Fury: Sons of Chaos MC

by Paula Cox

  "I have an actual bed."

  "No." The fierceness with which she shook her head surprised him a little. "If we have a second time, you can take me to bed. Right now, I want to fuck."

  His cock was weeping with his need for her. He had to get himself back under control, or he was going to blow like a kid seeing his first nudie pic. "Come with me," he said. He reached out a hand to her, and she took it after a bare moment of hesitation.

  There were a lot of snickers and hidden smiles as he led her through the yard, but if she noticed, she didn't seem to care. She didn't balk until they got to the barn door, and he threw open the sliding door. Her hand spasmed in his; he got the idea she would have dropped it, if she could have. "No," she whispered.

  "That's fine," he said, carefully stepping in front of her, interrupting her sight of the rows of shiny motorcycles. "If you want to go, Jessie, you can. I won't think less of you. But if you want me—I'm not the little boy I was fifteen years ago. This is who I am now. If you want me—even once—then this is who you want. And you can't lie to yourself about that." He took a moment. "At least, not here. Not now. You want me to take you somewhere? This is how we're getting there."

  She glanced around herself. She probably thought it was subtle, and that no one noticed her checked out the surroundings to see if everyone was staring. She would have been wrong. He bit down on the inside of his lower lip so he wouldn't smile.

  "I've-" her voice squeaked, and she swallowed. "I've never been on one."

  "Just a big old vibrator between your thighs," he said, and watched that gorgeous flush climb her neck. "You hold tight to me, and everything will be just fine."

  Had he ever wanted a woman this much? He had hardly kept records on that sort of thing, but he was pretty sure the answer was no.

  "Okay," she said. She was twisted up with fear but—God, it was cruel to even think it—but she needed to be, right now. She couldn't go into this with some romantic idea of what revenge would look like. This was going to be bloody work. Before the end of it, there'd be bodies to bury in the desert. If he were incredibly lucky, his wouldn't be among them. If she were going to be the partner to him that she said she wanted to be, she'd have to start now. "Okay. Fine. I can do this." She might not have realized that she spoke those last few words out loud. Her eyes were distant, her gaze focused on something else. He didn't have to guess at what it was; he still saw Danny's broken body in his nightmares.

  He walked her over to his bike, a big Harley with plenty of room and plenty of heart. He handed her a helmet, helped her get it adjusted, and then put his own on. He mounted up, then helped her get settled behind him. He pulled her hands around his waist, snugging her up tight against his back. "The biggest thing," he said, before he started up the bike, his voice pitched low so she could hear him, but no one else would. "The biggest thing to pay attention to is moving with me. No farther than I do, but with me. Like we're dancing. Think you can handle that?"

  One of her hands unlocked from its death grip around his waist and moved lower, palming his cock through his jeans. He had to fight back the urge to press her into the wall of the barn and have her right here. It wouldn't be the first time it had happened, and other than a few more pictures of his bare ass making the internet, it would be a non-event in the club's history.

  But that wasn't how this story was going to end. Or begin. Or whatever the hell it was they were doing now. He couldn't help but buck up into her hand, though, letting her feel how unbelievably hard he still was. "I can handle anything you can throw at me," she said, and goddamn if he didn't believe her.

  He twisted the ignition on the bike, guided it gently out of the barn on neutral, bracing with his feet. He checked that she was clear, and she'd found the pegs, then put it into gear and opened the throttle.

  There was nothing like the motion of a bike on the open road. He'd first stepped onto a machine much like this one when he was still trying to heal from Danny's death and understand the world that had torn his world apart so completely. He'd come to the conclusion by then, after a few pointed inquiries, that it was very unlikely that one solitary biker had ridden into a podunk resort town and just happened to hit a kid in the street, then carried on down the road like nothing had happened. Tex remembered clearly seeing the man's leather vest, and knew there had been colors on the back, but he'd never seen them clearly enough to explain them to anyone. The cops had been so busy calling the whole thing a "tragic accident" that his attempt to talk about what had happened was treated as irrelevant; from his conversations with Eddie later, he'd found that no one had even written down his attempt to identify the man who'd run Danny down.

  The first time he'd mounted a motorcycle, he'd been sick. He understood Jessie's reaction better than she might think. But when he'd gotten the hang of keeping the bike balanced in the road, when he'd been able to take over the highways and get anywhere he wanted to go—shit, he'd never wanted to go back.

  Every other method of truly fast motion that humankind had mastered required a cage. Cars, trains, airplanes. All of them had safety structures and antilock brakes and power steering, and a million other things that made motion safer. Hell, these days, cars could stop for you. Driving you around on their own was probably next. And he loved those things. They made cars safe, planes safe, made people safer. He wanted that. For them.

