ZEKE’S BABY: Midnight’s Hounds MC

by Evelyn Glass

  When I’m done, I stand up, dazed, and grab my towel to clean myself off. It’s only once I’ve wiped the come from my prick that I realize there’s blood on there, too, blood mixed with her fluids. Looking down at the ruined bed, I see that she’s sobbing quietly, head buried in the pillow.

  With the daze of the mad lust gone, I go to the mattress and kneel down next to her. It occurs to me that one of those bastards might’ve raped her, and it occurs to me, too, surprising the hell out of me, that seein’ her cry makes me feel like shit.

  “Becky,” I say, touching her shoulder. “Was it too rough—or what? What’re you cryin’ for? Did one of those men hurt you last night?”

  For a few minutes, she sobs into the pillow.

  I start feelin’ pretty bad about the whole thing, wondering if maybe I went in too rough on her. But the truth is, I was so fuckin’ horny I don’t reckon a tornado would’a stopped me. It was like somethin’ snapped in me, looking down at that sweet peachy ass. After a while, she turns to me and I see she’s smiling through the tears. She looks half-mad, the way the smile spreads across her face as though she’s purposefully tryin’ to freak me out. Then, she starts giggling. Once the giggling has stopped, she exclaims, “Julian won’t want me now!”

  “What’d you mean?” I ask. “The fuck you mean, Julian won’t want you? That’s a Capo you’re talkin’ about.”

  She points at the blood on the towel. “I was a virgin, Chance. I’ve never had sex before, well…until just now. Julian only wanted me because I was a virgin. He won’t want me now!” She says all this gleefully, like it’s the best thing that could ever happen.

  But already I’m on my feet, rage movin’ through me. I stare down at her, shakin’ with anger, wondering what sort of sick fucking game she’s playing. When I speak, I try’n keep my voice low, measured, but it comes out like the growling of a dog before it leaps. “Julian is a goddamn Capo. Let me paint a picture for you, Becky. There’s the boss, the Capo Bascone—the underboss—regular Capos, and then hitters like me, and then enforcers, and then the fuckin’ runts of the Family, the kids and shit. Don’t you fuckin’ understand? Julian is a Capo, which means he has every goddamn right to kill me if he ever finds out about this. And I’ve just walked into this motel like a fuckin’ cow to the slaughterhouse.”

  She just stares up at me, still smiling.

  “Stop fuckin’ smiling at me!” I break out, my anger taking hold of me.

  She flinches away, burying her face in the pillow and cryin’ some more. I’m too angry to talk to her right now so I go into the bathroom and pace up and down like a caged lion, thinkin’ about the goddamn mess I’m in. It was bad enough findin’ a dead cop at the warehouse, but now I’ve gone and de-fuckin’-flowered a Capo’s woman. Course, I knew that she was promised to the Capo, but I had no clue she was a virgin. I sit on the edge of the toilet seat, thinkin’ how the Family is gonna have me killed, but not just killed. First they’ll cut pieces of me off, and then stuff those pieces all over town as I sit there, bleeding, and then, only when I’m begging for it…I close my mind to that. That’s a hypothetical I don’t wanna start thinkin’ about. I sit like this for a long time, fists clenched, staring down at the tiles. Blood has dried there from where it dripped off our bodies, trails of it.

  When I’ve calmed down some, I return to the bedroom. “Listen,” I say. She’s sittin’ up now, knees drawn to her chest, the blanket pulled over her. She’s looks vulnerable and cute as hell, with her hair all messy around her face, framing it. “I don’t wanna scare you, but you’ve gotta understand that it’s a big damn deal what we just did. It’ll mean we’re both fucked, if Julian ever finds out.”

  “I know,” she whispers. “But, Chance, Julian is, like, fifty. A fifty year old man, sweaty and disgusting. And he gave me to those animals in the warehouse, so he can’t care that much, can he!”

  “You made me fuck a Capo’s product,” I mutter.

