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

by Alice May Ball

  Hacker came and his slick, salty jizz blasted into my throat, slathering on my tongue, foaming up hot in my mouth and bubbling out of my lips. At the same time, my ass was pumped with hot sticky cum from the thick rod slamming hard into my raw, sore butt.

  All five bikers breathed hard, whooping and panting. Sprawled across the table, ripped and laddered stockings hanging off my legs, my heaving tits, my hair and my face all glistened and were sticky with wet cum.

  After a joint was lit and passed, Hacker took me upstairs. I mounted the stairs after Hacker’s rolling ass and he took me into a long room with large windows, like a loft. A rectangular black couch and chairs were round a low, black table in the middle of the room. Between two doors, a massive black stereo and TV filled the far wall, and an even more massive bed was by a big window and against the near wall.

  The room was white and light, and perhaps even more surprisingly, the bed was made up and neat with a soft pale cover and scattered with big dark pillows. Hacker showed me to the farthest of the two doors, which led to a bathroom with a shower.

  He left me in the bright, tiled bathroom to shower, and afterwards I found a fluffy towel to dry off with. Still toweling my hair, I came out of the shower to find another biker, big, dark and somehow sharper looking than the others, sat on the couch with Hacker. They looked up. Hacker said, “Bogart, this was…” and the other man said,

  “I heard.”

  I could see that Hacker and Bogart had things to talk about, and so I made like a dutiful groupie or whatever. Through the other door I’d seen that Hacker had a little kitchen area, and so I went to fetch beers and fix sandwiches. I heard most of their conversation and I was glad, because that was kind of the point.

  They were talking about a deal or a meeting, and it involved the Death’s Head MC. That was the club name on the backs of the two bikers who attacked me outside the Meathook.

  Bogart said, “You sure you want to handle this on your own, Hacker? Death’s Head are a treacherous basket of snakes from way back.”

  “I think I know what to expect from them, Bogart.” Hacker said, “I got the straight steer on them from Grinder. You know he’s serving drinks at the Meathook, and he clued me in. I already had a little run-in with Boxer and Shank.”

  “I don’t know about this, Hacker. The deal isn’t so important, we can always find some more hardware. You’re no expendable prospect, and I don’t want to see you go down. You certain you don’t want backup?”

  “No, I’d sooner take my chances than show up as weak. For the good standing of the club, we need to establish a point here. I’ll be cool. Thing is, either way it goes down, we’ve got a grip on them. If they play straight, we’ve got leverage down the line. If not, then it gives us a hammer that we can use right away.” They both pulled on their bourbons and clinked their glasses, like they were saluting each other. As they did, the men looked each other in the eye and said, “Bro,” before they took another pull from the shot glasses.

  After Bogart left, Hacker made a couple of calls on his mobile. While he sat on the couch to talk about ‘consignments,’ a ‘shipment,’ some ‘hardware’ and a meet, I took out his long, beautiful cock, and I stroked it. I blew softly on it. I cradled his balls and took them in my mouth, one at a time, sucking gently before letting them ‘pop’ out of my wet lips. Then I licked the underside of his cock with the tip of my tongue.

  As the shaft began to swell, I blew on the head and stroked the sides lightly with my fingertips. I slid my lips over the head, and grazed the underside with my tongue as my breath heated him up. His hips were beginning to squirm. So I slowed down. That made him squirm more, so my touch became softer. That made him press his pelvis up, shoving his cock deeper into my mouth. I held him behind his balls, pushing them towards me with my thumb and forefinger.

  Then he hung up the phone, grabbed my hair and fucked my face, hard. His cock jammed into my throat, making gurgling noises come out of me and sweet saliva flooded my mouth. Then I sucked. Each stroke as the head of his cock reached my lips, I sucked harder and lapped him with my wet tongue. He gasped as he came. This time I fastened my mouth and my throat on him so well, I didn’t lose a drop of his gorgeous cum.

  He lay back and fired up a joint from the ashtray, and his phone beeped.

