by Deja Voss
“No matter who you train, they’ll never have what I have, Dad,” I say. “The one thing that every man you do business wants…”
He raises his eyebrows at me, and smirks. He knows exactly what I’m about to say.
“The ability to destroy you.”
I’m the vessel to Moses Boden. I’m the arbitrator between the head of one of the most powerful biker gangs and the con artists he works with. They don’t want me because I’m pretty or because I’m an awesome fuck. They want me because every time they fuck me, they’re fucking him.
Every time they hurt me, they’re hurting his bloodline.
Every time I come out on top, which is EVERY time, I’m sending them a clear message. My club always gets its own way. We always get what we want. We will fuck you raw in every possible way if you mess with us.
Just like that, I feel good. I feel powerful. I feel like the queen of this nightmare. A dose of reality. Confidence is pumping through my veins. I might not like what I do, but it is my destiny. It turns me on, the power I know that I hold.
And now I’m going to use that power.
I smile, thinking about the text that Brooks sent me. I bet he’s tearing his house apart looking for his wallet. That, or at my place, digging around in the bushes.
This might be a one-time thing. A one-time shot. But I’m going to use my power to the best of my ability.
“I’m gonna need off the rest of the week,” I tell him. “You gotta tell Morgan to cover for me.” If I’m going to be keeping the club alive to see another day, I’m definitely entitled for a few days off at the bar.
“You’re gonna do it?”
“You bet,” I say, walking out the door with a spring in my step. “I’ll see you in the war room. We’ll work out the logistics then.”
Right now I have a plan of my own to put into play.
I nearly float through the bar, past all the people, Morgan wailing after me, “WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?”
It takes everything in me not to flip her off over my shoulder. Everyone around me is allowed to do whatever they want whenever they want. It’s time for me to do something nice for myself.
CHAPTER 11
Brooks:
Y ou in the woods?
She finally texts me back. I’ve been in the garage, pissing around with the timing gear on the old Indian I’ve been trying to restore. I didn’t want to go to her house unless I knew she wasn’t there, and I figured I could keep busy working on this engine.
No, came home. U got it?
A minute or two goes by, and I just stand there, staring, waiting. I’m probably just being ridiculous.
Are you alone?
I don’t know why she cares. I don’t know what she’s up to. There’s a lump in my throat. I have a feeling that she does have my wallet, and I have a feeling it’s the worst-case scenario. How could I be so dumb?
She probably thinks I’m a total creep. She should.
I’m just gonna play it cool.
For now.
She texts me back a couple of smiley emojis. The girl is kind of twisted. Maybe she’s on the way over here to shoot me. I’ve seen the Boden family do worse.
Two seconds later, my phone is ringing. It’s not just a regular call though; she’s got me on video chat. She probably just smashed her phone with her face. I’ve done it a million times before.
I hit the reject button and call her back normal.
She hits the reject button and calls me back in video chat.
Apparently she’s not doing that by accident.
“What’s up, Esther?” I ask, trying to hold the phone far enough away from my face so that she’s not looking right up my nose. This is weird to me. I’m more of a three-word text kind of guy. “I think I left my wallet at your place last night.”
“Is that so?” she says, pouting her perfect pink lips, her green eyes glimmering with mischief. “Do you think you did?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s not at my place.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be out in the woods?” I hear her voice, but I can tell she’s moving around, the picture on the phone suddenly blurry. “What the hell are you so worried about?”
“I dunno. I just like to have it just in case?” I half ask, half tell.
“Did you think you’d be needing this?” she laughs. I can see her sitting on her bed, long bare legs crossed. She’s holding a condom in between her fingers. “This thing expired like four years ago. It’s probably dry-rotted out by now. That’s not very safe.”
I shrug. So what? I have condoms. It’s not like that should come as a shock to her.
I’m more transfixed with what she’s wearing than what she’s saying.
“Is that my t-shirt?” I ask. She’s damn near swimming in the big black Slipknot shirt. I didn’t really notice it missing, but now that I think about it, I haven’t seen in it a long time.
She nods and smiles. “I like to wear it around the house sometimes. Fits me perfectly,” she say. “I’m surprised you don’t know that, though.”
Oh shit. She knows.
She has to.
Unless she’s faking me out.
“I don’t know what you mean, Esther, but whatever, you can keep it. Can I have my wallet back?”
“Don’t lie to me, you fucker.” She grins. “You know exactly what I mean. Mr. Gingerbread might not be in his heyday anymore but he’s one hell of a detective. And you, my friend, are pretty shitty at covering up your footsteps. Literally. Looks like about a year’s worth of boot prints in my bushes.”
I’m speechless. She’s just laughing her head off like a crazy woman.
“Esther, I can explain,” I say. No, I can’t. There’s really no explanation for the things I do other than I want to do them. If I hadn’t got caught, I’d probably keep doing them.
“You know, if you didn’t drop your wallet on the ground, we’d be having a totally different discussion right now. I’d probably be calling you and asking you to put up a security camera at my house. You’d probably like that, though. You’d probably rig it so you had full access to my place. You wouldn’t even have to ‘bring me my mail’ or whatever it is you do.”
