Two Hitmen: A Double Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 1) (28 page)

Amon filled me so full and so hard I sucked on Tyler’s and Brock’s cocks, and I yanked on my nipples in turn. I bit my forearm and my hands clutched. His length was almost unbearable, but at least he wasn’t as wide as his brother Brock.

As Amon beat his rod hard into my soft canal, I felt him twitch, he growled, and I knew that it was going to be time for him to cum again. Amon’s second salty salvo splashed inside me, and his growl was like low thunder as he came.

Tyler stroked my hair as he lifted me gently onto his cock. My legs and arms wrapped tight around him so he wore me like a skin.

My plump, wet softness opened wide to let him in, and my walls closed around him, hugging him. His length was breathtaking, and his girth, heart stopping. Tyler pumped into my pussy with his wonderful wand. His thighs beat against mine and his balls slapped gently against my ass.

Tyler was just right. He filled me with his perfect hot cum. I squeezed, sucked, and bucked against him with every part of me to get every drop I could out of him. Tyler’s cum was hot and slick and it filled me to perfection.

He growled, I shouted, and we came together like the clouds of a bursting rainstorm.

Afternoon was fading into an autumn evening as we sat on deck and the sun began to set. Brock said, “You are going to be our perfect mom, Ceris.”

Amon brought champagne on a silver tray and he said, “You are the woman we have all been dreaming of.”

I looked in Tyler’s eyes as he told me, “You will be the perfect mother for our cubs.”

“About the servings, Tyler.”

He stroked my hair. “Yes, Ceris. What about them?”

“What are the third and fourth servings like?”

INNOCENT
Knights of the Lost Highway MC

Alice May Ball

For Gat, my rock.

Without you, it wouldn’t mean a thing

Her eyes flickered and flinched as the big biker laid her out on the pool table. His eyes widened at her soft, undulating breasts. With his forearm behind her knees, he lifted her red, stinging thighs up to her chest. Her hands stretched out and grasped as he pressed down.

She shook and cried out as he slapped her ass. A grin spread wide across his thick, powerful lips and he plunged his mouth onto her swollen and sore lips.

She shuddered and as she shook and moistened, his tongue fanned her. She throbbed there and her body convulsed. He sucked on her. When she moistened, he drank greedily. His long tongue probed and explored her soft opening mercilessly.

Her waves of vibration swelled to a gathering crest, her thighs, her stomach and her buttocks clenched and released. Tightened and relaxed. When her walls gripped on his tongue, her mouth sagged and his hand closed around her throat.

Through the grimy glass, the spotty gas station clerk could not have been less interested. He barely pulled his half-closed eyes from the screen. His voice crackled through a tinny speaker, “That card’s been declined, ma’am. Do you have another card you can use for payment?”

Bad news, baked dry in the Nevada heat.

It had to be a mistake. I stepped away from the pay window and called Larry. My cellphone went straight to a machine that said, ‘there is no service on this number at present.’

Perfect. I was about to put it away when I saw that a text had come in. ‘Your service has been terminated due to non-payment,’ and a number to call. I called the number.

I got the machine again, telling me that there was no service.

Practically the middle of the desert, I had enough gas for about twenty miles and that was it. Eight dollars and forty cents in cash. I figured my best, safest option was to drive back to the one-street blur that I passed through about six or seven miles back.

I remembered thinking
Here’s somewhere I’ll never need to see more of
. I was out the other side, back into dusty desert scrub before the thought was even finished.

Now I turned around and drove back. I found a post office that doubled as a bus station. An empty diner with peeling paint the color of rust right next door. With a sorry-looking grocery store by the gas station at the other end, that seemed to be the town, pretty much.

It must be a riot here on a Saturday night.

Driving back from a visit to Tuscon, my tiny denim skirt and a thin t-shirt with no bra was fine for driving. I hadn’t expected to be out of the car any longer than it took to buy gas, why worry? That was way back when I still thought I could buy gas.

The little diner looked like most of my available options. I parked out front. In the dusty lot were two cars, in no better shape than my little brown Honda, and a motorcycle.

I could get a coffee and sit. Take a rest from driving. Then some miraculous idea would pop into my head out of nowhere. I knew better than to try and think more than a few minutes ahead. Life with Larry had me primed for emergencies.

Over the door a little bell jingled as I stepped in. The young hottie who was serving didn’t seem to mind one bit how I was dressed.

He was wiry and trim, about nineteen, with his hair razored into tribal swirls to match the ink on his arms and his neck. His skin was tanned and smooth. The little white apron looked out of place, hanging below his lean, bare midriff, but not in a bad way.

He watched as I took a seat facing the window.

His rolling gate brought him slowly to my table and I looked a second time to check; nope, the little apron looked fine as his big thighs slid behind it.

“Hi,” he said, pencil and pad in hand, “I’m Beanie,” he grinned a little as he jabbed the pencil at a name tag on his broad chest. I carried on watching his midriff. Make sure nothing bad happened to it, you know?

His soft gray eyes lit when I lifted mine. “Coffee,” I said.

A tight smile waved through his lips. As he walked away I turned to watch his ass. He was too young for me. I thought probably I ought to tell that to myself a couple of times.

I watched the traffic, what there was of it. A truck rumbled by every few minutes. Occasionally a car. A biker on a big, black Harley ducked his head to peer through black shades into the diner as he thundered past. I guessed he was Beanie’s buddy.

The bike out front was likely Beanie’s, too, then. I was getting to feel right at home. Just as well, since I probably couldn’t call anyplace else home, not just right then.

So finally, Larry had maxed out my card, busted our cell contract and probably made a moonlight dash from our little apartment in Boulder Colorado. The last two months, I knew there was something off about him saying, “I’ll take the rent. Give me the cash and I’ll drop it by to Mrs Oakham.”

