by V. Theia
And salvation could also be dirty.
It was better not to have then to be afraid of the could be's she’d told herself all the while keeping him at arm's length and yet using him for his uncompromising protection. She'd passed the previous days growing stronger understanding Rider watched her not only to keep her safe but for something altogether more personal and carnal, her mind whirred through its normal cycle of guilt and self-loathing even as she was as intrigued by him in return, coloring her thoughts in shades of black.
Circling each other like animals.
With one kiss Rider, had knocked her resigned undertaking on its bony ass and now she lay under him panting out of breath, her heart pounding behind her ribcage, pleasure so acute she was still feeling it through her system minutes later as she tried to grab onto any sane thought.
The man knew sex. Wow.
Jesus, who knew good sex could make a woman lose her mind? If Zara ever caught her breath again she was going to patent whatever voodoo sexy magic Rider was playing with because he’d reached inside and took every insecurity she had until all she craved was him in this naked sweaty form drenched in their pleasure.
It had been impossible to get away from her own darkness. Or so she thought.
Here she was basking in the light of a beautiful bad man.
Rider had taken it all, every secret corner of her broken being, and burned it down into the hottest passion.
Her skin sizzled.
She felt ... glorious.
Moaning, her body undulated up into him, luxuriating in the sensation of her gratitude.
God, how grateful she was to this man.
Zara was grateful and orgasming.
"Oh god. Ambrosio... I can't ..." She went taut all over. Of course, she could, he made sure of it as his laugh, so deep and naughty, tumbled against her neck, his fingers driving inside her one last time sending her spiraling into orbit.
Foreplay. Afterplay. The biker knew it all.
She managed to kiss his shoulder, the closest body part to her before she lay there dead and shaking.
“So fuckin’ beautiful, Zara. So fuckin’ wet all tight grabbin’ onto me. I want inside you again badly. Need to feel you around me. Need you like this all the time, baby.” His tone was a dirty promise, leaving her mind behind as her body took over.
When he spoke, her belly bottomed out, falling to her feet.
Desire was a heady feeling and Zara was getting drunk on it.
On him.
If Zara trembled because of a man, it had been from alarm. She hadn’t been born to fear, far from it, her life had been unrealistically boring, but she learned within five minutes to fear every last member of the Raging Rebels MC. It had been a long damn time that tremble had been with passion.
Coincidentally the last time was for Rider.
The big bad biker man was playing with magic voodoo. She was certain of it. How else would he be turning her inside out?
Rebooting her Bios.
The very air around them crackled.
Her breath synced up with his.
In. Out. Fast in. Fast out.
Her breathing became a staggered moan when he withdrew his fingers and then he did something so dirty she was on the verge of a fresh climax as he used that same long finger to draw over her lips, painting her in her own pleasure.
"Taste how sexy your orgasm was." he rumbled.
Her tongue flicked out doing as he asked, it felt wickedly bad, she watched his eyes flare, his head came down to hers, his lips were strong and warm, inviting when he tempted hers open, silently commanding she do the same for him.
As easy as the air that stuttered in her chest, Zara did as he wanted and let her lips go soft, permitting his tongue to stroke inside alongside hers, causing a rush of heat in all her nerve endings.
Oh god. “I love how you kiss me”. Greedy for more.
He was expert at kissing, he could give lessons, charge the big bucks and leave women ruined on the floor craving his tongue back in their mouth.
Zara exhaled slowly, reached her hand up to his jaw keeping their lips together just a little longer. The intoxicating feeling of that rush of desire filled her to the brim, made her a little sea-drunk, his hand anchored her hip, reminding her that he had her, he wasn't letting her fall into her own self-destruct abyss.
Stay away. She warned the badness camped out in her head. Just let me have this for a moment with Rider. She had been part of the one percent of the population who believed in fate and destiny at a point like any young girl with hopes and dreams of the Disney happily ever after until the foolish notion was beaten out of her. Bad things happened to good people and that was just life.
Now she believed in kissing Rider.
In kissing him for a long time until her lungs screamed for air and her lips were red and numb from overuse.
His groan vibrated against her mouth, both hands fixed tighter to her neck and hip, drawing her closer if that was possible. She helped by smashing her belly against his crotch. When he rolled a condom down his impressive length she watched practically licking her lips. Actually, she did lick her lips. Her whole body quivered with anticipation.
He was a drug, and she needed a fix, a huge fix.
A very lengthy fix.
In. In. He went in and deep.
So deep she near lost the power to breathe and he didn’t stop until she was completely full of him. So tight she stretched around him on a ragged moan leaving her throat.
His hips settled. She gasped and he was home. A naked Rider Marinos, infamous Outlaw president naked and inside her.
This was her Disney World. This was having breakfast with Minnie Mouse.
Oh god. Her neck arched, luxuriating in that sensation.
“Did I slide in too soon? My girl is sore?” She was. He'd used her so well so deliciously hard so far.
She ached for more.
Each word he spoke peppered a new kiss to the side of her throat, she could hear his smile knowing fine and well just how tender she'd be, when she didn’t answer him right away his head reared up, she swore his eyes had become a more vivid ocean blue.
