by Vivian Gray
I eventually move myself out from under her, sitting on my knees by her side. I place a hand on her thigh. The black dress hitches around the bottom of her white and pink striped panties giving me lots of options. I hook a quick finger under the elastic band and yank until the thong moves up and over her thighs and knees and down to her feet. I come back to her thighs, eager for more. She resists my attempts at spreading her open at first, but even with her best effort, she’s no match for me. I have total access to her well-shaved pussy.
She doesn’t anticipate my two fingers slipping through her gap, massaging the damp, smooth skin. Delilah lets out a small gasp, one I can tell she’s trying to conceal. I push slightly further inside and then pull out as quickly as I am in. When I remove my fingers, they are covered in the watery lubricant that I know means she’s enjoying this just as much as I am.
“Tell me how much you don’t want this,” I mutter under my breath.
She turns her face towards me, flushed but still shining with pride. “No.”
“Fine. I always loved a fucking challenge.” I pull her legs again, wide enough so that I can slink my way down towards her sex. My stubble traces around the thickness of her inner thighs, taking in her natural scent. She curls one of those legs up towards herself, but I yank it back down towards my mouth. It’s not like me to toy with my prey, but I plant wickedly soft kisses along the back of her leg, leading straight up the line to her pussy.
Delilah again tries to wiggle away, her hands press into my hair, but I’m already there, deeper into her parted V. She inhales as my tongue takes over from where my fingers were. I watch from the top of her pubic bone as her stomach caves in and she begins to take in short, shallow breaths. Her hip rises to meet my mouth, pressing me further into her moist, soft folds. My tongue creates wet lines around her map till I find the spot. It flicks once and then twice around the nub before my mouth wraps around the small ball and begins to suck as tenderly as I can allow myself.
I know I’ve found it as soon as her fingers dip deep into my curls. She’s no longer pushing me away, she’s begging me on. Her “no’s” are back, but they’re not the kind that are begging me to stop. They’re the kind of “no’s” that are fighting to reckon against the pleasure and the pain.
I’ve been on that edge before; the edge of no return where you must make a decision – stay or go. And by the looks of her chest and the way her chin lifts straight to the ceiling, concealing the twisted smile on her face, she’s not going anywhere.
“Say you want me,” I order in-between rounds of sampling her cunt. “Say you want me to do this to you.”
“No, Race… I can’t…” She shakes, her hands pulling at the straps of her dress. I can feel her body holding back the orgasm that has to come. She doesn’t want me to win, but the tide always comes in eventually. Whether or not she knows it, I will make her come for me, and then, I’ll make her beg for me.
“Say it!” I practically shout. Who the fuck cares what the men outside undoubtedly listening in think. Right now, all there is Delilah and me and our game. And I’m playing for keeps.
My fingers launch back into her now dripping wet sex. Three fingers easily fit inside of her pulsating folds. My thumb matches the place where my mouth is, massaging her spot with a fury she probably couldn’t duplicate herself. It’s vicious. I know that, but she deserves this. She needs to feel the power I have over her.
“Race! God! Please!” she calls out wildly. Her voice nearly screams it.
My own blood boils under my clothes. My cock presses against my jeans hearing her shout my name. “Say you want me!” I command. “Say it while you come all over my hand!”
She turns her head towards me, her eyes shining with a fire I’ve never seen before. She’s not Delilah the waitress whose fear runs deeper than her attitude; she’s a woman with needs that only I can satisfy. She opens her mouth, gasping with a high-pitched squeal. The sound comes out almost timed with the rush of juices around my hands.
Her own hand wraps around my arm as she stammers, “I want you, Race. I want you! Please! Please!”
I don’t give her time to think it through. As soon as I am out of her, I wrap an arm around her waist and rush her over towards the couch located against the wall. She moves to lie down, but I guide her to the arm over the couch. I press her stomach down, so she faces away from me, though she no doubt sees me move towards the door, opening it for the two guards outside.
She tries to protest, but I hurriedly say to the men, “You watch me enter her, and then you shut the fucking door, you hear me?”
The tanned and wrinkled faces of the two older riders go pale as they spin to see her Delilah there, with her dress just barely covering her sex. I drop my pants, and they slide down against my rock-hard cock till they’ve hit the floor. The skirt lifts and her legs part, and I’m in.
Delilah moans and pounds a fist against the battered leather cushions. Her legs part further, allowing me to even deeper inside of her tight pussy. I groan before I remember the men watching, waiting. I give two long thrusts into her and then slowly pull back for show. It’s not my preferred speed, but being in her is damn fine enough for me.
“You’re mine, Delilah,” I growl out. “You’re mine now. I lay claim to you. You won’t take another man. You won’t betray me or this club. You’re mine until I let you go or until death parts us. Now say it – say that you’re mine.”
Delilah has gone shy. I don’t blame her – with the performance she has to give. I thrust a few more times into her, and she shoots right up. I grab hold of her hair, forcing her to turn towards the door. Her eyes shut as she gulps back some air. I whisper into her ear, “They go away when you say it. If not, they’ll have to watch me finish off in you.”
