by Franca Storm
“Rough you up, huh? That what you want—my hands on you, babe?”
“I’ll break your fingers,” she fires back.
But it’s all bullshit. I ain’t blind. I see her blushing, crossing her legs all awkward and shit. She’s turned on. Mmm, yeah. I bet she’s already warm and wet between her thighs.
She stands up, tryin’ to hide it. Nice try, babe.
“Tell me what you know about Skinner’s plans.”
“Like I said; looks like he wants to set up shop here.”
“And that concerns Black Thorns how? This isn’t your territory.”
“Reirdon’s right next door to Brockford, so yeah, it concerns us, babe.”
She starts pacing slowly as she takes my words in. “All right,” she says finally, walking over to me where I’m lounging on the other couch. She stops in front of me, her arms still folded over her chest, pushing her sweet tits up and giving me a hell of a view.
“This is how it’s gonna work here. You tell me what you know. Give me all the intel you have on this latest initiative of theirs and I’ll take care of it.”
I scoff. “Ain’t happening.”
“Yes it is. I’ll take it from there,” she insists.
That’s it! This bitch dunno when to back down. Been holding back so far, thinking playing nice is the right way to go cuz she’s a woman, a tiny little thing. But to hell with that. Ain’t working. She’s a fucking ball buster and dunno when to back down. ‘Bout to fucking show her. Make her back down.
Grabbing her hips, I pull her down onto the couch, forcing her under me. She fights me—with her fists—no nails like most bitches would use. Nah, she’s all punches and kicks. Damn. Just getting me harder, babe. I grunt as her steel toe boots scrape my shins. She might be feisty, but she ain’t got the weight or muscle I got to back it up. I pin her legs with mine and capture her fists with one hand, pressing ‘em to her tits ‘til she’s at my mercy.
She grins at me then.
What the fuck? Weren’t expecting that.
Before I can figure out her game, she shows me, rolling her hips. I grunt as her pussy rubs against my rock hard dick. Fucking hell. She’s messing with me.
“So easy,” she says as she does it again, driving me insane.
“Stop,” I growl at her.
“Why?” she taunts. “It’s clearly what you want. Aww…got a hard on for me, biker boy?”
She wants to play, we’ll play. I slide my hand inside her jeans so quickly that all she can do is gasp. My fingers brush her panties and I smile to myself. Wet. Soaking wet. “Sure you hate bikers, babe? Cuz, your pussy’s craving this biker’s dick.”
“You’re disgusting,” she hisses.
Funny thing is, she don’t make no attempt to pull my hand outta her tight little jeans.
“Yeah?” I slide a finger underneath the lacy fabric of her panties and tease her drenched pussy. “I think you like that. Down and dirty.”
She bites her lip and shakes her head, tryin’ to fight it.
But I got all the proof I need on my fingers.
Our eyes lock and the heat between us almost makes me stop breathing. So fucking intense.
Jesus, I ain’t never felt nothing like it. My dick’s straining against my jeans painfully now. I’m right on the goddamn edge here.
I tease her pussy some more, and lean into her, my breath hot on her neck. “Want me to fuck you?”
She grinds against my fingers, answering me silently before panting, “Yes. But no more foreplay.”
“What?” I ask as I let go of her hands and rip open her jeans, roughly tugging ‘em down her legs.
“I want your dick, not your fingers,” she tells me.
“Music to my fucking ears, babe.”
I shake off my cut. I pull a condom outta the back pocket of my jeans, unbuckle the damn things in record time and sheath my throbbing dick.
I sink into her slowly, groaning at the feel of such a tight fucking pussy. Been a long-ass time since I’ve felt anything like this. The sluts that hang ‘round the clubhouse are all so damn loose. Nothing like this. Holy fucking shit. Can’t fucking move inside her. Her grip’s outta this world.
I look down at her and she’s got her head thrown back, her eyes closed as she licks her lips. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve even seen. Shit. That thought unsettles me. Get a grip, asshole.
