God, she was wet, dripping wet, yet so tight that his thick, hard cock was stirring up the most delicious friction. She felt ready to explode all over his beautiful dick.
He slapped her face then grabbed it and demanded to know, “You want more?”
“Oh, God,” she breathed, gripped in the swelling throes of coming. “Jesus, yes!”
Having sensed her oncoming climax, Asa kept his pace up, thrusting and hitting her most sensitive spots as deeply as he could go.
“Yes!” she gasped, as she felt the first intense clench of her orgasm. He must have felt it too, because as he continued to fuck her into the heights of her pleasure, Samantha moaned and writhed beneath him while he held her face tenderly and then slipped a hand under the small of her back to help the angle of his cock reach her even deeper and keep her juicy orgasm going as long as possible. He was such a contrast of violent and sweet that it confused her and drove her wild at the same time.
Just as she peaked over the edge of ecstasy and then began to float back down to earth shaking and panting, fully satisfied and undeniably delirious she blurted out the one thing that no woman should when first sexually encountering a strange man.
“I love you.”
“What?”
“Nothing!” she sang, overlapping his confusion and fluttering her big, blinking green eyes up at him.
He hadn’t heard her, had he? No, he hadn’t. If he had, he wouldn’t still be thrusting into her harder and faster and using her tight pussy to cum.
She didn’t really feel that way, did she? Of course not! That would be insane. She didn’t even know Asa Boone and if anything, she ought to despise him on some level for both standing in her way of writing a killer article and also for, well, distractions such as this one!
God, it was one hell of a distraction, though! Asa groaned into her ear, holding his huge cock deep inside of her and gripped her tightly against him. As his body relaxed, he did something that she never thought he would...His lips found hers and he kissed her, hungrily and breathed deeply as his tongue brushed against hers. She melted into it. He smelled good and tasted great, and just as she started floating away with her eyes closed, he lifted up off of her, pulled his cock out and immediately stepped into his boxer-briefs.
Samantha felt completely empty and almost whimpered, but she caught herself. She got the fuck she wanted but now she had to try and get something solid for the article that she needed.
As she returned to the land of reality she was suddenly consumed by a wave of modesty. She turned her back to Asa from where she sat on the edge of the bed and slipped her undergarments on. Her tee shirt was a crumpled ball so after grabbing it from the floor, she shook it out and debated whether or not to put it on or get a new one.
Asa was staring at her, which only intensified her compulsion to provoke him into opening up about Johnny Fox. He only broke eye contact long enough to pull his wife-beater on over his head. It was almost a shame to watch those abs disappear. She wondered if he was going to say something or just stand there and stare at her. He ran his hand over the top of his head and Samantha’s gaze locked in on his flexing bicep. God, did he have any idea how good he looked?
Ugh, probably.
Finally, he spoke. “I’m not sure you learned your lesson.”
She felt a smile coming on and suppressing it wasn’t easy so she busied herself by throwing her rumpled tee shirt on and stepped into her jean shorts, all the while trying not to think. If I haven’t learned my lesson, does that mean he’ll come back for round two?
When she dared to glance at him, he was lighting a cigarette, which told her that he was two seconds away from heading off.
It was now or never.
She had been guarding the one nugget of information she had pulled from her contact at the police station so fiercely, in fact, that she hadn’t even told her editor, Harry Walsh, about it. Samantha had formed tights bonds while attending a relatively rough high school in Las Vegas. Few of her friends went on to college and sadly even fewer had committed to truly making something of themselves. But like Samantha, one of her old friends had chased his dream of becoming a detective and was currently well on his way. He had warned her that the information might not tie into Johnny Fox’s murder—it could be everything or it could be nothing—and he explained that until the police investigation turned up a solid connection, she would be a fool to mention it in print. But mention it to Asa Boone in attempts to provoke him into revealing what he actually knows? That might be her smartest move yet.
