by Rie Warren
Her head thrashed against the wall, and she writhed in my arms.
I popped her nipple from my hungering mouth, looking at both glistening breasts.
Dropping to my knees at her feet, I ran my hands from her ankles to her shapely calves to her coltish thighs.
I smelled her. I smelled her even through the panties covering her most precious, most sexy pussy.
“Your cunt.” My nose nudged against the swollen bump of her clit.
“Oh god, Angel.” Mercy moaned when I licked up the center of slick material.
Her taste exploded on my tongue.
“I want you to scream for me.” I took the two sides of her panties and ripped them clean off her body, baring her to my sight.
Baring her to my mouth.
I growled as the scent of her feminine flesh wafted to me. Wetness glimmered on her smooth cunt lips. The small strip of honey-gold hair above shined.
I lapped across her downy curls, the tip of my tongue just brushing the jewel of her clit on each path.
“Please,” she begged, hips thrust out.
Lifting one of her legs to my shoulder, I sampled her ruby red pussy delicately. I outlined her labia before dipping into the deep well of her wet heat.
She swelled beneath my tongue, her slippery juice urging me on.
I growled against her, mashing my mouth to her with a thumb toying at her hooded clit.
Her toes curled, pointing into my back, and one of her hands slammed against the wall.
Mercy goddamn screamed.
She creamed into my mouth, and I lapped up every trickle of girl cum I could get.
Then I surged to my feet, one hand steadying her.
I whipped off my shirt while she tackled my jeans.
Her fingers brushed against my cock, my buckle clanging open.
I placed her hands back on the wall, right above her head. “Don’t. Move.”
“Hurry, Angel.” Puffing hot breaths, she arched, all flushed and sexy and ready.
“Who’s impatient now?”
“Don’t you tease me.” Fiery and fierce, Mercy’s need to get to my cock made my balls ache to unload inside her.
Jeans yanked to my thighs, I bent to unlace my boots. The damn strings knotted and tangled all together.
“Goddamn fucking bastard things!” I cursed, tugging at the stubborn laces.
Her breathless laughter filled the room as I wrenched the goddamn boots off and chucked them clear across the room. I could’ve just fucked her with my pants down and my cock out, but I needed naked skin on naked skin.
Jeans finally shucked off, I barged up against her. All her pretty curves and soft flesh completely shredded any last remnant of my control.
Then she stroked my formidable erection and demanded, “Fuck me.”
Like I said, what my woman wanted she got.
With a hand grasping my base, I bent my knees to get the right angle and pistoned into her sleek heat with a jarring thrust.
My first hard intrusion took her clean off her feet, and knocked the breath clear out of my lungs.
Head hanging back, eyes crushed closed, I roared, reveling in the bare intimacy of her luscious cunt snugged all around my buried cock.
“Ohhh. I can feel you!”
I halted mid stroke. “You didn’t feel me before?”
She laughed softly, which made her squeeze around my half-hilted shaft.
“I meant . . . with no”—she mewled when I withdrew until her stretched pussy lips clung to my flared glans— “no condom. It’s better. You feel so good.”
Hands roaming down my back, she dragged her fingernails into my flexed ass.
“I need to get deeper.” I growled, cupping her rear end in my palms.
Lifting her so her tits swayed right in front of my face, I held her poised as her thighs hooked around my waist.
I took a moment to lathe my tongue across one upturned pink bud then the other.
Then I dropped her down onto my rigid shaft, rocking up into her at the same time.
She howled.
I groaned.
Her heat and wetness multiplied.
Banging her back against the wall, I rode her up and down the whole length of my cock.
Drawing her hair around one fist, I attacked her neck with teeth and lips.
Hands gripping my shoulders, she cried out with each furious lunge of my hard flesh into her velvet sex.
As her juices spilled down her thighs, she began writhing. “Yes. Yes! I’m comi—”
I railed the rest of her words right out of existence.
