by Hazel Parker
The bandits.
My hand hung in mid-air as I debated taking his hand. He turned around, sensing my hesitation.
“Something wrong?”
In reality, no. Nothing was wrong. I didn’t have any reason to feel guilty or scared. I was just a normal woman. I didn’t owe anyone anything. I owed myself some pleasure. The kind I hadn’t had in a year and two, if we’re counting actual dick and not the rubber, silicone kind.
“No,” I said, looking up from his vest to his face. “It’s nothing. Nothing at all.”
Chapter 3
Ethan
I pulled her, pushing against the people until we were outside. She followed me a distance before pulling away just before we got to my bike.
“I’ll follow you in my car.”
“What’s wrong? Don’t trust I’ll bring you back?”
She laughed confidently. “I don’t trust this parking lot with my car.”
I looked around. True. The place was a little seedy, but I’d seen worse. I doubted she would get her tires slashed. Maybe a broken window and some things stolen.
“Okay. Well, I’m not going far. You okay with the motel just up there?” I asked, pointing. She might as well know what it was before I even began. I didn’t take hoes back to my place. Not a chance in hell. One-night stands were motel material. I didn’t mind shelling out the cash. In the grand scheme of things, it helped women be less clingy.
The motel was one of those seedy places men with beer guts went to bang other men's wives, making promises they couldn't afford to keep. Or else the hookers brought their johns there and paid for rooms by the hour. Weeds grew through the cracks in the concrete path and the litter from cheap take-out meals was strewn across it. There were external, wooden stairs that lead to a second floor: a second row of doors that looked like the building inspector was either bribed to pass it or drunk on the job.
“Sure.”
“See you there then,” I said, swinging a leg around my bike. The motel was five minutes away. No point waiting.
My bike revved and churned underneath me as I watched her walk over the gravel, just barely keeping from tottering over before I sped off.
My timing was perfect. By the time I’d paid for the room and had the keys waiting, she was walking through the entrance.
“We’re room eight,” I said, happy she didn’t get cold feet.
“Let’s go,” she said, smiling innocently.
I was willing to bet money she was anything but innocent. That little outfit she was wearing was begging to be ripped apart and I was the guy to do it.
I opened the door and pulled her in with a sense of urgency I’d never felt before. A primal need pulled her to me and I rubbed our bodies together, giving her no time to talk. The time for words had passed. I wanted to fuck.
She moaned aloud and the sound was lost in my mouth. Our lips collided as my tongue went deep into her mouth. Sucking, twirling her tongue with my own, and stealing her breath until she pushed against my chest in alarm. I eased up just a little, releasing her body, not her lips, as my hands undressed her.
I savagely ripped open the clasp holding her vest together and knew I broke it. The carpet absorbed the sound of it falling to the floor. My hands wrapped around her back, pushing the flimsy material to the floor. My mouth quickly encircled her nipple and I looked up to see her head thrown back in pleasure against the motel door. Her hair skimmed the top of her ass, touching the top of her jeans, teasing me to pull them down. I did as I rolled one tightened nipple between my fingers while my tongue rolled over the other. I pulled on them hard, my teeth and fingers in sync as they came to stiff points. Her tits weren’t too large and not too small, the perfect size for me to suck into my mouth.
Her eyes were closed and her legs wide as she rubbed against me. “More. Oh. More. I need more.”
Groans of pleasure erupted from both of us. My big hands covered her small ones and as I looked into her brown eyes, I wanted nothing more than to give her what she asked for. I shrugged my leather jacket off, hanging it on the back of the chair at the small desk in our room. The white stitch of the Bandit almost glowed in the darkness.
“Pants and panties off. Now,” I said, ripping the zipper down on my pants. My swollen, pink cock popped from my pants, and I sighed in audible relief. I held it tightly, trying to relieve the pressure.
I need to feel her cunt wrapped around me.
“I need to be inside of you,” I said, digging for a condom from my wallet with shaky hands.
“Not yet,” she said, watching me with an arched brow.
I grinned. I loved it when a woman wasn’t afraid to say what she wanted.
I sank to my knees and growled at the material in the way.
“The next time you don’t move when I say, I’m bending you over my knee and spanking you,” I said, cupping her pussy possessively. I felt her twitch in my hand at my words. “You hear me?” I said, grabbing her tightly.
She moaned and nodded her head. I was tempted to take her then, but truthfully, I had wanted to taste her since I’d noticed her looking at me. I wondered if she tasted as sweet as she looked.
I popped the snap on her jeans, trying to be a little more considerate of them than I was of the vest, and pulled down. I came face to face with her neatly trimmed, brown bush. Her hips rose in anticipation as I pushed her clothes past her ankles so she could step out of them.
I looked up to see her pink insides sticky and dripping wet. I slid one finger inside and groaned when it contracted against my digit. She was ready.
“Get ready for the ride of your life,” I said, hooking her legs over my shoulders. She didn’t weigh a thing, despite the curves of her body, and lifted easily off the floor.
My tongue swiped her back to front, taking in her sweetness.
“Oh, baby,” she said, humping my face.
