Patchwhore

by Kim Jones

  Sometime later, we finally come to an intersection with a stop light. Once we’re completely stopped, I twist first one ankle and then the other. Cook’s hands come to my knees, then slide down my legs. When he grabs my ankles and lifts my feet, I fist his shirt in my hands. He only chuckles as he places my feet in his lap and begins to rub the life back into them.

  I sigh, my shoulders drooping and my cheek resting against his shoulder. The position is quite comfortable and I wonder if he’ll let me stay like this. I decide it’s worth asking.

  “Hey,” I say, my mouth as close to his ear as I can get it, so I can be heard over the pipes. His chin lifts, his head turning toward me. “How impossible would it be to stay like this?”

  A smile curves on one side of his mouth. “I got you, gorgeous.” Ohhh, he’s got me again. There goes my heart, slipping and sliding all over the damn place.

  The pack starts to move. He gives my toes a final squeeze before crossing my ankles in his lap. Then we’re rolling through the light. I give a smug look to the patrol car parked in the median—waiting and ready for someone to violate a traffic law so he can pounce. Not us. We know people. It’s a powerful feeling.

  Soon, the formation begins to separate. One by one, the riders branch off on their own. Each with one hand in the air, waving goodbye before they’re gone. Since we’re at the back, we’re one of the last to break away. Cook keeps us on backroads, taking us the long way around to my apartment.

  He pulls next to my car and cuts the engine. Keeping the kickstand up and balancing us with his feet as he uncrosses my ankles, but leaves my legs around his waist. When I try to pull away, he grabs my wrists and guides them over his right shoulder. Then he twists slightly, grips my arms and spins me to face him, so I’m sitting half on the gas tank and half on his lap. I’m not sure how he managed to do it without both of us landing on our asses with the bike on top of us.

  “Smooth move, Mr. Delicious.” I stiffen the moment the word escapes my lips. Of course he’s grinning, while I stare at him with eyes the size of saucers.

  “Mr. Delicious?” he asks, amused as I’ve ever seen him. He removes my glasses and then his own, before dropping them in the space between us. “That’s a new one.”

  “My friend calls you that,” I lie, flushing like crazy.

  He quirks a brow. “Your friend? She hot?” His teasing and playful smile has me forgetting my embarrassing moment and rolling my eyes.

  “Dog.”

  “Kiss me.” The sudden demand is dark and low, quite a contradiction to who he was only seconds ago.

  “Maybe I don’t want to kiss you,” I say, lips parted. Breath heavy. Tongue itching to explore his mouth.

  “Then what do you want?”

  My eyes fall to his mouth. “To kiss you.” His lips quick. Mine seize them.

  Slowly my hands move over his cut. Up to his shoulders. His neck. The sides of his face. Then fist in his hair. I give a slight pull, and his head moves under my touch. Angling his mouth so I have better access.

  Desire sparks deep inside my core. My tongue delves deeper into his mouth. He kisses me back with the same fervor. Loosening my braid so he can run his fingers through my hair. I grind my hips into him, searching for contact and getting nothing but air.

  Instantly his arm is around my waist. The other on the handle bar. His left leg lifts, the heel of his boot finding the kickstand and pushing it to the ground. As the bike leans over, he stands with me around his waist and swings his leg over the side. Not once breaking our kiss.

  The journey up the stairs isn’t so smooth. He pulls his lips from mine and uses the railing to help launch us up the two flights. Taking the steps two and three at a time. I bury my face in his neck—kissing, sucking and nibbling the cool flesh there.

  At the door, he pulls his key from the pocket of his cut, and has us barreling through the threshold in record time. I’m untangling my legs from him even as he still walks us to the bedroom. Then I’m pushing his cut off his shoulders. When I attempt to toss it to the floor in my haste, he catches my hand. Distracting me with a kiss, he pulls it from my fingers and reverently lays it across the nightstand. But the moment it’s released, those same hands aren’t as gentle with me. They’re possessive.

