by Evelyn Glass
Her face twisted in pleasure as he slapped her large breasts, then tweaked the nipples. She cried out in pleasure and he twisted harder, giving her as much pleasure as she was giving him. She ripped his hands away from her breasts and pinned them to the floor as she began to fuck him even harder.
“You like it rough, you fuck?” she snarled before she kissed him, sucking hard on his lips and tongue as she tried to drive him through the floor with her hips.
“Fuck! I’m going to come!”
“Come on, you fucking bastard. Come in my pussy! Fill me up with your come!” she snarled, trying to push him over the edge to get it over with.
With a lunge of his hips, he rolled her to her back then plunged into her again, driving into her hard and fast. He clamped a hand over her neck, choking her. She could breathe, but barely, and she began to struggle to get his hand off her throat.
He roared, squeezing down even harder before removing his hand. He reared up, jerked his condom off, and after a few hard, fast, strokes, pinched his cock hard and moved to the side so he could come on her face. She smiled and opening her mouth to catch his essence as he shook and shuddered a moment before falling across her. She didn’t mind him coming on her, so long as he didn’t come on her face, but that was the one thing he always did. The thing that really pissed her off, however, was after he did, or if he came in her mouth, he wouldn’t kiss her again until she’d cleaned her face or rinsed her mouth out.
“Fuck,” he gasped as he panted. “You are such a nasty bitch. You make me come so fucking hard.”
“Me too, Stud. You’re so fucking good. The best I’ve ever had,” she purred, even though she hadn’t climaxed even once, and hadn’t the last several times they’d fucked.
It wasn’t always like that. Before he’d turned into a complete asshole, she had really enjoyed fucking him. She could take some of his roughness to get him off hard, but he wasn’t respecting her limits and the roughness was getting out of hand.
He rose up and off of her. No cuddle, no touching, no nothing, not even for a couple of minutes. Just fucking. He sat on the sex chair and started putting on his clothes, but not before he wiped himself dry with her shirt. “Was it good for you?”
“The best, Stud,” she lied, using the nickname he liked.
“Get up. I got shit to do.”
She rolled over, propping on her elbows. She had been practicing for the past eleven years, since she lost her virginity at seventeen and discovered the joys of sex, how to best display her body. Laying like this pressed her breasts up and together and gave him a good look at was he was going to be missing, the fuck.
“You’ll be back later?” she cooed. Not that she cared because she wouldn’t be here, but she wanted to know how long she had before she’d be missed.
“A few hours.”
She nodded and rolled over and stretched, playing her role of the well-fucked and happy bedmate to the bitter end. “Hurry back.”
“I will, Baby,” he said pulling on his pants.
As she dressed, he opened the door from the sex room and strutted out. She’d really turned up the acting in the last five days, when she decided she was getting out. It kept him from getting suspicious and also kept him from putting her on too short of a leash. He had started getting possessive and wanted to know every move she made, so she had spent the last few days stroking his ego.
“She said she wanted pearls,” he joked as he disappeared around the corner, “so I gave her a pearl necklace.”
The laughs of rough men made her grimace. “And if I had a dollar for every time you satisfied me, I could buy a cup of coffee,” she muttered as she began to dress.
She finished dressing and sauntered out and down the hall, putting a lot of swing into her hips for his benefit if he was watching, then turned into the bathroom so she could wash her face and fix her makeup and hair. When she was out on the street she didn’t want to look freshly fucked.
She ambled out of the bathroom and swayed to Andrew, who was sucking on a beer with his brothers.
“I’m going to go shopping, okay, Stud?”
“Jesus! That’s all you do: shop.”
“Give me some money,” she purred. “I’m buying something special for you. I’ll show it to you when you get back.”
He pulled her in roughly. “Yeah, I bet you can’t wait for that, can you?” he sneered as he massaged her breast through her top.
She kissed him thoroughly. “I got something for you any time you want it.” The men laughed, but as she hoped, he pulled out his wallet and gave her five twenties. “Thanks, Stud. You won’t be disappointed.”
“You want someone to go with you?”
“No. I’ll take a cab. I don’t want to feel rushed.”
He nodded, handed her forty more to cover the cab, then promptly ignored her again as she strolled out. When she came to the Saracens, she and Melissa didn’t have shit, and they still had most of it left, but over the last few weeks they’d put back a few bucks here, a few bucks there. Enough to buy two train tickets out of town.
They’d hoped the club would take care of them, until they could get on their feet, but the price had quickly gotten too high. As bad as it had been for her, it had been even worse for Melissa.
Almost a week ago, Melissa had come to her crying after the latest round of sex with a club member and said she wanted out. By then Peyton had her fill of Andrew, too, and they’d made a pact. Peyton would leave first because, as Andrew’s girl, she had a little more freedom, then as soon as she could slip away, Melissa would join her. They were going to run north of I-90, out of Saracen territory and meet up at the Teutonic Knights’ bar, near the train station.
