Bowie's Angel

by Lynn Burke

  “Mmm, I think so,” I murmured when she didn’t answer, lust and satisfaction simmering throughout my body. “But where?”

  I pulled back, and her eyelids fluttered open, her pupils dominating the green of her eyes.

  “Here?” I asked, smoothing my thumb over her plump, glossed lips.

  “Here?” I brushed my knuckles down over the swell of her right tit, my dick jerking again at the hardness of her nipple beneath my grazing caress. “Or…”

  I worked my hand between our bodies, down over the front of her leather skirt until I caressed the smooth, warm skin above her knee.

  “Here?” I slid my palm up the inside of her thigh.

  Another shudder rippled through her, and she fisted her hands in my shirt.

  I rubbed my thumb in circles just shy of her pussy, need like I’d never known taking me to the edge of my self-control, a self-control I prided myself on.

  “What’s it going to be, Hannah?” Ragged and low, my voice sent a shiver over her body.

  “M-my lips.”

  I took her mouth in a bruising kiss, tightening my hold on her neck, tilting her head and thrusting my tongue between her lips that tasted of strawberries and cream. Not just innocent, but fucking untried in every way -- she didn’t have a clue what to do with her tongue, so I showed her, sliding alongside hers, tasting, taking until she got the hang of sucking face.

  She whimpered, and beyond giving a fuck how old the little temptress was, I cupped her pussy.

  Hot and soaked.

  Fuck.

  She tore her mouth from mine and whimpered.

  I licked the sweet taste of her gloss from my lips and pressed the heel of my hand against her clit.

  “Oh!” Lower lip between her teeth, she clenched her eyes shut, her brow furrowing as she bucked beneath my touch.

  “You like my hand on you.”

  She whimpered and ground against me even though she shook her head.

  “You’ll like my tongue even more.” I dropped to my knees and shoved her skirt up around her tiny waist. Pink lacy panties -- so fucking virginal, I groaned. Goose bumps pebbled her legs, and I lifted my gaze, sliding a finger along the edge of her panties and pushing them aside while grasping her ass cheek with my other hand.

  Hannah still had her lower lip between her teeth, eyes clenched shut, hands fisted at her sides.

  “Look at me.”

  Like a good little girl, she obeyed, and I held her gaze, flicking my tongue out.

  Sweeter than any fucking cotton candy I’d licked before. Addictive honey…

  I lapped up through her bare slit, and she grabbed hold of my hair, holding me close. “Oh, mercy.”

  Nope. No fucking mercy. I lifted her leg, tucked her knee over my shoulder, and ate at her like a starved man. She whimpered and moaned, fucking my face, her fingernails digging into my scalp while I kneaded the softness of her ass with enough force to sting.

  I sucked her tight nub into my mouth, tugging with my teeth while rimming my fingertip around her quivering hole. A flick of my tongue made her shudder in my hold, and I pressed into her tight sheath a mere inch before meeting resistance.

  “S-stop!” Her body spasmed, curling in on itself, and she grabbed my hand to keep me from finger fucking her while crying out. “Oh, sweet Jesus!” She held my wrist in a vise-like grip as she came undone.

  I honored her not wanting my finger in her pulsing pussy, but I lapped up the cum slipping from her body, rumbling my appreciation and satisfaction in my chest as she moaned and gasped, whimpering while coming down from her climax.

  She slumped against the door, panting, and pushed my face away from heaven.

  “So goddamn sweet.” I stood back up, nudging against her bare pussy with my jean-clad, aching dick, my lips finding hers.

  She turned her face away from me before I could shove my tongue into her mouth. “D-don’t.”

  “I just want to taste you again, sugar. Not going to fuck you against the door -- unless you want me to.”

  Hannah cleared her throat, her body straightening once more, finding that sassy spirit she’d worn when first walking into my office. “What I want is that job you promised me.”

  The thought of her stripping on stage and baring her young body to a bunch of horny bastards with grabby hands raced the need to knife the fuckers until their blood pooled around my feet.

