Two Hitmen: A Double Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 1) (63 page)

Was she really ready?
 

He kissed her neck and her throat, and on down to her breast. She undid the buttons of his thick shirt. Shocks of excitement flew up her arms and all through her body as her hands found the ripples of his firm chest and stomach. The rock they lay and stretched upon was smooth beneath the blanket.

Her lips parted and her eyes shone as softly he slipped her red dress down over her shoulders and cupped her breasts in his hands. His eyes blazed.

He unbuttoned her dress and slid it softly off her and he released her from her bra as his hot mouth went to her breasts. His strong tongue circled her nipples, making them harden and ache. His tender lips took her tips in turn and her body sang as he sucked on each zinging bud.

Her hands slid into his jeans and stroked him through the soft white cotton beneath. Then inside. She squeezed the strong tops of his thighs and the thrilling muscles of the globes of his rolling buttocks.
 

He stood and she lifted her hips for him to slide her panties down over her thighs and off.
 

He laid her down and awoke her with his mouth, his tongue and the instinct of his firm, knowing rhythm. She gave herself with an elemental force, into the muscular, generous greed of his mouth.

The strength and weight of his body made her sigh beneath him. He sheltered her and kept her safe as his body joined with hers and she opened for him. His strong, hard force found her in her soft, warm, darkness.

Their bodies wrapped explored and entwined with each other. They rolled like waves, danced, drummed, pulsed, swelled and beat together. Their fingers and hands coaxed and urged each other.

His lips and his mouth adored and worshipped her body.

His tongue called her out, took her to the edge, lapped at the shore of her bay, pressed and carried her past the trembling, brimming undertow overflows to the storming, rolling, cresting crashes, splashes and ecstatic dashes.
 

His lips and his tongue played from her wet lips to her buzzing, throbbing little bud. Then into the soft, deep tunnel inside her like the baton of a conductor, ruling an orchestra to play ancient, familiar, slow building music.
 

His lips and his tongue took her and drove her to deep chasms and rolling, bursting crests. His mouth stayed with her as she quivered and moaned, as she ebbed and subsided.

She found him, too. Took her strength from his dark, thrilling primal scents, from the velvety skin over ridges of sinew and hot, hard flesh. She tasted him, took him inside her, fed on him and had him fill her. Her red tresses spilled like a waterfall into his lap, over the knotted muscle his strong thighs.

His body became the focus for her rising hunger. When he lay on top of her, she pressed her breasts against his hard, wide chest. Her hips tilted to him as she felt his huge, hard bulb press at her aching, swollen wet lips. She felt the heat of his breath in her ear as he asked her, “Are you ready? Are you sure that you want this?”

She searched his watery eyes as her legs knotted around him. She pushed her hips at his and she gasped as she brought him inside. He breathed her name as she pulled him inside and he entered. Her legs knotted behind his waist and she clasped her arms around his neck. She rocked her wet need hard along the hot rail of his flesh.
 

Her petals enfolded him, drew him in, wrapped and gripped him. Suckled greedily on him. Thrills rippled through her each time her soft buttocks met the tops of his hot, hard thighs.

He knew when to call her on with tenderness, when to stretch and to strain against her strength, and when she needed his force to overcome her, to take her, to thrash and to make her his. Their glistening bodies in the mountain moonlight made a mounting, moaning mass of clawing, devouring need.

Finally he lifted her, held her by her thighs, resting her back against the mossy trunk of an ancient tree as he drove her to ride him. Over his shoulder she saw the lights of the town, the valley, the ocean beyond, and in front of her, his face. In all, her past, her present and maybe her future. She looked into his eyes and saw his growing, urgent need.
 

They climbed and wound around and into each other, and he rode her finally to a massive, ascending race where she clawed and bit and screamed to the finish. Her body clenched and bucked on his and inside she exploded in a boiling ocean of bursting stars.

They sat close, looking out over the valley. From their rock, high on the hill, the only distinct sounds were the sounds of trees, of grass and creatures. The sounds of the natural world at night. And
 
Cara felt more a part of the natural world than she had at any moment before.

