Twist (The Brazen Bulls MC Book 2)

by Susan Fanetti

  Only one room had its door open, signaling its availability. He led her in, flipped on the light, and closed and locked the door. There was a row of hooks on the back of every door on the second floor; he shrugged out of his kutte and hung it on one. He held out his hand for the little purse she had strapped across her chest. Knowing what he wanted, she lifted the strap over her head and handed it to him. He hung it beside his kutte.

  On the small dresser next to the bed were two bottles of water; Mo always made sure there was hydration available for the drunks who crashed up here on party nights.

  Mo wasn’t a mother, but she was a kind of mom to all the patches. She reminded Gunner of how his own mother had been—not especially cuddly, but a steady presence, remembering all the things her boys forgot, always right there with a brisk hug or a cuff on the ear, depending on which was appropriate to the situation.

  Pushing away more thoughts that would go dark places, Gunner picked up one of the waters and twisted off the cap. He handed Leah the bottle and pulled the bundled tissue from his pocket. He opened the bundle and handed her a pill.

  “These are small.”

  “They’re fifties. That’s enough for you. This isn’t the stuff you probably get, baby. This is pure MDMA. Pure Molly.”

  She gave him a sharp look. “Don’t call me baby. I’m not a baby.”

  “Sorry,” he chuckled. “One pill is enough, Leah. This is stronger than most shit on the street.”

  She considered the little pill for another second. As she moved her hand to her mouth, Gunner, feeling a sudden burst of fresh conscience, caught her arm. “If you don’t want this, you have to say it right now.”

  With her eyes locked on his, she shook her arm free, popped the pill into her mouth, and washed it down with the water. Gunner chewed his dose and swished the taste out with a swig of water. He offered the bottle back, but she declined with a shake of her head.

  “You chewed them.”

  He shouldn’t have, he realized too late. He could be rolling before she was. “Yeah…sorry. Makes it kick in faster.”

  “Oh.”

  Again he was struck by her innocence. “You’re in too deep here, Leah.”

  “I’m not. Stop saying stuff like that. What makes you think I can’t swim?”

  He could have given her a list of things that made him worried. Top of it was she seemed to want to be with him, to trust him, and that was stupid as hell.

  He could have told her all the reasons he was worried about her, but she stepped up close and pushed her hands under his t-shirt, and the sparkling fire of her touch turned any words he might have said into a single, incoherent grunt. He wasn’t even high yet, and already her fingers were attached to all his nerve endings.

  “Oh my gosh, I love the feel of the hair on your belly. It tickles my fingers.”

  Gosh. That was number two on his list of worries. He used fuck like a fucking comma, and she said gosh.

  “Leah…”

  “And your muscles. I like the way my hand moves over them.”

  Fucking hell. He took off his t-shirt, and her eyes went wide. If she said gosh again, he was going to cry.

  Thankfully, she said, “Oh wow. Oh wow.” Her fingers went to the ink just above the waistband of his jeans, and she traced the image, making him twitch spastically. “Wow. You’re furry.”

  That was a first. Nobody had ever called him ‘furry’ before, and he took a little offense. He had a hairy chest and belly, yeah, but it wasn’t like somebody could make a rug out of him. His back was smooth, and his shoulders and upper arms, too. Hardly a yeti. He’d prefer her to think of it as ‘manly.’

  Whatever she thought of it, she seemed to like it. Her fascinated fingers moved over his torso. She was petting him. It felt amazing. Little bubbles of delight popped under her touch.

  “C’mere.” He led her to the bed and sat her on the edge. Then he toed off his boots and crouched before her to unlace a red Doc. When he eased it from her foot, she flexed her toes. She had pretty feet. Long, shapely toes, no polish on the nails. No polish on her fingernails, either; he’d noticed that earlier. When he massaged the lines the Doc had left behind, she moaned and slumped backward, lying back on the bed. He could see her bare pussy under the shadow of her dress.

  Gunner’s cock pulsed—and, fuck, he could feel that his tip had already gone wet. Truth be told, the thought of fucking this girl on a roll, when he was already so hot for her straight, was exciting as hell. Molly made sex fan-fucking-tastic. Indescribably sensual. And his stamina? Shit, he’d stay hard as long as the high had him, and he’d come and come and come. He eased off the other boot and gave that foot the same gentle attention, closing his eyes at the subtle sounds of her pleasure.

  When he slid his hands up her creamy pale legs, she moaned—but, again, when he got high on her thighs, she tensed and sat up. She didn’t want him to really get started until she was rolling. He could see she was ready; her wet sparkled in the little curls over her pussy. And he could fucking smell that she was ready. But she didn’t want him to touch her like that.

  He didn’t understand, and he felt the waspish sting of rejection. But weird shit roosted in his head, too, so he chalked it up to that and rose out of his crouch. Sitting next to her on the side of the bed, he picked up her hand and held it.

  “I want to get naked. It seems like you don’t want to.”

  “I do. I just…I don’t know…I never…”

  All her stuttery, unfinished sentences freaked him out. “Leah, if you can’t say it, what are we doin’?”