“You’re mad; I get it. I crossed a boundary. I’m an asshole,” I plead. “It won’t happen again.”
“Do you want your wallet back?”
“I mean, I guess so. Just give it to Gavin or something.”
“No,” she quips. “If you want it back, you’re going to have to earn it. You’ve been watching me, and I know what you’ve been watching me doing, and now you’re going to put on a show for me. It’s only fair.”
I raise my eyebrow, not really believing what I’m hearing. If this is some sort of ploy to humiliate me, she’s gotta understand that that’s fairly difficult to do. All our friends have seen me at my worst. Hell, I just got busted for being a peeping pervert in her bushes. Shame isn’t a quality that I’ve been blessed with.
“Are you alone?” I ask her, just to be on the safe side. I can feel my dick begin to stir in my jeans, just looking at her perfect body, thinking about what’s underneath my t-shirt. Something about it is so sexy on her, something about it makes me feel like she has some secrets, too.
“Kinda.” She smiles, pulling her hair down from the ponytail on top of her head and shaking it out, running her fingers through it as she cracks her neck. Slow and deliberate. Such a fucking tease. She picks up a little pink vibrator and I about lose my load as she clicks it on and off. “I’m sure you’ve seen this one before. It’s one of my favorites, but I’m sure you know that. Now go in your bedroom and take off your clothes. I want to see if you live up to your hype,” she says, winking at me.
Who am I to say no?
I know this is a dangerous dance we’re doing.
I know this is probably a really bad idea.
But she started it. I’m going to finish it. What’s one more regret in a life of many?
The only real
challenge is going to be knowing that she’s less than half a mile away, just a quick walk through the woods. The only challenge is going to be not running over there right now and making her swear off that vibrator for the rest of her life.
It might be her favorite now, but she’s never seen what I’m capable of. She’s about to find out though.
I flick on the lamp on my nightstand and lean my phone up against the footboard of my bed.
This kind of feels really fucking ridiculous. This is definitely not how I operate. But if this is how we’re going to open the door, if this is what she wants, by all means, I’ll give her everything I’ve got.
CHAPTER 12
Esther:
I can’t believe he’s actually doing this. Indulging me like this. I thought he would just assume I was kidding, come roaring into my driveway on his bike to claim his wallet and his t-shirt. Try to fabricate it as some sort of funny misunderstanding. But instead, he’s playing along with my goofy game.
My goofy but dangerous game.
A game that people who are ‘just friends’ don’t indulge in. Screw it; he started it. I don’t know what the outcome of a game like this is, just that we’re probably both going to lose.
From what I can see, he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, his phone propped up. All I can make out is his face, his long blonde hair and solid jawline, those bright blue eyes staring at me as his lips twist into a cruel smile.
I see his shirt come off over his head.
“Move your phone,” I say. “I can’t see you.”
“That’s not how this is going to work, Esther. You want to see me? It’s going to be in person. You just say the word.” I hear the shuffle of his jeans and I imagine those gorgeous thick thighs of his. “Mmm,” he groans. “Yeah, you’re definitely going to want to see this.”
He looks down and nods to me. “I like when you play games, Esther. So does my dick. “Are you gonna take that shirt off now? Or are you going to keep pretending like this isn’t going to happen?”
His words turn me on, but I feel so self-conscious.
“Come on, love,” he teases. “It’s not like I haven’t seen them before. Show me what you do when you think I’m not looking.”
“Not fair,” I whine, picturing his rock-hard abs covered in black ink, the hairs on his chest, every lean muscle in his arms.
“You know me well enough to know that I don’t play fair. I’d rather play dirty, Esther. Now show me your tits before I hang up this phone.”
It’s a side of him I haven’t seen before. A side of him that makes me wonder why I didn’t pull the trigger sooner. My heart races as I begin to tug the t-shirt up over my head, exposing my black lace bra and boy short underwear. I’m holding my breath. I feel so naked. He nods in approval and I hear him groan, “Perfect. God, your body is perfect.”
“I want to see what you’re doing,” I whisper. “I want to see your body.”
“You know exactly what I’m doing, Esther. And it’s all your fault. Are you going to be a good girl and take off that bra for me?”
I gulp and nod. Maybe he has seen all of me before, but for me, it still feels like the first time. I have spent years of my life imagining what it would be like if we ever hooked up, trying to perfect every detail of the scenario; hell, it’s one of my major fantasies. This isn’t what I expected at all.
Still, it’s incredibly fucking hot. I can hear his hand slide up and down his shaft, the way he’s biting his lip, looking at me like a hungry wolf who wants nothing more than to devour me alive. I slide out of my bra and let my curvy breasts free, my nipples already hard nubs, tender with anticipation. He lets out a light gasp, as if the sight of my body is painful.
“What do you do next?” he goads. “When you think I’m not watching.”
Every time he reminds me is like fuel to the fire. I feel my core throbbing. I know my panties are soaked. He’s got me wound up tighter than I’ve ever been wound, and I feel like I’m paralyzed.