She came, her inner tissue working like squeezing waves all over my dick, and her body arched into a delicious glistening bow.
Pumping into her with short fast strokes, I bellowed. One last long thrust, and I hilted all the way inside her. My balls constricted. My cock swelled more. Cum jetted out in powerful ropes, and I held Mercy sealed tight against my groin as I drenched her pussy in my seed. The barrage endless, I lunged several more times, planting my cock as deeply as possible.
Finally stilling, I leaned against her as I held her propped up in my arms. I probably squashed her a little bit, but she didn’t complain.
Her hands coasted soothingly up and down the muscles slowly relaxing in my back.
My lips moved from her temple to the corner of her mouth. “Mon Dieu. I love you.”
Labored breathing lifted her tits against me, and a small giggle escaped her. She kept her face pressed against my chest until I pulled back just enough to frown at her.
“I find it unnerving that you’re laughing right after I nearly fucked you through the wall.”
“Because you said you love me right after you filled me with so much cum.” A half smile tipped her lips.
“If that’s not an appropriate time, I don’t know when is.”
Her hands caressing both sides of my face, she kissed me with deepening heat. “You certainly have a way with words.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment then.”
“You do that.”
I also took it as a compliment that, as I carried her to the bed with her still lodged on my cock, she gasped with every step I took. My dick hadn’t really softened, and moving provided just enough friction to get me going again.
Not to mention her pussy kept pulsing and fluttering around my buried pole.
Logistically I couldn’t stay in her all night—or could I?—and I pulled out very slowly once I’d settled her on her back. My cum leaked out from her flushed sex in white streams, and she blushed as I stared. I could’ve been a gentleman and cleaned her up, but the primal part of me loved the sight.
I fell next to her and pulled her into a wonderful heap of arms and legs and her breasts cushioned against my chest.
“Aren’t you gonna say it back?” I nudged her.
“Say what back?”
I shoved up to an elbow. “You know what.”
She slanted a saucy look at me. “Well, isn’t it obvious after I came all over your cock?”
“Say it,” I growled out the order.
“Ah love you, Angel.” Smiling softly and sighing sweetly, she looped her arms around my neck.
I went with the motion as she guided my mouth to hers. Our tongues circled in a teasing dance before the unquenched fire of lust had us making out hotly and rolling across the bed.
Her hair flittered to my face when she rose on top of me.
My rigid shaft nestled against her slick pussy when I flipped her back over.
I pressed a line of kisses from the delicate wings of her collarbone to the very tip of her chin. “I think next time we fuck I want you bent over that table on the balcony.”
The thought of her outside, under the stars, almost in public made my cock pulse with another injection of blood.
“I would never!” She pushed me up by my shoulders, a tantalizing blush staining her cheeks.
“My lady of Mercy doth protest too much.” I snuck down to ki
ss her again.
Then I murmured against her ear, “You’re the one who attacked me in a public park just so you could have your wicked way with me.”
“That was different.” With her head turned aside, she sniffed in a haughty manner.
But it only took me a few seconds to cajole another smile and a sigh and a kiss from her.
We’d come full fucked up circle from danger and terror. From the edge of death to new life. Now there’d only be love.
And a hell of a lot of lust.
“Mmm.” Her hips lifted up to me when I thrust achingly slowly inside of her. “My Angel.”
My fantôme. My gamine.
My mercy.
Keep reading for a sexy sample from Storm, Bad Boys of X-Ops 3
The MC book that began the Blood Legion MC journey!
What happens when the boss lady teams up with a badass alpha male during an outlaw MC takedown . . .
STORM
I’m headed back to the Blood Legion MC in New Orleans, my old stomping grounds. Guns. Thugs. Broads. Cocaine nightmares. A Mexican cartel, cracker coke runners, and now there’s a new international threat in town.
