GIVE IN: God's Hellfire MC

by Naomi West

  “Well this is certainly a surprise,” he said, stepping into the room.

  She got up on her knees. She looked a little nervous, but it was the good kind of nervous, he was pretty sure. She was giddy.

  So was he. “That’s some dress.”

  She blushed. “Well, you didn’t defile me on our wedding night. And I’d rather get defiled in this than a white gown.”

  “So you’re wanting to get defiled?”

  She smiled shyly. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “I think that can be arranged.” He swallowed. He was gonna come before they even got started if he kept looking at her body in that dress.

  “Been thinking about you,” she said softly.

  “Yeah?” He set the bag on the nightstand. “What were you thinking about?” he tugged off his greasy T-shirt. Tossed it aside. She didn’t appear to care that he hadn’t put it in the hamper. He walked to the bed, and she leaned back on her hands, dress stretching across her thighs. He wanted to push that skirt up and see what panties she was wearing underneath. Wanted to smell her, lick her, make her cry out like she had last night…

  “Just…” Her lips parted. She seemed to have lost her train of thought.

  He sat on the bed beside her and brushed her thick, silky curls over one shoulder, baring the side of her neck. Her head tipped to the side slightly, and she gave a little sigh.

  “I want you to fuck me,” she whispered.

  He leaned in so that his lips brushed the crook of her shoulder. “Gladly,” he whispered back.

  He kissed her again, sucking lightly on the side of her neck until she gasped. At the same time, he placed a hand on one of her knees and slid it up, under her skirt, until his finger brushed lace, until she trembled. He stroked her lazily through her panties, teasing her the way she’d teased him this morning. Her eyes fell closed, and she rocked back and forth.

  He kissed down to her exposed cleavage, nipping the top of one breast. He cupped it with her free hand, circling her nipple with his thumb until the outline appeared in the stretchy fabric. Slowly he eased the strap of her dress down. Pulled the fabric down to below her breast. She was wearing a black strapless bra, which he made short work of. Then her bare breast hung out of the dress, its stiff, rosy nipple begging for attention.

  He kneaded her breast, and she threw her head back so that her hair swept down almost to the bed. He lifted that heavy breast a little higher so that he could lean in and lick her nipple, teasing it until it was so tight he couldn’t help but bite it — gently, but firmly enough that her back arched.

  “Get on all fours,” he whispered. “I’m gonna show you what you get for teasing.”

  She obeyed with a breathless laugh, getting on her hands and knees, her breathing roughened from his attentions. Her bare breast dangled, the other one still tucked tight in her dress. The skirt rode up over her perfect, round ass. He ran his palm over that delicious curve. Pinched lightly. She jumped and gave a little whimper.

  “You’re gorgeous. You know that?”

  She ducked her head, candlelight dancing in her hair. He reached up under her dress and tugged her panties down. Black lace. Wet with her arousal.

  He pulled the bottom of her dress up, exposing her ass. She wiggled it slightly in anticipation. Damn, he wanted to give her all the pleasure in the world.

  He started by stroking her pussy. One finger, back and forth, occasionally nudging her clit. She rocked slightly against the touch, making her exposed breast swing.

  Pistol slipped two fingers inside her, stroking her deep. Her breath hitched, and then she let it out. She moved with him, the dress strap falling from her other shoulder, baring both breasts.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Please, Jax…”

  He started at the use of his real name, but recovered quickly. “Please what?”

  “I need you … in — inside me…”

  “All right sweetheart,” he murmured, withdrawing his fingers. He undid the zipper in back of her dress. “Lie back.”

  She did, and he positioned her with her lower back at the edge of the mattress, her legs, dangling down. She lifted her shoulders as he peeled the dress off her.

  He studied her perfect, naked body for a moment. Then stripped off his jeans and socks. Then his boxers.

  He went to the nightstand, opened the box of condoms, and rolled one on.

  She spread her legs as he approached the bed again. He ran his hands down her sides, leaning down to kiss every inch of her he could reach. Worked his way to her lips, and they kissed hungrily, moaning into each other’s mouths.

  When she was so aroused that she kept lifting her hips, trying to rub her pussy against him, he positioned his dick between her legs, then pushed slowly inside her. Her breath caught as he slowly filled her. Her body stretched to accommodate it, and she gasped a little. But she was wet enough that it slid in fairly easily, and she whimpered, seeming desperate for him to begin thrusting. He drew back and pushed in — not hard, but firmly, letting her get used to his girth. She scissored her legs, apparently wanting to control her own pleasure — but she was at his mercy now. He began to pump faster, trying to find her G-spot with each stroke. She arched off the bed, moving her hips to try to control the rhythm, gasping with soft laughter each time he thwarted her.

  He was toying with her, teasing her. Grinning down at her as he delivered arrhythmic thrusts, some slow and tender, some rough and sharp. “Yes,” she panted. “Oh God, yes, yes.”

