A catcall is whistled, severing my thoughts. The music is lowered and all eyes swing to me. It’s like being center stage when you don’t want to be. Heat burns my cheeks as I smile, raising a tentative hand of hello to the men who I’m here to have service me.
“Gwennie-bee get your fuckin’ ass over here!” a familiar voice yells from behind the bar.
Not wasting any time, I unzip my jacket to hang it on the rack by the door. My bare shoulders and cleavage are on display as I purposely saunter over to the bar and slide on to a black stool. The heat of eyes searing my back sends a shiver through me. I know they’re watching. The distinctive grumble of the whores is indication enough. They don’t like me. I’m not an old lady, which is biker code for wife or serious girlfriend. And I’m not a club whore. I’m Nash, the club VP’s, sister. Or, to be more accurate, his step-sister. Although, we’ve been in each other’s lives since I was nine. We have a unique relationship to say the very least.
Across the worn bar top, Nash stands in his usual badass fashion—arms tucked across his broad chest, making his inked forearms stand out. His jade green eyes are fixed on me, one brow raised in question. Tonight, his long, jet-black hair is tied into a low man-bun. The thick stubble on his jaw tells me that he’s not shaved in days. With the strong lift of his chin, he silently asks for my order. Some may not understand his subtleties, but I’ve known this man so long I often wonder if we can’t read each other’s minds.
“The usual,” I say, laying my palms flat on the bar, one red fingernail nervously tapping the varnished top.
Without delay, Nash pours my usual double of Jose, then slides it over to me. I catch it between two fingers, raise it to my lips and give him a tiny grin before tossing it down the hatch. No lime, no lemon, no salt for me; just the powerful burn of tequila as it settles in my gut, warming me from the inside out.
Damn, that’s the good stuff.
Savoring the taste, I lick my lips, and he smiles, flashing me a set of pearly whites.
“You almost had a panic attack on your way inside, didn’t ya?” he asks.
Frowning, I give him the hairy eyeball. “No,” I lie, shifting guiltily on my seat. I hate that he knows me so well.
Nash steps forward and lays his big paws on the bar as he closes the distance between us, his body arcing over the edge. Those all-knowing eyes meet my blue ones. The corner of his lip twitches. “You know the brothers would understand if ya decided to break tradition.”
I’m not sure why he’s mentioning this again. We’ve had this heart-to-heart before. A year ago, I went cold turkey to try and screw my head on straight. To fuck normal Joes and clear my dirty conscious. Regrettably, the void couldn’t be filled and my conscious can never be power washed. The hole inside me just grew bigger and bigger until I went mad with need. And the only way to fix myself was to sell a piece of my soul. I was a very bad-bad girl that night.
Just like I’m gonna be tonight when my pussy takes on a mind of her own. Nash gets it. The club brothers get it. It’s how I’m hardwired. Couldn’t explain why I am the way I am. I just have to live with it. The sane part of me hates the kinky darkness, while the other bitch residing in the twisted parts of my soul revels in it. I know I sound crazed talking this way. Perhaps this is how men feel when their dicks and brains work apart from one another. My pussy and my mind rarely agree. She’s over here being a relentless slut, while I’m dousing holy water on my soul to cleanse it of sin.
“I’m fine with it.” Another lie.
Nash shakes his head, expression disbelieving. “Uh huh,” he mumbles as his eyes cast to the side, where a topless club whore plops onto the seat beside me. Throwing a dirty look my way, her tits jiggle as she flings her blonde hair with attitude. Then she dismisses me and taps the bar top with her fake, pink nails.
Yep. Fuck you, too, bitch.
“The girls and I need some more tequila and limes for the body shots,” she addresses Nash, unmistakably checking him out.
To add insult to injury, she licks her pouty lips, openly flirting with him. The sudden desire to slap her upside her head rides me hard, but I ignore her instead. I’m not up for a round of cat fighting tonight. Not saying it hasn’t happened before. It has. I can throw a mean hook. Nevertheless, I’m not in the mood for BS.
Nash jerks a nod, setting a bottle of cheap tequila on the bar along with a few lime slices atop a napkin.
“Thanks, doll,” she purrs, grabbing the liquor and limes. But not before shooting me another disgusted look over her shoulder as she hops off the stool.