Two cities glowed purple and orange almost at opposite ends of the far horizon and her small town was a small sparkle of lights in front of them. Farther away, a couple of miles beyond the town, the big, low moon’s reflection shimmered on the distant ocean.
 

She leaned comfortably into the crook of his arm and her head rested on his solid chest. The burr and rumble of his voice soothed her and excited her at the same time.

“Do you ever think about going away, about packing up and starting again,
 
Cara?”

“I already did that when I came here.” She looked up at him. His question, she knew, wasn’t just a ‘what-if.’ There was something on his mind. She asked him, “Do you have a name, biker?”

He looked out over the hills, out towards the ocean. His eyes scanned and raked the horizon, as though somewhere out there was a better answer than the one that he had. He was still looking a long way away as he said, “I have a couple. Not one that I’m proud of.”

Her arms wrapped more tightly around him and her lips brushed across his chest as she stroked and savored the ridges and ruts of his warm velvet skin.
He stroked her hair as he said, “I was thinking that you might help me make a new one.”

She understood, and she pressed her head closer to him to show him that she did. Her lips were on his chest and she tasted his skin as she asked him, “In the meantime, how would I find you?”

His arms slipped to encircle and enfold her more completely, his warmth passed more into her waiting skin. His voice purred through his chest and his ribs as he said, “Don’t worry, you won’t have to. You aren’t going to lose me.”

She thought about this for a long time and scanned the horizon again. Finally she asked him, “Do you have a taste for bourbon, biker?”

© Alice May Ball, TzR Publishing, 2014

Cover Design by Signs of Desire for TzR Publishing
 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, or to any actual events is purely coincidental.

All the people and places are portrayed in this story are fictional. All characters are over the age of eighteen, and entirely imaginary.

Outlaw Bikers

College
 

Dorm Rampage

Alice May Ball

My leg trembled as Ashlee’s hair brushed the soft inside of my thigh. Her head rocked hard and fast as her lips slid along the biker’s hard, fat rail. I leaned back against his chest.
 

The other biker peered up over my quaking stomach with a glint in his eye. His nose nuzzled the fuzz of my bush as his tongue parted my wet, swollen lips.

This was not how our usual study nights went.
 

We didn’t even notice the sirens, we were both so engrossed with our laptops—writing up lecture notes, checking Facebook and Pinterest..

“Biker invasion!” Ashlee cried from the other side of the room, making me look up. Ashlee heard the low banging rumble of the Harleys first

Her blonde curls bobbed and her big, pert boobs bounced under the loose Metallica t-shirt. She sat cross-legged on her bed with a comforter over her bare legs. The other side of our dorm room was a distance that even a well-covered girl like me, a girl who was not particularly tall, could straddle easily.

Ashlee’s eyes shone over the top of her little laptop screen. “Lock your doors, hide under the beds!”

“Or,” I smiled back, “Open the doors and hide your panties under the bed.” It all sounded way more exciting than revising for term papers.

“I don’t think we’d get a credit from Ms. Binder for studying a big, hairy biker.”

I said, “There could be forensic evidence on a big, hairy biker.” Ashlee giggled so I continued, “Could be a weapon concealed.”

“Better search him, Jenni.” Ashley’s laugh bubbled through her voice.
 

I tried to look serious, “Better search his
pants
!”

It was a regular Wednesday night in the dorm. Ashlee and I were revising hard for midterm papers. Foo Fighters played on Ashlee’s laptop. I revised outward signs of neurotoxins and the traces they left in the blood.

In sum, we were doing one hell of a lot of not much. A regular Wednesday night, like I said. The sounds of bikers nearby raised a tiny but thrilling jolt in the flatness of our evening of study. Lucy, our little-miss-prim classmate had recently wandered into a local biker bar, and the transformation that we saw in her was jaw-dropping.

