by Kylie Walker
It would mean they would each be tied up and fully focused on keeping the press at bay since it was a God damn given that cops and press alike had only one suspect in mind—the motorcycle gang. Slipping away to seek revenge against the adversary who had executed Johnny Fox would be no easy task, even if they knew who to go looking for.
Would they go after the Blue Spades, a biker club from up north that they used to do business with in the past?
Would they interrogate the owner of Sin Sin, one of three casinos who Rodney and Carl had been in bed with for as long as he could remember? The bulk of the Black Skulls business centered on doing dirty deeds for legitimate establishments that could never get away with such things on their own.
Asa was jarred from deep contemplation when Carl interjected, “I say we put our foot soldiers on combatting the press and police so that Asa and Kyle are free to question the most likely suspects.” Rodney nodded but the look of agreement on his face was clouded over with frustration—who were the most likely suspects?
“Fucking everyone hated Johnny,” Jim complained before drowning his rage in booze. It was almost time for another round of beers, Asa thought, who still hadn’t completely shaken the sight of Samantha Wilde from his mind. He knew he had much more important things to concentrate on right now, but fuck she was a hot little piece of ass in those skin-tight, black leather pants and matching top. That top basically turned her tits into a shelf that he’d like to lick. When he stepped out of the meeting, he had definitely not expected to find a doe-eyed blonde on the other side of the door and the way she had tripped sideways, ass out and softly grunting, had instantly filled him with ideas. And when he’d cleared his head of those ideas, others clouded it. This girl was far out of her element and quite frankly, her outfit—as sexy as it was—came across as more of a costume than anything she would ever normally be caught dead wearing. Asa realized that was what was intriguing him. She wasn’t down and dirty like the usual chicks he fucked whenever the mood struck him. There was something polished about her, dignified, maybe even a little prudish, though she had tried not to seem so. She was also up to something, though.
He wasn’t overly surprised about that. All the members of the Black Skulls had been warned to expect reporters, cops and groupies to come flocking, thanks to the bones of Johnny Fox surfacing. Some girls liked that kind of danger...but something about Samantha hadn’t entirely struck Asa as being one of the groupies with a hard on for the bad boy. He wanted to know what she was really after, and he also wanted to feel her back in his hands…without that leather suit on. When he had gripped her ribs, he should have gone further. He should have let his hands travel up north and cupped those sexy tits. He would have liked to hear her gasp and see the offended glint she would almost certainly have in her eyes. But she was asking for it, wasn’t she? Maybe he should give her what she was asking for and that would lead to what she was really after. The thought of it led to his cock stiffening in his pants but once again he was jarred from slipping into an elaborate fantasy when Carl stated the one silver lining of the moment:
“Reporters haven’t come to Boone & Boone yet. We haven’t seen any in Poison all day.” Asa suddenly sat upright—What am I, a fucking moron?
Scrambling for an excuse, he mumbled, “Beers,” under his breath, quickly collected the empty bottles, and ignored Jim’s irritated objections that one of their sergeants-at-arms was about to leave the meeting for the second time.
Kyle snorted a laugh, as Asa whipped the door open, then commented, “I wouldn’t turn down a skull fucker either.” But that wasn’t what Samantha Wilde was, and he should have spotted it sooner. The second he shut the door, his instinct was confirmed. Not only was she still here, but she was staring up at him from the exact same place he had left her. He had to assume she had heard everything.
In an instant he clanked the empty bottles onto one of the tables and then seized her, gripping her bare upper arms so hard that she grimaced. Before she could yelp or make a sound, he quickly began crossing the room, steering her as she shuffled her stiletto heels so as not to trip.
“Why the fuck are you here?” he hissed as they rounded the far end of the bar, coming to a swinging door that connected to a long hallway, a storage room, and also the stairs to the cellar.
“Just a fan, like I told you,” she breathed.
Rather than press her palms against his chest to push him off, she was holding his biceps as if her greatest hope at the moment was to not trip backward in a nasty spill.
“Who fucking sent you?” he demanded, unsatisfied with her outrageous lie of an answer.
He slammed her into the door, which swung easily under their momentum, and soon they were shuffling down the dimly lit hallway.
Thinking fast, he pivoted and thrust her against the wall. The impact caused her to grunt, her limbs loosened enough for Asa to widen her shapely legs with one of his own. As he pressed his pelvis to hers, breathing heavily down at her, drinking in the sight of her pouty lips, the rise and fall of her tits, he knew what had to be done.
“You’re hurting me,” she breathed, but he hadn’t even gotten started yet.
In a fast, fluid motion, he grabbed her leather bodice, hooking his strong fingers where a cross-stitch of leather zigzagged down the front and ripped the damn thing open. She gasped and slapped him hard across the face, but it didn’t break his concentration as he studied her perky tits under black lace where he had expected a surveillance wire to be.
“Where is it?” he growled, finally meeting her stunned gaze.
Her eyes were white all around, green and screaming, though not a sound escaped her open mouth. She was confused, shaken up. She looked like she legitimately didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about so he clarified, “Where’s the wire?”
