Where Souls Spoil

by Jc Emery

  This is what we do. It’s nothing really. The club, the girls. We drink, and fuck, and pass out. But Duke and I have a history, and I told myself I wouldn’t do this—not with the man who used to be the boy who I once thought hung the moon. But now I know better. He’ll be all about me for a minute before he tosses me aside, just like he’s done to every girl who’s come before me.

  As the door clicks shut behind me, I decide that all of this overthinking is bullshit. I knew what I was doing when I showed up tonight. After the bullshit with Jeremy at school today, I needed the release, so I showed up at the clubhouse. This was the whole point of coming, wasn’t it? To fuck and forget—to let the entire world dissolve into a vacuum of feeling devoid of worry?

  Fuck it.

  I spin around to face Duke, giving him a smile that’s a total goddamn lie. After all this time, the idea of being with Duke puts my nerves on edge. I’ve thought about this moment for so long that I almost can’t believe it’s really happening. He lifts his chin just slightly, making his goatee look longer than it is. Before I can stop myself, I lunge at him. Leaping into the air, my hands latch onto his shoulders and as smoothly as I can, I wrap my legs around his waist. Immediately, he grabs at my ass, keeping me in the air. Now firm in his arms, I move my hands to the sides of his neck and pull his face to mine. I press my lips to his, and don’t have to wait for him to catch up. If there’s one thing I’ve heard about Duke, it’s that he knows how to fuck.

  A jolt of what I can only describe as pure electricity runs through me at the touch of his lips on mine. He presses down, relentless in his pursuit. His lips are rougher than I expect, but not entirely unwelcome. I open my mouth, inviting him in. Just like I knew he’d be, Duke takes every invitation I extend. Pushing my pelvis into his, a low growl erupts from deep in his throat as his hands clamp down on my pliant flesh. A moan escapes me at the contact.

  A frenzied mess of limbs, we tumble onto the nearby queen-sized bed, bouncing into the air and completely disregarding of the noise we make. For even a brief few hours it’s nice to be so free and so out of control. All the jostling makes it difficult to breathe for a minute. The mattress protests in squeaks beneath us as Duke covers my body with his, trailing a hand down my side. He’s going so slow, and I’m just not used to it. I can’t tell if I like it or not, but I know better than to step out of my place.

  I bring one of my arms up and beneath my head, and prop my head up on it so I can see exactly what he’s doing. His tattooed hand grips the top of my jeans before deftly flicking the button loose and pulling them down with one strong, commanding tug. I’ve spent years watching his moves, but it’s an entirely different thing when the focus is on me. No stranger to the palace and all the debauchery that goes on in that place, I’ve seen Duke take women out in the open. He’s never been shy, that’s for sure.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks. Realizing I’ve been staring off into space, I shake my head and look down at him. My pants are around my ankles, his hand still around the bunched material as if he stopped in mid-pull. His blond hair, shorter than he normally keeps it, falls into his piercing eyes as he stares me down.

  “Nothing,” I say and buck my hips up to him in encouragement. For a moment I think he might argue, but he doesn’t. Pulling off my jeans the rest of the way, and tossing them across the room, he lets out a heavy sigh. His mood’s changing for reasons I can’t even fathom. If I thought he was moving slowly before, I was wrong. Now he moves at a turtle speed as he kisses his way up my legs, alternating between the two, but staying toward the middle. Finally, he lands a kiss on the center of my black thong panties. Having been so attentive the entire night, now he keeps his eyes lowered as he grips the sides of my thong and slowly pulls it down.

  Without lifting his head, he crawls up my body, letting his nose drag along my flesh. I didn’t know he would be this slow with me. He’s not been slow the few times I’ve seen him in action, not that watching Duke have sex is something I’m prone to doing. It’s just something that happens around here.

  I try to pull my mind out of that awkward place it keeps going to—remembering everything he’s done with other women, and thinking about how it compares to what he’s doing with me. I’m such a mess, I’m starting to wonder if getting off is even worth all the trouble this shit is causing me. I mean, I told myself I wouldn’t fucking do this with him for a reason. I’m way too attached. And when everything little memory and all of the worry gets too much to take, I decide to mentally check out and be goddamn done with all of the “what if” crap that I’m usually so good at pushing out of my head.