All of her quiet little print and gingham dresses had been dropped, like her panties. Now Lucy rocked shirts open halfway down the front, and a gorgeously ragged and obscenely short black leather skirt.

Her mousey hair that she’d kept tied primly up and pulled back from her timid, round face now hung long, wild and black. Her Kohl-blacked eyes seared out in a razor-flash of a challenge.
 

Ashlee and I were sure she was getting regular and exhausting injections of rough, hard biker. Something that she said even made us wonder if she were limiting herself to one at a time. We strongly suspected not.

Ashlee had mused, “Those bikers have notoriously lewd tastes in sex.”
 

“They perform sex acts in bars all the time.” My authority came from having read some very salacious stories. In my hometown, the sizzling gossip more than confirmed the tales of debauchery. Almost everyone knew someone whose sister or a cousin had gone to hang out in the local motorcycle club bar.

In practically no time, they’d turned into loud, drunken crack-whores, according to very reliable sources.

“They say that biker chicks are at the beck and call of the whole club.”

“Anytime, anywhere.”

“Biker wants a blowjob, Lucy better get busy.”

“Championship sword swallowing.”

“Slipping down the long, fat sausage.”

“Blowing the meaty mouth harp.”

“Chin to balls in one gulp.”

 
“You think she’s been handed around the club?”

“Can you imagine if she were in a barroom with like twelve horny bikers?”

“Great big dudes with beards?”

“Huge, sweaty guys, covered with tattoos?”

“
Huge
… ”

“Hard…”

“HOT…”

“
Throbbing
…”

“Harley Davidsons!”

The intercom in our room buzzed and we both froze. Our eyes widened and our mouths opened.

Ashlee said, “You don’t think it’s a biker?” Her fingers covered her mouth

I said, “Can’t be. Can it?”

Without getting up, I reached for the handset. As I lifted it, Ashlee squealed. I turned to look up at the little screen.
 

As I said, “Hello?” on the nasty little screen, a tall guy with long sandy hair in a cut-off bike jacket hulked over the speaker box. Even through the lo-res speaker, his husky voice dropped a liquid flow of thrill right down the center of me.

In a rasping whisper he said, “Let me in.”

My finger was on the button. The buzzer sounded even while my mind was screaming,
Are you CRAZY?
Ashley was wide-eyed and stared at me like I was mad.

I ran out into the corridor, over to the stairwell. My room is only on the first floor, so I could see the doorway. The biker heard me and looked up. The flash of his green eyes made my knees go weak as soon as I saw them. He held the door open, and another biker slipped in behind him.
 

Two bikers. What the hell had I done?

They shoved the door closed, and slid along the wall as they both rushed up the stairs towards me. My heart pounded. What the fuck had I done? The second biker held his left arm and he moved stiffly. He wasn’t slow, though. He had a mane of wavy light brown hair. Gleaming brown eyes stared at me me over his wicked shades as he clumped up the stairs.

I moved to block the top of the staircase.

The tough look in his eyes made my stomach flip. He spoke in the same whisper. “We just need to lay low for an hour or two.” His voice was quiet, strong, and honeyed.
 
I hadn’t heard that through the tinny speaker.

I asked him, “Aren’t they going to see your bikes?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he said. His hand touched mine and a charge bolted through me. As the biker got to the top of the stairs, he came very close to me. I stood my ground, but my heart thumped. These were two smoking hot men, and they were coming into my tiny room. A look passed between the two bikers.
 

I felt the warmth and moisture of his breath. The heat of his body was discomfortingly close. His full lips spread in a smile. He lowered the shades down his nose to peer with his dark brown eyes into mine. He was so near, I felt physically pressured to step back and let him in.

Standing with my feet apart, I stood firm. I folded my arms and chewed the inside of my lip. Climbing the stairs behind him, the blond biker cocked his head.

“We don’t need to be here long,” he said, as he flashed a knowing smile. “You might just like us if you give us a chance.”

Cars moved outside, coming near. Through the frosted glass in the door, red and blue lights flashed on the wall of the lobby.