Snare: Road Kill MC (A Novel) (10 page)

He kneads my ass cheeks, and gradually, tenderly, he removes his tongue and takes his fingers from my body.

I lie there, spent, as his body rises, looming over mine. I blink, slowly coming to life. It's amazing. Snare is here like he was always meant to be. As though we were never apart.

“You taste as good as I remember.” His voice is a gruff, husky purr of words.

I can't speak. He's blown a fuse or something, like my brain has short-circuited. I give a vague nod, not bothering to close my legs or speak.

Snare smiles, and the motion tugs at the scar at the top of his mouth. “You won't mind if I fuck you now, Sara?”

I frown. Beyond the crudeness of his question, there's something underneath. Something angry, something dirty. Something
not
Snare.

I hike up on my elbows, straightening my legs, and slowly nod, trying to get my thoughts straight. “I'll make love with you, Snare—even though I know things aren't right between us.” That's the best I can do. I tried my damnedest to stay hidden for five years. To give Snare a chance to live life without worrying about me.

Now he's here, and I can't say no. He attacked me with his tongue. His passion. I'm only human.

I give up.

“That's good, Sara—but this is just fucking. You know, like you fucked all the other guys since me.”

Cold water. That's what his words are. He's thrown a bucket of ice-cold water on my face. His ugly words pour into my mouth.

I drown in them.

Snare puts his hands on the side of my body and draws nearer.

I slap his face before I know I've moved.

That's when everything goes to hell.

Snare

My cock's a screaming rod of agony.

I might have had a chance of making some sense if Sara had been in that slutty, torn-up outfit from The Crawl—her lips laced by the cum of another man.

But oh no.

She's all fresh and spanky clean right out of the shower, smellinʼ like something I want to eat. From the pussy out.

Problem is, I can't get the image of her on Mover's cock out of my mind. It's planted in there like a fucking weed. Can't pull it out, can't stomp on it.

Gonna have to fuck it out.

Sara tries to make me understand. I watch her lips move, and some words come out. But all I can see is her nakedness under that towel, and my mouth waters with wanting to taste her.

I loved eating Sara before. Back when we were trying so fucking hard not to do the deed. We thought if she sucked my cock and I ate her pussy, we'd miss the guillotine of sex.

But it found us after all, chopping all our good intentions into so much tenderized meat.

My cock found her cunt as sure as the sun sets.

There was no avoiding it. Like there's no avoiding my slow sink into the quicksand of Sara. But she's not the innocent Sara I took blows for so she wouldn't have to feel them.

Nah.
This Sara's had a lot of cocks in her hole since that stolen moment in the closet. So what's one more? I ignore the tenderness I feel, that soft middle I have for her, and concentrate on my lust. So easy.

I never wanted to fuck a girl the way I want Sara.

From the first moment I shoved my tongue in her, I knew I'd never let her go. She might have turned slut, but she's going to be
my
slut. My old lady, hell yes. Sara doesn't know it, but my dad will never touch her.

No man will ever touch her again but me.

I work her relentlessly, making her come three times before she blanks out on me. Relish that shit. That dazed look in her eyes. Her cream coating the inside of her thighs, her delicious taste on my mouth.

I lick my lips, my tongue smoothing over the rough scar that rides the top of my mouth.

She says something about how she'll fuck me even though shit isn't right between us.

Then I open my mouth and insert both feet. “That's good, Sara—but this is just fucking. You know, like you fucked all the other guys since me.”

Her face falls. Every feature arranges itself like an open wound on her face. “Oh,” she replies hollowly, like the wind's been knocked out of her. I knew I shouldn't have said it.

My dick throbs in agreement, hard as fuck and nowhere to go.

She rolls to her side and sits up, her naked ass up in the air, and I breathe deeply, looking at the ground. 

I might just go in my pants.

Sara slaps me in the face, then she's crawling across the bed, and as she gets to the edge, she swings her legs around. She hops to the floor then takes off.

What the fuck?

I chase her, my face stinging, and she's too tiny to get away. I lift her right off the ground, and she screams. Anguished. Angry—hurt.

“Shhh,” I say against her mouth.

