by Naomi West
Frustrated, they both sighed, then smiled at each other in spite of everything.
“What?” Cutter roared back over his shoulder at the door. “Who the fuck is it?”
The voice said something, but Cutter couldn't hear it over the music.
“Who?” he roared again.
“Rachel!” the visitor yelled through the door.
Rachel. One of the club girls who always draped themselves all over him until he gave them the dick they were begging for. She was pretty enough, slight like Liona, but with great hips and an innocent looking smile. But something about her just drove him up the wall if he saw her more than a couple days in a row. He couldn't quite put his finger on whatever it was, but something just didn't feel right. Of course, there were other things about her that felt just fine. But not like Liona.
“Rachel?” Liona asked.
“Just one of the club girls,” he said dismissively. He went to get up, to pull some pants on and send her packing on her way. He was occupied, after all. “Coming,” he yelled. “I'll get rid of her.”
Liona, though, had other ideas. She gestured for him to move, and hopped off the bed wearing just her underwear. There was just something about her gesture, about the quiet strength of it that he just immediately paid attention to. It reminded him, almost, of the girl he remembered from high school. It was like a return to that “take no shit” attitude he'd been so intrigued by all those years ago. She strode over to the door, her beautiful ass swaying from side to side with each step. Before Cutter could stop her, she'd thrown open the door.
Music rolled back into the room, filling it to the brim, as the door flew open. And there in the hallway, leaning up against the frame of the door, stood Rachel, arms crossed. “Hey, big boy,” Rachel said, as if on cue, before she realized Cutter wasn't the one opening the door. Rachel stood up straight and made a scrunched-up face as she looked the half-naked Liona up and down. “Who the fuck are you, bitch?”
“Bitch?” Liona sneered. “I'm who's fucking Cutter. Who the fuck are you?”
“I'm—” Rachel started to say.
Liona didn't bother to hear her out. She just slammed the door in her face and flipped the deadbolt in place. She turned back around and started back for the bed. She strutted back to him, rolling her hips as she walked. He realized that something inside her had changed in that moment. Cutter could just stare up at her as she approached, could just watch the subtle movements of her body.
“Fucking bitch!” Rachel screamed from the other side of the door, before kicking the bottom of it like a spoiled, petulant child.
Liona ignored the club girl as she strutted back to the bed, rolling her hips with each step. “You ready for this?” she asked with a wicked grin.
Cutter grinned up at her and nodded. “Definitely.”
She reached behind her and unsnapped her bra and crawled back onto the edge of the bed. He reached a hand down and grabbed her, dragging her back up to his lips. They embraced again, their hands returning to their previous explorations. He slipped a hand down between her thighs, slid his fingers beneath her drenched panties. She reached inside his underwear, wrapped her hand around his cock. She ran her thumb over the head, swirling it. They groaned into each other's mouths as they felt each other, as they realized how excited they were to be together again.
She grabbed the top of his waist band and began to drag his underwear down around his hips and he likewise pulled at her panties. Together, they struggled and writhed out of their remaining clothes, desperate to be together, to be joined. She succeeded in removing his, first, and his cock sprang to attention, desperate for her continued touch.
She smiled as she rolled on her back and lifted her hips up, letting him pull hers off. Completely naked, they kissed again, their bodies warm and needful as they clung together.
“Please,” she begged, her eyes desperate, “just fuck me. I want to feel you in me.”
He growled his own want and reached down to guide his cock to her slick opening. He pressed himself to her sopping wet lips, the head of his cock parting them easily. She bit her lip and nodded as her hands traced fire up and down his back, the nails scraping across his bare skin like the points of knives. Sensation shot through his body, pure unadulterated pleasure, as he slid part of the way into her. His mouth opened a little, his breath coming faster and more raggedly, as he gripped her hips.
She thrust her hips forward, encouraging him. “Please,” she pleaded, again.
He shoved harder, pushing into her., sliding all the way into her in one long, deep stroke. He didn't stop till be bottomed out in her, his heavy balls resting against her perfect ass.
Liona's eyes rolled back as she pressed her head back into the mattress. “Oh fuck,” she groaned, dragging out each word till she could almost no longer breathe. She arched her hips into him, grinding herself on the base of his cock, pressing her clit against him. She lifted her legs and hooked them over his ass, began to pull him in and out of her.
They moved against each other like that, panting as they made out, grinding their bodies against each other. It was fueled by need, a need to find sense in everything around them. Liona dug her nails into Cutter's back, digging red lines over his skin as he drove into her harder and faster. He pulled back his lips, dipped his head down and sucked an erect nipple between his lips, nipped it lightly with his teeth. She pressed herself into his mouth, her whole body shaking as he continued to plow into her. Her abs contracted, her breasts shook, her mouth opened and closed of its own volition. Her walls tightened around his cock, massaging him, as she came hard, her whole body lifting on the mattress and going rigid.