  Hacker took the call. As soon as he heard the voice at the other end, he was alert and attentive. He turned away, got up, walked to the window. And he spoke in a low voice. But I heard his side of the conversation.

  “Yup… as agreed… yeah, I’ll bring it… yes… and you’ll bring the merchandise… yup… yup… Yasgar’s, right? Yup… eleven thirty. See you there. Yup… stay safe, bro.”

  Yasgar’s. That was a disused factory on the far side of town. Miles from anywhere. I knew it from way back when we’d go there for moonlight drinking and whatever.

  Yasgar’s was a bleak skeleton of an old factory and warehouse complex, like a rectangular mansion of evil from an old black and white movie. The wide tracks around the outside and the parking lots were littered with the shells of vehicles, sheds and broken down outbuildings. Fractured and broken windows on the upper floors glinted in the moonlight. All the ground floor windows and doors were just black gaps with blackened and broken Art Deco curves.

  My plan was to surprise Hacker. I knew he was going to get here early for the meet, and I thought a little al fresco bj would perk him up before showtime. Through the gaping doorway of the main building, massive rusted chains hung from the high roof and piles of old tires and boxes stood by wet pools around the decayed concrete floor. Dripping water echoed in the gloom.

  As soon as I got inside, I heard men’s lowered voices. I froze. I crouched at the doorway, trying to hear, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. The sound was coming from behind a stack of metal shelving, and through it I could make out the silhouettes of at least two pairs of legs. They were no more than fifteen feet away. Their heads were hidden behind the piles of stuff on the shelves. I kept very still as I tried to hear them.

  The words were just a muffled noise and I couldn’t make anything out of them. With a chill, I recognized the voices. Boxer and Shank were just on the other side of those shelves, and I hadn’t a friend for ten miles or more.

  They must have second guessed Hacker and shown up early with their own surprise for him. That didn’t bode at all well. My first instinct was to call him, but I wasn’t going to risk having my phone flash or make a noise before I could get a safe distance away. That thought made me wonder how much distance I would need. It was very quiet around here, they would be able to hear me for some way. It was a miracle I had got this close without being detected.

  I crouched and started to back very slowly out. I would keep low and as close to the wall as I could to get away. My foot dislodged an old can and it rolled very quietly across the concrete. The sound of the voices stopped abruptly.

  I looked back at the shelves. No legs were visible. I turned to run. A huge hand fell on my shoulder and gripped, hard and I heard Shank’s voice, low and hard. “Boxer, I believe we got us a bonus prize.”

  My first thought was to brazen it out. I said, “Oh, boys, you know I’m glad to have found you. Let’s finish what we started earlier,” and I began to undo the buttons of my shirt. As Boxer came at me and I saw the feral look in his eye, I realized that they didn’t want me compliant. They wanted it to be rough. Well, to keep them busy until Hacker arrived, I was prepared to do that, too. I would put up a struggle. Hopefully not so much that they’d end up injuring me, but I could stand some bruising.

  I was beginning to realize that I might do almost anything for Hacker.

  Boxer came at me and I looked frightened. I don’t know that I’m much for acting, but he wasn’t hard to convince. I said, “Oh, no! Please don’t tear my shirt,” and he reached out to the front of my beautiful white cotton shirt. Buttons flew as he ripped right down the front of the shirt. I reached for his wrist and he slapped me hard across
the face.

  The side of my face stung, and the shock sent me reeling. Shank was there to catch me. As I fell, I turned my head and breathed hard on the hard bulge that strained the front of his blue denims. He grabbed my chin. I slipped and was falling awkwardly. Shank caught my hair. A shock of pain hit me as the whole of my weight was suddenly hanging from my scalp. I got my knees to the floor as Shank’s cock loomed in my face.

