by Wild, Nikki
“I found you. I found you, you slut.”
Everything in me turned to liquid nitrogen. Jase. Jase. I didn't wait another second before I started scrambling backwards, away from his advancing figure. He'd grown a beard, and as he came upon me, sneering and wild-eyed, all I could think, of all the things I could think, was that it looked good on him.
Screaming wouldn't have done me any good, even if I could get enough air to do it before he straddled me and wrapped his hands around my neck.
“Slut! Lying, cheating, whore! He told me! He told me everything! You let him fuck you! You let him fuck you everywhere!”
Dutch, I thought, my fingernails digging into the backs of his hands, my legs kicking wide and fast, trying to make contact with any part of him soft enough to hurt. He squeezed steadily harder with each second; a line of spit dropped onto my eye from his savage, foaming lips. My lips started to tingle, my mouth making pathetic little gasping sounds, my eyes feeling like they might pop right out of my face.
“You're my wife, Bex. You're my wife, and you let that biker trash fuck you, laughin' at me, the man you swore to love and serve,” he snarled, face getting closer and closer to mine. I gave up trying to get his hands off my neck and looked wildly from side to side, throwing my arms out, grasping for anything in reach. I felt something hard and stiff against my stomach; he was getting off on this. His dick never did work too well through our marriage, but now it seemed to work just fine, and his lips turned up in a twisted smile.
He kept one hand on my throat, squeezing just as hard as ever, but dropped the other hand to his belt, sloppily undoing it.
“You like fuckin' so much? Such a dirty whore, you like dick so fuckin' much? Why don't you show me how much you like it, Bex? Let me fuck that ass of yours, that pretty, filthy, whorin' ass...”
Fuck no.
And then...fuck yes.
My fingers found something. Not much of anything, but enough. Whatever it was, it had a blunt point at one end. He was rubbing his nasty little pecker across my stomach, and I felt him lift off me just enough to grab me around the waist. He moved his hand from my throat to my cheek, giving me a chance to gasp at some precious air before he ground my face down into the gravel.
“Yeah, Bex? Yeah? You ready to take your husband's cock, the way you're supposed to, you ready to serve me, the way you're meant to? Fuckin..”
“Mmfffuckk...mmmnooo,” I managed to grit out, my lips scratching against the pavement. I slammed the blunt end of whatever-it-was up with all my might, hitting him in the temple.
“Holy FUCK!” He howled, one hand flying to his head, the other still trying to hold me down even as I was bucking him off and kicking myself free. I looked at my hand. It was a fuckin' pair of chopsticks in their little paper container. Spilled out of my purse, from when I had Chinese food two weeks before. Thank God for devil-designed black holes, and all the things you lose in them. Not that I had much time for deity-thanking. I was on my feet, still gasping through a raw and ragged throat, running straight for Peach's. I heard him trying to chase me, but he wasn't dumb enough to follow me inside.
Not that it meant he was done with me. Not in the slightest. Because I knew – I knew – it was Dutch who called him here, Dutch who told him about me and Cross, the one thing I knew would take Jase from a talker to a doer.
And if it was Dutch that brought him here, I knew Dutch would keep him here, until I was six feet under and off his hands for good.
Cross
“Where is she? Where's Bex? Who the fuck touched my woman?”
Maybe I would have been surprised to hear myself call Bex “my woman”, but in the moment, it was the truest thing to come out of my lips. I was lucky I was with someone sober when I got the call, or I would have likely killed myself and ten other people trying to ride to Peach’s drunk. As it was, Hunter drove me in his cage, since I wasn't riding bitch for anyone. I spent half the drive pounding the ceiling and roaring, and the rest of it trying to grab the wheel out of his hands 'cause I thought I could get us there faster.
Peach had the club locked up. No cops, for obvious reasons. But one of the brothers, Soldier, who'd been at the club already, was standing guard outside.
“Where is he?”
“Ran off, I 'spect,” Soldier drawled blandly. I think Hunter held me back. He must've, or I would have had Soldier against the wall and sayin' uncle in a heartbeat. No one was allowed to act like this was no big deal. My woman had been attacked.
