Two Hitmen: A Double Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 1)

by Alice May Ball

  Stokey and Darlene were solid. As solid as any biker and his ol’ lady. More than any other in this motorcycle club. But I’d had him on the floor. And against a wall. And over a big desk.

  And Darlene found out.

  Darlene’s green eyes glowed from under the waves of her thick, nut-brown hair. Her soft cream shirt was open to her breastbone, and the creamy tops of her full breasts swelled in her push-up.

  She had fine, firm thighs and well-turned calves, sheathed in gunmetal nylons. A short black leather skirt made the most of her legs as she crossed them. Her glistening red cupid’s bow pout parted.

  “You want to know how I do it, Darlene? Really?” She looked at me and her eyes smoldered from under her long lashes. I thought, You’re ready.

  I stood slowly, stood with my feet a ways apart in front of her, close to the couch so that she was unbalanced backwards, looking up at me. Looking up over my hips and past my breasts.

  The sun streamed through the patio doors. Evening was beautiful this time of year, and Darlene’s face glowed.

  I said, “Come here, Darlene.” The only way she could get up was with her feet in between mine. Yeah. She stood slowly and her knees were almost in my skirt. We were so close we were almost touching. Darlene was gorgeous. Round and firm like a bud. Like a ripe, juicy fruit.

  Her scent was fresh and heady. Not like mine. Mine is dark and strong. As Darlene stood up between my legs, as she rose from the couch, as her face passed by the tight bulge of my leather skirt, she must have got my scent.

  Her eyelids drooped as she stood and looked into my eyes. Her tongue moistened her lips, then they pursed and rolled over each other. She was ready.

  I asked her, “Shall I show you, Darlene? Shall I show you how I do it?”

  She wet her lips again. Her voice shook and sounded tiny. “Yes,” she said, “Show me.”

  My pelvis tilted at her

  “You know what it is, Darlene? Men are all boys at heart, and boys like to play. They like to play rough. They like to play with girls who like to play rough.” I moved even closer. Darlene was unsteady. But attentive.

  I went on, “We both know that most girls want a man who plays rough, we’re but not all of us ready to admit it.” I looked in her eye, “Not in front of the boys, you know?” I was getting really hot. I guessed she was, too.

  “What the boys really want, Darlene,” I stepped my leg between hers. I could feel her heat on the front of my thigh. “They want a girl who they know isn’t going to…” I touched my thigh against her, “break, Darlene.”

  “They love a girl who’s fragile so they can protect her, but they want to protect her so they can keep her for themselves.” Her eyes were blazing now, searching into mine, “And when they have that girl, when they have her alone, they want to play rough,” her pelvis was pressing back now, against my thigh, “and they want her to be tough enough to fight back.”

  Our scents were mingling in the heat and I could see that Darlene was aware of it, too.

  I said, “Want a taste?”

  Only the sound of her breath said, “Yes, Tania.”

  I laid my hand on the soft skin on the top of her breast as I leaned forward, close enough to lick her lips. To push them apart with the tip of my tongue. To touch inside them as I breathed into her.

  I took her breath into me. Her lips trembled as she craned her neck up, towards me. I pulled back a fraction, to make her come farther.

  Her lips brushed mine and as I felt her soft round breasts pushing upwards against mine a bolt of excitement shocked me from my core and down. Darlene’s lips fastened on mine and her hips pressed and moved against my thigh.

  I pressed on her breast and she responded. I reached into her skirt and up to her hot, wet panties. She moaned as I slipped two fingers inside and pulled them out wet. I brought my fingertips up to my tongue. Slipped it in between my lips. Darlene leaned up to my mouth again.

  Her tongue and mine lapped at my fingers. Darlene moaned as my hand pressed hard on her soft breast. I felt her nipple harden.

  Darlene’s hand was on my thigh. Sliding up. Pushing my skirt out of the way. Running up to my thong.

  I pushed her down onto the soft leather couch. Made big, soft, wet kisses on the trembling, creamy flesh on top of her breasts. Then inside her thighs. Then higher. Then pushed my tongue past the elastic, into her already wet panties.

  My tongue found the base of her little throbbing clit. Pressed and flicked. And pressed and flicked. Her hands were flailing for my ass, my skirt, my breasts. I evaded her. I was going to drive her wild first.

  Darlene’s thighs trembled as my tongue slipped between her hot petals, down to the back. Very slowly back up, and quickly down again. Each time a little further. A little deeper. Until her buttocks clenched.

  Then she writhed as I pulled her panties aside, pressed my mouth up hard onto her. Gripped her hips in my hands. Pushed my tongue deep inside. Pulled her into my hot, wet mouth. Licked. Upwards. Hard.

  She pressed and rocked on my mouth. Her thick juice flowed onto my tongue and I sucked it out as she squirmed to push her hot, soft lips into my mouth. Her thighs clamped tight around my head.

  I realized that the light had changed and I looked up.

