TWO
Kennedy
Someday, I wanted to be able to walk into a store without having to look at the price tag before I decide if I like a dress or not.
Really, my entire life came down to that.
Poverty was a crushing thing.
It weighed down on you until you were almost sure there was nothing that could relieve that much pressure.
Almost sure.
That almost was what kept me going.
That almost was what had me at She's Bean Around though I literally never got coffee outside home because it was a frivolous spending of money that I, quite frankly, could not afford. It was also what had me sitting at a table across from Ethan whose voice had the same response in my body as nails on a chalkboard, listening to him prattle on and on and freaking on about how he wanted to help me.
Wanted to.
But wasn't going to.
Such was our so-called relationship.
Not romantic, mind you.
God, no.
Professional relationship.
I had been dealing with his cocky, condescending, overbearing, lying ass for a while. I had also needed to field his misguided flirtation when it arose. Because... hell freaking no.
Not in a million years.
Luckily, being in public seemed to make him keep his hands to himself and be on, somewhat, good behavior.
You know, while he jerked me around and gave me platitudes and half-promises I knew he had no intentions of keeping. I had brought my best to the table too.
Watching him walk away, taking what I hoped would be more financial security with him, I was already mentally back at home eating store brand ice cream straight from the tub with a soup spoon and a side of five-dollar wine. Yes, five dollars. They, in fact, do make wine that cheap. And in case you were wondering, it absolutely does taste like it costs five dollars, really just being glorified bathroom cabinet alcohol. But, hey, at least it was alcohol.
And then he spoke.
Really, he just startled me at first. I was no saint. I had heard (and used) many a curse word in my day. But something about it being said directed at me made me jerk back and automatically look for the source of it.
Then there he was.
He was good-looking in a very rough kind of way. Maybe that was just a judgement based wholly on the jeans, wifebeater, leather biker cut, and boots. But I was inclined to think it was just the man as a whole, not his clothes. He was tall and a lean kind of strong and a sort-of young De Niro in Taxi Driver kind of face, but somehow hotter. Which is saying something, 'cause I was always a sucker for De Niro. I may or may not have drooled over that picture of him covered in blood with a finger to the side of his head more than a time or two. And this guy? He totally seemed like someone who might have been covered in blood a few times. His own or someone else's.
His hair was less ridiculous than De Niro's in that movie, black, short-cropped, but stylish enough. His eyes were dark, and there were several scars on his face that should have made him ugly, but somehow didn't. There was more than a day or two's worth of scruff on his face.
Everything about him seemed to scream- danger!
But that, as most people knew, tended to be a bit like catnip for us lady folks.
Besides, girls from the quote-unquote wrong side of the tracks like me, we were so used to his type that the danger seemed more like a comfort. In fact, we tended to be a bit more suspicious of the guys in suits.
Then he continued his little monolog, effortlessly calm and cocky, so bloody sure of himself that I pretty much instantly believed that being finger fucked by him would somehow be a life-changing experience.
Of course he ended it with an invitation, and a smooth as all get out exit that was straight out of a movie.
I knew the party he was talking about.
I had walked past it on my way in, ignoring a catcall from a few of the guys walking into it carrying cases of beer. And, let's face it, anyone who had spent more than a long weekend in Navesink Bank knew exactly who The Henchmen MC were and precisely what they were into. So the rough and tough look this guy who did not give me a name so I mentally dubbed him Niro in homage to Mr. Taxi Driver himself, made total sense. He was an arms dealer. Or gun runner. Whatever term they wanted to use to call selling illegal guns to other bad guys in exchange for money.
Lots and lots of money.
And I was not, was absolutely not even the least bit tempted to drag myself away from my impending ice cream and cheap wine weepathon to strut myself down the street and go searching for Niro and his sexy voice and sexier face and see about those finger fucking skills he bragged about.
I needed to get laid, damnit.
How long had it been?
God, at least ten months. Or was it longer? I had long since started gauging everything in my life by what minor or major catastrophe it happened near. Sex, well, I think that was while I was flying high on an exciting upcoming new apartment buzz so I had finally gone to bed with a guy I had been dating for about six weeks. The next morning I got the call saying I would not be getting the apartment. Or the one I found after that. Or the one after that.
Ten months.
It felt like years.
