“C’mon,” Coyle was losing patience. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder again. “Get your ass outside. I’ve got to talk to Christi here – alone.”
I nodded.
Pushing Christi off my knee, I rose to my feet – and I think it took more strength and effort to do that than I’d ever remembered exerting in all my life.
The trailer rocked, as I swung open the door, and clambered down the steps.
A moment later, my boots crunched on the gravel underfoot, as I stepped back beneath the looming ceiling of that huge, abandoned food court.
A dozen or so Knuckleheads watched me as I walked away from the trailer – peering at me through narrow eyes, and hissing comments to each other that I didn’t imagine were complimentary.
But none of them spoke to me, or approached me.
Coyle had told them to hate me, because I’d been riding as an undercover law enforcement agent the whole time I’d been a Knucklehead…
But he’d also told them to leave me the fuck alone, at least until he was on hand to decide what happened to me.
I guess that should have been a small mercy. But as I walked away from the trailer, with accusing eyes of men I’d previously called my brothers burning into me, I felt more wretched than I had for a very long time.
Chapter Forty-One
Christi
How many times had I been alone in this trailer with Coyle?
Over the months I’d been riding with the Knuckleheads, it probably wasn’t that many.
Normally, I’d be in here with Bertha, as well – at the very least. Or one of his other biker brethren. Sometimes they’d just be chilling, drinking whiskey. Other times one, or both of them, would have their dicks eagerly buried inside of me.
Most of the time, though, I’d just sat very quietly on the bed, or on the couch – either waiting for Coyle to take his pleasure with me, or squirming because I was still sticky from when he just did.
I’d always felt like part of the furniture, or a house pet – ready to be tossed a treat, or sent out to ‘play’ with his other animals.
But not now.
Now, when the door to the Airstream trailer slammed shut, and Mason had finally left, the dynamic between Coyle and I seemed very different.
The huge biker still towered over me – but somehow, I met him eye-to-eye.
He stood there silently.
Expectantly.
Waiting for me to speak.
Knowing the words that were going to come out of my mouth, even before I took breath to utter them.
And I didn’t disappoint.
“Please,” I pleaded, voice cracking. “Please… Don’t hurt Mason…”
Coyle just looked down at me. Then he crossed his beefy arms, and slid into the bench of the breakfast nook, opposite me.
“Please…” I repeated.
With a heavy sigh, Coyle picked up the nearly-empty glass that Mason had been sipping Bourbon from, and brought it to his lips. He gulped what was left down, and I wasn’t sure that the groan he uttered was satisfaction at the taste, or frustration that there wasn’t any more of it.
Then he paused – and looked across the table at me.
“Recon,” he sighed. Shaking his head, he murmured: “Recon, or Mason if you have to give that fucker a name –betrayed me, kitten.”
He took a ragged breath.
“He rode with me for months, Christi – and he was an undercover cop the whole fucking time.”
I gulped dryly.
“I-I know… But…”
“There ain’t no fuckin’ ‘but’!”
The glass slammed down on the table.
“There ain’t no fucking extenuating circumstances to this, sugar tits.” Shaking his head, Coyle growled: “He joined us like a fuckin’ snake in the grass, and if you can live a lie like that for three or four fuckin’ months…”
His shoulders slumped despondently.
“Well… That says a lot about your character.”
Did it? Did it really?
Because all I needed to see about Mason’s character was the way he accepted certain death, rather than work with those two crooked cops.
The way he’d watched out for me, and made sure I stayed out of handcuffs when we met up with the FBI.
I couldn’t tell you if what he’d done to Coyle was worthy of his condemnation…
…but I did know that the Mason I’d ridden with was one of the truest, most protective men I’d ever known.
I didn’t think I’d be alive if it wasn’t for him.
As if reading my thoughts, Coyle grimly admitted:
“I hear you, kitten. It doesn’t give me any pleasure to do this. But I gotta.”