“Get the fuck on the street, and look for him,” I remember shouting before Peach unlocked the door and let us in.
“What the hell am I supposed to be lookin' for?”
I didn't have time to answer that question, because the minute I stepped into that club, I was headin' for Bex. Finding her there, in the backroom, an ice pack against her head, lips cut up and neck black-and-blue, I dropped straight to my knees.
Call me a cliché. I damn well know I am. But you don't know what you got 'til it's gone, or at least until you almost lose it. Seeing her there, roughed up and swollen-eyed, beaten by a man who wasn't half worth her, it felt like my fault. I shouldn't have let her drive that stupid fuckin' cage around town without anyone watchin' her. I should have been riding her to and from work every single day. I should have known she was in just as much danger as Blade or I. I should have forgave her, a long time ago.
“Cross,” she croaked, and the age in her voice made my heart cramp. “Get up, please, I...”
“Stop it,” I said, grabbing her face, gently, studying all the ways he'd hurt her. “Don't you tell me what to do, Bex Carter. If I wanna kneel before a woman, I will.”
I was tryin' to keep it light. Tryin' to pretend that her face didn't make me feel like punching a hole through the wall. Her beautiful eyes – one of them was half swollen shut. And those lips I should have been kissin’ still carved with bits of grit and gravel. I let my thumb brush them, and she shuddered but didn't pull back, the pain held at bay by her spirit. All the same, I knew I'd hurt her a little bit more, and now I wanted to punch a hole through my own damn chest.
“It was that ball-suckin' ex-husband of yours, wasn't it?” I asked, drawing back. She swallowed, which clearly took some effort and caused some pain. She nodded.
“Dutch,” I said, low enough that Peach couldn't hear me. She was standin' in the doorway. Bex blinked and nodded again.
“Fuck,” I said, and leaned in, grabbing her hand. Shit, even her palm was scratched and bloody. But she didn't pull it back. She squeezed my hand back. “I'm gonna find him, baby. I'm gonna find him, and beat him into the ground. I'm gonna shove a bowling pin up his ass. I'm gonna...”
“Cross,” she croaked again, and my name on her lips was heaven and hell mixed together. “No..wait..think.”
Talking was hurting her. That bastard stole her voice right out of her throat. When I found him...when I found him...
How the hell was I gonna find him? Dutch sure as hell wasn't gonna point me in his direction, not even if it would help keep up this illusion he was trying to maintain. I didn't know if he was driving a Subaru or a Crown Victoria or a unicycle. I could know what he looked like, but there was no telling which sleazebag motel, high-class bed and breakfast, shantytown apartment, or cabin in the woods he was hiding out in.
I was gonna try. Hell yes, I was gonna try. I'd have my brothers crawling over Cutter, searching every alley and gutter. Shit, I'd go straight into the heart of Blackhawk territory if I had to, on the hope that they'd give me a pass. But that night? That night, I was hopeless, helpless, and two kinds of fucked. What could I do?
Well, I could hold her. And tell her I was sorry for dragging this out so damn long. For actin' like I hated her, when really, just having her around was enough to keep my heartache at bay. I cupped her cheek again, leaned in close enough to press my forehead against hers, our pupils lining up straight as arrows.
“I love you, Bex, and I'm not gonna let anyone get away with this,” I s
aid, watching the water welling at the bottoms of her eyes. “Don't cry on me now, baby. I'm sorry. You're sorry, I'm sorry, we're both sorry. Don't go cryin' on me now...”
But women can't help but cry sometimes. And when they do, it's a man's job to hold them through it, and let them get your shoulder wet, and even let them wipe their little noses on your best shirt.
So, gingerly as I could, tryin' not to hurt her any more than she was, I picked her up and carried her out to the car, layin' both our bodies down in the backseat while Hunter drove us home. I never wanted to let my brothers see me being tender, because it might make them think they can start getting unruly, but it didn't matter that night. That night, I'd be Bex's own personal teddy bear, and fuck anyone who said that wasn't the manly thing to do.
Bex
Bex
For Cross to welcome me back into his bed was almost – almost – enough to make Jase’s attack worth it. But not quite. Cross came in, fuming and screaming and dragging me back into his heart – but for hours, all I could do was shake.