“I’m yours, Race!” she suddenly shouts. “I’m yours! I won’t take another man. I won’t betray you. And I’m yours until you let me go.” She sighs as she finishes the oath: “Or until death parts us. I’m yours.”
“Shut the door,” I snarl out at the men. They don’t act quick enough for me. “SHUT THE FUCKING DOOR!”
I hear a click, and the men’s boot steps trudge away from us. We’re alone now, really alone. I can stop when I want to. That was all they needed to see to know that my claim on her was sealed. I could give her what she wanted and begged for when we first started, but I don’t think there is turning back for me. This chick is mine in body and in oath, and I can do whatever the hell I want.
I pound my flesh into hers, feeling the sensation of driving my cock into the softness of hers. As I push in, I lean down towards her ear and ask, “Do you really want me to fuck you, Delilah?”
“Yes,” she hisses out.
“Then show me. Show me how much you want me.”
There’s a pause before her hand shoots up behind her, motioning for me to take a step back. I come out of her with a disappointing rush like sitting up too fast. My head spins, but she leads me down towards the couch. I sit before her with my hands resting on my lap.
Her body falls softly down on me, her legs on each side of me. She moves her dress up and then takes my cock in her hands. Like an expert, she guides it to her pussy. Her body arches up and then slides down slowly over my length.
Two hands rest gently on my shoulders. Her nails scratch against the back of my neck and then push down on the bone as she begins to rock. It’s slow at first – almost like her striptease the first time we were together. But she picks up speed as she goes. Her body bounces lightly on my cock until I can’t tell if she’s floating or not. Her breath becomes more hitched, and she begins to release a soft, needing cry.
“Is this… is this what you wanted, Race?”
“More,” I beg of her. The sensation in my skin is practically crawling out of my veins.
Again, she speeds up, but she puts more weight into it. My cock drives into her – spaces I haven’t yet traveled. She gets to her feet and positions herself straight up and down in a squat. Her ass r
olls over my cock and then bursts into a speed I have never felt a woman use my cock at. It’s almost as if she’s attempting to pull me until I burst.
“Come for me,” she orders, her eyes directly locked with mine. “I want you to come with me.” It’s a request I’ve never had, but I’m happy to oblige.
I throw my hands around her, pulling her to my chest. She gasps and struggles to hold on as I thrust my hips up and off the couch. That call for control, the need to make her understand that I am in charge, washes over me. She’s mine. I own this. I own the ass clutched in my hand, the hair dangling on my chest, the lips pressed to my neck, the tits rubbed up against me, the legs curled around my hips, and the pussy about the explode. I own every part of this.
And fuck if I don’t love every minute of taking her.
She orgasms first. Her body nearly falls on mine as her cries explode from her chest and mouth. She gasps for air with a smile so broad, I don’t even recognize the girl. The feeling of her tensing and pulsing around me is enough for me to follow soon after. We fall back on the couch as my seed spills out from her and onto her milky white thigh. I pull myself off of her when the mess is made, content to take a spot near the end of the couch as she wipes herself off.
There’s a long silence as we both straighten up. I catch my breath, watching her move from one side of the room to retrieve her panties to the couch where she adjusts her straps and reapplies her lipstick with a tube she concealed in the pockets of her rumpled dress. When she’s finished, she leans back in her seat, a look of terror taking over.
“What the fuck did I just do?” she finally says.
“You got yourself some fucking protection is what,” I reply, as coldly as I can. I’m not sure if I’m put off by her ungrateful attitude for the bedding or her unwillingness to even acknowledge what I gave up for her. Taking no other man meant I am not exactly encouraged to screw other women. And being loyal to a mouthy, smart-ass woman like her is going to try every last nerve in my body. A little “thank you” could go a long way.
She bites the corner of her lip and then turns her head towards me. The strands of red hair fall across her face. She asks, “What happens next?”
“I don’t have a goddamn clue, Del. But if we’re going to end this fast, we need to figure out who the hell is after you and why.”
“What happens to my claim then?”
“We’re done. I’ll release you.” I really hadn’t thought of it, but it makes sense. This is business. She lays with me, and I bring peace to the club by finding out what group is trying to break territory, and in return, I protect her. It doesn’t need to go past that.
She nods her head, seeming to internalize what I’ve promised. “Okay then,” she says finally. “So… where do I go?”
“You’re not going home. And they already know you’ve been with me. Bringing you back to my motel would be a fucking stupid move. There’s only one place to go.”
I stand and walk towards the desk. Rummaging through the drawers, I pick out a pair of gold matching keys. I toss one to her as I spit out at her, “You stay here.”
I’m not prepared for the protests and fights she’s about to put up.
Chapter Nine
Delilah
“Stay here?” What the hell? I’m not going to stay here, locked in this office, after all of… that. That’s some bullshit! Race just waltzed me into headquarters, screwed me in public, put a claim on me… and then, he expects me to stay put? He has to be out of his mind.
