Fury: Sons of Chaos MC

by Paula Cox

  “How did you get him to agree?” Hope says, close to my ear, her breath a sweet feeling like a breeze in summer.

  “Get him to agree, pretty lady?” I smile, turning to her. She looks gorgeous in her polka-dotted dress, her breasts pushed up, her legs flashing. They’re under the table, but I know how voluptuous and made-to-grab they are, and just thinking of them drives me crazy. “I didn’t have to get him to agree. Even a man like Lucca understands money. Anyway, what the hell is he going to do with us here? Kick us out?”

  “That wouldn’t go so well for him, would it?” she says.

  “That’s one way to put it,” I say. “No, it wouldn’t go so well at all. I think he’d end up in hospital by the end of the night. Some of these men get rowdy after a drink.”

  “Bikers, you’re all just animals, aren’t you?” She raises her eyebrows playfully, sarcastically, as if she’s pretending to look down on us.

  “Oh, yes,” I say. “Just monsters.”

  “They’re getting on well,” Hope says, nodding to Patrick and Dawn.

  “Yeah, they are.”

  In truth, seeing Patrick and Dawn close like that makes me nervous. It makes me wonder what a relationship between the two of them could become. Sure, it might start out full of love and innocent and idealistic and all that stuff. But Patrick has had drugs problems before, and so has Dawn. And what happens when you put two druggies together? I try to tell myself that I’m worrying needlessly, but it’s difficult when I know Patrick, and I’ve so recently seen Dawn screaming in pain from withdrawal.

  Hope must sense something in me. She places her hand on my leg and squeezes. “It’ll be okay,” she says. “Whatever happens, we have each other.”

  “I just can’t stand drugs,” I reply. “It’s a firm no for me. I can’t deal with anyone who does them, who touches them. I just can’t. When Patrick was using, I didn’t even talk to him. My own brother.”

  “They’re both clean,” Hope whispers, resting her head on my shoulder. “You don’t have to worry.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” I say, though I have a difficult time believing it.

  As the night moves on, Patrick and Dawn move closer and closer together.

  And when the dinner ends and the dozens of bikers pick up their dozens of leathers, Patrick and Dawn leave the restaurant together, hand in hand. Lucca stares knives at the messy tables, but we just ignore him. Fondling waitresses, talking down to people, making them feel small . . . I’m glad to give him a taste of his own fist.

  Hope and I stand in the car park, next to my bike. “What now?” she asks.

  I jump on the bike and nod for her to do the same. “Come on,” I say. “The night’s not over yet.”

  I ride Hope west out of the Cove to the boardwalk. The night is clear, the sky cloudless, and stars shine down on us making it seem like late afternoon instead of late evening. Hope clutches my hand, her fingers interlocked with mine. No matter how many times we hold hands, I’m still amazed by how small and delicate her hands are compared to mine.

  “This is beautiful,” she says, as we sit on a bench which looks out over the beach, and the sea. To the right there is a dock with around ten ships floating on the waves. “I don’t come here enough. I’ve lived in the Cove all my life, with the ocean a mere mile away, but I never seem to have time to come here.”

  “Me neither.” I lift my arm, and as though we are communicating without talking, she falls into me. I lower my arm and bring her into me.

  “It’s so peaceful,” she says. “So, so peaceful.”

  “Before you, peace never made much sense to me,” I say. I should be embarrassed to speak words like these: words which reveal some inner part of me, but I’m not. Not with Hope. Because, I realize, she’s the person closest to me. Out of everyone, it’s her. “Before you,” I go on, “I hated peace. But when I’m with you, pretty lady, I think I could get used to it.”

  She leans up and kisses me on the cheek. Such a simple gesture, but it makes me shiver with the feel of it. “Me and you, yeah?” she says.

  “Me and you,” I say. My voice is choked, as though I’m one of those soft men who can’t speak to a woman with getting all emotional. Man, what has she done to me?

  Hope looks up at the stars, a thousand of them glittering down. “Do you ever just look at them?” she asks. “I never do, not anymore. When I was a kid, before Mom and Dad, I used to. Dawn and I would lie side by side in the grass and look up at them and talk all sorts of trash.”

  “I know about them,” I say. “The constellations, I mean. Dad made me learn them all just in case I was ever lost at sea.”

  “You’re joking?” Hope sits upright and gazes at me. “Do you really know the constellations?”

  I nod. “Yeah, I do.”

  “Prove it!” she demands.

  Laughing, I point up at the sky. “Follow my finger. See that one, it looks like two backward triangles? That’s Orion. And there, the chair, see there’s the cushion and there’s the back. That’s Aries. And see the horns on that one, and then the legs? That’s Taurus. And over there is Lacerta, and just there is Auriga, and over here, pretty lady, in Lepus. And there we have Sculptor and Fornax. Caelum and Delphinus.”

  Hope claps her hands frantically. “So you’re not just a bag of muscles then?” she squeals. “There really is something underneath all of that.”

