Текст книги "Broken "
Автор книги: L. S. Silverii
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 6 страниц)
Chapter 7
It was time for church. The small town of Mystic reverberated with the rumble of mighty horsepower as brothers of the Savage Souls Outlaw Motorcycle Club arrived for their Wednesday night services at the clubhouse. It was a weekly requirement for the Savage Nation, and the 4553 citizens of Mystic tolerated the drill.
Justice had relocated the club’s headquarter from Chicago to Colorado because he hated city life. Growing up, he and his blood brothers rummaged along the bayous deep in the heart of south Louisiana’s Cajun Country. While Chicago had wildlife, it wasn’t the kind he wanted to put up with. He’d tolerated the Windy City just long enough to snatch the reigns of power from an antiquated hierarchy. Those he left alive in Chicago weren’t ever going to be anything but pains in his ass—so he bugged out West.
The isolated town of Mystic didn’t seem to mind. The Sheriff of Custer County had actually become a regular at the clubhouse, but Justice wasn’t yet convinced he was one to trust. The Mystic Police Chief on the other hand was pure one hundred percent prick. She’d soon push Justice over the line, and when that day arrived, the big-mouthed top cop would find herself in a war she’d never win.
Church was a time set apart from the parties, dirty dealings, the fucking and fighting. It was a night where Justice held business meetings with full patch holders only. Prospects, supporters and hang-arounds were prohibited. Justice also made it well known that if a full brother missed church, he’d better have a damned good excuse.
The Savages acquired the old Western Ways Saloon, bed and breakfast and stables, from a supporter who’d served in the military. He often invited Justice for visits where they both enjoyed the free culture of America’s last western frontiers. It’s what attracted Justice to the place—people still believed in live and let live and limited government.
The new OMC clubhouse was less than a quarter mile inside the Mystic city limits. With ample space for regular members, visiting bothers were always welcomed at the vast estate. Although it had once served as a quant, rustic destination favored by tourists and families escaping the Denver Metro area, it now resembled a subculture’s stronghold. In true CIA paranoia, Justice had welded security bars to windows and replaced decorative carved doors with steel—the former hospitality center had now become a fortress.
Inside, the sanctuary was immaculate. Each week the old ladies, mamas and house mouse worked to clean the hell out of the business room. Military training had been embedded in Justice’s core values. Cleanliness was one of them.
He rocked back and forth in the wooden office chair, isolated from the gathering crowd. Concerned thoughts swarmed. His burden pressed heavy against both temples—he rubbed his brow often. His club, but mostly him, was under attack.
“I’m trying to keep my cool, Bro, but fucking Vengeance will destroy everything I worked to build.” His square chin rested on his reddened knuckles. “I should’ve left his addicted ass back on the bayou.”
“How could he have been so stupid?” Mercy asked.
“Shit if I know. All he had to do was snatch Geneti and torture the prick until he gave up the goods.” Justice slammed his fists onto the oak desk. “Son of a bitch, he murders the asshole instead. Him, I don’t give a shit about, but lord knows, that little boy. It turns my gut. My daughter’s not much older than him.”
Mercy patted him on the shoulder. Himself the father of four girls, one daughter battling cancer, losing one scared the shit out of him.
“And could he have drawn anymore attention to the Nation? Fuck, the vehicle pileup had news choppers buzzing whole highway. The feds are going to be up our ass any day now. I’m not going down on a racketeering charge because Vengeance can’t keep his drug habit and temper in check.”
Mercy’s hands were clasped together like he was in prayer, the tips of his fingers tapped against his teeth. “I know you say that, brother, but I also know he’s still our kin and we’ll do anything to protect his dumb ass. Savages Forever, Forever Savages.” Mercy said, turning to the door for church.
Justice waved him ahead. He had to think this through. The chapel was full, and brothers wanted answers. It was time to stitch the gaping wound.
Justice greeted each brother at the entrance before he bolted the conference area’s door closed. “Thanks for your loyalty to the Savage Nation and to your president. Please stand for the pledge of allegiance.”
Almost two hundred men, most who looked as if they’d escaped from prison or belonged there, stood rigid with their right hands over the American flag patch sewn on the upper left side of their cut. Not all were military, but enough so that the culture respected service to their country. Other than that virtue, there wasn’t much else admirable about the collection.
“What the fuck happened to Red out in Vegas?” called out a biker who looked to be in his sixties. The group muttered as the cordial tone shifted.
