by Debra Kayn
"Yes, but..." She shook her head, wanting to shout and push him away. "I enjoyed that part."
"I can make this part sweet too." He pulled the pistol out from under the pillow and placed it in her hand. "You don't like it, shoot me."
"Cam," she whispered. "I can't be trusted not to kill you."
"I trust you." He put his fingers on her sex, rubbing the spot where he'd moments ago had his mouth.
Her eyelids fluttered at the onslaught of pleasure that rebounded. Her hand clenched and the hard steel in the palm of her hand took the brunt of her reaction. She trembled at the power she held. Not once in the past had she had a way to stop the pain. Cam gave her a way to get what she wanted, and nobody could take that away from her.
The pleasurable tension returned, along with the heat he created between her legs and her pussy spasmed, searching for fulfillment. She panted through her rapid pulse. Her hips moved off the bed.
"Cam?" She squirmed underneath him, moving with his hand, afraid he was going to stop.
"Take the good," he whispered. "It's yours. It's finally yours."
Her head came off the pillow and she grabbed his arm with her freehand, pressing the gun to his opposite shoulder to get even closer to him. Control over her body remained in Cam's hand. Only he could give her the wonderful feelings that teased her.
He pressed his thumb on her clit, barely skimming the bundle of nerves. Like a toy top a child winds up, he swirled and played. Invisible strings inside her body wound tighter. Her back arched off the mattress as her stomach coiled.
"It's yours," Cam said, his voice rough and encouraging.
In a gradual wave she couldn't stop, she catapulted over the edge. Wide open, free, and starving, she lost herself in the culmination of pleasure that'd escaped her for years.
Her body trembled, weak and exhausted. She stared up at Cam, amazed he'd taken her some place that'd frightened her. She always equated her desire for him with insanity, humiliation, and stupidity. He'd given her beauty.
Cam's intense gaze stared down at her. She looked at the gun still in her hand, pointed toward the ceiling and pressed against Cam's arm.
"Shit," she croaked, putting her arm down.
Cam balanced on one arm, lifted her hand again, and placed the gun back on his shoulder. "We're not through."
"But, I thought—"
"You thought wrong. I'm not stopping."
She swallowed and nodded. He could take what he needed from her, and she'd willingly give herself to him.
Chapter Eighteen
The barrel of the pistol in Christina's hand pointed at the top of Cam's head. Sweat broke out along his forehead. Today was a good day to die.
Nothing would stop him from having sex with Christina.
Christina sucked in her bottom lip and her brows pinched together. He reached down without moving his shoulder and removed his cock from his boxers. If he took time to put on a condom, he'd lose her. She still believed sex meant giving herself over to him fully, and he needed her commitment to him tonight. He could deal with her bipolar thoughts regarding everything good or bad. She could spend the rest of the week asking herself if having sex was okay and if her actions reflected back on her.
Hell, he wasn't one to judge, but he could say having his dick pulsing in the heat coming off Christina's pussy was about the best thing he'd ever felt. If fucking her was a crime, he'd willingly put in the time.
Already wet from her orgasm, he placed the head of his cock at her entrance and held himself still. Her reaction to him invading her body would either go toward her trusting him more or get him shot.
"I'll go slowly, but I'm not stopping," he said.
She squirmed underneath him. His ass tensed. It took all of his will power not to thrust inside of her and prove she belonged to him.
She raised her hips and damned if he couldn't feel her pussy twitch in response. Greedy and hungry, her sex already knew the second he was inside that this would be a good thing. All he had to do was make sure the owner of that pussy understood once he started, he wasn't turning back.
"Stay with me, baby." He inched forward.
The head of his cock slid inside her opening. He swiftly inhaled, feeling himself harden until the pleasure hurt. The pressure and heat of her body sucked him in, pulsating along his width.