“Come on, Esther, we both know how much you love tugging on those pretty little nipples of yours. How it makes you scream. I want to hear that. I want you to do that for me.”
I nervously run my hands over my skin. It’s not like me to feel so shy. I love showing off my body on camera. I know exactly what to do to get myself off and drive a crowd wild, but this feels so different. He’s definitely not a stranger, but I’ve never given this part of myself to him. I cup my breasts in my hands, feeling my flesh pebble underneath my touch, throwing my head back and letting out a sigh.
“Eyes on me,” he commands. If I wasn’t drenched before, I definitely am now. I squeeze my thighs together, my dripping pussy yearning for just the right stroke that will send me over the edge. I stare deep into his eyes, let the nerves melt away, the regret, the worry that I’m making a really bad life choice right now. He’s my best friend. He always has been. If we can’t share this dirty part of our souls, then who can we share it with, really?
I let my fingers trace my nipples, playing with the hard little peaks, pulling at them until I can’t hold my moans.
“I love that sound,” he says. “Are you wet yet?”
I nod, tracing my hands down my stomach, running them down to my thighs as I spread my legs ever so slightly. I slip my hand underneath my panties, sliding my fingers around the outside of my dripping slit as I shiver. “So fucking wet, Brooks.”
“I bet you want fucked so hard right now, don’t you, girl? I bet that pussy is begging for you to slip a finger inside of it while you pretend like it’s my dick you’re riding.”
I pick up my trusty vibrator and bat my eyelashes at him. All I need is four seconds and I’ll be screaming and writhing for him, gushing all over my bedsheets.
“We have two options here,” he growls. “You can stick that thing on your clit, I can bust my nut, and we can feel disgusting about ourselves for the next five minutes and hang up the phone, or I can be at your house before you have time to unlock the front door and I can make you feel disgusting all night long.”
“My front door’s already unlocked,” I whisper.
“Put that fucking thing back in the drawer,” he urges. “And lose the panties.”
The screen on the phone goes black and I fall back on the bed, my heart racing and my thighs trembling. At least it’s all out there on the table; this is just a dirty disgusting fling between friends who need to get something out of their system. I close my eyes, waiting for him to burst through the door, my breath shallow.
Four minutes feels like forever. Four minutes to change my mind. Lock that door. We can laugh about this someday when he’s married to a nice woman who isn’t a prostitute and I’m old, washed-up, and hoarding cats.
I hear the front door swing open. I wait for his footsteps in the hallway.
“Brooks…” I start to say when I see him looming in my bedroom doorway, sexy as always, eyeing me up like he’s stalking his prey.
“Don’t even start,” he growls. “We’ve spent our whole lives overthinking things. Right now I just want to fuck you.”
He’s pulling off his shirt, those inked abs I’ve stolen glances at all these years, hard and perfect, and I shiver, imagining them pressed up tight to my body as he thrusts in and out of me.
He jumps up on the bed, straddling my body, overpowering me, his lips centimeters from mine. I reach up and grab him by the back of his head, pulling him into me for our first real kiss.
Dammit, I think. It’s not bad at all. It’s good. It’s more than good. It’s everything I’ve ever imagined it to be, his tongue hungrily swirling my mouth, rough, commanding, electric.
In the back of my mind, I was almost hoping that one kiss would be enough for us to come to our senses. That it would be so awful, so awkward, we could just call a time-out and go about our business.
But it’s not. My back arches, moaning into his mouth as his hand travels down my throat, grabbing for my breast, squeezing it just hard enough to show me
who’s in charge.
Who’s owning my body.
Who’s doing the fucking.
I might be an expert in a clinical sense, but this man is a sex god.
I reach for the button on his jeans, but it’s already undone. I grasp for his waistband, pulling down his pants and boxer briefs in one hard swoop. I’ve been waiting so long to get my hands on his perfect ass, never mind the raging erection that’s poking me in the stomach.
He’s so hard. He’s so thick.
“Just fuck me, Brooks,” I beg. I don’t need foreplay. The last fifteen years of my life have been foreplay enough. I’m wetter than I’ve ever been before, and I don’t care if his cock is going to rip me in half. I want him inside me.
He lines the head of his cock up with my slit, tormenting me while he drags it up and down.
“God, you’re soaked,” he whispers in my ear, his hot breath on my neck electrifying my whole body.
He slips inside me without any resistance, stretching my walls as they contract around him, milking his cock for everything he has to offer. All I can do, pinned under the weight of his strong body, is dig my fingernails into the corded muscles of his back. I’m a screaming, quivering, melting mess, and he’s unrelenting, the way he just slowly saws in and out of me, each thrust bringing me closer and closer to the edge.
He knows exactly what he’s doing. Every time I feel my toes curl, he backs off, slows down, prolonging my ecstasy. I feel like I’m melting, riding a wave between full-blown orgasm and gentle tremors of pleasure washing over me.
The man’s right.
If this is how he fucks, then I should probably just throw that vibrator out the window.
“I’m so close,” I squeal, the sound coming from my throat a whine, a howl, a desperate plea for release.
“That’s cute, Esther,” he says, his voice vibrating through my skull. “You think you’re getting off that easy?”