I guess I knew but I didn’t want to believe it. Whether that was because I didn’t want to believe he really was such a slimeball, or if I simply didn’t want to accept the fact that my own judgment was so messed up. We all just believe what we need to believe. Hold on to it until something drags it away from us.

When I met Larry, I was such an innocent.

That jerk. It wasn’t the rough treatment that I minded so much. I’m a grown up, you know? What I hated was him being a dick about it. Daddy used to hand out ‘slaps’ as regular reminders of something. I don’t remember what.

Daddy didn’t hover, dithering, holding himself back. He didn’t lash out and then collapse in tears, crying that he didn’t mean it and it wouldn’t ever happen again. When Daddy hit you, he meant it and you knew it.

Aside from the nails on chalkboard whine of a man demeaning himself, you can’t argue or discuss with someone who’s constantly swearing they didn’t mean it and they’ll never do it again. They make themselves the victim.

Asshole.

When I asked for a refill, Beanie brought the pot. He lowered his voice to say, “I’m only supposed to refill you with a food order.” Cute. There was nobody out here to hear him but me.

I watched the traffic some more. I’d have to find a payphone. Call Jamie in Tuscon. Listen to her saying, “I’m not going to say I told you so…” But then what, ask her to drive out here,
Oh, and could you bring some money, please?
Else, what, call Daddy? NO way.

“I got an order of scrambled with a stack.” He was there again, “I must have got it wrong. Don’t suppose you’d like them, would you? They ain’t going nowhere.” I looked up at Beanie. I thought, There’s nobody else here, Beanie. Who could they have been for?

I told him, “I’m too old for you, Beanie.”

He looked me over, slowly, “Oh, no, ma’am.” He grinned, “No, you’re not.”
So
innocent.

“See? You don’t know what I mean when I say that I’m too old for you. You think I’m just talking about the difference in our ages.” I watched the clouds drift over his pretty face. “I mean that I’d burn you up.”

There was a sigh under his voice as he left, “You have no idea how much I’d like that, ma’am.”

I thought,
I do, Beanie, I really do. I know how much you think you’d love it. And I know what it could really do to you
.

I swallowed my pride and gratefully scarfed down the eggs, waffles and bacon with hash browns on the side. Nothing ever cheers you quite like diner food.

While I was eating, the Harley crackled by, going the other way. Slower this time. And the rider looked into the diner window more attentively.

I thought about Beanie. About the lithe, wiry weight of him, flowing like lava. He moved like a dancer. All that young, sensual sinew, toned and supple under his lightly tanned skin. I watched the flashes of his athlete’s girdle, the
iliac furrow
. Aphrodite’s handles. They’re a real trigger for me, those two little clefts, pointing the way.

His tats. I thought about how they would roll and undulate as they slid over his muscles. How his muscles would clench and flex.

The eager light in his pale blue eyes. A little furrow pulling his short, neat eyebrows together. His lips, stretching back and tightening over his strong, white teeth. The sounds he would make.

I was distracted. Inside my short denim skirt, I was getting pretty hot. My little sheer panties felt too tight. Too hot. And way too wet. My hips tilted and I shifted in my seat.

All this longing came on so fast. Was it the shock and fear of being alone again, single, or was it just the pent-up passions that I’d not been connecting with for the past few months?

I guess that’s a defense mechanism of mine. While I was imagining the flowing ridges of that boy’s shoulders and his thickening, hardening, reddening neck, it kept my mind distracted and away from panicking about my situation.

The black motorcycle returned. This time the rider leaned the bike over and made a sweeping turn onto the lot in front of the diner. The muffled crack, like machine gunfire under a fat mattress, drew louder.

His black shades matched the two big lamps on the front of the bike. He sat low and easy in the deep saddle. His arms were almost straight to the short handlebars. He leaned again, harder this time, and made a slow arc to bring the bike in front of the window. The fat back tire in was front of me. He faced out and away.

He killed the engine. He was tall, dark haired and broad. The swing of his leg over the bike was easy and fluid. His tight, round ass looked hard under the loose denim. On the back of his cutoff leather jacket was a biker club patch. It read,
Knights of the Lost Highway
.

His hands, in fingerless gloves, ran through the shaggy mop of his hair. His nose creased and he swung up the two little steps to the door of the diner. The swing of his hips was something to watch.

A tattoo on his cheek with a red dagger matched the design on his MC patch. His face turned to me and his head dipped slightly. His golden-brown eyes shone at me over the tops of his shades. He sauntered over to Beanie and they bro-hugged with some energetic pats.

A chair scraped and they sat at a table together. They were out of my view, or at least they were unless I turned to watch them. I could have. I wanted to.

Their voices murmured together a while. When the chair scraped again, the biker appeared in front of me. His voice was low, dark and honeyed.

“So,” his chin lifted as he spoke to me, “S’up?” There was an mused sparkle in his voice.

I told him, “I was passing through. Thought I might stay and check out the night life.”

His bottom lip pushed up a little, pulling on the cleft in his chin. “There’s a little more to Peaceable than you might have seen.” Maybe I scratched his civic pride.

“This seat free?” He indicated the chair across the table from me.

“Sure,” I said. My voice wasn’t quite as level as I would have liked. I extended a hand to invite him. I wondered for a moment if I was too young for him, like Beanie was too young for me.

He was courteous. Almost making a joke of it, “Thank you, ma’am,”

“Belle,” I told him.

His grin spread. Before he could say anything, I held up my hand. I said, “My folks were so poor, they couldn’t afford an imagination.”

He grinned. “We could be related,” he told me as he held his hand across the table. “Hammer.” My eyes were on his as I took his hand.