by Nikki Riker
Liam stumbles back a step, clutching his mouth and leveling me with a reproachful glare like I'm the one who's done something uncouth.
"Hands to yourself, asshole," I snap before pushing past him. I'm not sure exactly where I'm heading, but I know I can't stay in this front room. I can feel stares piercing me from every side. Smug, condescending stares that tell me I deserve to be fucked over by their leader in every conceivable fashion.
I end up on the front porch of the clubhouse, glaring out through the haze of rain to the bikes. It won’t be difficult to steal one of them if I try. I can hop on one of the Kings' precious Ducatis and ride my way to freedom. But I don't. Because unlike Gardel, I stick to my word. I won't leave until I've settled the debt I owe.
The broad, calloused hand that cups my ass makes me jump, but I don't turn to cold-clock the man doing it. I recognize the grip and the scent of the man behind me. Hitting Gardel will only further hurt my hand, and I'm not in the mood right now.
A warm hand slides into mine, and I turn in surprise to find Gardel cupping one of my hands, examining the abrasions on my knuckles. They're weeping, but otherwise not too bad.
"You put some power behind this."
"He touched my ass."
"I'm touching your ass," he points out with a laugh. His chuckle makes things low in my body clench tight with want. Damn him.
"I agreed to let you touch my ass. Unless you want to share all this with your men?" I gesture broadly down my body, exposed by this pastel scrap that can barely be called a dress.
Gardel's gaze darkens and I catch him staring at my mouth for a hungry second before he shakes his head.
"If any of them touch you, come to me. I don't share my things."
"You act like I need your help," I counter with a smirk that's far cockier than I feel.
"Come to me," he insists.
"Or what?"
His lips part to reveal a glittering shark's smile, pitiless and triumphant. "Or I'm going to make last night look like child's play. I will eat your pussy so hard and so long that you will struggle to stand for a week."
I hide my shiver by stretching and faking a yawn. "That was supposed to excite me, was it? You're not so great, you know. Very over-hyped."
Those pale eyes glitter with amusement and challenge. "Don't test me, little girl. You'll regret it."
I smile back. He wants to play? I'll play. And he'll regret baiting me. "Bring it on, Gardel."
6
Calamity
I'm thinking I should have my head checked because this was never meant to be more than just a means to an end.
But I anticipate ten o'clock every evening. Because no matter what I've been doing all day, I know that when I enter the clubhouse, I'll find Penelope inside waiting for me. Every night she'll be laid out on my bed, still wearing the dresses she hates. And every night, I get to hear a soft chorus of moans and feel her resistance crumbling. It's going to happen sometime or another. There's only so long one can be denied, and I would have thought Penelope Cruz would have reached her limit almost a month ago.
I'm not sure which of us is punishing the other now. It's hard to tell where my spite ends, and hers begins. She strips down wordlessly when I enter the room, and every time she submits to my tongue, biting her knuckles to avoid begging for more. She refuses to even say my name, which makes me redouble my efforts every time. All I know is that I will bust a nut if one of us doesn't give in soon.
Penny glances over her shoulder at me and shrugs. "Let's get this over with."
A growl builds in my throat. This is exactly the thing I’m aiming to avoid by not fucking her. I'm not a damn chore. Time to change my strategy again, it seems. I seize her upper arms before she can reach down to strip off the skater dress—a shade of purple this time that matches that bra and panty set she wore here—and I drag her into my chest. Before she even formulates a protest, my hand finds its way into her hair. It's soft and slides easily between my fingers. I twist them at her nape, dragging her inexorably toward me.
A moment of stunned realization flits across her face before my mouth crashes into hers. I back her in slow steps toward the bed, and she tips backward onto it when her knees hit the edge. I fall with her, coming to rest on top of her, elbow crooked just above her head to keep the worst of my weight off of her. As tough as she appears, my bulk would still crush her flat. I know I shouldn't give a fuck about her comfort. She's a means to an end, a lure to get Kase and Cruz to come over the line and face me. If I'm exceptionally lucky, Kase might bring Brooklyn within arm's reach, and I can assure her safety in my household once again.