  He grasps the zipper on my onesie and roughly tugs it to my navel. Then he’s shoving it off my shoulders. Fingers quickly unsnapping my bra as I pull my arms free. Bra jerked from my body, he grasps my breasts, dipping his head to cover my nipple with his mouth. Causing my head to loll as he sucks hard while caressing the tip with his tongue.

  I struggle to push my pajamas over my hips which are slightly wider than the opening allows. He resolves the problem by walking me backwards until the back of my knees hit the bed. With a gentle shove, I fall to my back. Landing with a bounce on the soft mattress.

  The zipper is loosened by his eager fingers. Fisting the material in his hands, he jerks my clothes over my hips and pulls them down my legs. I scramble to my knees, working his belt loose. Kissing his naked chest when he yanks his shirt over his head.

  Impatient, he swats my hands away and releases the button on his jeans. They’re only to his hips when he crawls between my knees. Wraps one big arm around me and forces me to my back—using his feet to push his pants the rest of the way down his legs as he covers my body with his. Kissing me like a hungry man. Rocking his naked hips against mine.

  He enters me on a single, hard thrust that leaves him buried deep inside me. My nails dig into his back as I struggle to find my breath. Overwhelmed at how he fills me. Stretches me. How satiny he feels. Smooth and soft against my tight walls. I hadn’t realized how much more pleasurable no barrier would be than the thin membrane of a condom.

  “Your pussy fits me like a glove,” he growls, pulling out only to push back inside me. I mewl. My knees falling further apart, greedy for more. “That’s right, gorgeous.” He thrusts deeper. “Spread those fuckin’ thighs. Open that sweet pussy up for me.” I oblige. My legs part as much as physically possible—acting as if the damn things hate each other. “Good girl.”

  “Sonofabitch,” I mumble, my sex inadvertently clenching around his shaft at his praise. Eliciting a guttural sound from him that’s so sexy, I purposely do it again just to hear it.

  In a strangled voice, he says, “Stop. It’s hard enough to keep from comin’ without you milking it from me.”

  I like the power I exude over him. It’s selfish, but I’ve never been more turned on than I am now. Watching him struggle to keep from falling apart. Seeing that pleasure in his eyes. The desire strong enough to have him gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw to keep his control. I squeeze him tighter just to see his reaction. But he must have anticipated my actions, because he was prepared this time.

  He’s out of me, I’m facedown, on my knees and his hand is whistling through the air. I’m still processing how in the hell it all happened so fast when his palm crashes against my backside. I’m stunned into silence a split second before pain surfaces.

  “Owwww!” I cry out, pulling myself up on my elbows so I can look at him. He’s waiting for me when I do. Pulling me back against his chest. Taking my chin in his hand. Tilting my head. Claiming my mouth. Kneading the raised handprint on my ass. Then softening his touch as he parts my lips with his fingers and slowly pushes one inside me.

  My, “Ow,” turns to an “Oh,” as he pumps one, then two in and out of me. “You like teasing me, gorgeous?” he asks, his voice velvet as he plants tender kisses to the corners of my lips. “Squeezing my cock with your pretty little cunt?” His dirty talk makes me tremble. Especially when he whispers the exotic words in my ear.

  “If you want the power baby, all you had to do was ask.” I don’t want the power. I want to be a “lazy girl,” and let him use me as he pleases. He’s so much better at it than me. Obviously. He pulls his fingers out of me. I moan my protest, but he ignores it. “Stand up,” he commands, delivering a light swat of encouragement to my hip.
>
  I stand on shaky legs, my knees wobbly as I fight to keep my balance on the soft mattress. He holds my hand for support and taps the inside of my thigh. “Straddle me.” He offers his other hand to me and I take it. Both excited and nervous as I position my feet on either side of his thighs.

  Sliding his hands to my waist, he leans back and urges me to sit on top of him. As I do, he fists his big cock and lines it up with my opening. Slowly, I lower myself. Inch by delicious inch he fills me once again. When I’m seated, I remain still for a moment. Delighting in how good it feels. How strong his thighs feel beneath the heated handprint on my ass. The way his fingertips tighten around my waist. His beautifully chiseled chest on display for my greedy eyes.