  A big breath, taken and released, as if for courage. Then she met his eyes again. “I never did it except on E. It scares me a little, the way you feel without it. I need to wait until it kicks in.”

  Did it. That was her way of describing sex? Like a twelve-year-old? Gunner stood up. “Fuck. Fuck me. You’re like a goddamn virgin.”

  “I’m not. Please don’t get mad.”

  “I’m not mad. I’m…fuck, Leah. You don’t know me at all. You don’t know what this could be like.”

  “I do. I remember before. I think about it all the time. It was like I belonged with you. Like…like the sex was great, but it wasn’t as good as just holding each other. Even when we were fucking.” She dropped her head. “That’s dumb, I know.”

  He’d felt exactly the same way. And oh thank God, she’d said fucking. But she still didn’t know what it would be like to be here with him, alone in this room all night, while they rolled on pure Molly.

  It was too late to worry about that shit now; he could already feel the first shoots of the drug pushing his nerves out in the open to party. Griffin did not fuck around with his drugs. Gunner would be at Molly’s mercy in a few minutes.

  “It’s not dumb. Leah, get naked with me. We’ll take it slow until you want more, but I need you to show me you want this. Before it’s too late. If you can’t get naked while you’re straight, you need to get the hell out of here. I’ll call you a cab or something.”

  She stood up. “I don’t want a cab. I want you.”

  He watched as she worked her way out of the dress. One of those plain black dresses that was short on the thigh and high on the neck, with cutouts that made shoulders somehow fucking sexy, it had looked snug, and it clearly was. She underwent quite a series of contortions to get free of the fabric. When she tossed it to the floor, she was completely naked. She hadn’t been wearing a bra. She had great tits, with rosy areolas the size of silver dollars and pronounced nipples that had shown nicely through the clingy fabric.

  He’d thought, when she’d been dressed like a prim little Baptist princess, that she had a bod built for sin. But fucking hell, he’d had no idea.

  With a flick of his wrist, he popped his big belt buckle, then yanked open his button fly and dropped trou, taking his socks off as he stepped from the legs of his jeans. Her eyes went wide again, and she focused low, on his belly or his cock or both.

  “It’s a demon.”<
br />
  “Huh?” Leave it to a good little church-going girl to call his cock a demon. What the fuck were they doing here?

  “The tattoo. It’s a demon, right?”

  Oh, that. “Oh. Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

  She came close and ran her fingers over it, moving through the thatch of hair the ink trailed into. “Your…is it the tongue?”

  That particular ink covered the lower half of his belly and ended at his cock—and yeah, it looked like his cock was coming out of the demon’s mouth. It freaked out a lot of chicks and had been a stupid, drunken thing to do. It wasn’t even good art. “Youthful indiscretion. Don’t sweat it.”

  Her head lifted, and her eyes came up to his. “I never saw anything like that. It must’ve hurt.”

  He shrugged. “Tattoos hurt.” They rarely did, actually. Not enough to be of use. But that one had. He flipped on the little lamp on the dresser, then went to the switch on the wall and turned off the overhead. “Leah, come lay down with me.”

  She let him take her hands and lead her back to the bed. He lay down first, stretching out against the wall, and she came slowly to him, setting herself primly on her back, with her hands linked over her belly.

  He reached to wrap a hand around her arm, and he saw the brace over his hand and wrist. Fuck that. Peeling the Velcro straps loose, he yanked it off and tossed it away. He flexed his hand a few times to loosen stiff muscles and joints. There was some ache, but the bones had set. He was due for another X-ray and likely freedom from the brace in another few days, anyway.

  She caught his hand in both of hers and rubbed her fingers over skin that had been trapped in that brace all day. The first rolling wave of Molly made each of her caresses linger on his skin long after her fingers had moved elsewhere. When she pressed her thumbs into his palm, he grunted.

  “Did I hurt you?” Her eyes were on him, under a worried brow.

  Rather than answer, he freed his hand, took hold of her arm, and pulled her gently to face him. Then he leaned close and kissed her.

  The Molly was fully on him, the little bubbles surging in his blood, making his nerves and cells wiggle, and the touch of their lips was like a static shock straight to his cock, shooting laser beams through his veins.

  “Holy fuck, you feel good,” he mumbled. “Bubblegum sparkle fairy.”

  She sighed, the tiny breeze of it dancing over his lips, and the hairs all over his body stood straight up.

  He didn’t know how long they lay there, bodies pressed together, his arms around her, her hands on his chest, his fingers coiling and uncoiling through her long hair, like cool satin threads writhing over his skin. His cock dug into her thigh, making Gunner ache, but if Leah had noticed, she hadn’t reacted.

  As still as their bodies were, their joined mouths were alive together. Gunner couldn’t remember the last time he’d simply made out like this. Probably not since high school, with Marianne Berg, making out in his dad’s pickup while ‘Free Bird’ played on the radio.

