ROUGHNECK: A DARK MOTORCYCLE CLUB ROMANCE

by Nikki Wild

  “Oh God…” she whispered.

  I pressed my lips to her neck. “Quiet now.”

  Firmly grasping my latex-wrapped weapon, I guided it where it needed to go. I knew that her pussy had been ready since the moment she’d whipped out my huge, throbbing cock.

  It was just as I thought. Drenched.

  In one heavy, powerful push, I was already halfway into her slick chasm. God, she was tight. I mean, they were always tight with the caliber that I was always packing, but it still drove me wild every time.

  Well… usually.

  The last few months, every last lay had left me an embittered, hallow husk of a man.

  Sure, the sex had always been good.

  Decent, at any rate.

  But it was just a chemical fix now.

  No substance. No empowerment.

  She was gliding her hips against mine, rolling her pelvis along my thick, unyielding tool.

  I thought about asking how flexible she was… but then I just decided to figure that out for myself. With a deft move of my arms, I’d slipped her ankles up over either shoulder; my strong hands rigidly clamped around her hamstrings, and I held her in place against me.

  “Oof,” she murmured with satisfaction as I dove deeper inside her. With each fast, massive thrust, my throbbing cock pushed further into her quivering body.

  I had grown to hate how mechanical sex had become for me. At this point, it was essentially just empty stress relief; the fluid exchange kept me off edge. It was doing real wonders for the rigors of post-military life, that’s for certain.

  Her legs were starting to hurt, so I flipped her onto all fours and mounted my prize from behind. Grasping a thick handful of her lush hair as if it were a rein, I controlled my partner from behind as I passionately rode her ass.

  “Oh god, that feels so fucking good,” she half whispered, half groaned. “Fuuuuck. I love your hot cock inside me…”

  “It loves being inside you, too,” I murmured into her ear as I dragged her up by her hair, her hips still locked against mine. With her lips trembling from the painful pleasure, her back brushed lightly against my chest. “Do you want to be a good girl and cum for me?”

  The stranger nodded, and I tightened my grip on her hair, digging the fingertips of my free hand deeper into the soft flesh of her hip. “That’s right. You’re such a good girl, making my cock feel so great… such a tight little pussy on you, too. You want to cum? Is that what you want to do?”

  She nodded again.

  “I don’t think I’m convinced…”

  Quickly, I gave her a controlled thrust. Her sweat-slicked body trembled with pleasure that oozed like the sweetest honey off of her small, involuntary gasp.

  “I wanna to cum,” she murmured.

  “Do you now…?”

  “Yes please,” she nodded again. “Please make me cum on your huge cock. I need it.”

  “You need it, do you? Well…” I smiled wickedly, guiding her back down onto her hands and knees. “What kind of man would I be to turn down such a sexy request like that…?”

  She looked over her shoulder with a flirtatious little smile, and I began to absolutely pummel her pussy from behind, digging the fingers of one hand into her hip and the other into her shoulder.

  “Oh god, don’t stop, please don’t stop…”

  “Don’t worry,” I chuckled. “Ride this fucking cock, babygirl. Ride it until you can’t fucking take it anymore…”

  She braced herself against her headboard as I ramped up the pressure, hilting myself over and over against her thick hips until she began to shiver against me.

  “Oh god, I’m coming, I’m coming…”

  I started fucking her harder now, feeling her entire body whiplash against me with pleasure until she was an incoherent, babbling mess… but one still wrapped around my fierce cock.

  This was one of the few things I derived pleasure from anymore. I’d grown to accept that I was pretty much just going through the motions of my life at this point, at least for the next few years. But when the Carlyle Fortune was mine and I was free to do whatever I wanted…

  I’d sucked it up for eight years and learned some valuable life skills along the way – along with a nice fat stack of change that sat in my bank account, just as a soft back-up plan.

  But it was nice to know that, despite how stale and robotic the sweet art of hardcore fucking had grown, I could still derive some pleasure from watching and feeling a woman reduced to convulsions against my body.