  Sitting up, he scoots back to avoid getting knocked in the face with my elbow. Quickly, I pull my bra tank over my head and toss it across the room then reposition my legs beneath me and pull him up to me. Propped up on my legs, I use his heavy torso as leverage to keep myself steady. Running my hands up and down his leather cut, I try to ignore that little voice in the back of my head that reminds me how very much I am like the woman I hate so much: my mother. She always had a thing for bikers, and much less a thing for motherhood as evidenced by her departure all those years ago.

  “If you’re not into this, I’ll get someone else,” he says. My head snaps up, eyes finding his, and I give him my best mean face. He gives me a serious look and says, “But I want you.”

  “I was trying not to puke on the leather. You don’t have to be a dick,” I say. A kaleidoscope of butterflies erupts in my belly at that comment. The hint of a smile forms and he grips my sides, then in a surprise move, drops backwards and pulls me on top of him. I was buying time when I told him I was trying not to puke, but now I’m not lying anymore. The world spins around me as I hold onto him tight. His body shakes beneath mine and when I can see steady once again I notice that he’s on his back and I’m straddling his lap. Totally naked and bared to him, I remind myself that I’ve done this more times than I can count. He’s Forsaken, and I’m a Lost Girl. It’s who we are and this is what we do. I have zero reason to be weird about this. Except that he’s not just some random guy. He’s charming, and he’s funny. And he’s Duke.

  Taking the front of his cut and gently pulling it off his shoulders, a disturbingly loud cell phone rings, startling me. Duke’s eyes narrow as he grumbles something about his dick and then manages to yank the offensive object out of his pocket. Flipping open the phone, he brings it to his ear.

  “Yeah? Now? Fuck. Yeah, just gimme five?” he says into the phone, flips it shut, and tosses it beside us on the bed. Throwing one of his muscles arms down on the bed he curses and then bucks his hips. I grip the leather of his vest tightly and go to move off of him but his hands find their way to my hips, keeping me in place.

  “We just have to be quick, baby,” he says. Reaching over, he pulls a condom off the side table and sets it down beside him. Leaning back, I pop open the button of his jeans and pull down the zipper. Just as I’m freeing him from his constraints, one of his hands finds its way to my center. His thumb parts my folds and rubs me in small circles until my thighs clench tightly into his hips. The room feels so cool, every slight gust of wind that moves past me sends chills up my spine. Gooseflesh covers me from head to toe.

  “I could watch this shit for days,” he says in a husky voice. As much as I want to see looks of wanton desire in his eyes, I don’t risk losing the building euphoria I have going on. My mind, shoulders, and soul feel a little lighter the longer he attends to me for. Breaking from the rhythm he’s created, Duke speeds up his ministrations, applying more pressure and sending me to the edge. I toss my head back, my body locks up, and for a brief moment, nothing—not even me—exists. And I’m floating. When I come back down to earth, I pry my eyes open to see Duke ripping the wrapper open with his teeth and then rolling the condom down his shaft.

  Not giving myself a chance to change my mind, not that with the way my body responded to just the pad of his thumb I’m doubting much, I pull myself up his body and sink down onto him. Moving at f
irst slow and steady, then fast and relentlessly, I slide myself up and down his length. Keeping my eyes trained on his face, I watch as he locks his jaw up and his breath catches. Bringing his hips up to meet mine, he drives himself into my core, making me gasp for air. It isn’t long before we’re a sweaty mess. His thumb starts with the circles again and the combination of everything he’s doing to my body is too much to take. I clamp down around him as tight as I can while bringing one hand behind me and cupping his balls. His movements still as his eyes fly to the back of his head and his body goes still, and his muscles turn to stone beneath me.

  I give us both a moment to come down from our highs before I give his chest a soft pat and slide off of him. His eyes pop open with a cloud of confusion beneath the surface before he washes it all away and just like always he’s back to being the bad-ass I know he’s always had to be.

