Bloodmare (Chrome Horsemen MC, #1)

by Carmen Faye

  The result of these sexually charged actions was a charismatic, primal, and savagely erotic dance she apparently had no control over. While this was very disturbing and certainly not expected after years of experience, meditation, and training to ensure this exact phenomena did not happen, another observation was slightly more alarming at the present time.

  Cole was watching her – watching what amounted to an X-rated interpretative dance – with tremendous focus and reading her body language with increasing interest. Through their connection, she could she knew she was driving Cole wild with these sexually charged sways and moans and nipple pulling. In fact, his growing urge to take her down and fuck the shit out of her was reaching a critical state. She could feel his urgency, as if it were inside of herself.

  She did not want to tease him like this, not right now, but how could she stop what was reflexive and wholly out of her control? “Please wait Cole, please,” she begged, her voice deep and husky, filled with erotic stirrings. It was the wrong voice to use. Her voice in that state was only going to invigorate the provocations her dance-of-cock displayed.

  Cole’s hands squeezed her thighs as he arched his neck, as if fighting to control himself under extreme duress. Her thighs and eyes were suddenly feasting on powerful stimuli, blasting her insides with waves of lust and desire. Her hips suddenly rolled a little higher and then ground down with a little more twist, as a result while choreographing these actions with a deep moan of lust and crazed yearning.

  The visual stimulation of seeing a man as powerful as Cole displaying unbearable desire for her brought her knuckle to her mouth where she bit down while her other hand combed provocatively through her hair – all before she realized what she was doing. With the realization, her mind created an image of her current, sexually charged posture. “Ah shit, Cole. I’m sorry!” she moaned pulling her hands down and gripping his.

  “You are driving me fucking insane!” Cole told her and his voice was so desperate, and close to unhinged, that it flipped all of the passion switches in her brain, to green-light-on.

  “Please Cole, please. I’m almost there. You’re so fucking big and so fucking hard! Shit, baby!” she groaned with a voice dripping with lust while a voice in her head told her to shut the fuck up, because she was making it worse.

  The experience of fucking such a cock had become categorically new, she decided. The effects, it seemed, were far reaching and could even be global. She was now unable to control the sound of her voice or the music of her moans, which was a skill she took pride in. Her throat was set at full stimulation and the off switch was broken.

  Her erogenous zones lit her up in unpredictable ways, resulting in uncontrollable physical displays of lust and allure, resulting in uncontrollable excitations of Cole’s reaction. Never, not once in three years, had control during sex been rendered so critically inept.

  Her empathy levels were off the chart—she could feel exactly what her gyrations and actions were doing to Cole. She knew what aroused him, how much, and she had a clearer estimation of just how far he was from breaking. But her empathy, which she worked on nearly every day to cultivate its use and strength, was laughably useless, because she couldn’t control the dance! She had no control at all over how desirable she was or what primal signals she was giving off.

  Her pussy was throbbing with need and anticipation. She wanted to be fucked. Hard. She wanted to be taken like a woman, not a call girl. Her abs begged to work him, as well, but she managed to hold them back. Any further stimulation and they were both lost at this point. The first task was to get him inside of her and then she could bring him to riot.

  After that, she had no plan. She had no control and no skills that didn’t require control. So, she accepted the fact that she would just go wherever his animal wanted to run.

  With all the newness and everything going on inside of her, it felt like it took over an hour to work him into her completely. In reality, it was probably seven or eight minutes.

  As soon as she could comfortably take him in this position, she began to fuck him with strong strokes of her thighs and curls of her hips. She ground her clit into base of his cock. She worked her pussy up and down his shaft with growing speed until she felt from him that she was simulating him just right.

  She let go of the restraint that she held her abdominal muscles with, turning them loose to do as they willed, which felt like she was setting the dogs on him. Groans escaped her lips, which were unrehearsed and unprepared. They probably weren’t even on key. You can't orgasm in C? Really? What kind of call girl are you?

  The level of lust in his eyes for her was now close to being violent. She definitely would have quailed, screamed, and ran from the room if her connection to him hadn’t assured her that he intended no harm.

  Her body’s enthusiasm for the worship of his cock rose to bizarre realms and her dance-of-cock became a wanton display of intense lust, which nearly matched the blaze in Cole’s eyes. The room filled with moans of raw craving. Cole's pleasure was now singing, as well, and his control was disintegrating.

  She could feel the destruction of his holds, when they trembled his hips and produced awesome displays of energy and power by rippling his abdominal muscles. Watching his abs while feeling his restraint crumbling apart, knowing at this point she wouldn’t stop enthralling him if she could – the thrill was just too delicious – brought to life her first climax.

  The currents of the orgasm rushed through her with total abandonment, adding volume and greater urgency to her outcries, and a feeling of lewdness into the rotation of her hips. The small orgasm, promising to produce powerful results, was instantly in control. She fell forward, humping him like an animal while clawing at his chest. Her eyes were fixed on his flexing, pulsing abs, which fed into the growing orgasm like gasoline on a match flame. Then her abs, and pussy muscles began to work him, as well.

