“Maybe. But for right now, let’s get this shit over with.”
37
Next was the police station.
Peters came out personally to greet us.
“Your guy alright?” he asked.
His concern would have been touching if I couldn’t hear the insincerity in his voice.
That and the sound of dollar signs.
“He’ll make it,” I said.
“Benjamin… what’s his last name?”
“Davis. No offense, but can we get this over with? We’re both exhausted.”
“Of course. I’ve got you with Detective Guzman in Room One, and you,” he said to Kade, “you’re with Detective Wright in Two.”
I went into the interview room with Guzman, an overweight 50-something itching for retirement.
The interview was bullshit, held purely to make it look like they had done their due diligence. I was out in 15 minutes.
Kade got out a few minutes later.
“That quick, huh?” I asked. “Even though you were one of the shooters?”
“They said it was an open-and-shut case of self-defense.”
“Well, at least they got that part right. They even take your gun for evidence?”
“Yeah.”
“You got another?”
From the twitch in the corner of his mouth, I knew he found that hilarious. “I got a lot of ‘anothers.’ What do you want me to do now?”
“Go home and get some sleep. Wait for my call.”
“You don’t need me to tail Fiona?”
“No,” I said grimly. “No, I’ve got that covered for the moment.”
38
Fiona
I tried to sleep, but couldn’t. Nightmarish images of the last 12 hours kept playing in my head, and I kept returning to the question of why Jack was lying to me.
I found myself staring at the photo on Jack’s bedroom wall – the one of him and Ali standing by the jukebox – when I heard his motorcycle roar up his driveway.
The sound that should have made my heart soar made my stomach clench.
I desperately wanted to believe he was a good man.
But now I wasn’t sure of anything.
Except that I had a job to do – if I wanted to find Ali’s killer.
And get out of this alive.
Rather than meet him at the door, I slipped into bed and waited. I was wearing panties and an over-sized t-shirt that came down to the tops of my thighs. It was what I normally wore when I slept alone. I didn’t want to fuck him – especially not knowing what his intentions were towards me – so I wasn’t about to break out the lingerie.
In fact, I SO didn’t want to fuck him that I pulled down the t-shirt under the covers as far as it would stretch. If he got into bed beside me, I didn’t want him to feel any more of my body than was absolutely necessary.
I heard the door open a moment later, and the sound of the floorboards creaking under his weight. I rolled over and looked at him – and smiled in spite of myself. He had taken off his boots and was carrying them in his hands in order not to wake me.
Would a bad guy do that?
“Hey,” I said.
“Did I wake you?”
“No… not really.”
He sat down on the bed, put one hand on my head, and stroked my hair. “How’re you holding up?”
“Not so good.”
“I can imagine.”
“How are you?”
“I’ve been better,” he said wryly.
He stood up and started undressing. He pulled his t-shirt up over his head, exposing his rock-hard abs, his muscular chest, and those powerful biceps. Then he shucked off his pants, letting me see those massive thighs, that powerful ass, and the long, thick heft of his cock pressing against the fabric of his boxers. Even soft, it was seriously impressive.
In spite of all my fear and anger and uncertainty, my body still reacted to the sight of his. It was nearly impossible not to, with the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen exposing all that muscular, hard, naked flesh. And teasing me with the outline of what I really wanted to see.
He caught me looking at him and grinned. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m fuckin’ exhausted.”
I huffed in indignation. Like I’d been thinking no such thing. (Yeah, right.) “Don’t get your hopes up.”
“I don’t think I’m getting anything up,” he groaned as he fell into bed beside me, then nestled up behind me, spooning me. “All I want to do is go to sleep for a week.”
“Sounds good to me,” I said, and snuggled closer against his powerful chest, letting that massive right arm settle around me.
I suppose I should have been terrified. After all, he had lied about the Santa Muertes breaking into my room… he had known it was Roach (albeit Eddie impersonating Roach) who had left the motel…
And yet, he had taken his boots off when he walked in the room so as not to wake me.
Who did that, except for a guy who really cared about you?
Maybe that’s why I could relax enough to start to get sleepy.
And really turned on.
39
It started with the heat of his body. It radiated from his to mine, warming me, relaxing me. With what little I was wearing, and the sheets so cool to the touch, the extra heat felt good.
Then there was his arm draped around me. His forearm was pressed against my breasts. Feeling his firm, muscular arm against the soft curves of my body made my nipples start to harden.
In fact, anywhere his body pressed against mine was a luscious form of torture. I could feel his pecs pressed against my back… his massive thighs against the backside of my legs… his feet brushing the soles of mine.
And then, about sixty seconds after he lay down and got settled… I started to feel his cock.
At first it was just a little extra pressure against my ass. Maybe my imagination.
Then, no, it became very clear that it was not my imagination.
I could feel it as it began to grow… get longer… expand… as it went from soft, to semi-hard, to full-on raging erection, pressing seductively against my ass cheeks.
I could even feel the head as it pressed against my lower back.
“I thought you said you were exhausted,” I teased him.