But for some fucking reason, I do care. And if I force myself on her, I'm little better than the bastard who sired her.
I grind my hips into hers, even as I hungrily devour that warm, spicy mouth of hers. God, she tastes good all over. How the fuck is that fair? I half-expect her to quail beneath the evidence of my arousal, realizing just how easy it would be for me to lift her skirt and slide into the warmth of her pussy. The only barriers are a button, a zipper, and a painfully thin amount of cloth. But she doesn't shrink away from me or scream. What she does instead shocks the hell out of me.
Penelope groans into my mouth, lightly nipping my bottom lip even as her hips squirm, bringing the bulge into even closer proximity to her core. Even with a barrier between us, I can tell she's wet. She wraps those long legs around my waist and removes all space between us, grinding her pussy hard against my front.
She's not saying it in so many words, but it's the first indicator she's given that she wants this to go further. She wants me inside of her. I move my lips to her throat, nibbling a trail up to her ear, smirking when she bucks even more forcefully against me.
"All you have to do is ask, little Spade."
Penelope stills, and the fevered trance she seems consumed by dissipates. She blinks at me, as though seeing my face for the first time that night. Her jaw flexes, and that steely, stubborn denial slams back into place like an iron shutter. I almost groan. For fuck's sake.
"Not a fucking chance."
"Why the hell are you being so stubborn? I know you want this."
I dip two fingers into her core for emphasis. She's so fucking wet, and I'm dying to slide into that slick heat. It's been so long since I wanted a woman this badly. I can't remember having an obsession this heady since Trinity. That should scare me more than it does. She was never supposed to be more than a tool. But now I want her for more than the pleasure of fucking with her brothers, though that's still there. I want her. I want her surrender. I've worked damn hard for it, all things considered.
She shivers as I work my fingers into her slowly, giving her a taste of what she could have. Fingers are a poor substitution for my cock, and she knows it.
"You don't have to go to bed wanting," I coax, sliding my lips to the shell of her ear.
She shivers again, and she clenches tight around the fingers inside her. She cuts her head to the side in denial, but her body doesn't lie. She's trying to pull me in deeper with every shallow thrust. She squirms, hips shifting, delicious friction building between us. I could almost laugh at myself for enjoying it so much. God, when did I turn back into a teenager again? I haven't been this hard-up in a long time, and the last time I got into heavy petting like this, I was still a kid.
It brings me up a little short when I realize that comparatively; she is a kid. The same generation as my daughter, though a few years younger. She pulls me out of that little moment of realization when she fixes me with an accusatory stare.
"You could just ask, you know," she points out. "You can't fucking deny you want it."
She frees a hand and slides it down my front, tracing the musculature of my chest with long, slender fingers. I hiss out a breath between my teeth when she toys with and then slips her hand under my waistband. Her fingers close around my cock the next instant with firm, sure pressure. She's not a virgin, that's for damn sure. The girl has handled a cock or
two before and knows just how a man wants it touched.
My fingers pump into her a little harder. I hate the idea of another man inside of her. Her fingers around his cock, him inside that perfect mouth of hers. Because I wasn't fucking kidding her when I told her I didn't share well.
"That's not the way the game works, and you know it, sweetheart. Ask me or get a good grip on the sheets. You know what comes next."
Penelope's eyes screw shut, and the tension floods out of her body. She lets out another shudder and releases my cock. I'm sure that she will say it. Her perfect, kiss-swollen lips part and...
"Get on with it, Gardel," she says in a tired voice. "I want to do something fucking productive with this night when you're through toying with me."
It hits like a slap to the face. What the fuck did she just say? After all that, she still says no? I want to shake her. I open my mouth, ready to demand she give me an explanation. I shut it and grind my teeth instead. I made the rules, and I'm sticking to them. She wants me? She'll have to fucking admit it first. I'm not like her father.
