by Lena Pierce
“Suck,” he commands.
I’m not even sure if I can fit my mouth around it, and I’m still not sure just how this situation came to be, but my body reacts before I do. I lean forward and take the cock in my mouth, as much of it as I can. I suck down to about halfway, which chokes me and makes me gag, but now my pussy is going really fucking crazy. It aches and twists and pulses through my body, sending urgent signals. I keep sucking.
“Look up at me.”
I do as he says, looking up as I take his enormous cock in my mouth. His face is twisted in pleasure, the tiniest flicker of a smile at the corner of his lips. Otherwise he is serious. He places his hands on the back of my head and swings his hips back and forth. “Put your hands down. Let me fuck that pretty fuckin’ face.” I let my hands fall aside and open my mouth wide as he drills his cock into my throat. I have never let a man do this before and yet I don’t resist with Dirk. It feels dirty, and slightly painful, but even so the urge is irresistible: I slide my hand between my legs and press down on my pussy, giving it a moment’s release just as his cock makes me gag and wretch.
I wedge my hand down my pants and toy with my clit as he pounds into my mouth, gasping and struggling for breath, and then he drives into me one final time and lets out a long, growling moan. I try and pull away but he holds my head still as he comes inside of my mouth. I have no choice but to swallow it, which turns me on even more. He’s powerful, he’s in charge, and there’s nothing I can do but swallow the thick, salty come. I do it and then stand up.
He lifts my hand, holding it to the low lamplight. My fingers glisten with wetness.
“Dirty little whore,” he says. He sits on the edge of the bed and waves his hand at me. “Come here. Now.”
“No,” I whisper.
“Eh?” He stares at me.
“Nothing,” I say, louder.
I walk over to him on my tiptoes. I don’t even think about why I’m on my tiptoes until I reach him; I want to show my body off for him. He darts his hand out and grabs my thighs roughly, and then throws me over his knee so that my breasts face the floor and my ass faces the ceiling.
“Naughty fucking slut,” he growls. He yanks down my jeans to my knees, and then—He spanks me, hard. Not a movie spank, or a playful spank. He spanks me so that I immediately imagine my ass turning red. And I like it. Even if it stings me somewhat to think of myself as being spanked, when I’ve never done anything like that before, the sting of my body more than makes up for up. He spanks me again and again. “You fuckin’ like it!”
“No,” I moan. “I don’t.”
“Liar!” He spanks me even harder, so hard that my whole body jerks forward. He lifts me up to my previous position. “You’ve never been spanked before, have you?”
“No,” I answer honestly.
“Do you like it, Meghan?”
“No,” I lie.
“No?” He spanks me with his fingertips, a quick nip that tickles me as much as it hurts. “Really?”
I lick my lips. I turn around but the angle is too awkward and all I can see is his upper body. He’s taken his jacket off so that he’s almost completely naked apart from his socks. His arm muscles are tensed. “I like it,” I admit. “I do.”
“Good.” One final time, he spanks me; I wince and close my eyes, but I can’t deny that as much pleasure as pain moves through me. “You’re going to like this even more.”
He moves with deadly speed, picking me up and tossing me onto the bed quicker than I can react. I bounce up and down and then make to climb onto my knees, but he’s on me in a shot. He yanks my jeans down the rest of the way, tearing them and my shoes off in a moment, and then he drags me half naked toward him.
“Oh fuck,” I whisper, when he presses the rock-solid helmet of his cock against my clit. “Oh Jesus, Dirk.”
“You’re a horny little fuckin’ bitch, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I whisper, moving my hips to try and make his cock slide inside of me. It’s temptingly out of reach at the moment.
He keeps maneuvering out of my way, just by an inch, his cock always pressed against my clit. “Tell me you want it.”
“I want it,” I whisper. “I want it. Fuck! I do!” It almost pains me to admit, since I’m supposed to be keeping my distance from this man. I’m supposed to be angry with him for invading my story. But the body wants what the body wants. “I want it bad!”
“Good,” he growls, and then slides all eleven-some inches of himself inside of me, right down to the tip.
The pain is blinding for about half a second, but then my wet, hungry pussy opens for him and there’s no pain at all. I don’t get onto all fours because I can’t. Dirk is atop me, driving me into the bed. He props his arms either side of me and thrusts into me harder than I’ve ever been fucked, crushing me into the bed just like he crushed me with his kisses. I move back and forth beneath him, riding the pounding pleasure, the all-encompassing euphoria. He takes me again and again, deeper each time, until I feel as though I am trying to balance on a raft on a stormy sea. Harder and harder … and now my pussy is going tight, tight, and my eyes are burning red when I close them, and everything is hot, hot …
“You’re gonna come for me,” he snarls. It’s not a question. “Come, Meghan, come on my fuckin’ cock. Come. Now.”
