by Bijou Hunter
Now that I’ve found him, I don’t want to wait anymore.
ANDERS
Fucking this woman feels wrong. As if I’ve taken someone beautiful and drenched her in my evil needs. Making Pixie come is the good part. She’s innocent and deserves pleasure. That’s what I should stick to, but Pixie doesn’t like hearing no.
I want to close my eyes and erase this memory. Just forget how I’ve defiled Pixie. Or maybe “corrupted” is a better word. I’m a horrible man with a disgusting past. She’s the kind of woman to smile at singing birds and dance to music playing in her head. Pixie loves me despite what an asshole I’ve been. She shouldn’t have my cock inside her beautiful body.
But she does, and she won’t let me look away. Pixie holds my gaze while her pussy sucks on my cock. I’ve been hard for so long that I know I won’t last much longer. The minute she stripped down for the hot tub, my dick woke up and refused to be subtle about its goal.
While we fuck, Pixie stares into my soul. She never looks away. Even when my fingers tweak her nipples and she moans, her gaze refuses to relent. She wants to see me come. I can’t hide from her. Right now, in this second, she feels like my fucking enemy. Pixie demands I show her everything—from my best to my worst. She won’t look away.
I could hurt her. Make her cry. Throw her off me. Shit, just pinch her nipples rough enough, and she’ll push me away. I could protect myself from this weirdo and her too-direct gaze.
Instead, I think of her tight pussy gripping my cock. Fucking is so natural to her. Like how she was in the shower. Pixie sees my body and touches it without any flirting or games. She lacks the skills to seduce me. The wiring in her brain is all wrong for that.
“It’s okay to orgasm,” she says, and I swear she’s talking to my fucking balls. The second she says the words, they let go. Pixie sighs at the way I thrust into her. Her body accepts every drop.
Does Pixie know she has the power to destroy me? Of course, she does. But she lacks the heart to pull the trigger, even if I deserve it. Just like she can’t let me destroy this house that means nothing to her. I’m special.
“Your heart is filled with sunshine,” she whispers as if reading my damn mind. Leaning closer, she nuzzles my jaw while her pussy still sucks at my cock. “You have many enemies in the world. However, there are also people who cherish your big broken heart.”
I don’t know who these “people” are that she’s talking about. There’s only Pixie. Her family fears me. My club doesn’t trust me after I went behind Bronco’s back.
“That felt better than I expected,” she says, releasing my cock from her pussy’s death grip.
“You didn’t come.”
“I already came when you licked my spot.”
“It’s called a clit.”
“Everything needs names,” she says full of exasperation. “Did it feel good for you?”
“Of course. That’s what the moaning and jizzing was about.”
Pixie rests next to me on the seat and wraps her arms around my left one. “What’s jizzing?”
“The white stuff I put in your pussy.”
“The baby stuff. Yes, that feels good when it comes out, right? Perry used to make a weird noise when he jizzed. Dove and I would giggle.”
“You heard them?”
“Of course. They weren’t that far away. It’s not a secret that people have sexual intercourse, Anders,” she says and stands up. “I was a little shy about Mama and Dove hearing me. I’m glad they’re asleep. I shouldn’t be shy, but it was my first time.”
“But we have walls and doors here,” I say, following her to the pool’s gate door.
Pixie doesn’t answer. As usual, when she doesn’t want to talk, she just doesn’t. I watch her pull a shirt over her wet, shivering body.
“I would like to eat now. Then we can sleep.”
“And if I say no?”
“I’ll run inside and lock you out while I eat and sleep,” she says, descending into giggles at the thought. Then she waves her arms around and adds, “You would just beat down the door, and I couldn’t hide with all those cameras everywhere.”
I yank on my jeans and carry the tray into the house as she waits at the door. “Mama wants to make carrot juice. Do you like it?”
“I’ve never tried it.”
“Will you?” she asks, running her fingers along my right forearm.
“Sure. What’s it going to hurt?”
