by Kim Jones
“I’m here,” I tell her, and she closes her eyes at my words. “Look at me, Saylor.” She does and when her eyes are locked on mine, I tell her the words that she needs to hear. “I’m here. And I’m not fucking leaving.” She searches my face, looking for any uncertainty or doubt. She won’t find any.
“I want you to make love to me, Dirk.” Her words are my sunset. They are my rainbow, my clear blue sky, and my complete undoing. Every man has a purpose. I always thought mine was with the MC. Now I know the real purpose of my existence. To be anything Saylor Samson wants me to be.
I remove my torn shirt and then hers, watching as her body shakes in anticipation and excitement. I keep my lips on her body as I remove her clothes until she is naked beneath me. I pull her to a sitting position and push my hands into her hair, letting it knot around my fingers. She moans softly into my mouth, and I want to take her now, but I have to remind myself to take it slow.
I’m on my knees between her legs, and I gently push her away from my mouth until she is lying on her back. I watch the outline of her ribs come into view as she takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. I place my hands on her knees and spread her wide before me. Her pussy is slick and wet. Her scent is intoxicating. She is beautiful, even here.
“Fuckin’ perfect,” I say, and when my breath blows across her, her back arches off the floor. I kiss the insides of her thighs, then work my way down her legs, all the way to her pink-painted toes. I want to kiss her everywhere. So I do. I kiss down one leg and then up the other until she is shaking with need.
I part her lips with my fingers, my eyes delighting in the soft, pink flesh between her legs. It makes me want to beat my chest and announce to the world that once I take her, she will be mine.
But she already is mine. She has been mine for a long time. This feeling is more powerful than knowing I can take a life. It’s more powerful than knowing I can cause fear and pain. It’s the power of bringing her pleasure. And other moments of my life when I thought I was powerful don’t even compare.
I slide my tongue across her pussy and she is so hot for me that even the heat of my mouth is cool in comparison. I let my tongue swirl over her, making sure to not miss one inch of the sweetness that is her arousal. I slowly insert a finger inside her and soon she is bucking her hips to meet the thick, callused knuckle that is caressing her. I push further and then add another, circling her and stroking her walls—widening her in preparation for me. I continue the slow, torturous strokes until I feel her relax completely—ready for release, but I deny her.
I climb over her, kissing my way up her body, letting her pleas for release fuel my desire to make this perfect for her. Her knees are open and welcoming. I kiss her mouth and let her taste herself while I pull my jeans and boxers off. Now my naked body is covering hers and it’s a perfect fucking fit.
I leave her mouth and pull one of her nipples between my lips, sucking hard then soothing her with my tongue. Her hands are in my hair. Her head is pressed into the carpet and her eyes are closed. Her mouth is open and mine finds it once again.
My cock is hard and throbbing, begging to be inside her. I kiss her softly on the corners of her lips then find her bright green eyes, open and willing me to take her. She is nervous. She is scared. But her desire for me outweighs her fear.
“Please, Dirk.” She can see the uncertainty in my eyes. She can read my thoughts. She knows I’m just as nervous as she is. I don’t want to hurt her, but I know I will. I have to tell myself that eventually, the pain will subside and I will be able to bring her to levels of pleasure she never thought possible.
“I’m here, baby. I’m here.” She likes when I call her baby. I like how her body seems less tense now that I’ve told her I’m here. And I’ve called her the endearment she says she likes. I’m not gonna use a condom. I’m clean and I know she is too. She is on the pill. I saw it on the counter along with her other female shit that I like so much, especially when it’s sitting next to mine. I’m gonna take her bareback and just the thought of how she will feel when I’m inside her, skin on skin, has me breaking out into a sweat.
I place the tip of my cock at her entrance and watch her take a deep, steadying breath. Her eyes are open and they never leave mine as I push slowly inside her. The head is in and I haven’t hurt her yet. I’m not deep enough for that. I’m trying not to concentrate on how good she feels. I’m trying to focus on bringing her the least bit of discomfort I can. I could probably just thrust into her and shed a little mercy on both of us, but that seems brutal.