  He didn't want to be safe. He wanted to be on the open road, wind slapping at his face and arms, completely in control of the small bubble of the world around him. Because that was the truth of the motorcycle. If you didn't respect it, the bike would dump you on the road, and you'd be finished, just a greasy smear of skin and offal for the buzzards to enjoy. He had to be in control here. There was no time for wishing he'd done things differently, or been a better man, or made different choices. There was no time for his cock, desperately insisting that this was far enough, they'd had enough fun, and couldn't they get to the fucking now?

  She was clinging to him like a burr, and he could feel her chest heaving. Crying, gasping, he wasn't sure. It would be purging; he knew that from experience. She could feel the road getting inside of her, claiming her. She'd like it or she wouldn't, and either way, he'd know something about her. And that was good. He needed to know more about her before he trusted her with the rest of his secrets. So many goddamn secrets.

  They drove through the winding mountain roads along the coast. He took the turns slower than he would have if he was alone, and after the first awkward one, she moved with him like a champ. Like this was in her bones just as much as it was his.

  Most people would have missed the turn he took. He slowed way down; the bike didn't go well on sand, and that was okay, but he had to be careful, especially with Jessie not really knowing how to move with the machine yet. He guided them through a few scrub trees and around a hill, and then cut the throttle and twisted off the ignition. They had reached their destination.

  He sat on the bike for a moment in silence, and it took some time for Jessie to speak. "What is this?" Her voice was too quiet, too soft.

  "Do you remember how Danny and I used to go camping?"

  "Of course."

  "This was one of our favorite spots. When I—after I got back from Afghanistan, one of the things I did was to buy this bit of land and build a cabin." He was quiet for a minute. "I can pretend I built it myself, if that would impress you."

  "Did you? Build it yourself?"

  "Absolutely not. I'm good at lots of things, but making roofs that don't fall down is not within my skillset."

  She was awkward as she dismounted, but she didn't tip the bike over; that was a lot. He followed her, setting down the kickstand and making sure the bike was secure before he stepped away. He took her helmet and set it next to his.

  Her cheeks were flushed dark, and her eyes were sparkling. He saw tracks of tears on her cheeks, but he also saw the tips of her breasts standing in tight peaks that all but begged for him to devour them. "You weren't kidding abou
t it being a giant vibrator."

  "Get you a little heated up, did it?"

  She laughed, tossing her head back, and her throat was a sight to be seen. "As if you weren't doing just fine on your own. Introducing that kind of—of mechanical assistance was just unnecessary."

  He stepped in closer, gauging her interest as he slipped a hand around her waist. "Did you come on my bike, Jessie?"

  She looked away for a moment before meeting his gaze and flashing that smile again. "No, but it was a close thing. I kept worrying about what would happen to us if I was thrashing around."

  "Do you thrash around when you come?"

  "Usually."

  "And scream?"

  "No, actually." She stepped into him this time, melting her body against his and wrapping her arms around his neck. "I'm really loud leading up to it, swearing and cursing, but for the big moment, I tend to go totally fucking silent." She bit her lip, and he thought he might die. "Want to see?"

  How any person interested in women could say no to that invitation, he wasn't entirely sure. "Yup." He stepped away from her but took her hand, leading her up the three wooden steps onto the cabin's porch. He unlocked the door, and went inside.

  The cabin was pretty rustic. Two rooms, a chemical toilet, no electricity. No real furniture; without someone here to keep an eye on it, it would just get stolen or mildewy anyway. But there was a bedroll and she'd said she was fine with up against a wall. He was sure they could make something work.

  But instead of leaping for her, he dragged the bedroll out to the small porch and laid it out there. Jessie followed him, and when he plopped down on the bedding, then patted a spot next to himself, she sat down.

  "How did you like that?" he asked. "I mean, besides it making you all hot and bothered?"

  "It felt like a betrayal and a funeral but also like shutting a door and opening a window." She stared out at the water. Was it still like it was when they were kids, where the townies hardly bothered with the beach, or did she go there now, letting the rhythm of the waves wash over her and make her whole? "I don't want to talk about my brother anymore."

  "I need to," he said. "For just a minute. Because he's connected to something much bigger."

  "Danny has been dead for fifteen years," she said, her tone harsh and cold for the first time. "Apart from you, me, and my mother, no one cares at all."

  "There's more to it than that," he said, but she made a disgruntled sound, and faster than he thought a person could move, she was straddling him, her thighs pressing into his dick, and her jeans were soaked in the crotch.

  "I thought I told you to fuck me," she said. "Are you always this bad at taking direction?"

  "No, ma'am," he said, and claimed her mouth with his.

  Chapter Nine

  Climbing Tex like a telephone pole was possibly the most un-Jessie-like thing she'd done in recent memory, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. She'd been so good for so long, listening to all her mother's rules about good behavior, and sticking to the townies, not getting involved with anyone outside of her "station," and it had netted her a lot of boring sex. She had better orgasms watching porn on her phone and playing with herself that she did on her rare dates. She didn't want to be a good girl anymore. She didn't want to be protected.

