by Zoey Parker
I gave a quick shake of my head.
“You sure?” he questioned, his tone teasing as he settled himself between my legs. Except he was throwing one leg over either of his shoulders and holding my thighs with his hands. “You sure you still want this?”
“Please,” I said, and this time I was definitely begging. “I don’t just want this; I need this.”
“Good. Right answer,” he told me, then he jerked my hips up, so my ass was off the bed and pressed his face between my legs. “Because I have every intention of making you scream tonight.”
Then he licked me.
His tongue slid across my already slick folds, making me let out a quick cry. I felt him smile against my lips as he kissed me there. He began to tongue me like we were making out, his lips sealed against mine, his tongue between their folds and delving into my core. I was gasping in wanton pleasure, my hands gripping the sheets on either side of me as I let the pleasure roll over me. It was building quickly as he dipped in and out of me, his tongue skillful and quick, but also thorough. I felt him against my inner walls and lapping at my lips when he pulled out. He tongue-fucked me better than anyone else ever had and it made my desire bubble up until I knew it would overflow.
“Oh God,” I called out, my voice rising in volume as I felt a thumb join in on the action. “Oh God, please!”
He began to rub my clit, lazily at first, then with growing urgency. He found a speed that both thumb and tongue matched, each one pushing me closer and closer to my own undoing. Then he paused.
Wild-eyed, I sat up and looked at him. I couldn’t believe he had stopped! I was so close, I was throbbing with need, quivering with desire and the end was right there in sight. All he had to do was press his face between my thighs again. It would probably only take one, maybe two more strokes before I unwound like a yo-yo.
“Don’t stop!” I cried.
He grinned at me, his lips moist. “Asher,” he told me, his eyes flashing.
I frowned. “What?”
“When you scream, when I make you come, and you scream loud enough for the neighbors to hear, I want you to be screaming out my name: Asher.”
And before I could say anything more, or worry about the possibility that the neighbors might actually hear us, he pushed his face back down between my legs. His tongue made its way back between my lips, and I felt his thumb flicking at my small bundle of nerves. I groaned. My hands went to his hair this time, holding him there, keeping him for fear that he might stop again.
His hair was just as thick and silky as I imagined, the texture wonderful in my hands. As his mouth and hands worked on me, I felt my pleasure build up again. It was driving me crazy, driving me mad until I thought I would lose my damn mind. Then it broke.
“Asher!” I screamed. I felt him there still, lapping a couple of times, then he was gone. I was still reeling, lost in my release when he settled himself once again between my legs, this time his hips angling towards mine.
I was just barely starting to come back to myself when I felt his head sliding along the opening. My eyes popped open, and I saw my sexy Horseman, Asher, leaning over me, his hands holding my knees open wide and his cock just barely nestled between my still wet lips.
“Hold on, baby,” he told me, gritting his teeth. “The night’s not over yet.”
He plunged inside me in one swift thrust, filling me up until there was no more room inside of me. I screamed again, his name like a prayer and a curse on my lips.
“Oh, fuck!” he yelled when he was fully sheathed within my hot core, his length pulsing against my stretched walls. “You’re so goddamned tight, baby. Do you feel how deep I am inside you?”
Did I ever! “Yes,” I told him, breathless. “I don’t think there’s any more room.”
He groaned. “Good.” Then he started moving. He pulled out of me slowly until the head of him slipped out. I felt the loss and wriggled my body in an effort to bring him back. He grinned cheekily down at me, but he obliged. I felt his head at my entrance once more, then he was spreading my lips open and sliding into me once again. “Fuck,” he said when he once more bottomed out inside me. “God, you’re tight. And hot.”
He began to find a rhythm to his thrusts, slow at first. He would pull out of me carefully so I felt each inch as it slipped out from between my lips and the first few times he’d pulled the head out, too. It would slip from me coated in my own wetness, then he’d press it back between my lips and fill me again. Over and over he did this until, finally, he began to increase his speed. When he did that, he’d leave just the head in so he could thrust faster into my waiting core.
“I knew you’d have a pretty pussy,” he panted above me, his large hands gripping my hips so hard that I was pretty sure there would be bruises tomorrow. I didn’t care. “I didn’t know it’d be this tight though. This slick. Fuck, tell me you want me.”
I obliged easily. “I want you, Asher. I saw you across the bar tonight, felt your gaze raking over me, like you were undressing me with your eyes—”
“I was.” His hips crashed against mine.
“And I knew I had to have you. I wanted you buried inside me.” I gasped as he continued to thrust into my waiting body.
“Buried in your pussy?” he questioned between thrusts.
“Buried in my pussy,” I answered, flushing a deeper shade of crimson than I already was at saying pussy to him like this. It was dirty, and it made me hotter.
“Like this?” he asked just as he pushed himself all the way in, filling me up until there was no more room left.
I cried out, “Yes! Yes, just like that!”