Both hands cupped the side of her head, brushing back her hair. She felt truly naked in front of him, ridiculous since they were physically naked, but this went deeper as if he saw all her thoughts and worries.
It wasn’t enough that he kept his hips still, she was so full of him.
And she needed him to move. Give her the friction, she needed it, craved it from him now.
Deep and in ... god, she needed him to move.
"Hungry girl." He laughed. Amusement lighting his face.
Coaxing, she grasped his head pulling him down. Their kiss was sweeter than she expected, long drugging kisses turned her to liquid, and the driving strength of him filling her core made her a little nuts to get him moving already, that internal intimacy so long abused was now a heady noise front center greedy, she craved the tender from him, he’d shown her how it could be all over again like their first time and Zara was fucking starved for that good feeling.
A crackhead, and a biker her drug.
Already her body was gathering towards pleasure and he hadn’t even thrust inside yet, just settled deep and stayed there.
“Move, Ambrosio. Shitshit, that feels ... just move, ohhh … please.” she issued on a strangled plea against his mouth, licking his lower lip with persuasion, tasting his wicked teasing chuckle, biting him to fuck her. The wetter she became, the more starved she felt.
It clawed with its own talons. Fresh and new. A hunger she didn’t think she could feel anymore was waking up with great bellowing growls. She needed him.
Needed him to begin the fucking.
That first sudden thrust made the bed creak, tested by the weight, the warmth of man and sheets comforted Zara in every dark corner, she practically ate at Rider’s mouth, opening when he wanted to suck on her tongue tip, his hands left her head to grasp her hips, long tapered fingers h
olding her steady, slams deepening.
Hot and deep, she was under his spell of driving want, tunnelling her fingers through his hair, moaning those starved noises while he worked her body through pumps of his hips.
Shamelessly clinging to him, there was no shy in sex, her back arched beneath Rider taking everything, silently asking for more and each time he stroked his cock into her she felt a wet fever loosening throughout her body, deep inside.
“Oh, god, I love this.” she told him.
How long had it been since she’d felt this good? Felt a cock pushing inside her that wasn’t pain from how dry she was.
“Rider. Please. I’m going to die if...”
They were both breathing like thoroughbreds.
His laugh was buttery, his eyes landing on her made her arch wantonly, her breasts smashed against his chest, he licked up the side of her neck.
“Not lettin’ you die. Gonna come for me again, though, aren’t you? I can feel it, you’re clutchin' at me so greedy so tight ... That’s it, baby ... Go there for me, let me feel how fuckin’ soaked I can make you. That’s all for me, isn’t it? Fucccck ... Tight and wet squeezin’ around my cock, feels good, baby.”
Oh boy. She could come just from looking up at him.
Rider was devastating her one hard punch of his cock at a time.
It was all she could do just to hold onto his back and roll with it.
All that muscle and sinew working together, moving her up the bed became her religious experience.
She hadn’t dreamed she could feel ... anything ever again, she’d resolved to sleep with Rider to prove he was wasting his time pursuing a fantasy long since destroyed, he’d wanted the sex with the girl that didn’t exist anymore.
But this was better.
Somehow the Zara of old wouldn’t have been able to take this way of how he was fucking her.
Raw. Dirty. Scandalous and oh so delicious.
Rider took her over completely there was not another name for it, she felt it begin in the pit of her belly at first, spreading like fire.
Her orgasm tackled her, burned through her blood.
She emitted a scream, cried out his name, and dug her nails into his skin, she was sure she saw God, just for that brief moment, she was sure she saw him smiling.
Total sexual religious experience.
Months and minutes later when she floated back into her body, Rider was still moving, still so deeply into their sex, grunting by her ear, moving in such a way that was desperate and needy she couldn't help but be awed by the look on his face.
He was close enough she felt his breath flitter over her face, see the flecks in his blue eyes.
With strong capable hands holding her hips their bodies slapped together, wet gorgeous noises of his cock sliding home and retreating. She buried her face in his sweat-sheened throat, whispered his name.
It became a whole new experience to witness Rider go through his climax, caught in his mesmerizing web watching the hard lines of his chest, and listening to his throaty groans.
No man had ever been so beautiful in the grip of his orgasm.
He bucked so desperately deeper she felt him reach into her belly, she widened her legs, braced her feet and enjoyed the joining.
Hard. Harder. He went on.
Despite the brutality of it, she’d never felt so worshiped before. Two long kicks of his hips, he cursed languidly, his head reared down to crash their lips together and she felt his pleasure let loose inside her.
She’d never come so much, ever.
All Rider’s doing, how long had it been now? If she could move she’d definitely glance to her left to check the time, as it was, her brain didn’t want to cooperate past enjoying the flicker spasms deep inside as they began to wane off into the distance.
Zara wanted to stretch like a great cat. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered almost in a daze.
The scent of sex surrounding her.
“Said you were a liar didn’t I, baby?” He’d rolled out of bed to deal with the condom, crawling back he got up close and personal with her. “Four more orgasms I got out of you. Fuckin’ beautiful every last one of ‘em. I need ten minutes then I’m gonna do it all again. Get over here so I can hold you close.”
