I fuck her harder for putting herself at risk.
And I fuck her harder still for telling me I’m all she needs.
She moans, biting her lip as her body bounces with the force of my thrusts. Her eyes are closed, her eyebrows knitted, but by the way her pussy is clenching around my cock, I’d say she’s close. Her breasts heave with her breaths, and I curse the fact I can’t quite fucking reach to suck on one as she comes apart.
“Ain’t ever lettin’ you leave again,” I say, lifting her a fraction higher to hit her sweet spot better.
She moans, and cries out, “I can’t hold back any longer, Bronx. It’s too good.”
I slow my movement, remove my hand from the door, and stroke the damp hair off her face. She complains about the lack of movement between us as I run my hand down her chest, across both breasts, and rub her swollen and pulsing clit. “Don’t hold back this time. Show me what you got.”
Taking a hold of the doorframe again, I shift my foot to a firmer spot and slam my hips into her thighs, fucking her harder and faster than before. Her cries are cut off by the shock of my hits, her hands slipping on the door.
“Let it go,” I growl, tipping my hips a little. “Fuckin’ cover me in cum, darlin’.”
She screams loud enough that I’m certain every red-blooded male on the property heard, and shakes as her orgasm takes her. Ryan’s hold on the door slips, and I grab her with both hands, wrapping my arms about her as the last of my release spills on the inside of her leg.
“God, I’m sorry,” she says, looking down at my still twitching cock. “I ruined it for you.”
“Fuck off, you did,” I say, stroking the last drops out. “I’d go without to hear you scream like that again.”
Her face goes all shades of red, and she places a hand to her mouth. “I can’t go back downstairs now. That’s so embarrassing.”
“Sweet thing, they’ve heard and seen a lot worse than that.”
She simply responds by shaking her head and stepping toward the water, adjusting the nozzle so it flows over half her face and neck. I reach around her and rinse my hands off, before running my fingers through her hair. She passes me the shampoo from the shelf, and I squeeze some into my hand, rubbing it through her long locks and massaging her scalp as she leans under the flow. The water runs a shady pink color, eventually rinsing out to the creamy white of the shampoo, and then clear.
I continue washing her, paying attention to every scrape and bruise, working her sore muscles and leaving her leaning against the wall as she hums in quiet contentment. She reaches for the body wash, but I take it first, shaking my head.
“Hop out and dry off, woman, otherwise we’ll be here all fuckin’ night.”
She wraps her fingers around my semi-hard length and gives it a gentle tug on her way out the shower door. “Later.”
Later. It’s a promise that this thing isn’t temporary, and that she isn’t going to wake up in the morning and regret the decisions that brought her here with me. I watch as she towels herself off, paying special attention to the still puffy flesh between her legs when she bends over to dry her feet.
I always thought that a good woman was one who lived inside the constraints of the law, and that a good woman could never match up to a man like me because our worlds would be so vastly different. A man like me. I always thought I was the bad guy, the danger in the shadows, but as I smile at Ryan pulling my T-shirt back on over her inked torso, I realize one important truth.
Maybe I’m not an entirely good man, but I am a good man, and she brings out the best of it. And if I can live in a world as corrupt and lawless as this, what the hell ever stopped me from finding a good woman who could do the same?
The fact you hadn’t found her, yet. That’s what.
FINAL BLOW
Ryan
Bronx gives me a slap on the ass for being cheeky as we reach the top of the stairs, laughing as he jogs ahead and takes the steps two at a time. I pull the neck of his T-shirt over my nose while I watch him go ahead, and inhale. The cotton smells like him, all masculine and musky. It’s a smell I’ll forever associate with belonging. With him.
I make my way downstairs and walk into the common room to find the biker-to-free-space ratio has close on doubled. A heap of new eyes swing my way, and the smile I’d been proudly wearing slips away as I freeze on the spot. Bronx steps away from King and a sandy blond guy I don’t know, coming over to take me by the hand.
“It’s okay. They’re all friendly.”
He pulls me toward King and the stranger as I scout the room again, my gaze stopping on one shorter guy whose veins pop in his forearms as he flexes and releases. Friendly. Yeah, right.
Bronx looks between me and where I’d been looking, before frowning as he shakes his head. “Knock it off, Jo-Jo. You’re freakin’ her the fuck out.”
The guy’s lip lifts in a sneer and he turns away, ushered across to the bar by some bearded goliath.
“How you feelin’ after a wash down?” King asks, a knowing twinkle in his eye. “Refreshed?”
Bronx punches him in the arm. “Don’t you start.”
“At least he’s not lookin’ at me like he wants to kill me.” I glance over my shoulder at Jo-Jo, who’s staring at me again.
“Relax,” the new guy says. “He stares at all the bitches he wants to fuck into submission like that.” The guy laughs, all perfect white teeth and piercing blue eyes.
“You’re not helping,” Bronx growls, pulling me to his side when he sees the look of shock plastered over my face.
“Fuck, just tellin’ it how it is, brother.”
“Ryan,” King says, slapping the new guy on the chest, “meet Sawyer.”
Oh. If he’s here, then Harris must be close by as well. “Hi, Sawyer,” I say, moving to use Bronx as a partial shield while I look around for my dad. The stuff I’ve heard about Sawyer is brutal. I look again at his striking face, all hard angles and soft lips, and muse that he’s pretty much the epitome of a smiling assassin. If I was going to be murdered, it might as well be by such a beautiful man.
He holds his hand out to shake mine, and I tentatively accept. “Nice to meet you,” he replies. “You’ve got your old man’s eyes.”
I do? My hand finds its way to my face. I guess I’d never really thought about it.
“We using the meeting room?” Sawyer asks King.
I look between the three men, and a sick sense of dread sinks to the base of my gut. Bronx’s hand tightens around mine, and I look to the contact, wondering why he’s so calm. Where is my dad?
“Yeah,” King says. “He’s already set up in there.”
Set up? What the hell is going on?
I follow them to the room beside King’s office, letting Bronx lead me through the people drinking and chatting about what must have happened today. As we stop for Bronx to collect a well-dressed guy who completely doesn’t fit in around here, my ears pick up on the key phrases: opened fire, went down, what he deserved. I’m turning them over in my head as Bronx steps aside to let me enter the room first.
Harris. My shoulders sag, and a smile tugs at my lips as I take in exactly what they meant by ‘set up.’ He sits on the far side of the table, two seats turned to face each other so he can rest a leg on one while sitting on the other. There are grazes on his face, a bandage around his hand.
“Are you okay?” I round the table to take a seat beside his feet while the sharp-dressed guy shuts the door behind us all.
“Been better.” Harris smiles.
I let go of a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding as Bronx pulls out a chair beside me, and sits. King and Sawyer take their places across the table, and the somber mood hangs heavy and thick between the men—especially Harris and King.