I push a little further until I feel her tightening around me. I take a deep breath, preparing to advance. There is no way this pain could be worse for her than it is for me.
“Kiss me,” she says, her eyes on my lips. I oblige and while I’m distracting her with my mouth, I push through her tight walls until I am completely inside her. She is tight. So fucking tight that the grip her pussy has on me is almost painful.
“Okay?” I ask, breathy and nervous. She nods before taking my mouth again. When I feel her contract around me, I pull back, then thrust into her slowly.
This time, her ragged breath is not from nerves or pain or discomfort—it’s from pleasure. I fuck her slowly, burying myself completely. Widening her to accommodate all of me. I shift myself so that I’m hitting that spot inside her sweet pussy that causes her eyes to roll in the back of her head. I drive faster into her, filling her.
I want to suck her nipples. I want to kiss her lips. I want to lick her neck. But I can’t take my eyes off of her face. She is experiencing sex with me for the first time and she fucking loves it. Her moans are loud. Her hips are thrusting, urgent and impatient. I can’t pull too far out of her because she likes the way it feels when I’m buried deep inside.
Her fingers are in my hair, on my shoulders, clawing my back. Doing everything in their power to force me further into her. She wants it harder, but I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want her to get lost in the moment and then be in pain tomorrow. I want to fuck her slow, and work her up to the hard fucking that she desires. But she’s not having it.
“Harder, Dirk. Fuck me harder.” I’m battling one head with the other. My cock wins and I sit up on my knees and wrap my arms under her thighs. Her back is arched off the floor and I pull her to me, slamming into her, and her breath catches in her throat. I’m worried I’ve hurt her, but when I slow down, she demands more.
“Again. Do that again.” I grip her thighs and drive back into her, pulling out slowly, before delivering another powerful thrust. “Yes, just like that. Please, don’t stop.” Nothing could make me stop right now. If the house was on fire, we would go up in flames before I deprived this lovely creature of what she wants.
I watch as her tits bounce with each thrust, and I have to fight my own release. Her hands are fisted in her hair. Her moans are loud and guttural. I’m working her sensitive spot with practiced perfection. I’m thanking all the women I have ever made come because it has made me the expert I am at pleasing her. When her body stills and I feel her pulsating around me, I coat her release with my own. And this time the moans that fill the room belong to me.
I ease out of Saylor, then cover her body with mine. I kiss her face—her eyes, her nose, the corners of her mouth, and her pink cheeks that are damp with sweat. I want to hold her and tell her how perfect she was. I want to tell her how amazing she felt and how special she is to me. But her arms are around my back and she is clinging tight to me, her head buried in my neck. She wants me to hold her.
I know she is exhausted. I know her release was so intense that she will just want to sleep. And she will. In my arms. I flip us so that I am on my back and she is on top of me. She moves down my body until her head is on my chest. She is shivering and I’m sure her postorgasmic state and hypersensitive flesh is what is causing it.
I feel around on the floor, and the first thing my hand lands on is leather. Without a second thought, I cover the woman that means so much to
me with the colors that reflect who I am. The only two things important in my life are now one and the same. My arms go around her and I hold her tight, letting my body heat warm her.
“Dirk?” Her voice is sleepy, and I can’t see them, but I know her eyes are closed. She is moments away from sleep and I wish she wasn’t so drained. I want to ask her if she is okay and if she enjoyed it. Although, I already know the answer to one of them.
“Yeah?” I’m doubting myself. I’m afraid she is going to tell me it wasn’t what she wanted. I’m scared she is going to tell me she made a mistake. I fear that after what she witnessed tonight, she will want to leave me. I’m panicking. I don’t want her to leave. But if she wants to, I will have to let her go.
“I’m glad you came back.” The reminder of what happened earlier—how many close encounters she’d had with death because of me—has me so pissed at myself. I want to hit something. “You really are the one for me.”
Saylor’s words are being tossed around in my head. I don’t know what to make of them. I thought we had already established that I was the one for her. That’s why she is with me. That’s why she is laying across my chest, thoroughly fucked and sated.
