Authors: JC Emery
“But,” she protests and retreats. Her eyes are wide, and she looks scared. I need her scared. Fear is the great motivator. Before she can get very far, I lean forward and grab the back of her neck and pull her close to me. Her nose is but an inch or two away from mine. Her body tenses up from the close proximity. She could consume me at this distance. Everything about this woman could suck me in and spit me out, leaving me confused as fuck for God only knows how long.
“That’s his job, you know,” I hiss. “He’s from New York, and he’s been sent here to kill his boss’s daughter. Make no mistake that you mean nothing to him. He will slaughter you and sleep like a baby afterwards. You are inconsequential to him.”
“Don’t,” she whispers. A single tear rolls down her cheek, and her lips tremble. “Don’t tell me this.”
I ignore her plea and continue, tightening up my grip on her neck so she knows I’m serious.
“I don’t have men to put on you anymore. You’re not a priority to the club. He kills you and that ties up our loose ends—that means if you leave this house, you’re unprotected, so you might as well go home and decide which outfit you want your mother to bury you in, that is, assuming anyone finds your body.”
SEVERAL MORE TEARS
fall down her cheeks but she doesn’t take her eyes off mine. She keeps herself steady despite her fear, and that’s something I can admire. She sucks in a shaky breath and fights off the wail that’s about to escape.
“Shh,” I whisper. I keep my voice gentle as I lean in and say, “It’s okay.” She sucks in a deep breath, her eyes widen, and she huffs. She lifts her fisted hands and pushes at my chest. Frustrated screams slip from her lips, and she closes her eyes as she tries with all her might to get away. It’s not enough to loosen my grip, and when she realizes this, she starts throwing her fists into my chest with no more success than before.
Maybe I went too far, or maybe I went just far enough. I don’t fucking know. But now she’s freaking out with no sign of calming down. I wrap my free arm around her waist and pull her to me and crush her to my chest. Her head rests on my shoulder. I’ve had my share of women in my bed. I’ve even cared about a few of them, but I can’t remember the last time I held one in my arms and comforted her.
She quiets instantly and stills in my arms, caught off guard by my actions. And then, she relaxes. She’s not the only one. This whole situation is just getting way too fucked up. I should have let Fish or Ryan fuck with her just enough to put the fear of God into her ass. But now, now I have no fucking idea what I’m going to do with her. I’ve already shown myself that I can’t hurt her, and I can’t seem to bring myself to scare her like I should—even if it is for her own good—and with her refusing to cooperate, I’m in a difficult position. If I’m going to be honest with myself, I have a pretty good idea why I’m struggling with this situation.
She pulls back just slightly and looks me in the eyes. It’s just a moment—one single moment in a hundred or so that we’ve shared. Her eyes mist over in the corners, and her chin shakes. She’s vulnerable, and here, and I’m able to do what it is I wanted to do last week. So I don’t waste any time. I tighten my grip on her and lick my lips. Her chin stops its movement, and she sucks in a shallow, nervous breath. She’s gorgeous like this. I start to move my face closer to hers, about to take what I want so desperately.
Her arms reach up and wrap around my neck, and she’s dragging her nose along my cheek. The sudden forwardness of her actions takes me by surprise. She’s breathy and quiet and needy when she says, “This might be the worst idea I’ve ever had, but I don’t care. I’m going to kiss you, and you’re going to kiss me back.”
I have to clear my throat to get the words out, and even then it’s rough and they practically get stuck in my throat. But I want this, possibly more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time, and for just right now I’m going to let that be okay. I’m a father, a brother, a soldier, but I’m also a man. “You sure you want to start this?”
“No, but you make me stupid,” she says. Her eyes dart down to my lips. Half a second later, she’s pressed up against me. Her lips ghost over mine, teasing me. I let her have her fun for half a moment before I pounce. With one arm cradling her and the other hanging onto her neck, I crawl over her and gently lay her on the floor beneath me. Resting my pelvis on hers, I create slow circles with my half-hard dick into her center. Our lips move together in an intense frenzy. At first it’s all tugging at flesh and hard pecks at the corners, and then finally I’m slipping into the heat of her mouth. She’s smooth and hot and wet and everything I expect and want from a kiss. Her pushiness and desire urges me on. My dick goes from semi-hard to practically fucking steel. She wraps her legs around my waist, but half a second later, she stops. I gave her plenty of warning, and now that we’ve started it, I’d like to fucking finish it. In an attempt to get her legs back where they were, I buck into her twice, but she doesn’t move. Her kisses slow, and she untangles herself from around me. As she pulls back, panting and gorgeous, she says, “What about that short guy you have following me?”
