by Violet Blaze
Lyric turns away from me, her short hair sliding forward to cover her face, her right fist pressing against her mouth as she struggles to get control of herself. I am such a fucking asshole, I tell myself as I take in a deep breath. What the hell am I doing with this girl? Lyric is so much more than an aside or a confidante or an old lady. She's a leader, a woman with drive and strength and determination. She's destined for great things, things that I can't give her, no matter what I do.
“Tell you what, Pint-Size,” I say as I slide the ring off her finger with a smirk that I don't feel. Inside, I'm fucking empty. “I'll make this real easy for you, okay?” When she looks over at me, I almost lose my resolve. Instead, I spin the ring around in my hand. “I was planning on giving this to Mia before you showed up anyway. I bet if I called her up, she'd say yes in a heartbeat.”
“You're lying,” Lyric growls at me. Fierce. Wild. Short and curvy and sexy and perfect. I grit my teeth against the pain. “You can't use reverse psychology on me, Royal. I'm too goddamn smart for that.”
“There's nothing psychological about it, sweetheart. You either have the stomach for this or you don't. If you can't cut it, then get lost.” I nod my chin towards the front door as the dogs pause in their game to look over at me. They were fighting over a piece of rope, but now both of their wild gazes are firmly focused on my face. Must be something off in my voice. “Go. Get the fuck out of my house. You're nothing but trouble anyway.” I slip the ring back in the pocket of my cut and start towards the door. When I open it, Lyric's still standing in front of the stove staring at me. She's short enough that the hood doesn't block any of her pretty face. “Well, what are you waiting for?”
“If this is your plan to make things better, you suck at it,” she snaps, but I can hear the edge of uncertainty in her voice. Hell, as far as she knows I'm completely serious. It's not like we know each other all that well anyway, right?
“You go, and I'll call a woman that won't hesitate when I invite her into my life.” A pause. “Into my bed.”
“Stop it!” Lyric yells, but she doesn't bother to move from her spot, positioned there like she's grown roots. “You think you're helping me? You're only making things harder. This is my choice,” she points to her chest, “my choice and not yours. Stop trying to make it for me, Royal.”
“Get the fuck out!” I scream, and I'm not even sure at this point why I'm still doing this, making this miserable, stupid decision. “Enjoy your stay in the White House, Deputy Mayor. I hope you get there someday.”
“If you want me out of here, you'll have to drag me out,” she snarls back, turning off the stove and moving around the island to glare at me. We look at each other for a long while, so long that Lake ends up crawling into the space between us and letting out an anxious whine.
Slowly, I reach up and place my palm against the door. And then I slam it back into place.
Six good strides gets me across the room, puts Lyric in my arms, gets hers around my neck. Our mouths are hot and hungry, fighting for one another, desperate to dive deeper. We stumble back and into the kitchen island, knocking over the bottle of Johnnie Walker and not giving a shit. I have no idea what this means, but hell if I can stop myself.
My hands are sliding the straps of the jumpsuit down her shoulders as she yanks her arms out, lets the fabric fall, and bares a lacy black bra with a tiny diamond charm in the center. It's as elegant, as sexy, as the outfit that was hiding it.
I want to tear it right the fuck off.
I shove Lyric's jumpsuit down her body, leaning over so she can kiss and bite at my neck, taste the racing heartbeat of my pulse in my throat. Her lips are warm, her breath like wings against my heated skin. I can't decide if this is a good-bye fuck or a hello fuck, but it's passionate and wild and everything I've ever wanted from a woman.
“What the hell is this?” I ask, my voice harsh and rasping, thick with need. Underneath Lyric's jumpsuit is a gray and black pinstriped corset, cinching her tiny waist in even tighter. “Dear Lord, woman, don't you do anything in half-measures?”
She ignores me, threading her fingers through my hair, raking my scalp with her nails as we kiss again, and the seed of an idea forms in my mind. I grin against her lips and then pull back, dropping to my knees on the floor as I take the jumpsuit with me. The legs are wide enough that the whole thing slides right over those little boots she's got on, leaving Lyric in a matching black lace thong.