“He made himself dead. Red ratted us out to a mobster, and helped him set up the rip off. Confessed it was for the money.”
The old biker scoffed, “How we know it’s true?”
Justice’s blood ran cold, sinister fury bubbled beneath the surface. “Because I said so. You don’t trust your president, then drop your colors at the door,” he snarled. “It’s fuckers like you who took a shit on the black and blue decades ago. Instead of handling your business like men, you pretended to be bikers and ran from the conflict. It’s posers like you and Red who keep trying to sabotage the Savage Nation because you’re afraid of what it’s become—the real fucking deal.”
A chair scratched across the linoleum floor. It toppled and bounced. An older man groaned to stand straight. The former cafeteria hall echoed with the chair’s noise and his aching moans. Everyone else was silent—this shit was set to erupt sooner or later. The old guards weren’t happy with the power grab—they just didn’t know how to stop it.
Tommy Cloud stomped down the aisle. Shadows disappeared from his round face as he entered the lit area of the arena. Justice had to readjust his thinking, as he’d bet the old timer would’ve never walked out. Cloud’s eyes showed it was pride that drove him. Justice slid his right boot back to balance himself. His hammer-sized fist readied at his side. No need telegraphing it, but in case Cloud was unable to keep his shit in check, Justice would drop him.
“With all due disrespect, fuck you.” Cloud kept his distance but ripped the leather vest from his shoulders. It smacked to the ground.
“Thank you. I want everything belonging to the Nation,” Justice said.
Fury, the club’s treasurer, opened the door for Cloud. He also nodded to six other Savages who followed close behind the Cloud. Unfortunately, you didn’t just get to quit the club—it’d take a jumping out. Some didn’t survive the beating, but that was the risk of quitting.
Justice handed one of the six men his KA-BAR knife. “Take anything with our emblem on it.” The biker’s eyes were glazed with adrenaline. He nodded.
“Lets go, Jorge,” Fury yelled.
“Even tattoos,” Justice said.
Jorge nodded.
Justice raised his naturally low voice to speak above Cloud’s screams. Justice ground his teeth at the image of Jorge carving the tattoos out of Cloud’s skin. He’d been assigned to do it twice while a prospect in Chicago. One guy was a newbie who’d thrown himself into the outlaw life before realizing it wasn’t for him. Quitting wasn’t that easy. The other guy was an asshole, and that skinning wasn’t bad—he’d deserved it.
“Anyone else want to turn in their colors?” Justice glared across the sea of men.
Each menacing man was clad in black leather cuts adorned with patches that traced their time with the OMC like a wicked roadmap of deviance. The back of every full-patch member displayed a top rocker patch that read Savage Souls MC. The bottom rocker patch read Colorado, and the iconic passion cross, representing the cross of suffering centered in back of each cut. Everyone also wore the diamond shaped patch with the 1%’er displayed to show they were outlaws. They’d fought for these colors. Brothers had died defending them—the Savage Souls would never surrender their rights to roam.
“Can I ask a question?”
Justice spun to his left at the surprise of a question dared. The fingers on his right hand waved the biker on to continue. Tendons rippled in his flexed jaw as memories of removing the last biker’s tattooed skin swamped his mind.
“Go ahead.”
“I just came up from the South, so I don’t know shit, but why the rift between blood brothers and old guard?” The newbie was built like a Mr. Olympia, but he dropped his eyes and sat down.
Surprised by the legitimacy of his inquiry, Justice grinned. “Good question. When I pledged, the club sold me a false bill of goods. I wanted the same freedoms I had as a covert operative,” he recounted. “By the time I’d earned my patch, I’d become close enough to the leaders to understand they were bullshit artists that talked a great game but had no constitution about them. They’d become outcasts, not outlaws.”
“Then what, sir?” The brother was relentless, but respectful.
“I’d had enough, but I wasn’t quitting. Gave them a chance to retire—they said fuck me. I retired them.” Justice explained in an unconcerned monotone voice. “What’s your name?”
“James St. John, sir.” He had an unwrinkled face with longish hair brushed to the side, he looked like he could take care of himself. Justice recognized him as the chapter transplant from Tallahassee, Florida.
“You turning in your colors?”
“Never,” St. John said.
The air in the room made a sucking pop sound as the doors were jerked open. Jorge stood there, covered in blood. Slabs of inked skin flopped limp in his grasp. Blood dripped from the recovered tats.