Instead, I take out my frustration on the skin of her throat, teasing her flesh until she's writhing under me again, enjoying the rough treatment. I'd just love to paddle her ass for this. I work my way down her body to her breasts, suckling each into hard peaks, using teeth and tongue until she's squealing. And when I finally work my way between her thighs, I show no fucking mercy. If she wants this, she can damn well have it.
Her fingers thread into my hair, and every cell in my body jolts like a live wire when she scrapes her nails across my scalp. All of it surges straight to my cock, which is actually physically painful. I will probably retire to the shower when I'm done and tug one out. Fucking Kylie or another of the working girls feels too much like giving up. I will fuck Penelope Cruz one day. I can wait.
She's dangling on the precipice of an orgasm when I discontinue suddenly. All movement in her body lurches to a stop, and she groans at the loss.
"Say my name," I demand.
She moans again, hand flying into her hair. "Finish it."
"Say my fucking name," I say, thrusting my fingers inside of her savagely once more, tracing the pad of my thumb across her clit, replacing my tongue for the time being. She lets out a soft whimper and tries to follow the pressure of my fingers, whimpering when she can't get it just where she wants it. "Say it, or I'm getting up this instant."
Give me something, woman, I snarl wordlessly.
Just when I think she will flip me the metaphorical bird for the second time in one evening, her eyes fly open. What I see almost freezes me cold. Because tears glisten in those alluring eyes. They cling like dewdrops to her long lashes, and I abruptly feel like shit.
"Calamity." It's said on a broken whisper that absolutely slays me.
Fuck. Fuck no. I curse her for making me feel like this. This is not the game we set up. She gets stellar orgasms, and I chase. She capitulates at some point because she fucking wants me. She's as much as admitted that. But this...this is not the deal. She does not get to make me feel like I'm more of a monster than I already am.
The tears spill over when I draw my hand away completely.
"Don't you fucking dare," she hisses. "Finish it, you bastard."
"Come here," I order.
She pounds the bedcovers beside her with a fist. "Just make me cum, Calamity. I said your fucking name."
"Stop throwing a tantrum and come here," I growl, leaning up so I can seize her under the arms. Despite being mostly muscle, she doesn't weigh enough to trouble me unduly.
I fold her into a more manageable shape and drape her long legs around my waist. Then I cup her chin and kiss her, with more care than I had before. It's almost too intimate a thing. Until now, she's been a perfect storm, all bad attitude, a stubborn streak a mile wide, and a recklessly loose tongue. The shell has finally cracked, and I think I've finally caught a glimpse at the tender inside that lies beneath the snarky facade.
I kiss her gently, in a way I have kissed no one in years. I don't spare kisses on whores. And while Penelope is not a whore, she is also not her. The brief lock of lips we'd shared before was mostly to shut her damned mouth for a few seconds. Penelope's bare breasts brush my chest as she pulls herself closer, anchoring herself to me by her grip there. My free hand slides up her thigh once more, and I part her folds, sliding two fingers inside of her, allowing my thumb to press lightly to her clit.
"Ride my fingers until you cum, Penelope," I instruct, muttering the words against her mouth. It's the only fucking apology she's getting from me. I'll let her find her pleasure on her terms, allow her to cheat the game just this once, if only so I don't feel like those tears were my fault for pushing the teasing too far.
"It's Penny," she mumbles. "Why do you call me Penelope?"
"Because it cheapens your name. A penny is something you pick up off the sidewalk or that collects dust in the jar. A penny is pretty much useless on its own. Penelope has more dignity, don't you agree?"
She doesn't respond, just kisses me again. Her hips perform a slow, easy roll, groaning when my fingers move with her, thrusting in on her downstroke. She finds a quick, steady rhythm, head lolling as she releases a groan. Her wetness slides along my fingers, and the motion of her hips against me has me close to coming. I grit my teeth, willing myself to remain stoic. I'm not about to cum inside my jeans like some hormonal teen. I want to be inside her more than words can express. I want to feel the tight muscles of her cunt flexing around me, squeezing me tight, pulling me in.
