Two Hitmen: A Double Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 1) (75 page)

He shouted, wild and abandoned and I went faster, harder. The size of him, the length of him filled me and in that moment I had him, I had him all. His spunk exploded into my mouth so hard I nearly gagged.

All of my practicing, I wasn’t ready for that, I but I was still able to suppress the reflex. I licked and sucked and pumped and out shot a steady beat of smoking hot, silky, salty, delicious drenching jizz.
 

It filled my mouth and I relished it like a rare wine. I savored it and greedily drew in all of the taste and the smell and the smoothness of it. As he pulled out I put my lips together and squeezed a milky line of magic man-juice out for him to see, and one little dribble ran from the corner of my mouth.

The stamping, shouting and yelling started, but I was ready, I jumped on a table, gleaming with sweat and dripping in musky juices, my breasts swinging, and I shouted and waved a glass to toast my ecstatic congratulations to Blaze.

I made sweeping eye-contact with the whole wild rabble of spectators, and I had enough force to persuade them that Blaze was the champion of this heroic event. That
he
was the triumphant hero, that the laurels and garlands were all due to him.
 

And, for the first time, he sat for the applause. His face turned up towards mine and he actually smiled. He was accustomed to having the adulation, and he was practiced at taking it. He may never have had somebody hand it to him before. My heart beat so hard I felt it could burst.

We partied in the suite, and in the suites nearby, and for an hour or two, Blaze really seemed to be happy and relaxed. We chatted with the sound guys and swapped tall tour tales, we hung out with the musicians and dancers, we quaffed champagne with decorum and we slugged shots with abandon. Blaze too a couple of meetings in the bathroom with a guy in shades.

We were dancing out on the balcony in the cool night air, three of the dancers dancing with us, winding their arms and legs around me, and around Blaze.

Their naked breasts and thighs slipped and wrapped around us. I was feeling only slightly uneasy about it, and only every now and then, since I Blaze and I had made such a very strong connection earlier on.

I guess I wanted to keep that moment alive, and perhaps I wanted it a bit more than Blaze did. Hard to say now. A skinny redhead had wrapped herself all the way around him.

She was on his muscular thigh, stroking it hard with her barely covered puss, she pressed her breasts over every part of him where they would go. He grinned that leery grin, and held my ass in his big hand. He slipped his hand around front and into my pants, gave me a little rub and a squeeze.
 

As always, my juices couldn’t get onto him fast enough. He took his hand back and I followed it to his face as he smelled his fingers with obvious pleasure. Then he slipped them into the dancer’s mouth and I yelped. I glowered at her, then at him. The whole balcony stopped still to watch for a fraction of a second.

His forearm caught me right across my cheek bone. The shock unbalanced me more that the blow, and I toppled head down, ass up. My view was a forty story drop to the street below, I was spinning, and my hand struck something hard.

Fingers gripped reflexively before I had completely worked out what was going on. This was the wrong side of the balcony. The outside. My shoulder hurt like hell, but my hand had a grip on the rail. The sounds of the party were more distant, and the sounds from the street more present as I swung in the chill night air.

My fingers didn’t have enough grip to hold me, and I couldn’t move them at all to improve my hold. I swung to throw my other hand at the rail, and lost my grip. The balcony vanished upwards, my nostrils were jammed with an uprush of air and the party sounds drifted away as I fell. I did catch Blaze’s voice, shouting. I got the word ‘bitch,’ but not much else as the wind rushed upwards.

My armpit felt a massive jolt, then the crook of my elbow and my flailing fall halted. The balcony rail one floor down had snagged my arm, or my arm had hooked it. Either way, it was still a very long way down. This time I was able to reach my other hand up to the rail and grab a hold.

A pain in my shoulder was making me faint, worse as I worked a leg up to the rail. My weight was still the wrong side of the drop, and I slipped again. I had to press my bad arm into the inside of the balcony to heave myself over the rail, and I fell with a thud to the floor, landing hard on my shoulder.

I was on the balcony, though, so I wasn’t dead yet. A lot of shouts came from above, and I heard, ‘The room down stairs,’ ‘Get the cunt,’ and, ‘finish this.’ I don’t think any of those voices were Blaze’s.