“Hey,” she said, catching him before he turned for the door.
The sly grin that formed on his face in response was an indication he expected some kind of compliment or proposition. Though she was tempted to take this conversation in that direction, it would have to wait. Easing into her bigger question, she said, “Fox was found without his wallet, like whoever killed him wanted it to look like a mugging gone wrong or something.”
“You don’t know that wasn’t what happened,” he quickly pointed out.
“Fox was the VP of the toughest motorcycle club in the state,” she countered. “In what scenario would a stranger be able to get a jump on him, or even try?”
She made her point even though it was a moot one. As Asa sucked his cigarette and blew smoke into the stifling room, he shook his head.
“So what are you saying?” he asked as he folded his arms and squared his shoulders at her. He looked damn fine, staring down his nose at her and she momentarily wondered if she ought to follow through or rather leap on him and wrestle him to the bed.
“Fox had a cell phone tucked in his boot,” she said.
“What?”
She folded her arms as well, sinking into her hip and reading the confusion on his face. “If it really was a mugging gone wrong, and trust me, no one thinks that not really. But if it was, I’m sure the thief would have found that cell and taken it.”
“Who cares if Fox had a cell phone on him?” he asked defensively.
“Because it was a burner phone,” she quickly supplied. “And because of the last two incoming calls.”
“Last two?”
“Yeah, the last two, meaning that the police know the date Fox was killed.”
“Who were the calls from?” he interrupted.
“Fox’s wife,” she said, “which is no surprise and then another number.” Unless Samantha’s eyes were playing tricks on her, Asa looked rattled, though he was doing a soldierly job of hiding it under a thick veneer of percolating anger.
“Whose number?” he asked in a deep, perturbed tone once it seemed he had gotten a handle on his emotions.
“I don’t think anyone knows. Not yet. But they will.”
Without warning, he advanced on her, grabbed her shoulders, and the next thing Samantha knew he was pushing her across the room, his intense eyes piercing through her own. Slamming into the wall, her shoulder blades stung, but she didn’t have time to feel the pain, not with Asa yelling at her.
“How do you know this? Who told you? Where are you getting your information?”
“I’m not going to reveal my source!”
He slammed her against the wall again, nearly knocking the wind out of her, as he yelled, “Stop fucking around! Who?”
“An old friend of mine works at the precinct assigned to Fox’s investigation,” she cried. “You want his name?”
“I want the name of who made that call.”
“I don’t know who,” she barked, pushing her palms against the firm wall of his chest, though he didn’t budge. “It might be unrelated.”
Asa’s gaze went soft, the intensity behind his eyes easing off as though he was falling into deep thought. His grip on her shoulders loosened as well and he seemed to drift towards the door.
“Asa?”
“I want to know who called him,” he reiterated.
“I don’t know-”
“When you find out!” he snapped.
She held h
er head high, but didn’t agree, which was probably the reason that he again advanced on her, snapping out of his light stupor and turning into an animal in an instant.
“Okay!” she yelled, stopping him before he could reach out and shove her against the wall again. Even though he paused, the look in his eye told her that deep down inside there was some part of him that was capable of killing her.
It wasn’t until Asa walked, heavy-footed and with purpose, through the room and slammed the door shut behind him that she was able to let out a rocky, relieved breath.
The sound of a Harley firing up cut right through her gut and she startled before quickly padding to the window where she peeked through the curtain. Outside, Asa steered his Hog through the dirt parking lot, tires kicking up dust, and then sped off down the road.
Letting the curtain fall, she realized she was once again dripping with sweat. The room was brutal thanks to the damned busted AC and the lingering cigarette smoke that clung to the thick air. Samantha found a hair tie in her suitcase, piled her strawberry blonde locks into a messy bun on top of her head, and left the motel room to see if she might be able to breathe a little better outside.
As soon as she shut the door behind her, she touched eyes with Wanda, the motel owner, who was walking from the motel office three doors down towards her pickup truck.