  It felt good, but he needed more, his rolling body cried out for more, for everything, and the restraint he was trying to exert, to wait for her, was losing out to the sensual imperative of the drug. He needed to fuck. He needed to fuck so hard.

  He unwound a hand from her hair and skimmed his palm down her arm, over her ass, around her thigh, and back up. Fuck, all of her was like satin, everywhere he touched.

  As his fingers brushed over her twitching belly, headed for her tit, she gasped and broke away from their kiss.

  “Condoms, do you have condoms?” she asked, in a voice that didn’t care what the answer was.

  There were condoms in the dresser—one of Mo’s supplies for the crash rooms. Gunner leaned over Leah, feeling those amazing tits and their wonder nipples pressing into his chest. He opened the drawer, fumbled around, and pulled out a strip. Ribbed for her pleasure. So totally Mo.

  “Oh my gosh, don’t move,” Leah gasped. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh.”

  That fucking childish word got through the wild effervescence in his head. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing! You just…the way you feel on me. You’re so warm. Oh my gosh, you feel so good.”

  Praise Jesus, she’d gone live. He moved, pressing his chest on hers as he did so, feeling her tits drag across his chest. Grinning at the sound of her gasp and the sight of her fluttering eyelids, he settled himself on the bed at her side. “You’re rolling, baby. This is gonna be a good one.”

  “Not baby. Don’t call me that.”

  “What should I call you?”

  “Leah. That’s my name. Leah Grace Campbell. I’m a grown woman.”

  The more she protested her maturity, the younger she seemed. “Okay, Leah Grace Campbell. It’s a pretty name. I need to touch you. I need to be all over you. You ready for me?”

  She skimmed a hand over his chest, and her eyes went wide. Gunner groaned at the electric shimmer she’d left behind on his skin.

  “I need to feel you. I need you to be all over me. I’m ready.”

  The last little gnat of worry flitted around in his brain and then away, off to bother some other poor slob. Tangled up with this sweet love of a girl, the sparkle fairy of his recent dreams, wrapped in the happy glitter of MDMA, Gunner pushed Leah under him and took a gorgeous nipple into his mouth.

  He would have sworn that even her tits tasted like bubblegum.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  His beard.

  Oh, his beard, the way it danced so lightly over some places, like over the side of her boob, and scratched sharply in others, around her nipple, right near the magical wet suck of his mouth. Oh, she couldn’t get him close enough. No matter how she clung to him, how she arched her body to his, how tightly he held her, she couldn’t be close enough.

  His body was so heavy and warm, and the hair over his face and chest and belly and legs and arms brushed, brushed, brushed her skin. From the very tips of her toes to the strands of hair in her scalp, her body clamored for him.

  Every pore wanted him. Every molecule was an erogenous zone. And her core, the middle of her, the part that wanted him most desperately of all? It pulsed like it had a heartbeat of its own, and it felt wide and swollen and so empty, so needful.

  Oh, how she needed.

  He was right: what he’d given her was different from any Ecstasy she’d had before. This was—there were no words. This wasn’t even real. It couldn’t possibly be real. Anything she’d had before had been about as potent as a Smartie in comparison.

  Was there music? Were they making music? Leah sent out one tiny thread of attention away from the sensual overload of Max’s touch, and she listened.

  No, no music. And yes, the room was full of it. She was moaning, and he was groaning. She whimpered, and he answered each one with a grunt—and oh, he was talking.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mumbled against her skin, gasping each syllable between kisses and sucks and nips. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, oh fuck.”

  His tongue flicked over her nipple, and his mouth clamped down and drew it deep, over and over until Leah thought she’d burst into a million sparkles of sensation. His hands—so big and coarse, so strong—gripped her thighs and spread them wide, and she thought he was finally going to fill her up, fill her so full, answer her need, make her feel.

  “Fuck, you’re so ripe. You taste so fresh. Fucking hell, I’m gonna die in you.”

  His voice was soft and harsh at the same time, rumbling from deep in his throat, uttered on a gasping breath.

  If they died together like this, Leah thought it would be perfect. They were Romeo and Juliet. They were Tristan and Isolde. They were Maria and Tony. They were Bonnie and Clyde.

  He left her breasts and moved downward, laving a trail over her ribs and belly.

  “Max,” she gasped and tangled her fingers in his hair.

  “Gunner. I’m Gunner. You’re fucking Gunner, not Max.”

  Not understanding, lamenting the cool over her belly where hi
s mouth had been and was no longer, Leah lifted her head and tried to focus on the handsome, bearded face looming over her. Summer sky blue eyes bored into her. A scar bisected his right eyebrow, longwise.

  “Gunner. Say it.”

  She didn’t understand.

  When she didn’t answer, he pushed himself up, his body brushing roughly over her skin, until his face loomed over hers and she could feel his cock digging into her leg, so close, so close to the place she needed to be full.

  “I’m Gunner.”

  She knew his name. She knew him. “You’re Max.”

  “No. Gunner.” He grabbed her face. His fingers and thumb dug into her cheeks. “Call me Gunner.”