Twisted Penny (Neither This, Nor That) by MariaLisa deMora (1)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Twisted Penny

“Three ball, corner pocket.” His muttered words were accompanied with a thrusting gesture of the pool stick, indicating the particular corner out of four at which he was aiming. Simple shot from where he stood, a straight lineup with the pocket. He just needed to pop a little lower right-hand English on the cue to pull it back to where he wanted so he could position for the next shot. Spin to win, folks. He straightened and took a step back, which rapidly turned into two additional half steps before he righted himself, killing the stumble’s momentum. Well, it should be a simple shot, he thought, tongue in the corner of his mouth as he tried to recover gracefully.

Undrunk would equal simple. Drunk as he was right now? Not a fucking chance in hell he would be hitting that hole. His gaze crossed the two identically-dressed girls sitting on stools along the wall, tight tanks pulled low, crimson lips, shorts sagging around their hips. Or any holes. He squinted, the two women resolving into a single female form, wreathed in cigarette smoke. Or any hole, singular, he thought. Not that I’m lookin’ for skank, but pussy is pussy.

Wrapping his hand around the edge of the corner closest to him, he bent and angled himself into position, bringing the stick down and resting it on his hand in the notch formed by his jutting thumb. Hold on. Stroking back once…twice…then forwards with a soft crack. The tip hit the white ball, careening it into the red ball, and he watched as both moved exactly how he saw in his mind. Before the solid had finished falling into the netting, he called the next shot, striking the cue with the stick again just as it drifted to a stop. Shifting a half step to his left, he called the next shot. And the next.

Surprisingly, he won, and that game turned into another. And another, which he also won, the wooziness slowly fading.

“A man drunk as you are, how in the hell does he still win at pool?” Bills thrown on the tabletop were a contemptuous insult, but he didn’t care. Right now those bills were a tank of fuel, a good meal, and hot shower. A haven purchased by a little overlooking was still a haven. It wasn’t that money was a problem, just that his self-righteous little brother didn’t want dirty money. He didn’t know him well, but suspected that to Fred, earned would be acceptable, and it’d feel good to offer something to ease an unspoken burden. I’ll just have to convince him that hustlin’ pool is work.

Leaning crookedly, he put his stick on the table for the next player. Pretend to be a little slow, promise ‘em a chance at recovery, he heard in his head and felt the grin falter on his face. That was a blast from the past he didn’t need. Papaw, go back to sleep, he thought, shoving down memories of bullet-riddled bodies falling around him, holes appearing in leather vests like movieland stunt props, but these had blood and bone, breathing souls behind them. Everything that mattered stripped away in a moment. Some lost to family crypts, some to a rift nearly as final. This trip the first accepted overture in over a decade of attempts, giving him renewed hope of restored connections.

“No freakin’ idea, man.” His mouth moved without his request, but at least it had the right idea. “Same time, same place tomorrow? You can win it back?” He wouldn’t still be in town tomorrow. Not a chance in hell he would still have the money, so there wouldn’t ever be a rematch. Fred’s load was supposed to deliver in the morning, so they’d be out of here by six o’clock at the latest. As he scraped the cash together, pushing the thick fistful deep into his pants pocket, he glanced around and noticed the woman was gone. She'd escaped the stench of the smoke-filled atmosphere. Prolly already walkin’ the lot.

Hand to his head, partly to hold the pounding thing together, partly to obscure his face, he made his way to the door. The giants standing there gradually resolved down into a single figure, and he was glad. It was hard enough to bullshit this one. There was no need to ask for trouble by bullshitting two of ‘em. “Fred,” said the man in the blue shirt, white patch with black letters spelling out “Paulie” over the pocket. “No.” Which he knew was giant-speak for “I can’t let you on the road like this. If troopers pull you over, it’s my ass in trouble.”

Startled at the name the bouncer handed him, he wondered, Was Fred who I said? Responding smoothly, he shook his head, saying, “Paulie, my man. I’m not drivin’. Partner is behind the wheel next shift. I’m just sleepin’.” Giving up with a grunt and a lifted chin, Paulie reached out and opened the door for him, seeming to know the effort would have been beyond him at this point. “Thanks,” Twisted muttered, getting a second chin lift.