Pixie smiles brightly as if I’ve passed a test she set. I’m glad to impress her and also that her tests are so easy. To prove I’m worthy, I’ll drink or eat whatever she wants.
We sit on the couch, eating leftover ribs and potatoes I ordered before leaving for the clubhouse. Pixie takes maybe six bites before feeling full. I have the urge to bully her into eating a few more. She needs to put some meat on her bones. When I met her months ago, Pixie was thin yet healthy. Now she seems one missed meal from keeling over.
Before I can push her to eat more, Pixie changes positions on the couch and flashes her pussy at me. I forget about the food issue and focus on how good she felt wrapped around my cock.
“Tell me about a movie,” Pixie says, leaning back on the couch and seeming tired.
“We could watch one.”
She shakes her head and exhales softly. Based on her expression, I wouldn’t be surprised if she falls asleep right here. When I glance at my phone, I’m surprised to find it’s after one in the morning. I hadn’t realized how much time passed.
I finish my meal while explaining the plot of the next Indiana Jones movie. She listens without saying a word. Her face barely reacts to anything, but I know she’s listening. Whenever I stop talking, her toes poke my leg as if to say, “more.”
Relenting to her fatigue, I put my empty container in the kitchen. Then I show her on my phone how I can lock all the doors and set the alarm.
“No one will be able to sneak up on us,” I explain while wondering if she worries about the Volkshalberd coming here.
I turn off the lights with the phone, which gets an impressed smile from her. Then we head to my room. Scratch that. This is our room now. Pixie’s my honey, and I’m keeping her.
Hell, we might even have a kid. I can do shit like that, right? Not when I was one of the Killing Joes. Fuck, I occasionally have nightmares of a whore from back in the day, showing up and saying her kid is mine. That chick won’t be like Lana. She’ll be looking for money and maybe to rob me. My dreams about kids always turn into fucking nightmares.
But Pixie isn’t one of those trashy, sad bitches back in Cleveland. None of those women liked me. I didn’t like them, either. Fucking was something we did to pass the time. No more meaningful than getting high or taking a shit. Those girls let me fuck them because, well, probably because their daddies fucked them or some uncle, maybe. Most were runaways that ended up in Lonnie’s stable. He didn’t treat them well. Neither did I.
The man I was back then would have destroyed Pixie. No doubt, she’d fucking hate that version of me, too. If he stopped by the side of the road and started trying to hit on her, Pixie would offer no smiles or words of praise.
Instead, she’d nail the old me in the balls and run for safety. Pixie acted clueless that day, but she moved fast with the Village fucker. My girl isn’t a peace-loving pacifist. She’s a tough bitch with a hippie’s heart.
Once we’re in bed, Pixie crashes almost immediately. I consider taking a shower since we were in the hot tub, but she looks too wiped out. As soon as her head hits the pillow, she closes her eyes and sleeps.
I take her reaction as a compliment. Pixie feels safe. Last night, I got her drunk so she could relax. Tonight, she knows her family is cuddled together downstairs, stomachs full, in a house with no rips in the roof or zealots waiting to storm inside.
Pixie’s own hunger is sated. Getting well-fucked probably helps relax her, too. She looks so small in my big T-shirt. Should I cover her with a blanket? I keep thinking she’s a child in ne
ed of protection. Yet, when we were fucking, I was the one hiding in my head while she forced me out.
I doze off to the feel of her hand in mine. Hours later, well past sunrise, I wake to the sound of Future crying. Next to me, Pixie’s spot is empty. I check my phone to find it’s almost nine.
Stumbling to the bathroom, I take a piss and notice my T-shirt on the counter. I wonder what Pixie is wearing now. The clothes Topanga brought look all wrong on my flower child.
Future still hollers when I exit the bedroom. Then I hear Conor’s voice, which somehow puts me more on edge than the kid’s bawling.
“You need to push the dials in and then turn,” he calmly explains to Pixie and Fairuza as they stand in front of the stove.
