Sinner's Revenge

by Kim Jones

  “Come here,” I growl, lifting her onto my lap—knowing I won’t last one more second if I stay inside her mouth any longer. With a slip of my fingers, her panties are pushed to the side and I’m sinking inside her—bareback and not giving one ounce of fuck. My hands tighten around her waist as I move her body up and down on my cock.

  “Ohmigod you feel so good,” she breathes, her head thrown back so her neck is exposed to me. I bite her, lick her, suck her sweaty flesh, and my dick grows harder with her every moan. She feels like heaven. We’re flesh on flesh, skin on skin, my cock is soaked in her wetness, and I’ve never felt anything like it.

  Her hips move in sync with me. She dances on my cock, her bare thighs bouncing on mine every time I lift her, then slam her back down. I flip up the console, then move us until she’s laying on her back and I’m driving into her. Pushing her dress up her body, I run my hands over her smooth stomach, knowing that in moments I’ll be coming on the flawless, tanned flesh.

  I look down and she is splayed open before me, and I can’t fucking help it. I have to taste her. Pulling out, I bury my face between her thighs, licking and sucking her until she’s coming in my mouth. Then I’m filling her again—pounding into her quivering pussy.

  I flip her to her knees, pushing her skirt up over her back so I have a full view of her ass that calls my name—begging me to be inside it. She’s so turned on at this point, I know she is as ready as she’ll ever be. I put my hand on her back, pushing her further down in the seat. Her ass raises slightly and I flex my hips to hit that sweet spot inside her. With every stroke, she moans, her body jerks, and she becomes more relaxed—opening herself up to me.

  My finger circles her ass—moistening it with her own arousal. I slip the tip inside and she doesn’t even flinch. Taking it further, I continue the slow, torturous strokes while my finger slides in and out of her—widening the one thing on her body that has never been touched. The one thing that will solely belong to me. The one thing that I’ve wanted, dreamed about, and went to extensive lengths to gain. Now she was going to give it to me.

  When I place the tip of my cock in her ass, she flinches and my fingers find her pussy. She loosens up, and I slide inside her one painstakingly slow centimeter at a time. My eyes roll back in my head at the feel of her. She’s so tight it almost hurts—but it’s so fucking good.

  “Relax, baby.” My words are a strangled whisper, but at my command her body relaxes. Something about dominating a woman as independent and self-righteous as her makes the feeling of being inside her that much sweeter.

  After what could have been hours, I pull out and slide easily back inside. I don’t even try to suppress the guttural sounds coming out of my mouth. And with my response, she relaxes further—completely submitting her body to me. Knowing that I have it at my disposal and she’s completely at my mercy makes me want her that much more.

  “Does this sweet ass belong to me, Diem?” I ask, my tone low and throaty.

  “Yes,” she breathes, and I feel her pussy tighten around my fingers at the sound of my voice. She likes when I talk dirty. And I like to give my girl everything she wants.

  “You should fuckin’ see how good you look from behind.”

  Her answer is a moan that comes from so deep inside her, I can feel the hum on my cock. “Your ass in the air . . . my cock going in and out of you . . . your sweet, perfect pussy coming all over my fingers . . . It’s fucking beautiful, baby.” And damn if it ain’t.

  I love fucking her like this. I’ve claimed her ass. I finally got what I’ve been wanting. And I know how not to fuck up a good thing. I don’t want to hurt her or be the reason she can’t walk tomorrow, so I refrain from fucking her like I want to—hard and fast and raw. But she has no regard for her own well-being and demands I give it to her just like she likes it.

  Just like I like it.

  Hard and fast and raw. My grip on her waist tightens, and with the jerk of my arms, I’m pulling her back against me. Before the sound of her ass hitting my stomach can fill the air, I’m driving inside her again until the sound of her screams overpower the sound of flesh on flesh. Her fingers find her clit, and almost instantly, she’s coming on my cock.