  What did Tex see in her? She wasn't sure. She was his dead best friend's little sister. Had he really been carrying a torch for her for all these years? Sure, granted, she had for him, but somehow that was different. He was a freaking Adonis dressed up like the baddest of bad boys. She was plain, angular Jessie, nothing to write home about.

  She'd straddled men before and had them complain about her bony ass, or say she was all elbows. Tex wrapped her up in his arms and kissed her until she thought she would grind herself off in his lap. She hadn't been kidding about the motorcycle; as soon as they'd hit the open road, the vibration of the engine went straight to her pussy and left her gasping. She'd cried and nearly come and clung to him until she thought there was nothing else there.

  He kissed Jessie now with passion and purpose. One hand was behind her head, holding her at the angle he wanted; the other was at the small of her back, pushing her ever so gently against the hard length of his cock, trapped against his thigh. He'd been hard for so long, he had to be in the most exquisite state.

  He lifted her off him after a moment, setting her gently to the side. "Sorry," he said. "If you want me to fuck you properly, you're going to need to give me a minute here."

  "Too hot for you?"

  He made a little growling sound. "Strip," he said.

  "You're not going to do it for me?"

  "Depends," he said. "You want me to fall face first into your tiny tits and rut into your thigh, or do you want me to fuck you properly like you deserve?"

  Well. When he put it that way. She didn't have to be nice about it, though. She stood up and stripped off her t-shirt, her stretchy lace bralette, and her jeans and panties. She folded each of them neatly and stacked them in the corner of the porch. Her heart was pounding in her chest when she turned around to him.

  She'd been really slim her whole life. And not that kind of model slim, where someone is attractively proportioned and has plenty of curves. Like her doctors kept checking her thyroid slim, but shrugging when she couldn't put on weight. When she was a kid, people had said she was a little coltish, and she'd fill out in time, only it hadn't happened. It had been cute when she was 16, but now, it felt...awkward, somehow.

  But Tex was looking at her like she was the Venus de Milo in all her glory. Like her mosquito bite tits and bony, jutting hips were the best vision he'd ever seen. And looking through his eyes, maybe she could start to see it. Because a man like him could have any woman he wanted, and he wanted her. That had to mean something good.

  There was a tiny fraction of her brain that was panicking about what was she doing, standing here naked where anyone could see, but the vast majority of her brain—and, to be honest, her lust—swatted those thoughts away. This spot was so secluded that she'd had no idea it was even here. Tourists tended to stay on the public areas, because a few of the private owners were very territorial about their property. And even if someone did see her here, she had a decent idea that Tex would just raise an eyebrow and ask them if they wanted to join in or keep walking.

  "Come here," he said, and it was a whispery church voice that sent shivers down her spine and into her soaked and aching cunt. She went to crouch down, but he pulled her straight toward him, bringing his face towards her sex. One hand on each side of her ass, he pulled her forward, reaching out with his tongue. He pushed past her lower lips and found her clit with unerring accuracy, and she let out a stream of profanity in gasps. Her hands splayed on the rough wood of the cabin, and she fought to keep her knees locked so she wouldn't fall. "Christ," she muttered, "Christ, fuck, yes."

  "Good girl," he purred into her curls, and then he went to work, hard and fast. He leaned back a little so that her thighs were on either side of his face, and he devoured her. Sparks exploded in front of her eyes, and then she realized she'd squeezed them closed. She forced myself to open them, to look down at him, his face already smeared with her liquid sex, his pupils blown wide, and then he pushed his tongue into her and she—

  She ended. She stopped. Sound and color and meaning bled out of the world. She could feel her mouth stretching wide as she tried to breathe but her throat was locked tight, and there was nothing but the swelling pulse in her cunt.

  The wave shattered, and the world slammed back into her, overwhelming and too fast and too much and she cried out, gasping and collapsing and shuttering down into his lap. He curled me up in his arms and rocked me as the tears streamed down my face from the sheer force of the emotional release.

  "No kidding about the cursing," he said, when the tears had stopped, and she'd stopped shivering.

  "That was nothing," Jessie said. "I can fluently curse in six languages." That was an exaggeration. But he laughed, and
she went with it.

  "Six language orgasm," he said. "I will definitely put that on my bucket list."

  His cock was pressing up insistently into her ass. She had no idea when he'd stripped off, but god he was amazing. His chest was almost furry, his hair was so thick, but it thinned out over his abs, leading in a delicious treasure trail down to the cock that felt completely impressive where it was. "I mean. You still haven't achieved the goal we set when we came out here."

  He rolled his eyes. "I had my tongue inside you, but that wasn't fucking you? I know a lot of lesbians who would disagree."

  "Wrong metric, asshole," she said, playfully swatting at his arm. "I figure, fucking involves orgasms for both parties."

  "Does it now?"

  "Yup. You can make love and have only one person come—and sometimes that's fun, let's be honest—but fucking definitely involves dual orgasms."