  Cole's hands on her thighs turned into to grips of steel. His thick, hard fingers dug into her flesh as she rocked and rolled her ass on his thighs, assaulting his cock with perverse madness. Her hair flew wildly around them as she tossed her head erratically, wildly desperate to regain some form of control before her orgasm surfaced. She no longer had any connected thoughts. All of her knowledge was useless now. Her throat growled, joining the growls of Cole’s desperate efforts.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Then, cutting through all the layers of desire, plans and estimates of arousal levels, making all of her littered thoughts trivial pursuits, she felt her blooming orgasm rise with stunning velocity. Her eyes went wide and her body faltered as deep shudders interrupted her rhythms. The rush was as encompassing as it was surprising.

  She didn't remember orgasms rushing up like this before. But then, evidently, she never had one before if that’s what this was. The power and breath of it was far too much. Orgasms were sweet blisses, like she brought herself to in the shower, or in the bath. She liked them.

  Her climax hit and cascaded through her body as an avalanche of passion, setting off every zone and point of stimulation available. She pitched back and then her hands pulled at the sides of her head as the resulting explosion of stimulation churned and powered her climax up, beyond her scope of imagination. Her last voluntary thought glimmered with the hope of channeling that wild storm, which, as an after-thought, was ludicrous.

  The voltaic throes she was convulsed by, with such ravage abandon, felt dangerous. She was screaming desperate pleas from deep in her lungs. Her body knotted and curled from violent contractions. She pitched forward and pounded her forehead into Cole’s chest, and then was wildly thrown up and back by her churning abs. There, her spine arched so greatly, she could nearly see the wall behind them.

  She screamed and writhed, bucking with no rhythm at all.

  Then Cole mercilessly gripped her hips and began to fuck his cock up into her, driving her mind straight through the walls of reality. His power pounded inside of her, heedless of the thrashing storm throttling her
nervous system—and he was so goddamn strong. She quit rolling hips and fought against any impulse to move at all.

  She tried to beg him to stop. Falling forward again, her mouth gaping as her head shook wildly from side to side, she clawed and pulled at his arms, but none of her efforts seemed to be noticed since he continued to thrash into her.

  Nicole’s awareness danced on the storms he churned beneath her, as a new orgasm rose.

  “No, no, no, no,” were the only words coming from her throat when, with no warning at all, the orgasm that was merely a thought a moment ago, curled and hurtled her once more with violent throes and voltaic waves.

  Cole powered his body up, rising on the flexing power of his abs. He locked eyes with her and then the world was a swirl and blur of spinning, falling motion. Cole had lifted her slightly, swung her spinning to the left and followed her down to the mattress with a neck-snapping swoop of motion. He came to rest on top of her and between her thighs. His hot, amazingly hard cock was still filling her quaking pussy. She landed on the mattress with her arms going wide and her eyes searching the spinning room for reasons and options. Then she put it all together and was forming a smile when Cole cupped the cheeks of her ass in the palms of his hands, lifted her, and began to fuck her.

  All hell broke loose inside her body. Reflexively, and against her will, her hips rose to meet his thrusts while a concerted performance of her abs and pelvic muscles strove to milk and wrest his cock as it pleasured her depths. She wasn't sure if the swelling waves of electric fire churning in her were actually orgasms or not. There seemed to be no end and no escaping the tides, which occasionally sucked her down with dismaying energy to roll her in fierce and ravaging currents.

  She was clawing at Cole's arms, purely on the whim of reflex, with no decision made to do so and no goal. Her legs were trembling, under the same instinctive whim, which was probably a blind sense of self-preservation. Her throat was always open and the untamed howls and wails coming from her had no similarity to what she normally called her “sex music.”

  The power of Cole's climax erupted inside and around her, manifesting as a savage series of unbelievable thrusts that drove into her with twisting convulsions from his hips and abs. It was chaos incarnate.

  She was depleted and had been for some time. She was already rag-dolled when this physical eruption of anarchy powered his seed inside of her pussy. Her state of depletion, however, made no difference to the surging storm of orgasmic energies ravaging her body. Between Cole's pleasuring and throes of her own personal storm, she felt decimated by the time Cole's body came to rest on top of her. When he rolled off her, she tried to follow. It was her custom to sooth the man after his release, to bring emotional value to the afterglow and ease his receding agonies. She whimpered, but couldn't move. Her body simply told her, no. And that was the end of the conversation—custom be damned.

  Cole's arm came up and then rested it across his eyes, as if to shield them from the light of the room. His chest heaved for breath. Eventually, long before her own recovery, he said, "Damn woman. What the fuck? I can't believe what you did to me."

  She heard the words, but failed to respond or even comprehend for several seconds.

  "I'll get us some beers," he told her and weakly rolled off the edge of the bed, found his feet, and strode out of the door drunkenly.

  She watched him go and enjoyed the simple pleasure of watching his cute ass working those long legs while wonder blossomed inside her helpless body. What I did to him? Is he kidding? Holy fuck!

  As a call girl, she decided, she would have paid Cole.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Gabriel Morelli had a number of skills that were useful and profitable in his line of business, that being the flesh trade. One was an intelligent ruthlessness that made even men who were far stronger and more powerful think twice about coming at him with threats. He also had a keen understanding of power levels and underground politics in Chicago. He knew who to fuck with and who to get someone else to fuck with.