“I didn’t say I was dead,” he joked back. “You’re pretty damn hot, you know. Just give it a minute, it’ll settle down.”
“Okay,” I said, slightly disappointed I was supposed to let it settle down.
Even though I was exhausted… I didn’t really want to let it settle down.
But I lay there for a few minutes and didn’t do anything.
It didn’t settle down.
If anything, his hard-on became more insistent. Pressing into my ass, poking into my back. Scorching skin, with the blood-hot heat barely lessened by the material between us. And occasionally it would spasm – one pulse, growing temporarily bigger and harder for a second, like one out of the twenty contractions he would have had during his climax.
Every time I felt one of those contractions, it was like a sweet, hot, electrical pulse right to my pussy. My insides would flutter, and I would get wetter, and it felt like my clit got another five degrees hotter.
Finally Jack sighed in my ear. “Okay, this is fucking torture.”
I felt his hips pull away – felt that glorious, hot, stiff pressure pull away from my ass.
“No,” I said sharply. “Don’t move.”
“But – ”
“Don’t move,” I ordered.
He chuckled. “Neither of us is going to get any sleep if I stay here. I’m not, anyway.”
“Don’t move.”
He groaned softly. “Fine.”
And I felt his hips move back into place.
Felt that large, erect pressure slide against my ass.
Unnnhhh.
The friction even made his cock spasm again, once.
It sent a jolt right to my pussy, making me wett
er and hotter. My clit swelled even more.
We lay like that for another couple of minutes, me listening to his breathing right next to my ear. It was such a turn-on… the light brushing of air over the strands of hair covering my ear… tickling me… like the lightest caress you could possibly imagine.
Jesus.
I couldn’t stand just lying there doing nothing anymore.
I began to very gradually rock my ass back and forth. Not far – we’re talking about a centimeter, maybe. Up and down.
Stroking his cock.
He grunted, an animalistic sound. “Fiona – ”
“Shh.”
I kept doing it, pressing my ass against his erection, caressing him with my body. I could feel his cock spasm again – but this time it stayed bigger for a couple of seconds, like it couldn’t stop being rock-hard.
He grunted again. His breathing was heavier this time. “Fiona – ”
“Shh.” Suddenly I quit moving. “Unless you want me to stop.”
“No,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire.
“Then don’t move,” I whispered back, and started again.
Except, though the pressure was nice, and the feeling of his girth and length was undeniable, it was all hidden away under multiple layers of clothing. My panties, my t-shirt, his boxers.
I decided I had to fix that.
I pulled the edge of my t-shirt up over my thighs, then over my ass and hips, until it was bunched at my waist.
I could feel the outline of his cock more distinctly now.
Much better.
But not good enough.
I hooked my fingers in my panties and slid them halfway down my thighs. Enough to bare my ass, not enough to give him the idea I wanted to go straight to fucking.
Holy shit.
As soon as I did that, I realized his cock was actually jutting out of the front seam of his boxers. His satiny skin, stretched tight as a drum over that massive erection, was now blood-hot and bare against my own skin.
MUCH better.
I began to move my ass again, up and down, just a centimeter.
Jack groaned again, this time louder.
“Fiona…” he sighed, his voice raspy and hoarse.
“Shh,” I ordered, and went back to enjoying the feel of his cock against my ass.
He was riding the groove between my cheeks – that long, stiff shaft nestled right against my crack. Not in my crack – he was waaaaay too big for that – but it was like a nice little guide track for his movements.
The only thing I was missing was feeling the head of his cock. I pulled my t-shirt up even further, just below my ribcage, until I felt the swollen, thick head suddenly pull free of the fabric and land against my skin.
Oh Jesus.
The tip was wet.
I could feel the pre-cum sliding along my skin, making his head glide slick and wet as it pressed against me.
Ohhhhh God.
I kept shifting my ass, moving it maybe two or three centimeters now, so I could feel more of his cock sliding against my ass. So I could feel more of that slick, hot, wet pressure on my back.
Sooooo wet.
I couldn’t help myself.
I reached around and put my hand on his cock as I continued to lightly grind my ass against him.
Without being able to see him – and without getting distracted from his kisses – I used my fingers like I was reading braille. Let my fingertips rove up and down his shaft. Felt the raised, soft vein that ran along the entire length of the top of his cock. Touched the firm ridge of the crown of his head, that part I loved when he stroked my g-spot with it.
“Unhhhh…” he moaned as my fingers cupped the top of his shaft, while my ass stroked him softly from below.
I wet my fingers with the pre-cum on his tip.
There was a lot of it.
Then I cupped my fingers in an ‘O’ and spread his juices down his shaft – specifically the underside. After a few slow, O-shaped caresses, I could feel his entire cock slick and newly wet against my ass.
Jesus, that felt amazing.
I could only imagine how good it felt to him, to have his cock slicked down as it pressed against my wet, slippery ass.
Actually, I didn’t have to imagine. I could hear him.
“Fuck,” he whispered repeatedly. “Fuck… fuck… fuck…”
He began to move his hips in time with me, grinding into me a little harder, extending the distance he moved a little farther.