Her breaths grow shallower, a fucking sexy moan building in her throat as she chases the sensation on her clit.
"Oh God...Calamity!" This time my name comes out on an eager exhale. "Calamity, please."
I tear my mouth away from hers and growl into her ear; "Cum for me, Penelope."
Her entire body clenches tight, her walls fluttering around my fingers, her tits rubbing into my chest. Her expression nearly makes me cum all on its own. She's so fucking gorgeous like this.
I capture that moan in her mouth, letting out a soft groan of my own when she sags, boneless in my arms.
"Thank you," she murmurs after a quiet minute has passed.
"It's the last time that happens," I warn. "I won't just have my fingers in you next time. So you ask or you can deal with it on your own."
She nods wearily, accepting it for once, and doesn't argue when I move her to lie naked on the bed. I drape the blanket over her and stand. I've got to get to that shower soon. I'm painfully hard, and it will not go away on its own at this rate. She'll be asleep by the time I step under the spray and start tugging one out to that look of pure bliss she got when she came all over my hand.
I'm almost to the door when she cranes her neck to give me one last, sleepy look.
"Calamity?"
"Penelope?" I counter.
"Will you sleep here tonight?"
I stand still for an excruciatingly long second, rooted to the spot by the horror of what that implies. One fucking act of mercy and now she's treating me like I'm her boyfriend. Not going to happen. Acknowledging that I am acting like a dick is not an open invitation to act like we're in perfect domestic bliss. Has she forgotten who the fuck I am?
"There's only one way I'm staying, Penelope. Beg."
Silence and then...a snore. I roll my eyes. She fell asleep. Great.
I step under the scalding spray of the shower a minute later, cock already in hand, replaying the perfect sound of my name on her lips and just how fucking good it would feel to be inside of her.
7
Penny
Maybe it’s the month solid being kept inside the King's clubhouse. Maybe it’s just my growing irritation with their beefcake leader that finally spurs my flight. Whatever it is, I rocket out of the front doors of the clubhouse the following morning as though hell itself is on my heels.
I'm as annoyed with myself as I am with Calamity. Annoyed that the kiss and small sexual liberty I was
afforded had meant something to me when it so clearly hadn't to him. He'd been long gone when I woke in the morning, reaching over to find a warm body that wasn't there. I doubt he even heard my dumbass plea for him to stay with me.
I need to get out and clear my head if I'm feeling disappointed in him. He's my jailer, for Christ's sake, not my boyfriend. I try to picture him doing regular domestic things with me, and it just turns out laughable. Forget cooking together, I doubt he's ever held a knife except to stab someone with it. He'll stand out like a sore thumb at a movie showing, towering head and shoulders above all the regular joes with their dates. Maybe it's for the best that he's never going to be dating anyone because it's really not nice to let the average joes know they're severely outclassed.
I'm not allowed out without an escort. Nor am I allowed my bike. Kylie, the curvy prostitute who gave me my new duds the first day after my capture, flanks me on my right, while the tall black man, Malick, stays glued to my left side. They're so close I half expect them to link arms with me. What a nightmare that would be.
I'm not even sure where we're going, if I'm honest. I just know that if I don't leave the clubhouse, I will do something I regret. Like trying my hand at beating Calamity Gardel. Or maybe I'll just end up fucking him like I almost begged him to last night.
I'm ashamed of that moment of weakness, cursing myself for getting so overwrought that I cried. I've only done that twice in the last few years, and both times it involved my brothers. Cruz had tried to up and die on me after being injured in a shootout. And it had forced Kase to disappear with Gardel's daughter Brooklyn to keep the violence from escalating further. The fact that I lost it because Calamity keeps working me up and then leaving is just absurd. This has been part of my plan all along. Keep denying him until he gets bored and moves on.
