FILTHY SINS_Sons of Wolves MC

by Nicole Fox

  “Claiming that kiss.”

  “I already gave you the kiss.”

  “I reckon I can get another, though.”

  “Maybe I think what you’re doing is incredibly forward and out of line.”

  “Maybe,” I agree. “But I don’t think so.” I lean forward again, and now she opens her mouth, breathing heavily. She’s ready, I can tell. She’s hungry for it. I lean back just as she leans forward, grinning devilishly. “But I don’t want to press my luck,” I say, throwing her a wink.

  “You’re a cruel man,” she says. “You’re a horribly cruel man. That was mean. That was beyond mean.”

  “I’m not about to take advantage of a drunk lady.”

  “I’m not drunk.” She folds her arms, pouting like a little diva. “I don’t even know anything about you.” She thrusts her hand out. “I’m Nancy O’Neill. Nice to formally meet you.”

  I can’t help but smile. “Fink Foster, though I think we’ve already met.”

  We shake hands. Her hand is soft, and small, and sends dark thoughts into my mind. I imagine it wrapped around my cock, pumping. I imagine it grasping at bedsheets as orgasm after orgasm surges through her body. I imagine it clawing at my face as she begs for more, more, more . . .

  She snatches her hand away. “You don’t get to touch me if you don’t kiss me. That’s not how this works.”

  I laugh, and wave over the waitress for a couple of sodas.

  “Soda?” she blurts.

  “You’ve defeated me, pretty lady,” I say. “I see no shame in admitting that.”

  We sip the sodas for a couple of minutes, and then Nancy says, “I guess that was pretty embarrassing earlier, you seeing my dad talk to me like that.”

  I shrug, not wanting to offend her. Strange, ’cause I don’t normally give a damn about things like that. “Nobody has a perfect family.”

  “Like you and your dad?” she says. “He walked out on you, didn’t he?”

  I flinch. It’s like she’s just reached inside my chest and squeezed down on my heart. I’m not normally a man for being so melodramatic but damn, she hit the nail on the head and then drove the nail deeper than any woman ever has, or has ever come close to.

  “How do you know that?” I ask. “You a mind-reader or something?” I laugh uneasily.

  “Something you mentioned earlier. I guessed. Call it woman’s intuition.”

  “I don’t normally talk about this kind of stuff,” I say. “But fine. All right, then. My dad left before I was born. I don’t know shit about him and I don’t want to know shit about him. My mom had about ten different illnesses, some of them physical, some of them not, and she died a few years back. There, you have the story of Fink Foster.”

  “And that’s why you joined up with a biker gang?”

  “Club. I joined up with a biker club.”

  “Gang, club. What’s the difference?”

  “You can’t beat people with a gang.”

  She pauses, and then giggles when the jokes hits her. “Okay, funny man. But you didn’t answer my question.”

  “I joined up with them because joining up with them was better than all the alternatives. Is this a goddamn therapy session now?”

  “Sometimes it’s better not having a father,” she says bitterly, ignoring my question. “Sometimes all they do is cause you heartache. Maybe I’m drunker than I thought. I shouldn’t be sharing this. But—fuck it. Sometimes at work I’ll look out my window at the park and wonder what it’d be like to have kids. I just wonder, you know, and maybe I start wanting them a little. And then I think of growing up with Dad throwing whisky bottles and picking at me and Mom all the time and I get scared, really, really scared, that I’ll be the same. I’ll pick at my kids. I’ll make them feel like dirt.”

  “Kids.” I clench my teeth at the thought. “Committing to kids is about the biggest decision in a person’s life, I reckon, which is what makes it so messed up when a parent decides they don’t care about that commitment. They’ll just walk out, or abuse them, or neglect them. People don’t know how to commit to shit. I commit to the club and that’s all. I don’t commit to anything else because I’ve always known that I’m a human goddamn being, and a human being is weak and cowardly and doesn’t know how to stay committed.” I pause, rubbing my forehead. “Maybe I’m drunker than I thought, too.”

  She places her hand on mine. “I feel like I know you,” she says.

  I flip my hand and interlock my fingers with hers. It feels good, being palm to palm like this. “I feel the same,” I say. “I can’t believe I’m saying it, but it’s the truth. I feel exactly the same.”

  “Do you know what I’m saying about kids though? I know it’s heavy, talking about stuff like this on a first date. Maybe I shouldn’t even call it a date . . . I know it’s heavy, talking about stuff like this when I followed you to a bar, but . . . I don’t know.”

  Something strange is happening inside of me. If any other woman started to talk to me about babies, in any other situation, I’d run. I’d tell her I had to ride someplace with the club and get gone. I’d never look back. I feel that urge now, but it’s minor, an echo, and doesn’t hold the weight it normally would. I find I want to ignore it, which is earth-shattering in itself. I have never met a woman who makes me want to ignore my instinct to run.