I let go immediately, pull back and sit up. If she’s going to play it like this, I’m fucking done now. I won’t torture myself by trying to convince her to wrap her lips around my cock and suck like her life depends on it.
She scrambles to do the same. I don’t want to stop what we’re doing, nor do I want to let her go, but the mood is kind of broken at the mention of Squat. She shouldn't know that Squat has been following her. I thought he would have been able to handle it when I assigned him the task, but I obviously overestimated his dumb ass. I only put him on her to begin with because I trusted that he wouldn't fuck it up. He won't be able to earn his cut if he can't do something as simple as tailing someone without getting busted, and I’m not thinking too favorably of him since he’s the reason I’m willing myself to go soft. The kind of business we handle and the risks we take require that the men who wear the Forsaken patch be able to blend into a crowd. Holly never should have been able to figure out that she was being followed. Not that it matters now, since Squat is being reassigned. I don't know who I'm going to put on Cheyenne, but it won't be that fuck up. That's a risk I won't be taking with my kid.
"You thought I didn't know?" she asks. Of course I thought she didn't know. I would've thought that an eager asshole like Squat wanted his top rocker enough to do the job right.
"Had to make sure you were keeping your mouth shut," I say. She doesn't say anything for a few minutes. She’s all nervous glances and heavy sighs with her lips smashing together and then pushing out. It almost looks like she's making one of those stupid fish faces that Cheyenne likes to do when she's getting her photo taken. But it's more than that—she's not trying to look cute or sexy. She's working through something silently, and I think I spent enough time around her by now to know that she won't speak until she's ready.
"I told you that I won't say anything. You won't take me at my word, so if I have to take the money to get you to believe that I'm not going to do anything to get you or your club into trouble, then I will." And that's exactly the problem. We deal with a lot of shady as fuck people in our line of business. I learned two things in my last twenty years with his cut on my shoulders: number one, everybody has a price; and number two, that there is no such thing as getting something for nothing. And the fact that she won't take my money makes me think she's going to take my freedom. Only, she doesn't seem to be malicious or deceitful. If I didn't know any better, I would think that she really just wanted to be left alone. Which is a damn shame because the more time I spend around her, the more aware I am of her presence.
"Stay here," I say. She is an adult and responsible for own fate, but I can't help the bad feeling that I get from the idea of letting her walk. She hasn't told me what exactly went down between her and Mancuso's guy, but from the way she avoids the topic altogether, I'm starting to worry that it was more than she's letting on. And if he has taken an interest in her, then she’s screwed.
"No," she says. She gives me a small shake of her head, and then her shoulders rise in the air, stay for a beat, and fall. "I was an idiot for thinking that it could be a good idea to let Cheyenne think that were sleeping together. Now my boss is asking questions and even Mindy thinks I'm hiding something from her. If I stay here, it's only going to make everything worse."
"You won't stay here because people are asking questions, so you would rather be murdered to avoid a few uncomfortable conversations?" I don't even know what the fuck to say about this shit anymore. I've tried my best to get it through her thick skull that getting dead is a very real possibility here. She shifts in place and looks down at her lap. Her fingers work at the hem of her blouse.
"The more time I spend with you, the more that guy is going to think I matter. It's better for you and Cheyenne that I stay away. If he thinks we know each other then he can use me as leverage. You have enough to worry about with Cheyenne and your club. You don't need to worry about me as well."
“Stay,” I say again, quieter this time.
“I don’t fit in here.”
“Yes, you do,” I whisper.
“But, I don’t.”
“You’re insane, and ballsy, and you handle your shit. You fit in here alright.”
I sound like a pussy.
Her silence is unnerving. She doesn’t react to my fucked-up attempts at getting her to stay for a long moment, then she says, “But I don’t
want
to be those things.”
I don't give her anything for a good minute or so. I've nothing to give. She doesn’t want this and I won’t force it. On one hand, she makes sense. Her staying here could make it look like she means something to me, which she doesn't. Well, more than I want her to, anyway. Still, that doesn't address the fact that she's already had words with this guy and apparently the asshole pulled a gun on her. But she's made her choice, and I'm not the kind of man who begs.