And as easily as that, he walked out of the bar masquerading as a truck stop and into the lot, the occupants never knowing who they had hosted tonight. He shrugged, missing the leather vest that normally rode his shoulders like the voice of reason. That loss eased by the knowledge that tonight he could do anything without worry about dire predictions on the part of his officers. Twisted shook off the feeling, trying to beat back vertigo that threatened to upend his stomach. Might shoulda left the vodka off the menu. He grinned. Might shoulda left the tequila off the menu, too, stuck to whiskey. He shrugged, done was done, and tonight, as far as he was concerned was done.

Standing in the glare of the sodium lights, his gaze swept the parking lot. Row upon row of gleaming paint and chrome. Amber and white lights gave the area a shimmering glow, red lights flashing at intervals, blue and green and purple under lights creating pockets of illumination amidst the hulking shapes surrounding him. Exhaust hung like a cloud over the oasis, the smell of diesel fuel thick upon the air, flavoring every breath. Now to remember where my ride parked. Oh, Freddy boy, ready or not, here I come.

He made his careful, weaving way through the lines of massive vehicles, looking for the company logo on his brother’s truck, studying the windows to see greater than expected numbers of silent sentinels. Dark forms in their tall seats, living coals hanging from fingers propped on wheels sized to give leverage and advantage to a human, regardless of height. Searing brands carried from resting position to just below the glint of eyes in the darkness; countenance lit from underneath when the cigarette flared brightly for a moment, the inrushing air sucking back chemicals and flavor and nicotine given life with a troubled permission to rush towards extinction, the cigarette burning down to nothing in minutes. Reduced to ashes.

Finally, he thought, seeing familiar territory ahead in the form of Fred’s truck. Cold and still, the engine wasn’t idling, but the creak of suspension spoke to restless sleep inside the cabin attached to the chassis. At least, I won’t be waking him up. Lifting a fist, he pounded lightly against the bottom of the driver’s door, glancing behind him to ensure there weren’t any pool-losing followers bent on retrieving their mistake by force. Creaking and shifting, then the sound of the window lowering. Surprised the door hadn’t opened, he turned to look up at the same time a soft, feminine, so-not-Fred voice sounded.

“Interesting, but no thanks.” Short hair, ends going a hundred different directions. It was impossible to tell the shade in this lighting, but that unruly mop surrounded a tiny triangle of a face, petite and pleasing. She lifted a hand to rake the mane away from her forehead, scratching for a moment at a barbell piercing her eyebrow, then allowed the fall of her bangs to cover the exposed skin. Not much, in terms of body modification, but something curious to catalog. The only thing he really knew at this point was she wasn’t his brother. “Try the next truck over. He had something to smoke earlier, might be receptive.” The window began to raise back into position.

Unexpectedly, because he was normally as tightlipped as a cop in lockup, his mouth blurted exactly what he was thinking, all his filters apparently having reached their capacity tonight. “You’re not Fred.” This round of ignorance brought to you by alcohol.

She snorted, shaking her head and tilting it the slightest amount as the window stopped in place, halfway up and halfway down, committed to neither. He stared at her and decided to go with it. She evidently thought him a prostitute, might as well play the part. “Hell, for you? Half-price.”

The window powered down to the fully open position, and she leaned an elbow on the metal frame. Amused, she asked, voice two octaves higher than previous, “Say what?”

She’s curious. The remains of his drunken fog receding in light of this puzzle to solve. Curious equals interested. Interesting. “Half-price. I didn’t realize you were a chick.” Downplay everything. “My favorite kinda chick.”

Chin to her palm, head tipping the other direction, she waited for a beat. Then, with that thread of humor still present, she asked, “What does that mean?” Nice fuckin’ voice. Nice package of pretty sittin’ here in front of me.

“My favorite kinda chick? A hot chick.” He’d known whores in his life, knew one of them since he’d been birthed, since that had been his mother’s chosen profession. So he knew the patter they preferred and made a split-second decision to find an edge there to walk. Lowering his voice, he pitched it sexy-sweet for his spiel, letting the truth roll off his tongue knowing it would be more believable than anything else. “Hot chick like you, I’m surprised you’re not already laid up with a man. But you ain’t, and here I am. Give me a chance. I’ll rock your world, baby. Rock you all night long. Make you feel so good.”

Lips he hadn’t realized were so generous stretched in a beautiful smile, giving her face additional dimension. His cock twitched, the first sign of life from that rat bastard all evening. Low and smooth, in a level tone, she asked, “What’s the cost of this hypothetical connection?”