I was pretty sure I was prematurely going gray over all the stress that the past almost-year had kept me under. And if what Ethan said was true, there was no freaking end in sight.
Maybe some sex would give me at least some momentary relief from the shitstorm I called a life.
"Depends on what you're after," a female voice said from my side, making me realize I had been watching the door Niro departed like some kind of lovesick freak. I turned to find the girl from the counter, Jazzy her name tag said, standing beside the table Niro had been sitting at, wiping the surface where he must have spilled some of his coffee.
"I'm sorry?" I asked, brows drawing together as she moved to sit in the chair he had vacated, turning fully toward me, bending so her elbows were on her thighs, like we were the oldest of friends instead of complete strangers.
"I see the gears turning about him," she said, waving toward the door. "I know him a bit and I have to say that when it comes to him, it depends on what you're after. You want toe-curling, voice box-breaking, sheet-tearing sex that makes you reevaluate your ideas on God and the afterlife because you're goddamn sure nothing could ever be anywhere near as amazing as him fucking you, then go for it. But if there is even a teensy part of you that thinks you're only a relationship kind of woman and wonder if maybe he's a relationship kind of man, then stay far, far away from him. Anyway, that's my two cents. We'd really appreciate a Yelp review if you have two minutes."
And with that, she was gone.
I felt the smile spread, immediately deciding that once I had money for things like to-go coffee and a tip to go along with it, that I was totally going to start spending more time at She's Bean Around. As it was, I didn't, so I grabbed my phone, three generations old and cracked so bad that it was hard to type on it, and brought up Yelp and wrote them a quick review before handing them the twenty Ethan had left, grabbing my bag, and heading outside.
I truly didn't know my intentions until I turned in a direction and made up my mind.
Well, not really made it up per se. I actually changed my mind and turned back five times before I saw myself closing in on the gates.
But as soon as I was in front of them, I made the choice. Because, really, did I want this night to be remembered solely as the night Ethan effectively crushed what little was left of my dreams? Or did I maybe want it to be the night I did something completely uncharacteristic like hookup with the sexy, dangerous, bad news Niro and let him curl my toes?
The answer to that was obvious to anyone with a sex drive.
Also, I was due for a good toe-curl.
Because while I had been laid ten months before, he hadn't exactly, ah... rung the bell. He fucked like a bunny rabbit who didn't understand foreplay, unless he counted sticking a finger in to see if I was ready enough, and then came after ten strokes.
And vibrators, while a godsend, didn't anywhere near stack up to the real thing.
"Marry me." I jerked backward, not realizing I had been standing there silently like a weirdo, completely unaware of a man walking up toward me. He was tall and, like Niro, a lean type of strong. But unlike Niro, he was all light- blond hair, blond beard, blue eyes. He had a languid, lazy type of gait as he moved toward me, and the most welcoming smile I think I had ever seen on a man.
"I'm sorry?"
"You're turning me down?" he asked, putting a hand to his heart. "I'm crushed. You would have made a lovely Mrs. Harris, don't you think, Eddy, man?"
The Eddy person was another man who seemed to slink out of nowhere. He was nothing like his biker brother. He was tall, solid, dark-haired, dark-eyed, dark-everything'd. There was something very intimidating about him.
"I think she's lost," he said. Well, no. He didn't really say that; it was more like he growled it. The man growled. And I wasn't so hung up on a possible tryst with Niro to not be appreciative of that sound.
"Don't mind Edison," Mr. Harris said, shaking his head at his friend. "He doesn't play well with others. I'm Cyrus," he said, offering me his hand and, well, what choice did I have but to take it? Then he went ahead and shook it, then enclosed it with his other hand. "I'm not giving up," he added. "Mrs. Harris. Mrs. insert-your-name-here Harris."
I laughed at that, shaking my head. Deciding that while Niro and Edison certainly seemed like big, scary biker dudes, this Cyrus guy was a sweetheart. "Kennedy."
"Mrs. Kennedy Harris," he mused, nodding. "I need to go and carve that into a tree." His smile slipped a little as he released my hand finally, making me snatch it back a little self-consciously, realizing I should have pulled it away myself much sooner. "Are you lost, angel?"
My mouth opened and closed once before I shook my head.
