G-Men: The Series (15 page)

“I did. I do.”

“Why the tears, babe?”

“You kissed me while we fucked. You gave me an orgasm. I’m emotional, I guess. Those are both firsts for me.”

He pulled up and out of me, sitting next to me on the bed, his arms crossed over his knees as he gazed at me.

“Sunny, are you saying that your rat-bastard husband never kisses you when you make love?”

“I don’t honestly think that we’ve ever made love, Slate.”

“Okay then, when you fuck?”

“It’s a rare occurrence, even more-so now, since the whole incident with the black eye, but he never has kissed me during sex.”

“And you’ve never had an orgasm?”

“Not until today.”

“What about when you pleasure yourself?”

I turned crimson under his scrutiny. “I don’t do that,” I mumbled, embarrassed.

“Jesus Christ. What the hell’s his problem?”

“I thought it was me,” I answered honestly.

He let out a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a laugh, “It’s not you, babe, at least not with me it isn’t. Your pussy was
made
for my cock.”

He propelled himself off of the bed and removed the condom. I watched as he tied it in a knot and tossed it over into a trash can. He swaggered over to a dresser in the room and pulled out clean boxers and a tee shirt.

“I’m grabbing a shower. You sit tight. When I get finished, you and I are going to have a discussion. I’m going to educate you as to what’s acceptable behavior, now that you’re
mine
.”

^{chapter 16}

It had been a little more than three weeks since Slate had made me his. I hadn’t been sure what that would entail when he laid the rules out for me that day. Now, it was perfectly clear.

I was at his beck and call. I no longer worked at Jewels. I wasn’t even allowed to go in there. He explained to me that Jewels was his turf and that I wasn’t to invade it.

He bought me a prepaid cell phone. He’d presumed that my rat bastard husband didn’t allow me to have a cell phone, so this was his means of communicating with me. His communications were generally text messages, kept short and sweet: “My place in an hour. We need to fuck.”

Occasionally, he’d give it a more intimate touch by actually calling me on it. I’d hear his husky voice on the other end: “My place in an hour. We need to fuck.” It was followed by radio silence.

I’d always accommodate him. I dressed the way he expected me to dress, kept my hair long the way he insisted. (He hadn’t figured out it was a wig, which was probably because I never spent the night.)

He respected the fact that I was married and said he wasn’t looking to steal another man’s wife, even if the other man was a rat bastard.

He made a rule that I couldn’t ask or expect him to share personal information about himself or what he did to occupy his time. I insisted the same rule apply to me. He agreed, with one exception: if I needed to find another job to support myself, he needed to know where it was in advance and approve of my working there. He absolutely forbade me to dance anywhere.

I was never to come by his place without having first received an express order to do so from Slate. I was to notify him by text when my period started so that he knew I’d be “out of commission”‘ for a few days. (That one had made me blush with embarrassment.)

I wasn’t to phone him at all; text messages only. If the rat bastard was around, I was to shut my phone off. That was the only excusable time I was permitted to power it off.

I wasn’t to have sex with Jack, unless refusing to do so posed imminent physical danger, in which case, I was to lay there like a limp rag doll and endure it. (I had wanted to burst out laughing when Slate had given me that rule. Jack didn’t care if he
ever
touched me again.)

I was instructed to text him the words “Code Red” if the rat bastard left another mark on me. He would then text me specific instructions on when and where to go, with my husband in tow. There’d be peeps there to take care of the rat bastard and make it look totally random. (That one had sent shivers down my spine.)

Of course, the obvious and major rule was that no other man could touch me. He was the only one who could do that, and he intended to do so at every available opportunity.

I’d asked him if the same applied to him and other women. He said it did, as long as our relationship was deemed active. He would decide when it was over. (That one made me feel a bit sad.)

I wasn’t to get tattoos, body piercings, or change hair color without obtaining his permission in advance. I was to work out to stay in shape.

He inquired what type of birth control I was using, as he didn’t want to continue using condoms since we were to be exclusive. I told him I had a diaphragm. He didn’t need to know any more than that. The truth was, I did still have my old diaphragm in the bedside drawer gathering dust. It had barely gotten any use. He told me to make sure I carried that with me when I was meeting him.

He assured me that he was clean as far as sexually transmitted diseases went, and he’d asked me to confirm the same to him. That had prompted a trip to the county health clinic that had weekly free screenings. I’d decided with Jack’s travels, it wouldn’t hurt to be sure. Everything had come back fine.

All in all, it was a fairly simple and uncomplicated relationship. I’d decided that I’d go with it as long as I was getting something from it, and I was: the best damned, toe-curling, orgasmic sex that I could ever have imagined. There was nothing Slate wouldn’t do to make sure I was satisfied multiple times.

I’d received Slate’s booty call about fifteen minutes prior. I was now slathering my make-up on and trying to get those fucking false eyelashes in place. Margo had always done it so easily. There, I finally had the second one in place. I finished applying generous amounts of the smoky, gray eye shadow from my brow line down. The eyeliner and mascara were midnight black.

I’d put my diaphragm in after my bath this morning, as I figured I was due for a call. It’d been three days. I tucked my own hair under the wig cap and securely put my long, shiny, brunette wig in place, wearing it down. I secured some extensions to it so that it was even longer. Wearing the extensions had proven a deterrent in keeping Slate’s fingers out of my hair, therefore protecting my wig’s identity.

I pulled a black, long-sleeved spandex top with a plunging neckline over my head. I pulled a pair of my tight Calvin jeans up, and shrugged a pair of brown leather boots on. Once I put my jacket on, I was good to go.