  I fold one leg under me and then the other until I’m on my knees. His eyes disappear behind his heavy lids for a moment before they flutter open to a dark blue. I’m thankful the light is on so I can see him. So he can see me.

  “Fuck me, gorgeous,” he demands. And fuck him is exactly what I do.

  I start out slow, rocking my hips against him. Lifting my body only a couple inches before taking my time sliding back down. I wanted to tease him. To make him writhe beneath me like I’d done beneath him so many times. But at the first sign of my impending orgasm, I lose all control.

  My body works him hard. Riding, rocking and moving in an offbeat rhythm in search of my release. I lean back and place my hands on his knees, lifting my body higher. Slamming down harder. Alternating my hands to tweak my nipples and palm my breasts. Watching him as he watches me. Licking his lips when I touch my chest. Flaring his nostrils when I stroke my clit. Fisting the sheets. Kneading my thighs. Gripping my waist. Anything to keep his hands busy.

  “Come here.” He drags me up his body. Leaving a wet trail of my desire across his chest. Then I’m sitting on his face. Riding his mouth. He’s fucking me with his tongue. And I’m coming hard. My nails scratching the wooden headboard. Moans echo off the walls of the room.

  When I find my breath, I’m on my knees at the edge of the bed. He’s standing behind me. Impaling me. Hands spreading my cheeks. Exposing me to him. He touches me there and I tense. I look over my shoulder to see him wet his fingers with his mouth. A deep flush spreads over me. Unable to look, I turn away and concentrate on how good it feels when he fucks me hard like this.

  His wet fingers spread moisture over the one place on my body that’s forbidden. But this time I don’t stiffen from his caress. It feels too damn good. When he presses one finger against the tight ring, I gasp.

  “No.”

  “Hush, baby.” His demand is as gentle as his touch. His drive slows to long, measured thrusts. He strokes my back. Hips. The back of my thighs. Pressing his finger against me again once I’ve loosened up.

  Surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt when he pushes the tip inside me. Actually, it’s the opposite. It feels forbidden and wrong, which makes it that much more pleasurable. “Push back against me,” he encourages. I do and he groans, deepening his touch. “My sweet, sweet girl.”

  I whimper. Whether it’s the “my” that has me feeling so precious or just the praise, I’m not sure. But something about his words has me feeling like I’m special. Someone worthy. Someone loved…

  “You’re gonna come like this. While I’m fucking you. Fingering you. Telling you how good you feel. How sweet you taste. How sexy you look. How perfect you are…”

  “Cook!” I scream, my orgasm rocketing through me. His gentleness subsides as he gives me just what I want. Knowing how much I love the way he pounds me while I come around him. His finger inside me only heightens the pleasure, if that’s even possible. It’s rough. Raw. Almost cruel. And so damn perfect.

  I collapse on the bed just as something warm covers my back. The feel of his release and the sound of his passion is enough to keep me trembling with aftershocks. Soon, our loud breaths are the only sound in the room.

  The bed dips as Cook stands. He returns a few minutes later, and presses something damp and warm against my back. The intimacy of him cleaning me has me swooning. Hard. When he’s finished, he kisses his way to my shoulder then nuzzles my neck.

  “Hey you.”

  I wiggle my fingers at him, unable to move more of my body than that. “Hello.”

  “You sleepy?”

  I’d laugh if I had the energy. “I’m always sleepy after you fuck me. You wear me out.”

  “You like it.” He smiles against my cheek.

  “I love it,” I admit.

  He rolls me to my back, and it’s my favorite post-sex moment. There’s nothing quite like seeing that sated and happy look on his face. But this time, it’s not there. It’s replaced by the sadness from earlier. The pain maybe even a little greater.

  “Hey,” I say, wide awake now as I reach up to cup his cheek. “What’s wrong?”

  His eyes close as he turns his lips into my palm. He presses a lingering kiss there, before flashing me a reassuring smile. But it’s not real. His eyes don’t lie. Something is definitely wrong.

  “I need to make a few calls. I’ll be back shortly.”

  “Are you leaving?” I ask, a hint of panic in my voice. He’s quiet a moment.

