by A. C. Bextor
Using only the tip of my finger, in hopes not to wake him, I trail an invisible line down Elevent’s stomach. His muscles contract so I hesitate. When he doesn’t make a move, I allow its journey to continue down, pulling the sheet away with it.
Do not tempt a starving man.
Reaching below the V of his stomach, I stop the path to circle. The bedsheet near my hand twitches, and I gasp in the silence, less afraid of what he’ll do if I wake him but more afraid of what he may not.
‘Cause as drunk and turned on as you are, you’d let me have you without argument.
I brave another inch down, then two, until my finger brushes against the metal button of his jeans. Not allowing my route to be deterred, I flatten my hand, slowly sliding my palm between his heated skin and jeans. Finally, my fingers reach the hot and hard, but smooth and velvety skin.
I don’t stop.
The Virgin Mary or the Scarlet Letter.
My thumb sweeps the top of him as it rests against his stomach. My fingers traverse the thick vein, running along those soft ridges with care.
My stomach plummets and my thighs quiver as I continue to explore.
Without warning, Elevent moves until I’m flat on my back, with his sleepy eyes drilling into my startled ones.
“You done fuckin’ with me?” he grouses.
“I wasn’t…” I start to answer on a gasp. “I was—”
“You wanna explain why I woke to your hands on me?” he clips.
“I don’t think…”
“Christ, you can’t even say the words,” he punishes.
Calling on liar’s courage, I shift beneath him, hoping he won’t force me to say what I’m after.
His hips thrust once, and do so savagely to prove a point. Then his body tenses.
“You’re in my bed,” he points out on a slight.
I can’t deny he’s right.
“You were asleep when I got back. Dead to the fuckin’ world.”
Again. There’s nothing to deny, so rather than agree; I say nothing.
“I take it this means you’re happy to finish what you started?”
Giving in, fear and self-respect be damned, I nod.
Elevent’s mouth slams to mine. His tongue tastes my lips, coaxing them open. I whimper as they split and he growls, wheedling them to open wider.
Then he takes over.
The palm of his hand glides over my stomach, roaming freely beneath my tee shirt. Catching a nipple, he pulls the soft sensitive flesh between his finger and his thumb, sending a spear of pleasure mixed with firing pain down my core.
My thighs part in invitation. I want this. I need this. All thoughts of home: Toby, Myra, my apartment, my job, bad guys—gone. The here and now are all that matter.
Don’t fill these men with thoughts of you.
Taking my unvoiced permission, Elevent drops his hand to the hem my panties, his fingertips slide down further, meeting their mark with precision. He circles, adding pressure after each pass. Arching my neck, my back comes off the bed, and my arms circle over his wide shoulders.
His hips thrust again, the steel of him pushing roughly against my inner thigh.
I’m at a loss, standing on the precipice of pleasure, searching blindly for the final step to fall.
Elevent stops. He pulls his hand from between my legs and uses it to balance. His other works between us, where he unbuttons then unzips his jeans. Once he’s free, the sides of my panties are clenched in his fists, the fabric tears, before being whisked away and sent flying across the room.
“How drunk are you?” he questions, his words coming out raspy, shaking with need.
I tilt my head, nervous of my voice and how a lie may sound if I spoke.
In the dim light, Elevent’s eyes narrow. His finger glides across my now bare center, teasing the spot where he’d just been.
Rolling up to him from where I lay, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull his mouth to mine. He takes the cue, kissing me back at the same time pushing himself inside. All of him at once. As far as he can go.
“Christ,” he hisses, pulling out and thrusting back in. “Fuck, I’m gonna hurt you.”
My hips roll, inviting him for more. He’s stretching me, threatening to tear me apart. The pain is piercing, but the sensation only adds to the promise of what’s to come.
Elevent’s hands find mine, grasping them tightly, and positioning them above our heads. His body pins mine in place, his elbows on either side of my head, my weight taking most of his.
“You talk to me,” he whispers with care, slowly, gently gliding himself in and out with painfully careful strokes. “If I fuckin’ hurt you at all, you tell me and I’ll stop.”