He continued to plunge inside me over and over again, his pacing seeming to increase with each thrust. As he moved within me, building himself towards his own release and what was starting to seem like my second, his hands left my hips. They traveled up my midsection and farther, caressing my flesh with his calloused, rough hands until he reached the underside of my breasts. He slid up to them slowly, then began to cup them, steadying them as he thrust into me. He squeezed them, and I groaned, letting him know that I liked it, that I liked his hands on me. He pinched my nipples and rolled them between his fingers.
I covered his hands with mine, encouraging their touch. “I love your hands,” I murmured, and he hummed appreciatively in response.
His pace continued to increase until I thought I might go crazy from it. He filled me up so completely, so perfectly, that I was beginning to think that our two bodies were just made for one another.
He pressed into me and murmured how beautiful I was, how good I felt wrapped around him. He told me that he loved my tits and that I was exactly what he’d needed tonight.
Which was one hundred percent what I’d been thinking, too.
His thrusts grew erratic, and he groaned. “God, baby, I’m coming!” He pressed his hips against mine, pushing himself as deep inside me as he could. I felt him pulse and twitch as he released himself into my waiting core, filling me to the brim.
I held him tightly, helping him to ride out his orgasm. He collapsed beside me, rolling off of me so he wouldn’t crush me with his weight. I cuddled up to him, not sure if he was into that sort of thing after sex, and laid my head against his shoulder. He didn’t protest. In fact, he wrapped a muscular arm around me, pulling me closer.
I didn’t mistake this tender gesture as love or anything else like that, but it felt nice in the moment, and it was a nice way to end our pleasurable encounter. I fell asleep like that.
***
The next day, streams of sunlight filtering in through the pool house window woke me. I was tangled up in the bed sheets, and I was most decidedly alone. I paused a moment to make sure, listening for any telltale signs of someone showering or in the kitchen. Nothing.
Sitting up revealed that I was most definitely sore in the best possible way. I smiled at the memory of my hot sexual encounter. I was a little miffed that he hadn’t stayed until morning, but then it wasn’t lik
e I’d been intending to make him breakfast or anything. That was the whole point. I’d wanted someone who wasn’t looking for a girl to settle down with. Not a woman who was going to make him breakfast in the morning or clean his house or carry his children. Just someone to work out his frustrations on.
It suited me, and though I would have liked him to be there this morning—if only for a wonderful round two—I wasn’t upset, really, that he wasn’t. I’d gotten what I wanted, and I could only imagine he had, too.
I got out of bed and padded into the bathroom to get cleaned up. The bathroom was thankfully stocked—set up to accommodate anyone who might be a guest here. I brushed my teeth, then started the shower. As I got in, stepping under the spray and immediately getting my hair wet, I began to wonder if I’d made enough noise to get my father’s attention. On the one hand, that had kind of been the whole point. What was a night of rebellion if no one knew about it? On the other hand, it was worth noting I’d have a lot less to deal with if he didn’t know about it.
I wasn’t sure which I wanted more but decided quickly that either one would be all right with me.
I washed my hair thoroughly and scrubbed my body clean. I didn’t want to smell like that bar, and smelling like sex probably wasn’t any better. When I was clean, I got out and went to the closet to see if I’d left anything to wear lying around. I did not want to wear my things from last night. What was the point of a shower if you were just going to throw on something dirty right after?
I checked the closet and found it had a few towels, a robe, and some bathing suits I was pretty sure I hadn’t worn since high school. I chose a bathing suit because if my dad happened to catch me—like he was going to be around—I could explain away my being outside and my wet hair in one fell swoop. The bikini was a little small—definitely from high school. But it didn’t matter. Dad wouldn’t even notice.
Not that he’s going to be paying me any attention, I thought sullenly.
My wild night had been everything I’d wanted and more, but it didn’t change the facts. Dad was still the ruler of the house, and I had no means of getting out. Top that off with the fight and the fact that he had a nasty habit of ignoring me for a few days after having a fight with me, it was still a miserable world I lived in.
“And on that happy note…” I muttered to myself.
I headed into the house, fully expecting to find my dad sitting at the kitchen table sipping at coffee and leaving his whole-wheat toast and egg whites untouched. But the place was empty. I frowned, then found a note taped to the fridge.
It was from the maid, and it informed me she was out grocery shopping but would be back around ten. It was only seven, and that meant that the house was completely empty.
“I hate this place.”
Chapter Five
Asher
Two Months Later
I was sitting in the back of Black Opus, staring down at the stack of papers that had been served to me earlier in the week. It was a lot of legal jargon that went on seemingly for miles, but in the end, the gist was pretty basic: cease and desist all operations.
Now, that was clearly targeted towards the legal business of the Black Opus. But since my dear old friend the mayor pushed it through, I knew he didn’t just mean the tattoo shop. No, he meant he wanted everything that had to do with me and the Horsemen the hell out of his town.
