He reveled in her aroused response to him for a lingering moment and she took him by surprise by whispering his name. It was then that he finally pressed two fingers up inside of her quivering pussy. She moaned hard in his ear and her sexy body relaxed even more in his arms. She felt tight and wet, and smooth as silk around his fingers.
She was breathing heavily and the longer he refused to move his fingers and massage her pussy, the more she squirmed and softly whined.
“You like this?” he groaned in her ear.
“Did you find a wire?” she challenged, the strength seemed to be returning to her tone.
“Keep talking back like that and I’ll shove my cock so far down your throat you won’t even be able to breathe much less pull an attitude. I know what you are. I know why you’re here.”
Finally, he drew his hand out of her leather pants, pressed his body against hers and pinned her hard against the wall. Then as she watched he licked her juices off his fingers. She smelled fucking divine and tasted even better, and gauging her expression, the lustful ease that had come over her pretty face as she watched him savor the taste of her on his fingers, he realized she probably wouldn’t mind sucking his hard dick. He almost shuddered at the thought.
“You know I didn’t overhear anything worthwhile,” she stated once he had taken a step back from her to take her full figure in.
“You’re a reporter. You’re just like the rest of them, sneaking around trying to prove that the Black Skulls would kill one of their own.”
“What if I’m not?” she argued, “I’m not looking for facts to support a specific theory. I don’t have a theory. So I’m not going to twist the truth. I just want to find out what happened. I want to find out what really happened.”
“Why?”
She took a pleading step forward, gazing up at him, her big green eyes becoming wide and round, as she began wringing her hands. “Because,” she whispered. “I fucking hate covering beauty pageants.” Shit, she looked good staring up at him like that...
“Stop talking,” he barked. He grabbed on tightly to her upper arm and led her deeper down the hallway towards the cellar door.
“Where are you taking me?”
“I haven’t searched every inch of you yet.”
Chapter Four
What in God’s name was she doing creeping down a dark set of stairs with a strange man who had just dared finger her most private place?
Man, he had felt good...
Damn it, Samantha!
She was supposed to be interviewing bikers, gathering quotes that would pop, drafting headlines for Harry’s approval, covering the Conway Contractor’s site with the rest of the reporters in town! She was supposed to be advancing her career! But instead, she was traipsing through a musty cellar at the mercy of her lady-boner and quite frankly, at the moment she had zero aspirations of asking him anything beyond whether or not he might mind fucking her brains out until she came.
Damn it, Samantha! Get your head on straight!
The cellar was small and didn’t at all represent the spacious clubhouse bar with its many rooms overhead. It was dusty and dim despite the naked, hanging light bulb that Asa yanked on. Clearly, this is where Poison kept its crates of beer and hard liquor, she surmised, gradually pivoting and taking in the space. When she made it one hundred eighty degrees around, she found herself facing Asa who hadn’t actually made it beyond the stairwell landing.
One boot on the cement floor, the other hiked onto the first step of the stairs, he lit a cigarette, its tip flaming cherry as he sucked hard, returning his lighter to his jeans.
He glanced up the stairs and listened. He had shut the door and Samantha could hear the faintly murmuring voices of bikers above—their meeting never ending—but something told her they wouldn’t be interrupted.
The only question was, what?
What wouldn’t be interrupted?
She was both thrilled and terrified to find out.
“Strip,” he ordered from the shadows.
Samantha was painfully aware that what little light there was down there was pooling around her from where it shafted through a small window positioned at the upper edge of the wall to her left. By the looks of it, the window was at ground level, dust and debris breezing past the glass.
“You want me to take my clothes off?” she questioned.
“I told you I was going to search every inch of you.”
They both knew she wasn’t wearing a wire, which meant they both knew he wasn’t actually searching for anything except maybe her threshold for humiliation.
But would this be humiliating?
Or would he draw near and touch her again?
After a cautious moment of studying him—those domineering eyes, the stern expression on his face that only aroused her, his thick neck and thicker biceps, the way his jeans hugged his thighs so deliciously, that bulge he had threatened to use against her if she talked back!—she glanced down at her tits which were still exposed all but for the thin, black lace that barely covered them.
The leather cord that had crisscrossed up the bodice was frayed and hanging loosely, an easy enough place to start, so she pulled it and the bodice sprang open. She shrugged it off her shoulders and it hit the floor.
The crackle of his cigarette stole her attention for a moment and then she unhooked her bra and let it fall as well. He groaned from the shadows and she had the sudden urge to cup his cock in both hands and lick his neck.
Shaking off the idea, she stared, daunted, at her skin-tight leather pants and stiletto boots. There wasn’t a seat in sight and she wasn’t exactly prepared to balance her way through this, but she managed, wrestling off one boot at a time then wriggling free of her pants so that she stood before him in absolutely nothing but a tiny, lace thong.
It was then that he began stalking towards her, his cigarette clamped between his teeth, his dark eyes squinting through the string of smoke wafting up. When he reached her, he turned her fast then pushed the back of her neck, forcing her to bend over.
