“What happened to him?” Something had, that was clear. Even with her holding it back, the sorrow in her voice was strong, the grief fresh.
“Old business caught up to him.” She kissed his chest again, gently tonguing the flat, pebbled surface of his nipple and he gave up a groan to her softly giggling amusement, glad she could set aside her heartache momentarily. Tease. “About six months ago.”
“What kind of business?” Old business didn’t sound physical or accidental, which left only intentional for his death. Intentional ain’t good. A health hazard for those left behind, in some cases. Wonder if she’d know about any blowback her direction since she worked with him and was apparently favored?
“He was an officer in a motorcycle club until a couple years ago. Gracefully backed down because his health was bad.” She drew an uneven breath. “Bad. Cancer. He stayed a member, of course. Stayed in, just couldn’t give as much time anymore. But something had happened in Baton Rouge years ago. A man came hunting him, and someone in his old club gave him up.” Gaze to her face, Twisted watched as she blew the breath out from pursed lips, trying to control the shaking in her voice, her wobbling chin. Angry, she bit out, “He was going to die anyway. There wasn’t any reason for them to come along and take their pound of flesh.”
“Do you know what his club name was? What club he was in?” His questions skirted the edge of too much knowledge, but she didn’t notice, thankfully.
Voice soft, she cooed the name. “Bagger.” The smile that curved her mouth with the word fell away, a resigned look taking its place. “That was his road name. He was in the Caddo Hobos. In there for years, the vice-principal.” She shook her head, hair rustling against his beard as she corrected herself. “No, that’s not right. Vice-president.”
Shit. Who had he stumbled into tonight? “Baton Rouge, is that home?” He had intimate knowledge that Louisiana clubs ran fiercely loyal, her statement that someone gave up her uncle didn’t make sense, especially if he’d served until health forced him to step down. He wondered if she had it right.
“Yeah. Red Stick.” She gave the English translation that locals used for the town’s name. “I’m Cajun born and raised.” Her voice back to soft, something about those words triggered a memory for her, safe and sheltered. Floating light on the air, giggling laughter shook her frame, settling into his gut, warm. Sweet. “Creole through and through.”
“No accent,” he observed, and she giggled again, the sound changing to a gasp when he curled his hand around her hip, fingertips tapping her mound right above her clit. Mmmm, quick to rouse. Stiffening his middle finger, he swiped once across her hooded nub. Her instinctive push against his hip, the restless movement of her legs, these things told of her eager desire. Hunger. A swipe, a gasp, then he retrieved his hand, retreating to draw small circles on her hip again. He’d instigate another sneak attack in a moment, was just giving her time to recover. “You don’t have an accent,” he restated, making the unspoken “why” a question.
A shiver moved through her, and he relished the knowledge that he drove her to that feeling. “Hmm. Yeah. No. Daddy pushed me to be better than my raising. Started with a demand that I speak proper English. Movies weren’t fun days. They were linguistic lessons where he analyzed everything the actors said, how they said it, and then bent those things into something that I could fit around me.” She rolled her tongue across his flat nipple, her thigh lifting onto his legs, tangling there. Teasing herself as much as him. She shrugged, the motion moving her tits against him. “It stuck.”
Palm to her thigh, he cupped and pulled, sliding her leg up his until her knee was nearly in his crotch. Fingers trailing back down her leg, tender skin under his touch, arrowing directly to his destination. He skimmed against her pussy once…twice…middle and ring finger met, creating a single shaft that pushed into her slowly. Her sweet accompaniment of sighs and moans was glorious to hear. Working gently, in, then out, he finger fucked her shallowly. Deliberately taking his time, going slow, waiting. After only a minute or two of these careful caresses, she arched back against his hand, which retreated with her movement, denying her the desired depth. She hissed, “Bell.”