“What the fuck, Jorge?” Vengeance had a look that was all eyes and teeth.
Justice, still pissed over the way Vengeance fucked up the Geneti kidnapping, heard the vehemence engrossed in his blood brother’s tone. The erratic behavior caused Justice to further distrust his own kin. He wondered whether Vengeance had run a line of dope before church began. He had the look. Elongated features stressed behind redden skin signaled he was back on the junk.
Jorge froze. An odd expression blanketed his swarthy complexion. His chapped lips dropped open, but he looked as though the experience of skinning Tommy Cloud had freaked him the fuck out.
“Jorge, pull it together,” Justice spoke in an unthreatening tone. His CIA training had taught him how to identify personalities and problems with them. Jorge was on the verge of a blood lust. If not controlled, he’d possibly seek the taste of it again—soon.
“We caught her.” Jorge gasped.
Rage stepped between Jorge and Justice. “Caught who?”
“This bitch.” Jorge snarled as he heaved a tall, thin woman across the threshold. Short black hair dangled over her battered but angular features. Moist blue eyes pierced through dark bangs.
“Who the fuck is she?” Rage tramped toward the girl. His fist rent against the empty air. “This is fucking church, bitch, are you insane?”
“Yes, I am insane.”
Chapter 8
His chamber was dark. The murmur of Black Sabbath’s music rumbled low in the background. Justice liked his room cold—cold enough to hang meat. He heard her struggling. The sound of flesh tapping against the icy, bare wall told him she’d been secured. A light was dialed to cast a glow over her stretched frame. Justice watched her strain to tiptoe over the sawhorse that sat split between her thighs. She fought to keep the tension off her wrists in suspended metal cuffs. They twisted against the stainless steel chain links attached to the ceiling.
“What are you going to do with me?”
Justice ignored her question. He remained in the shadows and watched—but his pulse quickened. His thumb and middle finger sandpapered each other. It was a tick or a habit or an involuntary technique he’d developed to keep his mind in the present. He had the habit of drifting back into combat or other traumatic events that provoked a violent reaction inside his body and mind. A simple act like rubbing his fingers together stopped the psychological drift.
“Answer me, damn it. I came here for you. Is this how you treat your treats?” She curled her full ass forward as her exposed pussy touched the sawhorse
Anger streaked through him. Who the fuck was she to order him? Justice was highly trained, but also highly volatile. One step closer to the breach of shadows and his breath turned to smoke as it mixed with the cold air and yellowish track of light.
“You motherfucker, say something,” she taunted.
Her naked body dangled from the shackles, but she’d seemed to grow accustomed to the bite of the metallic rings into her wrists. Small breasts looked even more so with both arms forced above her head. Solid erect nipples rose prominently. Matching stainless steel bars with balls were set in each pierced nipple. The cold temperature made them more firm. Justice thought he saw humidity collected across the bars.
Flawless skin without a single tattoo began to shimmer with a slight coat of moisture. Justice grinned at the chill bumps that covered her body and knew it’d be extra sensitive to the touch of his hand or his belt. Which one, depended on her attitude—so far it had been shitty.
Always on high alert, the last few days had his suspicions on hyper-drive. Fucking with the Las Vegas chapter and the rip off of a quarter million bucks had him on a razor’s edge. And now, during the Savage Nation’s sacred night of church, this bitch tries sneaking in. The faraway look in his eyes distorted his heart-shaped face. Usually composed, stress affected him.
“Say something or let me go. I’m tired of your fucking game of hide and seek.”
Justice inhaled until his massive lungs filled with cold, damp air. Scared knuckles across his wide right fist blanched white. His fingers gripped the heavy metal and copper belt buckle and jerked until the thick leather belt zipped out from around his waist.
At the sound, her eyes squinted across the soft glow to scan the darkness.
The belt hummed as it ripped through the air with a mighty draw to the rear. It snapped with the crack of a bullwhip as he twisted his hips to change its direction. The thrumming sound of leather slicing through air grew louder as the thick slab of cowhide raced from the shadows and picked up speed in the light.
She cried out as it ripped open skin between her left hip and rib cage. A light spray of water flung from beneath the belt tip. Her torso cringed. She heaved her left leg up close to her chest. The response to pain was temporary as her strength to hold the leg up faded fast. Blood seeped through the tear, but pooled quickly before reaching her thigh.
