by Tia Lewis
“What a modern worldview,” I said, sarcastically. I couldn’t help it. He didn’t seem to mind.
“Wait until you see your first fight between two of them. Wait until you start getting attention from one of the guys they like. It’s not going to be pretty. This is not Little House on the Prairie where you hold hands and run through the fields. This is real shit. So, you better realize what you’re getting yourself into,” he warned.
I had to ask. “So, how many of those fights have you started?”
“Did you hear what I just said?”
“Yeah, I did. I totally get it. But can you answer my question?”
“No comment.”
“Come on. You seem to know so much.” I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror just behind where Drake stood, and I saw my body language. It screamed out that I was flirting with him. I reeled it in as best I could. No sense in getting away with myself.
“It’s fair enough to say that I’ve started maybe one or two over the years.”
“Only one or two?” From the looks of him, he could have started World War III. He folded his arms over his chest, and I watched the way his muscles and veins bulged beneath his skin.
“Wondering who your competition is?” he asked, smiling with that sexy, panty-melting grin of his. It touched something in me, though that something wasn’t lust or desire. Anger, more like.
“Hardly.” I turned to leave, spinning on the heel of my boot, but he was too fast for me—not that he had to be very fast to cover the short distance between us. By the time my hand touched the knob his hand was over mine.
“Why are you running away?” he murmured, his breath stirring the hair at the nape of my neck. It sent a pulsating shiver all through me.
“I’m not.”
“You are. The second I stop fighting with you and point out what’s between us, you run.”
“What’s between us? What are you talking about?” I took a big chance and looked him in the eye. I could have drowned there, or burned up. “There’s nothing between us. You’re making it up in your head.”
“Bullshit. Why else would you be so set on sticking around?”
I rolled my eyes—he sure knew how to break the tension with a self-centered comment. “It has nothing to do with you. I didn’t know you existed until an hour or so ago. Get over yourself, Drake.” I tried to turn the knob, but he wouldn’t let me. “Move. I’m leaving.”
“No, you’re not. You’re not leaving until I tell you that you can leave.” Again, that breath of his. It made me shiver even as my skin burned where it touched. I pressed my lips together, straining to control myself. I couldn’t let him see. I couldn’t let him know what the sheer closeness of his body to mine did to me.
“Move, Drake.” He only moved closer.
“I won’t touch you until you beg me to do it. I won’t put my hands on your body until you feel like you’ll die if I don’t. And you will. I promise. And when I do give you what you need, you won’t look at another man again for as long as you live.”
“Will you please move now?” I demanded as my knees went weak, and my body screamed in joyful response. But my body didn’t matter. What mattered was the reason I was there, and that was not to sleep with one of the Club’s members. Especially a cocky piece of work like Drake Collins.
“Do you really want me to move?” he asked. I could feel him inhaling my scent and the heat from his powerful body being pressed against mine.
With all the strength in my body and soul, I replied, “It’ll be a cold day in Hell, Drake.” When I tried to turn the knob, he finally let me do it. I left the room with as much dignity as I could muster, walking down the wood-paneled hall to the common area feeling breathless, giddy, and with a sharp pain between my legs. Longing. Thwarted arousal. Who the hell was he, and how did he manage to turn me on just by speaking to me? He was good. A regular pro. There was no way he caused only one or two arguments between the girls in his time.
“Hey, Bree. Are you okay?” Tamara looked at me with a concerned eye when I sat on one of the bar stools, still shaking.
“Yeah, I’m cool. Can I have some more water?”
“From the looks of you, you need something a lot stronger.” She obliged, though, handing me a bottle. I touched the cold plastic to my forehead before opening.
She wasn’t wrong. I needed a hormone suppressant, and fast. Or else I would get myself into big trouble because a girl could only be strong for so long.
7
Drake
By the time she left the room, I had an erection so hard I could’ve cut glass with it. I closed the door behind her since I couldn’t very well follow her with my pants tented out the way they were.
Damn, she was good. I stretched out on the bed for a minute, trying to get my head straight. She was so good. She dodged and weaved like Ali, all slickness. She wouldn’t let me trap her for a minute. So smart. Cunning, I thought. Finally, a woman who I could match wits with. How long had I been waiting for that?
It wasn’t easy, being the smartest person in the Club. Even smarter than Jack, who wasn’t stupid by a long shot but had a special kind of smarts. He could think two steps ahead of an opponent, like the Cobras. They might have taken out three of our guys since the war began, but we’d taken seven of theirs. We were winning. They would be a bad memory in no time.
So Jack was right with his strategy, but he could barely spell his own name. Most of the other guys didn’t get basic references to history or politics. They didn’t know the name of the vice president of our country—but he was a bastard, no matter who he was because that was all politicians. I could agree with that.