  “Product?” Some fire comes into her eyes, lightin’ up her whole face. “What do you mean, product?”

  “That’s what you are to him,” I say. “That’s all you are, and that’s how the Family’ll see it.”

  “Are you really so scared of them?” She pouts.

  “I ain’t scared of nothin’,” I shoot back. “I just don’t wanna die, is all. Don’t mean I’m scared of it.”

  “That sounds like a bunch of big talk to me,” she says. “That’s all that is. Big, tough talk which means nothing.”

  I ignore that. Maybe ’cause she might be right. Maybe ’cause even a man who deals in death has a right to be scared of it.

  I see her twitching and writhing under the blankets after about a minute of silence.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  She nods. “A little, but it was nice, too.”

  “Come here, then. I’ll make you feel better.”

  Without waiting for a response, I yank her blanket away, revealing her cute cunt, a hole that gets me hard the second I look at it. Both of us are naked, but I don’t reckon a virgin can take a second pounding like the first I gave her. Maybe I feel bad about hurtin’ her, or maybe I just don’t wanna keep talkin’ about how scared I might be. Whatever it is, I find myself going down between her legs, grabbin’ her thighs and pushing her legs apart. I smell the tang of her, a confusing-as-hell smell which is sweet and sour all at once.

  “What are you doing—”

  Her words cut short when I bring my tongue to her cunt. I tease her at first, trailin’ my tongue in a circle around her clit, which is already red and engorged, like a little ball of fire-filled glass, the fire pressing at the edges, causing it to turn bright red. The more I lick around it, the crazier she gets, twitching and writhing in pleasure now instead of pain. Lookin’ up between her legs, I see she’s got her hands on her small tits, pinchin’ her own nipples like a real horny freak. I reckon Becky’s one of those virgins who’ve been repressed for way too long, and now she’s with a man who knows what he’s doin’, she’s going wild. I watch as she pinches her nipples until they turn white. Then I reach up with one hand, takin’ a cue from her, and take hold of one of her nipples between forefinger and thumb, all the while still lickin’ her.

  After teasin’ her for a while, I lengthen my tongue, makin’ it straight so the tip is a concentrated point, and then begin licking her clit as fast as I can, flickerin’ my tongue like a snake’s. This drives her crazy. I couldn’t hear her moaning during the sex ’cause her face was pressed into the sheets and I was too horny to hear much, anyway. But now, the sweet taste of cunt on my tongue, I hear her moaning, moaning which fills the whole room like a goddamn chorus. She arches her back, pressin’ with all the strength in her body so that her clit pushes against my tongue. I push back, just as hard, the result bein’ that the force of both of us is pushin’ against her clit.

  “Oh, Chance, oh, fuck!” She twists her body, hands fallin’ to the side, fingers clawin’ at the sheets like she’s falling and she can’t find her grip.

  I pinch her nipple harder and then open my mouth and take her cunt in it, properly eating it so that my tongue is flat against her whole pussy, all of it, its taste fillin’ me all at once, a taste I find shockingly arousing. A taste which makes me reach down and begin strokin’ my cock as I eat her cute wet warm cunt. I eat her for a long time as she rides it, all the while makin’ my own cock harder and harder, and then she reaches down and grabs my head. I don’t reckon I’m that sort’a man, so I reach up and bat her hand away, tellin’ her without words that I’ll make her come at my own pace, not hers. She accepts this, choosin’ instead to stroke her belly.

  “Chance, I’m going to—I’m going to!”

  She stops for a second, the way women do when they’re about to come and they can’t talk ’cause they’re waitin’ for it to hit. Experience has taught me that women go the craziest if you just go nuts at this point, lickin’ faster, harder, squeezin’ with more pressure and just makin’ them feel like proper
pleasure-lovin’ bitches. So I lick her faster, eatin’ her pussy, fuckin’ munching on it, and then her body shakes and vibrates and she releases her come into my mouth, squirting onto my tongue, a whole fuckin’ mess of the stuff all over my mouth. I keep lickin’ her, keep strokin’ myself. There’s somethin’ sexy as fuck about her come all over my tongue, and I find myself comin’ at the same time, pumping my arm as she squirts. She squirts for a long time, finishing long after I’ve finished, and then slumps back onto the mattress. I lean back, spitting her come onto the floor. No way I’m swallowin’ it.