I didn’t mind. I liked feeling the longer stroke of his cock as it pressed hot and slippery against my ass cheeks.
Then his hands began to wander.
First they touched my hip bones. I gasped as they tickled softly up my belly to my ribcage. Then he moved under my t-shirt, and his fingers found the underside of my boobs. He began to lightly caress me, slowly moving his fingers up my breasts… towards my areolas… reaching them, then lightly circling my diamond-hard nipples, never touching them…
All of this was happening under my t-shirt, and all of it was happening as he and I continued to move our hips and slide his pre-cum drenched cock over my ass.
It was driving me wild. The sweet, soft sensations of his fingers mixed with my growing, ravenous hunger to feel him inside me…
I was so wet, my thighs were as soaked as his cock.
Then his fingertips pinched my nipples.
It was like somebody lit a match and tossed it on a gasoline trail of desire straight down to my pussy.
I cried out as he rolled the hard little nubs between his fingertips. Little Morse code bursts of pressure, short then long, and finally he grabbed my breasts and heaved them fully in his palms, pressing my whole body back against him.
The whole time we never stopped, my ass rocking against his cock, even more of his pre-cum soaking my skin.
He kept the arm under me playing with my breasts, but his right hand moved down to my legs. My mouth watered as I felt that big, strong hand force apart my thighs. Then he did the same thing he did with my breasts: started as far away as possible from my source of greatest pleasure.
His fingers started stroking the soaked skin of my thighs… then gradually moved up to my labia. He stayed there seemingly forever, playing with my lips, stroking them, separating them, his fingertips lightly pinching them, caressing them, showering attention on them.
I was about to die, I ached for his cock inside me so badly. But I kept moving my ass as he thrust behind me, his wet cock just inches away from where I wanted it.
Then his index finger trailed up across the very top of my pussy, using my wetness to lubricate his way… then he started to caress my hood. If it had been his tongue, the tip would have just loosely been gliding over it.
The pressure became more intense, but S-L-O-W-L-Y. I wanted him to stroke me harder and do it now, but he was teasing me… going… so… slow… it… was… driving… me… insane.
I writhed on the bed, but he held me hard against him with his left arm and kept pumping his cock against my ass.
Slowly he pulled back my hood with his thumb until my clit was fully exposed, and then he began to touch me with his index finger. At first it was so soft it seemed the only contact between his finger and my clit was my own juices. But he began to go the tiniest bit harder, the tiniest bit faster, until he was swirling his finger all over my clit, stroking that hot, fiery little button of pleasure until I couldn’t handle it anymore.
I screamed as I came. Wave after wave of pleasure bursting outward in hot, wet pulses. And yet he wasn’t letting up with his finger. He kept swirling it around, touching me everywhere on my clit, driving me crazy, making those waves turn into tsunamis, making the hot wetness of it turn into liquid fire. I screamed his name and God’s just as often. I felt his cock, huge and hard and wet, pressing against my ass as his finger circled my clit and coaxed insane burst after burst of pleasure out of that one tiny little spot on my body.
“Stop,” I gasped. “Stop.�
��
He stopped – both the thrusting against my ass and the touching my clit.
I rolled over towards him and looked him in the eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes, searching mine for what I wanted next.
I showed him by tugging on his boxer shorts. He helped me by getting his cock at the right angle inside the underwear, then pulling them the rest of the way off.
I grabbed the soaked, throbbing head of his cock and pressed it right against the lips of my pussy.
“Fuck me,” I ordered. Ordered, pleaded, demanded, it didn’t matter – all that mattered was I needed his cock inside me now.
He obliged.
My pussy was soaked, and so was his cock, so one thrust was all it took.
One long, thick, hot, glorious stroke.
I gasped and then cried out as he bottomed out inside me. Cried out from a little bit of pain, and a whole lot of pleasure.
My eyes rolled back in ecstasy as he began to rock inside me, forcing me open with his girth as he grunted like a beast. His hands found my hair, and he pulled my head back and began to ravage my neck with his teeth and lips, all the while burying his cock deep inside me again and again.
I started to come. My whole body quivered, and my pussy began to convulse and spasm with bliss. Contractions moved through my belly, deep inside me. They kept getting stronger with every thrust of his massive cock, every motion of his swollen head as it roughly, wetly, lustfully caressed me deep inside.
“Oh – oh Jack – oh God – oh Jack – oh GOD – OH JACK – ”
“Fiona – fuck – fuck – FUCK – ”
And then he was coming inside me.
At first it was like, FUCK YES! I felt his cock surge and expand with a sensual clarity I’d never felt when he wore a condom, when all that sensation was lost to a half millimeter of latex. I felt him pulse, over and over, as his base squeezed against me with rapid bursts. Actually felt his hot come splash inside me, tiny liquid shots of sex. All that sensation actually made my own climax bigger, hotter, more intense, and my contractions felt like they were wrenching every last drop of joy and elation they could from my body.
Midnight Deceit: A Midnight Riders Motorcycle Club Romance Part 3 Page 7