Nodding, I jut my hips again. “I’ll talk to you,” I assure.
Elevent still doesn’t move. His velvety smooth cock pulses, surrounded by my hot flesh throbbing for more.
His eyes search my face with guarded reverence. What he’s looking for, I have no idea. But I know I’ll never forget. With honesty, attention, and something else.
Something more.
Lifting my head from the pillow, I nip his bottom lip. Again and again, tilting my head side to side. He allows my play, studying each carefully.
Forcing my hands from his, my fingers roam his torso, finding his chest and running their tips across the pebbled flesh. A spark of heat bursts between us and finally he starts to really move.
Over and over he pushes in, then takes himself away. My hands lose purchase and I wrap my legs around him. My ankles lock, the power of his thrusts shaking the bed.
Holding him to me, one hand in his hair, the other at the skin of his back, I tremble with impending release.
Feral moans of chaste pleasure break from my lips.
“Fuck yes,” he hisses, licking then kissing the dip in my neck. Grabbing my hand, Elevent places it between us, spreading my fingers over our connection. “Get there, baby.”
As his relentless drives continue, my insides clench and an impenetrable indulgence steals through my body. Without holding back, I cry out my release.
When his own ascends, his thrusts become violent, each penetrating deeper than the last. With his hands at my ass, he tilts my hips, granting him further space to move.
A quiet rumble reverberates, sending us both over the edge.
Once Elevent’s completely spent, he traces my jaw with his nose. Together, our breathing starts to even.
Without remorse, I hold him tight and close my eyes.
I want to remember how good him being inside me feels.
My gut burns, and my blood pressure increases with every second I’m forced to glare at the idiot sitting in front of us.
Not six hours ago, I left Angel in a bed where I had to pry her body away from mine. After we finished what she started, she’d stumbled her way into my bathroom, did whatever the fuck women do, and then hurried her way back to me. She settled herself into my side, wrapped her arm around my waist, and burrowed deep.
She gave no apprehension whatsoever when she stated, “I’m on the pill,” before she drifted into a peaceful slumber
I’ve never had an unconscious woman demand full contact in sleep.
I’ve also never had a woman feel as comfortable as she did. Even club whores have a way about trying to be more than they are. Not her—not Mia. She made no apologies for waking me from sleep to fuck her. After, she didn’t feel the need to discuss, debate, or dissect what we’d done.
And she sure as fuck felt no remorse. Seems, for her, I was merely along for the ride. And Christ, how fucking good she felt.
So when my cell phone shot off with a string of texts before the ringer hit the room, I was already pissed.
By the time I made it to the small space reserved for business outside the club, Sty had Tyrant sitting in the shed, ready for his briefing.
The room out back behind the club is used for meetings such as these.
We don’t bring men here for torture, but as it does happen o
n occasion, when a brother steps out of line or an occasional guest acts out, this is where we take them. The shed is small, well-lit, and far enough out in the distance if someone or something did go bad, there’d be not one person to bear witness.
Before I was able to step a single foot inside the door, Sty’s hand hit my chest. There, he warned what I was walking into. But no words could’ve to warned me of this.
Tyrant’s clothes are in tatters. His shirt is ripped at the neck, and his sweatpants are shredded at each knee. He’s sitting, but my guess is both are two sizes too large. Tyrant’s lost weight and they’re pounds he couldn’t afford to lose.
His oily skin is filthy beyond a good wash. The brother stinks to holy heavens. His eyes are bouncing throughout the room and his entire body is trembling.
He’s also high as a fuckin’ kite. Meth, crack, fuck all knows what he’s taken to put him this on edge. How he rode his Harley the thirty miles from Arrows to here is anyone’s guess.
“Tell me again,” I order, standing on the other side of the table, staring at man who’s alive but barely breathing. “Tell me you’re fuckin’ sure Bynes has nothing in play for us.”