"No, ah, I'm looking for..." - My common sense? My sanity? - "A guy I met a little while ago," I finished with, feeling my cheeks heat up slightly, figuring they both knew that if I was looking for him, then there was likely only one reason. I was a horny girl looking for a roll and tumble with one of their biker buddies.
"No, say it ain't so," he said, giving me puppy-dog eyes despite the fact that from where I was standing at the gates, I could see about a dozen scantily clad women standing around, ready for the taking. "Who is he? I will fight him for you."
I was in the middle of smiling at that when a voice came out of nowhere, making me seriously wonder if all bikers went through ninja training or something.
"That'd be me, Cy," Niro said, coming up behind him, whacking him between his shoulder blades.
Cyrus was solid enough that he didn't move a step forward at the impact, but apparently, Niro was strong enough to make his body jerk slightly. "Oh," Cyrus said, looking at Niro, then me, then Niro, and finally me again. "Yeah, then you're all his, angel face. No way I'm fighting that crazy fucker." He offered me a smile then started walking backward. "Enjoy the party, Kennedy."
Then he turned and was gone.
"Kennedy, huh?" Niro asked, head cocked slightly to the side, giving me the kind of smirk that was meant to melt panties and, well, let's not talk about the state of mine right then. "Come on, let's get you a drink."
With that, the man I knew as Niro since he had still neglected to give me an actual one, threw a heavy arm across my shoulders, making my body go down an inch or so at the unexpected weight, curled his arm slightly so I was more against his side, an unapologetically alpha possessive action that I maybe liked a little too much, and started leading me in toward the clubhouse.
And while, logically, I knew I could leave at any time, the choice was still in my hands, as I was pulled into the building, the decision felt made.
There was no going back.
The inside of the clubhouse wasn't quite what I was expecting. What that expectation was, well, was along the lines of a frat house. Meaning no actual decor, lots of cheap beer, and a general odor of must, sweat, socks, balls, liquor, and a hint of pot.
But their clubhouse was slightly more upscale than that. The decor, while definitely man-cave-ish and understated, was done well. The backbar was quality. The couches were expensive. Hell, even the pool table looked like it cost more than everything I owned combined.
And while there was absolutely a hint of sweat and liquor, the place was surprisingly clean even with the crush of bodies inside.
There was a sea of leather cuts and revealing dresses. Metal was blasting through some hidden speaker system, the vibration seeming to come through the floor and up my legs, an oddly sensual sensation. As if I needed any more sexual frustration right then.
"What are you drinkin'?" I heard from behind the bar as Niro led me up to it, arm still around me like I was some prized possession. Which sort of made a warm feeling spread in my belly even though the more logical part of my brain knew it was likely just a claim-staking thing so any of the other guys didn't get any ideas. In a way, that was still flattering.
"Oh, no... I'm..." - In desperate need of keeping at least a bit of my wits about me - "fine."
"Pick a drink, pet, so we can move on from here," Niro said as he accepted a glass, obviously already having had a drink or two that night.
"Gin and tonic," I said, thinking the first thing that came to my mind seeing as I doubted they had wine or anything that resembled a mixer. "Get out," I said when he grabbed a glass, the gin, and then pulled up an honest-to-God soda gun. "You actually had a soda gun installed here?"
"They're living it up here at The Henchmen MC," the guy behind the bar said as he passed me my drink that I hadn't taken my eyes off of because a) it was a biker compound and b) most of the people inside were criminals and c) I had no idea if that criminal mentality extended to date rape drugs in drinks.
But as I brought it up, his words settled in, making my brows draw together. They're. So the bartender wasn't a member. Was he just hired for the gig? Or maybe just a friend?
"Want some air, pet?" Niro asked as he stepped away from the bar. "It's not usually this packed," he added as I fell into step beside him and he led me out a back door to the yard again.
Somehow, I was almost thankful for the hot air as I brought my drink up, the glass already sweating in my palm, and took a long sip. Maybe it would help bring back the girl who decided to follow a freaking outlaw biker into his dominion with the sole purpose of screwing around with him. Because I wasn't sure who that woman was. I was never a hookup kind of person. Like I said, the last guy I had dated for six weeks before we got into bed. That 'third date rule' was never something I subscribed to. How could I literally let you inside my body when I didn't know your hopes, dreams, socioeconomic aspirations?