  Standing at the patio door was 9Bar. Long, loose curly black hair swung over one eye. The other was transfixed on where my head was wrapped up in Darlene. I had forgotten that he was due over. Kind of.

  Stocky and heavy, 9Bar’s movements were graceful, and I was fascinated by the contrast. Such a brutal looking man, but with such a tender sensuality. He turned the handle, stepped through the open glass door and closed it behind him in one fluid motion.

  Darlene looked up in a stupor. She began to pull at her clothes, trying to get them into some kind of order. She didn’t make much of a job of it, and I could see from the way 9Bar’s tongue snaked over his lips that she wasn’t making herself any less exciting to him.

  I told her to relax. “Have you seen 9Bar’s cock?” I asked her. She shook her head, confused and disoriented. She was climbing backwards into the couch, like she could maybe disappear into the cracks.

  The strain on 9Bar’s jeans rose with every shy and timid move that Darlene made. I told her, “Don’t worry, Darlene. 9Bar got excited watching us. Maybe I’ll make him happy if I suck his cock.” I looked up at 9Bar. A big grin spread across his face.

  I looked back at Darlene, “You can just stay there. You don’t mind if 9Bar looks at you while I suck him off, do you?” She was a biker chick, for fuck’s sake. Even if she was too shy and vulnerable, she wouldn’t admit it here. Her doe eyes wide, she shook her head slowly.

  I gave Darlene the most thrilling angle of view possible as I took 9Bar’s long, thick snake through my wet lips, across my tongue and into my throat. His hips danced rhythmically as I suckled and gobbled on his hot, fleshy monster.

  Darlene couldn’t help herself, her hands were up in her disheveled panties and flying. Her neck stretched and her teeth clamped on her lip. I kind of edged 9Bar and me around, closer to the couch.

  When we were closer than Darlene’s arm’s length, she reached out and seized the base of his cock while she squeezed her breast and moaned. I made her wait, but after a while, I let her suck on 9Bar. She was thrumming hot when I reached into her wet panties.

  I had to make a visit to the bathroom, but Darlene and 9Bar seemed to have enough to amuse themselves and each other for a moment. I gathered my cut-offs and my shirt on the way, because I’d just remembered Darlene’s ol’ man, Stokey was due over, too.

  Sure enough, while I was cleaning myself up, I heard some shouts and crashing outside. Seemed like a good time for a walk.

  Carnage MC sergeant-at-arms Colm Booker stretched back in the big chair behind the carved council table. He looked long and hard at me. He studied me all the way from my tall patent sandals, up my taught calf muscles and along my softly curved thighs.

  He inspected where the thin strip of
blue denim cut-off shorts were pulled in between the tops of my legs. I bit my lip as he looked over the peach-fuzzy flesh that slid into the top of my shorts, then up to my exposed belly button.

  My breath heaved as he peered inside my open white shirt and up to where my black sheer bra peeked out. His head leaned to one side and his lips pursed as he watched the rise and fall of the dark circles of my aureolas and my aching, hardening nipples, just behind the sides of the shirt’s open front.

  I breathed out with a sigh and then quickly in again while he watched the creamy tops of my breasts swell and flutter. His voice grated as he said, “See, I know that you know you ain’t allowed in here. That’s on account of you being a woman. But what I’m wondering is, how you got in here.”

  “No, Colm,” I kept my voice low, too. In a low register and quiet, so he had to listen real hard, “I don’t think that’s what you’re wondering, how I got in here.”

  I leaned back against the gun rack and hooked my thumbs in the jeans pockets of the little cut-offs. I felt myself getting wet down there.

  I spread my fingers at the tops of my thighs. Pulled at the sides of my mound, stretching the denim tight over it. Rubbed it a little as I looked in his eye. When I left the apartment, I hadn’t had time to put any panties on.

  “No, Colm, I think you’re wondering how you get in here.” I spread the denim as tight as I could.

  “I think I can get in there easy enough.”

  “You probably could have. Up until you said that.”

  He stood slowly and came towards me. “I don’t mind if a woman likes to put up a fight.”

  I straightened, “You don’t mind if she loses, you mean.”

  “Think you wouldn’t?” He laid his big hand on my shoulder.

  “You can take a chance and find out, Colm.”

  He leaned in closer, “No, Tania, the other thing that I’m wondering is why you made such a great steaming shitpile of trouble in just a couple of days.”

  “Maybe I don’t have too much time.”

  “Yeah, it’s the other part that I’m interested in.”

  My eyes went to the door. I was weighing my options.

  Colm said, “It’s always possible that if somebody heard a big ruckus in here, they might come on in to help. It’s not likely, but it’s possible.”

  I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Maybe that’s some small comfort.”

  “Don’t see why. It wouldn’t be you they’d be coming in to help.” His other hand went into my cut-offs. His fingers slid inside. I was drenched.

