Destroying Beauty (Hell Hounds Motorcycle Club): Vegas Titans Series

by Loren, Celia

  He's clearly thinking along the same lines. I feel him take the sides of my shirt in his hands and lift upwards. I raise my arms over my head and the blouse slips over my face and he tosses it on a chair on the wall. The lamp from by the front door provides the only light in the room and I can just see him look down at my breasts in my black lacy bra. He licks his lips as though he's about to devour a long-awaited meal.

  I step forward, gaining a little confidence, and place my hands lightly on his stomach, feeling his abdominal muscles through his shirt. God, he must work out a ton, or maybe it's from his landscaping job. I run my hands up toward his chest. His arms hang at his side, and he watches me study him quietly. His nipples jump to attention under my touch, and I slip my fingers over them, feeling the bulge of his pecs underneath his shirt's white cotton ribbing. Slowly, I move my hands back down and slip them under the hem of his shirt, pushing it up with me as I run my hands over the bare skin of his torso. When I get to his chest again, he reaches up and tugs it the rest of the way off, dropping it noiselessly next to his feet.

  His body looks even better shirtless than I had been imagining it. Dark, curly brown hair runs over the middle of his chest before turning paler over the top of his abs, then dark again as it disappears under his jeans. I spread my fingers out, fanning them up and across his shoulders, admiring the pure strength and athleticism of his body. He reaches toward me, sliding his hands around my waist. I shiver as he runs his hands up, sliding his thumbs just under the cups of my underwire and grazing the bottoms of my breasts. His hands continue around the curves of my body and to the clasp of my bra. I allow my arms to drop away from him, suddenly trembling again as he unhooks the clasp. I feel my bra loosen from my breasts and move my shoulders forward to let it drop forward onto my arms. He catches it as it hits my wrists and tosses it toward my blouse.

  He leans his head back and glances down at my breasts and I watch his eyes light up. He moves toward me, bending down to press his mouth against mine once more. His hands slide around my back as our warm tongues explore each other, and I groan as my bare nipples press against his skin. He pulls away from my mouth and I waver unsteadily. But his lips find me again almost immediately, kissing the dip in the middle of my clavicle and then continuing downward. He pauses for another moment to kneel, and then I feel him suck my nipple into his mouth.

  I cry out, vibrating with pent-up desire. He emits a deep guttural sound from the back of his throat as he circles his tongue around my breast then flicks it back and forth across my nipple. He breaks away and before I can register the cool air against the one breast, he's latching on to the other one, pressing his tongue down hard against it then biting gently on the side. He moves down further, alternately kissing and licking down my stomach. I feel momentarily grateful that I never gave up my waxing routine even after I got divorced, then my mind goes blank as I feel him unbutton my jeans and slide the zipper down. Oh boy, this is really happening.

  I feel pressure against the back of my foot and realize he's holding my shoe and waiting for me to step out of it. I pull my leg up and he tosses my heels to the side as I step out of them. I bite my lip nervously and he looks up at me. I see him pull his head back for a moment as he looks back at me.

  "Close your eyes," he whispers. I obey. I feel his hands move to the waistband of my jeans and he tugs them down. They hit my ankles and he slides them off my feet as I pick them up. His hands lightly graze the sides of my knees them move up my thighs, ending on my hips. "You're shaking."

  "Yes," I murmur, because there's no denying it. I feel him take my hands and place them on his broad shoulders. I grip him, feeling a bit steadier, and then feel him kiss the inside of my thigh. He licks slowly upward, and I whimper as he blows against my panties. As his tongue brushes against the cotton and makes contact with my clit, my knees buckle and I'm glad I'm holding onto him for balance. He presses his nose against my crotch, his tongue diving as deep as it can through my underwear.

  "Fuck, I can feel how wet you are even through these," he grunts, gripping my panties with his teeth. My jaw falls open. I've never had a man talk to me like that before. Steve was all clenched teeth and showers immediately after. By himself. "Time to take them off." His fingers hook around the sides and he drags them down to the floor. I wait, holding my breath, longing for the contact I know is coming but also fearing the loss of control.