Ho-lee shit, she’s goin’ for it. Chin up, he pushed his bottom lip up and out, creating that pouting, bearded smile the girls seemed to like so much. Confident for the first time since before he broke the last rack of balls, he held her gaze as best he could in these indifferent shadows on the edge of the lot. “Man’s gotta make a livin’, but you’re so pretty…” He trailed off and made a show of looking at what he could see of her. “…you name your price, and you got it, baby.”

The rolling rumble of a hundred truck engines surrounded them, quietly vibrating the air, coiled power exploited for the drivers’ comfort, keeping the cabs cool or warm according to preference. Her truck was silent, the window already slightly open before he’d knocked on the door. She took things as they came, without forcing things into a mold. He wondered suddenly if she could take him the same way and felt a shiver of fear trickle down his back, not sure how far he should push this farce.

He cast that thought aside as his chest settled, heavy with disappointment at her continued silence, and was a half breath from turning away when she spoke. “Payment after services rendered.” There was no way a whore would go for that arrangement, rightly assuming they’d be stiffed. The way it worked was payment up front, like what you get or not, the goods were the goods. No way would a whore climb up in a truck without seeing the green. “Got a condom?” she asked, giving so much away with her two short sentences.

She couldn’t know how whores worked. He knew that tidbit for a fact, now that he was paying attention. The inside of her cab reflected a quiet femininity, more like an anti-masculine than anything specific or pointed towards the fairer sex. A quilted pouch on the dash to hold small things, the fabric would muffle any annoying rattles. Cute and functional, there was a ladybug-shaped air freshener clipped to the visor. Those things identified her truck in such a way that there’d be no whores for her. The typical truck stop lot lizards avoided female drivers like the plague, like sweetbottoms at club parties avoided ole ladies. Like cottonmouths and copperheads, knowing the other by the stench emitted, each giving the other a wide berth.

Her question, well, that gave away a lot. A woman without condoms meant she did without getting dick regularly, or at least never brought it home. He knew from his brother that truckers considered their rig a home as much as he looked at the clubhouse the same way. You only brought into that what you were willing to defend. Sweetbottoms didn’t come inside, not past the outer rooms. Relegated to the party spots and common areas, they were never allowed back where the members lived because bitches didn’t rank if the shit hit the fan. So this woman not having condoms meant she didn’t shit where she lived. Which made her willingness to let him in suspect and odd.

Such a nice package of pretty, appealing and sweet. Why would she be looking for paid company? A beautiful woman alone on the road learned to be safe and cautious early on, or they didn’t stay good-looking long.

Twisted, road name earned years ago, the only name his club members knew, didn’t like odd. He liked to understand odd, dissect it, and see what made it tick. The why mattered.

Decision made, he nodded, reaching for the grab bar anchored to the side of the truck. Hand out, he caught the door as she threw it open before disappearing into the back of the truck, headed towards the sleeper. It took him two false starts, but he managed to climb up and into the seat. He powered the window shut and made a show of locking the door before turning to look into the rear of the cabin.

The pass-through between the seats led to a condo sleeper, dim lighting from the built-in cabinetry illuminated the area as well as the woman perched on one end of the mattress. A pistol was lying on top of a table next to her, within easy reach of her right hand.

Palms lifted in front of him, he shook his head. Shit. Shit shit shit. Shoulda known too good was too good. He imagined seeing his winnings from the night going up in a quick puff of smoke. Seeing the hit he’d take when the boys found out he’d been taken in by a slip of a chick who was hardly old enough to hold the license her current vehicle required. “Hold on,” he said softly, feeling a cold ball of steel settle into his belly. Calm and cool. There we go. He was good in challenging situations. His responses never quite what people expected, twisting the fabric around him until everything of benefit came to him. “Hold on.”

“Just so there aren’t any misunderstandings,” she said, reaching over and picking up the gun.

Shit shit shit. Hand inching down his leg, he split his attention. Half remained on the woman, watching the movement of her fingers and hand, fixated on the flexors and tendons and muscles in the arm holding the gun, and half transferred to his own hand, feeling the outline of the gun in his boot. Judging the time it would take to flip it out and into his palm, evening the numbers. He had another weapon in a holster on his six, but his position in the seat made that one awkward to reach. If you can’t win with one gun, you’re fucked anyway. Wait, he thought. Wait and see.