  “I reckon you’d be a good mother,” I say. “It’s people who don’t worry about being shitty parents who become shitty parents, folks who don’t give it any thought. They assume it’ll be easy, fine and dandy and all that horseshit, but when the chips are down, they’re gone.”

  She smiles at me, her eyes as woozy as my head feels. She can drink, I’ll give her that. She can drink so good she’s even got me tipsy.

  “So this morning we were strangers, and now we’re . . .” She trails off.

  “Lovers?”

  “Lovers.” She rolls her eyes, smiling drunkenly. “We’re not lovers.”

  “Not yet.” I bring my face close to hers again. “But we could be, Nancy.”

  “I just met you today,” she says.

  “That’s true.”

  “I’m not sleeping with you,” she says. “That’s off the table.” She disentangles her hand and leans back. “I need you to tell me you understand. One time in college, this guy acted all cool and—what’s that word? That word for men who’re down with women? I can’t remember. Anyway, he said he was like that, and then he turned into a pig.”

  “I never claimed not to be a pig,” I say. “But I understand. We’re not having sex tonight. Fine. But what about everything else?”

  And here’s another strange thing. If any other woman tells me we’re not fucking, I go and find another woman who’s up for it. I don’t stick around. It isn’t my style. But I don’t want to find another woman where Nancy is concerned. I don’t even want to look. I want to stay with her. This is damn weird.

  “Everything else . . .” Her eyes go the widest they’ve been all night, which for her is pretty wide. “I don’t know, maybe.”

  “Maybe,” I say, taking out my cell, “I should call us a cab.”

  “Yes.” She nods. “That’d be nice. I need to sleep off this spell you’ve cast on me before work tomorrow.”

  I call a cab and we wait outside. “What about my car?” she asks.

  “Give me the keys and I’ll get it to you by tomorrow morning,” I tell her.

  “What? Are you serious?”

  Am I? The fuck has gotten into me? This is errand boy behavior. At least, if some woman asked me to fetch her car that’s how I’d think of it. But with Nancy I want to do it, because I want to help her.

  “I’m serious,” I say, shocked. “Yeah, damn, I really am.”

  “Okay . . .” She takes her keys from her handbag. “This might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

  I take the keys. “You can trust me.”

  “I know. I do. That’s the scary part.”

  I drop the keys into the poc
ket of my leather, thinking how I can double-back later on this evening and get the car, and then get my bike. It’s an odd series of thoughts. I imagine telling the fellas about helping this lady with her car. I don’t give a damn what they think, but I can’t deny a fair few of them will laugh.

  We climb into the cab and Nancy gives the driver her address. On the ride home we sit close together, my hand on her knee, but we don’t move past that. I’ve done my share of making out in the backs of cabs before, but that was when I didn’t really care about the woman I was with. The idea of this cab driver getting a look at Nancy doesn’t appeal to me at all. I pay the driver and we climb from the car, standing outside her apartment building.

  “This is me,” she says. “But . . . shall we take a walk first?”

  “You don’t want to invite me up,” I say.

  “Is that a problem?”

  I shrug. “Let’s go for a walk. We passed a park on the way here.”

  The sun is still out, but slowly setting. We walk toward the park, hand in hand, almost like we’re some kind of couple, almost like we’re on a date, almost like this isn’t merely a sexual exchange like every other interaction in my life. I find it feels good to hold her hand, to have her close to me. It feels good with the summer breeze on my face and her arm brushing against mine.

  I want to fuck her. Of course I want to fuck her, but walking like this isn’t so bad, either.

  We end up in a secluded area of the park, shrouded by trees, designed to hide us from the outside world. She turns to me, looks up at me, her lips parted, her eyes hungry. Maybe the gentlemanly thing to do would be to kiss her delicately on the cheek and walk her home.

  But I never claimed to be a gentleman. I kiss her hard, lift her by her shoulders, and press her against the trunk of a massive tree.

  Chapter Five

  Nancy

  I’ve never been a slut-shamer or a sex-shamer, a lust-shamer, or a hate-monger, but my first instinct when Fink pushes me up against the tree is to shove him away and tell him that I’m not that sort of girl. I don’t stop to think about what “that sort of girl” is, but the thought strikes me nonetheless. And with any other man, I’d follow that thought without question. But Fink feels so damn good pressed against me, his hard body, his hard leather, his biker’s hand sliding between my legs. His hand holds strength in it: the kind of strength capable of powering a bike for hours and hours and hours.

  So I don’t push him away, because I don’t want to push him away.

  Instead I open my legs and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him close to me as we share in the kiss. I throw myself into the embrace like I never have before, hurl myself into the pleasures of the kiss without giving thought to where we are, the birds chirping faraway, the cars growling. It’s just us in this tree-shrouded universe; nothing else matters. Our tongues wage war, the tips clashing, and tingles buzz between us. I push my tongue further into his mouth and he fights back, pushing in return. We kiss more deeply. Our teeth click together. Passion outruns us.