The next thing she knew, he had lifted the thin strip of lace that was her thong with one hand and was slowly grazing the length of her dainty crack with the index finger of his other hand. It wasn’t lost on her that there was no way in hell he actually thought she had cramped a wire along her ass crack. But Samantha had to admit that there was nothing about this that she minded. Soon her pussy began to swell with a rich flow of sudden arousal and she ached to feel him inside of her.
Maybe he would surprise her by thrusting his big cock into her tight pussy making her yell out his name. Or would his move be far dirtier? Would he lube up her clenched, little asshole and experiment with what part of him might fit inside? Asa did none of those things after running his finger so far down her ass that he grazed over her hot, aching, and slippery pussy that caused her to moan. Instead, he pulled her upright again and helped her to lean back against the length of him. Her nipples grew instantly hard, but when she reached back to feel for his cock beneath his jeans, he roughly caught her wrists and shoved her hands down to her sides as if to order, stay!
“You don’t trust me yet?” she softly asked.
“I don’t have to trust you to fuck you,” he snarled in her ear.
“Is that what you’re going to do?” she asked, adrenaline spiking through her veins all over again.
His voice was firm when he said, “Yes. But you’re not going to like it.”
It scared her only because she believed him. Asa wasn’t just darkly sexy. He was discernibly dark. There was something evil about him that she hadn’t been able to put her finger on only because she was too busy being insanely turned on. But it was there nonetheless, lurking beneath his every word, his every stare. He thrived on inflicting pain, maybe not all the time, but enough of the time that Samantha couldn’t help but trust his threat was real.
“I’m one of the MC’s sergeant-at-arms,” he went on, his smooth voice in her ear turning her on, while th
e logical side of her brain told her this was bad and would only get worse unless she got the hell out of there. “Do you know what that means?”
The best she could do was shake her head, but just when she thought she might tremble in terror, Asa cupped her pussy and sank his index finger up inside of her, and she instantly melted into him, knees weak, breath quickening and mind screaming that she was a fucking idiot to enjoy this. “It means that I uphold the MC’s codes,” he stated, thrusting his finger deeper inside her pussy and causing her to gasp. When he began massaging her inside and out with his thumb firmly circling her clit, she calmed. “The MC has decided we won’t tolerate any reporters, a temporary code if you will. So I am going to fuck you so hard and raw that you’ll be begging to leave Death Falls and never return.”
He inhaled, preparing to say more as Samantha both trembled and savored the sensual massage he was delivering, but all of a sudden boots were stomping overhead, causing dust to rain down over them.
The meeting had adjourned.
“Asa?” someone barked from above.
Asa flicked his cigarette at the ground and shoved Samantha off. As he started for the stairs he told her, “Get the fuck out of here,” but as she scrambled for her clothes, glancing around the cellar, she didn’t have a damn clue as to how she would do that.
Chapter Five
Wanda’s Motor Inn had all the charm of a truck stop. It was a one-story motel that sat on a dusty lot. It had twelve rooms that were separated by painfully thin walls, but if Samantha had to guess the inn was almost completely empty.
At least the rooms to the left and right of hers were...
That was part of the reason she chose the place when every other reporter that had driven south from Las Vegas had opted for the Regency or Hyatt clear on the other side of Death Falls. Samantha didn’t want any of her highly confidential conversations with her editor, Harry Walsh to be overheard.
But she wasn’t dealing with Harry at the moment.
She was dealing with the undeniably confusing aftermath of having suffered—enjoyed?—Asa Boone’s strange company in the cellar of the clubhouse bar.
What the hell was that?
As Samantha lathered and scrubbed, standing in a hot shower, steam thick in the air and filling her lungs, she attempted to reconcile all that she had just experienced.
She had nudged him with questions.
That part had gone fine, she decided, setting down a bar of soap and plucking her razor off the ledge.
As she began shaving her legs, she mentally reviewed the next portion of her time with Asa and again decided that she hadn’t overstepped her bounds. She had simply insinuated that she might like to get to know him better…and sleep with him…that’s when things began to go south.
Asa’s large, strong hand wrapping around her throat sprang to mind and she immediately felt a rush of tingles swell between her legs.
Why had his overreaction turned her on in that moment?
Why was thinking about it now having the same effect?
“Ouch!”
She glanced down at her left knee and realized she had nicked herself. Grabbing the cloth, she dabbed blood from the tiny cut and then moved onto shaving her other leg.
She could mentally review the chain of events until she was blue in the face, she told herself, and she would only arrive at the same conclusion.
The hallway, the cellar—both had been surreal.
And having been abandoned while stark naked and burning to be fucked had rendered Samantha fixated on Asa Boone.
Ever since she had dressed as quickly as possible in that cellar, discovered a back door that led around the side of the clubhouse, slipped out silently then found her Prius and drove off like a bat out of hell, she had been telling herself that she’d made excellent headway. She knew Asa’s weakness and she could use it to coax every last shred of information out of him before moving onto the next biker who might know even more about Johnny Fox.
But as Samantha finally rinsed off, turned off the hot water, and stepped into the small, steamy bathroom, the tiles hot and slick beneath her feet, she realized that her interest in Asa went far beyond the story she was about to write.