“Jesus Christ.” I press my tattooed hands against the pale flesh of her bare hips and push her into the counter, dropping my mouth to the warm heat between her thighs. My tongue slides across the dark lace, nipping at it gently with my teeth as Lyric moans and bucks her hips against my face. As soon as I get her warmed up, I'm taking her into the garage where my bagger's currently parked. If this is our last time together, I have to do this, have to have her over my bike.
I slide my hands down Lyric's body, over the corset, gripping her bare cheeks in tight fingers as I taste the sweetness of her body through her panties. Her arousal is obvious, even through the lace, soaking the fabric as I glide my tongue over the hardened nub of her clit, my fingers dancing up the inside of her thigh and slipping into her pussy.
“I can't stand up anymore,” she whispers, her voice a delicious blend of agony and pleasure, the sound shooting through me like a gunshot, turning my cock to diamond as I growl and encourage her to hook her left leg over my shoulder. The weight of Lyric's body is nothing she's so goddamn tiny, and I'm so fucking turned on that I wouldn't notice if she weighed a hundred stone.
My mouth works at the lace while my hand teases a steady rhythm against the ridged warmth of her body. As soon as she clamps down on me, crying out and bucking her pelvis against my face, I'm drenched with the heat of her orgasm and my brain's damn near fried.
I can't wait any longer. Sliding Lyric's leg carefully off my shoulder, I keep her standing with my hands on her hips and rise to my feet.
“Come with me.”
My fingers curl around Lyric's left hand, the feeling of my sister's ring warm against the inside of my palm. Just for right now, I'm going to pretend this all works out, that she says yes, that I can move her into my place and call her my wife.
It makes everything feel that much more real, that much sweeter, sharper. It makes me wonder how I ever found any of the leather lovers attractive, why a quick clumsy fumble in the dorm rooms was worth shit. Compared to this, it was less than dirt.
“Where are we going?” Lyric asks, but she follows me into the garage anyway, down the cement steps and over to my bike. “Oh.” That sound, the heat that infuses her cheeks when she sees what I've got planned is fucking priceless. Without any prompting, Lyric moves towards the motorcycle and runs her hand along the gleaming chrome of the handlebars, walking in a slow circle, hips rolling, as she comes around and pauses in front of me.
She sits that perfect, round ass of hers on the leather seat and leans forward, unzipping my pants and looking up at me from under a fall of dark lashes. Without a word, I reach down and rub my right thumb along the scar across her cheek. It'll heal eventually, I'm sure, but for now, I don't mind. It's bloody badass.
Lyric stares up at me, her hands on the waistband of my jeans. Her eyes are bright and sharp when she turns her head to the side and takes my thumb between her lips, sucking it into her mouth and clamping it gently between her teeth. With a slow, careful motion, she pops the button on my jeans, drags my zipper down.
For the love of fucking Christ.
My head drops back, gaze sliding past the shelves of bike parts on the wall, straight up to the ceiling. For a split second there, I regret sending Sketch home because honestly, with those steady, sure hands of Lyric's gripping my cock at the base, stroking hard and smooth along the shaft, I could quite literally get caught with my pants down right now. If one of Clayton's punk-ass-for-hire bitches were to show up here, I'd be practically fucking helpless. I reassure myself by touching the side of my cut, feeling
the hard bulge of my new revolver. It's a beaut, a Ruger GP100, that I picked up from that nearly botched shipment we got in from Seventy-Seven Brothers.
But then Lyric bites down hard on my thumb, drawing my attention back to her face, obliterating my brain. I'm completely enraptured as she leans forward, her ass up in the air, leaning against the bike more than she's sitting on it, and takes my cock in her mouth.
“Holy shit, Pint-Size.” I can see the curves of her hips, the way the corset squeezes in that perfect waist of hers. The lines of her thong sit like an upside down V on her lower back, drawing my attention to what little I can see of her ass. But it's enough. Oh, fuck, even that much is almost too much. I curl my fingers gently into Lyric's hair, tugging her closer, my lids fluttering as she draws her tongue along the sensitive underside of my dick, sliding her mouth off with a pop. One hand climbs up and under my shirt, encouraging me to take it all off. I shrug out of my cut first and pull my shoulder holster off. The white T-shirt comes next, fluttering to the cement floor in a messy pile.
