by Goode, Ella
Judge oozes confidence, but it’s not the phony arrogance of a guy with a fat wallet or plastic good looks. It comes from inside him. The way that he walks with long strides that eat up the pavement. How he sat in the passenger seat of my Mini Cooper with nary a complaint. He doesn’t need to drive to show off his manliness. He doesn’t engage in unnecessary displays of testosterone.
I don’t need his submission. I want him to demand mine.
Chapter Five
Judge
As Pippa stares up at me, wide-eyed with longing, I feel my knees to start to buckle. The plea for me to take charge couldn’t be more clear if she’d shouted it out.
Voice hoarse, throat full up with emotion I’m not fully ready to acknowledge, I tell her, “I got you, baby girl.”
I clutch her heavy fall of curls in my hand, and jerk her head back. Her mouth falls open as if I’d pulled a lever. My darling girl wants a man in charge in the bedroom. It’s what turns her on. It’s what she’s been searching for.
“Grab my wrist,” I order. “Tell me how much of this you can take. You let go and I’ll stop feeding you my cock.”
She reaches behind her to grab my wrist, the hair tangling over both our hands.
Gripping my heavy erection, I guide myself into the hot cavern of her mouth. I push in slowly, enjoying the smooth glide across her tongue. I pause before reaching the back of her throat. “Show me you understand.”
She grips my wrist harder. I push in another inch. She doesn’t release me.
In measured movements, I press forward until my cockhead hits the back of her throat. “You with me, baby?” I manage to ask. The urge to fuck her throat is threatening to take over. I pinch the base of my shaft, the pain helping to push back the red haze of arousal.
She squeezes my wrist and I almost shoot off then. With her unspoken permission, I thrust down the back of her throat, completely engulfed.
“Jesus, fuck, baby,” I groan. My hand tightens in her hair but I keep the pressure at the root, staving off my ejaculation because I want this to last. My pace is smooth and unhurried as I enjoy every bit of friction pulling out of her tight throat. The pleasure is intense—almost painfully so.
She sucks me hungrily with tightly pursed lips, a flat tongue and an open throat. I’m undone by her eagerness. My ass muscles flex and tighten as I drill into her mouth, down that tight passage.
Her eyes are fixed on the thick length of me moving in and out of her mouth and my breath catches in my chest. Does she get it? Does she feel the power shift? Does she know that she owns me? I thought I saw in her eyes the need to submit, the desire to let all her worries stack outside the bedroom door.
She moans then and the vibration and sound nearly do me in. I only allow myself a few more strokes before pulling out entirely.
She makes a distressed sound and grips my wrist. “I didn’t tap out.”
The hoarseness of her words makes me shudder. My cock did that. Shit, I’m an animal.
“I know, baby, you did good. Real good, but I wanna taste my girl’s pussy.” I place a hand in the middle of her sternum and push her onto her back. Her hands flutter down around the front of her panties.
“God, Judge, these are my ugliest panties. I put them on to keep you away.”
I laugh and nudge her hands away with my nose. “These panties are hot as fuck because you’re wearing them. If you were wearing burlap, I’d think it was the sexiest thing ever. Move those fingers so I can eat you out proper or I’m going to tie you up.”
Her hands fist lightly at my warning and then relax. I hide my smile against her thigh. The idea of being tied up turns her on. “I can feel your smugness. It’s a palpable thing. Like a third party, really.”
I burst out laughing. “Baby girl, we are going to have so much fun.”
And we do.
Well, I had fun. She orgasmed. Three times.
•••
The next morning I wake with a crick in my back and an armful of warm woman. Pippa’s body is basically blanketing me which I don’t mind in the least. My cock is screaming for immediate attention and her hot pussy is a leg lift away. Reaching over, I lift my phone to check the time.
I could have a quick fuck now and possibly make Pippa late for her job or visit her over the noon hour. While not a fan of delayed gratification, I know that Schmidthead is aching for an excuse to get her fired.