A warm hand settles on my arm as the scent of spice and coconut hits my nostrils. It’s Toa, the club president. I’d know that scent anywhere. Without looking back, I lift my hand from the bar to rest over his.
Shifting a step closer, Toa’s hard front meets my back, eliciting a shudder down my frame. “Hey, Gwen,” he rumbles, sliding his other hand around my middle, palm lying flat on my stomach.
Irrepressibly, my breathing takes a turn for the worse, pumping erratically in and out of my lungs, bathing the air in palpate anticipation. I squirm in my seat, eyes glued to Nash’s massive chest, illuminated by the dim bar lights. The thumping beat of ‘Closer’ by Nine Inch Nails booms over the speakers, as if it’s spotlighting what’s about to happen. It seems to grow louder, pulsing in my ears, along with my blood as it rushes through my veins. Sweat dampens my forehead.
“Gweenie-bee,” Nash tears me from staring aimlessly.
Lifting my gaze to meet his, I mumble, “Uh?”
“Toa just asked ya a question.”
What? When?
“He … ummm … did?”
My nerves are starting to get the best of me. It’s pathetic. I was here two nights ago, bringing Nash a plate of spaghetti and garlic bread. Ever since Trish moved out, I’ve been cooking for one. Too many leftovers left uneaten makes me cringe. It’s bad enough the reality of being alone has just begun to set in; the extra food makes it worse. So now I drop off dinner whenever I get a chance—twice this week, and three last. So, yeah, you’d think I’d be chill here, with this … with Toa as his hands settle on my waist. Especially since I talk to everybody whenever I drop by. We’re friendly. We drink. Shoot the shit. And they treat me like family.
Then you’ve got nights like tonight. You’d think I’d be flattered as Toa’s hot breath fans my neck, erupting goosebumps just before his lips connect below my ear, dousing my libido in gasoline. Hell, maybe I am. He is gorgeous with all of that tan skin and tribal ink. Those big hands and juicy lips. Yeah … he’s…
“I was just wonderin’, baby, if you’re ready for me,” Toa rasps against my skin.
My pussy clenches at his words. Nipples aching to be sucked.
Oh … yes … I’m…
My mind short circuits as those lips trail across my shoulder to lavish the opposite side of my neck with attention. A throaty moan erupts as teeth move to gently nibble my ear.
“Gwen.” He groans his need, hands clawing at the front of my corset, like he’s wanting to rip it away. Yet, he shows restraint. “Are you wet for me?” he adds.
Yes … yes … I’m wet for him. If only I could voice my excitement. But I can’t. Instead, I swallow thickly and nod as I lock my eyes with Nash’s. He’ll know what I need. He’ll take care of this. He’s my rock. My center. My protector. He always knows what to do.
An emotion passes between us, his eyes conveying that he’s got me. A grin sprouts at the corner of his lips. It’s calculated—devilish. Then it’s gone as quickly as it came when he dips behind the bar, retrieving a long strip of condoms. He slaps them on the counter, along with a small bottle of lube. Not missing a beat, Toa rests his chin on my shoulder and lifts a hand from my middle, silently requesting one.
A shot of anticipated arousal races through me. God, he’s gonna be inside me soon. That cock…
Nash rips a condom off the strip and dangles it above Toa’s opened palm. “You gotta eat her pussy first an
d make her come. Then you can use this.” He drops the packet into his president’s hand. Toa’s wraps his first around it, then briefly kisses my neck before standing.
A knot forms in my throat as I hear him unfasten his pants. Suddenly, Toa’s erection pokes me in the back. He’s already hot for me. Fuck, I can hardly believe it.
My needy gaze meets Nash’s once more when Toa’s hands curve around my middle. He’s watching me—us. Those green eyes tender around the edges. Leaning over the bar top, he winks at me as his fingers drop to the top of my corset. I become frozen in shock as he unfastens it with expert precision, and doesn’t stop moving it downward until my breasts spill from the tight garment, landing in Toa’s awaiting palms. Groaning his delight, Toa squeezes my tits in his large hands.