She didn’t need any encouragement as she rode my face. I held her steady as she used my shoulders for support, and soon she was coming apart and dripping juice down my chin. I moved us quickly to the bed, pulling at the tightened skin the carpet left on my bare knees.
Once laid on the bed, I sheathed my dick and slid deep inside her, not waiting for her to adjust. She was so wet and hot; the unexpected tightness gripping against me had me shaking like an addict.
She moaned and clawed the top cover, unable to grab the sheets.
I pulled back and slammed into her as she arched into me.
“Oh, God.”
“Not God. Ethan,” I said, loving the contorted mask of pleasure and pain on her face.
“Ethan,” she cried as her hips moved like they had a mind of their own. She met me thrust for thrust as I went faster and harder. She moaned with ecstasy as our bodies became slick with sweat.
Her eyes were wide and hopeless as I owned her body. I was in control and I rode her, feeling her hot body spasm around me. My hands found her breasts and I held them tightly, squeezing her nipples in time with my thrusts. I fell forward, my lips finding hers as I pulled us towards the inevitable. I could feel her sweet pussy lubricating my hard cock, coating me.
“You just came again, didn’t you?” I said between breaths. “Greedy pussy.”
“Oh, Ethan. No more,” she whimpered.
I plunged deeper.
“I can’t. Oh. No more.”
“Yes, you can,” I said, clenching my ass cheeks.
She was going to come again. I wanted her to fall apart before I came. I could feel my balls tightening, begging to explode, but I wanted to wait for her. My fingers reached forward to strum the little bundle of nerves under her thick pussy lips.
Her legs locked around my waist as she took everything and let go. She screamed aloud as every nerve in my body lit up like the Fourth of July. I shuddered as I forced my body deeper into her, squeezing every drop into her. I could feel her milking me even though the condom was a barrier. Her pussy caressed me, held me and pulled me to an even higher level of orgasm.
I didn’t want to think about it, but it was true: I needed her warm pussy holding me, her arms around me, her accepting me deeper into her walls. I needed to lose myself in her – and I did.
Wordlessly, we dropped together, tangled in a heap on top of the covers we had yet to pull back. I lifted on one arm to see her face. Strands of wet, brown hair were stuck to her cheeks. I pulled them gently from her face and tucked them behind her ears.
Then I did something I’d never done before after fucking a girl. I watched her sweet mouth, still opening from panting and trying to regain her breath, leaned down and, as gentle as a lover’s caress, I kissed her.
I didn’t linger there. The kiss couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but I felt something deep in my chest.
She looked up at me, her brown eyes glistening in the little light the street lights provided through the window, and I saw something. Something I hadn’t seen in any other woman’s eyes before. I didn’t know what it was. It was unknown, indescribable, but I saw it and recognized it as something that was inside me. There was no denying that it was there; I saw it and felt it for myself.
I don’t know how long we laid there before I got up to throw the condom away or how long we laid together in bed to recharge, but I heard her phone vibrate in her clutch and felt her slowly pull away from my body.
I didn’t bother letting her know I was awake. It didn’t matter. This was a one-night stand. We both knew what it was – no need pretending we would see each other again or exchange numbers. I could see the glaring light of her phone against the darkness behind my eyelids and heard her tapping the screen in what I imagine was a reply.
I thought about asking for round two, but decided against it. That opened the door for more things that I didn’t want. So I let her leave. She redressed quietly and I almost peeked to see how she was holding her vest together, knowing I broke the clasp but I didn’t want to risk the awkward moment after. So I remained silent as if in a deep sleep and if I hadn’t already been awake, I never would have seen her sneak away in the early morning.
Chapter 4
Molly
I drove, thinking only of the words in my inbox.
Your dad’s been hurt. You need to come home. Paulie.
That was a name I hadn’t seen in years on my phone – almost as long as I’d been away from home. How ironic. The one time I was in town was the one time my dad magically got hurt. I would be willing to bet money it was a set-up. But why now? Why not before? I sighed heavily, walking to my red Honda civic. It was 5 a.m.
The night had been long, deliciously long. The ache between my legs and on my hips reminded me of that with every step I took. Somehow I knew seeing my father would ruin the great mood I was in. Still, he was my father, and a very prideful man. If Paulie was texting me, it meant dad probably needed me. Probably.
The morning chill woke me from my drowsy state and kept me alert as I stopped quickly at the gas station. I couldn’t come home looking properly fucked and half naked. If my dad wasn’t hurt, he’d have a heart attack if he saw the way I looked. I put fifty into the tank and spent twenty on a t-shirt that said “I heart bikers” and some sweats that wouldn’t look flattering on anyone before heading into the public restroom.
The place could be described as somewhat dilapidated. The Formica peeled from the vanities and the enamel was chipped in the sink. Water leaked from the base of the faucet when it was in use. The light in the bathroom was bright and sterile, lacking even a trace of warmth.
My smeared mascara and matted hair were prominent, as if under a microscope; every imperfection shone like a beacon and I quickly undressed, willing myself to look better when I left than when I entered. I wiped the dregs of my makeup with the rough paper towels and put my hair in a bun. Once sure I was looking the best I could, I left and walked to my car. The sweats and heels together were a combination I couldn’t imagine wearing in front of my father. I rummaged through my trunk and squealed to myself as my hands ran into a tennis shoe under the gym clothes, shoes, trash, and extra tire.