“Hold my hands,” she says, her eyes snapping open. “Hold my hands down,” she presses when I don’t answer fast enough. It’s kinda hard to focus when I’m tryin’ to fight every instinct to pound her into the couch. Can’t ‘til she adjusts to my size. She’d probably pull her gun and shoot me for that.
I grab her wrists and slam ‘em into the couch above her head. Don’t take long before I feel her relax ‘round me. Mmm. Rough gets her off.
“Yes,” she moans out.
And that’s it. I’m done. I pull out almost all the way and then slam back in hard. She curses like a sailor as I pound her so fucking hard the couch moves.
“Name?” she pants at me.
“Neil,” I utter without thinking. My brain’s on lockdown right now. No blood flowing there. “Neil Barron.”
“Barron?” she questions. There’s an edge in her voice.
Fuck that. No more talking. I don’t bother responding. I lean into her, my tongue tasting the side of her neck. I suck hard, hard enough to leave a mark.
Next thing I know, she’s kicking me and yelling for me to get off her.
What the fuck?
“Get off me,” she orders.
“Please tell me you’re fucking about, babe.”
“No. Get off me. Now,” she shrieks. “Now! Pull out!”
As soon as I pull out and lift my weight off her, she scrambles off the couch, hastily pulling on her jeans. She’s white as a damn sheet.
“You’re related to Skinner. Pete Barron? The President of the Devil’s Mavericks is your family?”
Wow, she’s really freaked out, basically hysterical. “Why?” What’s the story here?
“Answer me!” she screams.
“We’re related, yeah.” Christ, even admitting the connection repulses me.
“What…who…who is he to you exactly? A distant relative?” she asks, way too hopeful ‘bout the distant part.
I pocket the condom, zip up my jeans and shrug my cut back on. “No,” I tell her, forcing myself to say the words I fucking hate admitting on my best days. “I’m his son.”
Her eyes go wide. “Oh God. I’m gonna be sick.” She grabs her mouth and runs from the room into the kitchen. A second later, I hear her puking her guts up.
What the fuck’s going on here?
Chapter 3
~Roxana~
“What’d he do to you?” Ax’s deep, commanding voice booms through the kitchen, making me jump. I didn’t even hear him come in. No surprise, really, seeing as though I was a little busy with trying to stop my violent vomiting into the kitchen sink.
I run the water and snatch up a roll of paper towel. Quickly ripping off a piece and wiping my mouth, I scrunch up the sheet and toss it into the garbage a few feet away. I turn back to the sink then and lean against the counter, trying to get a grip and calm my racing heartbeat.
“Babe?” he presses.
I can’t answer him. I can’t look at him.
It’s too awful.
He’s Skinner’s son? He shares DNA with that monster and I just had him inside me; I just had his hands and mouth on me? Oh God. And he marked me too! I felt him biting my neck. I slap my hand over the mark. I can’t see it, but I can feel the tenderness there; the raw skin. Another wave of nausea assaults me, but this time I somehow manage to hold it at bay.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I finally say.
“Why’d I go ‘round advertising that shit?”
I finally look at him then. “You’re not a fan of him.”
A rumbling growl escapes him, making his answer clear. The fierce look in his
eyes—now cold—let me know that there is deep-seated hatred there for Skinner. “What. Did. He. Do?” He grinds out each word with alarming fervor. It takes a moment for me to really take him in. His entire body is tense. His jaw is locked. And his hands are shaking. Pure rage.
“That’s my business.”
“You just made it mine,” he seethes.
And just like that, with merely a few moments of conversation with this man, my back is up. Sure, I’m tough with people as a rule. I have to be with what I do for a living. But I’ve never been this insanely fierce and unyielding with someone I’ve just met. He has this inexplicable way of getting under my skin. He’s such a fucking alpha male and so infuriating about it too. No one controls me and certainly not some misogynistic biker. He made his greatest attempt on the couch when he had me pinned. But he realized his mistake quickly when I showed him who was really in control. And it’s gonna stay that way.
“How exactly?” I demand.