  “I guess so.” I smile. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  She kisses me on the cheek again, a quick peck. I look down at her legs, shimmery in the starlight. Damn, those legs, that dress cut high on her thighs, leading to that beautiful place of pleasure.

  I leap to my feet. “Follow me!”

  Then I pace toward the dock. Hope jogs after me, and then walks with quick steps to keep up with my large strides. “I hope you’re not taking me out here to drown me,” she says.

  “Oh, don’t tempt me.” I smirk.

  She shoulders me and giggles when I pretend to fall over.

  When we reach the dock, I take her down the wooden platform to a smallish boat covered with a tarpaulin. I kneel down and grip the tarpaulin, and then pull it away, like a magician pulling away a tablecloth from underneath dishes.

  “Do you think you should be doing that?” Hope asks uncertainly.

  “I’m not sure.” I drop the tarpaulin in a pile at my feet. “You tell me.” I point to the writing on the side of the boat. It reads: Numb.

  “It’s yours!” she laughs.

  “It’s mine.” I turn to her, take her hands in mine, and gaze at her so hard, and with such lust, that she begins to fidget with her legs, squeezing her thighs around her perfect cunt.

  “You shouldn’t look at me like that, Mr. Biker,” she breathes. “It gives me ideas.”

  “Good,” I say.

  I release her hands and leap onto the boat. Then I hold my hand out. “Come on, let’s go for a cruise.”

  “In the dark?”

  I point up at the stars. “I can read the sky, remember? Anyway, we won’t go far.”

  She takes my hand and steps into the boat. As soon as she’s on the boat, I reach up between her legs and grab her, press my hand forcefully down on her. She moans loudly in surprised pleasure, and then begins writhing on my hand. I snatch it away and go to the wheel and the controls.

  “You’re a mean man!” she calls after me.

  I find the key hidden underneath the driver’s seat cushion, slot it in, and turn it. The boat coughs into life.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hope

  The boat is small, but not as small as it looks from the outside. There’s room enough on the deck to walk around, and cushioned seats line the decked area. The cockpit is covered with a sort of balcony, which you can climb up to, if you want to sunbathe or admire the view. There’s also a decked area at the front of the boat, in front of the cockpit.

  Killian cruises for about five minutes until the streetlamps which line the boardwalk are small
dots in the distance, and then he kills the engine. I know we’re still in the harbor, because the waves are soft, lulling, but we seem very far away. We’re the only people alive right now, I think. Or, we might as well be.

  Killian emerges from the cockpit. He’s taken off his biker leathers so all he wears is a plain black t-shirt, tight around his muscles, scuffed jeans and his brown boots. His tattoos are dark and difficult to determine out here under the stars. Killian himself looks like a silhouette, an intimidating, commanding silhouette.

  Then he walks right up to me, and I see that his face is serious, intense, full of lust and passion.

  “You want it,” he says.

  It’s not a question, but I answer anyway.

  “Yes,” I say. The hint of a moan creeps into my voice.

  “You want it,” he repeats.

  “Yes,” I moan again.

  “You want it, hard, dirty. You want to be used. You want me to take charge of you.”

  “Yes!” I cry.

  “Good.”

  He takes me by the shoulders, gripping me hard, with all his strength. It makes me realize that he’s never truly handled me before. Before, it was tough but not impossible. Now, I couldn’t even try and break free. His grip is like steel. He turns me around, walks me to the railing at the edge of the boat, and bends me over. I prop my knees on the cushions and grip the railing, bending over the side of the boat.

  My panties are wet, soaked, dripping. No other man has made me this horny before. Hell, even Killian hasn’t made me this horny before. My clit tingles, sure, but more than that my hole tingles, vibrates, begs to be filled. It’s like there’s something missing in my cunt. I want it. I need it. Despite the cool autumn air, sweat drips down me. Sweat sticks my hand to the metal railing. My legs shake, but not from the cold. My knees click together from lust.

  Then he pulls down my panties around my ankles. I step out of them and arch my back, displaying my pussy for him, wanting him to fill it, just fill it, fill it all up until it hurts.

  He unzips his jeans and pulls then down, and then his cock touches me. But it doesn’t slide into me. The tip of his cock presses into my clit, just below my hole. He doesn’t rub it, doesn’t move it, just keeps it there, hard, pressing.

  “What are you doing?” I moan, unable to hide my frustration. I’m panting with lust.

  “You want it, don’t you, you dirty little girl?” he breathes.

  “I want it,” I moan. “I need it! I need it!”

  “Then tell me how badly.”

  I feel dominated. I feel controlled. He has complete power over me right now. One-hundred percent control. There’s nothing I can do to fight him, nothing I can do to fight the lust he provokes in me.

  “Please,” I moan, moving my pussy up and down against his cock. “Please, please, I’m so wet, please, I beg you.” Damn, I want to be submissive. I want to be used. It’s never been like this, with anyone. I never knew I wanted this. But I do. Right now, I want it more than anything. “Please, please, fuck me, fuck me hard. Make me scream. Please, I’m begging you.” Moving my pussy up and down. Rubbing my wet pussy against his hard cock. “Please, do it. Please, please, please.”