It’s strange since the one thing I promised myself when he walked into the store was that I wouldn’t let this man control me, and yet it’s like his words have a direct line to the core of the body. As soon as he tells me to come, it’s like my pussy feels relaxed enough to let it all go: the pent-up pressure, the pleasure, the stress from today. Everything becomes tight and close and intimate; my pussy releases wave upon wave of pulsing pleasure, spreading through every part of me. I curl my toes and claw at the sheets, and all the while Dirk still pounds into me, over and over, fucking me ruthlessly, fucking me until both of us are sweaty and aching. I tilt my hips and ride the last breaths of the orgasm, and then lean forward, panting.
Dirk hunches over me and drives deep, so deep that he touches parts of me no other man has ever touched, and then lets out one final breath and slumps atop me.
We lay like that for a while, sweaty and aching, and then he rolls aside and quietly gets dressed. I do the same and crawl to the top of the bed, so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. It’s been a long day and that just made it longer.
I look across at him, wondering if he’s planning on talking anytime today.
Eventually he does. He nods at the bed and says: “You take it. I’ll sleep in the chair.” He drags the chair to the door and plants it against it, and then sits down heavily.
“Oh, okay,” I say, turning over and closing my eyes.
I don’t know what I was expecting. A cuddle? For him to spoon me? I don’t know … but not this.
I close my eyes and fall asleep almost right away, only I’m not asleep because I lean up and Dirk is watching me. He changed when I wasn’t looking, just like he snuck outside without me knowing. He’s wearing a tuxedo with a rose in the pocket. “You’re a sneaky man,” I tell him, giggling.
“I am,” he agrees. “I just want to tell you, Meghan, that tonight meant something to me. I’m not just some animal. It was really special.” He takes the rose from his pocket and holds it out to me. “For you.”
I giggle even harder, until my belly hurts. “No! No way! He wouldn’t say that!”
He narrows his eyes. “Take the rose. It’s for you. You were divine tonight.”
“No!” I cackle. “Divine!”
“Hey.” I open my eyes to the real Dirk leaning over me. “Be quiet, will you? It’s hard enough to sleep in that damn chair without you giggling like a madwoman in your sleep.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, rolling over. But I can’t stop the giggling as the last remnants of the dream swirl around me head. “Divine,” I whisper, muffling my laughing in a pillow.
Chapter Eight
Dirk
After I tell Meghan to be quiet,
I sit in the chair and wait for sleep to come. Sleep used to come easier, though, when I was worried that I’d be woken up by the barrel of a gun. I guess I should still be worried about that now, but life don’t seem as dangerous when I’m stateside, when I’ve got all my brothers one phone call away. Brothers … The word should mean a hell of a lot to me because that’s what the club life is all about. It’s the ride-or-die thing, the brothers-in-arms thing, but I already had a brother-in-arms. The best man I knew. I glance at Meghan, not letting myself address the whatever-the-hell is inside of me at the sight of her.
When I’m sure that she’s fast asleep I go into the bathroom and take out my cell phone. I dial Ghost. Well, I can’t just dial Ghost because that’d make him one damn shitty ghost. So instead I dial the bar near Ghost’s cabin, since he doesn’t have a phone.
“Hello,” Angie says, picking up.
“It’s me. Is Ghost around?”
“Dirk?” Her voice gets high-pitched, the way it always does when I call. Ghost and I used to stay at her bar down in North Carolina when we were on leave. Angie is Ghost’s great-auntie or something like that. “How long has it been? Now let me see, young man. It’s been three years since you last called for Ghostie. What’ve you been doing with yourself?”
“Just keeping busy, Angie. You know how it is.”
“No, actually, I don’t!” she snaps. “I suppose you want to cut the chitter-chatter and talk with Ghost?”
“Is he around?”
“He’ll be up in his cabin. He’s trying to build a boat out of animal skin. He got one of those crafty books from the library and he’s been keeping himself real busy. That boy, he does everything apart from help me around here!”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “That sounds like Kenny.”
“Kenny,” Angie says. “Sometimes I forget. Let me go and get him. I’ll call you back when he’s down here. Hang on, you didn’t call me from a restricted number whatsit, did you?”
“No, I’ll wait.”
I hang up the phone and lean back on the toilet, resting my hands on my knees and staring at the bathroom tiles. I shouldn’t need to speak with Ghost. I shouldn’t need to speak with anybody. I’m a biker and an outlaw and a soldier; I should be able to handle shit without needing to talk it through. But at the same time, every man needs a brother, and Kenny is mine. The phone rings about forty-five minutes later. A gruff, deep voice comes down the line, the voice of a man who doesn’t trust the device he’s speaking into to carry his voice.
“Hello. Dirk?”
“I’m here, Ken, calm the fuck down.”
“Call me anything but Ghost and this conversation’s over.”
“Goddamn.” I laugh. “Believe it or not, it’s good to hear your voice.”
“Three years. Been keeping yourself busy?”
“Working.”
“Yeah. Me too. I’ve got a nice farm going now, Dirk. But it takes some tending. Killing things is easier.”
“Yeah, I bet.”
A silence stretches, and then Ghost says, “What, then? You didn’t call me to shoot the shit.”