Justice exhaled while he leaned forward with the follow through. Righting himself, he listened—there was no cry. He returned to the shadows and watched.
“That all you got, big bad boy?”
“Why are you here?”
“Oh, he speaks.”
Justice slashed the leather belt back again and raked a wide red streak across her ass. This time she winched. His erection sprung at that sound.
Mouth dry from the anticipation of striking her again, he swallowed hard. “I’ll ask you again. Why are you here?” He held the belt coiled by his side.
“I’m selling Girl Scout cookies. Wanna eat some?”
“Usually this would be fun. Nothing beats a visit from a good house mouse, but I’m in no mood for bullshit. Last time I’ll ask.” A rapid heartbeat signaled sexual desires raging against his intuition that she was no more than a set up.
Like a lightning crack across a turbulent dusk sky, his belt strapped her back across the spine. The strike against a less meaty portion of her body caused a much more immediate response. Her back arched. Her nipples hardened. He whipped her again with equal force. This time, her chin fell to her chest. Cut short, jet-black trusses tousled forward.
“Baby, tell daddy why you here,” Justice changed his tone to soothe her.
Her head lifted—she pressed her lips back against her teeth to force a wretched smiled.
“I got nothing. Nobody left in my life. I want to be part of a family who gives a fuck about each other. Everybody knows the Savages are family.” Her voice lost the adversarial edge. She almost sounded sweet.
Justice’s legs loosened as he looped the belt around his waist. The tip was still hot from impact, but it was no longer needed. He knew the tactic for breaking a person. She’d responded quicker than some, but she had responded.
Savoring the sweet moment of creating that separation between what a human wants to do, and actually does is intoxicating. The skill required the understanding of two things—knowing how to keep your target alive long enough to gain their compliance and knowing that it wasn’t the fear of pain that broke someone—it was the hope of the pain stopping.
“You want me to be your daddy, little girl?”
“Only if you don’t mind fucking your daughter.”
“Honey, you’re someone’s daughter but you ain’t mine. You belong to anyone?”
“I’ve got no one. Everyone is dead. I need you to care for me—I’ll do anything.”
“Anything? You got any idea what the Savages will do to you?”
“I don’t give a shit. Take my body, I only want my soul.” She spread her thighs as an offering. Justice stopped the battle to contain his erection.
“Who sent you? A piece of ass like you doesn’t just show up at the clubhouse every day. You got no needle tracks, burned fingertips from smoking crack, scars or tattoos—you gotta be a narc.” He pulled the hair back to show his solid-looking granite features. He looked like he was carved from stone, and he knew it.
“I’m just alone, that’s all,” she sighed. He watched her micro-expressions—the ones she couldn’t control. They signaled the truth.
Justice’s furnace was always set on high-boil, except at this moment. He struggled to block the thoughts of the Middle East and the thousands of interrogations he’d managed. They almost always involved violence or death. The hanging nude technique was always one of his favorites. His decadent sexual desires conflicted with the grotesque images of tortured terrorist that flashed through his mind.
His groin pulsed, not at the memory of inflicting harm, but for fucking her. He stepped into the soft glow and the guttural moan that bellowed deep in his esophagus signaled he was closer to her.
She must’ve noticed his movement. Her body flinched although there was no threat—yes, she’d been broken.
Chapter 9
Justice towered before her.
The soft radiance highlighted his size and features. A naturally dominant presence, he rarely had to announce his command—it was powerfully sensed. His façade of always composed concealed his demons. He didn’t speak while he glared into her face. He only concentrated on why she’d been sent into the Savage Nation’s clubhouse, and how she would feel wrapped around his cock.
“Well?” she said with a hint of challenge.
Justice’s right hand rocketed from his side to strike her mouth with a smack. “You’ve not learned a damn thing have you? I run this family, and you will never, ever challenge me. Not in public or in private.”
She spit the speckles of gummy fluid that seeped from her top lip and onto her teeth. “I’m sorry daddy, but I am part of the family is what you’re saying?”
“Not yet,” he said. “We jump in and we jump out—some survive neither.”
“Bring it, daddy.”
Forefinger and thumb sandpapered his chin. His gut told him to toss her, but his dick had almost drained enough blood from his brain for making rational decisions. He plunged his palm over her right breast and squeezed her nipple until it turned deep purple. She moaned as her teeth seethed cold air against the pain. His mouth followed as his tongue alternated between pierced nipples. He pressed hard against them with bites and sucking. He drew blood from the left one—she screamed out for him to stop.