With a practiced flip of her thumb, she engaged the safety and then dropped it back to the surface with a clatter. Twisted refused to give her any reaction, not even the satisfaction he felt that she had so misjudged him. Happens all the time. With a pretty face and a lean, muscular body he preferred to think of as wiry, he found himself underestimated all the time, especially by men who felt bulging muscles were the measure of a man. And now, by a woman who didn’t know the kind of viper she’d allowed into her home. Her propping the door open, that invitation offered and accepted, slithering in, forked tongue flicking inside the smile forced into place. Oh, darlin’, your mistake. My pleasure.

“So, how’s this go?” She trained her eyes on him, fixing him in place, but he could see the edge of uncertainty there, too. She was rethinking things; probably already sorry she’d rolled that window down. Time to pour on the charm again, ease her into things. If he wanted to take this all the way, it seemed he’d be able to, and he found himself still intrigued. Would be good to fuck someone just for fun for a change. Most of his rendezvous were calculated for club advantage.

His last three encounters had all been like that, unsatisfying fucks that were more work than fun. First, the wife of a rival club’s president, a video of her active participation emailed to the man’s club that night. Twisted stood back and watched the implosion, members not willing to follow a man who couldn’t keep his bitch in line, freeing Twisted to scoop the good ones right up. There was the offered daughter of a sweetbottom looking to trade up to ole lady status. He’d verified the age and willingness before tossing the bitch on a table and drilling into her hard and fast. Even without priming her, finding to his distaste that at just-turned-eighteen, she was already sloppy—he gave a silent snort at where his mind went—as a truck stop lot lizard. Then the party doll who’d sucked him off at a joint gathering three weeks ago, her reluctant man forced to watch the head-bobbing action. Prospect patch for the other club on his back, the hookup as much a discipline for him as a tradeoff with Twisted. He’d come with slitted eyes watching the crowd, listening to the bitch gag as he wrenched her hair, thrusting down her throat.

This cute thing in front of him was looking for more than a quick fuck. An offer of an all-night gig was on the table, and those words had triggered an involuntary tell, an eye flare suggesting he’d piqued her interest. It meant she was looking for a partner, not an encounter. Maybe she didn’t know there was a difference. She’d be looking for sweet. I can do soft tonight, he decided on the fly. I can give her sweet if that’s what she needs. Tipping his head towards her gun lying on the table, he tipped his hand at the same time.

“This goes a couple different ways, darlin’.” Using a gentle voice, soft and quiet, reassuring, he adjusted the tone until he saw the muscles in her shoulders relax a bit. “First, I need to know you don’t plan on robbing me.”

“What?” The question was forced out by her surprise, a laughing negation of sound that he was happy to hear. “No, of course not.”

“Man can’t be too careful.” He gave her the smile again, and her face softened, brightening in enticing ways. He found this up-close view of her reaction intoxicating. I know I’m good-lookin’, but I do believe this chick is into beards. Testing his theory, he lifted a hand, stroking downwards from cheeks to tip, over the point of his chin and down his neck the short distance to where his beard ended. She watched the entire motion without breathing. Not once. Mouth open partway, she would be embarrassed to know she licked left to right across her entire, lush bottom lip. Fuck yeah, she’ll be willing to ride my beard, no doubt.

“You never know what kind of people you’ll find these days.” Stretching out his arm, he rested his hand palm-up on his thigh—not a danger, he projected, harmless to you—concentrating on her as he said, “I’ve got my own protection.” Spell broken, her chin jerked up, pointing directly at him, eyes locked on his as he continued, “I have two pieces on me, darlin’. And a knife in my boot.” Still and quiet, she didn’t glance at her handgun, which told him she knew exactly where it was in relation to her body. She didn’t have to look at it to go for it. Interesting. “I wanted to tell you now, so when you see me take them out and put them up here,”—he gestured to the surface between the seats, a built-in sticking out from the wraparound driver’s console—“you won’t be surprised.”

She nodded, the only movement he could see other than the jumping fabric over her heart. Every conscious reaction was clamped down, but she couldn’t control that tell. His gaze slipped to her neck, and he saw the same pulse leaping there, pounding. In about two minutes, I’m gonna have my mouth there, he decided, giving her the smile again. “So long as you aren’t planning on robbing me, and I’m extending the same courtesy, we’ll have everything out in the open, yeah?” He moved and the chain from his wallet jangled against the seat controls, reminding him of something. “And I have three condoms, sweetness. If we need more than that, one of us will have to get dressed and walk to the truck stop, make a purchase.”