I curl up and shift her onto the bed. She’s still out like a light. Either I wore her out or she sleeps like the dead all the time. I look forward to getting to know which it is. Out in the kitchen I find Morgen waiting by his bowl. I fetch him clean water and another can of food. After he gobbles down his breakfast, I let him out to run the property and do his business.
Inside the refrigerator I find a lot of fruit and yogurt. Since I don’t have a cooking bone in my body, I dump some yogurt into a bowl, wash a few strawberries and stick them on a plate. Breakfast is served.
I lick some of the yogurt from the plastic bin and grimace.
“This shit is terrible,” I mutter but by the number of tubs she’s got stacked in the fridge, she must love it. Still…maybe the shit has gone bad. I don’t want Pippa to get sick. Rather than risk it, I trash everything and wash up. In a bin on the counter, I find bread and I eat two slices before going into her bathroom and doing my business. We’ll get breakfast in town.
After washing up, I pull on my jeans and T-shirt and shrug into my cut. I make no effort to stifle the sounds of my morning but Pippa has not stirred her hot ass an inch.
The time on the clock indicates that she needs to get up and going soon if I know anything about women. Maybe I should’ve given her a quick fuck. I toss the sheet to the side and unzip my pants. My dick is happy at this new development.
Leaning over the bed, I spread her legs and stroke her pretty pussy. That generates a moan and a shift on the bed. Her hand slips underneath her body and starts to rub her clit.
Good enough for me. I test her readiness and find her slick and hot. From my back pocket, I pluck the last of my three condoms and cover myself. “Open up, baby girl.”
She might be half asleep, but she responds to my commands just fine. Her legs part and her ass hitches up making a perfect target. As I slide into her, I hum to myself. It’s going to be a good morning.
She rubs herself as I thrust into her.
“Got any toys?”
She mumbles something into the sheets. I’ll take that as a yes.
Her pert ass is begging for attention. I circle the rosette and then dip in. She responds by shoving her ass back and deepening the penetration.
“Anyone have you here?”
Her head shakes no. She’s either too tired or too aroused to talk, probably a combination of the two.
“You’re going to enjoy being full. I’m not into sharing but a toy in your cunt and me in your ass is going to make you come so hard you’ll see stars.”
I stroke her ass with my thumb and fuck her hard with my cock. Her hand works harder and faster and I match that rhythm until she’s convulsing around me, mewling her release into the sheets.
Nothing like starting the day with a shit-hot orgasm. I feel loose and ready for anything.
Pippa, on the other hand, is a beast until she’s had some caffeine in her. The death glare she gave me when I admitted I didn’t make any would’ve felled a lesser man.
“Not a morning person, are you,” I observe over the coffee she’s poured. Her prim black skirt and cream and black polka dotted blouse presents a much more demure image than the one I prefer to remember. Either the one where she sat on the bed and took my cock down her throat or when she was straddling my face last night, pulling her titties tight as I fucked her with my tongue. Course this morning wasn’t bad either, what with staring at her creamy ass and watching myself penetrate both holes.
She grunts and sips her coffee. Her hair’s a little wild. She brushed it, took out a wand-shaped iron, looked at the clock and put
it away. I like it but know better than to say anything. Besides, I need to pick my battles and this next one I need to win without making her feel like she’s giving up her independence.
“You need to pack a bag,” I say.
“Why’s that?”
“Because your bed is too damn small for me.” Going the sex route is both truthful and less damaging to her pride than bringing up Schmidthead and the issue of her housing status.
She gives me a hard look. “Sleeping in your bed isn’t going to make that residency requirement go away.”
I like that—how she faces her issues head on instead of skirting around a problem. I need to give her a helluva lot more credit.
“True, but it’s a solution that allows you to flip off Schmidthead in more ways than one.”
She rinses her mug out and places it in the dishwasher before responding. “Am I being targeted by Eric because of you or because I turned him down?”