“Yeah, Penny?” Pushing in hard, he buried his fingers, then crooked them inside her before pulling halfway out, dipping his thumb to find her wetness. A moment later that thumb was poised at her pucker, fingers back into place inside her, working in and out deep, in and out shallow. Her ass retreated from the probing pressure, much as his hand had moments before, but he twisted his neck, pressing his face into her hair. Wanting this, his voice was guttural when he whispered, “Let me try, Penny. If it hurts, or you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”
She stilled for a moment before nodding consent, and he ran with it, teasing, on a crusade to rouse her this way, too. Touching, circling, pressing, he kept a steady thrusting rhythm inside her with his fingers. Frowning when nothing pulled a reaction from her. Stiff and still, she rested at his side, but was no longer cuddling, not playing. All the fascinating charm was gone, her breathing tightly controlled. Not even indifferent, ass play was a turn off for her. She had switched off. Her enjoyment chased away.
Abandoning his efforts, he focused on her pussy, in and out, out and sliding up to finger her clit, then back inside. Within seconds, she was no longer locked in place, not yet animated in her movements, but at least not frozen. Provoked to rage, fighting the urge to howl in anger, he asked the question kicking at a tottering wall in his head. “Did someone hurt you that way, Penny?”
Her nod wasn’t a surprise, but his bitterness was. It surged, and he withdrew, hand back to her hip, urging her closer to his side, wanting that cuddle puppy back that he’d had for such a short time, stolen away by his own eagerness to introduce her to…everything. So inexperienced, especially to have had that done in a way that left ugly, lasting pain was inexcusable. He wasn’t successful in tamping his temper down and knew it filled his voice when he spoke. “Never let someone do something you don’t like.” A squeeze of her ass cheek, squeeze and lift, then a soft hand caressing her curves. “Never. Not even me.”
“I liked the rest of what you were doing.” Honeyed tones of pleasure told him he hadn’t broken the spell woven by their play from earlier. Not completely, thank God. She moved, hand flattening on his chest, palm over his heart. Can she feel how it sped up at her touch? His hand on her ass moved again, squeezing and lifting, coaxing, then once she was persuaded to slide at his urging, pulling her into place on top of him.
More contact than before, breasts flattened against his chest, she snuggled into him. “I like your beard,” she whispered, thinking she told him a secret. Quick fingers running through it, lifting from underneath, then smoothing it down again. “It’s so…” Her voice dropped to a softer version of her already tender whisper, this one barely a breath, “…rough.” This word came out as ‘rruuuffff,’ sound drawn into letters not used in its construction, but better conveying her emotions. His hand stroking her face felt her lips move, and without that, he would never have heard the last word. “Everywhere.”
“Hungry, Penny.” Stroking down her back, Twisted's palms settled on each cheek, pushing her up…up… Her head lifted in surprise, her crystal blues staring down at him. Eyes bright as the summer sky. “Feed me, baby.” As she moved up, he shifted down until things were lined up exactly right, and then he fed.
Afterward, he handed her the second condom, and she inexpertly applied the raincoat. Her fumbling attempts causing his head to rear back into the pillow, and she seemed to forget what she was doing at the sight, licking and nuzzling his neck underneath his beard. Hand to his cock, he adjusted things, rolling the rubber into place and pulling her down while he thrust up with his hips. Catch, slip, a slight adjustment, thrust…homerun. Her teeth bit into the side of his neck, and he groaned, lifting his hips again. Bent knees gave him the leverage needed for a gentle rocking motion he could maintain for a long time. His hands lifting and pulling, her weig
ht taking care of the return trip that settled him back inside her.
She sat up slightly, and leaning far forward, rested her forehead against his. In territory so far from fucking, he didn’t know what to call it. Yes, I do. Eyes open, breath mingling, her hands cupped his head. Penny's fingers wound into the hair at the back of his head on either side, her elbows brushing across his chest as her upper arms pressed her tits together. Her hair wasn’t long enough to fall around them, but strands of it tickled his face, and those blues were staring at him. Looking deep and long, he watched her eyes haze and lose focus, knew she was chasing those stealthy sensations he stirred in her. When she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, he knew she was close. Picking up the pace until her eyelids fluttered, her lashes playing touch-me with her cheeks as she came.