I want to call him out. I want to chase him down as he closes the door and pound my fists into the glass until I can make him listen, but the truth is that I am exhausted. My entire body feels spent after – after what he did. After he took me like that. My legs quiver slightly and my chest tenses around my ribcage, my heart still beating hard, threatening to burst out. The taste of him lingers in my dry mouth, and his scent feels permanently etched into my nostrils. I realize I’ll have to sit back down from the haze he’s put me in just to bring myself together.
The room grows silent. It’s the kind of deep, dark lack of noise that makes your mind wander. Where the hell did he go? Why is he taking so long? Those men peeked in on us doing the deed. They saw it was the real deal, and that I was consenting. Could there be more questions to if Race could put a claim on me? And if so, how much more would I have to do to prove that I am willingly giving myself up to him? To a man I’ve only known for a short period of time. To a man I’ve only slept with twice now.
I don’t know if Race is his real name or what. I don’t know if he’s from Colorado or New York or Australia! I don’t know where he’s gotten all those scars on his body – the ones I try to pretend to ignore but am oddly fascinated by the pattern they make along the lines of his tattoos. I know nothing of that or of him, but I’m forced into giving myself away on the hopes and prayers that he, of all people, can figure out who is trying to take me.
The kind of quiet I find myself in right now gives a girl some time to think and reflect. It’s been a long time since I’ve had enough silence to sort through my thoughts. If I’m not working or drinking, I’m spending time listening to Ariel cry about her man being gone from home for so long. There’s never time for me to process the details of my life like I need to do now.
Enemies? I’ve got a few. I got some bad blood going in high school, and during the year I tried to get through community college for a nursing degree that never worked out. I remember one girl in particular – snooty nose, bubblegum pink backpack, and blonde hair down to her flat ass. She would look over her shoulder at me and sneer for absolutely no reason. Later, I found out that the only reason why she knew me was because I slept with her ex one drunken night. But a girl like that wouldn’t put a hit out on a long-ago grudge. He wasn’t that good.
Speaking of lovers, there are not many on my list that would be capable of this. Not frequently sleeping around with club guys has gotten me a pretty straight reputation within my circles. It also means that the men in my life are harmless. They are flies compared to Race – easily squashed and completely harmless besides buzzing around when they shouldn’t be. There was only Mitch, the guy who disappeared on me, who could fit the description of running with a club, but he was loyal to the Bad Devils. I couldn’t see him trying to turn over on me after all this time.
So no boyfriends, no friends, and little family to speak of… meaning I was left with absolutely no one. Whoever is hunting me down is a ghost to me. I can’t see them, but I can damn well feel them creeping around my life, shaking me to the bone. If his or her’s goal was to chase me straight into the arms of the Bad Devils, they could call it a success, because after all these years promising myself that I wouldn’t end up like my mama with a broken heart and broken ties to the Devils, I’m here sitting on this couch waiting for a MC man to tell me my fate.
I’ve got to get out of here. I’m going stir-crazy as the minutes’ tick by and there’s no sign of Race anywhere. I walk slowly towards the window, being careful, so my shoes don’t make any noises on the cement floor. I push the large blind to the side just a hair, enough to let an eyeball stick out. I see the men in the warehouse still sitting around drinking near the bar. The ladies grind and dance on those holding them down while other men watch with hungry eyes. Behind them, a smaller group goes to work unloading and loading boxes of merchandise. They’re peons, most likely, and thus will probably never get a seat on the couch.
What I don’t see are the men who were supposed to watch out for Race and me. They’ve vanished; hopefully satisfied that they got their fill of me spread wide for Race. When he left, I didn’t hear Race give them their marching orders or to stay on guard in case I tried to escape. Maybe they wandered off on their own, too bored to care about the laid up girl that was now some other man’s property? Who would want to stand around watching someone they couldn’t get their dirty, greasy hands on?
I’ve got to go for it. If anything, I’ll make up some excuse, like
needing to use the bathroom or wanting some fresh air. I’ll play dumb if need be. I can turn on those sweet, innocent girl charms when I’m forced to. But nothing is going to stop me from finding out what is going on with Race.
Luckily for me, my captors are too occupied to care when I slip out the office door. Looking back over my shoulders, I watch two women leaning their half-naked bodies over their laps as they linger in lounge chairs off to the side. Some golden liquid in a label-less bottle is passed between the four of them. Like them, no one seems to care that I’m wandering out in the open, darting between the dusty and stained furniture and the large pile of cardboard boxes.
Behind me, a familiar voice yells, “What do you mean, Race? You actually think that bullshit is true?”
I run off towards it, careful to not bring any more attention to myself. I head back towards an attached garage, waiting in an unlit hallway around the corner. Peeking around the small passthrough wall, I see the backside of Race as he hovers over someone else’s bike. A man lies at his feet, turning screws on the engine. I recognize him vaguely as one of the old dogs. He’s been around since my daddy and mama were part of the club, but he was never anyone important. He couldn’t be now. Most of the guys my mama’s age were retired out or back to civilian status. But there he was, wearing colors and hassling Race like he owned the damn club.
