by Star, Amy
She looked over her glass and her eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “Truth be told, I’m a reporter,” she admitted, and then blushed—can I so easily blow my cover for a handsome face, she wondered. “I mean, I’m on assignment. Just finishing a story. But I thought I’d check out the bar.” She looked for the tell-tale signs of repugnance from Blake, but was thankful to see only that quiet speculative countenance again, like he was perpetually trying to work something out behind those slate grey eyes.
Most times she confessed to people she was a reporter there was a knee-jerk reaction to suddenly recoil in suspicion.
“No kidding,” he said at last, and took another sip. He undid his tie a little more, and she saw that the top buttons of his white shirt under his blazer had come undone, revealing dark curled matrixes of black chest hair. “Wow, that must be a hell of a job. I like to write, when I can—probably the last thing you’ll hear coming from a biker. But I could never write for a newspaper.”
“It’s an addiction,” she admitted, leaning back on the bed across from him. Her sweater lifted with the movement, and she saw his eyes dart toward the narrow rim of tan flesh that peeked out above the top of her cargo pants. “But who cares about me, I’m boring.”
Blake raised a querulous eyebrow and forced back a grin. “That I find very hard to believe,” he said, and this time his eyes moved up to her chest where both breasts prodded against the fabric. Lily gulped, feeling her own innate desires swell against some inexplicable force. “You seem like a fascinating woman. And I’m not just saying that.”
“Well, you’ll make me blush,” she laughed, “if you’re not careful.”
Then, quite unexpectedly, Blake stood up and took two steps toward her. Lily held her breath and felt her heart rate suddenly spike. This close to him, she could tell that there was more to his appearance—the funeral attire had concealed something of the true grit that seemed to be iconic of his gang, and she felt herself inexplicably turned on.
“This is good wine,” he whispered, holding his empty cup toward her.
“Do you want more?”
He shook his head and set the glass down on the bedside table, looming over her dangerously. There was an animal smell to him, something intangible, that hovered at the edge of her periphery—she couldn’t put her finger on it, and it was annoying. But at the same time, she couldn’t help but acknowledge the strange charisma he seemed to have, both on the other members of his gang and women alike.
“I think I’ve had enough,” he murmured, his breath almost glazing her face, “and what I’m thirsty for can’t be sated by wine.”
Lily stood up, almost against her will—the two parts of her brain were competing, raging against one another. Her professional side wanted to continue to probe Blake, to unearth whatever it was she could tell he was hiding. The other side, the woman side of her, couldn’t help but be swayed by his masculine aura. As she stood up, Blake took half a step back, and the two stood face-to-face. Blake’s chest rose and fell with each breath, and she found herself trying to catch her own.
“What are we doing?” she half-whispered.
Blake gently reached toward her and stroked her cheek with his thumb, and she saw that there was a strange script tattooed on his knuckles, something that looked archaic. She closed her eyes and leaned into it, even as that ever-serious part of her brain screamed at her. You’re getting too close!
But how long had it been since she’d been close to another man? In all earnestness, too long. She had tried the dating scene back in town, but that had only caused her to distrust men all the more. The sort she kept ending up meeting were more concerned with their ego than presenting an honest appraisal of themselves, but she also knew that the reason for that may have been her own success and assertiveness; more than once her female colleagues had commented on the fact that the other men in the office were intimidated by her.
But this was different somehow. She found herself already giving in to him and reached toward his face as well. The small bristles of a dirty-blond five o’clock shadow tickled under her fingertips as she stared into his eyes, and it was like having a quarry stare back; it was cold and thrilling and she held her breath again as he leaned down toward her.
His lips, when they touched hers, were hot. Hotter than she’d expected—and even as she moved her lips against his, pressing and pushing, she felt the heat of it start to rise. Blake’s breath moved between her lips and into her mouth and she tasted him on the top of her tongue, a kind of heavy moisture. Blake’s hands pushed out in front as he gripped her shoulders and moved them roughly over the sweater, lingering toward her lower back. Lily’s small frame pressed up against his body which was hard as a tree trunk, and she felt dwarfed by him all of a sudden as she leaned her head back, tipping her mouth into his like a hungry bowl accepting the gratefulness of water.