  “Fuck.” I pushed away and shoved my hands in my jeans pockets to keep them from shaking, so goddamn disturbed by my thoughts, I fought to breathe evenly. Memories of a prone body covered in blood flashed through my mind, and I clenched my jaw, desperate to keep them at bay.

  “You’ve had your … kiss,” she said, finding the strength to glare even though pink stained her cheeks while she pushed her skirt back down, “more than one, actually, so you owe me a job.”

  Tipping my head back, I closed my eyes and fought for control. She’d woken the monster, goddamnit. The part of me I’d hoped would never manifest, the darkness that had taken my father’s mind and mother’s life.

  My head spewing curses, I spun and rounded my desk. “Get the fuck out.”

  “But you promised!”

  I grabbed the flask from my top drawer, uncapped and tipped the fucker up, sucking down every drop, erasing the addictive taste of her from my lips.

  “You promised!” she repeated, stepping close to my desk as I tossed the empty flask back in the drawer. “I’m flat broke and have bills to pay. I need this job!”

  “What you need to do is get the fuck out.” I met her gaze, letting her see the kind of man I was, the Devil’s Outlaw, bad mother-fucking biker my brothers knew me as. “Get out before I force you down over this desk and shove my dick so far up your ass you’ll lose your voice from screaming.”

  Goddamn, the thought of doing just that oozed pre-cum over my crown, and I squeezed myself to keep from shooting off like a fucking teenager.

  Eyes wide, she stared at my hand wrapped around my bulge, her entire face flushing, lips parting. She shifted on her feet, her gaze flitting up over me toward the black-and-white image above my head. I knew the one. A woman bound spread eagle to a bed, blindfolded, head tipped back in ecstasy.

  Hannah Morris was gorgeous, turned on by my threat of violence and bondage, but deadly for my fucking head. “Get. Out,” I seethed through my teeth, still squeezing my dick.

  “You … you bastard.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she spun, wrenching open my office door and disappearing.

  Fuck it all to hell, I wanted to run after her. Throw her to the ground, rip her clothes off, and claim every goddamn inch of her pale skin. Fuck through the cherry still intact inside her pussy. Shoot my cum deep inside of her and watch it drip out, tinged red with her blood.

  Mine.

  A shudder ripped through me at the thought of seeing her bleed like that.

  “Fuck.” I yanked my dick out of my jeans and jerked myself hard and fast. “Fuck!” Five strokes, and I shot into my fist, jaw and eyes clenched shut. I slumped in my office chair, unmoving until my heart rate slowed to normal.

  The young woman was pure fucking poison to my soul. No matter how much I wanted to claim her as my property, she would be the undoing of my existence.

  Sending her away was the best goddamn thing I could do -- and I hated myself for it.

  Chapter Two

  Hannah

  My roommate lay on the couch in the over-sized T-shirt she used as a nightgown, a pink-frosted Pop Tart in hand.

  I blew out a breath, sank onto the cushion beside her, and tipped my head back, eyes closed.

  “That good, huh?”

  “I’ve never been so humiliated in my life,” I muttered.

  “What happened?”

  “He wanted a kiss.”

  “How is that humiliating?” True wonder lit her voice. “Bowie is supposed to be like the hottest thing ever.”

  I opened my eyes and stared at the water stain on the living room ceiling. “I gave h
im that kiss, but he wanted more before giving me the job.”

  “My God. Did he make you suck him off?”

  “No.” I turned toward my newest -- and only friend -- since running away from home. It had been her “Roommate Wanted” sign in the local café that had kept me off the streets after my cash had run out. I should have taken more from my mother’s purse or tried to get cash from my trust fund, but I didn’t have the patience or desire to fight my way free from their rule. I’d just wanted out.

  “Bowie got on his knees.” I hated that the words twinged my pussy again.

  Cadence’s blue eyes widened, her jaw dropping. She sputtered a few times, sitting upright and angling toward me. “Say again?”

  “He. Went. Down. On. Me.” Although a new friend, Cadence had come from a similar background and knew everything about my innocent life. The bucket list waiting to be conquered. The sins I had yet to commit. She’d gladly introduced me to her favorite porn sites and wine even if I wasn’t yet of age.