The smooth metal barrel of the pistol lay against his shoulder. His stomach tightened and he groaned, holding himself back. She had no idea he got his rocks off with the added danger of having his head blown off. He wasn't a felon because he ended up at the wrong place at the wrong time. He'd sought out his criminal lifestyle, because he found satisfaction in living dangerously. A loaded gun aimed at him boosted his adrenaline. Christina underneath him holding a gun on him was a fucking dream.
His hips spasmed and he pumped back and forth without going any farther inside her. His balls tightened and his breath came harsh and fast.
Christina lifted her knees, wrapping her calves around the back of his thighs. "Maybe a little more."
Fuck. He'd give her more. He'd give her every damn inch and pound into her until she screamed enough. His arms shook and he fought for control. He pushed another inch in.
"Jesus, you're tight," he said on an exhale.
It'd been too long since he'd had a woman. He wasn't going to last. Years of going without, depending on his hand, wasn't the same as the real thing with someone he wanted in his life.
"I'm moving my hand again and I'm going to touch you." He groaned, because he almost let himself plunge inside of her. "Right here."
He touched her clit and she jerked toward him. His cock sank deeper. Fuck, yes.
Her tightness squeezed him. His fingers brought her hips up and she moved with him. Every time she arched, he let his hips down farther. It was a slow death of pleasure, until his balls landed against her ass and he was free.
Christina's gaze took on a wild, frantic pace, going from his eyes to where their bodies connected. Her breath came rapidly, fanning his chest and matching the quiver of her hips. He held on, letting her grow accustomed to his size. The pistol a reminder of what his decisions could get him if he rushed her.
"Fuck it," he muttered, losing control.
He withdrew several inches and plunged inside of her. His legs cramped from holding back. He kept going, in and out, trying to race the blast from the pistol that would end his life.
Instead of death, Christina dropped the gun to the mattress and clawed his arms, hurling her ass in the air to meet each of his thrusts. The abandonment of her past and her willingness to hold on to her future did more for him than having his dick inside of her. He put his hand back on the bed, and used the extra leverage to give her everything he had. He ground against her, rubbing her clit with his body.
Her pussy spasmed. His thrusts came short and fast. Sweet pressure built and he could feel himself coming undone.
"Now, baby, now." He grunted with each move.
Christina's body clenched around him and her eyelids fluttered. He groaned, shooting his load inside of her. Her body milked every drop of his juice out of him. He trembled with each wave of her orgasm letting go. Even finished, she unselfishly gave, and he selfishly kept taking.
He hung his head in exhaustion. His body shook and he inhaled deeply trying to catch his breath. Once Christina settled underneath him and her body stopped squeezing him, he gazed into her eyes.
Having stripped her of her fears, she blinked up at him in wonder. "It didn't hurt," she whispered, more to herself than making a statement.
"It's supposed to feel good." He slipped out of her, rolled, and stood beside the bed. "I'll be right back."
He kicked off his boxers and walked naked to the bathroom. After washing his face, his dick, he wet a washrag with warm water and returned to the bedroom.
He held the rag in front of him. "I'm going to clean you up, so you can sleep."
She let her knees fall to the mattress. He glanced up into her eyes
and raised his brows. She never hesitated, and allowed him to look, feel, and take care of her.
"It's different than..." She looked away.
"Hey." He finished wiping her off and pulled the blanket over her legs, covering her to her waist. "You're mine. There's no reason not to give me your body and enjoy what we do together. It's supposed to be different. What you had before was experimenting and awkwardness. We've all gone through that the first time. I'm the only person you'll ever have from here on out. Nobody, but me, will ever touch you."
She sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest. "Thank you for the pistol, and I will carry it when I go to town and when I'm around here and when the bikers are here, too."
He dipped his chin. "That's why I gave it to you."
"I mean, I won't hold it when...if we have sex again." She wrinkled her nose. "I shouldn't have let you do that for me. It's not right. I could've shot you, and I wouldn't have really wanted to do that."
