“What’s the deal with Whiteshirt?” Peyton asked as Ironside seared two pieces of fish in olive oil.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Okay, I didn’t tell you about Andrew, I admit that. But I didn’t because I knew you wouldn’t believe me and I didn’t think you’d find out. But why is he on my case? Is he that suspicious of everyone?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So it’s not just me?”

 

“Sort of. You did lie through omission, and you’re not a Knight, so yeah, he’s more suspicious of you than normal. But it’s nothing personal.”

 

“Why is he called Whiteshirt? For that matter, why are you called Ironside?”

 

Ironside chuckled. “They call me Ironside because a guy broke his finger hitting me. This chick was hitting on me in a bar, and her squeeze didn’t like it. This was back when I was still competing, and he took a swing at me. It was a cheap shot, right in the ribs. Broke a finger. Serves him right, the asshole. He should have been taking it out on her, not me.”

 

“What did you do?”

 

Ironside snorted. “Broke his nose, a rib, and threw him through a window, that’s all. Damn near went to jail, but the owner agreed not to press charges if I paid for the damages.”

 

“You?” she squawked. “He started it!”

 

Ironside flipped the fish over. “Yeah, but I was the one who broke the window.”

 

“Ahh,” Peyton said with a grin. “And Whiteshirt?”

 

“As you probably noticed, he only wears white shirts.”

 

“And that’s how he got his nickname? That’s not nearly as interesting a story as yours.”

 

“There’s more. When the club was still dealing drugs, a deal went to shit. They buyers tried to scam us. Anyway, by the time the dust settled, the buyers were dead, three brothers were shot, and Whiteshirt didn’t have a mark on him, not even a smudge of dirt.”

 

“Lucky. Were you there for that?”

 

“No. I stayed away from the drugs and guns. I ran the girls.”

 

For some reason that didn’t surprise her. “So the Knights are in drugs, guns and hookers?”

 

“No drugs, almost out of guns, and getting out of hookers and massage parlors. Someday.”

 

“What do you do now? I know you own some bars.”

 

“Bars, three of the better strip clubs in town, and we’re opening a movie studio.”

 

“A movie studio?”

 

“Yeah. We bought an old warehouse that we’re converting. We’ll move some of our girls into making porn. It’s legal, controllable, and a lot more profitable than massage parlors.”

 

“So the Knights are going legit?”

 

“Just as fast as I can get us there. You want a squeeze of lemon on your fish?”

 

***

 

She helped clean the kitchen, wanting to get the job done so they could move on to what they were both waiting for. For someone who claimed cooking wasn’t his thing, he did a surprisingly good job of it. Of course, it wasn’t like he could run down to the local burger joint and get pan-seared salmon or that pond scum he drank.

 

He pushed the button on the dishwasher to start it running. He turned to her and smiled as he crossed the kitchen and grasped her firmly behind the head. “You ready to get fucked?”

 

She didn’t answer, but slid her hand into his pants, realizing he must never wear underwear. She took his manhood into her hand, already hard and slick with his desire. Not removing her hand, she pulled his head down. “Yes,” she whispered before taking his lips.

 

She pulled her hand out of his pants and smeared his slickness on his face as they kissed. He pulled back and dragged her to the bedroom. They both knew what they wanted, and there was no seduction or hesitation as they undressed.

 

“What happened to you?” he asked, looking at her bruised breasts.

 

“Andrew. I told you: he likes to hurt people.”

 

“What a dick!”

 

“You’re telling me,” she said, but then pushed him back towards the bed, forgetting about Andrew and focusing on this delicious specimen front of her. In the past week, every time she was getting fucked, she would close her eyes and imagine it was Ironside’s cock slamming into her, but none of them could compare to the real thing, and none of the men could compare to the man it was attached to.

 

She crawled into the bed after him and moved to take him into her mouth, but he pulled her up. “Not tonight,” he rumbled. “Tonight I’m going to marathon fuck you.”