  Then I stand up and see that she’s already collapsed on the bed, falling asleep.

  I tug the blanket up to her chin and then go to the corner and sit on her pallet, shakin’ my head at the fuckin’ mess I’m in.

  Chapter Nine

  Becky

  For the second time in a twenty-four-hour period, when I wake I feel like I’m in a dream. But this time it’s a dream in which Chance and I, for some bizarre reason, are married and have children and live in the suburbs. I have a clear image of Chance wearing an apron flipping burgers at a barbeque. Then, slowly, the dream fades and I realize how ridiculous the idea is. Chance is terrifying, intimidating, captivating in a strange way, but he’s not a man I can imagine standing at a barbeque flipping burgers. Then my stomach grumbles and I think perhaps the dream had more to do with burgers than with Chance.

  I lean up in the broken bed, my body sore, aching even more than it did earlier today. It’s evening, the New York autumn wind whipping at the glass, causing it to whistle. I clutch my belly, which is so empty it feels like it’s eating itself. When Chance walks in through the door holding two take-out bags, I almost throw myself at him and tear them from his hands. He’s found a green bomber jacket and faded jeans, with scuffed brown workman’s boots, making him look as gruff as ever. His black hair is damp with rainfall, and his eyes flit around the room when he enters, as though it’s impossible for him to enter a room without first searching it. When he sees it’s safe, he comes to the ruined bed and drops onto the mattress.

  “Thought you might be hungry,” he says, not looking at me. Maybe he feels awkward for last night. I get the sense that this man rarely hangs around for the morning after, let alone the evening after. “Didn’t know what you’d want, so I got you one of everythin’.”

  I snatch the bag from him, nodding, and then rip it open. It contains a chicken sandwich, a beef burger, a chicken salad wrap, and a hot dog, with a soft-scoop ice-cream with little chunks of chocolate in it for afterwards. I’m so hungry that for the next twenty minutes I don’t even think. I just eat. I devour the chicken sandwich in four bites, the burger in five, and then munch down the rest as quickly as I can, even when I feel my belly getting full. Toward the end, spooning ice-cream into my mouth, it becomes a struggle. But the feeling of having a full belly is so welcome I don’t even care. Chance hands me a fizzy orange drink, which I gulp gladly.

  When I’ve eaten myself into a semi-coma, I place the wrappers beside the bed and lie back with my hands on my belly, feeling so full I could explode. Chance eats methodically, like a man completing a task, and then drops the wrappers on the floor and sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, staring at the wall. Once my food has settled, I try and figure out what he’s thinking from his pensive, serious face, but it’s impossible.

  “Did you know you have a speck of blue in your eye?” I say.

  Chance flinches. “Reckon it comes from my mom,” he mutters. “Dad’s eyes were blacker’n mine.”

  “Where are they—your parents, I mean?”

  He flinches again, turning away from me so I can’t see his eyes, like the thought of talking terrifies him more than marching into a warehouse and killing half a dozen men. “Mom was a woman I never knew and Dad died when I was seven.”

  I wait for him to ask me about mine, but he doesn’t. In the end I tell him anyway: tell him how my father is an enforcer, not a hitter, and my mom lives in California. “I think she still loves my dad,” I tell him. “Last time I spoke to her, she mentioned something about it.”

  “Alright,” he says in a neutral tone of voice.

  After an overlong silence, I say, “You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

  He shrugs. “Just don’t see what whinin’ about what our mommies and daddies did to us ever solved. I reckon gettin’ ahead and takin’ care of yourself solves a hell of a lot more. Take you, Becky, you did just that this morning.” He starts this high pitched voice that is a mockery of mine. “’Oh, if I’m not a virgin anymore, Julian won’t want me and I’ll be free.’ So you jumped at me and grabbed my cock and here we are.”