“He’s got nothin’, man,” he stresses, leaning forward and grasping both sides of the table with such force his dirt-crusted knuckles are fading to white. “I’ve told you already. Arrows is selling so much pussy they don’t have time for anything else. They’re buried in it. Bynes has a contact on the streets; her name is Shay something. She’s sending girls Zalesky turns away to Arrows.”
Fucking hell.
Zalesky will go fucking mad to learn Arrows is taking on his throwbacks. Not because he cares about those women per se, if he did they’d be in his stable but because those throwbacks eventually lead to those he does employ.
Then again, Zalesky being the cunning, intuitive man he is, probably already knows what Arrows is up to.
“And so where’s Cricket’s old man in all this?” I question next, tempting Tyrant to give me the same answer he did when he arrived. “Where’s Steel Toe?”
With his teeth starting to chatter, Tyrant pledges, “He’s there. He’s a crazy fuck. He don’t listen to no one. Does what he wants. Bynes has threatened to kill him with his own two hands.”
Crazy, he says. Crazy men drum up reckless plans. Crazy men do stupid things without caring about consequences.
“Maybe he’s right, El,” Advay voices from the back of the room. When I lift my gaze to his, he’s studying as Tyrant literally shakes in his broken-down fucking boots. If the idiot were to piss himself in the chair, I wouldn’t be surprised. “If he’s tellin’ truth, we have time to do what we need done. We’ll be prepared in case fallback comes later.”
Nodding once, I lean further into Tyrant’s space. A terrified expression moves over. And it’s one I couldn’t have fucking missed.
“You’re playing’ both sides,” I accuse, shoving the table into his gut and reveling in his ascent to panic.
Shaking his head, he pleads, “No! No way, man. I’m not playin’ you. Elevent, please, I swear.”
“El, can I get a word?” Sty calls, lifting his chin near the door.
Tyrant gives out a ragged but relieved breath and sits back in his chair. His fingers go to his mouth, where he begins chewing his already bloodied fingernails.
“We need to cut him loose,” Sty suggests, looking at me then Tyrant and shaking his head. “We need to get him the fuck out of here. Something’s not right.”
Advay comes next, stopping at our side. “I’d agree, but unfortunately he’s the only eyes we got out there.”
“He’s scared to death,” Sty hisses. “He’s about ready to swallow his own tongue.”
Our heads turn to watch as Tyrant does in fact look like he could swallow his tongue.
“Fuck, this is shit,” I hiss.
The door to the room opens. Leglas enters. His gaze travels over the three of us gathered in a corner. He nods, but doesn’t say a word before he takes off toward Tyrant. Without hesitation, or discussion, Leglas slides the chair to him and positions himself in front of Tyrant.
Leglas is calm, collected, and as always, ready to get down to business.
Sty starts to interrupt Leglas’ play by stepping forward. Leglas excels at intimidation, if only by sheer size and menacing disposition. I brace my hand on Sty’s chest, signaling him to stop.
Leglas removes the pocketknife from the back of his jeans, brings his fingers to his face, and starts to pick beneath his fingernail.
Tyrant continues to shake in place. Adding now, he’s starting to sweat.
“Any of us ever hurt you?” Leglas’ deep voice reverberates into the silence. “Beat you, torture you, mark you?”
“N-no,” Tyrant replies. “N-never.”
Looking up at the single, silver-framed interrogation light hanging from a chain just above the table; Leglas uses his knife to click the side, sending it to sway.
“We pay you enough to give us shit we need when we need it?”
“Yeah,” Tyrant answers, his teeth starting to violently chatter.
“We help you out when your sister took that beatin’ her old man gave her, and you just couldn’t get away from Arrows in time to help her?”
“Yeah, and I thanked Elevent—”
In the blink of an eye, Leglas spears the knife into the flesh of Tyrant’s hand.
Advay’s eyes slam shut and he shakes his head in disgust. Sty sucks in a breath then lets a string of curses fly.
I watch, patiently waiting for Leglas to get us what we need.
“You playin’ us?” Leglas questions.
Holding the wrist of the injured hand stabbed into the wooden table, Tyrant rocks back and forth, screaming and howling in pain.
Leglas taps the knife, spearing it further into the flesh, and another, more anguished, round of furious pain echoes.