Resting back against his big chest, I let him play. I need him to play. Deft fingers pluck at my nipples sending a spike of pleasure to my clit. I moan, brazenly. And as if on cue, the good girl inside me crawls into her hidey hole as the bad girl makes her appearance. It’s about damn time.
Helping me off the barstool, Toa places his palm in the middle of my back. Wrapped in lust filled silence, he bends me forward until my arms and shoulders rest on the bar top, leaving my tits to hang freely below me. My back arches, pushing my ass into the air as he shimmies my skirt upward until it pools around my waist. Then he kicks my feet apart, leaving my pussy open to the cool draft, and his eyes that are burning into my wanton flesh. Almost painfully, his fingers grip my hips as his dick bumps my wet folds. My legs tremble on their own accord.
Leaving only one hand on my hip, he uses the other to run his cockhead through my pussy lips, nudging my throbbing clit. An unabashed moan erupts from my lungs as he begins to fuck my little bud. My hands fist on the bar top, heart slamming in my chest.
“That’s a sweet little pussy, Gwen,” Toa finally speaks. “All wet for me.”
Yes … Wet…
Standing across the bar in front of me, Nash unfolds his arms from over his chest and rests his elbows on the bar top, his face merely inches from mine. I can smell the scent of beer on his breath as it wafts across my cheeks and nose. “Are you wet for Toa, Gwennie-bee?” he prompts in a low, sexy tone.
I nod, then accidently moan as Toa’s cock fucks my little clit harder.
“Tell us,” Nash requests.
God, I hate when he does this. I don’t want to tell him anything.
Defiantly, I shake my head and Nash scowls. “Stop touching her pussy, Prez,” he orders, and Toa doesn’t hesitate to comply.
No!
“No,” I groan my plea, driving my hips back to regain friction. Sadly, I find nothing but cool air. Damn it.
Nash traps my chin between his fingers, holding my stare. “No, what? You’re not wet? Or you don’t want him to stop?”
I don’t want to look at him like this. It’s too much. Why can’t I just enjoy my gluttonous need? Why do I have to admit how it makes me feel? How wet I am? How much I love it when he looks at me this way, his eyes heavy, lips inviting. God, it’s so sick. I’m sick. Yet, I can’t help that I fucking love it.
Trying to turn my head away, Nash holds it in place, not letting me budge. “Tell me,” he rumbles. “I wanna know.”
“Yes,” I croak, humiliated. “I’m excited.”
Nash won’t let up as he moves closer, his lips a hairbreadth from mine. “What do you want him to do?”
Steeling myself, I swallow down the rock that’s lodged itself in my throat. “I want him to lick my pussy.” It comes out barely above a whisper.
Nash’s lips brush mine in thank you. And as much as I should hate it, that I should think it’s gross, I don’t. It’s something I live for. A feeling that centers me and makes everything alright. It ignites a soothing ball of happiness in the depths of my soul. My anxiety fades into oblivion, leaving only warmth and ecstasy to indulge in. Everything switches from insecurity to strength, to want, to will. Nash makes it all okay.
A body moves behind me and warm hands spread my ass cheeks just before a tongue lashes my pussy. My knees nearly give out as I wail my desire, squeezing my eyes shut at the insurmountable pleasure. The tongue runs along my center, dipping into my eager core, then runs up to nibble and lick around my clit. Toa draws the little bud into his mouth at the same time Nash’s lips brush mine once more. The fire in my veins turns volcanic as the building pressure sinks its claws into me, leaving only raw emotions to govern my will.
Continuously, Nash’s mouth softly teases and taunts me as Toa sucks my clit. Then his thick finger breaches my core and I whimper.
“That’s it,” Nash urges. “Let yourself go.”
Unable to show restraint, I heed his request and reach back with one hand to shove Toa’s face harder into my pussy. My hips take on a mind of their own as they undulate against his mouth and tongue. Sounds of starvation erupt around us as he eats me like a savage, his finger plunging in and out of my depths as the other grips my ass cheek so hard I know I’ll bruise in the morning. I’m acutely aware of the sounds of other zippers retracting and the music lowering as the flutter of impending climax sails through all thought and reason.