The drive was relatively short as I took the familiar turns and drove to the house I called home. From the paved, circular driveway stood the delicate, marble fountain, the soft gurgling of the clear water melodic as it resonated in the surrounding silence. The mansion loomed proudly behind creaky, iron gates, flanked by rows of skeletal trees crowned in crimson, swaying gently to the chilly, autumn wind.
Men with scowls and rough features ran security detail around the gate, looking out of place in comparison to the wealth on display.
This was a statement more than a home – a show of wealth, no matter how illegally gained. To me, it always felt more like a prison than a home.
A hundred memories of my life in the house came rushing back: police officers sitting outside while I tried to ride around in my new Barbie car, my seventh birthday party when none of my friends showed up for my party because their parents were afraid of letting them go to a criminal’s house, the ever present background noise of loud music and men drinking. That was the kind of thing that happened when your dad ran the local chapter of one of the most notorious motorcycle clubs in the state. It hadn’t been normal, and yet somehow I had convinced myself it was a happy childhood. I figured if you couldn’t beat them, join them.
The guard at the gate leaned down and scowled menacingly. “You lost?”
“I’m looking for my dad.”
“You sure you’re in the right place kid? What’s your old man’s name?”
“Casper Karin.”
The name shocked him into action, gesturing the men to open the gate immediately as he stepped away from my car.
“I see not much has changed,” I mumbled under my breath as I drove to the spot indicated.
“Can I get you anything?” another man asked. He had a scar running in a zigzag pattern from his forehead and across his nose to the top of his pale lips.
I eyed him, distracted by the silver gleam of the mark, afraid to speak. I felt like my mouth might ask him what happened instead of telling him I didn’t need anything. Which made me the biggest hypocrite, since I hated when people asked about my scars.
“I’ll take it from here,” Paulie said from the top of the stairs leading to the front door.
He had aged – in a good way. He was still as attractive as I remembered, the platinum-blond hair, so long the ends curled around the top of his shoulders, the god-like physique. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him.
As I walked closer, I could see he was ripped to the hilt, cut and hard and yet proportioned. If I didn’t know what he did for a living, I would think he spent every waking moment in the gym. A faint smile sat on his lips as he waited for me to finish my analysis. The last time I saw him he had a beard – a scraggly one made of peach fuzz and a few long hairs, but he had one nonetheless.
“You cut your beard.”
“You remembered.”
How could two words be so loaded with emotion? But they were. Of course I remembered. I remembered it all. How else would I remember to stay away? I forgave, but I would never forget.
“Where’s my dad?”
He turned and opened the door widely for me to walk through. I paused in the entry way, taking it all in. The interior hadn’t changed. Red and white were the color palette of choice. The front door opened to a stairwell; behind it was a long hallway. The living room was on the left, the dining room was on the right and full of pictures that chronicled my life: Polaroids, school pictures, and candid shots.
My mother, a brown eyed-beauty with wild hair like me, was in them for most of the first decade. It wasn’t lost on me that there hadn’t been any more pictures since I ran away.
The living room connected to the kitchen in the back. The middle was cut through by a staircase that led to bedrooms. Paulie and I walked up the stairs in silence.
“He’s in his room.”
“Mind telling me what happened?”
“He took a hit.”
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I waited for more, but none came. “That’s all you’re going to say?”
“Yeah. If he wants you to know more, he’ll say,” he said, walking past the guest bedroom, bathroom, and my old bedroom until we were at the master suite. “I gotta warn you, he’s pretty busted up.”
“Okay,” I said, shrugging. “It’s not the first bloodied body I’ve seen.”
He looked like a shriveled version of himself. He sat in the middle of the bed, propped up with several pillows. The shadows of his beating were on his skin and his scowl made it clear breathing was causing him pain. The bruise that had begun as a purple stain above his eyebrow was now sunk into the socket itself, and so had the appearance of a black eye.
His vest, leather and worn with time, hung on him with a thumb-sized path in the front that said “President,” and beneath that another read “First 8.”
I stared at him, taking it all in as his eyes took me in. “My little girl.”
“Casper.”
I was not used to calling him dad, and in truth, he was more the President of the Skulls to me than he ever was a father.
“Come here. Let me get a good look at you.”
My feet moved me forward until I stood at the edge of his bed, hovering awkwardly. “Sit. Please, sit.”
I tried not to look shocked at his use of “please.”
“You look good,” he said, staring at my face. “Really good. Doesn’t she, Paulie?”
“She’s beautiful,” he said, looking at me instead of Casper. “She grew up to be even lovelier than she was before.”
I shouldn’t have, but I felt my skin heat with a blush. “So what happened to you?” I said, cutting through the fluff.
“It’s nothing. Typical MC business. I’ll be back on my feet in no time,” he said, waving his hand in the air. “I don’t want to talk about me. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“I haven’t seen or heard from you since you were sixteen, Molly. Last I heard, you were in college.”
That was true. I left and put myself through the University of Arizona.
