by Zoey Parker
I bounce, I ride, and then, with the spastic clenching of a hot orgasm, he tumbles over the edge. I don’t stop riding until he softens inside me and the muscles of his legs go limp. After a few deep breaths, Mortar’s eyes flutter open. He opens his mouth to say something, but I shut him up with a kiss.
He doesn’t need to say a word. I know.
He cares.
Chapter 8
Mortar
I limp into the clubhouse the next morning for the regular weekly meeting with my team to discuss business. My whole body is ringing with pain. That bastard cop packs a punch.
I make sure to arrive early, in a half-hearted attempt to avoid showing the men how beat up I am. Vince, Steezy, and a few others were there at the studio, so they know exactly what happened, but it’s not my style to feed the grapevine. Let the rest of the club figure it out for themselves.
The men file in the meeting room we use in the back. No one says a word about my split cheekbone or bruised knuckles. They know better than to ask questions like that. Everyone takes a seat around the table.
I go to start the meeting, but Vince beats me to it. “Mortar,” he says, and everyone’s heads turn in his direction. “I don’t want to speak out of turn, but before we even get to everything, you know we gotta ask…we’re fucked, aren’t we?”
I know what he’s referring to. Without Grady, there’s no way the races can continue. Without the races, there’s no drug money or bookie money. Without money, there’s no club. If all our pipelines are cut at once, we’ll be wiped out by rivals before the month is up.
I look around and see the same look of fear on the rest of the men’s faces. These are hardened men, good men, who’ve seen more than their fair share of shit and dealt with it, no bones about it. I don’t like seeing them scared.
“Is everyone else feeling the same way as Vince?” I ask. A few heads nod. Some look down at their hands on the desk, nervous to make eye contact. “Listen to me, brothers. We’ve been through shit before and came out rich and smiling. This isn’t any different. Think on your feet, do your job, and we’ll all be just fine once things shake out.”
It’s hard to speak loudly. I’m struggling to give my voice the confidence it needs to convince them that what I’m saying is true.
“Mortar…” says one of the prospects hesitantly, “…is that cop really pulling the plug?”
Other voices chime in. “Yeah, Mortar, what’s going on with Freeman?”
“I’ve heard he’s been acting crazy, man,” says Charlie, a grizzly guy who’s been an Inked Angel for what felt like forever. “Running around with his gun out, jacking people up, doing all sorts of insane shit. For fuck’s sake, man, he went down to a Vipers’ bar the other night. Just sat there and drank, like everything was a-okay! He knows they’d kill him if they had half a chance. The motherfucker has lost his goddamn mind.”
The room breaks out into a cacophony of voices, everyone trading stories about the latest rumors of Grady acting like a fucking lunatic. Drinking on the street, threatening the prostitutes, generally upsetting the delicate balance on which our tumultuous little underworld has thrived for a long time. It doesn’t take much to light the wrong fuse. From what I hear, Grady’s getting awfully close.
I slam a fist into the table. My hand is bruised, maybe even fractured, but I ignore the pain. I need to make my point. “Everyone shut the fuck up and listen,” I roar. Silence drops over the room immediately. All eyes are locked on me.
As the vice president, I’m their leader. These men need to be led. They’re steely bastards, and I’d take a bullet for any one of them, but right now, I need to lay down the law. My law.
“I don’t give a flying fuck about Grady Freeman. We don’t need him. We’ve never needed him. I don’t want to hear his name again. Not today, not ever. As far as I’m concerned, the motherfucker is dead already. Am I understood?”
I look around, making eye contact with each man. I mean business. They can see that. It isn’t hard to tell that I’m not a man to be fucked with. These are my brothers, though, and they trust me. Threats aren’t necessary. They just need to be shown that we are not weak.
I settle back in my chair, opening and closing my fist to shake loose the pain. No better way to get rid of an injury than work it until the pain is constant and you can go back to ignoring it. Or maybe I’m just a stubborn fuck. Hard to say either way.
“Talking about the problem isn’t going to fix a damn thing. Talking about solutions, on the other hand, will get us somewhere. I want ideas. If the races are on hiatus for a while, we need new sources of cash flow. Anyone who’s got something, now is your time to speak up.”
I’m glaring around the room. Just as Vince opens his mouth to start the discussion, there’s a knock at the door. Boulder, one of Croak’s bodyguards, sticks his head in the door.
“Mortar. Prez needs you.”
“I’m in the middle of a meeting,” I say. “Tell Croak I’ll be there when I’m done.”
“No. Now.”
I growl, trying not to let my face disturb the concern gnawing in my stomach. Croak knows this is important. Why is he interrupting?
“Vince, Steezy, you two run the meeting. I want some good shit on the table when I get back. This won’t take long.”