I can walk away from this.
"Fine. You've made your choice. I just hope it doesn't come back to bite you in the ass,” I grit out.
She stands to leave and says a few words on her way toward the door. Things like thank you and other bullshit pleasantries tumble from her mouth as she closes the door behind her. The air in the room changes, no longer charged and now kind of empty. I hate that she's even partially right about Mancuso's guy seeing her as a bigger threat if she stays here. On the other hand, it doesn't sit right with me to let her go and not know what she's up to. It's fucking insane, and what she does with her time is none of my goddamn business. But for the last few weeks Squat has kept me up to date on her comings and goings. Everything from what kind of takeout she orders to where she shops and how often has been logged, in code, in a palm-sized notebook that he carries around in his back pocket.
Innocuous little details like knowing that she and her cousin Mindy eat at Sea Salt Pizza about twice a week, and that she's stopped by Early Bird Hardware twice in the last two weeks, but has only purchased something once, have left me wondering about all of the other dumb shit she does that I don't know about. Squat hasn't been able to figure out what kind of pizza she orders at Sea Salt yet, but he did get her coffee order for me. I should have paid attention when I ran into her there, but I was much too focused on pissing her off. I would be a liar if I said I had no idea why I want to know what kind of pizza she likes or what kind of coffee she drinks.
The last few minutes I spent with Holly Mercer make me realize something that I'd rather not admit: I like her. But it’s more than that. It’s deeper. She’s infuriating and pushy, and she doesn’t give a shit that I wear this cut. She is who she is, and fuck if that ain’t some kind of beautiful stupidity.
I don't want to like her, and I don't want the complication of trying to insert her into my life. But it's there, and I don't think it's going to go away anytime soon.
The door creaks as it opens, and there stands Elle. Her long black hair cascades over her shoulders and falls the top her old, worn brown leather jacket. Like always, she's wearing white jeans and a fitted top that stretches at her perfect fucking tits. She sees me notice the curves of her body, and a smirk appears at her lips. It’s easy between us. We both know what we’re after, and neither one is interested in fucking that up, and right now my dick couldn’t be more thankful.
After her father's death, it took me some time to shake the feeling of guilt that crept in because I'd been fucking my best friend's little girl for years and lying to him about it. I don't know that he would be pissed because one of his brothers did him like that as much as he'd be pissed that the asshole hadn't made Elle his Old Lady.
"You look tired," she says. As she walks into the room, she lets the door close behind her and twists the lock into place. There is only one reason she would lock the door. She doesn't move fast or anything, but it feels like one moment she's across the room and then she's right on top of me. First, she shrugs off her jacket and tosses it on top of the washer and dryer nearby. Then it's her top, and then her shoes. Her jeans slip down her long legs slowly, and finally she's just in her bra and panties. I crook my finger, and she drops to her knees. Her gorgeous fucking rack is in my face and her hot pussy just a foot away, I let out a heavy breath. My muscles tighten as I lean forward and move onto my knees. She places her hands on my shoulders and presses her tits into my chest. Her nipples are hard as they press into my cut. It's always good between us, and I'm more than up for a guaranteed orgasm, but tonight I just don't feel like doing any work.
"Long day," I say. I don't give her anything else—if I do, she'll ask too many questions. She and Chief didn't have the best relationship for a few reasons. Him leaving her mother for her stepmother, Barbara, left a tear in their father-daughter bond. But what created the furthest distance between them was that Elle never understood that club business wasn't any of her business. It's only been a few times that I've had to remind her that I don't shoot the shit about my brothers. Period. But even a few times is a few too many. So instead, I reach around to her ass and give it a squeeze. She's soft and supple, and the purr that escapes her lips is enough to get my dick hard. There's nothing better than a nice quick fuck at the end of the rough day.
When I slide my hand into the leg hole of her panties and assault her clit with my thumb, she grips my shoulders tighter. With my free hand, I undo my belt, pop open the button of my jeans, and slide down the zipper. She's quick to grab my dick through my boxers and slide her hand from the base to the tip and back again. It's a matter of minutes until we are both grunting and moaning. Just before she falls over the edge, she uses my shoulders as leverage and lifts herself up. And then slowly slides down my needy cock. I hold her at the waist to guide her movements. I let the day and all its bullshit wash away with the blissful fucking feeling of hot, wet pussy.