by April Lust
After a moment, he managed to get out, “Me, too.”
Unable to stand in that silence for any longer, I went to get some ice from the fridge because it was something to do. I didn’t want to see his expression, suddenly afraid to find nothing but hollowness in his eyes.
When I came back, he’d finally found an answer for my initial question. One we could both, maybe, live with.
“Things got…complicated tonight. There was some trouble,” he told me hesitantly, something deep and dark flashing in his eyes. I couldn’t be sure what it was, but I knew it was bad. There was something he seemed intent on telling me, but couldn’t seem to decide if he should or not. “A lot happened tonight, that’s it. I guess I’m a little rough over it is all.”
I reached for him, my hands trailing over his, pressing the icepack to his raw skin. He didn’t flinch away from what must have been a sharp cold, instead allowing me to help in what small way I could. I stared at those hands, the cuts on them. He’d wiped away most of the blood, but there were cuts and bruises, letting me know at least some of that blood had been his. I wondered how much.
My eyes jerked up to examine his face suddenly, searching him for signs of injury.
What had he been doing tonight? What had been eating him up? What gave him that haunted look in his eyes? I worried that there’d been a serious fight. With the Slayers? I couldn’t be sure. I knew there’d been talk of working something out between them, but maybe that’s all it was. Talk. My hands lifted from his knuckles to feel along his face. Was he okay? My thumb trailed over his lip and he kissed it.
Fire slipped from that kiss all the way down my body, tingling along my spine to pool deep and dark between my legs. God, I wanted him.
And he wanted me. His eyes were open and staring so intently at me that he might be boring holes into my body that way.
I felt that familiar urge to ease away that weight, if only for a night.
He must have sensed it, because his hands reached out for me and grabbed me by the hips, jerking me to his body until we were pressed together harshly, tightly. His hard body pressed against mine, and even through the zipper of his jeans, I could feel him hard and needy, desperate for me.
I shuddered and allowed my body to ease into him, slowly at first, but increasing in speed until I was grinding against him, his grip on my hips loose enough only for that. He leaned into me, his face pressing into the hollow of my neck, his stubble scratching at my pale skin.
This was how it started, and I couldn’t deny that I loved every moment of it.
I breathed him in, his scent a strong, spicy, musky scent that wrapped around me and went straight through me all at once. I knew there were things about smell that drove people to desire and passion. Pheromones, chemicals, something like that, but I thought it was more about the way he smelled. Like power and strength and need.
My warrior.
“Max,” I breathed, and was rewarded with a shudder and his hands clenching tighter to my hips. His face shifted so his lips found my skin, pressing little kisses against my neck and collarbone until my skin was flushed with heat. I didn’t need him to tell me how much he wanted me, but that didn’t mean I didn’t love to hear it.
“I won’t go easy tonight,” he murmured, his breath hot against my neck.
I shuddered again at the promise of the hard and fast fucking his voice promised me. “Okay,” was all I said, and it was all I had to say. The permission was there and that little piece of consent was all he needed.
He picked me up, his hands moving down from my hips to my ass, gripping each cheek firmly in his rough hands. He jerked me up so I was pressed against him, my legs wrapping around his waist automatically. He pressed a kiss against my mouth, hot and fierce, desperation leaking through and making it clear that this wasn’t about talking anymore tonight.
Tonight, like many nights before, my body was his release. His means of forgetting, and I was okay with that. I relished it, even.
My eyes slid shut even as I felt him carrying me up the stairs, his hands gripping me so tightly that it was almost painful. My arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, clinging to him greedily as I pushed for a deeper kiss. I held us tightly together, my full breasts pressing against his hard muscles, the sensation arousing. I felt his tongue slide across my lips and I parted them immediately, desperate for him to devour me.
I didn’t think we’d make it to the bedroom, but he managed to kick the door open. We did not, however, make it to the bed. As soon as we were in the room, he lost it. He couldn’t wait anymore, because he needed this now.
My back slammed against the wall harshly and I let out a small cry of surprise. He allowed it because his mouth was moving elsewhere, placing sloppy kisses on my neck and down across my shoulders. His hands had begun to move, traveling downward and inward until I felt his fingers pressing against my inner thighs.
I could have cursed my choice of pants that night and thought he probably could have, too, but it wasn’t enough to delay Max.
His hands came back around so they could get to my crotch from the top. He pressed me tightly against the wall and I gripped his hips firmly so when his hands were no longer supporting me, I still remained up. His hands moved to my jeans, fiddling with first the button and then the zipper until he managed to get both undone. Not interested in waiting to get to the good stuff, his hand pushed past the waistband of my panties to find my center. Two fingers dove into me before I even had time to register that he was there and then I was screaming in pleasure. He worked me into a frenzy, his fingers coated with my natural lubricant as he shoved them in and out of me.