Blaize Carmichael is my only partner in this op. Blaize. As a biker babe. Jeeesus. I’ve had a bone for her from day one when she walked into headquarters—haughty, superior, and always in charge.
There’s a goddamn good chance we’ll get made, played, and put in the grave as government-issue traitors. But I can’t help it—I love to get rough, raw, dirty, and dominant with her.
No more yes ma’am, no ma’am. Blaize is about to find out I don’t always takes orders as issued.
Bad Boys of X-Ops—four part series:
Walker
Justice
Storm
Bane
Chapter Three
Gonna Get Nada Pussy in NOLA
SITREP: EN ROUTE TO Louis Armstrong Airport. Commercial flight. Complete and utter bullshit.
First class. Fuckin’ A. I didn’t fly first class. I flew the frickin’ birds and choppers used to transport my team and me to every single stateside or far-off international hot zone. For a man made of nerves of steel, I was feeling a little bit jumpy. I wanted to be in the cockpit. Not helping matters was Mizz Blaize Cahmichael who sat right next to me, making my cock hard.
And she was wearing some kind of classy sexy perfume that sent my senses into overdrive with its floral spicy scent.
I glanced at her quickly.
That deep red hair was pulled back in a strict bun. She dressed in her regulation uniform of body-skimming suit hugging all her curves.
She sighed and rolled her neck.
I pushed my shoulder closer to the window, contemplating snapping the blind up and down to expel some energy.
I tried not to encroach into Blaize’s space, but first class or not, there was no goddamn room for me to spread my thighs, and my shoulders were folded in tight. I wasn’t stupid enough to pull an arm stretch, shoulder hug, canoodle move on Blaize, although I was tempted.
So very tempted.
At least if I’d had my Sigs, I could waste the spare time cleaning the pair of P226s. But no. Since we couldn’t come right out and state who we were—because we didn’t really exist on record—no guns allowed on board the flight. Another reason to be irritated.
With a low curse I pulled out my phone.
I skimmed through the photos on the camera roll, studying the key players of one of the most infamous outlaw motorcycle gangs in the United States. Running guns and smuggling coke. The American Dream. A side of murder by the dozens, full-blown street fights, and a prostitution ring just for shits and giggles.
The CIA hadn’t been able to nail the Blood Legion MC. The ATF had ended up looking like chumps with their limp dicks in their hands, the cockless wonders.
This mission was a last ditch effort to bring the Legion to their knees. Bring ’em down. Lock ’em up. Wipe them off the face of the one-percenter map.
I looked at the photos on my phone for one last trip down bad memory lane before I swiped the files. This was a new cell. I didn’t even have Justice, Walker, or Bane in my contacts. During this deep cover mission, Blaize and I would maintain almost complete radio silence with T-Z.
Burn. Could’ve been so-called because of the road rash creating a grisly terrain up one whole side of his face, making him look like a third degree burn victim. But that wasn’t the case at all. His roadname was Burn because he liked to torch his victims. Burn them alive. We all joked about Walker and his bad plastics habit, but he was nothing like Burn. The man was a straight-up sadist.
And he was just the road captain.
Kouto was the Legion sergeant at arms, his name meaning knife in Creole. With skin as black as rich soil and an even blacker heart, he preferred blade work to make his kills—and sometimes Voudou. He handed out the kill orders and kept the ranks in line.
The MC treasurer? A fucking dude named Angel. Ridiculous roadname, except it was actually his real name. Blond. Handsome. Pure looking, and he had no rapsheet whatsoever we’d been able to discover. Blaize didn’t think that meant the kid was an innocent.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. The Blood Legion was made up of hardened road warriors, mindless murderers, conscienceless killers. Angel was twenty-two years old. Too young to be an officer in this bloodthirsty band of badasses, but this was the only legacy his dad, the legendary founder of Blood Legion, had left him.