“I don’t know what sort of manners it is to call up a man after three years and unload all your problems on him without first saying hello.”
“Are we women?” Ghost grunts. “We’re brothers, Dirk. When a brother needs to talk to his brother, he don’t waste time talking about what kind of flowers he wants at his funeral.”
I laugh again. There’s nobody like Ghost to make me laugh, really laugh, not the chuckle I use for most of my life. “Fair enough, you miserable bastard. I think I just need to talk this all out. I’ve got a couple of puzzles and maybe you’ll be able to give me some advice, maybe not.”
“Okay.”
I fill him in about the firebombing. “I’m not sure what sort of explosive it was since I got the hell out of there as soon as I could, but the blast was small. My guess would be some kind of homemade bomb, a chemical mixture designed to burn more’n bang.”
“Yeah,” Ghost says. “That would make sense if they wanted to raze the place. You sure it wasn’t a Molotov cocktail?”
“I’m sure. There was an explosion. A small one, but an explosion all the same. What I can’t figure out is who the hell did it. There’s this other club, the Broken Sinners; they’ve been pressing on us like a motherfucker for the past couple of years. They’ve got this leader, name of Badger Burnes—”
“What a stupid fucking name.”
“Coming from a man called Ghost?”
“Yeah, yeah, all right …”
“Badger Burnes has been pressing our club and—” I pause for a moment; this is the part I couldn’t tell any Shattered Heart. “And I think it’s ’cause he knows that our boss is a weak man. He’s strong in that he has men following him, and we both know that’s what makes most powerful men. But he hasn’t got the kind of grit that a man’d want in a leader.”
“That you’d want, you mean.”
“Fine,” I say. “That I’d want. But this is the thing. Jackson’s weakness, his paranoia, it might be throwing me off the scent. He’s sure it’s the Broken Sinners but they’re not like us. Jackson’s been leading this club down the fucking drain in terms of keeping a low profile. We’re the loudest, most violent, most womanizing club there is.”
“And that bothers you?” Ghost says. He sounds unconvinced.
“It doesn’t bother me for myself. It messes up my investigation. ’Cause I just don’t buy it, Ghost, that the Broken Sinners’d firebomb a place like that. We’re the loud MC. They’re the quiet one. Firebombing’s just not their style.”
“Who do you think did it, then?”
“I don’t know. Lots of men in the club; lots of opportunities to piss people off.”
“This Badger Burnes fella, is he the type to want to start a territory war?”
“A turf war?” I think on it for a few seconds. “No, I don’t think so. He’s been coming at us hard, but sneaky. He’ll hit us so that we can’t even be sure that it’s him doing it. He’ll make sure there’s enough doubt so that we can’t just go after him like maybe some of the fellas want to.”
“So why would he do something so public?”
“Well, there’s still some damn doubt, ain’t there? I’m not sure it was them.”
“But your boss seems to be.”
“He’s always sure it’s them, anything that happens, only he can’t always convince the officers and he’s not the sort of leader to just do something without their say-so.”
“Hmm.” Ghost’s voice deepens. “That’s never a good sign in a leader, Dirk. You know that.”
“He pays well,” I say. “To me, at this point in my life, that’s good enough.”
“There’s more to life than money.”
“You’re a single man who lives in the woods. What the hell can you tell me about life?”
“I’m not single anymore. I’ve got a wife and a young son.”
“Holy shit …”
“Three years is a long time.”
“Why didn’t you lead with that, goddamn? You let me ramble on about the club and …”
“Don’t worry about it.” He really does sound like Kenny now. It sounds like he’s smiling. “Her name’s Jane and I met her here in the bar. She lives up in the cabin with me now. What about you, Dirk, you got a lady to keep the loneliness at bay?”
“I live in a town, surrounded by people all the time.”
“And you think that makes you less lonely?”
“Jesus, man, now who’s the goddamn woman?”
He grunts out a laugh. “I’ve got to get going, Dirk. Don’t be a stranger.”
He hangs up. I go into the bedroom and look down on Meghan sleeping. She sleeps peacefully, curled into a ball with her arms wrapped around herself. An alien urge hits me to go over there and brush her hair from her eyes and kiss her on the forehead. I swallow the urge, fight it down, wondering what the hell’s gotten into me. I don’t brush
the hair from women’s foreheads. I fuck them, just like I fucked Meghan, and then I leave. I’d be gone already if I wasn’t being forced to stay.
But is that true? The question rings out in my head as I return to my chair. Is it really true that I’d leave, or do I just want to believe that? Do I need to see myself as a lone wolf when really I want somebody, somebody like Meghan—
“No,” I whisper, clenching my fist. “No fuckin’ way. Just—no.”
I close my eyes, but I know sleep ain’t coming for a long time.
Chapter Nine
Dirk
I’ve just managed to fall asleep when my cell buzzes me awake. I take the call outside, leaning against the door and staring at the rising sun with a hatred that goes beyond words. All I know is that I’d love to climb over the horizon and throttle whatever cruel bastard is pushing that sun up.