Besides, they didn’t care about that because as far as they were concerned, I was the only V.P. they cared about. They had given up on their country years before—not that they wouldn’t fight to protect it if they had to, but they’d already been spit upon by the government one too many times. Creed, Phil, Ace, and Diesel were all ex-military, and they were just four of many who had passed through our doors over time. They were the reason the Club started in the first place, those ex-soldiers back in the days of Vietnam who came home confused and disillusioned by what they had seen—and the way their country treated them after seeing it. The guys in the Club almost forty years later had the same philosophy for one reason or another. Some of them were ignored as kids, when they needed help the most, and had to turn to the outlaw life as a way to survive. I was one of those kids. Why the hell should the government punish me for what I did just to stay alive from day to day when it was their fault I ended up the way I had, to begin with?
I pushed the thought from my head, wondering how I managed to get so off-track. I’d started out thinking about Bree, about how she made my cock hard just by the way she talked—so smart—to thinking about that sonofabitch Frank and the way he’d ruined my life. How the government helped him by ignoring my mother and me.
No sense thinking about it since it was years in the past. Instead, I got in the shower. I needed one to cool myself off—and after Violet. Jesus, had that only been like two hours earlier? It felt like a lifetime. Pre-Bree. Would everything be pre- and post-Bree from then on? Who the fuck was she, that she already had a sort of power over my thoughts?
Get it together, I thought as I stripped down to nothing. She doesn’t have any power over you. You’re Drake Collins. You’re the one that women go nuts over and beg to be fucked by. I looked at my body in the mirror over the dresser. Yeah, I could see why they went for me. I made it a point to take care of my body no matter what Tamara thought. I ate shit food sometimes, drank too much beer and whiskey most of the time, but I stayed fit. A leader had to be fit mentally and physically. That was how I saw it, at least.
I found a clean towel in my closet and wrapped it around my waist before going to the bathroom. There were more than enough bedrooms and bathrooms to go around—the guys had a tendency to get kicked out of their houses when they pissed off their wives, or they’d
party so hard they couldn’t walk straight much less ride the back of a motorcycle. We needed enough space for them to crash. Jack had thought it all out when he oversaw the renovations back in the day.
My bathroom was private, separate from the common toilet the guys used throughout the day. And thank God for that, I thought, remembering the one time I tried to use that bathroom. It was a nightmare. I was never the neatest or cleanest—why would I need a woman to do my laundry if I was? —but I didn’t live like an animal. Not the way they did.
A hot shower helped clear my head and relax the tension I didn’t even know I was carrying in my shoulders and back. I couldn’t let myself lose my cool over a woman, not the way I’d let her do it to me. What was it about her? She picked at my brain like a bird, digging around in there, understanding me even when I didn’t want her to. And I didn’t. The minute a woman thought she knew me, she tried to latch on. She thought I was hers. Her boyfriend. Ha! I wasn’t anybody’s—I’d seen what that road did to a man. The toughest men in our club turned into cowering, pussy-whipped bitches the minute a woman came into the picture.
That didn’t stop me from wishing she were in the shower with me. I could only imagine what her body looked like under those clothes. I didn’t have to think very hard, since they were tight and skimpy enough for me to get a good idea. Those tits. I was always a breast man, but then aren’t most men? She was a D-cup, at least, big and firm. The sort of tits a man wants to bury his face between while he buries other parts of himself elsewhere. Her ass, too. Damn, she could wear a tight pair of jeans. I’d wanted to touch it when I trapped her by the bedroom door. I had been so close, too. It wouldn’t have taken much for my hand to slide down over that round curve.
I imagined the way she would have reacted if I had. I believed, deep down, that she was a good girl. The kind of girl who somebody once told wasn’t supposed to like that kind of thing, so she’d convinced herself she didn’t. She would have wanted to slap me, but when I touched her again, she would have sighed a little. Maybe her big hazel eyes would have closed when she did. Her full, juicy lips would have parted in a sigh.
I felt myself stirring, getting hard fast. I closed my eyes, breathing hard at the thought of Bree responding to my touch. Her nipples would get hard, poking through her shirt. I would brush the tips of my fingers across them, feeling the way they got a little harder at my touch. She would whimper in the back of her throat, knowing she shouldn’t give in but wanting to with every bit of her body. She would want to give into my touch, to the breath on her neck. She would beg me for more. She would want to end the aching between her thighs.
I poured body wash in my hand, slicking up my cock as I stroked. Yeah, she would lean against the door for support when her knees went weak. I would run my hand in a slow trail from the nape of her neck, down her back to her ass. She would shiver and groan, desperate for more, but I would take my time to build her up until she begged to come. My hand would slide between her legs just a little. Enough to feel the way her hips jerked to meet me, the way she tried to close her legs to trap me there. But I’d be too fast for her. She would whimper again—frustrated this time.
I would take her and turn her around until her back was to the door. I’d hold her fragile wrists, one in each hand, and pin them above her head. My body would press against hers, her tits against my chest, my knee between her legs. My cock would brush against her hip, hard and hot, and she’d shiver when she felt it. She’d know what it meant, how I would pound into her. Her heart would race in anticipation of what was going to come.
I stroked my cock harder, my eyes closed, lost in fantasy. She would be breathless, straining for more. Her mouth would get closer to mine as she searched for some kind of a relief to the longing I started deep inside her body. I would brush the tip of my tongue across the opening of her lips, making her moan and close her eyes, her body starting to burn from the inside out.