She opened her mouth wider as he cocked his head, and his tongue darted into her mouth, licking hard against her white teeth and she let out a pitiable moan of pleasure. Her stomach felt as if there were a sun exploding in it. She pushed her body hard into his and felt a warm tingling between her legs as she ground herself into his thigh.
Blake sighed and pulled up on her sweater and she gasped again as she felt the chill air of the room settle on her skin, bringing goosebumps to the surface. His heavy head, wide and thick as a sledge, eyed her carefully and with a kind of restrained desire, as if he were truly appreciating every curve and shadow of her—not like most men, she had to admit.
He leaned toward her again, but this time his mouth went toward her neck and she gasped again, reveling in the pleasure of his lips and tongue caressing the tender flesh of her shoulder and the top of her scapula. At the same time, his hands were moving toward the back of her bra and she heard the snap of it as it came apart. Very slowly she let the bra fall onto the floor.
Her small breasts heaved with her breath, and the nipples were immediately erect, whether because of the chilliness of the weather or because of how easily she had given into this moment, she couldn’t tell. Blake’s rough hands moved up and caressed them, clenching them like stones in his fists, and he rubbed teasingly at the crowns of each nipple, evoking such pleasure she half-worried he might bring her to a climax there and then.
“You like that?” he murmured.
“Yes, suck them,” she said, closing her eyes and rubbing her fingers through his hair.
Instead, he nudged her toward the bed and she leaned onto her back against the sheets even as he crept over her, parting her legs with one thigh while he held her ribs between his massive hands like some sort of instrument and licked tentatively at her chest. That was a new kind of eroticism, and she loved it—as Lily opened her eyes, she saw her left breast disappear into his mouth, and felt his tongue and teeth grate across the nipple.
“Unnh, yes, like that… oh my god,” she murmured.
“You taste amazing,” he breathed.
“More, go lower,” she said, throwing her hands behind her head. The smell of the sheets around her lifted to her nostrils and she breathed it in, shutting her eyes even tighter as she let go of the reins on her passions.
Blake was rough with his hands, and there was a moment when Lily opened her eyes and stared straight up at the ceiling and briefly found some clarity of consciousness—this is wrong, she thought, and knew it instinctively. But was that just the part of her mind that had lived too long in the city, that had gotten too comfortable with the easy muted and toned down life of being a reporter at a small scale press? In her youth, she had been reckless—I still am, she tried to assert, and knew that giving in to this potential leader of a biker gang was her way of reaffirming that fact.
Hell with it, she thought.
“Take my pants off,” she moaned and opened her thighs wider. Blake’s hand moved down and cupped her crotch through her pants, pulling up firmly enough that she let out another squeak of desire and felt herself warming to his touch. His face snuffed hard
against her breasts and her belly, like some kind of animal catching the scent of its prey.
Lily didn’t need to wait. The giant of a man was already unzipping her pants and slid them down and off her ankles in a single motion that caused her to hold her breath. Her black panties hugged her tiny waist, and the mound of her pubis stretched provocatively against the fabric. The tiny cleft of her vulva through the black cotton was nearly moist with her expectation.
Blake got up briefly on his knees and took off his shirt and she found herself holding her breath again. He was lean, but his frame was solid with muscles, as if he’d spent his whole life in the woods. It wasn’t like the exaggerated muscles of some of the men she had hesitatingly took to bed back in the city, the gym-pusher types who were big for big’s sake—no, Blake was ripped, but it was all muscle that had been garnered from a life spent on the road, she imagined, looking over his shoulder. Scars wound up his shoulder blade, and there were several lateral ones crisscrossing the angular shadows of his intercostal muscles. His chest hair was dark and curly, and seemed to writhe of its own free will each time he took a deep breath.