She bites my bottom lip. Hard. I taste blood and almost release her, pulling back to look down into her stricken face. “I'm sorry. I was an asshole.”

Sara slaps me again.

My lips split into a grim smile. “You think your fucking flyswatter slaps are gonna leave a fucking
mark
, Sara?”

Guilt washes her features.

I shake her, and she squirms in my hold. “You fucker!” she screams. “I'm
not
a whore!”

Whatever Sara is, she's mine, and holy fuck, my boner is its own zip code. I've got to do this.
Own Sara
. I lift her naked body, pressing her against the wall, shoving my lower half between her knees.

Jerking my pants down one-handed, I scream back at her, “What part of me owning you don't you get?”

Her body goes silent beneath my weight.

“Don't hurt me,” she whispers, dumping her forehead onto mine. “Please—don't hurt me.”

My jeans drop to my knees, and I split her pussy with my bare cock, and she whimpers. It's not a pain sound.

We're so fucked up I don't know where to start. But if I don't get in Sara, I'll lose my goddamned mind.

“I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm just saying I'm the last man you'll ever have in your body.”

She slowly raises her eyes to mine. Her expression hits me between the eyes. Large crocodile tears slide out of the darkest blue irises I've ever seen. The ones that've haunted me for five years.

She frames my face. “You're the only man that's ever been in me, Snare.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, my voice tight. “You're fucking lying, Sara.”

She shakes her head, her tears flinging on my neck, wetting my hands that grip her thighs as I hold her spread for my cock.

“No,” she says, “it's only been you. Only ever been you.”

I grit my teeth, unwilling to believe, hopeful that Sara is still my Sara. “Do you want this? I'm not going to rape you.”

My cock pulses between us like a line of fire.

“I hate the way you talk to me, Snare. I don't know you anymore. But my body does. If you don't fuck me in the next second, I'm going to die.”

Thank God.
I line my cock up with her entrance and push myself into her body.

She's so tight, if I hadn't taken her cherry I'd think it was a do over. I shudder as I sink inside her, slowly stretching her.

“You're big,” Sara says, tense, her breath strained.

Fuck, I prepared her, got her wet, made her come, and still she's a steel trap of wet, hot flesh. I push in another inch.

My body stills as we pant together.

“Relax, please—let me fuck you, Sara.”

“Yes,” she breathes and spreads her legs further.

I rock in another inch, and I can't move further, not without hurting her.

“So fucking tight.”

“That's what happens when you've had sex once, five years ago.”

I lift my head, partially buried inside her, and search her eyes. “That's a long time to go after you gave me up.”

She nods, and I impale her a little bit more, our gazes locked.

Bad angle. Carefully, I lift and pivot, keeping my cock half in, as I walk back to the bedroom—no small thing. We fall softly together on her mattress.

My cock surges forward, and Sara moans.

I jerk my head up. “Am I hurting you?”

She bites her lip. “A little, but I—I'm not used to you. Remember?”

I nod and press forward, rock out a little then move deeper again. My cock throbs, fighting to not shoot my cum.

I split her ass and pussy wider, pulling her apart, and she shivers. “Oh, Snare,” she sighs, and finally, I press my cock to the end of her.

Every bit of her is wrapping me hard. I've got a huge cock, and this tiny woman takes every bit of me but not without maneuvering.

Now that I'm deep inside Sara, I begin to move, halfway out, then rocking back in.

Sara grunts, stilling for the first few thrusts as she gets used to my thickness, then her hips begin to meet mine as she rocks forward, stroke for stroke. I'm so wound up I forget to be careful anymore. Her cunt's so tight I can't think of anything else but pounding it.

My hands tighten on the globes of her ass, and I begin to fuck her like I want to. Long strokes. I dig deep and high, rubbing over her G-spot.

She's moaning beneath me, her face flushed, her hands gripping the blanket on her bed, her dark hair half-damp from the shower, sweat glistening between her perfect tits. The fan of her inky eyelashes flutters against her flushed cheeks, and my exhale is a roar of hot lust.