Then there was Venom—pure poison. At least the cunt was appropriately dubbed. He was president. He’d maintained his three and a half year reign at the head of the gang by outsmarting every club coup, outsider takeover attempt, by evading John E. Law—or by bribing and buying off the authorities. He was the brains. Business savvy except when he was busy shoveling blow up his nose. Or maybe the coke was what gave him the edge.
The Legion traded high-powered rifles in return for smuggled cocaine from Los Reyes de Guerra cartel in Mexico City. And if a few unpapered Mexican girls happened to be delivered with the coke? They became the club’s whores for hire.
New Orleans was where I’d grown up, or near enough. Just outside la cité along the majestic Bayou Lafourche. I was Cajun through and through, but I’d cut bait a long time ago.
Cranking my neck, I hit the kill button on my cell.
Then I glanced at Blaize again.
Big fucking mistake.
My nerves started jangling, my palms sweating, and, when she turned toward me, the full impact of her gorgeous face momentarily stunned me dumb.
I was almost always tongue-tied around Blaize, which was really interesting and really irritating. I’d certainly never had a problem with the ladies before. All it took was a hooded glance, a half-formed smile, a touch of what Walker liked to call my Cajunese drawl.
Blaize undid me with her mere presence so much I could barely form words, let alone think of a coherent phrase to engage her in conversation.
“How was the wedding?” She clicked off her phone, took off her glasses, and rested her hand near mine on the shared armrest between us.
“What?”
“Walker and Jade? London?” A small frown puckered her forehead.
I swept my gaze over her face. Fuck me. Blaize this close up was even more of a knockout. I tried to make my mouth work. Too bad I was on the verge of drooling.
Her lips were even juicier looking. Plump. Blowjob-swollen.
“Huh?” I asked, rubbing the back of my neck.
“The. Wedding.”
Clearing my throat, I aimed my eyes away from her face, her body, her big baby blues. “Oh yeah. Bien, bien. They got hitched without a hitch. Not even a gun or knife in sight. No tangos or bogies.”
“I wasn’t asking for a SITREP, Storm. I just wanted to make sure they’re happy.” She touched my wrist, and the muscles in my forearm flexed hard.
My voice dropped to a hoarse tone as hot sensation fired in my groin. “Well, they left the reception before anyone else”—fo
r the obvious reason: they’d been ready to jump each other’s bones again—“but Walker sent some photos from the honeymoon.”
I licked my lips, looking at Blaize’s fine-boned fingers on my skin that burned to her touch.
She’d never touched me before.
Berated me?
Check.
Scolded me like a schoolboy?
Rog that.
Told me off until I wanted to drag her skirt up over her ass, pull down her panties, and sink to my balls inside her.
Copy.
Blaize pulled her hand away. “Where’d they go?”
I chuckled. “Hawaii. Like he said they would. No more Middle East minefields.”
Blaize’s laugh came out full and throaty. And the sultry sound did nothing to diminish my hard-on. Hell, I gave myself kudos for making my cock stand-down from fully-fucking-ready for most of our flight. With a few words from her, a touch, her laugh, I’d lost all control of the bastard thing.
“Sorry I couldn’t make it.” She started unpinning her hair.
Why the hell was she doing that?
I watched helplessly—choking on my tongue—as coils of russet red tresses feathered to her shoulders and down her back, and I had all I could do not to plunge my nose into the fragrant curtain.
“I had a weekend meeting with Lawless,” she said, fluffing out that incredible red-sun-filled mane of hair.
I faced her head on, scowling. “Ambassador Lawless?”
“The one and only.”
“What’s with you and old Lawless anyway?”
“Old? Are you jealous, Storm?” She locked eyes with me.
I slouched in my seat. Would’ve, anyway, if there’d been enough room. All I ended up doing was getting uncomfortably torqued into a corkscrew position of my big arms and long legs.
“I don’t get jealous.” I steamed under the collar.
Hell yes, I’m jealous. I’d seen her and the old coot at Justice’s wedding . . .