He shook his head again.
“My boys expect it. We have a code, and we have punishments – and I can’t keep discipline if those boys see that I don’t always enact those punishments…”
I looked across the table at him, and while Coyle was trying to be cold and robotic about him, I could see beneath his grizzled mask that he was tortured by what he was expected to do.
More so, that I was torturing him by questioning his resolve.
But that in itself was my only hope of saving Mason. If there was a crack in Coyle’s steely armor, I had to shove a pry-bar in there and yank it with all my might.
I reached across the table, and laid my hand on his.
Coyle’s eyes widened when I did that, and he looked up at me in surprise.
I couldn’t blame him.
Oh, Coyle and I had touched skin-to-skin plenty over the past few months. In fact, with one hotly-debated exception, I don’t think there was a single part of my body his calloused fingers hadn’t explored.
But he’d always been the one doing the exploring. He always reached out to touch me. I knew that giving him my body was the price I’d have to pay for the Knucklehead’s protection – but I’d always been a passive plaything. I’d never reached out to touch him in all the time we’d spent together.
So, already, I had peeled that crack in his armor open a little more.
I took a ragged breath, and went all-out.
“Please,” I repeated for the third time, squeezing his big hand. “I’ll do anything.”
And when I said ‘anything’ I murmured it with a breathy purr, and I bit my lip coyly the moment I stopped speaking.
Coyle watched, and seemed to grow physically taller in his seat.
I doubted that was the only way he was ‘growing’…
Squirming in his seat, confirming my hypothesis, Coyle tried not to look flustered – and failed.
“Anything?”
“Anything,” I was still biting my lip. Squeezing his hand, I promised: “I’ll let you do anything if you let Mason live.”
Of course, steam wasn’t really rising from the color of Coyle’s shirt… but it might as well have been.
Red-faced and flustered, and with a nervous glance at his watch, Coyle eventually nodded.
He glanced over his shoulder, out of the window of the Airstream towards those gathered outside.
The tinting was set up in such a way that we could see out, but it wasn’t so easy for people outside to peer back in.
For a moment, Coyle just sat there, brow wrinkled…
And then he cursed to himself: “Fuck it.”
He pushed my hand off his, and clambered up out of the breakfast booth.
“You mean it, kitten?” He asked, as he towered over me. “You’re really willing to give me… anything?”
I looked up at him. Even though Coyle was towering over me, dwarfing me with his size and presence, I felt like I was the one who had the power in this dynamic.
I looked up at him coyly, and promised: “Anything.”
Coyle gulped dryly.
“Okay.” Steely determination had set in place. “I guess loverboy out there can wait fifteen minutes.” He crossed over to the door of the Airstream, and flicked the lock shut.
And t
hen he turned to me – and there was a look in Coyle’s eyes that I’d seen many, many times before.
He was looking at me like a hungry dog. Like a man who hadn’t eaten for a week might look at a juicy cheeseburger.
His mouth was practically watering.
“I’d been saving that tight little ass of yours for a special occasion,” he growled at me, a bulge starting to stretch the front of his jeans. “Now seems as good a time as any.”
He pointed a thick finger towards the bedroom section of the trailer.
“Get your ass in there, and get your pants off,” Coyle growled. “I’ll let Mason live, if you’re a good girl and give me what I want.”
A wolfish smile crossed his grizzled face.
“But you’d better bet I’m gonna take it out of your ass.”
***
Could I really do this?
Trembling, I clambered up from the breakfast nook, and turned to the flimsy Formica doorway that separated the main cabin of the Airstream from the bedroom.
My legs felt like jello as I walked there.
A week ago? I’d have been fine with this. I’d have been like a robot, and anything that happened to me I would have processed, and absorbed, and then squished down into that secret part of my subconscious I try not to visit too often.
But that was before.
Before Mason. Before I’d looked into his electric blue eyes for the first time, and had every part of myself I’d switched off filled with energy and passion again.