I use her body to fuck mine, shoving her small hips on my cock, and I hardly have enough time before my balls explode, blowing my cum deep inside Sara. I slam my last thrust home, hitting the bed on either side of her face, pushing as deep as I can go, and her pussy clenches around my dick, rhythmic pulses clench and release my cock, milking it for everything it's worth.

I groan, my prick getting wrung dry. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I should be considering Sara's feelings and how fucking strong I came on.

How uncompromising I am.

But I can't.
With her writhing underneath my body, all spread and soft and fucking getting owned by my cock, all I can think about is how much I love her.

How I'll never let her go.

No one will ever hurt Sara again.

Even me.

*

We've both showered, and I can actually pay attention to my surroundings.

When I first got to Sara's apartment, I just broke in and waited. I heard her showering, checked out the place to make sure some other guy didn't have his toothbrush and jockeys in place.

Thank everything fucking holy there was none of that bullshit.

The thing that got my shit going was a tiny bedroom with kids’ stuff in it.

What?
Sara doesn't make enough fucking money—she's gotta babysit or something? That's bullshit. She won't be scraping by once I make her my property. She'll be taken care of.

All of her.

I would've explored her apartment more, but the truth was, I had just enough time to get my ass in her small living room and settled before Sara came out of the shower like a real-life wet dream.

Then we fought.

Then I went down on her. Sucking every bit of deelish I could right from the source.

And she dumped the revelation about never fucking anyone but me. Taking all the wind out of my anger sails.

Then I fucked her like I've been dreaming of doing for five years.

I've banged a hundred women, but none of them made me cum like I thought I was going to die if I didn't—like there would never be another drop left.

Sara did.
Sara does.

She's curled up in a tiny ball against me. Exactly like she used to fall asleep in that fucking closet. As though even in sleep, she had to protect herself.

I open her hand, and she stirs, whimpering in her sleep. I lay a kiss in her open palm, and she snuggles against me deeper.

I loved washing her in the shower. I loved the sounds she made when I did it even more.

First thing I'm going to do is move her out of here and into my place. No more working The Crawl. No more malesʼ eyes on my girl.

I move over the top of her, throwing a leg over hers and twisting her face to mine. Her sleeping eyes slit open, and I kiss her all over her face, trailing the lightest skin-to-skin contact I can. I don't kiss sweet butts. Somehow kissing means something other than fucking.

“Oh,
now
you kiss me,” she says in a soft voice, thick with sleep.

I smirk. “I kissed you.”

Her face fills with light pink color. “Yeah,” she agrees. Because she can't deny it.

I made love to her pussy with my mouth. My tongue.

Hugging her against me, I tell her what's what. “You're coming with me, Sara.” I push the hair from her face and hold her small face between my hands.

“I can't let you take care of me, Snare—it won't work. You need to have a life.”

I press my finger against her lips. “Knock that shit off. I've been walking around like a fucking scooped-out corpse since you left me.” My eyes search her face, willing her to listen—to understand. “I'm part of the MC culture now. A one percenter. We don't follow citizen rules, like the other ninety-nine percent of the population. We take what we want.” I let that sink in for a second, giving her time to make sense of my words. “I'm taking you, Sara. We're meant to be together.”

I open her legs, looking deep into her eyes. They hold sadness, relief—eagerness.

I dip my finger inside her, and she moans. “Can you deny this?”

Sara shakes her head, but her tears fall. I reluctantly remove my finger and rub the tears from her face. “What is it? Why can't you see how fucking much I love you?”

“I do see.” She nods, soft surprise overwhelming her expression. “But if you really love someone, you don't force them to take care of you from some false sense of obligation.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I flop down on the bed, covering my eyes with a forearm. “Sara,” I ask to the ceiling, “do you love me?”

A heartbeat of time wavers between my question and her answer.

“Yes.”

I turn to face her, propping myself up on an elbow. “Then what the fuck is this?”

She covers her face with her hands. “I don't want to be someone you have to protect.”

I take her hands from her face. “I can't
not
protect you, Sara. I was meant to be your protector from the moment you moved in. I loved you that day—that hour. I was yours the moment I saw you. It's not a choice. That's what you're not fucking comprehending.”