A sudden mouth latching onto my nipple rips a moan from my throat and Nash slams his lips to mine, swallowing my pleasure. They’re scorching and hard for an agonizing moment before he wrenches them away. “That’s it, let him lick that pussy. Does it feel good? Do you like Toa’s tongue on your clit? Do you want his dick inside you? Do you like Merick sucking your tits?”
Yes, yes, yes. I want to scream, and then force his lips to return to mine. Instead, my eyes flutter before they roll into the back of my head. My insides coil tighter, my legs shaking uncontrollably. Nash’s mouth rubs mine, sending a perfect jolt of naughtiness to my center. A heat builds between my thighs, a wetness dripping from there. Toa doesn’t relent a second as my seams begin to fray and my pussy clenches around his digit. Another mouth latches to my other nipple. Whiskers from the new man’s face scratches my sensitive skin, and that’s all it takes. The lava runneth over and my back sharply arches as I wail my climax. White-heaven explodes behind my eyes as those mouths pleasing me continue their ministrations, drawing out every single fiber of my being. I vaguely feel myself threading my fingers behind Nash’s head and taking his lips with mine. Then everything turns hazy as my entire body runs molten and sparks of endless rapture flitter through me like bursts of fireworks. Another orgasm peeks and fizzles. My tongue breaches and tangles with something wet and delicious. Whimpering moans unfurl from the darkest parts of me, emptying into the heat of someone’s mouth.
The hand clawing my ass is the first to release, then a final nibble teases my clit. All of my senses are left inside out, and my legs turn to over cooked noodles. Before I nearly collapse in a heap of mush, Toa scoops me into his arms.
Breathing heavily, little jolts of post-climatic tremors spring to the surface, making me twitch. I rest my head on Toa’s shoulder, barely prying my eyes open enough to see him carry me over to the pool table, where some of the brothers are already standing with their cocks out, condoms stretched over their members. Beside us, Nash walks, his loving hand resting on my arm. He moves ahead of us and climbs, fully clothed, onto the pool table. Lying flat onto his back, he gestures for Toa to bring me forth. I don’t resist as Toa kisses my forehead before depositing me onto the table
“Straddle him and let him hold you while we fuck that pussy.”
Toa’s sweet voice registers through my muddled brain, and I comply without protest. On my knees, I crawl over to Nash and straddle his waist, sitting upright, my palms lying flat on his pecs to keep myself from falling over. He unfastens the rest of my corset and hands it to one of the brothers for safe keeping. Then he pulls me until my breasts are flat against his chest, our faces lining up, lips merely an inch from colliding. My eyes flick down his features, settling on his mouth. I lick my own lips at the thought of kissing him there. It’s the most he’s ever sexually touched me.
Yet, it feels like he’s caressing my very soul when he does. For years, it’s been his mouth that brings comfort. His mouth that, somehow, makes all the fucked up shit right again. It’s my own personal home. No matter how sick or twisted that may be, it’s my reality. We’ve never discussed how it affects either of us. Most of the time, I feel he does it out of duty and love. But for me, it’s far more than that. There’s a tangible feeling that it elicits—a need. I would never tell him that, not ever. But that doesn’t keep it from being the truth. One of my dirtiest, darkest secrets.
Behind me, a set of palms rest on my backside as a thickness nudges my core. The scent of coconut mixed with spice tells me it’s okay to trust who’s there.
“Go easy,” Nash warns, wrapping his own arms around my middle, securing me in place. Turning my head to the side, I rest my cheek against his shoulder, my face stuffed into the crook of his neck. On my knees, I lift my ass a little higher into the air.
“I’ve got it, brother,” Toa replies, thrusting forward, his thick cockhead breaching my pussy.
Slick with my juices he glides in effortlessly until his balls settle against my clit. Stretching around his girth feels magnificent; having him deep is even better. My walls contract around him, begging him to move.
Below me, Nash whispers, “How ya doin’? Does it feel good?”
I nod. “Yes; so good.” The words flutter from my lips in a dainty moan.
Sliding out, Toa leaves just his crown nestled inside. His hands on my hips dig into flesh, sending a tremor of pleasured-pain through my pussy. Powerless to control myself, or wait another second, I drive my hips backward, impaling myself on his cock. He takes this as an open invitation to snap his hips in succession with my downward thrusts.
Biker Chicks: Volume 2 Page 16