But what stopped her were the tattoos. All across his chest and onto his shoulder blades, and stopping just short at his elbows, were a slew of iconic artworks that made her think of some of the Finnish ideograms she’d once seen at a museum in New York.
“Wha-what are these?” she said, leaning forward and tracing her finger across his chest and down his abdomen. Blake unzipped his pants and pulled his jeans off with a grunt before replying, and Lily unconsciously looked toward his crotch. His manhood was pressed tight against his briefs, threatening to loosen.
“The history of my people,” he said, without going into detail.
“Pretty bad ass,” she remarked.
“They were given to me when I was sixteen,” he replied, leaning forward and kissing her neck again, his tongue tracing its wet cursive across her skin. “They’re like a sort of vow you take when you join the gang.”
“And what,” Lily sighed, and shivered as she leaned back down on the bed and he loomed over her, opening her legs again with the thrust of his body, “what is the vow you take?”
Surprisingly, he stopped and stared straight at her, those hard grey eyes unflinching as a wolf’s—or, Lily thought, a bear’s. A thin smile spread on his lips, one that Lily had seen many times as a reporter. It was the sort of tight-lipped grin a person gave when they were hiding something, or when you’d gotten too close to something they didn’t want you to know.
Lily returned the grin and reached down, gripping his manhood in her small strong fist, and was pleased to see Blake’s expression shift as she took control. He closed his eyes and growled low in his throat, and Lily opened her mouth in a look of pleasure.
Blake’s hand reached down again and tore her panties off, revealing the thin rectangular strip of dark pubic hair. Her waist was skinny, the pelvic bones dipped inward, almost as if her groin were offering itself like an empty vessel, aching to be desired. Blake wasted no time in pulling his briefs off as well, and the two of them were naked and unashamed.
His manhood was thick and large, nearly grotesque in its girth, and Lily bit back on a little pang of fear, wondering what it would feel like to have such an organ penetrate her. She did not have to wait long as Blake loomed above her, his breath hot and cloistered, and she opened her mouth again in a little gasp as she spread her thighs wider and gripped the tip of his penis, guiding it against the wet flap of her cleft.
“Oh, geezus!” she murmured, squirming as he entered her slowly. She felt his shaft slide slick between her fingers as he moved, pushing into her deeper and Lily’s eyes went wide as she craned her head back. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before, and her teeth gnashed shut as she tried to steady her breathing. “You’re so… big, oh god,” she cried out.
“You’re so fucking hot,” Blake murmured, his deep, raspy voice settling on her like silt, and she felt herself pressed down, buried not only under his words but the physical limitations of his body pressing down onto her and into her.
“Fuck me harder,” she pleaded, pulling her arms above her head where she clenched at the sheets. His hands rubbed her thighs and under her breasts as he propped himself up and slid in and out, breathing into a rhythm that both of them could share.
Lily looked down between the warm, damp space between their abdomens and saw the base of his penis slipping between the dark manifolds of her labia, pushing aside the soft flesh and scraping against the inner sensitive regions of her groin. It was amazing how sensitive it was—she felt as if she could picture every square centimeter of him, pushing and tempting against her G-spot. Reflexively she butted her hips up higher, trying to focus more pressure on that aspect of her physiology that would drive her to a climax.
She was already getting there, and sucked in deep breaths through her teeth. Each time Blake entered her, she felt the tiny hairs of his belly scraping against her tender, flawless navel and felt as if she might suddenly come all at once. Somehow, she was able to hold onto her desires, and wrapped her legs around him.
“Harder!” she beckoned, her black hair suddenly matted on her forehead. Sweat was pooling at her brow, but she wasn’t aware of anything other than the physical presence of their two bodies intertwined, struggling in an almost selfish endeavor to orgasm first.
Blake pushed into her harder, his fucking suddenly fast and furious, and the wet slap of their groins pulsing into one another made Lily moan loudly again, almost like a child. It must have inspired Blake because he suddenly became gentler and stroked her face and her neck with one hand while his other came down, flattening on her hipbone as he pulled himself into her.
“Christ, I’m-I’m going to come… I’m going to come,” she cried through muted gasps.