  When I feel my balls tighten, I pull out and flip her on her back. I want to look at her when I come. Seconds later, I’m coming on her stomach. Her hands slide over her skin, rubbing my come over her stomach and the top of her pussy. She’s panting. Her eyes are wide and captivating. I can’t do anything but look at her. She’s fucking beautiful.

  I don’t know why, but I can’t wait to hold her. I want to kiss her soft and slow and hold her so close to me that our bodies mold together into one. I don’t want to just fuck her. I don’t want to fight or argue or make deals . . . I don’t want to think about Death Mob, or the consequences of my actions or Sinner’s Creed. I only want one thing.

  Pulling her dress down, I grab her hand and tuck her into my side. She rides there, her head on my shoulder until we get home. She’s asleep when we arrive so I carry her in. Then I strip her down, clean her up, and finally give myself what I’ve really been waiting for all night.

  It’s not a quick fuck. It’s not her ass that she’d never given to anyone else. It’s the simplest thing that I never thought I’d ever want. Now it’s all I can think about. The one thing I’ve been waiting for since I woke up this morning is the one thing I can’t get soon enough . . . just me and Diem in my bed.

  * * *

  We’re eating cereal, in bed, naked, the next morning when she asks, “You wanna tell me what happened last night?”

  I shovel another spoonful of cereal in my mouth, not meeting her eyes. “I don’t like bullies,” I mumble.

  “Well you don’t have a problem bullying me.”

  Nudging her shoulder with mine, I give her a wink. “That’s because I don’t like you, gorgeous. But Mick I consider a friend.”

  Taking her bowl from her hand, I turn it up, finishing off the milk before getting out of bed. Something, a shoe I think, hits me in the back as I make my way to the kitchen.

  “The milk is the best part, you bully,” she says, but I can hear the smile in her voice. And I’m thankful that she doesn’t push the issue further. I don’t know what I’d tell her. And I don’t want to lie.

  Standing at the sink, I look out into my backyard, wishing I wouldn’t have taken all of the beauty of this place for granted. I never know when it’s going to end. I was playing with fire last night. Chances are, I was fixing to get burned. As if they could sense my uneasiness, I hear my phone ringing and find Nationals’ number flashing across the screen.

  “Yeah?”

  “Jackpot. Tomorrow. Check your calendar.” Jimbo hangs up in my ear, and my brain goes into overdrive wondering what event is happening tomorrow. And how in the hell I forgot. If I had it on my calendar, it must be important.

  Diem is in the shower, so I lock my bedroom door and dig the small notebook out of the back of my safe. Sinner’s Creed lives by many codes. If the feds were to ever raid my home, they would find plenty linking me to the club. But the information they found could not be decoded by anyone other than a brother. Not even ol’ ladies know the codes. It’s in the bylaws.

  The month is June, which is July for Sinner’s Creed. Tomorrow is the sixteenth, but to us it’s the second. I hold my breath while I open the small datebook. It could be anything—a hit, a benefit, a delivery . . . Whatever it is, isn’t what has me nervous. It’s how long I’m gonna be gone.

  Diem flashes in my mind. I can hear her on the other side of the wall. Her body naked and wet and in my shower. I don’t want to leave her for long periods of time. But, if the club tells me to, I will. And there will be no regrets, no doubt, and not a second thought if what we have has to end. My club comes first. Always and forever.

  I scan the pages, running my finger down the dates until I come to tomorrow�
�s. A slow smile creeps across my face as relief floods through my veins.

  Chaps. B.

  It’s Chaps’s birthday. A hell of a reason to celebrate. Two days of partying. Two days with my brothers. Two days where nothing else matters but commemorating the life of one of our own. Two days and I would be back here with her. And I haven’t even left, but already, I miss her.

  * * *

  “What you so pissed off about?” Tanner, the San Antonio sergeant at arms, asks me the next night. I’d given them back their rockers, and now I guess he feels like we were pals.

  We aren’t.

  I’m not in the mood to make new friends. I’m not even in the mood for the couple I have. My mind is clouded with thoughts of Diem. I want to be with her. I want to be Zeke—the man that allowed a woman to invade his home and try to control his life. For some reason, I actually like being that man.