I think back to our first night together. Her words are just as clear now as they were then. She said she wouldn’t give herself to someone until she knew they were right for her. Herself. Was she implying more than just sex? Did that involve her heart too? I’m panicking again. There is no life in my own heart. How would I ever be able to handle hers?
I’m overthinking this shit. I need that therapy I can only get at a hundred miles an hour. But, I’m Saylor’s therapy. She said so. I don’t know what all that entails, but I do know that it includes holding her to my chest while she sleeps. So I don’t ride. I don’t abandon her and leave her here to fend for herself. I hold her and listen to her breathe, because now I know that she is my therapy too.
7
IT’S EIGHT IN the morning. I’m functioning on two hours of sleep. I want to lay on this floor with Saylor and forget about the constant fucking ringing in my ears. I know it’s Shady because he personalized his ringtone to “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” just to piss me off. But I can’t ignore him. If I don’t answer, he might think I’m dead.
Saylor is awake and she is staring at me. I’m starting to believe she sleeps in thirty-minute intervals. Not only is she awake, she is bright eyed and bushy tailed—or whatever the fuck they call it. She is wearing that “just fucked” smile, and it suits her. I’m just waiting for her to say something because I know she will. And it will be totally off the wall.
“I like this tattoo,” she says as she traces her fingers across the red star at the hollow of my throat. It’s a reminder of my first kill. My brother was murdered, I avenged his death. A throat for a throat.
“I like this one too.” I feel her finger trail down my chest to the number 13 that is over my heart. It’s a reminder too. One that tells me to never lie to my brothers. “How many do you have?”
“Twenty-seven.” My voice is thick-laced with sleep. Her green eyes grow at my words. I like that I have the ability to shock her.
“I want a tattoo.” Her lips poke out and her voice is whiny. I can see the laughter in her eyes and I know she is only kidding, but there is some seriousness there too. “I want a tramp stamp.”
I don’t know what that is. But just her use of the word tramp has me angry. That’s not as bad as pissed, but a little worse than mad, and not how I wanted to start my day.
For some reason, Shady decides to take this moment to call again. I’m just before smashing the damn thing when she pulls it from the pocket of my cut and hands it to me. And then I see what she is wearing—my shirt. And I didn’t fucking notice. I feel something in me. I know this feeling. I know it better than any other. Pride. Just the sight of her in my shirt makes my dick stand at attention.
Shady is talking in my ear, but I can’t make out his words. All I can think about is how good she looks in my shirt as she stands to walk over to the window. And how fucking good it makes me feel. And how the more I think about it, the more a feeling I don’t know keeps creeping up inside me. She is walking back toward me, and her hair is everywhere. The sleeves of my shirt are at her elbows and the bottom stops midthigh. Even against the black material, her skin is tan and flawless. I want to fuck her.
I tell Shady I’ll call him back and hang up, not bothering to answer his question of “What the fuck happened last night?”
“Come here,” I tell Saylor, and I watch her bite the corner of her bottom lip. Her face flushes red and she has a hunger in her eyes. A hunger for me. She walks to where I’m still laying and wastes no time straddling my hips. And she’s not wearing panties. And I can feel the wetness of her arousal and the sticky remnants of mine between her legs. Fuck.
I see her arms cross, grabbing the hem of my shirt to remove it. “Leave it,” I command. And she does. Her hands fall to her waist and I sit up, taking her face between my hands. Her lips are pink and full. Her small, perfect nose is dotted with just a few tiny freckles. Her eyes are wide and yesterday’s mascara still sits on them.
She is, without question, the sexiest fucking thing I have ever seen. And I remind myself to thank her one day for teaching me the real definition of sexy. It isn’t long legs, high heels, fake tits, red lips, and flawless hair. It’s tanned legs with scars, bare feet, tits that fit perfectly in my hand and mouth, lips that have been kissed too hard, and hair that is a perfect mess—all the time.