  I shied away from it, hoping that while he made me suck his dick, it would keep him occupied and prevent him doing me worse violence. That still left Boxer, of course, but he was yanking my ass up, and tearing at my panties. It took him three goes to rip the gusset out. When my flesh was exposed, Boxer helped himself to a generous feel along my clit, my slit, my lips and my ass. I squirmed as he shoved his fingers up in my pussy and, treacherous female anatomy, it was soaking wet.

  Treacherous or maybe just self-protective. Boxer’s attention was certainly held at that moment. He worked his fingers up me, growling, “This little cunt’s as wet as a day in Scotland,” and, “horny little whore, she’s dripping for it.” Then he jammed his thumb up my ass. All the while, Shank’s cock was ramming my throat. I made noises of protest and Shank slapped my face. When he found how much he liked that, the sound of the slap and the whack as his hand beat my flesh on his cock, he slapped me again, harder.

  He did that a couple more times as Boxer’s cock was engaging in my ass. Next time Shank smacked my face, I let the impact bang my teeth into his cock. Just enough for the fun to have gone down out of that game for him. Boxer’s cock was splitting my ass wide, dry without even spit for lube. I didn’t need to pretend, my ass was shaking to get him out, whether I wanted it to or not.

  Then a mechanical click echoed in the darkness of the decaying industrial shell and everything became still. After the click, from behind me I heard Hacker’s voice. “Boxer you can finish cumming up my personal sweetbutt’s ass, or you can get right on to explaining why I can’t see my merchandise anywhere around here.” Then I felt a small ring of cold steel against my temple.

  Shank said, “Well, if she’s your personal sweetbutt, how are you going to feel after I blow her personal head open?”

  I heard Hacker say, “Not nearly as bad as you are, cause it aint my dick in her mouth. I doubt you want to blow your own dick off, Shank, but I can’t be sure. You are pretty fucking stupid.” There was a silence. Hacker said, “And since she is my personal sweetbutt whose throat you have your dick stuck in, I wonder what she would do if I asked her nicely to chomp your dick right off.”

  I bit on Shank’s cock. Not enough to draw blood but nearly. Enough to show him that I’d be happy to do it. The cocks in both ends of me were starting to wilt away. The pistol barrel went quickly away from the side of my head and upwards. My ears hurt from the hard, loud echo that the gunshots made in the cavernous warehouse. Something burned my shoulder. Shank fell backwards. Went down like a log.

  I turned, pulling my sore ass off Boxer’s cock. Shank lay flat on the ground, the gun smoking on the ground at his side. He had a startled look on his face. He also had a neat, red hole in the right of his forehead. A thick puddle of blood seeped out from the back of his head. Hacker’s gun was now up against the back of Boxer’s head.

  Hacker said, “Boxer. Tell me about my merchandise.”

  Boxer said, “It’s not here.”

  “No, obviously it isn’t. But it will be tomorrow. You’ll bring it here and then you’ll leave it. And you’ll consider it paid in full. Otherwise, by this time tomorrow, you’ll be meeting up with your bro where you can both become useful parts of a new freeway intersection.”

  We sat together on Hacker’s unexpectedly neat bed.

  Hacker took a long draw on the joint, held his breath in for a moment, then passed it over to me. As I took a toke, he picked up a remote, pressed a button and set it down again. The stereo played Free, the Fire and Water album.

  The grass was strong and smooth, fresh, natural Pacific Northwest produce. Straight away I was buzzing nicely. He came over to me to take back the joint. He was standing close. His chest was close to mine, and my breasts ached for him. I tipped my hip towards him, felt the heat of his groin next to the heat of mine. He said, “You can’t expect too much, okay?” I looked down at the big bulge in his jeans and I said,

  “I don’t know, Hacker, looks like you’ve got a fair sized package for me there.”

  He said, “I mean after.” In his eyes, through the hard, protective shield, I thought I saw someone with a deep, dark hole inside. An unfilled need. I knew that feeling well enough to know it.

  He leaned in towards me, “Let me look at your shoulder,” he touched it tenderly. After a gentle examination, he said, “You won’t need stitches, but I’ll put a couple of steri-strips on it.” He went to the bathroom and he returned with a medical pack. I said,

  “I should take off my shirt. Right?” He almost broke into a smile and I almost caught my breath.