“That's better,” Lyric says with a small smile. The look on her face is tight but determined; I can't read it. I'll be the first to admit, that bleedin' freaks me out. Pint-Size rises to her feet, her nails tracing their way up my midsection as I drop mine to her corseted waist and pull our bodies in close, leaning down for another round of kissing, her tongue sliding against mine. It's slow and sensual and wicked, the way she presses up against my rigid cock with her soft, curvy body, the way the moistness on my dick feels cool and hot at the same time.
As her hands trace up my arms, over my shoulders, curl around my neck, I can feel that ring burning like a brand into my flesh. She hasn't taken it off which is a good sign, yeah? I mean, it's got to be. If I lose this, if I lose Lyric to fucking politics and bullshit, that's it for me. It's club whores and empty sex the rest of my life. Sounds bloody awful, doesn't it? I ignore the thought, choosing instead to cup Lyric's full breasts, knead them with my fingers, eat up the soft breathy moans slipping between her moist lips.
After a while, she pulls away from me, turning around and leaning over, so I've got the most perfect view known to man. One hand sweeps some of that short, dark hair behind her ear and the other braces against the leather seat of my red and white Swinger. If the thought didn't make me crazy with jealousy, I'd say she belonged in a magazine or on a calendar or some shit.
“God, you're beautiful,” I say as I move forward and slide my hands up the sides of her body, slipping two fingers under the thong and drawing it down until it's hanging off one of those high heeled boots of hers. Lyric ignores my words, dropping her other hand onto the seat and lifting her pelvis towards me.
That's all the invitation I need.
I step forward, hooking my hands around the natural curve of her hips. I have to grip tight, lift Lyric up a little and widen my stance to compensate for the extreme differences in our heights. Somehow that makes this even sexier, watching her heels come up, her toes just barely touching the floor. My arm muscles bunch, tattoos standing at sharp attention as I hold Lyric half-suspended over the bike.
Fuck yes.
I grin and press my aching cock to Lyric's opening. It's slippery and hot and ready for me, but still, I take it slow. I need to savor this, commit it to memory. A gentle push and I'm inside of her, drawing a gasp from Lyric's throat as her spine curves with pleasure. I follow the guidance of her hips, pressing forward only when she presses back. Soon, we're pelvis to pelvis and I'm enveloped in her heat. Her muscles tighten and relax around me as I start to move, drawing my body forward like I've been hypnotized.
My hips rock against her ass, my balls slapping Lyric's soft flesh as I start to move with a focused rhythm, taking my body to the edge of pleasure and then pausing to breathe before I start up again. The cold, oil soaked garage fills with the sounds of our voices, mine a rasping growl and hers a breathy whisper. Lyric starts to move faster, pressing back into me and then rocking forward; I match the pace.
When it feels like I can't take anymore, I slide back and turn Lyric around. Her pupils are dilated, lips gently parted, face flushed with desire. I keep my eyes locked on hers as I kick one leg over the bike and straddle the seat, drawing her to me with a hand on one hip. Lifting Lyric up, I sit her in my lap, her legs on either side of my hips.
As soon as our bodies are joined, she takes over completely, letting me unhook the front of her corset and toss it to the floor so I can lay my hand on her belly. Our kisses are long and wet and sharp, teeth catching at lips, tongues sliding along the edges of jaws. I tangle my ringed hand in Lyric's hair as she gyrates her body against mine, her noises climbing into a keening sound that turns my insides into knots. I feel her tightening up before she comes, letting her head fall back into my hand as she groans and bares her throat to me.
It's the aftershocks of her orgasm that get me, the ridged muscles of her body drawing the pleasure up and out of me with a groan that echoes around the garage like a sigh of relief.
“Come on,” she tells me, standing up before I can stop her and reaching down for my cut. When she shrugs it over her own shoulders, I get the fucking chills.
I button up my jeans and follow her bare ass inside to the scent of burning garlic, pausing for just a brief second to turn the oven off. When I turn the corner into the living room, I find Lyric laying down on that stupid fucking bearskin rug that I'm suddenly very much in love with.
