by Lilly Atlas
He dropped into a chair across the coffee table and smirked. “Nice view.”
“Thanks.” The view through a row of six long rectangular windows were what had sold her on the house. Neighbors were spread out, and she had a fantastic shot of the mountains straight out her front yard. “So, you going?”
With a shake of his head and a huff, he said, “Just want to make sure you’re good. See if there’s anything you need.”
If her throat wasn’t so sore, she’d have growled. “Look, Jig. I thought you were over the guilt thing. I’m good. I’m a fighter. This sure as hell isn’t the first time I’ve been bruised to shit. Right now? There are only three things I need, a drink”—she held up the water—“much harder than this, an orgasm, and about a year of sleep. So, yes, you can help by grabbing the bourbon off my counter and then leaving so my vibrator and I can get down to business.”
Fuck the pills, a stiff drink and a good orgasm were better pain relievers any day of the week. For about ten seconds, Izzy thought Jig was going to feed her some line about mixing pain pills and alcohol, but he eventually rose and disappeared into her kitchen. She should have known better. Outlaw bikers weren’t exactly big on sticking to the rules. They were supposed to be good at the orgasm thing though she’d never ask him for one. She’d make due on her own.
He returned with two glasses, doubles of bourbon.
Stepping up to her, he handed one over. Without hesitation, she swallowed the entire thing in two gulps. Felt like fire on her throat, but within a few minutes, she wouldn’t care. Jig chuckled as she plunked the glass down on her end table. He still stood between her coffee table and her knees, watching her with that brooding gaze she couldn’t quite decipher. A constant mix of pain, rage, sadness, and sometimes heat. With his rock-hard abs, bad boy scar, chiseled jaw, and biker cut, it was a dangerous combination. The kind of mix that made a woman want to figure him out and heal him with both her heart and what was between her legs.
Good thing Izzy had already learned to steer clear of entanglements.
“Want another?” he asked, holding the open bottle over her empty glass.
She raised an eyebrow. “A bird can’t fly with one wing.”
His little chuckle was music to her ears. It didn’t happen often, which was what made it so special. The day the man let it all go and belly laughed, she’d be able to die a happy woman.
And, well, fuck if that didn’t sound like she was getting sucked into his web.
“Have at it.” Jig refilled her glass, but this time she took a sip and didn’t slam the entire thing.
“Thanks.” She rested her head back and closed her eyes. “Seriously. For all the help, but I’m good now. Go home and get some sleep. As soon as I get the energy to move, I’m gonna give myself that orgasm then sleep until Christmas.” And if she visualized his head between her legs or his large body hovering over hers while she pleasured herself, that would just be her little secret.
The next thing she knew, he’d wedged one thigh between her knees, then the other. Her eyes flew open just as he widened his stance, spreading her legs. His gaze had darkened, and his jaw ticked. Predatory. That’s how he looked.
She swallowed, hard, and didn’t feel an ounce of discomfort. “Wh-what are you doing?”
“Giving you what you need.” He shrugged out of his cut and chucked it on the couch next to her. When it landed with a soft whump, Izzy couldn’t keep her hands from reaching for the buttery leather. She traced a finger over the rim of the upper rocker. Hell’s Handlers. That’s what he was. That’s who he was. A biker, an outlaw, a man with a past who suffered. A man she should not want to fix. A man she would not let past her defenses.
She tilted her head. “You gonna make me come?” It was almost a challenge, but not in the way he probably interpreted it. More a challenge for herself—take what he offered and let it be what it was. Orgasms. Fucking. Nothing more.
He slowly dropped to his knees between her spread legs, placing the heel of his hand on her mound with just enough pressure to make her clit go crazy with need. “I’m gonna eat this pussy you’ve been teasing me with for weeks. And, fuck yeah, I’m gonna make you come. And you’re gonna have to work harder not to scream than you’ve ever worked at anything in your life. Because you will want to scream. You’ll need to scream, but I won’t have you damaging your voice further.”
