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

by Alice May Ball

  We were backstage at the Organ Grind concert. We reached the level of the stage, and approached the light from the darkness at one side and I saw Chainsaw Babbage through the drapes, not fifteen feet away, beating on his guitar that looked like a chainsaw, and yelling into the mic the chorus that was the raw anthem of rebellion that summer,

  “Get that monkey, OUT OF HERE!”

  When we were right at the wings, almost on the stage, Chainsaw looked over and waved to Blaze, and he held up one finger. Blaze showed him one finger back, and they both laughed.

  Without a word, Blaze turned me to face the wall and pushed me so I had my hands on it. The smoky, golden boy voice came through my hair and I felt as much as heard him say,

  “Do much anal?”

  My eyes widened and I said,

  “None,”

  As he undid my jeans, he chuckled and said,

  “This is going to be a regular university for you, isn’t it.”

  Now? Here? It was true, I had never done it before. I’d thought about it often enough. I think that most girls do, but most girls say they don’t so who knows. The only boy who ever really tried, though, got so turned on between my bouncy buttocks, he came right outside and it was game over.

  As Blaze worked my jeans out of the way and pulled my panties down with them to my thighs, I was simultaneously turned on and terrified, in about equal measure. My heart banged, my mouth dried and my breath stuck in my throat.

  I felt something cold and gooey on his finger as it slid between my buttocks, around my little virgin ass and I yelped as it slid in. I felt my juice welling and starting to trickle down my thigh. Then two fingers widened my ass.

  The pain was excruciating as he slid them in and out, and pushed them apart. I relaxed as much as I could. Then there were three fingers, then three and a thumb sliding in the slippery gel, into my soft ass.

  My knees almost buckled as his fingers were replaced by the head of his cock. Both of his hands pulling my butt cheeks apart, he drove his way in. In and up. Cold, slippery gel, hot, hard cock and a raw ass, cushioned by my big, soft, round cheeks, which he spanked. He slapped my ass cheeks, first firmly then hard.

  And then really hard. His cock drove farther and farther up, and I yelled as he yanked on my hair. I shouted and shrieked as he thrust faster, harder, farther and farther up, his leather jeans jammed against the cushions of my stinging red ass cheeks. If we’d have moved three feet over, he would have been claiming my anal maidenhood in front of about twenty thousand people.

  My ass ached and burned raw, and my puss got hotter and wetter. I had never felt so full of a man. He finished as the song Monkey finished, driving into my ass so hard that my feet were off the ground. my weight was all on my ass and on his cock.

  As the crowd leaped up and yelled, he pulled out and I crumpled to the floor, my eyes and my pussy both streaming. I saw Blaze strut straight out to center stage to a roar from the crowd. Chainsaw said into the mic,

  “Anybody hear all that shouting from back there?”

  The roar of approval from the crowd doubled. The stage shook beneath me. Chainsaw grinned at Blaze and said,

  “Guess you’re all revved up now, right?”

  Another cheer. Blaze had a grin all the way across his face as he strapped on a guitar. He and the band tore and slewed into Lovelace Lies Bleeding. It seemed appropriate.

  Lying, quivering on the side of the stage, my thighs trembled so much, I knew I couldn’t stand yet. Blaze threw flashes of smiles at me as he played that killer song, like he was in front of about twenty thousand people, but playing just for me.

  Each time his eye sought me out there in the wings, a flash of pure thrill shot through me, from my tightening thighs right up to my throat. He threw me a couple of looks in his big guitar solo, one especially at the climax as he hoisted the head of the guitar up in the air.

  As he hammered into the last climactic chorus I came again. Nothing touched me, and I didn’t touch myself, and still I came. That hasn’t happened to me since high school. When he looked again, he must have seen it on my face that I was coming. If I’d pitched off a bridge right then, I would have landed straight in heaven.

  By the end of the song, I was back on my feet, my jeans were back up and I was shouting from the wings. The looks and leers that I caught from the stagehands and the other liggers and lurkers standing around backstage did nothing to dampen the thrill. The burning soreness in my ass, I took that as my badge of honor.

  After the song’s big finish, Blaze waved to the cheering stadium crowd and said something in Chainsaw’s ear that got a big laugh from him. Then Blaze was loping back to the wings and still grinning.

  He didn’t break step as he grabbed me by the hair and guided me back through the darkness and out the way we came in. That raw masculinity was terrifying, and it thrilled me, from my head right down to my pants.

  Everyone we passed grinned and applauded or shouted. Outside he took me to a black Harley. He swung his legs astride it and I was about to climb on the back when he said,

  “No, girl. What are you doing?”

  I just looked at him and my jaw sagged. He patted the fuel tank between his thighs and said,

  “Up here, girl.”

  I was about to try to climb onto the tank when he said,

  “You need to get your jeans off first,”

  As though that were the most obvious thing. What was I, an idiot? I took my jeans off, he took them from me and dropped them in a leather pannier. I wriggled up onto the tank, wearing just a loose t-shirt and a skimpy pair of sheer, black panties. I sat, facing him, my legs over his thighs. He said,

  “There you go.” and he fired up the bike’s thumping motor. That was the first time I heard the sound of that scooter, and I never forgot it.