“Probably a bit of both.” I take care of my own cup because while I don’t know a thing about cooking, I’ve washed and dried plenty of dishes in my long years of bachelorhood. Gesturing for her to proceed to her bedroom, I continue, “He’s a guy with a small dick and a big gun. He uses that badge to compensate for a shitty personality and bad technique.”
“And you know this how?” she asks, watching as I root around for a suitcase. I find one in the back of her closet.
“Girls at the club talk.” Throwing the case down, I wave for her to gather her things.
She reaches over and pulls the case away from me. “Residency is more than sleeping in someone’s bed. It’s having an address to call your own.”
“Right. I’ve already called the cable company to get your name added on the address label. They said it’d take seven to ten business days. I told them to overnight it.”
It’s easy to grab the case from her slack hands and even easier to start throwing shit from her small dresser into the case. I zip the case shut and exit the bedroom. A quick glance behind me shows her mouth is still ajar.
I don’t mind catching her off guard. I feel like those times will be rare so I’m going to savor this one. Outside, I put the case in her toy car. An old lady or two or maybe Chels, if it’s not weird for her, can come out and get the rest of her stuff. Morgen is lying in the sun, panting like he’s gone hard and needs a breather. When I slam Pippa’s trunk shut, Morgen moves toward the door of the trailer. She has him well trained.
“You coming?” I ask, opening the door to let Morgen in. Pippa gathers her purse and phone and stomps out.
“I don’t have time to argue with you because I need to get to the library, but we aren’t done discussing this.” She opens the driver’s door, climbs in and shuts it with a bang.
“My son Wrecker just got out of prison. He spent three years in a medium security facility for killing a white supremacist in self-defense. Everyone present gave statements that it was self-defense and the prosecutor could have chosen not to pursue, but Schmidthead banged the drum loud and long until the prosecutor felt that he had no choice but to file charges. Yeah, it’d be fair to say we’ve got issues. Didn’t know that would blow back on you but it has, so I’m going to do my part to make sure you stay our town librarian.”
“Oh.” She’s pissed off but not at me anymore. The pursed lips and narrowed eyes are focused forward in Schmidthead’s direction.
I have her drop me off at the garage. Wrecker is already there. We’re working on a couple of projects at the shop. I’ve got a 1965 Stingray in the middle of a restoration and 1968 Shelby Mustang getting an overhaul. That last one is close to the paint stage. I’m going to be sorry to see it roll out. I love those Shelbys. Pippa would look sweet in one. I don’t know how long I can sleep with a woman who drives a Mini Cooper.
“Wrecker, office,” I call out when I finally stroll in. He wipes his hands on a rag and tosses it on the table. Most of us wear a work uniform of blue coveralls but Wrecker told me that the cover-up reminded him too much of prison. He wears jeans and a T-shirt and no one gives him shit about it, least of all me.
I drop into a cheap rolling office chair I’d picked up during a county swap meet.
“What’s up?” He kicks the door shut behind him and leans against the edge of the desk. The office has two main functions—billing and parts inventories. I eye the paperwork unfavorably. One of these days I need to hire someone to take control of this office.
Turning away from the pile of invoices I need to work through, I get right to the point. “I’m sleeping with a woman who turned Schmidthead down. He’s none too happy about it. I’m sending you and Chels to Minneapolis to get some parts for the Stingray.”
Predictably, Wrecker is angry about this. “What the fuck, Dad? I’m not running out of town like a scared rabbit. Schmidt can watch me all he wants. Maybe the shitstain will learn something.”
“I’m more worried about the two of you being targets. He’s mad and he’s going to want his pound of flesh. No doubt he’s got the skinhead club on speed dial telling them to send down some expendable punks. I don’t want Chels caught in the cross fire or you to have to palm a gun which—as we both know—would violate your parole.”
He scowls and curls his fingers into fists. It only takes a second before one of those fists is punching the metal filing cabinet behind him. “That asshole. One day we’re taking him down,” he vows.