The Horsemen were a legal club, technically. We had all the paperwork in order, and the law couldn’t touch us in that respect. But if they ever caught us doing some of the more risqué things around town, well, that would be another story entirely.
All of it was a little ridiculous in my eyes. How could you call us the drug problem in town when the doctors were force-feeding prescriptions to anyone and everyone old enough to have them? Legal heroin, if you asked me, though, of course, no one did.
And that wasn’t to say that some of my boys didn’t do a little dealing now and again. A guy had to make a living, but I didn’t require it, even if I didn’t necessarily discourage it. We made money because my boys did the jobs no one else wanted to do. If they weren’t selling, someone else would be. I wouldn’t fault them for being enterprising, even if I didn’t partake in the drug culture myself. I’d seen enough of it over the last decade to know I had little interest in it.
But none of that mattered to the mayor. In fact, I could be squeaky clean, and the mayor would still be riding my ass about something until he could find a legitimate reason to shut me down and kick me out of his town.
No way to deal with lingering frustrations and hurt, I thought mildly, tossing the papers to the side.
He might claim it was an election year that was forcing his hand. Might say it was the main reason he was cracking down on lawbreakers and those who bring lawbreakers into his town, but I knew the truth. My mother had broken his heart, and now he was going to spend the rest of his life taking that out on me.
It was petty, in my humble opinion, for what little that was worth.
I sighed, leaning my chair back farther. Up front, I heard the buzzing of tattoo needles and the soft conversational voices that told me there was probably a customer in there, negotiating times and images and whatever else.
Normally, the sound was soothing, but right now, with my body so on edge, it grated on my nerves.
I could fight the papers. They were legit, but I could take them to court over it and probably win. Maybe. I could argue that we were being prejudiced against and that we were being treated unfairly due to preconceived notions, namely that we were a tattoo parlor and that didn’t fit in with the mayor’s idea of what Mount Cherry should be. But we were a legally operating business, and it was an infringement on our rights to be ousted from town because of some jackass’ prejudice.
But it was a little more complicated than all of that. If it were just the attack from the mayor, that would be one thing. Dealing with him was second nature now, as was ruffling his feathers. Unfortunately, other complications were arising, and they were coming up faster than I could handle, whether I wanted to admit it or not.
Recently, I’d gotten word of a couple of bikers poking around Mount Cherry. I wouldn’t have been concerned if they were unaffiliated and just passing through. Mount Cherry wasn’t necessarily right in the path of a lot of “passing through” type traffic, but we got some. Mostly scenic byways, people taking vacations with their kids or their wives or whatever, but every so often you’d get a biker who took a wrong turn or was looking for the path less traveled and all that crap.
But these guys weren’t just passing through, and they definitely weren’t unaffiliated. Bane had spotted them the other day and reported them to me a while ago. He’d said it had been difficult to make out the patches on their jackets, but they had definitely been matching.
In my experience, this meant they were in a club together. Bikers might all look the same to someone from the outside, but to another biker what they wore was a giveaway to who they were. Patches could mean rank, but they always told you something about the club. Bikers who were independent rarely had insignias on their leathers, and when they did, it wouldn’t match a partner’s insignia. That was a dangerous thing to do if you didn’t have a club for the very reason that I was worried about it now.
Two riders with the same insignia meant a club. And not mine.
Scouts, I thought miserably, rubbing my eyes like I could erase some of the problems I’d seen lately.
They were coming here to size us up, check out the territory. They’d report back to their boss, and then they’d make a decision. Like whether or not it was worth coming into town and trying to take over. Judging by the fact that Bane had spotted the guys about three weeks ago, and there had been half a dozen sightings since, I was willing to think they had decided to try their luck.
Which wouldn’t have worried me nearly as much if it weren’t for one little fact: I had dissenters. The Anarchy’s Horsemen hadn’t been strong in years. Since long before I’d t
aken over. Mr. Jennings had left me a hell of a mess when he retired; I was still working on how to smooth out the kinks in the club.
I’d had to break Horton’s nose and kick Joey out entirely. It hadn’t left a lot of people happy, and it had put me in a bad spot, but there wasn’t a lot else I could do about it.
Marry and knock up some little woman, I thought dryly.
The suggestion had been two months ago, but I hadn’t been able to settle down like the Anarchy’s Horsemen seemed to want or need me to do. If I were honest with myself, I might admit that the idea had been rolling around in my brain since they’d thrown it out there.
Though I’d once or twice in my life toyed around with the idea of settling down, I’d always considered it an impossibility—in a lot of ways, I still did. I was too brutal for things like that. Too prone to violence and anger. On the surface, I might seem like the kind of man to be in control, but that was never really the case. I was constantly on the verge of exploding, of losing it. I kept it in check so far as I needed to and fuck the rest.