He slid into bed and turned off the light. When she turned to roll away from him, he dragged her back, tight against his chest.
"You do what you need to feel comfortable with me taking your body when I get the urge." He kissed the back of her head. "That might be once a day, it might be three or four times a day, and it isn't always going to be with me on top taking it easy on you. I want you from behind. I want you riding my dick. I want your mouth on me."
"What about—"
"I'm not done." He cupped her breast with his hand, weighing the heaviness. "You're going to get used to me touching you. When I kiss you, I don't expect you to stand there and make me do all the work. I want you to make me believe you're enjoying yourself."
She sucked in her breath. He grinned, keeping his voice firm. "You do that for me, and I'll put my mouth on your pussy whenever you want. I'll make you feel good, no matter the time of day. Pretty soon, you're not going to have to think about anything besides how much you want me."
She lay still, not moving. He'd given her enough time to understand he doesn't change his mind. He ruled the club, and he damn well ruled his own house, including her.
She shuddered and followed with a whispered, "I could probably let you do that."
"Good." He tucked her tighter against him, nesting his satisfied dick against the crack of her ass. "You need to get on birth control. I don't want anything between us, and a baby isn't in my plans."
She nodded. "Okay."
"Now go to sleep. I got a shitload of things to do tomorrow and I need to rest." He kissed the back of her head.
Ten minutes passed and his leg finally stopped cramping. He closed his eyes, hating the silence in the house. In his head, he imagined the clang of cells opening and closing, signaling nighttime inspections, the raw language bursting from the men down the catwalk taunting the newcomers. He even pretended Merk grumbled about his life on the inside and had his back. To escape the outside, he put himself back in his cell, so he could sleep.
"Cam." Christina tapped his arm.
He raised his head. "Yeah?"
"No more killing anyone because of me," she said. "I don't want to lose you."
He laid his head back down. "Go to sleep."
"Please? It's not right."
"You've known from day one that I don't do what's right or wrong. I do what I want and need to do to keep my freedom." He squeezed her breast. "Now go to sleep."
He laid there for a couple more hours before he could relax fully. Everything was okay tonight. He'd made Christina his in every sense and he'd bought himself another day of freedom. In his world, that made today a pretty damn good day.
Chapter Nineteen
The snores coming from the bed stopped Christina at the door. She tilted her head and listened. The slight ruffle of his feet against the sheet and the jolt of his breathing as he came awake spoke volumes. Ever since he'd come back from visiting Merk at the state pen and encountered the Reds members, he'd had a hard time sleeping.
Christina, fresh from her shower, hesitated beside the bed. He'd always given her time to adjust to lying in his bed, which smelled like him, before joining her and curling her into his side.
The change of routine flustered her. She wanted to go to bed. It'd been a long day of shifting through her belongings to see what she could use around Cam's house and what she could keep boxed away. Emotionally, she'd finally accepted she'd rearrange her life to have a committed relationship with him. She still had doubts, but since having sex, she also had hope.
People changed all the time. She'd gone from an extrovert as a teenager to an introvert when she lost her parents. As she grew, her tastes and opinion changed. While Cam was older than she was, she held optimism that he'd put more thought behind his actions and his lifestyle because he had more to lose now.
Cam's snores stopped. She eyed the large shadowed lump in the bed. To go to sleep, she'd have to crawl over his body and he'd take her touch as her wanting sex. It seemed like anything she did around the house gave off signals for him to touch her.
Cam rolled to his side. "Come to bed, baby."
The darkness hid the warmth covering her face. She trailed her fingers along the edge of the mattress until she reached the bottom of the bed and put her knee beside his feet. Halfway over his legs, his hands slid under her armpits and dragged her up his body, depositing her on her side of the bed.
She umphed.
He growled, and her muscles sighed. They'd had sex for the last five nights. Her hands shook in anticipation of what he'd do with her tonight as she crawled under the covers.