  “I just need to step outside, gorgeous. I promise I’ll be back.” He gives me no time to respond before he leaves, grabbing his jeans and shirt on the way out. I start to follow him, but decide against it. Crawling under the covers, I give him the space he obviously needs and wrack my brain.

  This all started at the bar. He was fine when we arrived, but something happened while we were there. Was it the news of Kyle leaving? Are they closer than he let on? Or was it the ride? Did he regret taking me?

  Maybe it’s the anniversary of his father’s death. Or his girlfriend’s betrayal. Could that be what this is about? Her? Is he still nursing a broken heart? Bandaging an open wound? No. That couldn’t be it. He’s clearly over her.

  What if it’s about that moment we shared in the truck? That speech on second chances. Did he realize I might be his second chance? Because, I’m pretty sure he’s mine. Is he scared of what he’s feeling? What I’m feeling. Is it the fear of falling? Just like I’m falling. Or is he afraid because he already knows?

  Like I’m afraid.

  Because I know…

  I’m completely and most definitely in love with him.

  Almost Perfect

  Having an epiphany is exhausting. One minute my mind was going crazy. I was sweating. Anxious. Ready to scream my love for Cook to the mountains. If I could just find my voice. Then the next minute, I was asleep. Snoring. Dreaming. Picturing little Cooks running across my yard wearing Ninja Turtle underwear.

  But something thick and hard, seated deep inside my core, woke me. My eyes opened to a set of cobalt blues filled with the same emotion I felt in my chest. In that moment, I knew he loved me.

  Now, with my hands in his hands. My arms stretched above my head. His body moving in and out of mine. I truly feel like I belong to him. Like this is the moment. The perfect time to say out loud, what I’ve been refusing to admit.

  “I love you.”

  His eyes flutter closed as he buries his face in my neck. “Say it again,” he pleads. His voice barely a whisper.

  “I love you.”

  I never imagined sex between us could be any better. Any more intimate or special. But there’s something so much greater about making love to the one person you’re in love with. The kisses are deeper. The connection stronger. The cradle of your face in their hands. The look in their eyes. The freedom of a heart beating without the confines of a steel cage.

  Cook makes love to me in a way that can’t be described. Each caress is felt with my heart. Every kiss touches my soul. We come together in a beautiful oblivion where the only thing that exists is one another.

  He holds me in his arms. Embracing. Petting. Kissing. Lavishing me with the most tender touches I’ve ever felt from his strong hands. The moment is beautifully perfect. Or it could’ve been. If only
he’d have said, he loved me too.

  Memories

  Sleep didn’t come as easy the second time around. Judging by his constant rubbing and kissing and touching, I’m guessing Cook didn’t sleep much either. I’d hoped it was because he was planning the perfect way to tell me he loved me. I held tight to that hope. It was the only thing keeping my heart from shattering. Just because I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he did love me, I still needed him to say it.

  When he stirs from bed just as the sun starts to come up, I turn on my side and watch him. Taking pride in the claw marks etched on that muscular, toned ass of his. He moves silently around the room. Checking his phone. Dressing. Holding his cut in his hands, and starting at it a long time before pulling it over his shoulders.

  He takes a deep breath, bringing his hand to his face before turning to me. He looks surprised to find me awake.

  “Hey,” he says, his expression dubious as if he’s not sure I’m actually awake.

  “Hello.”

  “You’re awake.”

  “No shit.” A smile tugs at his lips. “You’re leaving.” It’s not a question.

  He nods. “I am.”

  “You going to see Kyle off?”

  He pierces me with a steady gaze as he slowly shakes his head. Then, in an even tone, he says, “I’m going with him.”

  I sit up, pulling the sheet around me. “When are you coming back?”

  Again, he studies me a long moment as if he’s trying to find the right words. “I don’t know.”

  My mind scrambles to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Pain begins to form in my chest as each piece clicks into place—revealing a reality that I’m forced to accept. “You’re transferring too, aren’t you?”

  “Just until I get my patch.”

  Hope soars inside me. “You should be getting that any day though, right?” I may not know a lot about the MC, but I’d learned from Kat that Cook had more days of prospecting than anyone she’d ever known. And that he could be getting a patch at any moment.