  On shaky legs, I stand beside the bed, watching as he tears the condom off and tosses it in a nearby trash bin and then zips his jeans up. Blowing out a deep breath, he stands, and pulls me to him. Cupping my face in his hands, he slams his lips against mine. This time I expect the power behind his touch and his rough lips. Duke has always been like a gravitational pull that I can’t escape, but knowing how his lips feel on mine is going to be a difficult thing to ignore.

  “I gotta go, but when I get back…” he trails off and then shoves his hand down between us and slides one of his fingers between my wet folds. “This is mine. We clear?”

  “Excuse me?” I say, stumbling over the words. A gasp escapes me as he uses his thumb to rub my swollen nub and then hooks his finger inside of me. My hands fly up to his chest to keep myself steady and my eyes fall back in my head. The only thing I can do is focus on the incredible feeling that he’s creating with his hand, and not on the words he’s said.

  “You let me have it, and now THIS. IS. MINE,” he says, and presses hard on my clit, sending a slight tremor through my body. I moan and let my head fall onto his chest. He wraps his other arm around my waist to keep me up. He unhooks his finger inside of me and slides three more in. The shock of being filled so suddenly is too much to take and I burst apart in his arms. My legs quake, my breathing stops, and my entire body spasms. I’m clutching his cut like it’s the only lifeline I have and when my head finally clears and he removes his hands from my slick pussy, I realize that he’s claimed me and try to process everything that that means.

  Nodding my head out of stupidity and pushing off of his chest, I suck in a much-needed breath and look around slightly dazed. I’m barely able comprehend what he’s said before he’s out of the room.

  He claimed me and then left me, and while this is something I’ve fantasized about many a night, while I was alone in my bed, stroking my own pussy and pretending it was Duke-- I don’t want this. I only want him if it’s real, and it never is real with Duke. So I don’t want it.

  I’m left looking for my clothes so I can get out of here. I find my pants and pull them up my legs, then find my thong and shove it in my jeans pocket. As I’m pulling the bra tank on, I start to feel myself sobering up and the reality of what I’ve done sneaks up on me. The only thing worse than denying myself Duke is having Duke and then losing him.

  Now that I’ve been here, I can’t go back to that place where I bury my feelings for him and pretend that he’s just another member of the club.

  Chapter 1

  “HAVE YOU HEARD a single word I’ve said?” The words come out of my mouth, but I still can’t believe I’m saying them. I’m way too young for this shit.

  “I heard you. Just fucking chill, won’t you?” Jeremy says. My brother’s a good kid—or rather, he’s not that bad of a kid—but he’s got a mouth on him. He wasn’t always so bad, but the older he gets without his dad around the more uncontrollable he gets.

  “Then what did I say?” Fuck. I sound exactly like my mother, and I hate that bitch. She should be the one here, dealing with this shit.

  “Look,” Jeremy says, standing from his seat at the table. He’s so tall now, just like his dad, Butch. Over six feet with broad shoulders and muscles that have come out of seemingly nowhere. Jeremy’s as tan as anyone gets around here, and despite his size and attitude, he’s still got the same smile he did when he was little.

  “I get it. You’re pissed that you had to leave work. Point fucking taken.” Leaning over the back of the chair he was just sitting in, he lets his hair fall into his eyes as his head is tipped down. He looks like a grown man already, and he’s only seventeen.

  “No. Point not fucking taken. That shit job I had to leave puts food in that smart mouth of yours. Do me a favor and just don’t hit anybody else after your suspension’s up, okay?”

  Tipping his head up slightly, he gives me a blinding smile. “Sure thing, boss.”

  “Don’t do that,” I say, letting my head fall into my hands. I’m worn out and figuring that it’s just not worth the fight. As much as I want to do right by the kid, there’s only so much I can do. In less than a year he’ll be eighteen and my guardianship will be over. The only thing I’ll have then is the roof over his head and the fact that we’re the only family each other has. When Butch-- Jeremy’s biological dad, and my step-dad-- went down for something club-related back when I was in high school, we ended up living with the club president and his wife. It didn’t last long though and the president managed to get social services off our asses and me and Jeremy back into our own home. Now, looking at my brother, with all his attitude and arrogance, I can’t remember why I wanted to take this on myself.

