really made her hot; she really was attracted to him. Maybe it was because of the obvious power he had over her, but Tiffany was sure it wasn’t only that.
She thought that she could do what she planned if she had no feelings at all for him. To use her feelings, to try and manipulate him with her body--she wasn’t sure that she could do that.
To misuse her true feelings, however small, seemed such a betrayal of herself. As she rubbed the towel vigorously over her body, she told herself, This could be a life or death choice, Tiff. Don’t fuck around.
Still trying to set herself to her course, she dried herself twice as much as she needed. She saw the biker shift his weight more than once. At one point, she allowed herself a soft, “Ah!” sound, and a moment later, still facing away, he cleared his throat.
With the towel wrapped tight around her, Tiffany scooped up her clothes. His back filled the doorway. As she moved behind him, he shifted his weight. His buttocks clenched. His ass was fine enough to make her stomach flutter and to send shivers down her thighs.
Softly, she said, “I can come out now.” He moved aside, still blocking the way to the other door, so she had to sidle along the wall. He put his hand on her breastbone. When his fingers touched her flesh, a great, muffled thud went off deep inside her. She was sure she felt a tremble in his fingertips. He held her there as he closed and locked the bathroom door and dropped the key in his pocket.
The towel slipped as she reached up to touch the back of his hand. The tops of her breasts were exposed, and the front of the towel threatened to fall open. He pressed harder against her chest, then shook her hand away and seized her chin, just as he had in the parking level. She pressed her hips towards him. She felt his body tense up.
His heat was enough to penetrate the thin towel. She could absolutely feel him in front of her stomach, a fraction of an inch away, through the soft fabric. She felt him swell.
“I’m powerless,” she said, “helpless.” She looked up at him, trying to read him through the shades. “I’m a captive, totally at your mercy. Can’t you spare me just a little comfort?”
He didn’t move. She bit the side of her lip and looked at him, imploring him, “Please?” and the tip of her tongue pressed on her lip, where she’d bit. She let her mouth open.
Her chest was tight and her voice thickened. “I won’t tell. Not anyone,” she breathed quietly.
He pulled the bandana aside and yanked her face to him. His tongue invaded her mouth. The coarse hair of his beard and mustache scraped her soft skin. His tongue explored her, filled and took her as the breath in his mouth drew her out.
Her hands felt small against the uncoiling ridge in the front of his jeans. Her fingers crept upward, above his belt, and found the soft cotton of his boxers. When he pulled her to him, her breasts crushed against his rough work shirt and the hard ripples of his chest muscles.
With the back of her head in his hand, his fingers wound into her wet hair, pulling. She pulled the waistband of his boxers, and grazed her fingers against his velvety skin and dark fur.
In the grip of his other hand, her ass clenched. The wet towel was held up now by his hand on her ass, and the pressure of their bodies at the front. As soon as he let go, there would be nothing to cover her. Her damp skin pressed into him, molded itself onto him as she slid her fingers down, into the front of his shorts.
He pulled her hair, hard, to yank her head back. His other hand reached up to put back the bandana. In the time it took, she saw the tense, animal rage in his taut mouth. The towel fell away and slipped to the floor.
Her skin glistened as it rose and fell with her breath. This was her plan. She was getting lost in playing her part, though. He pulled her down to kneel on the floor.
As her knees slammed on the threadbare rug, she started to haul his belt buckle undone. She tugged at the rivet buttons of his fly. His white cotton boxers sprang forward, pushed by the weight of his hot rod of flesh.
Tiffany pulled the thin cotton down, unleashing his hard manhood. It was angry, red, and pulsing. His scent swirled in her head. He pulled at her hair to drag her onto his hard shaft. His slick bulb popped through her lips and slid hard and fast over her tongue.
When he shoved against the back of her mouth, Tiffany choked. Saliva flooded her mouth and dripped from her lips. She closed them around his huge cock, but they slipped opened again each time his hips slammed it into her willing mouth.
His breath hardened. A whisper rasped from his throat. “Yes. Oh, yes.”
Little gagging squeaks and cries bubbled from her mouth. He rammed into her face until her nose struck against his stomach. She felt his balls slap her chin. She sucked wetly on his hardness as he pressed into her throat and held on tight.
Her juices were running thicker and faster than she had ever known them to before. While she held a hand at the base of his shaft, she couldn’t keep her other hand out from between her legs, except when it flew up to squeeze her breast or pull hard on her nipple.