So far, so good. She was out, and with enough cash to buy the tickets, with a little left over. She wasn’t ready to give up the leather clad, body builder, motorcycle club, bad boys who got her motor running, and settle down with an accountant just yet, but just because she liked bad boys didn’t mean she was going to let some asshole slap her around. Her or Melissa.
CHAPTER TWO
“I’m just saying this is going to be trouble, that’s all,” Whiteshirt said as he spun the beer on the table. Their contact on the docks had just left, $250 richer, after informing them the Saracens had lost a load of guns. A major load of guns.
“We didn’t have anything to do with it,” Ironside pointed out.
Hafdan Gustaffson, Whiteshirt to his brothers, shook his head. “I know we didn’t have anything to do with it, but that doesn’t mean they won’t think we did.”
Bjorn Lothbrook grinned. He appreciated his best friend and VP’s caution, but sometimes Whiteshirt worried too much. “You’re worse than an old woman. They know we’re pulling out of guns. Hell, we handed them our drug business. If we’re trying to get out, why would we bother stealing their guns?”
“And you don’t worry enough. Maybe they’ll think we did it just to fuck with them.” Ironside was a good man, and a better leader, but he sometimes forgot the leader of the Saracen’s wasn’t as logical and level headed as he was.
The Teutonic Knights and the Saracens were the two major outlaw clubs in Cleveland. The Knights were formed in 1951, the Saracens five years later. The two clubs had fought viciously over territory and the gun and drug trade until the ‘80s when a stalemate was reached. Under Ironside’s grandfather’s rule, the Teutonic Knights had taken over the lakefront and the downtown, from the town of Rocky River south to I-90 in the west to Euclid and Cleveland Heights down to highway 322 in the east. The Saracens controlled the territory south of I-90 to the 480 bypass, from the banks of the Rocky River in the west to Highway 176 in the east.
Since then, the territories hadn’t shifted much and the two clubs had settled into a Cold War mentality. After Ironside’s uncle and father were busted in a drug deal gone bad, Bjorn had taken his place at the head of the table and immediately made aggressive moves out of their illegal activities. Under Ironside’s leadership, the Knights h
ad gotten out of the drug business already, and were working their way out of guns, moving aggressively into bars and strip clubs, taking them over as they came up for sale or, when necessary, opening one from scratch.
They weren’t completely clean. They still ran three escort services and a half-dozen happy ending style massage parlors, but even those were on the docket to be phased out as their upstart porn studio, Black Knights Studios, or BKS as they called it, came online. Before, their income had come from guns, drugs, and whores. Now it came from supplying the hard men of the docks and the tie-wearing pansies of downtown with booze, naked broads, and, for mostly for the tie-wearing set, upscale pussy.
Since they were no longer directly competing with each other, things had improved with the Saracens in the last five years, but there was still a lot of bad blood between the clubs, and the standing death warrant if you were caught on the wrong side of I-90 was still in place.
As they moved out of the guns and drugs, the Knights had started turning a blind eye to the transportation of contraband passing through their territory, so long as the goods stayed on I-71 and no patched member of the Saracens crossed the I-90, but that left the Saracens exposed until their goods were in their territory or loaded onto a ship. It was an unspoken agreement that had stood for two years, but it looked like someone got greedy and took advantage of that exposure.
Nothing happened on the docks the Knights didn’t hear about, and they’d just heard that a load of guns coming in from Europe left the docks on schedule but never made it south of I-90 where the Saracens were waiting.
“What do you suggest we do?” Ironside asked. “It’s not like Andrew and I can get together over a beer and sort this out.”
Whiteshirt grimaced. “I’m not suggesting we do anything. All I’m saying is we should be ready in case the Saracens decide to make trouble.”
“Okay. That sounds like a good idea,” Ironside agreed. “What do you suggest we do?”
Whiteshirt began to squirm and Ironside grinned. “That’s what I thought. You’re going to give yourself an ulcer worrying about everything all the time. If you have an actionable suggestion, we’ll move on it, but until we know when, where, or even if, the Saracens are going to come at us, there isn’t a lot we can do.”
“Yeah, okay,” Whiteshirt agreed. Ironside was right, but it worried him they could be sitting on a ticking time bomb and Ironside was acting like it was business as usual.
“Honey, you ready to go?” Ironside called. He’d excused his squeeze while he conducted business, but the business was over now.
The big-titted blonde sauntered over, beer in hand, and slid into the table beside him. “Any time, but can I finish my beer first?”
Ironside nodded. “Sure. I’m in no hurry.” He still had more than half his beer to go, too, and he knew from experience that once Honey Mettle got a couple of beers in her, she got hornier than usual. She’d also been on the rag for the past several days, but she’d informed him on the ride over she’d stopped spotting, and he knew she was always got super horny for a few days after her cycle. The one-two punch of hormones and beer? No, he didn’t mind waiting for her to finish her beer a bit.