  Rounding the table, he walks up behind me and kisses the top of my head, saying, “Love you, Sis.”

  “No more fighting?” I say, lifting my head and tilting it back to meet his eyes. His eyes are a navy blue that he’s used to melt the panties off more than one of his female peers.

  “No more fighting,” he says, backing up into the living room and then turning and walking into his room. I know it’s bullshit, but it’s better than nothing. If I can just keep him off the principal’s radar for the remainder of summer session, he might be able to graduate on time next spring.

  Pushing up from the table, I cross the kitchen to my purse atop the counter by the stove, and pull out my small compact mirror. Checking my makeup for signs of wear, I make sure I don’t look half as much of a mess as I feel. I powder my nose and then shove the compact back in my bag and rush out of the house. I’m a total disaster with my bleached blonde hair as messy as ever and my makeup half worn-off. The only thing worse than the way I look right now is the way I feel.

  Jeremy’s going to be home for the rest of the week doing God only knows what, but I don’t have that luxury. I have to get back to work and explain to my boss why I had another family emergency.

  I lock up the small ranch house Jeremy and I share and take a look up at the sky overhead. The cool air hits my exposed skin, leaving faint droplets of condensation behind. Rushing to my car, an old Toyota Corolla, I yank the driver side door open and slam it behind me before I get too wet. It can’t be above sixty outside and I’m wearing a low-cut black tank top and tight ripped jeans. I’d grab a sweater, but business has been slow this week and I need the tips, especially after missing half of my shift this morning to deal with damn teenage shit.

  The engine grumbles to life as reluctant as ever. She’s on her way out, I can tell, but she’s got to hang in a few more years until I can figure something out with my brother. I make a mental note to take her by the shop in Willits. Hopefully she makes it that far without issue. Backing out of the driveway she practically wheezes, then makes a grinding sound as I cut the wheel. I grit my teeth at the thought of having to take her to the shop in town— the only shop in town— Forsaken Custom Cycle.

  I haven’t been on Forsaken property in almost two months— not since the night I decided it would be totally cool to act like an idiot and sleep with Duke. Not since he all but claimed me, something most Lost Girls pray for, and then totally disa
ppeared. Not that I give a shit-- or rather-- not that I’m trying not to give a shit. He’s been back in town from wherever he went for weeks now. I’ve seen him ride by Universal Grounds enough times just like he always has. He never stops in, never checks on me. I spent weeks making up excuses for why he’s been absent-- weeks where I let myself think that bullshit where he claimed my pussy was anything more than punishment for making him wait so long. But now I’m done and fuck him.

  He knows where I live, and he knows where I work, and still-- nothing. Like a moron, me believing him, and him being Duke and being untrustworthy, I should have seen this coming. But no. Like a moron I avoided the clubhouse because the Old Ladies don’t spend much time at the clubhouse. It seemed like the right thing to do, if I was going to take myself off the market. And even though I knew it was going to hurt when he eventually got tired of me, I set myself up for the prospect of spending more time in Duke’s bed, and maybe even a little time on the back of his bike. But he never showed up and now I’m left with a bad case of embarrassment.

  I make the drive through the straight-up blue collar residential side of town and into downtown in less time than I’d like. I’ve tried to consider the best course of action in explaining my continual disappearances to my boss, but so far, I’ve got nothing. It’s not easy having to apologize for your fuck ups again and again.

  Pulling up to Universal Ground, I check my red lipstick in the rear view mirror, gather up my purse, and pull my tits up high as I can in my bra. Downtown is pretty much dead today, which doesn’t bode well for the next few hours. With my purse over one shoulder and my long blonde hair pulled over the other, I pull open the heavy glass and wood door to the front of Universal Grounds. Inside, the air conditioning is on at a lower than comfortable temperature— all a ruse to encourage patrons to drink more overpriced coffee— and the place is spotless. Courtesy of the two patrons inside and my co-worker Mindy, there’s light chatter being thrown around keeping the shop from sinking into a dead silence.