  She hooked her legs once more around his hips and pulled him deeper into her.

  “Katrin…” He thrust harder. “Katrin…”

  “Yes!” Her voice got higher, and her pussy clenched around his cock, over and over again. “Yes, yes, Jax, oh, yes…”

  He bucked suddenly, the pleasure more intense than anything he could have imagined as he came deep inside her.

  He withdrew, and she pulled him down onto her, kissing him — a single, long kiss that made warmth surge through his body. He brushed her sweat-dampened hair behind her ear. “Do you feel properly defiled?” he whispered.

  She nodded hazily. Then she rolled him off her and straddled him, gazing down at him with that half-shy, half-seductive smile. “How soon until you can go again?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  They spent the rest of the evening having sex in every nook and cranny of the house. On the kitchen counter. On top of the washing machine. Over the edge of the bathtub. In the shower. Even, when it got dark enough, out on the porch. Katrin loved every minute of it. Loved how Pistol’s body responded to hers. Loved how he lay with her afterward, holding her and whispering about how beautiful she was.

  In those moments, she could almost believe he was a man she truly loved, not just someone who’d wound up in an impossible situation with her.

  The next few days passed in a haze. She ran her errands, did her freelance projects, and waited for Pistol to get home so they could get back to fucking. One day, she’d run into Penny, her neighbor from when she’d lived at her dad’s house.

  Penny had given her a huge, enthusiastic greeting and had asked a million questions about what she was doing now. “Is it true you’re married to Pistol Wilson? Oh, honey, I warned you he was trouble, didn’t I? How did you finally tame him? How come I never see you around your dad’s anymore?”

  Katrin hadn’t known what to say.My dad arranged for me to marry Pistol and now my dad’s basically keeping me a prisoner in a house he bought on the edge of town. It’s great, thanks.

  But the thing was, itwas great. And not just the sex. The way they were around each other — laughing, joking, watching TV together in the evenings… It felt very companionable, very domestic. It was almost possible to forget sometimes that they’d been forced into this life. Pistol was letting his guard down, and so was Katrin. Together, they were building something out of something that Leonard had tried to build for them. They’d crushed the life that Leonard had f
orced on them, and now they were creating something new and beautiful.

  But how long could it last?

  ###

  She could tell it would be one of those nights. One of those nights where the memories of her mother took over and she couldn’t sleep. She stayed downstairs for as long as she could, drinking decaf tea and reading. Waiting until she was fairly sure Pistol was asleep, because she didn’t want to explain to him why she didn’t want to have sex tonight.

  Why not?she asked herself.You have no problem fucking him six ways from Sunday, but you can’t just say, “I don’t feel like it tonight?” But what if he sensed something was wrong and wanted to know what it was? She wasn’t sure how much to tell him about her mom.

  And worse, what if he didn’t notice anything was wrong? What if the only thing he wanted from her was sex? She needed to be careful not to rely on him too much, not to trust him to comfort her or actually be … a husband. He wasn’t her husband, not really.

  At two a.m., when her eyes felt strained from reading and her butt numb from sitting, she made her way quietly upstairs. Pistol was breathing heavily — not snoring, but close. She smiled. Stood there for a moment, watching him sleep. He sprawled like a big cat, one arm dangling over the edge of the bed, the covers kicked off. He was wearing just a pair of black boxer briefs that hugged his ass. The moonlight coming through he slats in the blinds gleamed along the ridges of his thigh muscles. Beautiful. This beautiful man was hers.

  But for how long? And is he really mine, if he was forced into this?

  She undressed and crawled into bed beside him. Fought to get the elastic out of her hair, and ran a hand through her dark curls, massaging her scalp as she did. She rested her head on the pillow and tried not to stare at the bedside clock.

  Mom, I need you. Where are you?

  She tried to close her eyes. They flew open again after a few seconds.

  Mom, I’m scared.

  Her throat tightened as she remembered her mother’s face, her smile. Her mom used to take her to the regional baseball park when she was little. They’d watch the local team play. One game, Katrin’s favorite player hit a foul ball that flew into the stands. Katrin had seen it coming toward her, had extended her small hands, ready to catch it. It had dropped straight toward her, like this was fate, meant to be — and then at the last second, the guy with the beer belly sitting behind her had leaned forward and snatched it away from her.

  She’d stood there, stunned and angry, unsure what to do. Her mother had turned to the man, and said, very calmly, in a voice that was firm but without rancor, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

  The guy had called her mom a bitch, and Jess Smith had said, just as calmly as before, “I feel sorry for you.”

  Then she’d turned and gone back to watching the game. Had taken Katrin’s hand and squeezed it. Katrin hadn’t said anything. Had decided that if the man wasn’t worth her mother’s time, then he wasn’t worth Katrin’s either. It was just a stupid baseball, after all.