The moment we’d first kissed… First made love…
Well, I’d screwed myself. After that, I knew I’d never be able to go back to being an emotionless, obedient little sex-robot again.
And yet, that’s exactly what was expected of me now.
“C’mon, kitten,” Coyle prompted. “We don’t have much time.”
Coyle knew that the only virginal part of me was my ass. For all the sexual misadventures I’d had in the past few months – giving a previously inexperienced girl like me several lifetimes worth of sexual experience – that was one thing that had never been expected of me.
And when Coyle had learned about it, it had become my one hard limit.
“Oh, I’m savin’ that cherry,” he’d warn the men he willingly shared me with. “That’s ass is for me, y’hear?”
He’d laid claim to my virginal asshole months earlier – and as much as it hurt me to accept it, he kind of had dibs.
So, I stepped into the cramped little trailer bedroom, and started unbuckling my jeans.
It felt like a betrayal, of course.
As I pulled down my jeans, I felt like I was betraying Mason. Like I was cheating on him, somehow.
The logical part of me knew that was bullshit – that I was simply trading this sexual favor in return for Mason’s life…
…but I also knew that he’d be hurt by it. That after the intensity of our brief love affair, he’d be angry and jealous at the thought of another man’s hands – much less their dick – on and in my body.
But this was the price I had to pay, right?
I gulped dryly, crawling onto the bed with my jeans and panties around my knees.
…right?
***
With my face towards the head of the bed, and my bare ass presented towards the doorway, I couldn’t see Coyle enter the bedroom…
…but I heard him.
I heard his cowboy boots scuff on the linoleum, and his massive shadow fall across the bedclothes.
I could feel his hot eyes, burning on my skin as he gazed down and examined me.
It was intensely humiliating, to be knelt there like a bitch in heat, presenting my bare ass and pussy to him.
That humiliation got even worse when I heard him suck his breath in, and murmur:
“Holy shit, kitten. Look how fuckin’ beautiful you are.”
And then the floorboards creaked, and I knew Coyle was kneeling down at the edge of the bed, behind me.
I squeezed shut my eyes and hung my head, as I knelt there on my knees and elbows.
Suddenly, I felt his calloused hands on my skin.
“Damn, princess…” He’d laid his big hands on the bare skin of my ass cheeks, and was stroking them softly. “You look as ripe and delicious as a juicy peach.”
And then I felt his hot breath on my thighs…
I squeezed shut my eyes even tighter, and wrung two hot, salty tears out of them as I did so.
As the hot tears rolled down the cheeks of my face, Coyle’s big hands spread the cheeks of my ass…
I moaned reluctantly, as I felt Coyle lean forward, and bury his face between my thighs.
“Huuuuungh!” I couldn't help but moan.
Coyle’s stubbled jaw slid between my inner thighs. His nose nudged between the cheeks of my ass.
His hot, wet, rasping tongue suddenly slithered between the folds of my exposed pussy – licking me from top to bottom and forcing my cunt to reluctantly blossom like a pink, dewy flower.
“Oh, God…”
I balled my hands into fists and clawed at the covers, as Coyle’s tongue slithered inside of me, and then swirled relentlessly around my clitoris.
Goddammit…
I was hating this. I felt like a whore, as I knelt on my knees and elbows, presenting my ass and pussy to him as if I had absolutely no shame…
But for months I’d ridden with the Knuckleheads and I hadn’t had any shame…
…and while my heart might have changed, it takes longer for your body’s conditioning to adapt.
So, as Coyle’s warm, wet tongue swirled around my clitoris, I felt my body tingle, and tremble, and my pussy gushed with wetness.
My nipples hardened beneath the thin material of my tank-top. Butterflies swirled in my stomach.