“That’s what I thought. You ain’t gonna survive this, baby girl.”
Panting partly from the agony of being strung up so long and the fatigue of endless hours that led up to this encounter, she’d become sensitive to touch—especially blood-drawing bites.
“Keep me for yourself then.”
“Tempting, but you’ve done nothing to deserve that privilege,” he said as his meaty fingers jostled her pussy’s wet lips.
“Then turn ’em loose on me—I got nothing to lose.” She rocked her round bottom against the finger fucking he’d intensified.
Justice pulled his fingers from her pussy as he felt it become spongy and engorged with blood. He shoved them into her mouth and she clamped down with lips pressed tight. Blood continued to draw from her left nipple—it excited him. His dick surged against the zipper of his tight denims. His tongue flicked across the red liquid trail and jabbed it into her mouth. She sucked and bit at anything he put between her lips.
“Baby girl, you’re driving me wild.”
“Release me, I want in.”
“Not until I’m done with you.”
Justice’s breathing rose deep and fell heavy in his chest. Warriors, who’ve lived on an adrenaline edge, work themselves into a zone. Sex fell in that zone. A slight sheen of sweat covered his body and the open hand he snapped around her reedy throat slipped before he secured it with a tighter grip. She gasped. He only shook her head by the neck.
His right hand released the metal pin. Her arms fell limp. They would be numb from the hanging, Justice knew. He supported her torso with the firm hold around her throat—her throbbing pussy straddled the wooden sawhorse.
“Fuck me, daddy,” she demanded. Her wet blue eyes glinted over her shoulder. She whipped her head around to throw the hair out of her face. He saw her grin.
“Don’t worry, I’m going to.”
Justice drove her upper body against the sawhorse. Being bent over exposed how perfectly shaped her ass was. Marks from her earlier beating still glowed red, with new hints of purple.
“Don’t move,” he commanded.
He pressed close to her ass. His unleashed solid dick bridged the space of more than ample inches. More fingers pushed inside of her—both quickly covered in her wetness. He spread her voluptuous cheeks apart with one hand and slipped one and then the other finger into her ass.
She clenched her rectum as she lurched forward into the wooden barrier. “Fuck, go slow. I’ve never done anal,” she pleaded.
“You’re about to do a lot of shit you ain’t ever done. No such animal as going slow.” Justice filled her asshole with the full length and girth of his two fingers. For a man six feet and six inches tall, his entire body was in proportion—double extra large.
Her body bucked against the sawhorse, but there was no escaping the intrusion in her ass. Justice laughed at her plight. He continued to move both fingers back and forth until her resistance evolved into insistence. She relaxed as the muscles in her rectum became elastic and accepted the fingering without complaint.
“Oh, daddy, yes,” she groaned in what sounded like ecstasy. Justice knew he’d now broken her twice.
“They won’t be so willing to prepare you,” he warned.
His left hand mashed her lower back to press her abdomen into the barrier, while his right hand grabbed a full measure of dick. The head of his cock aimed at the newly violated anus. He jabbed his cock into her still saturated pussy to lube it up. He mixed his own spit with her vagina’s moisture and then pressed the spongy head against the tiny hole.
“I’m a big girl.”
What a glutton for punishment.
“You will be after I’ve used you.”
Justice’s mind seethed with a powerful penchant for causing pain. He inserted himself into her ass—tight. She bucked forward but the sawhorse stopped an escape. He felt the battle between his steady pressure and her muscles guarding entry. He released his shaft to grip both hips. Her back broke out into a glistening perspiration. Abigail’s hips swished side to side in a battle about to be lost.
“Let me suck you instead,” she gasped.
Justice ignored her. She wanted to become a part of his family, then she’d have to earn her position. There was only one position for women in the club—to service the brothers.
He pressed with a steady push until her ass opened against his pressure. Her gasp sounded like she’d sucked all the air out of the room. He hesitated once the ridge behind the swollen head of his throbbing dick felt her rectum close tight against it. He released her hips to allow them to buck wild as the confluence of pain and pleasure became sorted in her mind. She was primal in behaviors and easy to read. It wouldn’t be long until he’d broken her a third time.
“Oh, daddy. A little more please,” she asked hesitantly, but the low throttle in her tone signaled she’d turned the corner against resistance.