Not giving her time to recover, he rolled, positioning her under him and chased his own orgasm. He found it deep inside her, where it seemed it had been hiding forever. He heard himself grunting, flesh slapping loudly in the enclosed space. Hair streaming down on either side of their faces, curtained and shuttered from the world. Safe. Sheltered. With the sheet twisted in their legs, he watched as she came back to herself, staring up at him in wonder and then—fuck him—she threaded her hands under the pillow, giving him her submission again. Wordlessly he affirmed her instincts, raining rough kisses on her face, down her neck and back up, shouting her name when he came.
“Rest,” he murmured, curling in behind her, arms crossed over her chest, holding her close. “Get some shuteye and dream, darlin’.” Cleanup had gone quicker this time, his knowledge of her living space expanding with every exploration. He found the wipes and made swift work of taking care of the messy evidence of their lovemaking—fucking, his mind corrected. In minutes, her relaxed, calm breathing told him she’d found sleep, resting easy circled about with his care of her. Safe. Held in the bloody hands of a man much like the ones who killed her beloved uncle.
He knew he should go, should leave while she was lost in sleep. Leave her with the fantasy of a sweet man who loved on her until, sated and exhausted, she’d forgotten who she was with. A real life charade to follow the storyline of her books. Pretense and playacting. Make-believe. Gaze flicking around the cabin, it snagged on the lone wrapper, a folded corner catching the light, giving a glinting reflection. I should go, but I’m a greedy bastard, he told himself, lip curling in a sneer. “Yeah,” his muttered agreement was audible as he settled behind her and closed his eyes.
A stretch of time later, a truck parked next to hers in the line started, the rumbling roll of the engine startling him awake. Still dark out, the hour was early. Listening carefully, he heard footsteps moving between the trucks, the hollow thump of a tire knocker doing an old school pressure check. Thud, thud, thud, thud. Two axles, four wheels, moving on to the next set.
Penny was still sleeping, the only change in position was her hands had lifted, cupping around his wrists where he held her captive. There was so much skin in front of him, so much heat, so much to explore. With his mouth to her neck, Twisted worked up to her ear, running his teeth along the curve of the shell, nipping gently at her earlobe. The whole time he thought to himself he wanted to ask about the barbell on her face but then got distracted when her breathing changed, signaling she was rising from sleep.
“Penny.” He called her name quietly, not wanting to frighten her but he shouldn’t have worried because the first sound from her was his name in return. Palm to her chest, he captured the curve of one breast, fingers plumping and caressing as he nibbled on her ear again. He hadn’t been gentle the first time, had taken her hard, now finding the idea of hurting her as distasteful as it had been earlier, asked, “Are you too sore, baby?”
Her head moved, shaking back and forth. “Sure, sweetheart?” A different movement, up and down, which was interrupted by a gasp as he pinched her nipple lightly, rolling it between his fingers. “Okay,” he breathed, “okay.” His cock, already thick and hard, thudded against her ass. Releasing her breast, he moved one hand to her throat, sliding the other down her belly, cupping her pussy. He gave a squeeze with both, feeling her body move as she blew out a careful breath, skin gone to goose bumps under his lips.
Easing into it, stroked slowly along her folds, finger to either side of her clit, then across the top of it, then either side. Up and down, faster and faster, positioning and angling his hand. Biting down on her ear, without warning he thrummed across her clit hard and fast. Her open-mouthed cries of shock as much a reward as her body jumping, shoulders bowing back into him, hips thrusting forwards, seeking.
Rolling her stomach-first onto the mattress, he knelt behind her, pulling her up with him. “Knees wide, sweetheart.” Hand to her jaw, he turned her head and—“God,” she cried—captured her mouth, silencing her scream. That was followed by a moan he ate down, lips locked to hers. Breaking the kiss, her head fell to his shoulder, her body curving back. Staring down her body, he watched as his hair swept across her breasts, curling around well memorized curves. Looked farther to see his hand working frantically between her legs, fingers moving fast side-to-side as they slipped back and forth along the length of her pussy, doubling the sensation for her.
With another cry, calling his name, she came, a teeth-grinding, rolling motion evidence of the powerful feelings storming through her. Clenched fists flew wide as her palms lifted, releasing into outstretched fingers. Her hands rose as if to fend off a dangerous animal stirred to life.