And yet there I was with a guy whose name I didn't even know, having a drink I didn't particularly enjoy, agreeing with my presence that I wanted him to finger me and eat me out.
What the hell was wrong with me?
Too lost in my own crazy, twisting thoughts, I didn't realize that Niro hadn't led me over toward the crowd in the back like I had been expecting, maybe wanting to ease me into the party, let me finish my drink.
No, instead, he was pulling me around the building, dragging me down this large alley sort of thing between what was obviously a new addition to the building and the part of the other, older addition to a building that had obviously been a mechanic shop at one time.
"What are..." I started, hearing an odd thud. Even as I looked to try to find the source, my glass was pulled from my hand and dropped, creating another thud.
But I didn't get a chance to look down and see the glasses spilling their contents onto the dry summer grass.
Because one moment, his arm was still around my shoulders, the next, I was pressed up against a wall, his arms caging me in beside my shoulders.
"I'm doing this," he said, just a split second before his lips crashed down on mine.
And I swear, I swear on what very little faith I had in any kind of goodness in the world, the contact was an electrical current through my body. It sparked where his lips claimed mine- hot, undeniable. Then it fired through my veins, making everything inside feel hot, borderline burning. And the current shot a white hot spark between my legs, so intense that they felt shaky, making my hands claw at the sides of his cut, fingers digging in, holding on for dear life as his tongue parted my lips and moved inside to claim mine.
There was a throaty, whimpering noise that barely sounded like me. It was pure need, desperation. And while they were emotions I was all-too familiar with, I had never heard the sounds coming out of me, always having been someone who had a lot of pride and therefore didn't like to show that kind of vulnerability to anyone- not even someone I was sleeping with.
In response, completely wiping away any niggling insecurity I might have felt in making the sound in the first place, Niro made a deep, growling rumble noise from somewhere buried in his chest. And the vibration of it caused absolute chaos through my system as my hands left his cut and slipped under. They slid down slightly to slip under the material of his wifebeater and landed on his hot skin, the muscles hard and delicious beneath, begging me to feel more. So I went ahead and slid up his firm ab muscles then around his sides to his back.
Shameless, my hands were.
Greedy too, as my fingers found smoothness, knowing they were scars, and unable to do anything but stroke over them.
He made that noise again as he grabbed my lower lip between his teeth, biting hard, as his hand moved from the wall and slid down my back, grabbing my ass firmly through my dress, and dragging my softer body against his harder one.
And I mean hard.
His heavy jean material was hardly managing to contain his straining cock.
As if knowing exactly how wanton I was that minute, his hand slipped slightly from my ass so that it was hauling up my thigh, then ground himself against me.
My mouth tore from his, an almost pained cry escaping my lips as my head angled up, looking into the dark, star-riddled sky. Taking the opportunity, the delicious scrape of his scruff burned across the column of my neck. If I thought that was intoxicating, though, it was nothing compared to his lips closing in on that sensitive flesh and sucking gently. Not enough to create a mark, but enough to make me seriously reconsider if I had ever been truly turned on before in my life. Because nothing, literally nothing, had ever come close to this.
So when he released my ass, grabbing my hip, and slamming me back against the unyielding wall, and his hand started bunching up my floor length skirt, I didn't even consider thinking it over, making the 'smart' decision.
I just let him expose my skin to the humid night air.
I just let his other hand hold up the whole of my maxi skirt as his other whispered up my thigh.
My head slammed back into the wall as his fingers brushed the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, a strange heaviness taking over my chest and lower stomach.
I finally understood the term- clawing need.
Because that was how it felt. It felt like being ripped apart with the desire for something that you needed as much as your next breath.
And as his teeth bit into my neck, his fingers pressed against my panties, making an almost shrill moan escape me as my head slammed forward, burying into his neck.
He didn't pause.
He didn't ask if it was alright.
Because, quite frankly, he didn't need to.
Everything in my reaction was giving him permission to move his hand up, to slide under the waistband of my panties, and to stroke his fingers up my slick heat.
"Mmm," he growled against my ear as his thumb found my clit, causing that somewhat shaky sensation in my thigh muscles to become actual quivering that made my arms slide up his back and hold on hard to his shoulders, sure that they might give out at any moment. "Fuck yeah, you better hold on tight, pet. This is about to get a fuckuva lot better." With that, his thumb pressed my clit, and two fingers slid down and thrust inside me, causing the seemingly inevitable muscle failure in my thighs, leaving me clinging to him.