There was blood on the balcony floor, which I guessed must be mine, but more pressing was the need to get out of there before a gang of vigilantes made it down from the party above. The balcony curtains were closed, and dim lights showed through.

That didn’t mean that anyone was in the room. People often leave the lights on in hotel rooms when they go out, like it’s some kind of a luxury. If there was no-one in, the mob may not get to me easily, but they’d station a trusty biker at the door. And I wasn’t going anywhere. While I was still figuring it out and dragging myself to the window, I saw a shadow behind the curtain, and the glass slid back.

“Dropped by for a nightcap?”

The soft, low, southern drawl of a neat, burly man in a robe, coming out towards me. He reached out to take my arm with a huge, firm hand. I staggered a little, and he steadied my with his other arm, guiding me into the room. He wasn’t much taller than me, but he seemed very strong and I felt very safe. I said,

“I have to get out of here,”

As we stepped into to room, huge like the one above, but with no crowd, dancers or circus acts, he said,

“We have to get that shoulder looked at before you go anywhere.”
 

He was neat, with very short, wiry brown hair, twinkling blue eyes and an amiable look on his strong features. I said,

“They‘re coming down after me from upstairs, and I don’t want to be here.”

He said,

“Don’t worry about that. Make yourself comfortable in the second bedroom for just a minute or two. Then we’ll get you all fixed up, OK?” his voice was so able, so calm and so completely assured that I trusted him.

I did as he said and I went where he guided me. As I closed the bedroom door, I saw him open the door from the suite to the hallway and then carry an open book back to a sofa.

The ‘ping’ of the elevator along the hallway was followed by a bursting rush of boots and male voices outside. As they approached, I heard the pad of bare feet in the room beyond, crossing the thick carpet to the door. Then Blaze’s voice,

“Hey, we just lost a girl, and I think she may have come through your window,”

Then, the smooth, easy tone of the occupant,

“Yeah, I don’t usually expect guests that way. Anyway, she seemed in a hurry. You just missed her, she headed out towards the stairs, thataway.”

Some uncertain grunting followed, and some boots in a couple of directions and considerable rush. The sound faced as the door to the suite closed, and I just heard the pad of bare feet on carpet to the door I was pressed against. And his calm, strong voice,

“They’re gone for now,” and he waited until I turned the doorknob to let him in.

“We certainly have time to fix your shoulder,” he took my arm in one hand and put the other on my shoulder. As well as hurting like hell, it felt completely alien and all wrong. He said,

“This is going to hurt, a lot,” his blue eyes had an easy confidence that I felt reflected in me. OK, it was going to hurt a lot. But that would be alright. Before I had time to think or say anything, he yanked my arm and pressed on my shoulder, and he proved as good as his word. It hurt. A lot. I didn’t make a sound, though, and he gave me a big easy smile for that. I felt safe as he stroked my cheek.

“You’re a smart girl.” he said, “And tough with it.” I said,

“Are you a doctor? How do you know how to do that?”

He smiled as he said,

“Marines get to learn all kinds of good tricks.”

He asked if I was hurting anywhere else and I said,

“Nowhere that matters.”
 

From outside, I heard the rumble of a pack of big bikes. I recognised one of them.

My marine said,

“Could be an idea if we get you somewhere else now.”

That would be the first of many somewhere else’s.

Savage MC

Alice May Ball

“How can we know the dancer
from the dance?”

“You’re Angelica?” The big biker’s voice was low and hard as he looked me over. “You’re a gift. From Jake to me. A ‘thank you’ for good business.” I stood, pressed into the corner of the tiny, airless room. He took off the black shades. His dark, smoldering eyes traced my thighs and my tight butt in the frayed little denim cut-offs. My big, soft breasts, naked under the loose, low-cut tee, swelled and heaved as his eyes lingered and feasted on the rise and fall of my quaking curves.

His wiry black hair was pulled back tight into a high pony tail, like on a Chinese martial arts guy. Over a black hooded kutte, he wore a black leather motorcycle jacket. When he’d turned to shut the door behind him, I saw a motif of gang colors on the back. Savage MC it said. And a big ‘S’ around a long dagger. A heavy chain hung through the belt loops. Pull it out of the loops, swing it around, looked like it would make a fearsome weapon. Looked like there was a fearsome weapon in the front of his black leather pants, too, below the heavy silver buckle. A tattoo on his cheekbone looked like an ‘S’ with a dagger through it, like in the colors.