 

She flashed hot at the implied meaning. She waited, tingling in anticipation as he rolled the condom over his cock. Finished he rolled over and pushing her onto her back. He moved between her legs, and steered himself into her, slowly sinking in to her depths.

 

“Fuck, that feels good,” she murmured as he slid in, then smiled at him, reaching up and pulling his head down to kiss him. He settled on her, his weight pressing her into the bed as his hips began to move. He pulled back from the kiss and she allowed her hands to roam, delighting in ever ridge and valley, every ripple of muscle, as he fucked her slow and easy.

 

Her breathing was becoming harder and he again increased the speed and power of his thrusts. Not pounding into her, that would come as she began to peak, but increasing the pressure on her, slowly building her up. He rose off her, smiling at the hardness of her nipples as he twisted to take one into his mouth. He couldn’t hold the position long, but her gasp and sigh signaled she liked it. He pulled out of her and rolled her onto her side before moving behind her, raising her top leg with one hand as he steered himself into her again with the other.

 

“Oh, fuck…” she breathed as he began to move within her. He was so big he was going almost as deep from this position as most of her lovers did in some of the deep penetrating ones, and he was softly massaging her breasts and tweaking her nipples as he did, something that always got her off.

 

“You like my cock inside you?” he whispered into her ear as he began to drive into her harder.

 

“Yes…” she breathed

 

“Are you going to come?”

 

“Yes…”

 

He exploded into motion, holding her tight, his arms wrapped around her with his hands cupping her breasts. He fucked her hard for many long moments, her approaching rapture twisting her tight, then tighter still. He began to growl as his grip tightening down even more, his cock pounding into her hard and fast.

 

“Fuck!” she cried, drawing the word out in a long wail as her rapture took her, coursing through her like an electric current as she writhed with pleasure. He stilled his pounding hips and panted hard and fast.

 

He struggled to catch his breath, holding her tight as she squirmed and moved, the burn in his abs slowly decreasing. She released an explosive breath, the tension pouring out of her like water as she began to pant.

 

“Shit,” she gasped, then pulled away from him. He rolled to his back and she swung a leg over him. There was no semen in the condom, so he hadn’t come, which was a good thing to her way of thinking because they had a lot more fucking to do tonight. She steered him into her and slammed her hips onto his, trying to give him a charge, but she didn’t know who it affected more as they both gasped at the hard, swift insertion. She glanced at the bedside clock. It was a few minutes after seven, and the raid could be starting any moment.

 

***

 

It was almost eight-thirty when Ironside’s phone began to ring. They were both bathed in sweat with their hair plastered down, their skin glowing as if oiled. He hadn’t come yet and Peyton was determined to make him orgasm at least once before the night was over.

 

“Don’t answer it,” she gasped, rocking her hips hard.

 

He slapped around until he found his phone, bringing it to his ear. “Ironside!” he barked, his voice strained.

 

She couldn’t believe he answered the phone while they were fucking. She was going to break this arrogant prick, and do it right now! She flopped forward onto his chest to free up her hips, and began to pound him into her as hard and fast as she could. She could hear the buzzing of a voice on the phone and she realized if she controlled her breathing she could make out what the voice was saying.

 

“The raid just went down. Ten Saracens hit Canfield.”

 

“How many?” he snarled, trying to focus, but she fucked the shit out of him.

 

“Seven dead. Three got away. None of us got a scratch.” There was a brief pause. “Are you okay?”

 

Peyton grimaced. “He’s busy!” she called, her voice tight and strained as another orgasm welled up within her.

 

“Is that Peyton?” the voice asked.

 

“Fuck! Yes! Fuck! Anything else!”

 

“We’ve got some cleanup to do, and the place is a little shot up.”

 

He groaned, pushing back as his orgasm tried to overtake him again. He’d held off three near orgasms already, but this one was pressing him hard. He grabbed her hair and pulled her mouth to his to kiss her savagely as Dolch’s voice buzzed in his ear.