“Don't lose your damn mind, Samantha,” she grumbled, wrapping a towel around her and padding through the room to her suitcase that was lying open on the floor at the foot of the full-sized bed.
Harry expected her to return to the construction site. In fact, he probably assumed she was already there. Why hadn’t she driven off right away? Well, her smoldering biker chick outfit would cause her to make the wrong kind of entrance at Conway Contractors, for one. Plus, she hadn’t exactly clued her editor into the fact that she planned on dressing like a groupie all week. It wasn’t his business, after all. She wasn’t an on-camera reporter. What would it matter what she wore?
Rummaging through her belongings, however, didn’t inspire confidence.
“I didn’t pack any normal clothes?” she asked herself, tossing short-shorts and push-up bras onto the floor in search of a sensible pantsuit she might throw on for Conway Contractors. “Seriously?” She had been so focused on the idea of undercover journalism that she had equipped herself with nothing to wear beyond sexy biker getups.
Her wet hair was dripping onto what was left of her neatly folded clothes, so she challenged herself to actually be decisive. She quickly chose a pair of black, cut-off jeans, a pink bra and matching panties, and the loosest tee-shirt she could find—a floppy, gray number meant to slip off one shoulder or the other while at the same time failing to completely cover the midriff.
Not two seconds after she let her towel fall and stepped into the pink panties, sweat began beading up across her chest. Quickly, she threw on her bra and the rest of the outfit then neared the air conditioning unit that had been struggling to cool the room.
She fiddled with the dials, holding her other hand to the vent where sticky, warm air was pumping out. After a moment it was clear she was wasting her time and she focused on tidying up her suitcase. As she shoved her consolidated suitcase to the foot of the bed and returned the damp towel to the bathroom, Asa began flashing through her mind again—those muscular arms, his sexy tattoos, the seedy way he had smoked in the shadows as she stripped down for him.
While the very thought of him made her wet between the legs and was giving her ideas about removing her shorts and panties, lying on the bed with legs spread, and pleasuring herself to his memory, she used every shred of willpower to turn her mind towards the investigation at hand. She had overheard nothing of value when she had listened intently outside of the meeting room door. The Black Skulls had either spoken strictly in code or they were just as stumped as the police in terms of who had made Johnny Fox disappear without a trace all those years ago.
Samantha startled when the telephone on the nightstand rang. “Shit,” she hissed, knowing full well who the caller was. She hustled to find her cell phone, which was resting on the sink in the bathroom, as the room phone blared. Just as she suspected, staring at the screen of her cell phone—five missed calls from Harry Walsh.
“You have to give me time!” she asserted the second she had the room phone pressed to her ear.
“Where the hell have you been?” Harry barked. “There’s only one right answer-”
“Conway Contractors,” she said, both supplying the answer he wanted to hear and lying through her teeth.
“And?”
“And I just told you, you have to give me time.”
“You might think you have days to get me something since that’s when your first five-thousand-word article is due, but let me remind you, sweetheart, we publish leads on the Las Vegas Post website every night at 4 am.”
Fuck! She knew that, but she had definitely forgotten.
“I’m looking at the Las Vegas Tribune,” he went on harshly. “The Sun, the Inquirer, all of the papers that have reporters down in Death Falls. They all have leads up, Samantha! They all have t
easers!”
“Which couldn’t possibly say anything,” she insisted, but he quickly cut her off.
“They don’t have to say anything,” he snapped. “They’re teasers! Give me something, anything, a hunch for fuck’s sake and I can have Gregory draft one hundred words for the website. At least then we’ll stay in the game.”
“Fine!” she said, wracking her brain and paused so Harry wouldn’t continue to chew her out. “Tell him to go with something like, Black Skulls not cooperating with police, guilt presumed.”
Harry sighed, which meant he wasn’t thrilled.
“Look,” she insisted. “I’m getting close with one of them. I’m going to have a story, an inside story, I’m telling you.”
“And I’m telling you, Samantha,” he immediately countered. “If you don’t, you’re back to Health & Beauty and I swear to God, you’ll live and die there.”
It hadn’t been an easy conversation, but as she returned the phone to its cradle on the nightstand, she knew it had been just the kick in the ass she needed to get her head back in the game. But it didn’t last. Samantha startled for the second time when someone pounded on her door. She was momentarily thrown as to who it might be until she remembered that she had spoken to the motor inn owner, Wanda earlier in the day about the busted AC unit.
“Just a sec!” she called out, as she gave herself the once over, standing across from the bathroom mirror that was only partially fogged up.
Her hair was a messy mix of dry frizz and heavy, wet strands, and she had managed a nice sweat stain just beneath her boobs.
“For Christ’s sake!” she complained hotly under her breath, using her damp towel to mop up some stomach moisture.
There came another hard pound against her room door and it sounded far more aggressive than the first.
“Alright, alright,” she grumbled, padding towards the door and wondering why Wanda would act put-off when it was Samantha who was suffering in this brutal and stagnant heat.
ASA: BLACK SKULLS MC Page 4