It might have been enough to get me off; he had wonderful, skilled hands. But tonight wasn’t about me. He had needs that had to be taken care of, things that needed to be addressed, and I didn’t mind that his hand pulled away from my crotch only because he was urging my legs down to the floor so he could jerk my pants down past my thighs. I shimmied them off along with my panties so he could focus on his own jeans.
By the time my lower half was bare, he’d gotten his belt and fly undone, his hand reaching into his pants to pull out his already hard, throbbing member. I licked my lips at the sight of it and gave him a look that silently asked if he wanted me to suck or fuck.
“Not tonight, baby,” he murmured to the small space between us. He closed that distance so he could get ahold of my leg, jerking it up high, letting the knee bend over his arm so I was opened wide for him.
He wasn’t patient that night, but I hadn’t expected him to be. His cock was poised at my entrance in a second, and before I even had time to register it, he’d shoved it inside me all the way, my walls stretching to accommodate his large size.
I cried out again, arching my back as he wasted no time in beginning to thrust. He was right; this wouldn’t be gentle.
His hands were all over me. Sometimes they’d hold my arms above my head so he could have his way with my body without interference, sliding his length inside until I was so full of him that I thought he might be an extension of myself. Other times, his hands would find my hips and grip so tightly that I knew there would be bruises later.
He never let me back from the wall. He needed the leverage and the power to thrust into me with abandon, the sounds our bodies making as they came together a mix of sensual and violent.
Finally, his hands found my breasts, reaching up beneath my tight shirt until I heard a seam tear across the bottom. He fondled them, pinching and pulling and massaging. He pressed his face into the side of my neck, nibbling and kissing and worrying at it. He thrust into me again, bottoming out, and grunted against my skin. His hot breath whispered, “Fuck. You’re soft, you’re sweet, and I have to do it, baby. I have to fuck you like this.”
He plunged himself inside of me, burying his length so deep that our hips pressed together and my body felt like all there could ever be was him. My skin was flushed with heat, sticky with sweat and a rosy red color. Max wasn’t mu
ch better. Sweat dotted his forehead and passion burned in his eyes along with something else, something darker. His lips pressed fire into my skin and his hands trailed it along my body.
“Oh, Max!”
I cried out his name and begged, begged to find the end of this, wherever that might be. I didn’t care if I came, but I needed him to. I needed him to find some sort of relief in the depths of my body so I could have him back, because whatever uncertainty I was feeling, there was no doubting that I needed him.
He let out a loud, low groan that told me he was close. His thrusts became quicker, more urgent as he built up higher towards that final explosion. The slick sounds of our embrace became more and more intense, until finally he used his whole body to hold me tightly against the wall and pressed his cock inside me until there was no room left.
He bit me on the neck, hard, when he finally came. I felt him pulse inside me, throbbing and aching for long moments until he was finally spent. When he was done, he didn’t release me right away, but allowed for both of our bodies to slide down the wall to the floor. I straddled his lap as his cock grew soft within me and eventually slipped out.
I held him, because I wanted him to feel this softness for a little while longer. I stroked my fingers through his hair. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything for a long time, and I wondered why we couldn’t have moments like this without the darkness that had pushed him to need it.
Why couldn’t we exist like this outside of the fear that came with this life?
I didn’t know, but I knew there were a thousand more nights like this one waiting for me. For us. There would always be someone else coming for Max, some new enemy. There would always be some night that drove Max to do devastating, haunting things like tonight had.
I hated it, but that was how it would always be so long as we were here, like this.
Eventually, he pulled himself from his stupor and helped me up off the floor. He murmured sweet things to me that were sort of apologies, but not really. He wasn’t sorry for the things he enjoyed doing to me any more than I was, but he never wanted it to reach past that to real pain. It didn’t, but I appreciated his worry over it anyway.
We undressed the rest of the way and rinsed off quickly, washing the sweat and stickiness from our bodies, before crawling in to sleep off what was left of the night. As I lay there in bed beside him, I couldn’t help but wonder what a life without fear was. I tried to picture it, but as much as I tried, I just couldn’t.
Chapter 8
Max
It took me a moment longer than it should have to realize what was going on. I was drowsy still, heavy with sleep and sated after the pleasure I’d taken from Lucy. She was still lying beside me, but, like me, had jerked awake at the sound.
It had been loud, like a car backfiring or a small cherry bomb blowing up a mailbox, but that wasn’t it. I knew because I’d heard the sound before a time or two. Occupational hazard of leading a biker club, even if we were mostly legitimate.
“Shit,” I muttered as I realized what that sound was, and the potential for what it meant.
I reached for the bedside table and jerked open the door, pulling out the piece I always kept there, just in case. Even as I threw back the covers and leapt out of bed, I checked to see that the gun was loaded. It was. Safety off. I made a quick run for the window, it was the only one in the room and faced the front lawn, which was where I thought the shot had come from.