That pulled a reaction from her, startled surprise. Hmm. At the honesty, or the offer to go three rounds in the space of time she was offering him? Maybe she’s been with shitty men in the past? Young as she was, that didn’t mean lack of experience; he was a prime example of that. By the time he’d turned fifteen, he’d fucked his way through the entire senior class, and even tagged a couple of juniors. Not to say his freshmen peers hadn’t wanted their turn, but he focused on the leverage pieces first. Access to booze and cigs, invitations to upperclassmen parties, girls with jobs who didn’t mind spending cash on flash for him.

He’d taken his mother’s advice to heart, though, even back then. Georgie, you always take care of the woman first. Don’t make her feel like a slut. Don’t make her wait on you to get yours. Take care of your woman. She’d told him that the first time she saw the trash can full of used tissues, back when he was twelve. Watching the women around the whorehouse had given him a unique window into what “taking care of the woman” meant. A practical application of knowledge had never steered him wrong.

“Then how this goes is I come back there and sit next to you. I’ll kiss you if you’re okay with that.” A pause and she nodded, his head bobbing as he returned the gesture. She was all in on this. He eased his hand down, pulling the pistol out of his boot. She didn’t even look at his hand when it came up to place the weapon in clear view on the console. Her gaze remained stuck to his face, taking in everything he said. “Then we’ll neck for a bit, stretch out, get comfortable. I promised you all night, sweetness. We don’t have to hurry anything.”

Hand behind his back now, he pulled the other gun from the holster, laying it next to its smaller partner. Barrel to barrel, the two guns looked like a parody of a tattoo. A gangster he once knew, Two Guns, had that image inked on his belly. Once knew the man, nothing to know now. Two Guns had met the fate foretold by his name, eating the end of a rival’s gun, shadows in an alley devouring his pain.

She licked her lips, then, voice soft and low, sweetly unsure, asked, “All night?”

“All night long, sweetness.” He retrieved his wallet, flipping it open and taking out the condoms. Palming the wrappers, he replaced the worn leather into the back pocket of his jeans, feeling it snag on the frayed hole in the bottom corner of the fabric. “All night,” he repeated, legs pushing as he levered to a standing position, half bent over, shoulders rounded and bumping the ceiling. He glanced up to the space over her bunk, seeing the upper bed folded away. It was much higher back there, more room to maneuver. “Permission to enter the boudoir, ma’am?”

That pulled a grin from her, and he returned it, knowing his smile looked more self-satisfied than hers did. That was okay; they’d get there. She just needs some confidence. Startled at the thought, he wondered why the fuck it mattered to him. He was about to get his nut off in a sweet piece that had fuckall to do with the club. No business in this truck, just two people about to fuck like animals.

She gestured to his feet, and he glanced down then back up, waiting. “Can you take your boots off up there?” She pointed to the floor underneath the steering wheel, and he looked to see two pairs of shoes lined up beside the outer wall, up beside the clutch. “I try to keep the outside as far away from where I live as possible.”

Me, too. With a scowl, he remembered the one time he’d let a woman into his space at the clubhouse. A newly patched member, he’d gotten shitfaced and hauled a drama mama to his room. She’d been looking to work her way up on her back, and left his bed in the middle of the night to crawl into an officer’s rack. Fucking her way through the ranks, only to be discovered by that man’s ole lady the next morning which meant she'd fucked up for sure.

Hair and blood had flown, and while that shit was amusing to watch when drunk or stoned, it was a fuckuva lot less entertaining at six o’clock in the morning, hungover, and feeling like shit. Still, it had been his to clean up, so he’d waded in, taking a rake of nails to the face for his efforts. That had been the only time he’d done that shit; made his personal rule mandatory in the first church after he took up the president’s gavel.

She was frowning, so smoothing his expression, he gave her a dialed-back version of the cocky grin, pulling the veneer of civilized back into place. “No problem, darlin’. I like neat and tidy right alongside you.” He bent over and lifted a foot in the same motion, something he’d been doing for decades now. Leather changed, habits didn’t. One tug and he dropped the boot with a quiet thud, exchanging positions, propping his other ankle on his knee as he tugged again. Reaching down, he sorted his boots, lining the heels up with the edge of the rubber mat, keeping them off the carpeted area. “Better?” He reached, unclipping his wallet, pulling it out and laying it between the guns.