  His stable of girls wasn't the largest, but he had acquired, through great personal effort and expenditure, a collection of call girls who were as top of the line as they come. He didn't tell them that, of course. That would be stupid and he was far from stupid.

  Within his collection of call girls, one was, by far, the best. There was no doubt about this—it was a matter of pure accounting. She pulled down the largest fees and brought her men to a loyalty so great, clients would actually get into bidding wars to have her on particular nights, such as New Years or the 4th of July, and the most popular and profitable of all, Halloween.

  This star's name was Nicole Bower. This was actually her real name, because she came to him so innocent in the ways of prostitution, she didn't know enough to give a working name. Nicole not only made profits on her own, she increased the profitability of his other call girls, by willingly sharing what she did and her explaining the practical application of her philosophy on sex with powerful men. All Gabriel had to do was to have the other girls go visit Nicole a few days a month and profits increased, but no one ever surpassed Nicole on the accounting ledger.

  Then, a week ago yesterday, she packed up a few things from her apartment and left him. No note, no phone call, not even a goddamn fucking email! The security cameras showed three men helping her, who no one so far recognized. They loaded her things down into a truck with a single trip. The truck had no license plate and no clear identifiable marks. The whole process took less than fifteen minutes. No one even knew she was gone until her driver called, asking if something had happened to her.

  Antonio, Nicole's manager and a ruthless enforcer, sat peacefully on the other side of the desk from Gabriel. He always sat peacefully. Gabriel came to realize that Antonio did this because of a natural quirk of personality; also because Antonio always had a plan in his head for killing everyone in the room. Right now, his plan included Gabriel. So despite Gabriel's current fury, which could easily be focused on Antonio, the bulky Italian remained undisturbed and peaceful.

  "Have you found her, Antonio?"

  "No," he reported, using his normal soft, conversational tone. "No further leads are reportable at the moment, though we continue to search and to sift through new areas of investigation."

  "She has left the city?"

  "Doubtful. Highly doubtful. Our contacts in the PD have given us quality information suggesting that she has not left on any plane, train, or bus from Chicago. She has no car and, so far, no new car has been registered in her name. I have my doubts that she even knows how to drive."

  "There are ways around registration," Gabriel pointed out.

  "True, but none she would be aware of. The only TV she ever watched was financial news stories. She is as naïve about the world as she is experienced with men of power and the act of sex."

  "No one has her in their stable? No one took her?"

  "No. That is certain. If that were so, you would have ears already on your desk. Also, her list of clients appears to have no idea that she has gone. We have been putting them off for now by suggesting she is on a well-earned holiday in Europe and that we will inform them of her return."

  "All of them have been accounted for?"

  "One, Maximilian Rozzi, is currently in San Diego. He is probably unaware, but also not stolen from us. He will call on his return and we will place him with the most likely girl to fulfill his needs, just like the others."

  Gabriel spun slowly in his chair. Antonio was infuriating, especially with his cultured, peaceful attitude toward everything, but he was valuable and skilled in his duties. "Where is she, Antonio?" Gabriel sighed, not really expecting an answer.

  "In Chicago," he answered with a simple assuredness that was very upsetting to Gabriel.

  "From where I am sitting right now, how far away is she?" Gabriel challenged.

  "I would have to guess, but my guess is no more than ten miles."

  "So close?"

  "She is not running,
Gabriel; she is quitting," Antonio explained calmly. "She is not even hiding. She has a new apartment, which she is currently decorating. She has a new job starting, but not as a call girl. I suspect something along the lines of a highly paid executive assistant somewhere downtown. She is skilled on the computer, knows finance, how to invest stocks with some skill, and is competent in understanding activities such as mergers, takeovers, and bankruptcy. It is, of course, possible that she is providing her new boss with sexual services, but I doubt it. She is done with that part of her life."

  "She's not done!" Gabriel exploded. "She's mine!"

  "Of course, but in her mind, this is not the case," Antonio clarified with peaceful assurance, as if Gabriel's wrath was merely a sweet summer breeze finding its way into the window.

  Gabriel glared at him, "Which is why you believe she hasn't left the country or even the extended neighborhood."

  "It's a nice neighborhood," Antonio pointed out. "I would like to point out, however, that her books are clean. She has no reason to come back and we have no grounds to hold her—not even within underworld guidelines."

  Gabriel's fury rose to such a level that even Antonio showed a waiver of doubt in his eyes as Gabriel said, very calmly, "She is mine. There is no leaving. She comes back, intact, and I will re-train her so that she understands this. That is all the discussion on this matter I will allow. Is that clear?"

  "Of course, Gabriel," Antonio said without a noticeable amount of concern, though it was likely he reviewed his current plan of genocide.

  "Find her, Antonio. Find her and bring her to me," he told his enforcer.

  Then his phone rang and when he checked the caller on the display, it was unknown. He drummed his fingers, but generally speaking, in his line of work, if someone had his number and called it, it was worth answering the call. So he hit speakerphone. "Hello?" Gabriel asked.