Grunting and grinning, he kissed her again. “Did you like that?” he asked before attacking her neck with his flashing teeth and flicking tongue.
“Oh, God, do it again,” she panted out, then groaned. “Here,” she said as she pushed against his chest, “I have an idea.”
“What?” Cutter asked.
He could feel himself getting closer to popping, and his instincts were kicking in. He couldn't think of anything he wanted more than to just grab hold of her shoulders and fuck the hell out of her.
“I want on top,” she said, pushing him again, and not stopping till he gave in and rolled over.
Still connected in the most intimate way possible, Cutter rolled over on his back and dragged her on top of him. He popped another nipple in his mouth, smiling as he suckled delightedly at it. He rested his hands on her hips, but didn't exert any pressure. She'd wanted to be on top, it was up to her to decide the tempo and depth of their fucking.
Now supporting herself on her knees, she began to move on top of him. Smiling down at him, she drew herself off his cock till the tip had just barely left her, then she'd slide all the way back to the base. She stroked him from tip to bottom this way as they continued to kiss and caress each other. When they weren't kissing, their eyes remained locked by a mutual unspoken accord.
Each time she pulled herself off and descended again, it was like a long slow stroke from a velvet glove. The feel of his head parting her lips each time, and so slowly, was one of the most intense, pleasurable feelings he'd ever experienced in his entire life. He could feel it down in his feet, this tingle passion that nearly shook his whole body.
“Like that?” she asked as he sucked in another sharp breath.
It was like he was looking into her soul, plumbing her depths with more than just his manhood. “Goddamn your pussy feels amazing,” he gasped out, not knowing what else to say.
“Your dick feels pretty damned good, too,” she said, kissing him again.
He wanted to say it, then. The words. But he couldn't. Not now, not in case she threw them back in his face later. Besides, it didn't matter, none of that mattered. What mattered was that the most beautiful woman ever, inside and out, was moving on top of him, and giving him something he’d never experienced.
They kissed again, and she began to speed up the movements
of her hips. She rubbed just the right way on his cock, and moaned loudly into his mouth again. He grabbed her hips hard, now, sensing that this was the moment to take control back. She wanted it to be deep, he could tell, wanted to have it hit all the right spots inside her. He began to move her up and down his cock, could feel her dripping wet lips as they stretched over him, clung to him on each stroke.
“Oh,” she groaned again, “please, Des, please fuck me.”
He noticed her use of his real name, but didn't mention it. Something about it at this moment, as they melted into one another like this, began to feel right. It was like she was poking through the defenses he'd built, burrowing through the bulwarks and barriers he'd erected over the years. He thrust up off the bed, driving deep into her, grinding his hips so the base of his cock stimulated her clit. She trembled and shook again, just like before. She cried out one more time before biting down hard on his shoulder. His hand moved from hips to ass, pulling her more fully under his control. He bounced her on his cock, moving her bodily up and down like a featherweight as he thrust up to meet each downward stroke.
She cried out again around the meat of his shoulder at first, before biting down harder than before and digging her nails into his flesh. He could feel it. He was so close to climaxing, so closing to filling her. Sweat poured from their bodies as he pivoted harder into her. “I'm coming,” he said, finally, pounding into her as he slammed her back down onto his hard length, filling her.
“Please, please,” she begged, moaning, her body practically vibrating as she shook in his arms.
He tensed up as pleasure erupted in his body and he felt himself empty into her. His vision seemed to fade to black as his whole body thrummed with energy. He'd never cum like this before, and his whole body seemed to spasm as he pumped into Liona and exhausted himself into her. She seemed to greedily eat him up, pulsating and throbbing around him, milking him as he thrust into her. They cried out together, pulling each other close as they blasted off into orbit.
“Oh,” Cutter groaned as he released his hold on her ass, “oh my God.”
“Yeah,” Liona whispered back in his ear, awe in her voice as she was shaken by after tremors. “That was just ...”
“Yeah,” Cutter said, finishing the nonexistent thought. He didn't know how to finish it, didn't think he'd ever be able to. It was like a little part of him had found fulfillment just then, as they were bound together, then lost it. She rolled off him and collapsed on the bed, beside him. She ran a hand over his chest and cuddled up against his side. He put an arm around her and pulled her close, not caring about how damp their bodies were in the cool air. All that mattered was that as much skin as possible was touching. Just like the night before, she seemed to fit against him, like her body was made for his.
She kissed him on the cheek and nuzzled into his neck. “Like having me on top?” she asked.
“God yes,” he said, grinning like a lovesick schoolboy.
He almost said it again, but he bit back the words. It was too soon. Even after almost a decade, the wounds still felt fresh. Especially with the way she'd pierced through the chinks in his armor when she'd called out his name. It wasn't like him to think this way, and he wasn't completely sure on how to proceed. Things had been simpler before Liona had come along, that was for sure. That said, though, he wasn't sure simple was necessarily a good thing. Maybe complicated was okay, too. The euphoria he was feeling, though, was more than enough help when it came to pushing these thoughts away.