  "Agghh," I moan as his tongue slides over my clit. The feeling is exquisite pleasure, so intense it's bordering on pain. He begins to circle his tongue around and around and I dig my hands into his hair, feeling it break free from his ponytail under my fingers. Suddenly, his fingers are pressing at the opening of my clit and I spread my legs a little wider as he pushes one inside. "Oh, I, I…" I cry out, as I realize he's already got me on the precipice, and feeling like I should warn him somehow. I buck against his mouth, an orgasm ripping through me and almost taking me off my feet. I feel him wrap his other hand under my ass to hold me in place as he works me mercilessly with his tongue and finger, draining every ounce of pleasure out of me and leaving me gasping for air.

  Finally I feel his mouth pulling away from me and his finger sliding out. I feel completely spent as I open my eye and see him stand back up in front of me. My eyes fall immediately onto the erection that is practically bursting through his jeans. I glance up at him to see him grinning, then he reaches forward, taking one of my hands and guiding it to his crotch. I gasp as he presses my fingers against his bulge. I can feel how huge he is as I slide my fingers from his tip to his shaft. He groans as I apply a little more pressure and move back up his considerable length. I bring my other hand forward and unbutton his fly with one movement.

  His cock is curving out onto his stomach, stretching his boxer-briefs to capacity. I eye it nervously as I push his jeans to the ground. I reach back up and softly run my fingers over his swollen tip, then pull his underwear forward and inch it down. To my surprise, his hands overtake mine and he shoves his underwear downward.

  "I can't wait any longer," he says, reaching forward and grabbing my waist. The next thing I know, I'm flying through the air and landing on my back on the bed. I hear the rip of a condom being opened and a second later he appears on top of me, bending on either side of my body and pressing his weight down on top of me. His legs are between mine and I gasp as I feel him press his dick against my wetness, sliding himself up and down across my clit. "Please tell me you're ready," he breathes, his eyes boring into mine.

  "Yes, yes," I stammer. His hands move down immediately to my hips, tilting me upward and holding me in place. Suddenly there's a huge pressure at my opening and I cry out as pain overwhelms me. I feel him pause, his breath coming hot and fast against my cheek. He begins to move in again, much more slowly now. I can tell how hard he's working to hold himself back, and I wrap my arms under his armpits and around his back as I try to relax myself enough to accept all of him. The pressure below builds and builds and finally he stops moving. He's all the way in.

  He nuzzles my cheek with his nose, searching for my mouth. I turn my head and open my lips to his. Our tongues meet, gently massaging each other, as I feel him circle his hips around, getting me used to the feeling of him inside of me. I feel a slight twinge of pain as he does so, but also pleasure as he pushes against my g-spot. He begins to pull out, but keeps his mouth on mine. I gasp as he slides back in, pleasure now mixing more with the pain. I explore his back with my hands, feeling his muscles clench as he stops and thrusts in and out again.

  He pulls the top of his body up and away from me, reaching one hand down and playing with my clit again with his shaft all the way inside me. I groan as I watch his cock slide out of me up to the tip, and then as it presses back in. I bring my knees up next to my shoulders as pleasure builds up inside me again. He removes his hand from my clit, but it doesn't matter, I'm getting an unbelievable amount of pleasure from his dick hitting me inside at all the right places. He lies back down on me, my breasts pillowing
against his chest, and takes one of my legs in his hand and brings it next to my face, increasing the pressure on my g-spot.

  "You are so fucking tight," he murmurs, thrusting in and out faster now.

  "Oh, Holt, you feel so good inside me," I moan, and he groans and slams into me, now completely unleashing himself. His cock drives against my g-spot again and again and my body begins to spasm.

  "That's it, come with me, come with me," he breathes, and his words undo me. I come apart around him as I feel his cock pulsing inside me and his cries in my ear. I feel completely outside of my body and completely present all at once as pleasure ravages my body and leaves me empty.