I got away from him. I fought him off.
This time.
Next time, Peach’s might not be in running distance.
Next time, he might be more prepared.
Cross didn’t calm down until I did. At least, that’s my impression of how the night went. I was mostly a mess; even when he lay me down in his bed and leaned my body, tenderly, against his own, I felt cold, like I had a fever. And my wounds throbbed, my lungs ached, my muscles sore. Cross fed me two aspirin and made me drink some tea – the tea tasted older than me, but it was warm, and it soothed me a little bit. After that, I just waited. Waited for sleep to come.
Cross talked to me, stroking my hair, promising me he’d find Jase, telling me what he’d do to him when he found him. He told me how much he’d missed me, even when I was right at his side. I fell asleep with his voice in my ear, lulling me into the safety of sleep.
But when I woke up in his arms, daylight streaming across us, I didn’t want to be safe anymore. I only wanted one thing, and he was laying right beside me, twitching in his sleep. By body, broken the night before, suddenly felt like it was on fire. Maybe it was all the left-over adrenaline. Maybe it was all those things Jase said, about me belonging to him, about what he was going to do to me.
I didn’t belong to anyone but Cross. And no one could touch me but him. I wanted to prove it, once and for all. I wanted him inside me.
It wasn’t hard to wake him; he didn’t even really seem to be sleeping. I traced one of his biceps with my finger, and his eyes fluttered open, fully awake in the span of a second.
“Bex, what is it? Something wrong? What can I…”
“Shh,” I said, putting a finger to his lips. “I’m in your bed, Cross.”
He studied me, eyes stormy with confusion and concern.
“Last night…”
“Cross,” I said, grabbing his chin and pulling it towards me. “I’m in your bed.”
I reached down and pulled off my shirt. He couldn’t see it yet, but I’d already kicked off my panties, the only thing I’d slept in.
“Please,” I murmured, watching him watch me, feeling like his touch was the only thing that would keep me sane.
“Yes, Bex,” he groaned, and slid himself over to me.
He moved slowly, avoiding my battered lips, keeping his kisses light as they moved along the bruises on my neck. I shuddered and thought of that old idea of kissing a wound to make it better; his lips were a salve, melting away the pain and fear Jase left on my body. Cross was careful not to lean his weight on me, though his hips ground between my legs, and I could feel how hard he was, my body sparking in response. Nibbling my earlobes, his breath whipped a hot storm through my mind, blowing away anything but the pleasure of this moment in his arms.
Slowly, he let his mouth trail lower, moving down to my collarbone, tracing it with his tongue. His hands were rough on my flesh, age and history carving cracks in his palms, but he used them softly on my breasts, holding them like small birds as his tongue explored the space between them.
As his mouth made a slow and lazy circuit around each breast, I found myself whimpering, my back arching, trying to force his lips against my nipples, needing that contact. And he obliged, covering first one, then the other, with his lips, cupping my breasts from below as he flicked them with his tongue and sucked them into his mouth, pulling away only to tease them more with his breath.
My hands ran through his hair, each strand flowing like water between my fingers, his chest between my legs now, and then his mouth on my stomach, and then his head between my legs, every movement carefully orchestrated to send my body into a frenzy. His stubble tickled my inner thighs, his fingers tracing patterns on my lower stomach, his mouth kissing everywhere but my center.
His hot breath alone was enough to make my hips jerk, his eyes flicking up to take in the sight of me spread before him. Squirming and straining, I opened my mouth to beg. But this time, he motioned me to be silent, and I threw myself back against the pillows in mingled frustration and delight.
“Good things come to those who wait,” he growled, voice husky and low. His eyes stayed fixed on mine as he continued his torture, kissing across my lower stomach and down each thigh, using his tongue to trace the same patterns as his fingers. My pussy dripped for him, my clit swollen and throbbing and needy. I found myself making pathetic little cries; he didn’t want me to speak, but I couldn’t remain silent. I couldn’t wait anymore. If I had to wait another second, I was going to implode.