As her heaving chest gradually calmed, her breathing smoothing out, he watched her nipples harden into tight erasers beneath the black lace of her bra.
She wasn’t as scared as she was turned on…interesting.
“Answer me,” he demanded.
“I’m not wearing a wire,” she said firmly, but her tone had been too low to trust.
“We’ll see about that,” he told her, kicking her feet further apart to widen her stance. “I’m not a cop,” she retorted, as he pinned her hands above her head, holding her wrists together with one hand while the other began cupping her left breast, not because he was feeling for a wire, but because he could. What was she going to do about it? Stop him? He wanted to see a look of hate in her eyes at his power over her. And then he wanted to feel how wet it made her between the legs.
“I don’t think you’re a cop,” he hissed. “I think you’re a fucking reporter.”
With that, he squeezed her tit and a sharp yelp escaped her. She slapped at his hand but she may as well have been blowing on it. He continued touching her but instead of pinching he turned it into a smooth massage that was soon eliciting sultry moans from her. She wasn’t resisting any longer and Asa was as turned on as she was.
One of his favorite things was hearing a woman cry out in pain a second before she moaned with pleasure at his changing touch. The melody of Samantha’s tone was particularly enjoyable. He wouldn’t mind thrusting his thick cock up her tight, little slippery pussy just to hear her scream and gasp, the shock and pain of his huge size gradually washing over her. Eventually, her flexed face, the pained expression would soften with pleasure.
Maybe he would fuck her here and now, he thought. That’s what she said she’s here for…let her prove it. He squeezed her wrists tighter together and she winced in response, but the second his free hand reached the zipper of her leather pants she tensed. She bit her lower lip and gazed up at him, but she wasn’t frightened.
“Are you?” he asked.
“Am I what?”
“A reporter?”
Her profound lack of a response was confirmation enough, and because of it, he wasn’t exactly gentle when he jerked her zipper d
own and thrust his large rough hand under her silky panties. She let out a sharp moan and tried to jerk her arms free, but she didn’t have a chance in hell of slapping him again.
“You think I’ve got a wire up my vagina?”
“I won’t know until I search it,” he shot back as he looked down at her with a smoldering gaze. He liked the look of disgust on her face especially since her fluttering eyelashes contradicted the sentiment. Leaning in, he whispered in her ear, “You can moan if you want. I won’t tell anyone you love this.”
“Fuck you,” she whispered.
He laughed and said, “Isn’t that what you said you came here to do?”
She snorted instead of moaning and he didn’t penetrate her with his thick fingers. Not yet. He was having too much fun not to draw this out as long as possible. Instead, he cupped her pussy, holding her firmly between the legs and feeling her heat, the wetness building, her body softening in response to his touch.
Now we’ll see what she really wants, he thought before slowly loosening his grip on her bound wrists.
Her eyes widened, realizing her hands would soon be free.
Asa steadied his gaze on her pouty mouth, her straight teeth. Would she tip her chin up, inviting him to kiss her? Would she begin moving her hips to help his fingers explore the velvety folds of her slippery pussy? Or would she gouge his eyes out?
By the time he cupped her tit, his thumb grazing over her hardened nipple as the fingers of his other hand began slowly and gently massaging her hot, wet labia, Samantha’s hands were still above her head of their own accord as though she had no idea what to do with herself. Maybe she was just here to fuck him…or maybe she was a really good actress and this was all about getting a story. Or maybe…it was both. Maybe she wanted the story and she wanted his cock too.
He was pretty sure that being fondled by a biker in a dingy hallway was the most thrilling thing that had ever happened to her because her body betrayed the secret. Her hips were rocking ever so slightly as if begging for his fingers to be inside of her. At first, she seemed unsure whether to fight it or love it…and then she slowly lowered her beautiful hands to his muscular shoulders.
He squeezed her tit again and she gasped.
They were standing so close that he could feel her cool breath on his sweaty neck. He released her breast in favor of gripping her tight, little, leather-bound ass and her arms melted over his shoulders. Her entire body relaxed for him and she let out the sweetest little sigh. The rise and fall of her chest caused her perky tits to brush up against his chest.
He reveled in her aroused response to him for a lingering moment and she took him by surprise by whispering his name. It was then that he finally pressed two fingers up inside of her quivering pussy. She moaned hard in his ear and her sexy body relaxed even more in his arms. She felt tight and wet, and smooth as silk around his fingers.
She was breathing heavily and the longer he refused to move his fingers and massage her pussy, the more she squirmed and softly whined.
“You like this?” he groaned in her ear.
“Did you find a wire?” she challenged, the strength seemed to be returning to her tone.
“Keep talking back like that and I’ll shove my cock so far down your throat you won’t even be able to breathe much less pull an attitude. I know what you are. I know why you’re here.”
Finally, he drew his hand out of her leather pants, pressed his body against hers and pinned her hard against the wall. Then as she watched he licked her juices off his fingers. She smelled fucking divine and tasted even better, and gauging her expression, the lustful ease that had come over her pretty face as she watched him savor the taste of her on his fingers, he realized she probably wouldn’t mind sucking his hard dick. He almost shuddered at the thought.