She moaned in pleasured pain as he dragged her head off him and lifted her by her hair. His hand went to her crotch and lifted her off the ground. In the process two fingers burst inside her. She felt tiny in his hands as he slung her onto the bed.
He landed on the bed above her. In his fist, he held her bunched up panties. Her eyes widened as his fingers poked the sheer fabric into her mouth. Lifting her easily by her waist, he flipped her over onto all fours. Tiffany was so turned on it felt wrong. A little, low growl was seeping from her mouth, into the reek of her sheer underwear.
His thumb was inside her wetness, his hand gripping her mound. Like that, he lifted her. She felt his mustache and beard between her thighs. His tongue roughly began probing her. Her petals pressed wide as his lips spread her.
His thumb pressed between the soft, smooth cheeks of her buttocks, and against her soft little star. Her head slumped between her arms on the comforter. Slowly but firmly, his thumb jammed her open.
A cool spray hit her ass when he spat and worked her open, eased a little with the saliva. By the time he had three fingers into her, her eyes were watering. She groaned long and hard, the sound muffled by the wad in her mouth.
He slung her onto her back and hauled her thighs in the air, holding her, spreading her wide. His cock penetrated her pussy, deep, hard, and sudden, and her whole body convulsed. Her back arched and her hands clenched.
The scent of her juices rose as he drilled into her, sawing in and out without
mercy. Each stroke was harder than the last as her groans rose in pitch. His torso slapped against the backs of her thighs, stretched high as he held her by her ankles.
His grip on her ankles helped him slam her even harder onto the length of his throbbing shaft. Her pussy gushed, holding him. Her molten core sang as he drove in and filled her, pining at the void as he pulled out.
As he drove into her, she arched and pressed down to take him deeper. The panties in her mouth muffled her little mewling whimpers. His hot shaft filled her, tore into her and possessed her.
After a long series of hard slams, her eyes popped wide as he pulled her ankles up to lift her cheeks even higher. The blood rushed to her head and she felt giddy.
Then he dragged his cock out and it invaded her ass. The raw friction burned. She thrashed her arms on the bed, her hands clawed at her hair, pulled on her breasts and grasped for him. Her thighs shook and her stomach rolled in quaking convulsions.
A massive pulse in the shaft of his cock let her know that he was about to come. Outside in the next room there was a sound.
He stopped. A rasp of annoyance escaped his throat. Someone was at the apartment door.
He dragged his cock out of Tiffany’s ass and pulled his pants together, looking anxiously towards the door. Tiffany tried to say, “Go, go,” and her eyes were pleading, but the gag still muffled her.
She waved her hand to the door and crawled, in agony, beneath the comforter. Almost silently, the door closed behind him. The lock on the apartment door clicked as it turned. A pair of boots clomped in.
Tiffany dragged her bunched, wet panties out of her mouth and felt wretched as she sobbed in silence. What the fuck had she done?
Chapter 5
Even though it was agony to move, Tiffany slid to the end of the bed and padded silently to crouch with her ear pressed against the door. She wanted desperately to process the whirl of confusion that the past fifteen minutes had left in her mind and her soul, but she knew that anything she could hear of what was said right now could mean life or death for her.
Still trembling and disconnected in the aftershock of rough and punishing sex, her emotions were a chaotic blur. Tiffany made herself focus her mind on what she heard, but it was hard to ignore her heart jumping at the sound of his voice.
“I let her take a shower. I think she’s sleeping now.”
She couldn’t guess which of the other bikers spoke, but there was a leer in his tone when he said, “Must have been some shower. You give her a rub-down, too?”
Jax said, “Don’t be a jackass, Mace.” Mace! She had a name for one of them! Which one was he?
A chair scraped on the floor. Footsteps moved across the room, Tiff heard the pft of a refrigerator door open, a clunk of cans, and the fridge squeaking as it closed again. Mace’s voice was farther away. He was the one at the fridge. He said, “He’s going to play ball.”
“You haven’t spoken to him, have you?” Jax’s chair creaked. He was sitting at the table.
“Of course not, bro. It’s what I got from my little mouse. He wanted to handle it with his buddies from the Marines, but they couldn’t see how to make it play out right.”
There was a tense silence, broken by the fizz of a beer can opening.
Mace said, “They made the right choice there.”
“I think he’s still going to try something.” Were they talking about her Daddy? Tiffany’s heart jumped in her chest.