Dove paces around the living room with her red-faced brother. I study them and wonder if this is how family life will be. I can’t remember much chaos in my house growing up. I was usually locked in my room or even a closet depending on how much I annoyed my grandmother that day.
Sticking Future somewhere until he shuts up isn’t an option. I catch Pixie’s gaze, and she looks agitated. Conor is unflappable as always. Of course, his mom is a wild woman on a good day and batshit crazy on a bad one. Handling Pixie and Fairuza must be a walk in the park for him.
“What’s the problem?” I ask Conor while the three chicks eyeball me.
“They wanted to cook but couldn’t figure out the stove.”
“Why are you here?”
“Homework,” he says, smirking while gesturing toward the table. “But I think they should eat first.”
“We’ll order breakfast.”
“No, I’ll cook,” Fairuza says, fiddling with the plastic around the container of eggs.
“You’ll just burn it,” I mutter. “Why not let me order us food? Then today, you can practice on the stove.”
“What will I do with the food I don’t burn?” she growls at me.
“I’ll eat it. I need a lot of food to stay this big.”
“He has many muscles,” Pixie says, trying to calm her frustrated mother.
Future howls in misery, dialing up the noise level.
“What’s wrong with him?” I ask Pixie.
“All the fruit is making his stomach hurt. We couldn’t figure out the stove,” she says and then smiles at Conor.
“Don’t do that,” I say, but Pixie just ignores me.
I’m unsure if she understands my complaint, but Conor does. I catch him grinning while he takes a menu from the fridge and shows it to the women.
“They have egg scrambles with meat and potatoes. That seems similar to what you wanted to make. There are vegetables in it, too. We can get it delivered in fifteen or twenty minutes if we put in a rush order.”
“Always spending money,” Fairuza says and frowns at me.
“Anders is important to our club,” Conor says and opens the fridge. “He makes good money but lacked the family to spend it on. Why not let him take care of you? Then you can take care of him.”
“Take care of him, how?”
Conor pulls a container from the fridge and digs out two chicken legs. He walks over to a whining Future and hands the food to him.
“He has teeth for this, right?” Conor asks Dove, who only stares. “Here, you can eat this one.”
The girl takes hers while Future grabs for his and shoves it in his mouth. Pixie hurries over to keep the boy from choking.
“Maybe drumsticks weren’t a smart idea,” Conor says, chuckling. “Still, a little meat will hold them over until Fairuza picks what she wants.”
“What does he want?” Fairuza asks Conor rather than me, even though I’m standing right fucking here.
“I think he wants your daughter to love him,” Conor loudly whispers. “He wants to have a family. Everyone in this community has wives, kids, and moms. You can provide those things to Anders.”
Fairuza gives me a dark scowl, but I realize she isn’t angry. She feels helpless here. Even the stove fucks with her.
“Mama, look at the baby,” Pixie says, now holding Future, who chews at the meat and smiles for his mother.
Dove nibbles at hers and keeps an eye on Conor. I really hope she doesn’t start nursing a crush on him. Am I the dad in that scenario? Do I have to threaten him to stay away from Dove? No, Conor wouldn’t want to date a kid.
“I’ll call in the order,” he announces and then gestures toward me. “We’ll get them fed and then start working on the map.”
“Map?” Pixie asks Conor, and I again get the urge to stop her from talking to the younger man.
“Of the Village,” he explains. “We want to know where everything is and who the people are.”
“So, you can attack?” Fairuza asks, looking up from the menu.
“Maybe. We want to end the blockade. If we kill John Marks and his most loyal people, we can open up the Village and let the Volkshalberd return to town. People won’t starve. The club can go back to our schedules. Everyone is happy.”
“Except John Marks,” Fairuza says, smiling at Pixie. Then she frowns at me. “What happens to us after he’s dead?”
“Pixie is staying here,” I say, sounding a little unhinged.
Okay, based on Conor’s cocked eyebrow, I sound more than a little crazy. Still, I just woke up, and I’m not used to having so much crying or activity this early in my day.
“I want her to stay here, and she wants you to stay with her,” I say in a voice that sounds almost calm.