Last night, he'd had her sit on him while he sat on the edge of the bed, but not before he'd made her come. Once he even put her on top of him while he lay on his back. She'd tensed, because he hadn't used his mouth or fingers on her, but during the act, she'd come with him, and the experience of holding him while her world exploded became a constant reminder of the pleasure he brought her.
"We're not going to sleep," he said.
She rolled to her back. "Oh?"
He chuckled. She hated the hopefulness in her voice and yet loved the way her sex warmed at the idea tonight would be a repeat of the other nights. She continued to remind herself that he was the same person who wrote her for two years and like in person, he brought her something no one else had ever given her. His pressure for her to grow and think of the world differently wasn't always welcome or painless, but she was learning to accept herself and her feelings for him.
"I'm tired tonight, so I want you to touch me." He picked up her hand and placed it on his bare stomach.
"What?" The idea both intrigued and frightened her. "Where?"
"Anywhere you want." He yawned. "I would've given my life to have the touch of a woman while I was in the pen. I used to lie in my cell and wish for the comfort of your soft fingers on my body. In my mind, your touch was the best thing I could imagine."
"Mine?"
"Yours," he said, chuckling. "Best memories of prison."
"I don't know what you want me to do."
"Touch me where you want. You don't have to ask permission to own my body, just like I'm not going to fucking ask you every time I want you. I'm going to take you." He raised his arms and latched his hands behind his head. "I'm not going to stop you from doing what feels good, just want your touch tonight."
She played his words over in her head. The ideas of what she could do came fast and furious.
Cam's breathing grew heavier and slower. She turned on her side facing him, and held her hand above his chest and changed her mind. She'd start at the top at his head, and make him wait. She caught her lip to keep from smiling. Turn around was fair play. He always drove her crazy, taking his time, when she was impatient for him to touch her.
His hair, almost as long as hers, lay on the pillow. She threaded her fingers through the coarse, thick strands, straightening them away from his face. When her finger skimmed his ear, she followed the slope, ending at his lobe. She pinched the dangling bit between her thum
b and finger, surprised to discover scar tissue. At one time, he'd had his ear pierced, but she'd never seen him wear an earring.
"Why don't you wear an earring?" she asked.
He yawned. "They don't let us wear jewelry in the pen, so I forget when I'm on the outside."
She trailed her hand over his beard. The contrast in texture tickled the palm of her hand. Springy and rough, he'd used his beard to pleasure her last night when he'd used his mouth on her. Her nipples peaked. She enjoyed the coarse, rough texture.
In the dark, she walked her fingers over his cheekbones, slid the pad of her thumb over his thick brows, and counted the lines on his forehead—four. He also had lines around his eyes—from glaring, probably. From his letters, she knew he was forty-four years old, eighteen years older than she was, and he'd lived a hard life.
She retracted her hand. "Do you have any relatives?"
"Nope." He yawned. "Not that I know of. I didn't really know much about my parents. I only lived with them until I was man enough to walk away."
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Don't be. They should never have had me." Cam remained relaxed.
Her life had been the opposite. Losing her parents devastated her. She blinked away the bad memories, because Cam's childhood sounded lonelier and lacked love.
She gathered his beard into her hand and pulled slightly on his whiskers. They went down to his throat and she traced his neck. His Adam's apple moved under her finger and she pulled her hand back.
When Cam remained relaxed and seemed to drift off into sleep, she touched his neck again and marveled at the way the hard lump appeared to move whenever he swallowed. She removed her hand and felt her own neck. She couldn't imagine having the appendage sticking out of her throat.
Cam sighed and put his hands down at his sides. She used the change in position to feel his thick, hard shoulders. He'd explained how he spent most of his time in prison working out, and he had a body to prove it. She didn't need a light to know he had several tattoos on each arm and over his shoulders. Most of the ink he wore was symbols and declarations of his rights as an American citizen.