  “Another,” I tell the slut behind the bar. A few months ago, I’d be banging the shit outta her. But right now, I find her almost repulsive. Too easy. Too fake. Too cheap. Too not like Diem.

  “It’s really none of my business, but I know a thing or two about relationships if you wanna talk.” I glare at Tanner, hoping he gets the message. He doesn’t. “I got three baby mamas, and a wife. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

  I want to kill him. But I can’t. He’s my brother. So I just get up and walk away, mumbling my opinion of him on the way out. “Yeah, Tanner. Sounds like you’re a real fucking hero.”

  I move to the patio, trying to escape my thoughts of Diem. But, even here with the booze, naked women and blunts, I still can’t get her out of my head. It goes back to when I told her I was leaving. I’d forgotten that we’d made plans to go out. I’d asked her on a date during a moment of weakness yesterday. I can’t seem to shake the conversation or the vision of her holding a pair of the sexiest black heels I’d ever seen in her hand.

  “So you won’t be here tonight?” she’d asked, wearing nothing but a towel. She looked pissed.

  “No.”

  “And tomorrow?” Yeah, definitely pissed.

  I swallowed hard, shaking my head as I told her the truth. “I don’t know.”

  “You know, Zeke,” she snapped, losing her temper. “It’s not that you’re leaving, it’s the fact that you made plans with me first. I don’t like being lied to.”

  “Diem, I didn’t lie. Something came up.” Liar. Well, something did come up, but it damn sure wasn’t the “family issue” excuse I’d been claiming for months now.

  “I’m going out tomorrow.” Her voice was more controlled, but cold and threatening. “And I’m wearing these heels. And if your ass isn’t there, then I’ll be digging them into someone else’s.” She stomped out, and I just stood there.

  It’s not like we’re monogamous. She can fuck whoever she wants. That feeling of jealousy she had, I’ve never experienced. I wasn’t going to start now. I’m miles away . . . surrounded by women begging for my cock. I don’t need her. Let her fuck some other guy. I don’t care.

  I Don’t Care.

  I DON’T CARE.

  But for some reason, I can’t resist the urge to put my fist through something.

  * * *

  It’s night two of Chaps’s birthday celebration. I’m hungover, tired, and feeling more dangerous and lethal than I can ever remember. I want to kill that motherfucker Diem dug those heels into last night. I want to crush his skull with my bare hands. Then I want to let her dig them heels into me, and dare her to tell me she liked him more.

  Zeke’s phone buzzes in my pocket and I deliberate opening the message. Knowing Diem, it’s probably a selfie of her riding some random guy’s cock. With the idea of killing them both, adrenaline bolts through my veins as I open the message, already preparing her slow death like I have so many times before. But the message I see has me melting all over my barstool like a lovestruck fucking pussy.

  I didn’t go out last night. Me and my heels made a decision . . . We’d rather just wait on you.

  I nearly knock Cynthia, the naked woman who’s been trying to get my attention all day, off the stool next to me when I stand and hit the call button.

  “Diem,” I say, my voice low and thick and laced with need. I’m walking outside and away from the noise. But apparently, I don’t escape fast enough.

  “Are you at a party?”

  “Yes.” I don’t lie. I don’t have any reason to.

  “Well, that’s just perfect, Zeke.” She sounds pissed.

  “Are you mad?”

  “Mad? No. Mad would be me frolicking through a field of flowers. Pissed off would have me burning your fucking house down.”

  “So . . . you’re not mad?”

  “Not mad.”

  “But you’re pissed off.”

  “Very much.” Shit.

  “What are you so pissed about, Diem?” Silence. “Diem?” More silence. I check my phone to see if I lost connection. I didn’t. “Hello?”

  “I’m losing my mind,” she whispers, and I can hear her as she paces the floor.

  “Are you okay?” A long pause.

  “No. I don’t think I am.” She hangs up, and I ignore the women who beg for my attention as I walk back in. The guys call to me from across the room, but I ignore them too. I’m removing my cut as I find Cleft, who has a whore in his lap. I fold my patch, holding it out to him. He stands, knocking the whore on her ass in the process.