I limp out the door. Boulder shuts it behind me and points down the hall towards Croak’s office. I give him an icy side-eyed glance, then stride forward as quickly as I can. I see Sturm, Croak’s other bodyguard, standing at the door. Just as I start to walk past him on my way into the office, he puts a hand on my chest.
Before I can react, he throws me against the back wall. Pain lances out from my fractured rib. “Spread your legs,” he orders.
“What the fuck is this?” I bark.
He says merely, “Boss’s orders,” as he pats me down roughly from head to toe. He takes the knife from my boot and the gun from my hip, handing both weapons over to Boulder at his side. Convinced I’m unarmed, he steps aside. “Go on in,” he rumbles.
This can’t be good. I’ve never been patted down in my own clubhouse. Croak wouldn’t dare disrespect me like that. I fix a scowl on my face and barge in.
I start to yell as I walk in, “Croak, what the—” but before the words are even halfway out of my mouth, he cuts me off.
“Sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up.” He’s angrier than I’ve ever seen. Normally the picture of cool, right now he’s seething. His hair is fucked up, eyes rimmed red, and bags for days lining the underside of his eyes. “What in the fuck are you doing?” he demands. “What part of ‘lay low’ was so goddamn confusing to you?” He’s pacing back and forth like a caged tiger, hands wringing behind his back.
“Prez, what are you talking—”
“No. No.” He sticks a finger in my face. “Don’t fucking talk yet. I’ll tell you when to talk.” He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further. “You know what’s going on right now,” he’s rambling, “and you know what’s at stake. You’re supposed to be the number two around here, but what are you doing? Fighting a motherfucking cop in broad daylight! Explain to me exactly how the fuck that is in line with our whole plan to not draw attention to the club right now!”
I’m taken aback. This isn’t anything like the Croak I know. And then it hits me—he’s losing control and he knows it. He’s been sloppy, and now the chickens are coming home to roost. He’s overexposed. He’s slipping.
Part of me feels bad. He’s my president, after all. I promised to follow his lead. But it’s a dog-eat-dog world on this side of the law, and if you don’t take care of yourself, someone’s likely to take a bite out of your ass. Croak’s been around long enough to know that.
But right now is not the time for a power struggle. I know better than to alienate segments of the club by trying to push Croak out. Besides, I don’t want that responsibility yet. Being president is no easy job, and with all the shit I’ve got swirling around me right now—a girl at home, a ba
by to be bred, a cop carrying around a bullet with my name on it—it isn’t the right time to take up the mantle.
Besides, Croak is a good man, and I’m not a mutineer. He deserves better than that, and I refuse to stoop to backstabbing to get what I want. For now, I’ll listen.
“You’re being reckless, and you’re jeopardizing the club,” he asserts, leaning back on the desk and crossing his arms over his chest. “You need to sort this shit out, now.” He’s not asking me for a favor; he’s giving me an order. “You’re going to pay that stubborn motherfucking cop every cent that he’s owed. Out of your pocket, not with the club’s money. And you’re going to stay the hell away from him. I’d ask if that’s clear, but I don’t think you’re dumb enough to misunderstand what I’m telling you right now.”
I nod. There’s not much else I can do. It’s no use trying to explain the situation. Croak doesn’t want explanations. He wants money, plain and simple. The circumstances don’t matter. All that matters is the club’s survival.
Croak walks back to the other side of his desk and sits down as he ruffles through papers. I stand to walk out the door.
Just before I leave, he speaks up. He doesn’t look at me as he says, “End this, Mortar. Before it ends us.”
Easier said than done.
* * *
Walking in my front door, I notice a pungent chemical smell filtering in from the living room. I turn the corner to see Kendra happily absorbed in her own world. She wiggles her hips as she streaks broad daubs of paint on a fresh white canvas. I can see her feet tapping. She tosses her hair side to side to the rhythm of the music in her head.
My heart softens.
Kendra hears my boots clack on the tile of the hallway entrance and turns. The second she sees me, her face lights up. Eyes wide, huge smile, lips curving up to let those perfect white teeth glisten in the afternoon sun that dives between the window shades.
I’ve got a lot on my mind. For starters, I have no idea how I’ll pay Grady the restitution money he’s demanding. All my cash is tied up in investments that, without the races as a bartering ground, will take a long time to pay dividends, if they ever come through at all. Even if I did have everything, the amount he’s quoting is highway robbery. I still can’t believe that Kendra ever agreed to such a ridiculously unfair arrangement. Fuck him for taking advantage of an innocent girl.
But for now, I can push all that away. It’s easy when there’s a girl like this running towards me, jumping in my arms, and smothering me in a wet, tongue-deep kiss. I hold her ass in my hands as she wraps her legs behind my back. The money, the pain in my ribs, the lunatic policeman trying to kill me and the future mother of my children—all that is a distant afterthought compared to this moment.
I spin and pin Kendra up against the wall as she tangles her fingers in the roots of my hair and presses her face against mine. I kiss her back, then break away breathlessly.