 

He hauled her lips from his so he could speak. “We’ll deal with the bullet holes tomorrow. Do you—Fuck!—do you need help with the clean up?”

 

“No. We’re—”

 

“I’m coming! You’re making me come!” Peyton cried as her orgasm rolled over her, wanting to make sure whoever was on the phone heard her.

 

“Holy shit! Are you fucking her right now?” the voice asked loudly.

 

Her pussy clamped down on him like a velvet vice as she slammed her hips frantically into his. “Shit! Fuck! You fucking bitch!” he bellowed, dropping the device, the phone forgotten as his orgasm crashed into him. He grabbed her ass while growling low in his chest, pressing her down as he pounded into her hard and fast, gritting his teeth against the storm of pleasure roaring inside of him.

 

She wailed again with his sudden tender violence. His fierce thrusting, the excitement of his brothers listening as they fucked, and the breaking of him, forcing him to come against his will, renewed her orgasm and pushed it on.

 

He was unable to hold his voice. Peyton’s wail as he fucked her hard, her hands biting into his arms, the slickness of her body, it all combined to push the pleasure beyond what he could contain, and he roared his completion to the world as he hammered into her.

 

They lay panting a moment, their lips locked in a torrid kiss, before he remembered the phone. When he picked it up again he could only hear laughing and clapping. “I’m back,” he panted as Peyton rose and fell has his chest heaved.

 

The laughing and clapping continued a moment longer before quieting down. “As I was saying, no, we’re going to take the bodies to Ellison and have them cremated as usual.”

 

She rose slightly, bringing her lips closer to the phone. “Ooh, baby, you’re fucking me so good!” she cooed as she began to thrust on him again, enjoying the novelty of fucking in front of an audience.

 

The voices on the phone began to laugh again. “You’re obviously busy. We’ve got this, but I knew you’d want to know.”

 

“Thanks, Dolch,” he said before ending the call. “You think that shit’s funny?” he growled, placing the phone on the side table again. Truth be told, he did, too, but he didn’t want her to know that.

 

“Yeah, I do. What are you going to do about it?” she asked as she smiled.

 

He tossed her off of him and forced her to her back. “I’ll show you what I’m going to do,” he snarled as he hooked her legs behind her arms and drove into her again.

 

***

 

“Shit! Goddamn! Fuck!” Ironside grunted, fighting to hold off his second orgasm.

 

“Don’t you stop! Don’t you fucking stop!” Peyton panted. Ironside lay across her as he fucked her, his weight pushing her into his bed. Her legs were wrapped around his ass and their hands were tangled in each other’s hair, their foreheads pressed together, sneering at each other like two fighters, giving their last in an effort to outlast their equally exhausted opponent.

 

“Fuck! I’m going to come,” he gasped. He’d thought he was done after his orgasm, but now, after almost another hour of steady fucking, he was about to come again.

 

“You better make me come! You better fucking make me come!” she gasped. Sweat was running off him in rivulets and dripping on her, the linens were soaked and in a wad, and they were making wet slapping sounds as their bodies crashed together, but she’d never been so well fucked in her life, and she wanted this one, last, orgasm.

 

He grunted, lunging into her hard and deep, too tired to hold against his orgasm again. It was a small one, but he knew he was finished.

 

His deep grunt and the final hard plunge, knowing she’d made him come twice in one fucking, pushed her over the edge. She shuddered briefly, then sighed, deeply relaxed as he settled into her.

 

“Fuck,” he gasped into her neck.

 

“I can’t,” she sighed, uttering the two words she never thought she’d say when it came to fucking.

 

She looked at the clock, and smiled. They’d fucked, sometimes hard and fast, sometimes slow and easy, but without stopping, for more than three hours. A marathon fuck, indeed, and, yet, he was still hard inside of her. Ironside was a fucking beast in bed. He wasn’t just Ironside, he was also Ironcock. She smiled and closed her eyes, her hand on the back of his neck, holding him close to her, his breath warm on her neck, his cock still inside of her, as she slid into sleep.