Everything seems average compared to Saylor, because she is anything but. I kiss her lips, softly. I taste the morning on her breath, and it’s delicious just because it’s hers. I kiss her slow, taking my time running my tongue through her mouth because I want her to taste just like me. Just like she smells. I know she is sore. I know I’m an asshole. And I don’t care about either. I want her, and by the way her hands are knotted in my hair, she wants me too.
I feel her hand between us, looking for what she wants. When she finds it, I’m hard and thick in her hand. She lifts her body and centers the head of my cock against her slick pussy. It’s hot and inviting, and I feel her heat sucking me in. I watch as she lowers herself onto me, taking me inch by inch. I’m saying something, a string of cuss words, maybe. I don’t fucking know. All I know is that she feels good. Great. Fucking amazing. And she looks just like she feels.
I see her eyebrows come together. I see her nose scrunch up slightly. I see her mouth gaped open and I feel her heavy breathing across my face. She is pushing through the pain, and my mind fucking thanks her. And so does my cock.
“Just give me a minute.” That’s my girl. Yeah, I fucking said it. My girl. I kiss her. I concentrate on fucking her mouth with mine so my hips don’t jerk and hurt her. Or make her feel rushed. Or show her my weakness of impatience.
I slide my hands under the shirt she is wearing. My shirt. And I find her tits that were molded for my hands. I rub them, squeezing them gently, rubbing my thumbs over her nipples—and it’s just what she needed.
I feel her relax and when she does, she moves. Only a little at first, and then faster. She is inexperienced and I don’t care. I feel her tensing and I think she is uncomfortable doing this. Maybe she doesn’t want to disappoint me. But there is no way she can. I slide my hands to her waist and hold her still, then pull away from her mouth.
“Just rock your hips. Like you’re dancing.” My voice is soft, and I like that I get to use it on her. She does as I say, and it’s better, but she still hasn’t relaxed. She is forcing this and I want her to like this as much as I do. I tighten my hold on her waist and she stops. She is avoiding my eyes and I know she is embarrassed, so I bury my face in her hair and whisper to her.
“Think of a song, baby. A slow song. Move to that rhythm. Don’t worry about what will make me feel good. Do what makes that sweet pussy feel good.” I keep my face buried in her hair, noticing how she sighed when I called her baby. She really likes
that. I kinda like it too.
She sits on me, unmoving—thinking I suppose. She can take all the time she wants. As long as I am inside her, she doesn’t even have to move. I push her hair away from her neck and lick the soft flesh. It’s tender and smooth just like her pussy. I continue to lick up her neck, across her jaw and to her ear.
By the time I make it there, she is moving. And I know it’s to the beat of a song. She is working my cock with the perfection of a stripper—but better. Any man who has ever had a lap dance has dreamed of what it would feel like if she rode his cock while she danced. I’m one of those men, but I’m no longer dreaming. Saylor Samson is dancing on my cock that is buried inside her while the lyrics of some song are in her head.
I feel my balls tighten and I’m hoping she releases soon, or I’m going to explode. My thumb finds her clit and it moves in time with her. She works me faster, and I know she is close. I pull my head out of her neck so I can watch her face. Her eyes are closed and she is moaning, her mouth hanging open. She has to look at me.
I’m fixing to tell her to open her eyes, but she reads my mind, like the fucking witch she is. Her eyes open wide and I’m lost in a deep sea of green as she comes around me. That’s all I need.
I’m pulsing inside of her, and her moans are so pleasing to my ears that I bite my lip to keep my own from interrupting. Her head falls to my shoulder as we both try to catch our breath. Fucking feels good. Coming feels better. But this is a different feeling. It’s more. I don’t know what that more is, but I like it.
—
We need food, a shower, and I need coffee, but I have a job. So, we head out toward Nevada, where a bigger problem than last night awaits. Like what in the hell I’ll do with Saylor when I get there. I glance at her in my mirror and she is looking to the left. I wish I could read her thoughts.
Suddenly I can’t wait any longer to hear her voice. I’ve only heard her talk a few times today but it wasn’t enough. And we need to discuss what happened last night.