“Sleep now?” she asked from beside him, her voice muscled by his shoulder.
“Sleep,” he agreed. Tomorrow was Monday. And that meant it was going to be a long, trying day.
Chapter 20
Liona
She lay there in bed, listening to the sounds of the dying party and the slow, even breathing of Cutter. She'd stayed snuggled up against him, almost as if he was a security blanket. As she curled against her knight in shining biker leathers, her thoughts raced as fast as Cutter's bike. Yesterday, she'd been about to be a married woman. Tonight, she was asserting her dominance against biker chicks while wearing nothing but her underwear. But, she still didn't know what she wanted. She didn't have any goals. Other than, of course, getting through the next few days. And, on top of that, getting clear of the long reach of Wyland West. Maybe she should have just run off with Carly, taken Cutter's money and fled as far as she could go.
That still wouldn't solve her problem, though. Her family would have just become a distant memory, faded and old. What few friends she'd have would be gone, too. Except Carly, of course, if she'd gone with her. It wouldn't have mattered anyways, though. The long arm of the West estate would have found her. And, in the meantime, he would have just made Cutter pay twice as much as he did before. She berated herself over being so stupid as to think she'd ever loved Wyland. How could she have chosen him over this man lying in her bed now? How could she have let her former fiancée get away with as much as he had?
Whatever the case, Cutter would never accept her. These last two nights of fucking were just that. No matter how wonderful they'd felt, for both of them, that's all they were: sex. Except for tonight, of course. She'd never experienced anything even approaching the intensity of that. The way he'd looked into her eyes as they moved together, almost perfectly in sync. It was like they'd been made for each other, a perfect fit. She couldn't get attached, though. There couldn't be anything with Cutter. No matter how she felt about him now. She understood his hesitation earlier now. It was too little too late.
Not wanting to disturb Cutter, she only mentally shook her head as she tried to clear her thoughts away. She needed to get some sleep for the first time in forever. At least with Cutter, she slept well. She felt like she hadn't gotten a single night's rest in the last few years. She'd always been too worried about the future, about what would make Wyland fly off the handle the next time, or some small slight that he'd said. Here though she knew was a safe space. A place she could sleep without fear. And, more than anything else, she just hoped it could remain that way.
Chapter 21
Cutter
Court rooms in real life are nothing like court rooms on television. They're dingy feeling, with bad lighting, and empty seating. The public doesn't care about most court hearings, not unless a loved one is involved in them. Cutter had been in his fair share over the years, both as a supporter of those accused, and an accused himself.
He sat back, away from the front, not wanting to make his black leathers and patched vest stand out any more than was unnecessary. This was just an arraignment hearing, not a trial with witnesses where the Vanguard had to be there in force in order to remind them of who they were testifying against. Besides, the farther away he was from the front, the less likely the judge or bailiffs to see the bloody rage in his eyes, or to hear the furious grinding and gnashing of his teeth. After all, one his favorite boys in the world was up front, practically within lunging distance. Jersey was there, standing in the orange suit the county had so graciously provided him. To Cutter, at least, he looked guilty as sin. But that was the problem with those suits. They made everyone look that way.
At the judge's bench, in front of Jersey, sat Judge DeAngelo, Wyland's man in the gown. He was probably in his mid-50s, with the bloodshot nose of a thirty-year drunk. His beady little eyes peered out from behind wire-framed glasses, taking in the whole room like it was his to command. He looked exactly like the kind of man to be in Wyland's pocket. A classic good ol' boy, and a longstanding member of the GOB network.
On one side of Jersey stood the Vanguard's lawyer, Michael Hunting. Hunting was good, smart, and about as trustworthy as any lawyer could be. Which meant, as long as you could afford his fees, he was your best friend and most trusted confidante. The second that cash dried up, though? You'd be lucky if he remembered your name. On the other side of the wayward Vanguard member stood the well-coiffed, spotless, and apparently carefree assistant DA Wyland West. He wore a perfectly ta
ilored navy blue suit, cut to show his frame. He was the perfect specimen of a defender of the public's best interest, and probably looked great in front of the TV cameras. But Cutter could see through the flimsy elegant facade for the piece of shit woman-beater he really was.
Cutter could barely control his fists from clenching, could hardly keep himself from leaping right over the bar separating the public viewing area from the well, the part where the lawyers and judges sat. He lectured silently to himself that he needed to stay calm. He needed to remain cool. He took a deep breath, held it, exhaled. He did it again. And again. This was not just Jersey's freedom on the line, by maybe the whole of the Vanguard. Doing anything rash or stupid now would just hurt all their chances down the line when it came to getting out of this.
“Your honor,” Hunting, Jersey's lawyer, said, “defense would like to request the court release my client on his own recognizance.”