“You fucking with me here?” he yells, frustrated. He shifts his weight agitatedly and fumes, “Had my dick buried deep inside you, babe. So, if he’s…” Disgust plays on his face and he grimaces. “Did he fu—?”
“No!” I cut him off quickly before I have to hear the end of that awful sentence.
“No?” he asks, needing to make sure.
“No,” I confirm. “He didn’t do that.” Like hell, I’m gonna tell this guy the whole story there.
Some of the tension leaves his body and he takes a few steps towards me. “I’m sorry.” His tone is gentler now, remarkably so for an abrasive biker type. “He’s got a history with that.”
“I know.” I know too well.
He’s standing in front of me now. “What went down?”
“It doesn’t matter. Like I said; that’s my business.”
“And like I said; you made it mine. The second you reacted the way you did when I told you my name; forcing me to pull out mid-fuck like that.”
“Of course, that’s what this about. Your fucking dick.”
“That ain’t what—”
“I need you to leave.”
“Rox,” he says. It’s the first time he’s actually said my name. Up until now it’s been a bunch of babes and woman. Infuriating, but there was no point on calling him on it, because it’s ingrained in guys like him. A staple of their vocab. But hearing my actual name on his lips now? It’s…good. Really good. No, too good. Shit, this is not working out how I’d planned at all. Are these feelings…for him? Impossible. We just met. Completely unacceptable.
He touches my arm lightly.
I jerk away and hold up my hand. “No! Don’t touch me!”
“I ain’t him!” he bellows, suddenly irate.
“You’re his son!” I turn away. “I can’t…don’t touch me again.”
A moment later I hear him curse. Heavy, angry footsteps stalk away from me. And the next thing I hear is his roar of, “Fuck!”, before the front door slams.
I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s gone and sink back against the counter.
A moment later, the roar of his Harley sounds, no doubt waking up the neighbors for the second time. A Harley Heritage Softail Classic 2012. A sweet bike. Yeah, I know a bit about bikes. Weird to many people cuz everyone knows I hate bikers. The bikers I hate are MC thug-types, not regular riders. I have no issue there.
I blow out a breath as the roar of his engine finally disappears completely. Thank God he’s gone.
Bringing up the stuff with Skinner was too much. I can’t think about that awful day. And having his son here in my home was way too much to process. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
Chapter 4
~Ax~
I kick the door shut to the shithole motel room. The whole room shakes with the force of it.
Ripping the paper bag off the bottle of Jack clutched tightly in my white-knuckle grip, I screw off the top and take a long swig, needing to feel that comforting fucking burn as it sears my throat. The only thing that can calm me down right now is the bite from this bottle and a good shot of nicotine.
I pull out my pack of smokes from my cut and fire one up, taking a harsh drag. Blowing it out, I start pacing the room wildly; a smoke in one hand, the bottle of Jack in the other. Gotta get a grip on my rage. But her shitty words keep screwing with me.
“I ain’t him!”
“You’re his son!”
Fuck, hearing that shit outta her mouth was like a bullet to my brain, ripping through every mental block I put in place over the years in one goddamn shot. Everything I’d done to separate myself from that sick fuck had just snapped right back into place, connecting us again as she’d tarred us with the same bloodied brush. Like all the blood on his hands, all his crimes were mine. The demented shit he’s done, coming right back on me. And the way she’d looked at me, like she was looking right through me and seeing him? A brutal fucking blow, the kind that drives you straight to your knees, making you go to that dark place between giving into the pain or summoning the balls of steel needed to throw that next punch.
That bastard ain’t nothing but a sperm donor. Calling him a father ain’t something I’ve done since I was a kid. Before I knew what he really was; what he was capable of. What he’d done. A disgrace to the MC way of life. Hell, a disgrace to human beings in general.
Shit, why am I getting into this bullshit? How’d she get under my skin like this? Bitch is messing with my head. Known her a few hours and she’s got this effect on me? Jesus. Gotta man up and get a goddamn grip. That smart mouth of hers and her ballsy attitude’s got me all twisted up like a pussy-whipped fool. What the hell? I cop a brief feel of some tight, hot pussy and I’m acting like a damn school boy who’s just stuck his dick in some bitch for the first time.