  “Holy shit.” She giggled. “How was it?”

  “Mercy.” My head tipped back again, eyes closing, as my body remembered all too well the invasion of his tongue and lips, the climax he brought on so damn fast I’d wanted to die right then and there. I shivered, pissed that my body warmed through again. “So damn good. But, he didn’t give me the job.”

  “The fucker!”

  “Yeah.” I sat up and glanced around the sparsely decorated apartment, needing… something. “He took two firsts from me, and sent me away empty-handed.”

  “You need some wine.”

  I blew another breath between my lips as she hopped up and headed into the kitchen. Cadence was twenty-five, had been stripping for four of them, had slept with dozens of men since she’d turned twelve, but I didn’t judge a single bone in her body like my parents would have. Kind as could be, Cadence loved her friends hard and unconditionally. I’d yet to meet a so-called Christian who did the same, especially when it came to money. The reason I trusted Cadence with my life? She refused to cash in on the reward my parents offered. It had been plastered all over the TV since I’d disappeared without a trace.

  It was before noon on a Sunday, a time when I used to sit all prim and proper in the front row while my dad preached before his congregation of over six thousand. Now I sat beside my newest best friend, glass of wine in hand, spilling every single thing I could remember about the hours since she’d dressed me and sent me on my way earlier that morning. I ripped off the boots and curled my legs beneath me as the wine buzzed through my system.

  Cadence lifted her glass when I finished my arousing tale and clinked it against mine. “There are a couple other strip joints around. Hell, I would love to introduce you to Jackson.”

  She had offered to hook me up with the owner of the place where she danced, but I needed something within walking distance, something farther from where I’d grown up and where people might recognize the kidnapped daughter of TV evangelist Samuel Harris. While D.C.’s rich “public servants” in suits and ties tucked bills in Cadence’s G-string, I wanted something naughtier, men like I was unused to seeing every Sunday. I wanted rough and tumble men lusting after me, their raunchy words shooting me into an adrenaline high. I just didn’t want them touching me.

  “I’m going back,” I said, twirling the slight bit of red left in my glass.

  “Seriously?” Cadence asked before sipping her second glass of wine.

  “Yes.”

  “Glutton for punishment,” she murmured. “You really think he’s going to change his mind?”

  I considered what little I knew about the man and his reactions to my body language and words. “He’s an alpha male. Dominant without a doubt,” I murmured, thinking again about the pictures on his office walls and how he’d reacted to the Past Hannah’s submissive nature that had been pounded into me since childhood. “He claimed to like my sass, but when I demanded he give me a job, he shut down.”

  “He probably doesn’t like being told what to do. No alpha male does.”

  I snorted, pleasantly buzzed and actually smiling. “I’ll give him a couple days to calm down, and I’ll go back.”

  “And if he tells you to suck his cock?” A luscious shiver pebbled my skin, and Cadence snickered. “He’s going to take another first from you, isn’t he?”

  I thought about sinking to my knees before Bowie and the resulting arousal, the excitement of the unknown, changed my mind about that particular form of submission. “I’m going to give him that first, then I’m sure he’ll give me a job.”

  “And if he still says no?”

  “Then I’ll go out into the lounge and just start dancing anyway. That’ll change his mind for sure.”

  Cadence threw her head back and laughed, morphing my saucy smirk into a grin. “You’ve got more confidence than anyone I ever met, and that’s saying something considering your upbringing.”

  “You’re the one who said my ballet background makes me a great dancer,” I said, eyeing the stripper pole taking up most of the living room space. Cadence had taught me everything she knew in less than two months. I’d taken to the pole like fish to water, same as I’d done with ballet.

  “You kick ass on that pole.” Still laughing, she peered at me, her blue eyes twinkling. “Ten seconds, and he’ll be salivating, begging you to dance on his stage. I don’t doubt it.”

  I prayed to my parents’ God I no longer believe in that she was right.