  She held herself taut as I felt her body undergo a nice long string of shuddering orgasms. Groaning with eyes tightly shut and her lips wide open, I watched the young woman ride out every last drop of pleasure until her strength left her wobbly limbs.

  Satisfied that she was done, I kicked things up to the highest notch, intent of taking my own one-way ticket to Climax Junction. It was time that I got my own quick fix of brain chemicals.

  After all, I’m a gentleman; ladies always come first.

  With a few last bucks against her hips, digging into her so deeply that I knew the marks would be there days later, I let loose a great, throbbing burst of milky-white release. Neatly caught within the condom, I roared with passion and emptied my great, big balls deep inside her exhausted body.

  Just once, I’d love it raw, I thought to myself.

  But I played it safe every time, and I trusted nobody else… especially not during sex.

  A string of heavy pants of air later, I tugged my cock free of her slickened, satisfied chasm.

  “Oh, that was so good,” she murmured, slumping down to the mess of sheets and covers beneath us. “You’re so fucking hot in bed…”

  I almost chuckled when I noticed her roll onto her back to make room for me. Of course, I wasn’t sticking around.

  Instead, I stepped up, wandering to her adjacent bathroom to drop the condom down the drain. After flushing the toilet, I briefly showered, drying myself quickly and leaving the damp towel on the counter.

  To her apparent confusion when I stepped back into the room, I didn’t dive into bed to discuss our feelings. Instead, I merely began to tug on my boxer briefs… followed by my folded slacks and my button-up, which I was now deftly clasping back together up my chest.

  “Wait, where are you going?” My latest lay asked, glancing up at me sadly. The woman had a distinct layer of But what about the cuddling? plastered all over her face.

  Sliding my watch around my wrist, I took a quick glance at the time. I could still make it.

  “Banquet.”

  She leaned up from the bed, confused. “You’ve got a banquet to go to? How awesome is that? Can I come?”

  Before I had a chance to answer, she was leaping up out of the bed, diving into her overflowing closet to rummage up something. It was almost endearing, maybe, how this latest conquest clumsily tried to include herself.

  “No,” I answered, cutting her off as I slipped on my shoes and tied the laces. “I’m afraid it’s an exclusive thing… and besides. This was fun and all, but you’re definitely not accompanying me to a banquet. You’re not the right material for that.”

  The girl’s jaw dropped. “You’re a real asshole.”

  “You knew what you were getting into,” I smiled sardonically as I slipped on my blazer. “But that’s okay. This was fun. I’d say I’d call you sometime, but… you know.”

  With eyes full of venom, she quickly tugged around in her closet for a shirt and a pair of panties. I wound up being the quicker dresser, and I was already diving into my shoes and closing the door behind myself as she prepared to slap the shit out of me.

  I heard the door rip open, but I was already descending the stairs and around the corner.

  “Dammit, Dalton!”

  I grinned to myself. My latest lay apparently didn’t want to make a half-naked scene in her apartment complex. Even if she tossed on a pair of jeans, my power-march was going to keep me out of sight all the way to my car.

  It
was only when I kicked on the ignition and glanced at the time that the warning bell in my head finally went off. I looked back at my Rolex. I’d failed to notice that it had stopped earlier, roughly forty minutes ago… Goddamned old world technology. I must have forgotten to wind it.

  Aw, shit. I’m gonna be late after all.

  2

  We’re never really told upfront what these banquets are actually for. The only things I knew about this particular event were the following: (A) it was a late evening affair, (B) the event was going to fill the room with a whole bunch of marines, and (C) apparently it was sort of a big deal.

  That’s why I was plenty surprised to find out that they had only put twelve of us on the payroll for the shift. I’d expected something kind of small, given that server count. Most of our banquets were under a hundred people. Our usual ratio was one server to every ten guests, waiting on them hand and foot.