As if anticipating the imminence of both their passions boiling over the sides, Blake pulled out of her, the wet tip of his organ glistening with a sticky substance, and it bobbed against her belly, leaving its snail-tracks to dry on that virginal patch of skin above the thatch of pubic hair.
Following his lead she turned on her stomach and propped herself on her knees, flashing her ass for him in a way that made her feel at once vulnerable but paradoxically back in control again—she was controlling the mode and speed of their lovemaking, dragging him along, and her legs quivered again as she felt her own warm fluids spark against the sides of her inner thighs and runnel down onto the sheets.
Blake arched forward, his biceps cringing with the effort and his blunt head fitted in a look of focus. Again, that hunter’s expression, and Lily turned away from him and reached at the back of the bed frame, arching her delicate Asian back in a U-shape as he guided himself toward the luscious swollen entrance of her vagina.
“Unnh!” she grunted again as he entered her, but this time at least she was ready. Still, he was massive, and taking her from behind, the sloped bulb of his manhood pressed all the more firmly on her G-spot and she had to bite her lip. More liquid gushed from her groin and she reached between her legs to massage the flowery flesh around her clitoris. “Fuuuuck,” she grimaced, her other hand tightening on the bed frame.
“Can I come in you?” he murmured.
She merely nodded. She was beyond pleasure now. She could only squirm and writhe against a breach of sensation that had already tipped over the dam of her reservations. No, that wasn’t quite right—the dam itself had burst and she was merely waiting, helpless, for that ecstasy to envelope her. Her breath staggered in her chest again, starting her small breasts swinging like pendulums, and Blake’s hands firmly held her by the waist so she could not unconsciously escape.
“Christ, Christ, Christ, fuck me, I-I can’t... unnhh!” she gasped.
Blake butted into the pert roundness of her ass in a final push, and Lily let out a huff as the oxygen left her lungs and she fell onto her face, her cheek pressed into the pillow. Her ass was still high in the air, the canal of her womanh
ood open to this stranger with tattoos, and the wave finally hit her. The orgasm was like lightning, igniting every nerve of her being at once, as if she was being electrocuted. Her eyes rolled up into her head as she held on for dear life, a small cry of pain and pleasure whistling between her full lips and she closed her eyes tightly.
A clear fluid gushed from her groin, dribbling down her thighs, and she felt a raw ache between her legs. Blake came moments later as her climax clenched her vaginal muscles around his organ. His cry was more sullen, more laid back, as if he’d been hit by a bullet. A second warmth penetrated deep into her, burning her insides like a match, and she struggled against the sensation but Blake’s hands had turned to claws, plastering her ass to his groin. The white-hot jet of his semen burst around his shaft, even as he held himself inside her, and she reached between her legs again and felt his seed sticky in her fingers where it was already clotting against her pubic hair.
“Unnhh,” she murmured, finally collapsing—all the muscles in her body could not contain their lovemaking and she went limp until at last Blake finally let her go and she settled onto her side. She could barely keep her eyes open, even though the phantom sensation of his penis inside her remained. She stroked herself fondly between her legs, rubbing off the last vestiges of her orgasm, and cooing pleasantly.
Blake nestled in beside her, his thick muscled arm wrapping around her chest and drawing her close, and she gave in to the sense of security it offered. It was a long time later when she finally opened her eyes and a sense of clarity returned—but it was still surreal. The window of the hotel room was layered with drops of rain, but the sky was clearer now, equally exhausted as the two of them on top of the sheets.
Lily traced the tattoos on Blake’s arm, reveling in the artwork. There was something Norse about them, the angular use of geometric shapes to evoke animals. Almost mythical, she thought, and then suddenly felt a sense of revulsion. All her training returned, and though she had given in willingly to her own desires, she now felt like she’d somehow betrayed herself—or rather, the side of her that was carefree and wild had betrayed the side of her that valued her job. What the fuck did I do? she wondered, feeling another sickness come on, but it was only a sense of repugnance at her own recklessness.