  As we flew out onto the freeway, he looked me over, leaning back on the tank in front of him. My thin t-shirt flapped around my big breasts, bare under the thin cotton. As the wind whipped under the shirt and around my nipples, my breasts swelled, my nipples hardened and his eyes widened.

  The wind blew around the tops of my thighs and I looked up at Blaze, guiding the huge, pounding bike. Through my panties and right at the soft opening between my thighs, in his hot leather jeans I felt that rockstar ramrod ready to go. I said,

  “Fuck me,”

  He undid his pants and dragged that out huge member. Pulling my panties aside, he slammed it straight into my hot, wet, hungry puss. He rose out of the saddle to fuck me as we drove, the wind in my hair and under my t-shirt, fanning my hot breasts, my arms out behind me over the bars. He was in me, pumping the length of that shaft, and my breasts bounced. The feeling of my breasts swelling in the wind and under the flimsy cotton, his cock ramming into me again and again, and the heat of his hips grinding into my crotch and the hardness of his thighs under my ass, I was yelling.

  “Yes, yes! Blaze. Fuck me. Fuck me, Blaze, fuck me!”

  With one hand he reached up under my ass. He shoved a finger up there and it made me gasp again, and he used that hand to set the rhythm, his finger hooked in my ass to pull my hips on and down and up and around.

  His eyes flashed and his teeth gleamed in the dark. We passed all kinds of traffic, and I shouted at the little suburban people in their little suburban cars,

  “Look, motherfuckers. Feast your eyes! Drool and shove your hands down your pants! Because you ain't going to be doing anything like this. Not as long as you LIVE!”

  I was practically naked, the wrong way on a motorcycle, doing who cares what speed, bucking and grinding on a hard, hot, thick cock. I was flying and being fucked in the wind by a huge rock megastar. And I mean huge in every way.

  I pushed and squeezed my ass down as far as I could, and I pulled myself to sit up so I could wrap my arms around him, and feel his big, solid chest and trunk up hard against the cushions of my big, soft, lovely breasts. My nipples throbbed through the flimsy cotton t-shirt and against his hard chest and the wind rus
hed up cold between my thighs, and around the lips of my pussy as they hugged and sucked on his pounding hammer.

  Cold air picked out bare flesh around my crotch, mapping where my hot juices ran, the hot lips of my quivering quim as it clung hungrily to the thick shaft of his hot, pulsing, pounding rod. I beat my lips up and down that shaft and pushed my clit as hard as I could into his groin.

  I rose and slid down again and again, along the tank, along the length of that fat, hard cock. I felt the pulse of it rise up inside me, and his heat rose as mine did. He pushed me back to lying against the tank again and he rose to pound into me.

  He pumped, pressed and pounded in long, hard strokes, farther forward and harder up, holding and pushing at the end, when he was up me the farthest, grinding our pelvises together, and I pushed back as hard as I could.

  I came so hard that I shouted and my juice squirted over his stomach, and it drenched his pubes and his cock as it rammed into me, filling me and reaming me. When he came, his cum pumped hot inside me and as he climaxed, he accelerated the bike and he laughed like a maniac, that wonderful voice soaring over the rising note of the engine.

  Riding on my back in the wind, I stared up and marvelled at his chiselled face, his manic eyes and his evil grin.

  Soon, we stopped at a roadhouse on the edge of town and parked up by a crowd of Harleys that leaned outside. We headed for the entrance, me wearing nothing but the big, loose t-shirt and my panties. And they weren't exactly straight. My hair was in my face and I just didn’t fucking care. Before we went in, I said,

  “Blaze?”

  and he stopped and looked at me. I would have fucked him again, right there, right at the door of that place. Taken him in my mouth, taken him up my ass, taken him between my breasts, into my pussy, anywhere. Everywhere. Only, I don’t think it’s polite to jump a man just a couple of minutes after he’s come. It could embarrass him. See, I hardly knew Blaze back then. I said,

  “It’s just sex, right?” as his shone back into mine, my mind raced. Here I’m in the most fantastic adventure, literally beyond my wildest imaginings, and I was going to risk fucking it up like that. My mouth. He said,

  “There’s no such thing as just sex.” and his hand touched my forearm,

  “Anyway, I don’t know about you, but tonight’s been pretty special for me so far.”

  He opened the door before I could make a response.

  When Blaze stepped through the door, the whole place cheered. When they got sight of me, though, they whooped and they yelled. It was a low-lit dive, filled with bikers and women wearing a lot of not much, mostly black. Blaze greeted everybody as we crossed the floor, slapped some hands, said, ‘hey’ to a few guys.

  The bartender was ready for us, Blaze grinned and said,

  “Jack.” the guy handed him a bottle and two shot glasses.