A gunshot. Someone had been shooting in my fucking front yard.
“Max, what’s going on?”
It was Lucy, her voice small and worried. She was tough when she had to be, but so much of that was an act. When she could, she relied on me to be the tough one, and I couldn’t let her see that I was scared, too.
“Get on the floor and stay away from the window and door!” I told her in a fast, hushed tone.
I didn’t look to see if she obeyed, but heard the ruffling of clothing, the padding of feet, and knees hitting the floor. Focusing on the shot, I went to the side of the window and carefully looked around the frame, pushing back the curtains just enough to see outside.
It was late still, dark outside. The streetlights were on, but three in the area were broken and unlikely to be fixed anytime soon. The neighbors’ lights were out and I knew they’d remain that way. It wasn’t that they hadn’t heard the shots. It was that they didn’t want to get caught up in what those shots meant.
I searched the street for the shooter, and prayed whoever it was wasn’t too close to here, though it seemed the most likely scenario.
Quickly, my eyes fell to a dark shadow in the night. His arms were up, his bulky frame lined perfectly to fire away from the house and down the street. There was the faintest gleam of light reflecting off his smooth, shaved head, and after I made that connection, the rest fell in place quickly.
“Bills.”
“What?” Lucy asked. She was on the other side of the bed on the floor, but had come up just enough so she could look over the bed at me. “What about Bills?”
“Stay here. He’s downstairs. I’m going to meet him and ask him what the hell is going on.”
“Max!”
I didn’t listen or pause. I headed out the door of the bedroom and headed down the stairs immediately to meet Bills. I still had my piece and it brought me some comfort. I couldn’t say why I was nervous, this was Bills, one of mine, but there was something off about tonight. A lot of things had been off lately.
The front door opened and there he stood, a dark silhouette in the doorframe. I gripped my piece tighter, then flipped on the damn light. He squinted against the sudden brightness. “Fuck,” he growled.
“That’s my line,” I told him, gripping the handle of my gun tighter, but keeping it lowered at my side. “What the hell is going on?”
He gestured back out towards the night. “I caught some fucking guy creeping around your house,” he told me, his voice dark and serious. “He had a fucking knife, man.”
A tendril of cold ran through me. A knife? All things considered, it wasn’t the deadliest weapon in a lot of respects. A gun would have maybe been more intimidating, but if that guy weren’t interested in intimidation, if he were interested in just taking care of business, then there was a lot of reason to choose a knife.
A knife was quick. A knife was quiet. A knife was hard to fight off and it was hard to fix without medical attention.
And it meant you had to be up close and personal. Whoever this guy was, he meant business.
“Who the fuck was it?” I demanded of Bills, anger and fear mixing in my belly to come up with something like adrenaline, but more like fire and whiskey. “Did you see him?”
Bills shrugged his shoulders. “It was dark, but we grappled. I got a few good hits in, I think, but it’s hard to say. The chickenshit ran off, but when I saw him, he was standing on the front lawn and he was staring up. He was staring up at the window, Max.”
The window. As in, the bedroom window. It was the only one on that side of the building on the second floor. The house just wasn’t that big.
“Did he say anything?”
Bills shook his head. “No, but he was on a motorcycle and it looked like he was a club member.”
I frowned. “Not a Reaper.”
Quickly, Bills corrected me, “No. Not one of ours. One of theirs.”
“The Slayers.”
I thought of that night, of their gift. I thought of that manic look in Blade’s eyes and the way he seemed to be enjoying it all so much. Too much. It made something sick swirl through my guts and I wasn’t sure if I was going to keep from puking.
What had I gotten us into?
“I can’t be sure,” Bills said, but I could see something in his eyes that told me he had already decided who it was out there, or at least who they belonged to. “But it wasn’t one of ours, that much I am sure of.”
I sat heavily on the bottom stair, putting my piece down next to me. My hands went to my hair, ru
nning through them uneasily. What the hell was I doing anymore? The Preacher had made this shit look easy, but I had learned it wasn’t. More than that, it was dangerous. That was obvious.
What had happened tonight? What if that guy had gotten into the house and made it up the stairs before anyone had heard him? What if Bills hadn’t been there? What if he made it to the bedroom and gotten to Lucy before…
I couldn’t finish the thought. It made me sick to think of something happening to Lucy. It was more than I could handle and I finally realized it: I wasn’t cut out for this crap anymore. Somewhere along the way, things had changed for me, too. I thought of Lucy and how she wasn’t happy, how she seemed scared all the time. I couldn’t protect her twenty-four seven, no matter how I wanted to or how I tried, but I could change the type of lifestyle that meant she had to be protected all the time.