A voluptuous woman in her mid-forties, Wanda had retained all the beauty of her younger years, adding to it only her jaded wisdom and ability to knock back a whiskey with the best of them. To Samantha, the woman was something of a cowgirl, proud and wild in her cowboy boots and faded straw hat, her plaid button-down tied in a knot on the side, cleavage lifted so high it seemed to sit directly beneath her chin.
“How ya holding up in this heat?” she called out as she popped the passenger’s side door of her truck open and grabbed a toolbox.
Samantha wondered if that was a joke.
Despite her irritation, she only politely reminded Wanda that, “My AC is still blowing hot air. I wouldn’t be opposed to changing rooms.”
“I’m not sure there’d be much of a difference,” she said, swinging the truck door shut and starting over. “I’ll take a look at it now if you like?”
“Absolutely,” said Samantha, opening her room door for Wanda to enter.
“That wasn’t Asa Boone I saw driving off a moment ago, was it?” she asked, as she opened her toolbox on the floor in front of the stubborn AC unit and began hunting for a tool that might help her cause.
“I went by Poison earlier,” said Samantha, hoping the excuse would sound benign enough that this woman wouldn’t start to pry.
It was wishful thinking.
“I wouldn’t get mixed up with Asa, if I were you,” she commented, flipping the AC’s filter door open and having a poke around. “I mean don’t get me wrong. I love the Black Skulls.” She shot Samantha a tight wink then kept working. “I’m the Road Captain’s old lady. You know, Jim Joseph?” She smiled to herself as if drifting into a daydream then snapped out of it to add, “We’re on again off again, but let me tell you, I’ve got my ear to the ground when it comes to the Black Skulls. Asa Boone,” she trailed off, shaking her head as though the very thought of him was a real doozy. “Talk about some dark shit. That kid learned to kill before he learned to ride.”
Chapter Six
Moonlight shafted through the meeting room windows, as Asa sipped a cold beer and listened to his father Rodney argue with Carl Boone about the logistics and particulars of what they expected Asa to do later that night...what they always expected him to do. Being the senior-most sergeant-at-arms was often an ugly job.
Asa took another long haul of beer, feeling a familiar haze of calm flooding his veins that took the edge off just enough. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Samantha told him…about that cell phone in Johnny’s boot. He looked around the table and wondered if any of the rest of them had heard about it yet. The skulls had guys in the police department that were willing to pass on information for a few bucks or to pay back what they might owe them for a few joints or even a burner gun to carry in their own boot. He decided they didn’t know. If they did they would be talking about it. Part of their brotherhood code was that they shared everything. Lying and withholding information had serious consequences in their world. He had his own reasons for not mentioning it and none of them would be acceptable to his father or the rest of the club. He’d be fucked and so would Samantha if they started looking into that phone and who Johnny talked to right before he died.
Asa grimaced at the thought of his father and uncle finding out that Samantha was a reporter and what they would do to her if that happened. They wouldn’t be nearly as nice as he had been…as a matter of fact, they would get what he had gotten and then Samantha would disappear, forever. He quickly knocked back his beer to wash the bad taste from his mouth.
He was disturbed by the fact that the idea of his father and uncle fucking Samantha bothered him so badly and he was even more disturbed at how the idea of her disappearing and him never getting to see her again threatened to drive him crazy. It was new and he’d never known what a pain in the ass feelings could be before…maybe because he had never really had any. Fucking her had completely backfired in that regard. But fuck, it was good.
Asa forced air into his lungs, guzzled down the rest of his Bud, and challenged himself not to think about Samantha until he started off on the open road later that night.
After five and a half seconds he had already failed.
“Asa!” Rodney barked, slamming his fist on the table and knocking his son out of whatever daydream was gripping him. “Can you handle the Blue Spades alone?”