  He stills on top of me and I wrap my hands in his hair and hide my face in his neck as my legs relax on either side of him. Our sweat slicks our bodies and we let it mingle between us as we breathe hard against one another. Finally he stirs, pulling himself out of me with one hand to keep the condom on, and plops next to me on the bed with a sigh.

  I turn into him, reaching across his chest with one arm and hooking a leg over him. If there's anything to say, I can't think of it. My brain is as exhausted as the rest of me and I fall into a calm sleep.

  Chapter Eight

  Holt

  I slide one arm carefully out of bed, dangling my fingers across the carpet until they make contact with a t-shirt. I sit up and lean away from Jo as I slowly pull it on. I had to be careful last night not to allow her to see the Hell Hounds tattoo that covers my back. Not that caution is what's sticking out in my mind about last night. Shit, I don't know the last time it was that good. Or the last time I did missionary, for that matter. I'd love to be able to convince myself that it was the position and not Jo that felt so right, but I'm not that deluded.

  She stirs next to me as I lean back on the pillow, now with a black t-shirt covering the evidence of my MC life. Wilkes came over last night after I texted him to clear out the Hell Hounds flag on my wall. I hadn't been prepared to have Jo over, but she seemed very insistent on coming over here. Plus, Bark said to gain her trust, so being able to see where I live is probably a good start.

  A soft whimper escapes Jo's lips and I lean up on my elbow to watch her. Her forehead begins to twitch and she flings an arm to the side suddenly. Her breathing becomes ragged as her legs begin to shake. I softly lay a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her, but she doesn't wake up.

  "Jo, Jo," I murmur. Her eyes fly open and she raises her arms protectively against her face, pushing me away. Her expression is full of fear, terror even. "Hey, hey, it's OK. It's OK. You were having a nightmare," I say soothingly, though I don't move toward her. I wonder if somehow her subconscious knows the truth about me.

  "Oh…oh, sorry," she whispers, her eyes darting around. She pulls the sheet up over her naked breasts as her gaze falls on me. "Nightmare," she repeats, nodding shyly.

  I wrap an arm around her and pull her against my chest. "Remember what it was about?"

  She pauses a little too long. "No."

  "Breakfast?" I ask. God, when was the last time I cooked for a woman?

  "Sure, thanks," she says, smiling up at me. Her eye makeup is a little smeared below her eyes, but she still looks gorgeous. "Could I borrow a t-shirt?"

  "Clean stuff's in the dresser," I say, pointing to old oak bureau. She slips out from under the sheet and I can't help but watch her walk over, the sunlight illuminating her tight, curvy body. I can't wait to bury myself in her again. She reaches for the third drawer.

  "Not that—" I begin. Shit. Holt, you fucking idiot.

  Jo freezes, staring down at the contents of the drawer, which I know contain a handgun. She reaches her hands up and in tentatively.

  "Don't. It's loaded," I warn her. She pauses for a moment without turning toward me, then keeps going. I tense as I see her raising it out of the drawer. Her eyes are locked on it like she's in a trance. She holds it carefully in her palms, and I know immediately that she's never held a gun before.

  "Will you teach me?" she whispers, so quietly I can barely hear her. Finally she turns around to face me, still holding the gun in her palms. Seeing her bare ass naked, holding my gun in her hands, is probably the sexiest thing I have ever seen in my life. I have to shake my head to focus on her question.

  "You…you want to learn to shoot?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at her. That's not the reaction I was expecting.

  "Yes," she replies, a little more firmly. "Will you teach me?"

  "Why do you want to learn?" I ask, trying to keep my tone as simple and as devoid of deeper meaning as I can.

  "I…I can't really tell you," she says, looking down at it. "Well, for safety. Just in case."

  "That sounds a little ominous."

  "Sorry, I don't mean it to. Forget it."

  "No, no, it's OK. I'll teach you. I'm just worried about you."

  "Don't. It's nothing."

  "Alright," I say with a shrug. I reach onto the floor to pull on a pair of boxers, then walk around the bed to her. She holds the gun up to me and I take it from her hands. As I replace it in the drawer I try to keep my face blank, but my mind's running a mile a minute. So she seems to have some sense that she's in danger, but still no idea that I'm wrapped up in it.