  But after the game, as they’d made their way between the bleachers toward the exit, Katrin had felt a tap on her shoulder. She’d turned, and there was the man with the beer belly, grimly holding out the ball to her. “Here,” he’d muttered.

  She’d gazed at him, at his salt and pepper stubble, his milky blue eyes. “You can keep it,” she’d said.

  He shook his head. “It’s yours.”

  So she’d taken it. It was still warm from his hand.

  Later, in the car, her mother had said, “Well, he did the right thing in the end.”

  “Yeah,” Katrin had agreed. “He was probably just having a bad day.”

  She hadn’t missed her mom’s strangely sad smile. “A lot of times, if you’re kind to people—firm, but kind—they’ll fix their mistakes on their own. Gentleness is usually better than anger.

  “Okay,” Katrin had said, turning the ball over in her hands. It was dirty from the field — the red stitching brown in some places.

  “But sometimes…” Her mom had let out a long breath. “You have to know when to fight.”

  Katrin glanced at her again. “You didn’t fight with the man.”

  “No. I didn’t need to fight with him. But there will be people who…situations where…” Another sigh. “Just remember, you don’t always have to be nice. If someone hurts you, fight back.”

  She was staring at the clock, but the red numbers were blurry. She was crying. Silent tears streaming down her cheeks, wetting the pillowcase.

  What if the person hurting me is someone I love? Dad’s all I have left in the world.

  Maybe not.

  She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling instead. Now the tears ran along her temples, getting lost in her thick hair. She tried to stay quiet, but a couple of soft sobs broke from her throat.

  Pistol shifted beside her, and she fought harder to stop crying. But after a moment, she heard his voice in the dark. “Kat? You okay?”

  Kat. Like they knew each other. Like they were friends, or lovers, or both. That made her cry harder.

  He rolled over to face her. “Katrin?” He sounded concerned. “Katrin, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she managed between sobs. “I’m sorry. I just … can’t sleep.”

  He edged closer to her and wrapped an arm around her, tugging her against him. She resisted for a moment, then buried her face in his chest. He didn’t say anything, just held her for a long while. Stroking her back, kissing her hair.

  Finally, she drew back enough to see his face. She half laughed, half sobbed. “I need some tissues. He reached for the nightstand on his side of the bed and grabbed a wad of tissues. She took them and wiped her face.

  He held her again. “Is it something … I mean, is there anything I can do?”

  She shook her head. “Just missing my mom,” she said, taking a chance on honesty.

  “Oh,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head again. “Nothing to be sorry about. Sometimes I just need her, and it’s hard not having her here.”

  He stroked her back absently for a moment. “What’s your favorite memory of her?”

  Katrin tensed a little in surprise. “I’m not actually sure. There are so many.” She paused. “I remember her taking me grocery shopping when I was five. She’d let me inspect the fruit to make sure it was good — no bruises or rotting spots.”

  He smiled at her in the dim light.

  “But really,” she continued, “I just remember how brave she was. How smart and kind…”

  Pistol reached out and stroked a tear from her face. “You’re definitely her daughter, then,” he whispered.

  She tried to swallow around the lump in her throat. She finally choked, ducking her head.

  “Hey, hey…” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

  “No,” she said. “No, that was so nice of you. I don’t always know if I’m … if I’m doing her proud.”

  “Of course you are.” Pistol sounded very certain. She wanted desperately to believe him.

  “When she was dying, I was in school.” Katrin let out a shuddering breath. “She kept telling me not to come home. That my studies were too important. I wish I’d come home.”

  Pistol gathered her even closer, until she was crushed against him, feeling his warmth and solidity. “It’s not your fault,” he murmured into her hair. “It’s really not.”

  “I know.” Her voice was muffled against his chest. “But I could have been there.”

  “Shh. It’s all right now. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  It was such a relief to hear those words. Even from someone who couldn’t possibly know whether she’d done anything wrong. Even from someone who didn’t really knowher.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Sorry for waking you up.”

  “My God, Katrin. Of course you can wake me when you feel like this.”

  She drew back again, wanting to see his face. His eyes glinte
d in the fragmented moonlight. But he looked so tender — that expression was one she’d never have imagined him capable of based on their interaction in the bar. But he did care about her. He was, in many ways, a very kind man.

  “What was your mother like?” she asked softly.

  She thought she saw his expression darken. She hadn’t meant to drag up bad memories for him, but she wanted to know him. Wanted to know him the way he was trying to know her.

  Pistol didn’t speak for a moment. Then he said, “Nothing like yours.”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” she whispered.

  “No. I can… I just try not to think much about her.” But something in his voice told Katrin he thought about her quite a lot. “She was a drug addict. Heroin. That made it hard to have a meaningful relationship with her, sometimes.”