They were finishing their beer, Honey slowly stroking Ironside’s cock under the table, when the woman walked in, a small duffle slung over her shoulder. Ironside grinned and nodded toward the door, causing Whiteshirt to turn. He looked the woman over and turned back to Ironside with a smile. The woman was definitely Ironside’s type.
Tall with big tits, she was a big girl, but in all the best ways. Whiteside’s grin widened as Honey glared at the newcomer as she moved toward the bar and settled on a stool. She obviously knew the newcomer was Ironside’s type, too.
Peyton settled on the stool and looked over what was on tap. “Warsteiner Dunkel,” she ordered before she pulled out her phone and dialed. As agreed, Melissa didn’t answer. “I made it!” she said softly. “The Teutonic Knights bar on the Mall. I’ll wait here.”
They’d picked the bar because it was the flagship bar of the Teutonic Knights, named after their club, it was well inside the Knights territory, and it was near the train station. Andrew, or the Saracens, would have to be crazy to try anything here. In a few hours, when Melissa could get away, they would walk the three blocks to the train station, buy their tickets, and be on their way out of the Cleveland and try to start someplace new.
She hung up the phone and dropped it back in her duffle as the keep sat her beer in front of her. She nodded her thanks and tossed a five on the bar before taking a small sip, closing her eyes at the rich smooth taste. She would have to nurse the beer because they needed to save every penny, but it sure beat the swill the Saracens seemed to prefer.
“I think I know her,” Honey said as she stared at the woman.
“Who is she?” Ironside asked.
“I don’t know her name, but I swear, I saw her at a party with a bunch of Saracens.”
Whiteshirt and Ironside watched the woman. The women of the two clubs hated each other as much as the men did, and while the men of the clubs spent their time trying to gut each other, the women had become their respective clubs eyes and ears.
“Are you sure?” Ironside asked. The woman didn’t act like a spy for the Saracens, and if she was, why was she here, in a bar?
“No, not sure. But I’m going to find out.” Honey smiled as she slid out of the booth. This was her chance to prove herself to Ironside. She was letting him fuck her stupid, but she hadn’t yet gotten him to make her his old lady. If she turned up a Saracen spy bitch, and kicked her ass right here in front of him, that would be another feather in her cap and prove to him she was more than just a place for him to stick his cock.
She’d been after Ironside since she joined the Knights as a club girl almost a year ago. She’d finally gotten his attention four months ago when he took her to bed, and she’d made sure he didn’t forget her. She’d worked hard to make sure he didn’t get tired of her by threatening to kick the ass of any woman who showed even a passing interest in him, and fucking him at every opportunity. Not that she minded the last bit, because, my God could he fuck.
“What are you doing here?” Honey demanded as she stopped by Peyton.
“Having a beer. What’s it look like I’m doing?” Peyton replied, turning to face the woman, then turning her back on her. “What business is it of yours?”
Honey couldn’t be sure it was the same woman, but how many six foot tall amazons could there be in Cleveland? “You’re out of your territory, aren’t you?”
Peyton felt her blood run cold. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Honey smiled as the other woman stiffened slightly. “Yes you do, you fucking bitch. I saw hanging on a bunch of Saracens at a party. You know what happens when a Saracens comes into Knights territory? We kick their ass.”
“I don’t want any trouble. I’m waiting here for a friend, then we’ll leave.”
Honey grabbed Peyton’s shoulder and turned her to face her. “You’ve got plenty of trouble now.”
Peyton stood. She was a good two inches taller than the other woman, but she didn’t want to fight. She could always circle around the block and wait for Melissa outside. She glanced around the bar, looking for help. It was the middle of the day and the only people in the bar were the barkeep, the bitch in her face, and the two Knights sitting in a booth watching the drama play out. There was no help to be found here.
“I’ll just go,” she said backing toward the door.
Honey closed, getting into her rival’s face. “It’s not that easy, bitch.” She wanted this fight, needed it to impress Ironside. She gave Peyton a hard shove. “You’ll go, all right, after I’ve kicked your ass as a lesson to all the Saracens bitches who come into Knights territory.”
Peyton took another step back, her hands up in front of her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Spies, bitch. You were sent here to spy.” She gave P
eyton another hard push.
Peyton shoved her back hard. “I’m no fucking spy, and I’m not a Saracen!” She couldn’t catch a fucking break. A fucking party? She’d been to a lot of parties in the last three weeks, along with a bunch of other girls, but the only one where should could have been seen was where she and Melissa were trying to get one of the Saracens to pick them up and take them back to the clubhouse.
Honey looked to Ironside, smiling as he and Whiteshirt watched with interest.
“Should I go break it up?” Whiteshirt asked.
“She started it. Let’s see if she can finish it,” Ironside said as he motioned the bartender back when he started around the end of the bar to break up the brewing fight.
“What if Honey is right and she’s a Saracen?”
“Then after Honey kicks her ass, we’ll dump her back on the other side.”