“I asked you a fuckin’ question,” Leglas baits.
Tyrant can’t answer. Lines of tears start to roll down his cheeks and slobber drips from his mouth. In painful whispers he’s pleading to be set free.
“You get I’m not gonna kill you,” Leglas states. “Right?”
Tyrant calms slightly and stops flailing about the chair in terror.
“I’ll never kill you,” Leglas plays.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” Tyrant murmurs on repeat.
“What I will do is send you back to Arrows with a scar on your fuckin’ forehead, markin’ you as a traitor.”
“N-n-no!” Tyrant denies. As he tries to stand, a gasp of pain shreds his resolve. He takes his seat back down.
Sitting up in the chair, Leglas includes, “Then you better be full fuckin’ sure you’re tellin’ me the truth. ‘Cause if I find out you’re lyin’, I’ll make you a fuckload more sorry than you are right now.”
“I’m telling the truth!” Tyrant roars. “The bastard hurts women!” he gets out after, his expression of pain is replaced by horror.
“He does what?” Leglas clips, sitting back and staring down at the knife still fresh in Tyrant’s hand.
None of the men in my club would ever hurt a woman—any woman. We don’t sell them, push drugs to them, or damage them in any way. Leglas is an asshole of all varieties, but this is something he just does not do.
“Steel Toe is crazy!” Tyrant rallies on. “He hurts them. Rapes them. Disfigures them. I can’t listen when he…”
“Leglas,” I call. When Leglas turns, a mask of indifference blankets his expression.
I’ve known the man a long while and beneath the shield, a fuming terror of chaos and revenge is turning.
Twisting back to Tyrant, Leglas stands, grabs the knife, cleans the blade, and puts it back in his jeans.
“You lie to me, I’ll find you,” Leglas threatens.
Breathless and exhausted, Tyrant holds his wounded hand to his chest. “I’m not lying,” he cries, setting his head on the table. Once Leglas is out of reach, Tyrant starts
to chant. “I’m not lying. Not lying. Not lying. He’s crazy. Crazy. Crazy.”
“Christ, that was a bit much,” Sty utters, once Leglas has made his way to our group.
“Dramatic show,” Advay puts in calmly.
“Don’t care. Probably got more truth outta him in three minutes than you cunts did in an hour,” he brags. “Now I’ve got a hard-on and I’m off to find Cricket’s wet pussy.”
Sty growls, loathing Leglas for speaking about Cricket that way. Advay turns and walks away, disgusted, but moving to Tyrant to get him out of the chair.
Leglas walks out, giving us all his middle finger.
Instructing Advay, I order, “Get Gypsy in here to help clean Tyrant up before he bleeds a mess on the fuckin’ floor.”
“What do we tell Vlad about Arrows takin’ those throwbacks?”
“Tell him what Tyrant said. Find out if he needs a word with him. We’ll see he gets it.”
“Then what?” Advay pushes.
“What do we do with him after?”
“Send Tyrant back to Arrows. We’ve got enough for now.”
I know I’ve certainly had enough.
My head doesn’t ache.
My stomach isn’t sick.
My body is sore, but not from an anticipated hangover.
Surprisingly, other than my mind racing, wanting to retrace, reexamine, and then file away every piece of last night, my bodily functions seem in tact.
Rolling over, laying my back flat on the bed, I turn my head to find it’s empty. The light is coming through the window and the clock on the dresser reads eight thirty-six.
In sleep, I vaguely remembered Elevent’s phone going off. The string of text messages had come first, and then it finally rang. He got out of bed to answer, walking to the bathroom and flipping on the light.
I hadn’t moved, other than to turn away when he answered. I was exhausted, physically and mentally.
As the bathroom door opens, my eyes follow the sound. Then all the breath escapes my chest.
Elevent stands casually wearing only a firmly draped towel. His broad chest, with a dark smattering of hair, is bared for the world to see. A few lucky droplets of water glide down his tight abs. I fight remembering the touch of his stomach as it contracted, again and again, as he worked himself inside me.