“One day, but it’s not going to be today or this week. We don’t have any solid evidence that he’s involved with the Eighty-Eight Henchmen or anyone else running meth along the river. Until we do, Schmidthead is untouchable.” I pick up my cell. I need to call Easy, one of my enforcers, to set up watch outside the library—or maybe inside. “When you two get back, I want you to think about moving into the apartment above the Cut-n-Curl. It’s shitty now but in a few weekends, we can have it fixed up.”
“You serious about this woman?” Wrecker gapes at me, rubbing a hand across his sore knuckles.
“You sleeping with my stepdaughter?”
He grins, unembarrassed by this. “Can’t wait to tell Chels about our new mom.”
“Get out of here, fool,” I laugh.
Wrecker whistles as he exits the office. I’ve got my kids out of danger and out of my house.
It’s still a good morning.
Doesn’t stay that way, of course, but it started out good.
Chapter SIX
Pippa
“You need something, Annie?” I ask. My assistant has been hovering around me like a bee to a flower the whole morning. She desperately wants to ask me a question and has been biting her tongue for hours. It’s got to be so sore by now. I take pity on her. “Is it about Judge Harrison?”
“I think he’s called Judge,” she quickly responds.
Annie’s the sweetest thing. She’s tall, a little gangly, with a cloud of soft brunette curls. Her father’s the pastor at the local Methodist church and besides playing the organ and serving as a part time secretary, she volunteers at the library two mornings a week and on Saturday.
She’s a complete treasure so I don’t really mind her curiosity about Judge. It’s not her fault that gossip travels faster in small towns than a bullet train in Japan.
“You know about the club?” I ask. Maybe we could trade information. I’d tell her that Judge is the beast she imagines him to be and she can tell me all about the town. I might as well learn a bit.
She scrunches her nose, not in distaste but frustration. “No, I wish I did. I hear they have the most amazing parties. And the guys in the club are incredibly good looking but my dad would have a complete coronary if I was seen with one of them.” She sighs wistfully. “But I would do a lot to ride on the back of one of their motorcycles.”
I give her a gentle smile as we log in the returned books. “‘Judge’ is his road name and you’re right, they generally only go by their road names.”
“Did you know Judge before you moved here? Is that why you came to F
ortune? What about Chief Schmidt?” The questions tumble out, one on top of the other. She was clearly saving up.
“My dad’s a nomad—a biker who doesn’t have any club affiliation. He heard there was an opening for a librarian in Fortune and sent the news back to me. I thought it would be wonderful to be a director of a library, in charge of acquisitions, setting up programs and helping others find the right book for them so I applied and here I am.” I spread out my hands.
Annie’s eyes get wider at the mention of my dad’s loose connections with Judge’s club. “Have you ridden on the back of a bike before?”
Smiling, I gather up the books and place them on a cart for Annie to shelve. “Yes, but it was my father’s.”
She’s disappointed by this and I kill her fantasies more when I tell her that Judge is just a friend. “Judge came by last night at the behest of my father. He’s checking up on me.”
That doesn’t really explain why I drove into town with Judge in my car but I’m saved when two moms walk in with their kids and I escape before Annie can question me further.
We’re both kept busy throughout the rest of the morning. About an hour before lunch, a tall, muscular man wearing a Death Lords cut and sporting hair too pretty and too long to be worn by a male walks in. His black boots make a thud against the wooden floor. Every eye turns to him. The women titter and the children gasp. Every female above the age of twelve takes in his solid legs and nice ass encased in a pair of worn denim.
“I’m looking for the mysteries,” he announces to one blushing Annie. She fumbles with a book in her hand but before it can drop to the ground, he catches it and presses it back into her grasp.
I have never seen a human being turn as red as Annie does under this roughneck’s perusal—and I’m a redhead! We blush when the sun comes out and someone says bless you.
“Th-thank you,” she stammers. “The mysteries are over by the window.”
The biker, who still hasn’t released Annie’s hands, leans toward her and in a loud whisper says, “You’ll have to lead me there. I’m afraid I’ll get lost without you.”