  He took his hand from my shoulder. Hauled his zipper down. Dragged out his fat cock and leaned against me. Then he put his hand back on my shoulder.

  I drove my fist as fast and as hard as I could, up and into the front of his throat. He choked and staggered, his reddening face all wide-eyed astonishment. I snapped my knee up hard into his balls. As he crumpled forward I raised my foot and shoved him back.

  I left him choking on the floor with his dick out. He’d survive, for sure, but his dignity would have a long recovery. And his authority in the club rested on his standing. I left the door wide open behind me.

  Stoker came to the clubhouse looking for Tania and found Rap along the way. They heard Colm Booker choking in the council room and got him onto a bench in the bar. He tried to resist their help but he was pretty helpless so he couldn’t do too much about it.

  Rap asked Colm what the fuck happened and when Colm said, ‘Tania,” old, gray haired Rusty gasped. He was sitting slumped across the room with a drained and haunted look on his face.

  Rap asked him, “You see that woman come through here? Tall, stacked, tiny cut-offs and lots of hair?”

  Rusty’s head was shaking slowly, “I saw her. That was Tania Black.”

  Stoker said, “You know her?”

  “Knew her. Her father John was better known around here.”

  Colm looked up and his face froze. His voice rasped, hoarse, “John Black?”

  Rusty nodded slowly. Stoker looked between the two men, shocked to see the cold, empty look in their eyes and the color draining from Colm’s face.

  Stoker said, “What happened?”

  Rusty and Colm’s eyes told a story of guilt and death. Neither man offered an explanation. Eventually, Rusty said, “John went on a run, sent on club business,” Colm’s eyes went down to the floor, “There was an ambush waiting for him. He didn’t make it back.”

  Rap said, “And Tania’s his daughter?”

  “That was her name. And that’s who it looked like when I saw her running through the bar.”

  “Did you see where she went?”

  “No, but I know where she is now.”

  Colm’s scratchy voice rasped painfully, “If you know where she is, take us to her, Rusty.”

  “You sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. Let’s go, before she moves on somewhere else again.”

  “Oh, she’ll still be there. If you’re sure then follow me.”

  They rode for several miles. Out of town, up into the hills, past a small village. Rusty stopped by an iron gate and led them walking through. They followed him along an overgrown path until he stopped by an old oak tree.

  The town lay spread across the valley behind him, concrete and smoke, and the murky river running through the middle.

  “Here she is,” Rusty said, and he pointed at a slab of stone in the shade of the tree. On the slab was a simple carving that read Tania Black 1984-2006.

  © Alice May Ball, TzR Publishing, 2014

  Cover Design by Signs of Desire for TzR Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

  Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, or to any actual events is purely coincidental.

  All the people and places are portrayed in this story are fictional. All characters are over the age of eighteen, and entirely imaginary.

  Blaze

  BLAZE

  Part 1

  RHYTHM

  by

  Alice May Ball

  © Alice May Ball, TzR Publishing, 2013

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

  Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, or to any actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Signs of Desire for TzR Publishing

  Cover photo © Katalinks at Bigstockphoto

  I took a teaching post in this supposedly quiet little town of Lovage. At my interview, the principal said, “Think of it as a cross between ‘loving’ and ‘ravage.’ Dream on, principal Bones. For one thing, there isn’t any ravaging on the curriculum and it’s not a staff-room duty either. And for the other thing, this place is more like a cross between a forgotten dried herb and a clump of weeds.

  Since I moved here, I found it easy to skip all of the messy fumbling and the embarrassing lies that boys put you through just to get to your soft, fleshy parts. Now I settle exclusively for the direct move on the chocolate option.

  Well, I did. I did until the night Blaze came to town, but everybody’s good intentions run like yelping packs of frightened hounds when Blaze struts into view.

  A motorcycle has a unique sound all of its own, a distinct voice, and a Harley more so than any other bike. Believe me. I'm not a girl who's mechanically-minded, I don't even know what a spark plug is, apart from what the name tells you it is. It doesn't take long being around a Harley Davidson though, you soon learn to hear its distinctive beat, the unique sound of its throat. You learn the rhythm, the pulse, the notes of the engine and the beat of the exhaust.

  It's a voice, like any other, and the same way that you immediately recognize a voice across a bar or a party, you can hear a Harley that you know, even in a pack. The voice matches the owner somehow
. If he's a big, heavily muscled, hard-ass guy with hot, brown-eyed good looks, an explosive temper and a short fuse, just for instance, then that's how his bike is going to sound.

  Or, I don't know, perhaps you tune in with a finer sensitivity after the owner has tried to kill you.

  I knew that Blaze was trouble, everybody knew that. He was famous for it and, the second he looked in my eye I saw it in the flesh. I can’t deny that was a big part of it. A few of us teachers, all of us good girls, well, reasonably good girls, were celebrating the start of the summer vacation. We were free for a few weeks, and we were owed some Friday night fun.