Then I would plunge inside, my tongue sweeping around. One of my hands could hold both of her tiny wrists, so the other would start exploring her lush body. Her curves, her softness. Her full tits, begging for me to suck them. Her small waist, perfect for holding onto as she rode me. Round, full hips I could grip from behind when I took her that way. Her thighs; I’d wrap one around me, stroking her through her jeans, and she’d groan into my mouth. Her groan would make me harder, pressing against her even more urgently than before.
My hand under her shirt, lifting it, showing me what was underneath. Her tits in my hand, one, then the other. We would both groan, then, both of us needing relief. Her body would be too much to be believed, like a playground just for me. I’d suck her globes, playing with the nipples as I fondled her. She would writhe and moan, thrusting her body up toward me, desperate for more and more, wanting but not sure how to tell me she wanted.
By that time, it would be too much. I would need to take her to the bed, where I’d throw her down on her back. She would run her hands over me when I pulled off my shirt, fingers dancing over the muscles of my chest and abs, then over my arms and shoulders as I lowered myself over her. She’d arch her back, groaning as I kissed her neck, her chest. Her tits again, this time taking it slow. Lapping my tongue around the edges of her nipples and then drawing them up between my lips. She’d go crazy, running her hands through my hair, whispering nasty things as I made her lose control.
I’d slide her jeans off next, running my hands over her thighs, her calves, then back up again until I cupped her ass. She would beg me to let her come as I’d kiss my way up the insides of her legs, my tongue sweeping around in big, wet circles as I got higher and higher. She’d smell so sweet, the scent overtaking my senses. When my fingers would find her, then my tongue, she’d be so wet. Her first orgasm would come that way when I ate and fingered her pussy.
By the time she’d calm down, I’d be ready to go. My hand pumped harder at the thought. I was so close to coming, still lost in my fantasy. Yes, she’d be begging me to fuck her, to slide my thick cock into her quivering, wet pussy. She’d look up at me with longing and desire and need, and I would give her everything she wanted in one long, hard thrust. She’d be so fucking tight. I knew it. So tight, so wet, and so hot. It would take a second for me to recover from that first burst of bliss at being inside her.
Then I would fuck her. No sweetness, no gentleness. I would fuck her like she’d never be fucked before. I would punish her for talking to me the way she did, and she would love it. She would go nuts, begging me to take her harder, faster. I would, plunging in and out, her pussy sucking me, trying to drain me. So good. So fucking good. She’d scream, clenching around me, pumping me, trying to get me to come. I would hold on because it felt too good to stop. And she would beg for more, her head rolling from side to side, her eyes closed. More, more, she would beg. Fuck me, Drake.
My hand flew over my cock in a blur, and I grunted as the first stirrings started in my balls. Yeah, I would fuck her until we both came, until she screamed my name and I exploded inside her.
“Fuck!” I groaned it softly, out of breath, coming hard. I gasped, leaning my forehead on my arm against the shower wall. Jesus. I stroked once, twice more, letting myself finish before standing up straight again. I took a few minutes to regain composure before I washed myself off, then finished washing the rest of me. I’d already been in there long enough for my fingers to prune, and the entire bathroom was full of steam.
I wondered if my fantasy would be as good as what she really had waiting for me. And how long I would have to wait for it. Not long, I hoped, because I couldn’t walk around with a hard-on all the time. Especially if she wanted to stick around. No way, I would tell her no, not after being close to her the way I was. Not after just the thought of her made me come like that.
I stepped out of the shower and dried off quickly, then wrapped the towel around me again to go back to my room. Ace crossed paths with me on his way to the common bathroom.
“Hey, Jack said we should have a party t
onight. He didn’t say why. The guys are already real excited. What do you think?” I could tell from the look on his face that he would be heartbroken if I said no. All the guys would. But I had to approve parties, too, since they came out of our budget.
“Why?”
“Why the party? I don’t know, man. Like I said, he’s a closed book.” I thought I might know. He was all about living life while he still could. How could I refuse that?
“Yeah, brother. Sounds good.” Ace grinned and walked away, and I went to my room to get dressed. I looked down at the bed, still a mess from when I fucked Violet. She was nothing, nobody. By the end of the night, I would have Bree with me. I would find out if reality was as good as my fantasy.
8
Nicole
“So, let me get this straight. Jack has been the leader of the Club since, like, the early nineties?”
“Yep.”
“Wow. That’s a long time.” I already knew all of the things the girls were telling me, but the fact that they were willing to give up club information so easily made my job easier. It wouldn’t take long before they were giving up bigger information than the timeline of the Club.
“You can guess why they call him Big Jack,” Darcy added.
“Yeah. He’s super big.” He had to be six-six, maybe taller.
“He’s also big in other areas.” Tamara winked, and the girls all broke into laughter.
I looked from one to the other. “So—you’ve all been with him?”
“Oh, hell yeah. Please. Jack worked his way through all the girls who hang out with the Club. It’s like a rite of passage.” Tamara laughed again, and the girls joined her. I couldn’t laugh. My stomach fell sick. I never expected I would have to sleep with Big Jack McCormack. I had no desire to.