It was good she spoke up. It told him she was willing to ask for what she needed. Communication always made fucking more satisfying and just easier all around, so her asking for this boded well for him.

She nodded, and he moved, easing a knee to the mattress, shifting to a hip and gliding past her to put his back to the rear wall. Head in his hand, elbow propping him up, he grinned up at her. Where she sat, shoulders leaning against the sidewall, her ass was about where the pillows would go if they weren’t scrunched up into the corner. He wasn’t surprised. By the restless movement he’d heard even before knocking on the door, she hadn’t been sleeping. There was a book tucked under the edge of the pillows, face down, uncaring if she broke the spine.

He glanced around. There were a dozen well-worn books in one of the shelves over the top of the bunk, held in place by two fabric-covered elastic straps. From where he was, he could read the titles on some of them. Jesus, fuck, he thought, trying hard not to laugh aloud. Motorcycle club books. Every one of them. He’d stumbled on a closet club fanatic. Probably religiously watched that fuckin’ show on TV, even now that it was over with. Hell, she probably watched the reruns, too. Got her ideas from a Hollywood version of the life, probably didn’t know a single founder’s name of the club that “advised” on the show, but she could tell you the statistics for the actors portraying bikers.

From the looks of the models on some of the book covers, she wasn’t above smut for her bedtime reading, so hopefully she wouldn’t be opposed to acting out some of her favorite scenes. Mentally he compared himself to the clean-shaven, mural-inked, and gym rat-fit bodies on display and had to fight laughter again. Full beard, mostly black tattoos with a little color when the ink called for it, a leanish frame with a hint of body fat to attest to his love of food and booze—about the only thing he had in common with the guys on those covers was he wasn’t wearing his cut right now, either. That was in Fred’s truck, wherever the fuck that was, stored so he wouldn’t have to deal with shit solo. Not that he was afraid of an ass beating if it came down to that, but this wasn’t his town, so protocol demanded he respect the dominant club in the area.

He patted the mattress next to her hip, smiling up at her, tugging a pillow over. “Come down here next to me, sweetness.” Reaching out, he stroked up her thigh, traveling from knee to near the “Y” that housed one of his favorite meals in the world. Sweet, clean, tasty pussy. Been a long time. Too long.

The muscles of her leg flexed under his palm as she scooted down, responding to his suggestion without argument. Compliant, he mused, not a bad thing as long as she’s got the fire that hair promises, too. A light auburn, with blonde undertones, he hoped it hinted at wild. “That’s it,” he encouraged her as she inchwormed her way to prone. “Come on down,” he called in a singsong. Turning to a hip, she faced him, propping her head like his.

“This is the kissing part,” he said, cupping a palm behind her head and tugging gently. She resisted for a moment. Then her stiffness wilted, and when she leaned in, he got his first inkling of what was in store for him. Winter fresh, minty with the flavor of the gum she’d evidently been chewing, he breathed in her scent, lips working across hers. Nipping and plucking at her bottom lip, he gained the advantage when she gasped in a breath. Tracing across her lips, he dipped inside until the tip of her tongue touched his, and he tasted her. Addicting. Head angling, he opened his mouth wider, forcing hers to reciprocate, giving him better access. He took that. Hell, he’d take every inch she gave him, every indulgence possible if it meant he got to taste her again. And again. All night, he reminded himself, loosening a grip that had tightened, fingers winding into her hair to hold her in place.

“I’m liking this kissing thing,” she whispered, telling him something he already knew, thumb to the telltale pulse beating like a tom-tom in her neck. “But, what do I call you,” she asked when his lips moved so he could kiss along her jaw, finding her skin just as delicious as her lips. “What’s your name?”

“Bell,” he said, thoughtless of lies. All attention was taken up by discovering each inch of skin covering her neck and shoulders, his nose pushing aside the collar of her shirt to gain access to the flesh underneath. “Call me anything, baby,” he muttered, using his grip on her neck and jaw to angle her head away, staring at the beauty in his hands for a moment. Giving and easy, she molded to his demands, arching her neck to create lines of magnificence like nothing he’d ever seen before. Pixie-featured, the sharp edge of her jaw exposed a vulnerability he hadn’t expected.