Fairuza narrows her eyes at me but then focuses on Conor ordering the food. She watches him type into his phone. Pixie ignores them and me. Her gaze is on Future, who is a calm little fucker now that his stomach enjoyed meat.
“Why didn’t you eat bread?” I ask Pixie.
“Where is it?”
I point to the cabinet, and she frowns. “I thought the food went in the fridge. We couldn’t find it in there.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, stroking her bare shoulders and admiring the pale blue tank top she’s wearing. “You look beautiful.”
Pixie’s whole face brightens. She glances at Dove, who blushes. I get the feeling these two were gossiping earlier when I was asleep. Based on their little grins, I scored high marks.
PART 4: NO TIME TO BREATHE
PIXIE
Anders doesn’t like Conor. He keeps moving around the other man as if trying to intimidate him. I don’t know if this behavior is a club rule, but I find it strange. Still, I don’t involve myself in his work. Anders has been a motorcycle person for most of his life. He knows what he’s doing.
Mama said that Future asked for food as soon as he woke. Hearing their voices when I was in bed with Anders, I didn’t want to wake the grand sequoia as he slept so comfortably. Tiptoeing, I changed into different clothes and joined my family in the kitchen
“I will make eggs and potatoes,” Mama announced, looking excited.
“How?”
“On the stove,” she explained and then reached over for the knob to show me. After the government ended the Collective, they put us in an apartment with a different kind of stove. That one didn’t have fire. I thought this one did. I saw the flame yesterday with Topanga. But then, Mama nearly broke the stove trying to turn it on.
“I don’t understand,” she said more than once. “Is there a special button to make it work?”
We looked around the kitchen. Then I thought maybe there was a button on Anders’s phone like with the lights and cameras. But he remained asleep, and I didn’t have the heart to wake him.
By the time the doorbell rang, Mama had fed Future an apple. Yet, my brother began whining about his stomach hurting.
“Where did the bread go?” Dove whispered, afraid to speak up and make the room echo. “And the nuts and raisins?”
We searched in the fridge while Mama answered the door. Conor explained who he was, but I didn’t understand. He’s related to someone, maybe Bronco.
I was more interested in where all the food went. Did
someone steal from Anders? He pushed a lot of buttons last night to make the house safe. What happened? Lights flashed at the front door when Mama opened it for Conor. The biker man had to push something on a panel to make them stop.
Overwhelmed, I asked Conor why the stove didn’t work. I was certain he wanted to laugh. Thankfully, he didn’t. Mama was far too frustrated to deal with his mockery.
Right after Conor explained the stove, Anders walked into the kitchen, looking half-asleep. Now, we’re waiting for food from a restaurant. Mama keeps eyeing the stove, anxious to cook food she recognizes.
Today, I hope to go to the supermarket with Topanga. Back with the Volkshalberd, I only visited a tiny store selling canned food. However, the supermarket will have raw vegetables and fruit. That’s what I want to do the most today.
Well, I think sexual intercourse would also be a good use of my time, too. Anders seems like he might need more orgasms. Especially since he looks so aggravated with Conor.
Before the store and breakfast, we sit at the kitchen table. Conor shows us a basic drawing of the Village. We’re confused at first. Then he explains how one spot on the paper is supposed to be the front gate.
Understanding now, Mama, Dove, and I start drawing on the huge sheet of paper that covers the table. Future scribbles on a smaller piece of paper, wanting to copy us.
“There’s the kitchen,” Mama says, drawing a rectangle. “And here are the main living quarters. Before John Marks, this building was for everyone. Then the despot claimed it for his house.”
Mama’s anger is palpable. I wonder if she fears for Perry’s safety. Except she said something last night that made me think he wasn’t hurt. More like he was bribed by John Marks to turn against us and tell them where I was hiding.
Still working on the map, Mama mutters, “They called me a quisling.”
“What?” Anders asks, leaning against the counter nearby.
“Quisling is their word for traitor,” I explain.