“Mmmmmmm,” for a moment, Coyle pulled his face from between my thighs, and smacked his lips. “You taste delicious, kitten. I called you a peach earlier, and you surely are…” His tongue took a playful lap from my wetness. “Ripe, and sweet, and juicy…”
And then he plunged his face between my thighs again, and I reluctantly cried out in pleasure…
“Shiiit!”
I was tearing the corners of the bedsheet off the mattress, as I clawed at the covers. I felt my own wetness, and Coyle’s saliva, drooling hotly down my thighs.
Despite myself – goddammit – I found myself pushing my ass backwards, into his face… Trying to impale myself deeper on his questing tongue… Trying to chase that elusive build-up of pleasure…
And it was building up…
As much as I hated myself for it, my body had conditioned itself to respond. Like a boiling, broiling kettle, a pending detonation of sensation was building between my thighs.
My breath was getting ragged. My cheeks were flushed. I could feel my pulse throb between my legs, and in my nipples...
“Oh, fuuuuck....”
I squeezed shut my eyes, and tightened my grip on the bedsheets, and then I exploded in orgasm - gushing hotly into Coyle's probing face.
Oh, God. For a second it was heaven - my brain shut down, and all I felt was a tidal wave of pleasure, washing over me and lifting me up on a crest of ecstacy...
...and then it brought me crashing back down to reality...
I released the bedsheets, and lifted one fist to my mouth - sinking my teeth into my own skin to stifle a sob.
My body was still tingling, but the pleasure was tinged with humiliation. I felt ashamed for having cum so quickly and easily. I wondered if Mason had heard my cry of ecstasy from outside the aluminium walls of the trailer...
...and even as I wondered that, I felt Coyle's tongue continue to explore me.
“I love making you cum, kitten,” Coyle murmured, as he lifted his face from between my thighs. I couldn't see it, of course - not while I was facing the head of the bed - but I could always imagine the grin on his face, as he knelt there with his lips and chin glistening with my wetness.
His tongue
might have left me - but I gasped and moaned as he quickly replaced it with his fingers.
Two thick, calloused fingers pressed against my quivering wetness, and my eager pussy greedily sucked them inside.
“Huuungh!” I arched my back as I felt Coyle's fingers stretch and fill me. Together, two of his big digits were thicker than most men's cocks - and believe me, after months of riding with the Knuckleheads, I'd taken plenty of cocks to make that comparison against.
Soon, his fingers were buried inside me right to Coyle's knuckles, and he started to gently move them in a come-hither gesture; expertly probing my still-quivering g-spot.
At the same time, the deliciously calloused nub of his thumb pressed against my clitoris, and began to circle it inexorably...
Coyle's fingers were the perfect combination of thickness, roughness, and fullness... His technique was relentless...
Despite myself, I had to sink my teeth even harder into my fist, as I found myself orgasming a second time.
“Oh, God,” I sobbed, burying my face in the pillows as another explosion of ecstacy washed over me. “Oh, I'm such a whore...”
“Yeah,” Coyle's voice was gruff and eager, as he continued to fuck me with his fingers. “Yeah, you are, kitten. And I fucking love you for it.”
And, with that, he increased the rhythm of his fingers... And I shamefully felt a third orgasm approaching.
“I like to get a girl nice and warmed up before I slip it in her ass for the first time,” Coyle grinned, as he played my body like it was a musical instrument. “As you know first-hand, baby... I ain't on the small side...”
I squeezed my eyes even more tightly shut. God, that was true. Coyle's thick, veiny cock rivaled his signature baseball bat in girth and length. My ass clenched at the very thought of trying to take it...
“...but I'm gonna get you so wet, and so turned on, that you're gonna be begging for it by the time I'm ready...”
And then, as if to prove his point, he lowered his face again - burying it between the cheeks of my upturned ass.
“Oh, s-shit,” I stammered, as I felt his stubbled chin nuzzle between my cheeks, and then his hot, wet tongue slurp deeply between them. “Oh, Jesus...”
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