  He watched as I shrugged out of the leather waistcoat. Since he was watching, I made a little show of undoing the shirt buttons, pulling the tails out of my skirt and then taking the shirt off, one sleeve at a time. I put my elbows across my bra, and looked up at him, checking that I wasn’t overdoing it. I think maybe I was but he didn’t seem to mind. We were both buzzing nicely on the weed by then, so everything seemed more like fun and mischief.

  He was attentive as he cleaned the wound up, although he didn’t mind looking at my breasts while he did it. He put three thin tapes across the gash, then a sticking plaster over the tapes. Then he inspected his work. Then he looked at my breasts. Then he kissed me.

  He kissed me softly at first, then deep, slow and soulful. I responded. The music carried our bodies together and I went to take off his jacket. He pushed me back firmly. The look in his eye was enough and I remembered. You don’t mess with a biker’s jacket, or with anything that has their colors on. A biker’s colors are as sacred as his bike. Ok. I said I was sorry. He said, “There are rules. You don’t want to fuck with them.” I wanted to say, No, I want to fuck with you, but his face wasn’t ready for jokes yet.

  We smoked some more of the joint, passing it between us. He said, “You didn’t have a figure like that in high school.” I asked him,

  “Would you have paid me more attention if I had?”

  “I might have fucked you,” he said, “You were a couple of years below me, though. I wouldn’t have risked jail for it.” He pulled back and looked at my breasts again. Then his eyes slid up my neck. Then down to my legs. Slowly they traced up my thighs. After a long toke he said, “Okay. I might have.” His hand slipped around to my ass and he pulled me in for anther kiss. This time hard. Deep and wet. His tongue inside my mouth. My heart pounded as he pulled my hips against his groin and my breasts crushed into the muscles of his hard chest.

  I grabbed his ass and felt fires igniting all over me. My mound was squeezed in my wet panties against the uncoiling bulge in his jeans. My clit buzzed hot and raw in the friction. I pulled hard at his ass, and my body stretched up along his. I wanted to feel his skin. I wanted my hands on his flesh. I wanted him on me. In me.

  I ached to taste him. To feel him part me and plunge into me. My lips and my tongue wanted to feel his hot, hardening cock. The cock that pressed at me through my tiny leather skirt. My skirt that was riding up. His thick, hard thigh wedged in between mine. The denim grazed soft flesh above my stockings. I gripped him with my thighs. The heat of his cock rubbed against the swollen hood of my clit.

  His hands were on my breasts. Cupping them, squeezing them, teasing and kneading them through my black lacy bra. He slipped the straps off my shoulders then licked and sucked at my heaving breasts, slipping his hands into the cups to circle and roll my stinging hard nipples. I unsnapped the bra and let it drop. His lips and his tongue were on my nipples, suckling and pulling them. As he sucked on one, he tweaked and stretched the other with his fingers. My breath caught in my throat and m
y heart thumped in my heaving chest.

  My desperate pussy ached to get out of my wet panties and along the card evil curve of Hacker’s hot cock. It rubbed against his jeans, making me moan and quiver with excitement and pent-up passion. The nub of my clit sawed out under its swollen hood and it twanged and stung from wanting.

  His hand slid over my stomach. Down my leather skirt. Then up inside it. I bit on his shoulder, I grazed his chest with my teeth. I growled into his neck as his hands slipped past all of my clothes. I moaned as his fingers found my weeping flower, dripping hot with need. I said, “Hacker, whatever of your clothes you don’t want me to touch, will you please fucking take them off. I want you.”

  Hanging naked, upside down with my thighs on Hacker’s shoulders, his tongue buried itself in my puss, his lips pressed hard against my petals. My throat hugged the length of his cock and my mouth slewed along the length of it as I sucked him to another climax.

  That was when I decided. The sex definitely made it all worth it.

  © 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.