The Blue Spades was another motorcycle gang that a decade prior had an overlapping territory with the Black Skulls. Back then the gangs had attempted to work together, but ultimately butted heads so badly that a major fallout ensued. It was for this reason that Rodney now considered them the prime suspect in Johnny Fox’s murder.
“I can handle it,” he assured them, making a point to stare dead at his father and then his uncle to demonstrate his resolve. “No problem.”
“I want you to talk to them,” Rodney explained for the third time in their meeting if you could call it a meeting. It was just the three of them and Asa was kind of pissed off that they were questioning his ability to do his job. “Don’t let things escalate,” his father was saying.
He tried not to show his annoyance. Rodney would take that as disrespect and it was at the top of his father’s list of things he didn’t tolerate. “I got it, Dad. I want to go alone. It’s the only way to prevent things from escalating," he agreed, reiterating his father's point. "If I rolled in with Jared and Kyle and Strike, we’d be met with a wall of men aiming guns at us.”
“Guns we sold them,” Carl added, snorting a laugh at the irony.
“Jared and Kyle will get it,” Asa assured them. The guys were waiting outside in the bar because the decision to send Asa alone had only just been made. “Strike on the other hand...” Rodney and Carl exchanged a look, indicating they were in complete agreement with Asa’s unfinished point.
“He has been getting antsy,” Carl allowed. “He’s too eager. He wants to be in the game too badly, and I’ve got to tell you, I trust him less and less because of it. He’s unpredictable.”
“He isn’t actually unpredictable,” Rodney corrected his twin brother. “But he’s pushing it.” Asa cut his point through their rising argument. “He’s not coming with me. None of them are. If we need to discuss Strike, we can do it another time. I need to get on the road.” Pushing his chair out and grabbing his empty beer bottle, Asa got to his feet.
Rodney caught him before he could turn for the door by saying, “You make it crystal clear to the Blue Spades that if they need it, they have the full power of the Black Skulls behind them in burying anything and everything on how and why and where they killed Johnny Fox. You’re their advocate and ally, that’s how you’r
e going to play this. It’s the only way to get them to admit it and once they do, we’ll have them by the balls.”
Carl grumbled heavily. “It’s going to be an all-out bloodbath.”
“If the Blue Spades were behind it,” Asa pointed out.
After holding his son’s gaze for a long beat, Rodney told him to shut the door on his way out, and Asa obeyed, leaving the twins at the top of this twisted pyramid to discuss the finer and more secretive points of how to navigate the residual shit storm that was currently brewing in the wake of Fox’s death.
As Asa approached the bar, his closest friend Kyle met him halfway. Jared and Strike remained on their bar stools, finishing their beers and enjoying the company of the biker chicks that surrounded them. Poison had filled up as it did every night, but even so, Asa knew his buddies wouldn’t be happy about being forced to stay behind. Partying with fine-ass bitches was great but their brothers always came first.
“Time to roll out?” asked Kyle. “What’s the plan?”
“It’s changed,” Asa said, reading the immediate disappointment on his friend’s face. “I’m going alone.”
“Alone? Are they fucking crazy?”
“They have their reasons. I’m just scouting for information.”
Anger marred Kyle’s face and it seemed out of character if the topic itself weren't so grave. Between the cops and the press, the heat that the Black Skulls were frying in wasn’t good. “What about the skull fucker?” Kyle asked after a long moment’s consideration.
In an instant, Asa’s finger was in Kyle’s face and he hissed, “You say a fucking word to anyone about Samantha, and-”
“Calm the fuck down,” he hissed in a low tone. “And get your fucking finger out of my face.” Asa did, choosing instead to plow all ten fingers through his hair despite how sheered it was on the sides.
“I didn’t tell anyone you fucked her and I won’t,” Kyle went on, but his point was interrupted by a chuckle he couldn’t suppress. “I can’t believe you fucked a reporter. That’s bad, bro.”
“Who else knows?”
ASA: BLACK SKULLS MC Page 6