Justice wiped the sweat from his face and lifted the black t-shirt between his pelvis and her ass. Grimacing at the sight of himself disappearing into her virgin asshole, his excitement was heightened while he stroked his shaft until it slid the entire length into her.
Her back muscles tightened, and he saw her triceps strain as she squeezed the legs of the wooden barrier. “Fuck, daddy. How much more?” Sweat now covered her body despite the cold temperatures. A puddle was formed at the steel toes of his motorcycle boots.
“That’s almost all of it, baby girl. You want more?”
He bit the seam of his t-shirt after it had fallen back down between them. He didn’t want anything obstructing his view. He’d had plenty of anal sex, but most were with the random house mouse collections or the mamas who’d become property of the club. The opportunity to take someone’s ass for the first time exhilarated him. He’d been under tremendous pressure last week, so this offering wasn’t going unappreciated.
“That’s why I’m here.”
“I guess it is.”
“You won’t break me. Fuck me.”
Yeah, a real glutton for punishment. Wait till I turn the others loose on her.
Justice clamped his teeth against the tattered Savage Souls t-shirt as beads of moisture soaked his clothing. He shivered at the sensation of the trickle 0f sweat that snaked its way down his back. His mind drifted between the present and the past as his hips locked into a steady rhythm of slamming into the fleshy mounds of her perfect ass.
She’d become inanimate. His eyes rocked back. Moans of pleasure turned angry and sinister. Justice knew his allotment of the seven deadly sins was wrath.
He’d delighted in it, in the wrath he caused America’s enemies. The violence against others while working with the CIA’s Special Activities Division’s SOG was addictive. It became useful as an unclaimed asset behind enemy lines. Justice adjusted his concept of survival with the knowledge that his government’s policy would disavow knowledge of his existence if compromised. The reality of his existence as a government operative honed his skills for survival and his thirst for killing.
Skirmishes continued daily as his mind battled over what he’d once done for his country versus what he’d done for his own desires. Justice not only mistrusted others, but an intense feeling of guilt had driven him to contemplate suicide on many occasions. He understood it was the ultimate expression of self-hatred, but he really didn’t give a shit.
Guilt and life-taking skills fueled by wrath also translated into causing others deviant discomforts. Abigail had become his latest victim of decadence.
“You’re hurting me.” She sniveled.
Reality snapped him back. He found his right hand gripped around her throat and he’d pulled so hard that her slim back had been arched like a drawn back bow without the arrow. She coughed. Spittle sprayed from between her lips. The mirror in front of her showed panic had replaced her pleasure. He leaned up off of her body to see the bright red handprints covering her ass and hips.
His cock ached because of the fierce ass banging he’d subjected her too. He eased the pace. He could be a monster at times, thanks to the hell his father had subjected him to. He’d grown up as one of seven brothers in a deeply religious household, but physical and psychological torture were part of their upbringing.
He thought he’d adjusted to living a double life—but maybe he hadn’t.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, now you fucking give a shit to ask?” she was angry.
“I asked more for me than you. You okay?”
She sucked back snot and tears—her upper body quivered, “Yeah, I guess so. This mean I’m in?”
“Come, baby. Suck me.” He took his time and watched as his cock backed out of her small, tight ass. He was puzzled as to how she took all of him inside her anus, but he wouldn’t complain—it felt incredible. She struggled to stand up from the sawhorse. He turned her to face him—her jawline quivered, as blue eyes had become muddied orbs through the tears.
“You going to kill me?”
“Why’d you ask that?”
“It’s what you said just before I passed out.”
His right thumb and forefinger nudged beneath her chin to lift her face—he watched her expression. Courage was obscured beneath fear, but not buried too far from the surface. This stranger had the gumption to come looking for a family, and this is what he offered her? A slight shred of guilty pinned itself to his soul.
“I’m sorry, baby girl. I won’t hurt you—much.” He snickered then leaned over to kiss her.
“Am I in?”
Again he ignored her, but his good will was running thin with her incessant questioning about joining something he’d sacrificed so much to build. He slid his fingers from her chin and onto the back of her neck. Fingers rustled below the still damp mop of tangled black hair. He guided her onto both knees.
He held her back as they both watched his cock become engorged. It became so erect, so fast—it bounced up and down between them. She glanced up his torso until locking contact with his eyes. He ran his fingers through the front of her hair and gathered clumps of the short bob until it made a fistful. Her mouth opened at his tug, and she swallowed the entire length of his manhood.