This in no way hindered him as he pressed me harder against the wall and finger fucked me rougher than I knew it was possible to, the thrusts unrelenting and hard as his thumb remained a constant presence on my clit.
Then, just as the fog of desire started to clear, allowing a tiny sliver of doubt to sashay in, as if he somehow even sensed the transition, his fingers stopped thrusting, curled inside me, and started raking over my G-spot with the exact perfect pressure.
It was all of maybe four strokes before the orgasm completely crashed through my system, breaking apart everything inside as I cried out into his neck, fingers digging into his shoulders, my entire body seeming to do a strange, out of control shaking thing for a long minute as the waves washed through me.
I came back down slowly. His fingers slid out of me, pulling my skirt back down. As for me, well, I maybe clung to him for a long time, face buried in his neck, hands still digging into his flesh. My heart was a hummingbird's wings. My air felt compressed in my chest, making each indrawn breath labored, almost painful.
And it was right about then that the common sense and sanity I had been seeking when I stopped at the gates came crashing back into my system, making me uncomfortably aware of what I had just done.
I got fingered by a man whose name I didn't know.
Who I had only met all of an hour before.
Who was a gun-running biker.
Who wouldn't remember me in a day.
Oh, God.
Had I truly sunk so low?
And, I mean, I thought I knew low. I had been at rock bottom for a long while, almost comfortable with the fact that there was no further to sink. Then a goddamn trap door opened beneath me and let me slip just a little further down.
Lovely.
Just great.
Well, at the very least I could do away with one small bit of the shame I was feeling.
I pulled slightly back, finding him waiting for me to look at him, those sexy, dark eyes of his still heavy-lidded in his own unattended to desire. I almost lost my nerve. Hell, I almost wanted to reach between us and give him a hint of what he gave me.
But I shook my head slightly and opened my mouth to finally, finally ask his name.
That was when we weren't alone anymore.
"Hey!" a male voice yelled from the mouth of the alley, making Niro's brow raise as he released me enough to turn, slipping an arm around my lower back, and facing the voice.
"Fuck off," Niro said, voice almost bored-sounding, but firm.
And had the man standing there not been so drunk that he was a little wobbly, he might have taken the threat in it.
"Naw, man. I've been looking for you everywhere."
There was a deep exhale from Niro as he released me, making me do a horrifying stumble without the support, something I was sure he didn't see as he was already moving toward the end of the alley.
As for me, well, I wasn't feeling overly comfortable being in a dead-end alley with two biker-type guys blocking me in, so I followed his path and slipped behind him to the side just as he was almost toe-to-toe with the drunk guy who, I realized now that we were closer, didn't have a biker cut on.
"And why's that?" Niro asked, voice stupidly sexy even to my orgasm-sated system.
"I heard you were the tough guy," the drunk guy slurred. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, his skin flushed with however much booze was in his system.
"Alright," Niro invited further explanation.
"Yeah, well, I'm here to show you that you're not going to have that title for much long..."
He lost the rest of his sentence because, in a move that was almost too fast for my eyes to catch, Niro half-turned back, curled a fist, cocked his arm, and slammed it into the drunk's face. But alcohol being a numbing thing, the drunk guy didn't back down like he maybe should have considering one punch knocked him into the wall and would have knocked him down otherwise. No, instead, he charged Niro.
And then all I saw was red.
Literally.
Red blood flying everywhere.
It was right about that moment as well that a crowd started to form, half and mostly-drunk men cheering on the utter bloodbath Niro was creating.
Me? I was perfectly fine with cinematic gore. I didn't so much as blanch when I saw movie blood. But, well, I got light-headed when I stubbed my toe once and tore my toenail off. I wasn't good with real life blood.
On top of that, I wasn't exactly comfortable with masculine violence. I mean, really, was there any woman who was? It always made your belly wobble, made you genuinely fear that that anger might shift and turn and find a new target. You.
Then the whipped cream and cherry placed above all of that was the fact that I just let that fearsome beast of a man finger fuck me in an alley.
Which needed to be a five-dollar wine-soaked memory in about one hour.
So I did the only smart, prudent, me-like thing- I freaking ran.
And I didn't look back.