“Again?” she squeaked, her head rearing up she almost headbutted Rider. His eyes were laughing “But we…” he could go again? Really?
Oh. She’d die smiling.
Oh… An outlaw with stamina. Yep, she thought, definitely patenting that magic somehow.
Okay, ten minutes then.
She wriggled excitedly. Rested her fingers on his lower abdomen. Stroking.
Clock watching.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“I’m enjoying shattering your will, sweet love.” – Hades
"What have I told you about my coffee, sweet love?" the voice was a dangerously low rumble that caused Zara to quake from the inside out. She knew that voice well, the calm before the storm, even if Hades rarely raised that voice, his violent temper would erupt nonetheless if she wasn't careful.
So careful.
She paused in the doorway, a deer caught. Inching back, she turned to face him. What had she done to deserve that tone today? Like a madman needed a reason, there was no logic here and she was wasting her time as she raced back in her thoughts, cataloging everything in the last twelve hours.
Chores. Done. Meals. Done.
She'd served beers and chips to those pigs until they'd grown drunker and fatter by the minute while they watched the game, all those dirty hands pawing and groping at her as she walked by, as for what she'd done in this very room four hours ago on her knees, her belly clutched.
She couldn't think what was wrong.
"You want it hot and black and on time." she replied quietly and saw his flat gray eyes pin her deadly.
That look could tear the pride from grown men.
It certainly scared Zara.
Hades smiled and that scared her even more. A smiling Hades was a man to fear. She wasn't fooled by his handsome smile; she could smell the aggression lifting off him like steam.
"That's correct, so why is it late?"
"Is it late?" A tremor to her voice. She wasn't permitted a watch, you'd no more give a caged dog a watch than you would a bike to a monkey, any personal items she'd had on her that night were long gone, even the clothes she wore were not hers, leftovers from club sluts.
She didn't deliver Hades an excuse, he despised excuses of any kind, he was likely to lash out without thought and she was still covered in bruises from the backhander that stinking overweight small dick Smite had given her for laughing in his face.
Instead, she stood with her spine tight in the doorway looking his way waiting for the gavel of his judgment to fall.
Because it would fall. It always did.
Any punishment was his catnip.
The evil fucker was a sadistic freak who preyed on the weak foraging out their flaws like a pig with truffles and flicking at them until they broke apart.
No chance of that with Zara, she'd cracked a long time ago, she was a fucking drone for the Raging Rebels, this was her life now, a life in slavery to the sickest pigs on this earth. Escape attempt after another and all the lessons she'd learned is the beating afterward hurt like hell.
She hated those bastards, dreamed often of killing them.
"Get the fuck over here." He demanded deceptively quiet.
Hades was a big man, bigger than most, all muscle, not an ounce of fat, his blonde hair cut short around the edges and swept back neatly on top, he had tattoos and even white teeth and a close-clipped beard, it made his twisted tyranny all the worse that he was not ugly at all, somehow you expected evilness from ugly people, even if his soul was blacker than midnight, she'd witnessed women fawn over the MC president like he was the incarnation of Elvis.
If that bastard hadn't already sold his soul to the devil it was poison to the core.
She absolutely believed she was
looking at evil, monsters existed and its name was Hades. Her emotional torture so crippling, so ingrained in her psyche now, she was shaking as she approached where he sat, expecting the worse, so expecting the worse, his one jean leg crossed over the other as if relaxed, he cradled the cup she'd just delivered along with a plate of chicken and waffles. The food lay untouched on his desk. Day in day out with no end in sight had become testament how strong Zara was or not, because she truly wanted to die, to end this.
Hades' specialty was terror without laying a finger on you.
Physical pain in a weird sense was lessened if she could see it, feel it if it was an actual bruise in her skin. Zara had lived in dread every single day of the what ifs. What will come today? Who will hurt her today?
The emotional abuse had been incredibly debilitating for so long, it was in her every breath and waking moment, it robbed her of the little self-esteem she'd had, the ability to think rationally, confidence in herself and her independence and autonomy.
Captive like an animal with the pretense she was free to roam as far as the door and not a step further, her invisible leash so very tight around her neck, each day she lost a little more of herself.
She craved death.
Kill me already, motherfucker.
Hades was the biggest Narcissist she'd ever hate to know. Not only with her and the other women he used and abused on a rotating cycle, he truly didn't seem to care for anyone other than himself, if he had loyalties she'd never witnessed it, never saw anyone he cared for.
His men had stood at his shoulder, bullies in arms against anyone else, pigs all dressed in the same coat, but even they didn't come away unscathed from Hades' temper if they fucked him off.
A narcissist, even in pretty packaging, was still a self-serving bastard, the pretty face might fool for a moment, but the ugly truth deep down comes as a bigger blow, the narcissist wants to remain in control by keeping you confused, anxious, scared and apologetic.
Always so sorry. Oh, I'm sorry for letting my ribs hit your fist like that, how can I make it better?
It's the narcissist's way of maintaining control of the twisted situation he conducted in his environment.