His hands moved to my stomach, pressing against it, pushing my hips down so they couldn’t jerk towards him anymore. I whimpered one more time before I felt him moving, slow enough to kill me, towards my slit. My lips, puffy and tingling, were the first to feel his tongue, sliding gently between them, all the way up to my swollen clit.
My cry of relief filled the apartment as he wrapped his tongue around me, suckling it between his lips. My toes curled, my thighs snapping shut around his head, my hands now digging into his hair. He kept his pace slow, his movements ginger, his tongue rolling over my clit over and over again, then flattening to lap over it, the warmth and wetness a paradise all its own.
My body shuddered, dripping, as he drove each sensation to its peak, only to move away just before I tipped over the edge. He wouldn’t let me come; not yet. He pressed his fingers against my slit, inched them inside as his tongue began to quicken around my clit, my pussy automatically gushing and clenching around him.
Driving upwards, he teased me, so close to my G-spot, but not quite there, stroking the walls of my pussy like I was his favorite toy. And I was. I was his toy, his doll, his tailor-made sex slave. He had that power over me, and I reveled in it. His fingers inched closer and curled, his tongue flicking my clit from the bottom in a steadily quickening rhythm, stopping every so often to suck me between his lips. His eyes flashed to mine. He found my G-spot, and stroked it.
I was gone.
My body shimmered, bucked, shook underneath him as pleasure roared through me, my bones seeming to rattle against each other with the force of it. His tongue and fingers held me through it, my muscles gone to jelly, my skin a thousand stars. My pussy clenched around his fingers, again and again, and flooded into his palm. He lapped at my juices like sweet honey, never ceasing to stroke my G-spot, the sensation almost turning to pain as my body went into overdrive.
When I finally had to push his head away, he wiped at his mouth, crawling upwards and putting his fingers against my lips. I sucked them clean, tasting myself on him, liking it. Liking how dirty I was with him. Liking that he made me that way.
I moaned around his fingers, feeling the head of his cock pressing against my slit. This would be the first time in ten years that he entered me, and I was impatient, didn’t want to wait. But I wasn’t dumb, either.
“You got something?” I managed to pant, pushing on his chest gently.
“Fuck…uh…” he looked
genuinely frantic. How could he not have a condom? What kind of man didn’t keep condoms handy? He looked down at me. “Why? You not on the pill? ‘Cause frankly, Bex…that’s not a problem for me. After all, I do aim on keepin’ you...”
Oh, fuck. Why’d he have to say something like that? Something so damn hot, I wanted to say fuck the condom and pull him into me, go bareback for days.
“That ain’t why I’m asking,” I moaned. “Please tell me…”
“Alright,” he grunted, and fished around in the table beside the bed, coming up with a victorious smile. He slipped the condom on and moved between my legs again, then leaned down to whisper in my ear. “We’re gettin’ tested, today. I ain’t waitin’ one more day to fuck you raw, girl.”
His words were every single dirty thing I wanted, his body so close to mine, the raw smell of musk and sex and man tickling me from my nose to my feet. I needed him filling me, as only he could. I grabbed his hips, and pulled.
He slid into me with a groan, his cock driving deep inside me in the very first thrust. Still wet and tender, he felt like he was splitting me in half, my pussy filled to its limit with his heat.
He locked his eyes on mine, my hands moved to his biceps, and he began to fuck me. Slow, steady, thrusts. Sliding out slowly, then driving in, deep and fast, pushing himself against my womb like he wanted to fuck every inch of my body. And I would have let him, if I could, my body swelling and roaring with pleasure as he laid into me, eyes never leaving mine.
As he sped up, the sound of our bodies smacking together filled the room, and my knees lifted to wrap around his waist. He reached down with one arm, slipped it around my waist, and pulled up on my lower back; the next time he thrust, it was like he was fucking me for the very first time all over again, a blissful mix of pleasure and pain as he slid to my very core.
We were sweating, moaning, savages bent only on bringing each other to that ultimate peak; knowing Cross, he wouldn’t come until I did. I wrapped my calves around him and let him ravage me, my head rolling back and my hands moving to my breasts, squeezing them and pinching the nipples for him to watch.