  She watches me close the drawer with the gun inside, then smiles up at me.

  "Breakfast?"

  A few minutes later, Jo sits at the counter watching me crack eggs into a bowl. She's wearing an old t-shirt of mine, which fits her like a baggy dress.

  "You a good cook?" she asks with a smile.

  "I know my way around a kitchen," I admit with a shrug. "My parents always used to rope me into cooking when they had the munchies."

  "Just teaching you an important life skill, I'm sure."

  "Exactly," I reply with a grin. "Your ex-husband cook?"

  "Steve? God, no. He wanted me to do all the cooking. I did, or tried to…I'm a pretty atrocious cook, to be honest. He really wanted the whole wife in an apron, dinner on the table at 6:30 thing…"

  "You didn't?"

  "I thought it was pretty boring," she confesses in a hushed tone, as though she's worried about someone else hearing.

  "So that's why you got divorced?"

  "Oh, um, no. That was because he was cheating on me. Which I was angry about at first, and betrayed and all that, but in the end I think it was for the best. I really wanted to want that kind of life, probably because my childhood was so crazy, but it didn't really work for me." She grins, looking a little embarrassed. "I talk too much around you."

  "I don't mind."

  "What about you? Any big exes?"

  "I don't really date much," I tell her honestly, pushing the scrambled eggs around the griddle.

  "Really? You seem, sort of, natural at it," she says, waving her hand to indicate my current position, making her breakfast.

  "Maybe it's just you," I say with a sly smile at her, though I feel a twinge of truth to what she says. Even though I'm following a script, what I should be doing to make her trust me, it does feel natural to me. I look back down at the eggs and spoon them onto two plates for us, then take the bread out of the toaster and push a plate across the counter to her. She digs in hungrily. Just as I'm raising my fork to my mouth, I hear my phone ring. I cross over to my jacket on the couch and pull it out. It's Bark.

  "Sorry, it's work. Be right back." She nods as I walk out the back door and close it behind me before answering. "Holt."

  "So?" Bark says, succinctly as ever.

  "She's scared. She asked me to teach her how to shoot."

  "Last night?"

  "This morning. She's still here," I say, shifting a little and glancing through the panes on the door at Jo, who's blithely chewing on her toast.

  "Good. Thought you might have been losing your touch there for a few days. Stay with her as much as possible so we'll have a heads-up if she decides to do anything. Nothing about the shooting yet?"

  "No. No idea if she could ID Fish. So, should I?"

  "
What?"

  "Should I teach her how to shoot? I feel like I'm arming her against us."

  "Does she even own a gun?"

  "No."

  He snorts. "I'm much more worried about what she saw than her shooting one of us. Just stay on her, do whatever she wants. And keep me updated." He hangs up with a click. I toss my phone on the counter as I walk back inside.

  "Landscaping emergency?"

  I glance at Jo sharply, but she's smiling. "You have no idea. Some of the people I deal with…" I spend the rest of breakfast telling her my client horror stories, and she seems interested in seeing some of the work that I do. "So you want to go to the range today?" I ask. She stands to clear our dishes. "You don't have to do that."

  "You cooked, I clean," she says simply, turning on the water in the sink and picking up a sponge. "The range. Yes. Could I, um, rent a gun? How does that work?"

  "I have a smaller one you could use than the one in there," I say, nodding back to the bedroom.

  "How many guns do you own?" She's looking down at the sink, but I can tell the answer is important to her.

  "A few," I admit. She glances over at me. "Four," I clarify.

  "Why?"

  "Why do you want to learn to shoot?"

  She smiles a little. "Fair enough."

  Chapter Nine

  Jo

  "Repeat it back to me," Holt says seriously, his arm muscles bulging as he folds them over his chest and squints down at me in the sun. He hasn't even let me touch a gun yet, even though we're at the range.

  "Um, double action means…you don't have to cock it. When you pull the trigger, the bullet, the round, moves into position—"

  "The cylinder rotates."