She feels like fucking satin. She’s smooth, wet, warm, and I have to pause to keep from coming—and I haven’t even gotten started. I distract myself with her mouth—kissing her softly at first, then building it up until we’re both breathless. Her hips jerk. Her legs tighten. She pulls my hair so hard it hurts. She’s doing everything in her power to get me to fuck her. And when I finally get my shit together, fuck her is exactly what I do.
When she screams, I match it with a growl and slam her small body on top of me, over and over. I’m hurting her . . . but it’s the good hurt. The kind that has her hissing in pain and begging for more in the same breath. My fingers dig into her sweet ass that fits perfectly in my hands. Her fingers claw into my back, tearing deeper into my flesh with every pump of my hips.
We’re scarring each other.
Hurting each other.
Torturing each other.
And it’s never felt so fucking good.
“I fucking hate you,” she says through her teeth, moving her hips to meet me.
“Not as much as I hate you,” I growl, and like the fucked-up creatures we are, our words are our undoing.
She screams as her pussy clenches around me. Her orgasm wracks through her body violently. I bury myself deep, stilling so she can feel the way my cock pulses as I come inside her. I don’t cover her in sweet kisses or tell her how awesome she was. Because she already knows. Instead, I bury my face in her neck, nipping at her skin with my teeth, then licking it with my tongue. She rubs her hands across the swollen scratches on my back. It’s as intimate as we get, and neither of us would have it any other way.
Slowly, her legs untangle from my waist. I hold her by her hips until she can stand on her own. But even then, I don’t want to let her go. Not just yet. I keep her pressed against the wall, sympathizing with my cock that softens the instant the cool air of the room hits it—no doubt in shock after leaving the hottest, sweetest pussy it’s ever been inside of.
“I’m still leaving,” she says, breathless and beautiful and impossibly fucking infuriating.
“You can try.” I place my forehead against hers, trying to find the strength to take my hands off her hips.
“What if I do?” I hear the smile in her tone and can’t keep from smiling myself.
“Then you do.” I lean closer, biting her ear before whispering, “And I’ll just fuck the urge out of you again.”
12
DIEM STAYED. SHE tried to leave twice. Keeping good on my word, I fucked it out of her both times. But when I woke up this morning, she was gone. All that was left was a note.
Shithead,
Playtime is over for me. I have to get back to work. Maybe I’ll call. Maybe I won’t.
—D
She’ll call. I’m sure of it.
I spend the day trying to get my house back in order. When she left, she made sure to leave me with the mess she created. I think it was her way of punishing me. But a part of me is glad she’s gone. I need the time to get my head back in the game. I have plans this week. Plans for death. I drive north to Tamworth, New Hampshire, calling Rookie when I’m fifteen minutes out. We meet up at a motel with Tank to go over the plan once again.
The chapter has ten patch holders that would be present at church. They don’t have a clubhouse, so instead they meet up in the president’s shop located just outside his house. As is tradition in their chapter, the ol’ ladies gather inside the house, which is about forty feet from the shop. And most of the time, the Prospects stay under the porch, completely out of view of the shop, until the meeting is over.
So not only are we putting Prospects at risk, but now the ol’ ladies are a potential threat too. Rookie has been staking out the site for quite some time and assures me the women never come outside. To take out ten patch holders in one night would be worth the risk. But I know if I had to kill a woman, it would be a hard pill to swallow.
The house is located on a river, providing us with an escape route just through the woods. The issue there is getting all the bodies out of the shop, drug through the woods, and into the boat that will take us to the truck. And we couldn’t leave a blood trail. I was beginning to think the job was impossible, but leave it to Rookie to come up with something in that crooked-ass mind of his.
“Let’s drug ’em,” he says, shrugging at the suggestion like it was just that simple.
“And how the hell do you suppose we do that?”
“They end every meeting with a shot. We go in tonight, slip something in every bottle of liquor they have, and after they toast, it shouldn’t take but about five minutes. We wait, and if they don’t come out, we go in.”