“Come here,” she says as I move over to her and kneel down, leaning over her body to kiss and suckle at the hardened points of her nipples beneath the black lace bra. “Royal,” she starts, but I don't stop, kissing down that belly, across the dark patch of hair on her pussy. It's groomed, but not shaped and shaved and manicured to high hell like some of those groupies. So much better. “Are you even listening?” she asks, but I keep going because I'm not sure I can take another bollocking tonight. Had about enough of that already. Or maybe I'm just nervous about what she has to say. If I am, I refuse to admit it. “Do you know what I got my degree in?”
Not what I expected.
I pause with my mouth inches from the wet heat of her body.
“Never gave it much thought, love,” I admit as I slide my fingers down those smooth pale thighs. “What's that got to do with this.”
“I got a law degree,” she says and then pauses, her breath coming in sharp quick bursts. But not from me, I don't think, from whatever's going through that head of hers. And it's a bloody gorgeous head at that. I sit up a little, stare down at her wearing my cut like she owns the damn thing. Hell, maybe she does? She sure as shit seems to own my heart.
Fuuuuuck! I purse my lips and run my fingers through my hair.
“A law degree,” I say because holy hell, I thought deputy mayor was bad enough. The boys—especially Dober and the old-timers—are gonna love this. A lawyer-mayor. Brilliant.
“Lawyers …” Lyric sits up a little, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “They can change the world, too. Become judges. Maybe even make more changes than someone in politics.” A long pause as I realize this is her very slight idea of compromise.
This is her warming to the idea.
This is her not telling me no.
This is Lyric almost telling me yes.
A lawyer-judge is almost as bad as a lawyer-mayor, but … fuck it. Club business is club business, right? And she won't be a part of that. Hell, maybe this could even work. She could keep the waters clear for us, keep an eye and an ear out for trouble.
I suck in a sharp breath. In the back of my mind, I know I'm losing the plot. This is never going to work. But then again, I'm a stubborn twat and an asshole. If I have to, I'll die trying.
“You must be the first lawyer I've ever liked,” I say with a grin, sliding my arms under Lyric and turning so that she's sitting on my chest. When she scoots back and undoes my jeans again, I relax into it, let her trace my tattoos with her fingers, wait until I'm hard and she's ready and we're sliding together ag
ain.
We don't stop fucking until the sun comes up.
Breakfast is burnt garlic bread, chicken fettuccine alfredo and coffee. The dogs sit at my feet on the bearskin rug that Royal and I spent all night screwing on, gazing happily at my food as I toss bits of noodle their way.
The mood is decidedly … weird.
I have no idea what really happened last night. The weirdness was so goddamn thick that I felt like I was wading through it. I came over here to talk things through with Royal, ended up getting proposed to, spent ten hours screwing, sort-of-kind-of said yes, and then decided on abandoning politics and becoming a lawyer?
I've lost my damn mind.
That's all there is to it. Period. I, Lyric Lenore Rentz, am insane.
I check my phone surreptitiously and find a text from my father. He never texts me, so I know this must be bad.
Sully is coming home tomorrow. We're having family dinner to celebrate. Please arrive no later than six.
My mouth twitches and I turn the screen off.
“Pint-Size,” Royal begins as I glance over at him, a full foot away from me on the couch. I think we're both a little confused as to what went on last night. “You okay?”
“Dinner at my parents tomorrow,” I say and then I get the absolutely psycho idea of taking Royal with me. Why not? I'm an adult, can do whatever I want. But is seeing my mother die of fright something I really want? I sigh. “It's supposedly a celebratory dinner for Sully's homecoming, but I think it's going to be tantamount to a waterboarding session for me.” I twist some noodles around my fork and force myself to look over at Royal. It shouldn't be so hard to look at a guy I spent all night making love to, but as soon as our eyes meet, my throat gets tight. My palms start to sweat. Fireflies electrify my belly, like butterflies but worse.
“About last night,” I start at the same time Royal says, “Pint-Size …”
We both pause and I suck in a deep breath, determined to speak before he does, before I let myself scoot over and run my fingers up the fresh stubble on his face or start fantasizing about his big hands cupping my breasts or holding me up over that motorcycle.