Mace, “Not before he gets her back, he won’t. Then, after that, we give him our little surprise, and he’s going to be a good boy from then on. Trust me, bro.”
There was a pause before Jax replied, “A lot’s riding on this.” His voice was lower.
Mace was aggressive, irritated, “You know it. We all know it.”
Footsteps came towards the door. Tiffany leapt for the bed and dragged the comforter over herself. She heard the door open, but she kept absolutely still. She wasn’t sure which biker was watching her, but she guessed it was Mace.
Did they suspect that she’d been listening to them? When whoever it was closed the door again, Tiffany did everything she could to fix in her mind the few details of the conversation she had overheard.
The pictures kept playing in her head of Jax’s hands on her, of his body covering her, penetrating her and controlling her.He was rough, strong, and passionate with her, and she’d never experienced anything like it. She’d never been driven so completely, and never felt so overwhelmed before. Her stomach fluttered and her breath caught at every memory, and her heart soared.
How could something that was so very wrong in every way have felt so absolutelyright, and so frighteningly good?
Remembering his strength and heat rekindled the scents and sounds of their intimate time together. Her idea had been to make a connection, to share some intimacy, and to try to persuade Jax to keep her alive. She didn’t want to have to do that, but she had to stay realistic about her situation. There was good reason for what she did. And yet…
Bikers weren’t known for their sentimentality, and the Blades MC had a brutal reputation. She knew that her chances of survival were less than fifty percent. She knew that giving one of the bikers some pussy wouldn’t improve those chances by much.
She couldn’t see anything else she had at her disposal. She wouldn’t get far if she tried to fight her way through three bikers armed with a slice of pizza and some warm beer. What else did she have?
Her plan had been to get as cozy as she could with whichever biker came through the door. After that, she’d probably do the same with one or both of the others if the chance came. Tell them each that it would only be him; swear that she wouldn’t tell the others. Whatever.
That way, maybe she could win one biker or maybe all of them a little way towards her side, in case a crunch came. Maybe she’d also have something that could make a wedge between them? A dangerous game, but those were all the cards and chips that she had.
If she had to appeal to one or more of them for protection, it would only improve her odds, surely.
Her plan hadn’t involved her feelings whirling up into a storm inside her.
Everything had changed. She felt so different, she was only sure of one thing—that deep in her body she wanted him again.
The voices in the next room rumbled, and Tiffany couldn’t make out a word. She didn’t have the energy to creep back to the door again, and if one of the bikers opened the door, they’d catch her for sure.
She curled up under the comforter, breathing in his warm scent. She wished she had a name for him that wasn’t fiction. Against her will, sleep snuggled around her, draped over her and enveloped her.
Chapter 6
Tiffany had no idea what time it was when the door cracked open. The one she’d called ‘Max’ brought in more beer and cold pizza. He took his time crossing the room, putting the food and beer on the little table. He watched her the whole time, squinting, quiet and sly. Was this one Mace?
Then she realized through her groggy, half-awake eyes and mind that she could see his hazel eyes sparkle. He wasn’t wearing shades, and his bandana was loose around his chin.
Tiffany tried to smile for him, but she knew she wasn’t awake enough to control her face properly. She thought of throwing the covers off to give him a view of her legs, but she remembered that she wasn’t wearing her panties.
He stopped at the door to look at her as she peered over the comforter. A leer spread slowly across his face, and he nodded slowly before he turned to leave the room.
She said, “Can I have a clock, or a watch, please?”
As he turned back, the bell outside struck seven times in the distance.
“See?” His voice was low and hard. “You don’t need one.” He licked his lips, looking at her, before he left and shut the door again behind him. From the scrape of a chair, she knew there was someone else in the other room, too.
Was it he? Was it her biker? Her ‘Jax’? Oh, god, she was so confused. She r
ealized that, isolated and with a constant threat of danger in this situation, an attachment could be forming in her mind out of nothing but need.
Her psych classes had taught her nothing useful on this one. All she knew was how to suppress some symptoms with drugs. She should try to keep her feelings out of the mix. They wouldn’t help her to survive and that was all that mattered right now.
She drifted back to sleep. She dreamed of Daddy standing up in a big courtroom. He was arguing for the defendant. Then it changed, and he was prosecuting. Then, he rose in his black gown from behind the bench. The defendant was her biker, and Daddy was about pass sentence. When she took the biker’s hand, she realized that she was standing accused with him.
Two Hitmen: A Double Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 1) Page 42