  Blaze grabbed the bottle and glasses in one hand, me in the other, and took us to a table in the corner where a woman with long, black, spikey hair wore black fishnet stockings with garters, some black lace around a black corset, black makeup and red lipstick. Blaze said,

  “Zelda, this is Lucy.”

  Zelda looked at me. Blaze told her,

  “Teach this girl to deepthroat.”

  BLAZE

  Part 2

  BEAT

  by

  Alice May Ball

  Last night somebody tried to break into my apartment. I was sleeping. There was a scraping sound at the door, and I was awake. The baseball bat lives beside me in the bed and I was across the room in a heartbeat, silent in my bare feet.

  I may look heavy and I may look slow, but I have nervous energy, and I am motivated. I waited by the door with the bat ready. Not on the hinge side, on the side that opens.

  A combat vet taught me that and some more. There was a clicking around the flimsy latch, and the sound of something sliding between the lock and the frame. I knew the cheap little lock on the door was no good, but I don't get paid until the day after tomorrow, so I can't do a thing about it.

  My arms were shaking, my hands were sweating, my chest pounded so hard that I thought whoever was on the other side of the door would hear it. I had an idea who it would be, though.

  I got to the roadhouse wearing a big, loose t-shirt, and I was kind of wearing a pair of sheer black panties. Blaze took me to meet a beautiful but, to me, really scary goth who he called Zelda. Blaze told her to teach me to deepthroat.

  Zelda looked at me and kept looking at me as she called out,

  “Carl?”

  A deep grunt drifted up from the far side of the bar. Still holding my eyes with her own, Zelda called again,

  “Over here.”

  A biker in streaky denims over leather over more mottled denim came to the table. He was massive in every direction. A beard hung down to rest on the top of his considerable gut. His teeth flashed with silver and his fingers all had thick, heavy silver rings. Every visible patch of his skin was blue from tattoo ink. Zelda stood and said,

  “Come on,” and led Carl and me to a door at the back of the bar. Carl loped with a boyish enthusiasm at odds with his bulk. My feet dragged, and I looked back to the table, but Blaze was gone.

  Zelda took my elbow and guided me out and up some steps, to a dimly lit lounge. She waved me on to a chaise-longue, and sat on a chair facing me. From outside, I heard an engine start, and that was the first time that I recognized the hefty, thumping sound of Blaze’s Harley.

  Several more bike engines started up and, as they all pulled away, I could hear Blaze’s bike lead the pack. I wondered when he would be back, or If he would return at all.

  Zelda clearly heard it, too, and read the look on my face. This strange woman with the porcelain skin looked like the whore-heroine of a dark steampunk fantasy.

  I’m not a ‘relationship’ kind of a girl, never have been. They don’t happen for me, and I don’t need them. So I wasn’t going to start imagining cottages in the country or white dresses and veils, heading into the sunset with little pinkies linked. All that crap.

  But the connection between Blaze and me, it had been powerful and unlike anything that I’d known before. He had told me that it was something special for him, too. And, while I wasn’t heading off into dreams of hearts and flowers, I couldn’t stop myself from hoping, really hoping, that it would somehow go on.

  It was only a couple of hours in, and already it was something that I was afraid to lose. And a couple of hours in, it had already outlasted most of my better relationships.

  Carl stood beside Zelda, and I couldn’t avoid noticing under his jeans, a lump went most of the length of his right thigh. And as I looked at it, it twitched.

  I said,

  “What’s Carl going to do?” and tried to keep my voice even. Zelda said,

  “Carl is going to get us some beers.” She looked up at him and he smiled, went to another room, and came back with three beers, handed one each to Zelda and me. He took the other beer to the far end of the lounge, where he turned on a screen, and sat to play a console game that involved a lot of shooting and explosions.

  Zelda said,

  “You just met Blaze, I’m guessing,” I nodded. She said,

  “He deals in fantasy. Myths and epic tales are his trade. That whole rockstar kick is a bunch of modern myths.”

  She looked in my eyes, like she wanted to see that I was following her drift, and I wasn’t sure that I was. She said,

  “Anytime he wants something, always wrap it up in a legend before you give it to him. Make a story and tell him why it’s special, and especially why it’s special for him. He’s apt to be unpredictable if you don’t keep a hold of his attention. Blaze believes that he isn’t like other people, that he’s special.”’

  In her voice, I could hear that she was telling me something important. She was warning me. I think Zelda had some kind of a gift. Or maybe she just knew Blaze, really well. She said,

  “What makes him different from what he calls ‘civil
ians’ is that they don’t go around believing myths about themselves.” She took a pull on her beer.

  “Anytime he wants something you don’t want to give, that’s the time you’ve got to go.”

  Zelda was definitely telling me something. Something I should try to unpick and learn. She looked me up and down. When I had stepped into the bar downstairs with Blaze, I felt strong, unique.

  As we crossed the room, every eye relished the considerable bounce under my loose, flimsy cotton t-shirt, my pale, magnificent thighs and the roll of my big, gorgeous ass.