  “You groped me!” I snap. “When I was in the shower, you groped me!”

  “Yeah,” he says, facing me for the first time, “I did. So fuckin’ what? You’re a fine piece of ass. Anyway, you liked it plenty.”

  I feel myself blushing, so turn my gaze down to the bed, away from him. “Look,” I say. “I’m sorry for using you that way, okay? I am. But you’ve got to understand that Julian is an old man who was going to rape me—”

  “Don’t matter,” he interrupts. “He’s a fuckin’ Capo. Anyway, it’s done now, so I reckon if you wanna make it up to me, maybe you ought’a try and do it by showin’ me just how crazy a girl who’s just learnt about fuckin’ can get.”

  Looking up, I see his eyes on my chest. I fell asleep naked, and now I’ve let the blanket fall down, so that he can see my bare breasts. I remember this morning, when he was down between my legs, making me feel like no man has ever made me feel before. He just went crazy down there, eating, biting, licking, and reaching up and pinching my nipples. All of it hurt—I’m sore as hell—and yet all of it felt incredible, too. It felt like there has been a ball of pleasure inside of me my whole life, just waiting to burst, but no man, and even my own hands, has never been able to do the right thing to really get to it. And then Chance comes along and goes ballistic on me and I feel myself bursting, really bursting, all over his face: squirting, the release so incredible it fights off the pain of the brutal fucking he gave me.

  Then he grins—if a slight twist of the lips can be called a grin—and I realize he’s joking. But even so, I don’t think of it as a joke. The pleasure was too immense. I’ve never known what real passion feels like, what it’s like to have your body overriding your mind, what it’s like to be so captivated with somebody that when you look at them your pussy begins to ache and your belly starts to get warm.

  “I need a shower,” I say.

  “I thought I gave you a pretty damn good wash.” He offers that small, cynical smile again. Like a wild cat bearing its teeth. Again, I think of a jaguar, dark and deadly.

  I gesture to my hair, which is tangled with grime and I-don’t-want-to-think-what-else. “A man has absolutely no skill when it comes to washing hair. Just because most of you have buzz cuts and can just dunk your head in a thimble of water, doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t need a thorough wash. Is there shampoo in there?”

  “The fuck should I know?”

  I stand up, naked, for some reason not feeling uncomfortable in front of this man I met only last night. But that’s the power of lust, I suppose, that once you’ve shared a body you can go ahead and share it again. Or maybe that’s a high-brow excuse for just wanting to tease him. I feel his eyes on me as I walk to the bathroom, on my ass especially, and then I close the door. I reach for the lock, but there isn’t one. I feel a tingle up my spine at that. He could walk in on me at any minute.

  As I step into the shower, my thighs twinge, my pussy aching. I remember how he drilled into me last night, so hard he shattered the bed-legs, so hard it was like he was an animal and didn’t even care if he hurt me. And once again I reflect that I should be scared, or disgusted, or ashamed, or outraged. And once again I feel none of that. I feel horny, incredibly horny, even if that horniness is tinged with confusion.

  Chapter Ten

  Chance<
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  I wash her go, teasin’ me, surprised by just how much this girl can drive me wild even after I’ve fucked her. Usually once I’ve fucked a woman, I don’t give two damns about ’em. Maybe that’s a fucked-up thing, but I’ve never claimed not to be a fucked-up man. Usually, once I’ve fucked a woman, I don’t see the point of dippin’ in for a second time. Anyway, most of the time they’re just dive-bar chicks or whores picked up during one of my jobs, and I’ve got more important shit to do than hang around. But right now, Becky is the important shit, and I’ve gotta hang around until I hear from the Family.

  I’m thinkin’ on this when my cell buzzes from the TV stand. I pick up it and see that it’s Tony Donati. He’s the Capo Bascone for the Family. So the Family know I’m here. They’ll give me new orders now.