  Then his hand reaches my pussy, up my skirt, his middle finger pressing firmly against my panties. I gasp, unable to continue the kiss because he has stolen my breathing. I gasp over and over, pushing down on his hand, his finger probing harder against my clit. He rubs side to side, slowly at first, and then quickly, quicker and quicker each moment until the pleasure begins to grow larger and more difficult to ignore. I bite down on his lip, draw blood. Neither of us cares.

  He breaks off the kiss and looks down at me, his light green eyes solid and intent. It’s his mission to bring me to climax; that’s the look on his face. I stare back up at him, the handsomest, most dangerous-looking man who’s ever touched me. His face is stern. This is no laughing matter for him. He rubs me quicker, his eyes locked on my lips, and then my breasts, my shirt with my bra flashing through.

  I close my legs around his hand, tWolfing from side to side, grinding against him so that my back scratches against the tree. Quicker and quicker, harder and harder, he rubs me and I grind until the pleasure grows almost unbearable. My cheeks are hot, my chest is hot, the deep place inside my pussy is hot, my clit is burning. Everything starts to burn as he presses even harder.

  I close my eyes, listening to my panting moan rise into the air. I know I should be quiet, but an orgasm is coming and I can’t stop. The pleasure claims me. I writhe on his hand, his hand, which is like a power-drill now, never running out of power, vibrating against my clit. I gasp one last time, and then—

  “We’ll go to the movies later.”

  “Yes, that’ll be nice.”

  The pleasure recedes, robbing me of the orgasm moments before it strikes. A couple walks by on the opposite side of the trees. I press Fink’s chest, pushing him away. “Stop,” I whisper.

  For a half-second he just stands there, and then he steps back. I think he might pout and I steel myself to distance myself from him. Pouting after withheld sex is the most unattractive quality in a man, even if I understand it. I feel like pouting right now, with my pussy screaming at me for his strong hand.

  “Damn,” he says, grinning.

  “Damn,” I agree, and then I giggle tipsily. Tipsily, not drunkenly.

  “What now?” he asks.

  “I guess you walk me home like a gentleman.”

  He offers me his arm. “Come on, then.”

  I link my arm with his and we walk. Today has been bizarre, I reflect, starting with drunk Dad and ending with this stranger who does not feel like a stranger. He walks me to my apartment and looks down at me.

  “When will I see you again?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” he says. “I reckon your old man might have a problem with it, and your old man is a cop—”

  “Was a cop,” I correct.

  “Was a cop,” Fink says. “But still, I bet he has cop friends—you told me he does. So . . . I don’t know, Nancy.”

  “Are you saying you don’t want to see me again?”

  “I didn’t say that.” He shakes his head. “When did I say that?”

  “I’m asking you a simple question.” I know my voice is getting prissy but I can’t help it.

  “And I’m telling you the truth. Look, this isn’t easy for me. I’m not usually into this dating stuff. I’m a Son of a Wolf, and your dad’s a cop. I want to see you again, though.”

  “Don’t worry about it!” I snap, vaguely aware that I sound like Dad, vaguely aware that this just might be the alcohol talking and not me.

  I turn quickly and pace into my apartment building, striding up the stairs and only stopping once I’ve collapsed onto my bed. I stare up at the ceiling, the world spinning. I know it’s the shots making the bed spin, the room spin, but it doesn’t make any difference. I’m on a rollercoaster and the only way to stop it is to sit up and wait.

  Sometime later my mind returns to Fink, to his strong hand on my wet pussy. My pussy is still wet and aching and bothering me.

  I lie back and slide my hand down my panties, toying with my clit and closing my eyes, imagining Fink with his oil-flecked body glistening in the garage.

  Chapter Six

  Fink

  I walk into Sal’s office with a box of chocolates under my arm and a grin on my face, though inside I’m not grinning. Inside I’m shit-scared that he’ll tell me I can’t work here anymore. I’ve known Sal since I was fourteen and maybe we would’ve stayed close friends if I hadn’t joined the club and he hadn’t started up this legitimate business. Sal’s the only link I have to my pre-club life, and now that that link might be severed, I realize how much I value it.

  “You brought me bribes,” Sal says, standing with that soft smile on his face. Sal has always been soft, too soft. I’m always aware that I could bully him and am careful not to. He’s a good man and doesn’t deserve it. “Chocolates.” He pats his belly. “Do you really think I need more chocolate?”

  “Don’t be a drama queen,” I say, smiling. I drop the chocolates onto the desk. “I
need to apologize, Sal. That was out of line. If it’s any consolation, I’ve felt like shit about it for the last five days. I’ve hardly been able to sleep.”

  “I’m sure,” Sal says, nodding. “Mm-mmm. I’m sure that’s the case. It wasn’t helpful. I won’t lie to you and say it did me any favors. Look, I get that it was a pain in the ass, listening to that man snap at his daughter like that, but he used to be sheriff around these parts. You know that. I’m surprised you never ran into him.”

  “I might have seen him around.” I drum my fingers on the desk. “But I’ve never been in jail.”

  “Yet,” Sal says, but there’s no viciousness in it. He sounds lost.