I always parked at the same Park and Ride lot and then took a bus to Slate’s. His apartment was a half-block from the bus stop. It was a freezing cold day. There were light snow flurries as I walked the distance from the bus stop to his house. Just as I approached the staircase, two bikers were coming down the steps. I recognized the OMC badged one as Slash, the main dude for the Indianapolis chapter. The other one had the same badging as Slate. It was his buddy, Taz. He recognized me from the club.

I waited for them to get to the sidewalk before continuing towards the steps. Taz gave me a nod as they passed. I breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn’t comfortable around bikers, with the exception of Slate. I just never knew when they might fuck with me.

Slate had the door open for me when I got to the top. He was in the kitchen in front of the sink washing out his coffee cup. He was wearing jeans with no shirt or socks. His hair was damp, which meant he was fresh out of the shower. I loved the way his jeans hung low on his hips. He was so freakin’ hot.

He turned as he heard me come in, and that’s when I saw the butterfly stitches over his left eyebrow. There was a huge gash beneath them.

“Oh my God, Slate! What happened?”

I hurried over to where he was standing to get a better look.

“Just a little misunderstanding with a couple of business associates the other day. It’s no big deal.”

“It looks like a big deal to me,” I said. “I think you need real stitches on this, Slate. It looks deep.”

“The mother-fucker had a ring on, snagged me pretty good. Trust me, babe, he’s in worse shape than me right now.”

I frowned at him. “Still, I think you need to go to the hospital and have it sewn up. What about a tetanus shot?”

“It’s fine.”

“Do you have any hydrogen peroxide here?”

“Sunny - stop fussing over me. That’s not why I called you over here.”

I’d already headed into his bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet where I found a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a box of cotton swabs. I headed back to the kitchen.

“Sit,” I instructed him in my no-nonsense tone.

He rolled his eyes, but complied, straddling one of the two kitchen chairs at the table. I soaked one of the cotton swabs with the peroxide, squeezing out the excess. I dabbed it gently against the wound, carefully cleaning off some of the dried, crusted blood. I got another clean swab and repeated the process until it was pretty well cleaned up.

I dug through my shoulder bag that I’d thrown on his kitchen table upon my arrival and found my make-up bag. I knew I had a small tube of antibiotic cream in there from when I’d scraped my heel against an exposed nail in the dressing room at the club. I squeezed out some of the antibiotic cream onto a fresh cotton swab and dabbed it gently on the wound.

“There,” I said. “Hopefully that’ll keep it from scarring. I’m going to leave this here with you, so keep applying it several times a day until it’s healed, okay?”

“Yes, bossy,” he said, getting to his feet and coming towards me. My heart fluttered at his nearness. He pulled me against him, his chin resting on my head.

“Thanks, babe,” he said softly, holding me closely against him.

He kissed my lips softly. My tummy did flip-flops. My hands rubbed his muscular back, loving the feel of his skin against mine. He pulled back, taking me by the hand. We headed into his bedroom.

Slate stood in front of me and undressed me slowly and methodically. I shivered as he hooked his thumbs into the waist band of my jeans, once he’d unfastened them, and tugged them downward. They fell into a heap at my ankles. He instructed me to raise my arms so that he could pull my black top over my head. He was careful not to snag my extensions.

I was standing before him in my black lace bra and matching panties. He unhooked my bra, cupping my breasts roughly in his hands, massaging them. He pulled my bra off then hooked his forefinger in my panties and lowered them so that I could step free.

He pulled his jeans off. He was totally naked standing next to me.

“Sit on the edge of the bed,” he instructed.

I did as I was told. Slate knelt in front of me, spreading my legs with his hands. He grabbed a pillow, lifting me to place it underneath my ass. He placed each of my feet on each of his shoulders, and pulled my hips closer. I arched my back instinctively.

I felt his fingers touching and exploring my cleft. Pretty soon his lips and tongue followed, tracing a hot path of pleasure beneath the folds of my sex. His tongue continued to roll and explore my clitoris, flicking it gently, and his fingers were probing inside of me now. I was soaking wet, partly from him and partly from me.

“God, your cunt tastes good, babe,” he said, his warm breath against it sending waves of pleasure through me.

My hips gyrated in a circular motion as his tongue now joined his two fingers going in and out of me.

“You like it when I fuck you with my mouth don’t you, Sunny?”

“Mmmm, I love everything you do to me,” I moaned softly, thrusting my pelvis into his face, which was now wet with my arousal.

He kept it up until I knew I was going over the edge into major orgasmic pleasure. I felt myself contract as I whimpered and writhed beneath his touch, my body taking control as my climax unraveled around me.

His mouth continued to work my sex, more gently now as I enjoyed the last remnants of my orgasm. My face was flushed, as was the rest of my body, post-climax.

He lifted me gently and pulled the covers back, placing me on the sheet of his bed. He was right beside me, kissing my lips, my neck, and then moving downward to my breasts. He brushed his lips across each one. My nipples became erect for him immediately. His tongue played and teased my nipples. I arched my back wanting his mouth fully on them.

“My sweet girl’s greedy,” he teased, taking his time and enjoying my impatience.

His tongue lingered on a nipple, circling it over and over again before taking it into his mouth. He suckled it roughly. I liked when he did that. A few minutes later, he moved to the other breast, teasing and then sucking it fully.

He straddled me, moving up my torso. This brought my hands instinctively to his ass, pulling him towards me as he guided his stiff cock into my waiting mouth.

It was my turn to suckle, and I did so with pleasure, loving the feel of him and the control it gave me. His hips gyrated back and forth as his cock moved in and out. I watched the pleasure revealed in his face. His blue eyes were hooded; his breathing was coming harder and faster.

In an instant, he pulled himself from my mouth and flipped me over onto my belly. I pulled my legs forward and raised myself up on my forearms. Slate’s fingers were splayed underneath on my abdomen, raising my backside to tilt in front of him.