Pushing her to the mattress, he settled a palm in the middle of her spine in a silent command she accepted as gospel. Knees bent, ass up, arms stretched over her head, her open palms came together, and he watched as she laced her fingers tightly, holding on. Behind her, he put an arm to either side of her legs to give her support and buried his face between her thighs. Nose to that tight opening denied him earlier, he ate her pussy hard and fast, tongue thrust far inside, feeling the quaking pulses of her orgasm still affecting her. Sweet, clean pussy, flowing with the sweetest nectar he ever tasted, he devoured her until her frantic movements matched the cries rolling from her throat.
Rearing up, palm to her hip, he reached with the other to gather the final condom from its resting place. Tearing it open with his teeth, he rolled it on, staring down. Positioned as she was, quiet as she was, controlled as he’d taught her in the short time together, she could have been anyone and he found he didn’t like that. No fantasy needed in this bed. “Penny,” he called, cock in hand, poised at her entrance. She turned her head, neck twisting back—Twisted, his alter-ego chuckled—and he had her crystal blue eyes in sight. Her freckle-dotted nose. The glinting barbell in her brow. No longer faceless, this was his—“shiny Penny”—woman. With one long thrust, he buried himself inside her.
Now he was the frantic one, diving deep, rocking hard against her ass, hands on her waist, dragging her backwards onto him as he rushed headlong. More skin. He needed more. Bending over her, hand to the mattress, taking more. Curving his back, he fucked her hard, free hand gliding under to find and cup a swinging breast. “Down,” he ordered, and she slid forward, belly to the mattress. Compelled to chase her, he rolled and circled his hips. Deep, deep, mouth to hers, browns to blues locked in place. One arm encircled her waist, anchoring her, his other arm under, palm cupping the column of her throat. Pulse beating under his thumb, around his cock, her every breath gusting across his lips, life in his hands. Hold on.
Fuck. “Penny.” She stiffened underneath him, tight and clenching, pulling him in and he gave into the sensations, deep, hard, once…twice…a third stroke. “Penny, sweetheart.” Teeth clenched, forehead to her shoulder blade, Bell filled the last condom as she came for him a final time.
***
Four days later, Twisted stood in the backroom at the Incoherent clubhouse in Mandeville, just across Lake Pontchartrain from New Orleans, listening to the confession of the man who had murdered Penny’s uncle. Bagger had been part of a crew more than a decade ago. He had se
en the writing on the wall and didn’t like what it said, trying to derail the infestation of their territory by drug gangs. The club had embarked on a successful campaign of destruction that had severe consequences for a Central American drug cartel. That cartel a family operation that, when it was failing, turned deadly for the ones who had backed the Louisiana expansion. It wasn’t club that had talked about his whereabouts, just a chance meeting in the VA hospital where Bagger had gone for treatment. He’d been seen and recognized, knowing with the disease he had his days were already numbered, then he’d had that number divided down to nothing by filth.
“Tell me who else is targeted.” With bloody knuckles curved into bludgeons, he urged the man kneeling in front of him to provide answers that would cut his suffering short. His end was already writ in stone. The blood tracing his lifeline running thin, but the suffering could end.
The answer provided ensured that wouldn’t happen because he said one name. The one name that Twisted didn’t want to hear.
“Penny.”
***
Feet to the parking lot, engine idling, Twisted straddled his bike, eyes locked on a truck parked on the fuel line. Hair braided into a single-tail, he wore a bandana tied around his face, covering his beard, secure in anonymity.
He heard a whistle, then another, lilting and lifting, dancing through the air. Walking the long-handled window washer around the front of her truck, jaunty steps moving in time to the tune, the woman he watched swayed through her tasks. Huge nozzles cocked into the tanks on either side of the truck, hood propped up and out of the way, Penny climbed onto the front tires to better reach her windshield. Arms lifting, muscles in her back moving as she scrubbed, unaware of any scrutiny. Twisted scowled when he realized the driver of the truck at the next pump was watching her titties move under her shirt. Mesmerized by the show, the foolish man took a step towards her. Tipping his head at his second, he sent Po’Boy to explain the dire mistake about to be made. Move on, mister.
Neither This Nor That Box Set 1 Page 14