  “I need to go home, Cleft. Tonight.”

  * * *

  I was a fucking idiot. I am a fucking idiot. I’d let thoughts of Diem being with another man boil my blood. The rage was so intense, I wanted to kill. Then, she told me she was home. At my home. Waiting on me. Not once did I consider how it would make her feel if she thought I might have done something with someone else. Now she had suspicions that I might have.

  It takes me almost eight hours, but finally, I’m pulling into the driveway. The house is completely dark, but it’s not that late. I pull my gun from my back as I quietly walk up the steps on the porch. It’s a precaution when I’ve been away, but always a precaution when it comes to Diem. She’d pointed a gun at me once. This time, I believe she’s mad enough to use it.

  I walk in and hear music coming from my bedroom. My eyes scan the living room and kitchen. Everything still seems to be intact. I sniff the air, searching for the scent of gasoline, but I don’t smell any. Thank fuck. Maybe the house will survive after all.

  I ease open the door to my bedroom and the smell of weed is thick in the air. She must have found my stash of pot and emergency candles. Every one of them is lit, casting a glow across the room.

  My shadow dances across the far wall and on the floor, facing it, sits Diem with her back against the bed. I drop my gun in my underwear drawer just as the song starts up again. It’s bluesy, slow and the woman singing sounds almost desperate. She must have it on repeat. I look over at my iPod and see Girl Crush—Lady Antebellum displayed on the screen—definitely not one of mine.

  I approach Diem like I would a frightened animal. She’s dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, but her hair is styled and those heels are on her feet. Between her fingers, she holds a blunt.

  “Diem?” She doesn’t acknowledge me, and her head dips further, preventing me from seeing her. “Are you crying?”

  “No,” she sniffs.

  I ease down on the floor next to her. Taking her chin in my hand, I turn her head to see black streaks running down her pretty face—her mascara staining her cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

  She doesn’t meet my gaze when she answers. “I’ve got a girl crush.” She frowns as two more tears fall freely from her eyes.

  “A what?” I ask, confused as fuck as to what she’s talking about.

  “A girl crush, Zeke. I got a girl crush on the woman who had you . . .” That must be some good weed. />
  “What woman?”

  “That woman you were with earlier.” She wipes her nose with her hand. Damn she looks pitiful. Who knew with a little bit of pot, Diem could transform into a normal girl who has feelings and shit.

  “I wasn’t with a woman,” I say, forcing her to look at me. “I wasn’t with a woman, Diem.” I tell her again when her eyes finally land on mine. At my admission, she cries harder.

  “I’m crazy, Zeke. I’m totally losing my fucking mind. I’ve never been jealous in all of my life, but you . . .” She pokes her finger in my chest, her lips quivering. “You make me want to feel that way. You make me want to possess something that’s not even mine.” I take the blunt from her fingers, taking a much-needed drag before stubbing out the fire in the ashtray.

  “You’re not crazy, Diem.”

  “Why would you want me to hear the sound of some bitch choking on your cock?”

  “That was a long time ago,” I say in my defense.

  “What about today? Was that a long time ago too?” She’s hurt. I’m an asshole. And I’m feeling every bit of the side effects from that title too.

  “I didn’t want that girl, Diem. Not then and not today.”

  She searches my eyes, looking for truth. She’ll find it. Monica was convenient, but I never really wanted her. And I never gave those bitches today a second glance.

  “Prove it,” she challenges, finding her backbone.

  “I will.”

  “Now, Zeke. Prove it now.”

  Bringing her hand to my lips, I kiss her fingers. “I never kissed her . . . I couldn’t kiss her,” I admit, a little ashamed. For a man like me, kissing a woman was more intimate than fucking one.

  “Why?” she whispers, just as the song starts over again.

  I run my thumb across her bottom lip. “Because these are the only lips I want.” She closes her eyes, and my knuckles graze the tear streaks on her cheeks. “I didn’t touch her either.”