“Busy day?” I ask, grinning.
“One of the prospects picked up a few canvases and some paint from the studio,” she says with a beaming smile. “It felt so good to paint again.”
Fuck, that happiness, that smile, that laugh. It’s intoxicating. Nothing has changed since the moment I first sat next to her on that club couch. I still want to coax that laugh out of her every day. I can’t imagine it ever getting old.
“Time to take a break,” I tell her.
“Hmm, what kind of a break did you have in mind?” she asks playfully, chewing on the end of her finger.
“One that doesn’t require any clothes.” I lean back in and suck a hungry kiss from her. Her body is smashed up against mine, close enough that I can feel her heartbeat throbbing in time with my own. She’s got on a soft, gray cotton dress, and I slide my hands under the hem to squeeze the plump skin of her thighs. The rasp of panties under my fingertips contrasts with the smooth texture of her skin.
I lift her higher with one arm, freeing the other to shove aside the underwear and insert a questing finger into her slit. I slide several long strokes, but it takes nothing for her to become wet with glistening moisture.
I want a taste of it.
She’s so light in my arms that it’s hardly an effort to push her even higher. I seat her legs on my shoulders, facing me, and rest her back against the wall.
“Mortar!” she yelps in fright, but she stops as soon as I start to lick her.
Burying my head between her thighs, I slurp at her slickness, running my tongue down the slit and around her lips, teasing her clit as I pass it with each rotation.
I growl and shake my head back and forth. My tongue whips back and forth across her most sensitive parts, there and then gone in a flash before returning, over and over again. I use her moans to judge what feels best to her. All of me is intensely focused on enticing a full-body orgasm from her. I can feel Kendra’s thighs locking around my ears as I go to work on pleasuring her with the sloppy cascade of mouth up and down her cunt.
I clutch her ass in both hands, spreading her farther apart so that my tongue can venture into her channel, soaking every nerve ending in sensation. She’s starting to quiver on my shoulders. One of her hands is pressed into the ceiling and the other clings to my head.
Kendra’s whole body is trembling like a leaf in the wind. Every muscle is cinched tight. I dig in deeper, shake my head faster, focusing on the one spot that elicits a shiver from her every time I pass it over. I zero in on it. I press with my tongue, alternating light then soft, in rapid clockwise circles, until I hear the shudder coursing from the pit of her stomach all the way up to her throat and beyond that lets me know she’s coming.
I don’t hesitate. I’m not done yet. As she rocks and clenches in her first orgasm, I drop her down into my arms and veer towards the couch in the living room. I throw her down on one end, knock her knees apart, and dive back down into her pussy, licking feverishly.
She’s barely come down from the first climax before I’m coaxing her back up the precipice of another. My pace is ferocious, unrelenting. I add fingers to delve into her tunnel while I suck her clit between tender lips and roll it with the pressure of my tongue. A soft hint of my teeth grazing the lips of her entrance draws out another shuddering groan. The mere suggestion of pain gives her pleasure a border to press against.
I can tell by her whimpering that she’s getting close to coming soon. It’s as much a continuation of the first time as it is a new edge on its own. I lick and finger her moist pussy in a blurry pace as she tightens every finger, toe, and muscle in her whole body. Tension runs from the soles of her feet to the top of her spine in long, electric bands, zig zagging up and down as she nears a breaking point.
I pull back.
“No!” she gasps. “Don’t stop!”
I grin and launch back in one more time. Three fingers in her hole and the wet friction of tongue on clit send her soaring. She jerks and spasms as the bands break, becoming live wires that flicker around her body and send pleasure gushing all over her skin and below. Her lips are chewed raw.
There’s only a moment’s pause before she leans up to latch her mouth onto mine, kissing me messily. I go to flip her on top of me, but as I do, we lose our balance on the couch and fall to the floor.
The tile is cold on my back and the edge of the rug is rough, but I ignore it along with everything else. There’s only here, only now, only her.
“Take this off,” Kendra says, tugging at my shirt. She goes to remove my belt. Without even bothering to take the time to work each button, I grab my shirt and rip. Buttons go flying as the garment tears open.
Below my waist, she yanks my jeans off my legs and takes me into her mouth. There’s a desperation to our touching, like we’re racing time to come with each other before the world can intervene. And who knows, maybe we are. All I know is that her skin is hot to the touch and I’m dying to slip inside of her.
She licks from the base of my shaft to the tip. Fondling my balls, she swirls her tongue around the head of
my cock at the same time that her other hand pumps up and down. She doesn’t need to do it for long; I’m hard as a steel rod already.
Suddenly, I sit up and seize her by the throat. She doesn’t let go of my cock as I pull her towards me. Her face is pure desire. I can see reflected in her pupils that mine is the same.
“Tell me what you want,” I growl.
“You know what I want,” she replies.
“I want to hear you say it.”