These thoughts shouldn’t be running through my head in the first place. Fucking her was just to relieve the tension in my damn dick that she’d fired up since the second I’d walked into that diner. Nothing more. Never nothing more.
Well, that’s off the table now. Thanks to her connection with Skinner. That’s on her end. On mine is I don’t want some bitch looking at me like I’m the man I’ve hated with a vengeance for most of my life, like she can’t separate me from him. Screw her to hell and back then. How fucking ignorant is that?
Tomorrow I’m taking care of the shit I came here to deal with. Nothing else. No fucking ‘round now. It’d shocked me when I’d found out RJ was a goddamn woman and my plan to strong-arm what I needed outta him had gone up in smoke. No more. No more handling her with kid gloves. The damn gloves are coming off tomorrow. I’ll steamroll her into submission if I gotta. She’s a woman? So fucking what? She’s ‘bout to see how me and the boys really do business. No taking shit from no one.
She’s fucking lucky it’s me Trig sent down here and not Daz “Smiter” Forbes, our Sergeant-at-Arms. He’d have her kneeling at his feet in seconds ready to do whatever the fuck he wanted, probably begging to suck his cock too. Smiter don’t take shit from no one. But the guy racks up a shitload of collateral damage. Got orders from Prez to do this on the down low. No drawing attention to the club. I got a more subtle approach. That’s why Trig sent me in.
Well, one of the reasons. The other? Only reason I came back to the club when Trig begged me to step in as VP. To end the Mavs by cutting the head off the fucking monster. By killing their Prez. Skinner. My demented prick of a father.
Chapter 5
~Roxana~
As I step out of the tattoo parlor, I rub my right shoulder after the long conversation the owner and I just had about it. I hate talking about it at all, but I hate looking at it day after day even more. The awful scar that is a stomach-churning reminder of the consequences of me letting my guard down.
At least I got the good news that I wanted though. It’s healed really well over the last two years and it can be tattooed over. It’s a relief. It means another step towards putting that awful day behind me. I’ve been holding onto it for too long and getting t
his tattoo is kinda my symbolic way of finally letting it go. The nightmares have lessened too.
Until last night, I hadn’t had one in a few months. But the shock of the culprit’s son turning up here had dredged it all up. I hadn’t been prepared for that one. Holy shit. And I’d overreacted big time. Ax doesn’t even look anything like Skinner. He doesn’t resemble him at all. And his attitude is different as well. Sure, there’s that same hard edge, but there’s a gentleness there too. It didn’t escape my notice that he took his time with me. He didn’t force it. He waited. God, he must have thought I was a virgin. It’s been a long time since I’ve slept with anyone.
Perhaps I can use that as an excuse for why I’d spread my legs for him like a whore after barely knowing him a couple of hours. I can’t believe I did that, considering I hate his kind with a vengeance and that I know firsthand how messed up and dangerous the world he belongs to is. When he’d pinned me beneath him on my couch, I’d just intended to get him the hell off me. But he’d smelled too damn good. The musky scent of man mixed with leather and tobacco smoke. Mmm. And that look of desire in his mesmerizing blue eyes had drawn me in. It’d taken me over so suddenly that I hadn’t been able to handle it. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a man that close to me. And once I felt his hard dick rubbing up against me, all bets were off. In that moment, it didn’t matter where he came from, that he was a biker.
It was his fault. The moment he’d walked into the diner the spark of sexual tension between us had been lit. By him. He’d taken it to a sexual place with his innuendos. He’s probably used to charming the panties off dozens of women with those lines. I knew that, yet I’d still let it affect me. Why? Because it had caught me off guard. No one challenges me. I own all the big shots in this city. No one mouths off to me and they certainly don’t tease me like he kept doing.
I’m usually in control at all times. But with him, I feel like a deer in the headlights.
I need to keep away from him. Getting mixed up with the likes of him is dangerous both business-wise and personally too.