  But this event seated over four hundred misogynistic Marines, half of them lecherously watching our asses as we strolled around.

  Oh boy, did they love keeping us busy.

  We were divided up to take roughly thirty-two Marines apiece, seated in groups of eight at large round tables. They’d specifically requested female servers, which hadn’t struck me as anything I’d necessarily label a good omen.

  But, you know, whatever. It’s a gig. Another couple of hours’ pay in my back pocket, although I wasn’t exactly looking forward to the cleanup phase. I wasn’t expecting to get out of here until midnight.

  Not like I have a life, anyway.

  At least it took some stress off of me about visiting my Mom. She had met this guy something like half a year ago, and they’d really hit it off. I’d spoken to him over the phone awkwardly a few times, but this was the big one. This was the part where I had to go physically meet him, him and his son.

  I wasn’t exactly looking forward to that. Moving into the city for school had successfully put an hour between us, and I’d been enjoying the degree of separation.

  I mean I had lunch with her all the time.

  Well, every two or three weeks.

  Did I say weeks? I meant months.

  Point is, I liked not having her stress over every facet of my day-to-day life, or following me around the house and venting about the most inane shit I could fathom.

  Living on my own had been stressful and terrifying in its own right, but it seriously helped that I lucked out with the best roommate in the world – my rich bitch (I say that affectionately) best friend, Natalie. Her parents had put her up in a high-rise condominium apartment that gave her a stunning look over the river, under the condition that she not live alone. Natalie, through virtue of being my friend since late junior high, offered it to me first.

  Reluctantly, I said yes. I wasn’t exactly comfortable with the arrangement and didn’t want to take advantage of her kindness, so I spent a lot of my free time keeping the place spic and span from top to bottom.

  In fact, that’s pretty much what I’d spent my morning doing while she was out trying on new clothes and shopping with her rich friends. There was a distinct parallel to the way my work life lived… always getting to see that world, but never interact with it.

  Sure, I lived in a nice apartment with a great friend who came from a super wealthy family… but none of that really belonged to me. It just wasn’t my place in the grand scheme of things.

  While I raced around to accommodate my guests, I started to grow flustered. The Marines were running me completely ragged, although I couldn’t fault very many of their requests… it seemed like they were just particularly needy.

  From the start, I noticed that there was a conspicuous missing person from one of my tables. As I filled a few glasses of water at their side, I snuck a peak at the tri-fold placeholder on the table:

  LCpl. Dalton Carlyle, 184th Steel Division.

  “Lieutenant Corporal Carlyle should be joining us shortly,” the disgruntled leader of this table’s cozy little wolf pack told me. “He appears to be running late.”

  “Maybe a little bit,” I replied, topping off his glass with the most professional grin I could muster. “Your man’s already twenty minutes behind.” I expanded my attention to the rest of the table. “Your salads will be out shortly. Does anybody need anything else?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Negative.”

  “Very well then,” I nodded politely, scampering off to fill up other water glasses with one hand, and sweet teas with the others.

  I’d lucked out with most of my Marines. There were a couple of randy types, checking me out or watching me as I strolled away, but nobody had openly engaged me in harassing dialogue.

  Even with that false sense of security…

  I really should have seen it coming.

  It was while I was handing out salads that he strolled in, his suit slightly rumpled and a bounce in his step. The late Marine looked startlingly handsome, with a broad build and strong jawline. Other tables paused to watch as he confidently sauntered towards my area, taking his seat nearby with a chirpy smile.

  I tried to keep my eyes off of him as I focused on dispensing salads, but we made eye contact right before his ass hit the chair. It’s when he opened his mouth that my knees almost quivered.

  “Hullo, love. Sorry I’m late.”

  His rich English accent was music to my ears. Sophisticated, gritty, and yet somehow smooth, I could practically feel my panties moisten at the very sight and sound of him.

  “Lieutenant Corporal Carlyle, I presume?” I asked, trying to keep my voice straight.