Ho-ly shit, that was some confidence right there. It’d been a while since a man had spoken to her like that. Years, really. She tended to be the aggressor and go for men who allowed her the upper hand, even needed it. More comfortable for her to walk away when it was over.
If she’d been in her right mind, she’d have shown him the door, but with pain meds, bourbon, full body soreness, and a desperate need for release, she was weaker than usual. Or at least that’s what she told herself. No matter, she still had her defenses, and snark was the best one. “Well then,” she said, spreading her legs farther apart. “By all means, get to work.”
He caught her legs around the outside of her thighs and pushed them closer together. When her knees were nearly touching, he said, “Lift that gorgeous ass for me.”
She hesitated for a second, then lifted her hips. “Don’t need the compliments, Jig. Just the orgasm.”
He smirked like he saw right through her. “Call it like I see it, sweetheart,” he said as he peeled the skin-tight leggings down her hips and straight off her body. Everywhere his fingertips trailed, little sparks of electricity kicked up, making her wetter and needier by the second.
Shit. This was a bad idea. Compliments and pet names. She closed her eyes. All she’d need was eye contact, and her walls would crumble.
Buck up, girl. You’re stronger than a man and some sweet talking.
Once her pants were off, Jig palmed her inner thighs and pressed outward, spreading her wide once again. Legs splayed, clad only in her stringy thong, she waited for his next move. When nothing happened for at least thirty seconds, she risked opening her eyes. Jig’s gaze was fixed on her pussy, and it clenched hard with need at the look of hunger on his face. “Jig,” she said. “I’m turning gray here. Get to it.”
He snorted and lifted his gaze. “Nothing there to turn gray, babe,” he said, his breath on the hairless skin of her mound.
She couldn’t help the wicked smile. “Like the way it feels when I’m walking around bare.” His eyes darkened. Hmm, this could be fun. Always up for a good power play, Izzy said, “I like the way my panties feel, silky ones, rubbing all over my pussy with nothing in the way. Lacy ones too, with a bit of texture.”
His nostrils flared, and he grabbed her ass, yanking her hips to the edge of the couch. She yelped, but not in pain—no, she wasn’t feeling any of that at the moment. “How about when they’re wet,” he asked as he ran his finger under the string of her thong. “Because you’re fucking soaked now, sweetheart.” He tugged on the cotton, pulling the string forward and up against her clit with just enough pressure to be maddening.
Izzy gasped and, needing more, tilted her hips, trying to grind herself against the panties, but it was pointless. Jig kept the pressure light enough to be pleasurable but also had her craving a firmer touch. She wasn’t a shrinking violet, didn’t like slow and easy fucking. She loved it fast, rough, and wild. “Jesus, Jig,” she said on a low moan. “Just eat me already.”
“Yes ma’am,” he growled as his fingers curled around the string. One of his knuckles bumped her clit, and her hips jerked in response.
He yanked, tearing the flimsy fabric straight from her body.
And then he dove in. Dove. The. Fuck. In.
Izzy cried out, her upper body coming off the couch as sharp, almost painful pleasure assaulted her. There was no build up, no soft tonguing or sweet licks. Only a vacuum strong suction over her clit. Had she not been so primed and ready for him, it would have been too much too fast, but as it was, her body was screaming for it.
“Jig, fuck.” She panted and squirmed
against his mouth, but he gave her no respite. Instead, he tongued her clit, pressing it to his upper lip. Her head fell back as the room spun.
He abandoned her clit, moving down and sucking her pussy lips into his mouth before ramming his tongue into her and fucking her with it for all he was worth.
Izzy had never been eaten quite like this before. There was an intensity to it that was almost violent in nature. He didn’t give her a second to breathe, a second for her mind to catch up with her spiraling body. His hands were still on her ass, massaging the cheeks.
Grinding her pelvis against his face, she moaned as he licked his way back up to her clit. Instead of closing his lips around it again, he fluttered his tongue over it in a move she hadn’t experienced before. “Jesus,” she gasped out, her hands diving into his hair. If Izzy found something she liked or wanted, she made it happen for herself, and she wanted this. Gripping the short strands of his hair, she held his face against her as she thrust her pussy against his face.