“You know I didn’t overhear anything worthwhile,” she stated once he had taken a step back from her to take her full figure in.
“You’re a reporter. You’re just like the rest of them, sneaking around trying to prove that the Black Skulls would kill one of their own.”
“What if I’m not?” she argued, “I’m not looking for facts to support a specific theory. I don’t have a theory. So I’m not going to twist the truth. I just want to find out what happened. I want to find out what really happened.”
“Why?”
She took a pleading step forward, gazing up at him, her big green eyes becoming wide and round, as she began wringing her hands. “Because,” she whispered. “I fucking hate covering beauty pageants.” Shit, she looked good staring up at him like that...
“Stop talking,” he barked. He grabbed on tightly to her upper arm and led her deeper down the hallway towards the cellar door.
“Where are you taking me?”
“I haven’t searched every inch of you yet.”
Chapter Four
What in God’s name was she doing creeping down a dark set of stairs with a strange man who had just dared finger her most private place?
Man, he had felt good...
Damn it, Samantha!
She was supposed to be interviewing bikers, gathering quotes that would pop, drafting headlines for Harry’s approval, covering the Conway Contractor’s site with the rest of the reporters in town! She was supposed to be advancing her career! But instead, she was traipsing through a musty cellar at the mercy of her lady-boner and quite frankly, at the moment she had zero aspirations of asking him anything beyond whether or not he might mind fucking her brains out until she came.
Damn it, Samantha! Get your head on straight!
The cellar was small and didn’t at all represent the spacious clubhouse bar with its many rooms overhead. It was dusty and dim despite the naked, hanging light bulb that Asa yanked on. Clearly, this is where Poison kept its crates of beer and hard liquor, she surmised, gradually pivoting and taking in the space. When she made it one hundred eighty degrees around, she found herself facing Asa who hadn’t actually made it beyond the stairwell landing.
One boot on the cement floor, the other hiked onto the first step of the stairs, he lit a cigarette, its tip flaming cherry as he sucked hard, returning his lighter to his jeans.
He glanced up the stairs and listened. He had shut the door and Samantha could hear the faintly murmuring voices of bikers above—their meeting never ending—but something told her they wouldn’t be interrupted.
The only question was, what?
What wouldn’t be interrupted?
She was both thrilled and terrified to find out.
“Strip,” he ordered from the shadows.
Samantha was painfully aware that what little light there was down there was pooling around her from where it shafted through a small window positioned at the upper edge of the wall to her left. By the looks of it, the window was at ground level, dust and debris breezing past the glass.
“You want me to take my clothes off?” she questioned.
“I told you I was going to search every inch of you.”
They both knew she wasn’t wearing a wire, which meant they both knew he wasn’t actually searching for anything except maybe her threshold for humiliation.
But would this be humiliating?
Or would he draw near and touch her again?
After a cautious moment of studying him—those domineering eyes, the stern expression on his face that only aroused her, his thick neck and thicker biceps, the way his jeans hugged his thighs so deliciously, that bulge he had threatened to use against her if she talked back!—she glanced down at her tits which were still exposed all but for the thin, black lace that barely covered them.
The leather cord that had crisscrossed up the bodice was frayed and hanging loosely, an easy enough place to start, so she pulled it and the bodice sprang open. She shrugged it off her shoulders and it hit the floor.
The crackle of his cigarette stole her attention for a moment and then she unhooked her bra and let it fall as well. He groaned from the shadows and she had the sudden urge to cup
his cock in both hands and lick his neck.
Shaking off the idea, she stared, daunted, at her skin-tight leather pants and stiletto boots. There wasn’t a seat in sight and she wasn’t exactly prepared to balance her way through this, but she managed, wrestling off one boot at a time then wriggling free of her pants so that she stood before him in absolutely nothing but a tiny, lace thong.
It was then that he began stalking towards her, his cigarette clamped between his teeth, his dark eyes squinting through the string of smoke wafting up. When he reached her, he turned her fast then pushed the back of her neck, forcing her to bend over.
The next thing she knew, he had lifted the thin strip of lace that was her thong with one hand and was slowly grazing the length of her dainty crack with the index finger of his other hand. It wasn’t lost on her that there was no way in hell he actually thought she had cramped a wire along her ass crack. But Samantha had to admit that there was nothing about this that she minded. Soon her pussy began to swell with a rich flow of sudden arousal and she ached to feel him inside of her.
Maybe he would surprise her by thrusting his big cock into her tight pussy making her yell out his name. Or would his move be far dirtier? Would he lube up her clenched, little asshole and experiment with what part of him might fit inside? Asa did none of those things after running his finger so far down her ass that he grazed over her hot, aching, and slippery pussy that caused her to moan. Instead, he pulled her upright again and helped her to lean back against the length of him. Her nipples grew instantly hard, but when she reached back to feel for his cock beneath his jeans, he roughly caught her wrists and shoved her hands down to her sides as if to order, stay!
“You don’t trust me yet?” she softly asked.
“I don’t have to trust you to fuck you,” he snarled in her ear.
“Is that what you’re going to do?” she asked, adrenaline spiking through her veins all over again.