  “In the flesh,” he smiled coolly, watching me with a faint mixture of amusement and arrogance. “Does my reputation precede me?”

  “That, or your name card. I’ll let you decide which,” I indicated politely enough as I handed him a modest house salad.

  “Thank you… Clara,” he replied, preparing to dive into the bowl.

  “Wait. How do you know my name?” I asked. My thoughts went erratic as I watched him glance up, a cruel smile crossing his handsome face. Oh god, does this guy know who I am?

  Dalton merely chewed as he pointed vaguely towards my breasts. I glanced down in confusion. There it was… my silver nametag, pinned against my chest, with my first name spread across in invisible tape.

  “I always forget I have this thing on,” I chuckled nervously. “Anyway, do you need anything else for the moment, before I tend to the others?”

  “Yeah, actually,” Dalton smiled. To my horror, the other Marines at the table started to sigh, some of them smiling at each other and shaking their heads. “Got a menu?”

  “This is a closed-course meal,” I answered mechanically, not liking how they were apparently waiting for something.

  “Well, that’s a shame. I was going to ask for something sweet… Something that would melt in my hands and taste delicious… Can you think of anything you have that might satisfy my cravings?”

  My smiling façade cracked for a second. Who does this guy think he is?

  Dalton continued: “You’d realize what I really wanted… We’d have this great, big laugh and you’d find it really endearing, and in a few hours you’d be fucking me.”

  The Marines burst out in laughter. While one of them smacked the table, I cleared my throat and squared my shoulders up. “Right. Well, if that’s all for the moment…”

  Dalton half-smiled at me. “Lighten up, love. Take a bloody joke. I’m good.” He glanced around the table. “You boys don’t need anything, do you?”

  They all shook their heads, composing themselves, and I drew in a deep, calming breath before turning on my heel… but not before accidentally making eye contact with Dalton again. He was looking at me curiously, his half-smile still plastered across his face.

  What a prick, I thought to myself as I tended to other tables. Dalton was an absolute dick. I couldn’t fathom how I found him attractive at all when he strutted into the room�
�

  Except, he was always looking at me when my gaze went in that direction. I could feel his smoldering gaze on my back as I raced around, taking care of my guests.

  Soon afterwards, it was time to line up and dispense the main courses to the guests. For the banquet, the organizing party had established sautéed salmon, grilled asparagus stalks, and a hearty helping of garlic red-skinned mashed potatoes. The chefs were running frantic in the kitchen, determined to keep the presentation as stellar and spotless as possible.

  “Move along, ladies! Once this is over, the hard part’s done!” Arnold rang out, quickly making minute modifications to the placement of details against the plates as he swiftly racked up six or seven entrée plates to a large, black, oval dinner tray. His primary foodrunner was helping servers shoulder them between running plates and opening tray stands for us in our sections.

  Unfortunately, the seating meant that we perpetually left a couple of Marines at the tables without food until returning a few minutes later, but they seemed to understand that we were doing the best we could.

  If anything, it appeared that they enjoyed the additional opportunities to watch our asses strut along as we power-walked back and forth across the banquet hall.

  Out of pure self-interest, I left Dalton’s table last in the dropping off of entrees for my section. I could deal with him ogling me after seeing to it that everyone else was satisfied.

  “Is there anything else I can get you gentlemen for the moment?” I asked his table politely, sliding the final entrée plate to one of his seated companions.

  “No, ma’am, I think we’re all good here,” the leader of the table smiled. “That’ll be all.”

  “Actually, there’s something else you can do for me,” Dalton piped up.

  I flashed him a smile, but my eyes said it all.

  “Sure. What can I get for you, sir?”

  Dalton’s whites showed. “Well, I’ve taken a few bites of this, and it’s quite good. It’s missing a little something, though…”

  He patted his thighs under the table.

  “Why don’t you come sit on my lap and give me a second opinion, hmm? Take a few bites. Tell me what can be done to give it a little kick.”