“Fuck,” he murmured against her. “Sweetest fuckin’ pussy ever.” Or at least that’s what she thought he said. The rushing of blood in her ears roared so loud she could barely make out his words.
In the next second, he tore his mouth from her, and she screamed, “No!” as the loss of pleasure made her gut clench. He sunk his teeth into her upper thigh, and her pussy flooded. This was precisely what she needed. The fierce act not only brought her physical pleasure, but it was calming the restlessness inside her. The need for exertion, combat, something to still the demons in her mind.
Chuckling, Jig kept his mouth suctioned on her thigh and sunk two fingers deep into her pussy. His touch was rough, demanding, as he fucked her with his fingers. She was beginning to realize this was just how he was. Raw, harsh, unbridled. And God help her, she wanted it all. This was what she’d been searching for, at least physically.
She’d been with her share of men, and all had left something to be desired. Some elusive, unattainable unicorn floating out there that left her just slightly unsatisfied every time. That wasn’t going to happen this time.
God, that mouth on her leg was going to leave a mark.
His fingers continued to ramp her closer and closer to coming, moving fast and furious inside her. She canted her hips and rode his hand hard. For one second, her mind went crazy, and she imagined herself thrown over the arm of the couch with Jig ramming from behind. Not her typical style, but something told her Jig would make the loss of control worth her while.
“You ready to come for me?” he asked, lifting his head.
“Yes, yes.” So, so ready. She was minutes away from begging, and she hadn’t begged for anything in her entire adult life. But a monster of a climax hovered just out of reach, and she’d do damn near anything to reach it.
Izzy risked glancing down and met his smug gaze. He winked, and she almost came on the spot. Playful Jig was something else.
“Here we go, baby,” he said before lowering his head.
Baby. Damn him and those endearments.
She had enough brainpower to call him on it and almost did, but then he sucked her clit into his mouth again as he fucked her harder with his fingers. Her pussy was going to be sore tomorrow from his brutal fingering, but damn she’d happily add it to her list of aches.
“Oh, my God,” she cried out as he gently grazed her clit with his teeth. His left hand landed on her lower stomach, holding firm pressure, as his fingers curled inside her. The intensity kicked so high she lost her grip on reality and splintered into a million pleasurable pieces.
“Don’t fucking scream,” he said just as her mouth fell open. She whipped her fist up to her mouth and bit into the fleshy pad beneath her thumb. Any pain, any discomfort, any stress completely bled from her being. There was no space for anything but satisfaction.
Boneless, Izzy sagged into the couch cushions. Jig lifted off his knees and sat on the coffee table, clearly turned on. The bulge in his jeans beckoned to her, and for one weak instant, she almost caved and begged him to stay the rest of the night.
At the last second, she remembered that feeling she worked so hard to avoid. Abandonment, neglect, disappointment…loneliness. And while, sure, she got lonely from time to time on her own, at least she was in control of it. Not a man, not a friend, not a relationship.
So, instead of begging for his cock, she gave him a contented smile and said, “Now that’s what they should be handing out prescriptions for.”
Jig blinked and, for the barest of seconds, had a soft expression. Then the shields were back in place, and he snorted. “Maybe they should.” Rising to his feet, he grabbed his cut and shrugged back into it. His body was a work of art, and even under the T-shirt, his strength was apparent.
And enticing.
She couldn’t tear her eyes off him as he strode to her door. His hand reached for the knob, and he turned. “Get some sleep, sweetheart,” he said.
And he was gone.
Blowing out a breath, Izzy stared at her ceiling. It was then she realized she was naked from the waist down, legs splayed open, wet pussy on full display. She hadn’t shifted a millimeter since she came.
For the first time since she moved in, the emptiness of the house was noticeable. Jig melted her mind and made her think about things she’d promised herself she’d steer clear of.