  He brings his hands to my ass cheeks, pushes them together. “You’ve got a perfect fucking ass,” he breathes. “And you beg like a good whore. Do you want your reward?”

  “Yes, yes, please, yes!” I cry. “I want it! I need it!”

  “Good.”

  Gripping my ass cheeks, he slides his cock into my hole.

  I’m soaked and it slides in without any resistance. My hole opens for him. His tip touches my sweet spot, and that’s all I need. My pussy seizes up, three of my fingernails break on the railing, my legs become wobbly. I come all over his cock. Right then, after one quick thrust, I squirt all over him.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I cry. “Please, keep going, please, please, please!”

  He fucks me harder than he ever has before. His cock pounds and pounds and pounds my cunt. He’s dominating me. He doesn’t care if he hurts me. He just wants to use my hole. Fuck, who knew how exciting that could be?

  “Beg!” he roars.

  I come and come and come, my pussy going tight around his cock, squirting all over it.

  “Please, keep fucking me. Please, please, please! I want more, please! Fuck, please! Oh, fuck, fu—”

  He’s using me, I think as I come. He’s using me and I’m his whore and he’s a bad biker and he’s fucking using me. Yes, yes, he’s using me. Oh, yes, he’s using me!

  I come for the tenth, eleventh, twelfth time, and then he leans over and bites me shoulder, groaning into skin.

  “Bite me! Use me! Come in me! Yes, yes, yes!”

  He empties himself inside of me. When he pulls away, my pussy and my shoulder ache. But I don’t care.

  I collapse into the cushions and pant out the pleasure.

  “Fuck,” I moan, turning over.

  “Fuck,” he agrees, staring at me in shock. “You like being dominated, pretty lady.”

  “I do. I never knew I did. But I do.”

  The deck is cool, but we lie on it anyway.

  I nuzzle into Killian and he keeps me warm. Together, we gaze up at the stars.

  “This has been quite the adventure, me and you,” I say.

  “It has,” he agrees, stroking my hair. “I never knew that sexy waitress would turn out to be such a little sicko in bed. I really didn’t.”

  “You make me sick,” I laugh, slapping his hand.

  “Of course I do, Hope, of course I do.”

  We stay like that for a long time, just hugging, talking about nothing in particular.

  And then Killian says, “Imagine if we could just stay at the cabin, forever. No worries, no stress, nothing to concern us apart from each other. Wouldn’t that be perfect? Wouldn’t that be heaven?”

  “Be careful, Killian, you’re sober now.”

  “I mean it,” he says, weaving his fingers through the strands of my hair. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. Just me and you. Nothing else. No club to worry about. No stress. Just sex and love—”

  “Love?” I interrupt, squeezing his free hand so hard I’m surprised he doesn’t wince. “Did you just say love, Killian?”

  “I did.” He looks down at me, smiling, starlight caught in his bright blue eyes. “I said love. What about it?”

  I lay my head on his chest. “I feel the same,” I murmur.

  And just like that, we admit it.

  Then sleep takes us.

  I’m shaken awake by Killian. He’s moving his lips, opening and closing his mouth, and I’m aware there are sounds—but I can’t make out the words. He shakes me and screams at me, screams right in my face, his face full of rage.

  At first, I’m sure it’s a dream. That’s the only reasonable conclusion. You don’t fall asleep and then wake up to this. Plus, my body feels numb, detached, and my thoughts come slow and drawn-out. It’s the only conclusion I can reasonably come to. This is a mad dream and soon I’ll wake up.

  But the more he shakes me, the realer it becomes. I just wish I could feel what was happening. Everything is fuzzy, like I’ve hit my head. Has he gone mad?

  I open my mouth to speak, but my tongue is lead and no words will come. I know what I want to say: What is going on? But no noise comes from me apart from faint moaning.

  Then, absurdly, I laugh.

  I don’t know where the laugh comes from. It just emerges out of nowhere, a pointless laugh, and the laugh becomes a guffaw, until I’m sweating with laughter.

  Killian stands up and stares down at me with a face of disgust, his lips twisted, his eyebrows low, judgmental. I’m sorry! I want to yell, but all I can do is laugh.

  Chapter Twenty

  Killian

  I can’t believe it. I really can’t believe it. I’m not the type of guy who is easily stunned. When you’re in my line of work, you can’t afford to be. Get stunned, you get killed. But as I look
down at her, I can’t move. My mouth hangs open in disbelief, in shock. I feel like jumping into the water just to wake myself up.

  The scenario plays itself out in my mind.

  She woke up when I was asleep, found her needle, and shot up. Maybe she thought I wouldn’t wake up until morning and she could ride it out for the night. Maybe she thought I wouldn’t notice. Maybe she thought it was no big deal. Maybe she thought she could somehow get away with it. I don’t know. I can’t pretend to follow her logic. All I know is that she’s high right now. Her pupils are dilated and she can’t speak and there’s a goddamn track mark in her arm, the faint outline of a belt higher up. She’s taken something and now she’s high.