He stood in the doorway, the door closed behind him. Just me and him in the little wooden room. Airless and dim, only a small lamp on a table in the corner and a bigger table in the middle. No windows.

My big brown eyes burned at him and my husky Mexican accent sounded awkward over the English as I said to him, “Does it matter at all whether I want to be your ‘gift’?”

He looked down into my face and said, “Nope. Not a bit.” I bit my lip. He said, “If you don’t, well, Jake said I should fuck you anyway. ’Cause you need breaking in, he says. An extra part of the gift.”

I breathed hard. He was big. I’m small. I couldn’t have stopped him. He could have had my little tee and my shorts off in no time. Do whatever he wanted with me. The thought made my breath catch. Thinking what he might do. The bulge in the front of his black leather pants was huge. Had to have been one hell of a big cock straining inside there.

Only three days ago, I was back in my home village for the weekend, dancing at my cousin’s wedding. Uncle Cesar made a big speech to my parents and his other two brothers and their wives. I was in the room when he gave the great news. That all of the girl children were going north to cross the border. Come to the USA. He had arranged people to bring us. This was our ‘Great Opportunity,’ was what he called it.
 

Our parents, my Mama and Papa included, they all raised their drinks and cheered. I looked at my little sister Inez. Eighteen years old, her birthday less than a week ago. We looked at all of the other girls. All our age. Their faces, like ours, frozen in disbelief. We all looked at Cesar, our uncle. Did he believe what he was saying? Afterwards I tried talking to uncle Cesar. “You know that I’m in law school in Mexico City. I don’t need to cross the border with some traffickers.”

“Don’t worry,” Cesar told me, a brandy in his hand and a cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth, “You’ll finish your studies in California. New York, maybe. Or maybe you go to Harvard. How would you like that?” It was all bullshit, but Cesar was firm. I had known this man all of my life, literally since I was born I knew uncle Cesar. Now, suddenly he was a stranger. My father told me with a bleary smile,

“It’s all been arranged. It’s going to be great, you’ll see.” Mama wouldn’t look at me. I couldn’t believe it. But, next morning at dawn, eight of us were woken up by Cesar and four huge American biker guys bundled us, tired and half asleep into the back of a truck. The bikers were nice enough and polite, but they were brisk and, however friendly they seemed, they all carried those little black machine pistols. One biker, big bear of a man with evil, narrow shades and frizzy ginger hair tied back, sat in back with us. He had a black kerchief knotted around his head, and a heavy leather bike jacket with lots of zippers and tassels on all of them. It had its own belt and, like his boots, it jingled when he moved. He sat on a trunk by the door with a big, shiny pump-action shotgun by his side. Lola, naturally, bottle-blonde, big-eyed Lola of the push-up and stilettos slid onto the trunk by his side. She was whispering in his ear in no time, then she had her hand on his thigh, then sliding up and down his stomach. Up under the heavy motorcycle jacket. Before long her hand got lost behind the huge, jingling buckle on his wide leather belt and down the front of the biker’s jeans.
 

As we bumped on the road, my cousin Raimunda told me that uncle Cesar had paid more than a thousand US dollars for each of us, to get us across the border. Given the money in cash to the American biker gang. She said, “Cesar’s no fool, you know that,” And that was certainly true. But why would he want to spend money, and so much money, to get all of us into the US? And why only the girls? And why were his two daughters not in the truck with us? Raimunda said, “I had been thinking about that. Maybe he wants to see that it all works out before he sends Ana and Paola.”

“Maybe.” I said. Lola by now was sitting real close to the ginger-haired biker. Her hand was way down his pants and his hands were in the low scoop of her top. She was giggling and batting her eyelids and I figured we were in for a major performance pretty soon. “Poor little Lola,” I said to Raimunda, “Hasn’t got a clue.”

“Always thinking of herself,” said Raimunda. Most girls resented Lola to some extent. Understandably, but I thought it was a shame.