“Shit,” she said to the vacant home.
Of course, no one answered her. Because she was alone.
Just like she wanted.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“OKAY,” ZACH SAID in a hushed tone. “Here’s what we know as of now.” Jig and the other four men leaned in, their breakfasts forgotten. “They’ve got a stash of girls somewhere. I had a contact I trust feeding me info from the cops, and they haven’t had any missing persons reports filed in a hundred-mile radius for women under twenty-five in the past four months. The last one was one of the girls we know Lefty snatched.” He cleared his throat. “And eventually killed.”
Jig lifted his coffee mug to his lips. By the time he’d left Izzy’s place, it was well after three am. Two back-to-back rounds of jacking himself off to the memory of her taste and the way she greedily shoved her pussy against his face, and he’d finally crashed somewhere around four-thirty, still not completely satisfied. At nine, the jarring ringtone of his phone pulled his dream-dick out of dream-Izzy with Copper’s invitation, or more like mandate, to meet for breakfast at ten thirty.
So, there he was, overtired and under-caffeinated, trying to stay with the conversation. He gulped the scalding liquid and sighed in pleasure. At least he could remedy the problem of under-caffeination.
“So he’s getting them somewhere else,” Zach said, also sucking down the java.
Jig set his mug next to his uneaten omelet. “Or he’s strategically choosing women who don’t have anyone to report them missing.”
The rest of the men stared at him. In telltale thinking mode, Copper rubbed his beard with his thumb and forefinger. “You think Lefty’s savvy enough to put that kinda operation in play?” he asked.
Jig shrugged. He scooped up a hunk of the cheesy omelet and plopped it on the corner of a slice of wheat toast. “He’s been smart enough to keep the operation up and running while flying under our radar. We thought Chloe was the only woman he had. And when he handed her over, we assumed that was it for his stock of women.” With a wide mouth, he bit halfway through the toast. Damn, no one did breakfast like Ernesto, the diner’s chef.
At the mention of Chloe’s name, Rocket’s hand tightened around his fork to the point of punishing. Good thing it wasn’t a plastic utensil, or it’d be in pieces. Rocket had been the one to pull Chloe from Lefty’s clutches not long ago. Something went down that night, but Rocket’s lips were sealed as to what happened. But that was a problem for a later date.
“Well, fuck,” Zach said. He shoved his plate away and leaned back against the booth’s vinyl cushioning. “We gotta find those fucking girls. Cop, I know you wanted to kee
p this as clean as possible, but I’m starting to think the only way out of this thing is to get our hands a little dirty.”
“I ain’t worried about getting our hands dirty, Z.” Copper’s voice had risen almost to a yell. Behind the diner counter, Shell’s head whipped in their direction. The frown on her face said she’d heard. She grabbed the coffee pot and started in their direction.
Jig pressed his lips together and gave her a quick shake of his head. Her steps faltered. She looked between him and Copper, then nodded and made her way to another of her tables.
“Shit, prez, keep your panties on. I only meant shit might have to get a little bloody.”
Copper blew out a breath and slammed his heavy fist down on the table, making all the platters and silverware jump then clatter back down. For a second, the diner went totally silent as every eye in the place landed on the table full of bikers.
Not exactly ideal.
“You good, prez?” Jig asked in a low voice.
“Fuck, yeah, sorry. This shit’s like having my skin peeled off with a rusty knife.” Copper bowed his head for a beat then lifted it. His eyes were sharper, deadlier. “We’ve fucked up six of Lefty’s drug transfers over the past week. Fucked them out of about thirty K.”
Jig cleared his throat. Taking their money was great, but it wasn’t enough. They’d attacked a Handlers’ woman at a business owned by a Handler. Stealing money was child’s play. Jig wanted blood. “Been thinking about something, boss. We keep grabbing their drug money, they’re gonna need to make up for the losses somewhere. Might up their trafficking game to recoup their cash. That could be good, or it could be a total fucking nightmare for the girls.”