  * * *

  Bowie

  I downed a shot of whiskey and clanked the empty glass on the table. Gunner, the Devil’s Outlaws president, sat across from me at the small corner table and did the same. Once a month, my brother stopped in to go over the books rather than stare at pussy and tits. The strip joint had been nothing but a moneymaker in the five years it had been opened.

  I’d been acting manager for three of those five, and since taking the reins had made it into a lucrative business. Having changed to a “no colors” policy, we saw all types come through the doors. Other clubs, other gangs, and plenty of blue-collars from D.C.’s northern suburbs enjoyed the shows our girls put on. It helped that we had some of the hottest ass around.

  Sucked that I’d had to let the hottest piece of ass I’d ever seen and squeezed in my hands leave without signing a contract. Fucking Hannah. That little innocent haunted my goddamn mind to the point I jerked off countless times in a day -- and couldn’t even think about getting it up for one of the club whores. Celibate for an entire fucking week because of a virginal submissive with the perfect amount of sass.

  “What’s got your balls twisted?” Gunner asked, his voice hoarse from too many smokes, as he pushed the month’s paperwork aside to lean on the table, arms folded.

  “Girl.”

  He glanced around, his gaze sliding over the two dancers on stage without so much as a pause or flicker of interest in his dark eyes. “One of ours?”

  I shook my head while pouring us another shot. “Came in last Friday. Young. Tight, little body with mile-long legs.” I slammed the shot back.

  Gunner picked up his shot glass and peered at me. “She here for a job?”

  “Yeah, but I sent her on her merry fucking way.”

  He tipped his head back, downing the whiskey. “What the fuck you do that for?”

  I pulled the bowie knife from its sheath in my boot and set it on the table, my hand lightly resting atop it as I stared at him.

  Gunner eyed my favorite blade before lifting his focus to my face, one eyebrow raised. “What’s pussy got to do with your knives?”

  Half of the club whores at the compound knew my twisted kink when it came to a little knife play in the sack. Hell, even a few of the dancers had become well acquainted with my blades. Wasn’t a fucking secret, but the reason behind my obsession of playing with knives was only known to one man -- and he sat across the table from me. He’d been the one to nickname me not long after spilling the dark secret of my childhood and the signif
icance of a bowie.

  Before I got a chance to explain how Hannah woke up that blood-lust demon inside, threatening my self-control, Gunner glanced behind me and sat back, brows arched and appreciation in his stare. “Goddamn.”

  I angled toward the entrance -- the only time of the week I allowed my back to face it was with Gunner sitting across from me. An ex-Navy SEAL from the Afghan War, Gunner knew how to keep a brother safe. He also deserved my trust for saving my life over a dozen times since I’d become a patched member of the Devil’s Outlaws.

  My gaze snagged on a long wave of blonde hair caressing a blood-red leather skirt hugging an ass I’d had my hands wrapped around the Sunday before.

  “Fuck.” I shoved my knife back in its sheath, hopped up, and strode across the lounge, focused on her face like a fucking laser as she turned toward me.

  Her saucy smirk with those full, glistening lips hit me like a punch to the gut, jerking my dick to attention.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, little girl?” I asked, getting all up in her shit, the scent of cotton candy invading my nose and tightening my balls.

  She dropped her gaze all subbie-like, and I bit back my groan, hands fisted at my sides to keep from grabbing her and slamming her against the closest wall. Fuck into her tight pussy and take what I’d been dreaming out for a fucking week.

  “I came back to beg you to reconsider.” Hannah peered up at me through her lashes. “Sir.”

  Double fucking hell. I slammed my eyelids shut and groaned. Goddamn little minx knew more than I’d thought, even as virginal as she was.

  “What have we here?”

  Gunner’s voice rumbled directly behind me, and teeth clenched, I stepped away from Hannah, my cock aching. “Hannah Morris,” I managed past gritted teeth, every muscle of my body tense.

  “She the one?”

  I jerked my head in a nod, holding back the mine screaming through my goddamn brain.

  Gunner stepped into the space I’d occupied, and Hannah lifted her chin, meeting his gaze head on. The girl had spunk. I wondered if she knew who she faced -- and if she had naturally submitted to me or if she had been putting on a show to get what she wanted.