“Bell?” This question came with a giggle, and he listened closely, liking it as much as he’d liked the tone earlier when she’d only been amused. “Like Tinker Bell? Is that like a…stage name?”

He froze, remembering she believed him a truck stop whore, someone who fucked men for money, playing bear or cub based on the client’s need. Someone who found the novelty of a chick behind the wheel worth what amounted to a freebie in trade. Forcing himself to movement, he resumed kissing and caressing her, trailing his fingers down her throat to her chest, dragging the fabric of her tee against her skin as he moved. “Just Bell,” he said, mouth moving along her neck. “My last name,” he told her honestly, something few people knew. “What do you want me to call you?”

“Penny,” she said, breathless as he cupped a breast, fingertips working along the edges of her bra before abandoning it to move farther south. She scooted towards him, slipping halfway to her back, trailing her fingers up his belly to the curve of his hip. Leather tail of his belt in hand, she worked at the buckle for a minute, chin lifting to press her lips to his when he paused to concentrate on the soft, delicate brushes of her hand against his rock-hard cock.

“Penny.” He tried out the name, liking how it fit in his mouth. Locating the hem of her shirt and pulling it up, he watched as she arched her back, titties begging for his mouth. Finding a pleasant surprise underneath, he brought the fabric over her head and tossed it to the carpeting. “Mmmm, my shiny Penny.” Fingers dipping into the cups of her bra, he pulled them down, framing her freckle-dusted breasts beautifully with the dark copper-colored material.

Lips and fingers paid homage, tracing and teasing as he focused on her responses, finding her wonder at the pleasure gratifying. Yeah, she’s been pegging two-pump chumps. His lips curved into a smile as he fed her titty into his mouth, feasting on her. Lace and pebbled nipples giving wonderfully different textures to play with, he moved from soft skin to tight tip and back again, switching sides in order to leave no inch neglected.

Curled up against him as she was, he experienced every breath, every quiver, the sounds torn from her throat surrounding him. Back arched, she wordlessly offered herself and he took…everything. Tangling his leg with hers, he pinned her to the mattress, rocking his cock against her hip. Her hands had stilled, but his belt dangled free from her forgotten attempts at undressing him. Sweeping one hand up her side, he plumped and cupped the breast not currently in his mouth, drawing her deep when her fingers tentatively ran through his hair.

Cautious of her fair skin, he tried not to rub his beard against her too roughly, but found the scent and taste of her alluring and couldn’t stop himself from nuzzling softly. “Oh,” she cried, and he pulled back, unsure of her reaction, but knew what she wanted when her fingers tightened in his hair. Letting her direct his mouth back to her titties, he nuzzled again, scraping his chin across her nipple, indulging her with a brief tease from his rough beard. Soothing the smooth skin with his tongue, he repeated the motion, reading into her stillness that she wasn’t just enjoying this, but that it was new and novel to her. Bearded for her pleasure. Something to experience fully. He hoped she’d be interested, his mouth watering at the thought.

Shifting down in the bunk, he snuggled his cheek against her stomach, eyeing his next destination. Button fly jeans, no belt, no shoes. Got this one handled. He grinned. Hand behind her knee, he gave a squeeze and tugged the leg farthest away from him out and up, spreading her thighs slightly. He didn't intend to go fast, no need to strip her yet. Time to play, see how hot and bothered he could make her. Fingertips only, he made small circles on the back of her calf, not moving up or down, just touching, spiraling slowly, creating a sensory feedback for her. At the same time, he nuzzled into her bare belly, gently rubbing against her as he laid a line of open-mouthed kisses along the edge of her bra. Lifting his mouth, he broke away before calling her name softly, “Penny, can you do me a favor?”

“Mmmm?” A humming question was her only response. He nuzzled her again, tickling along her ribcage to a chorus of sighs before lifting his head and sucking a breast into his mouth. Flattening his palm on her leg, he squeezed and massaged her calf, anchoring her in two places. Lifting up, he blew a fast stream of air across her wet nipple, watching the entirety of her breast break out in goose bumps.

“Penny?” Just her name this time was repeated a little louder. “Penny?”

“Mmmm? Yeah, Bell?” At least he got his name from her; she might be listening after all.

“Can you take the tie out of my hair?” Dipping his mouth to her, he rolled her nipple between his lips, tonguing it against the roof of his mouth. His stiffened fingers scraped blunt nails up the back of her calf, skimming the fabric and she jerked, pulling away, spreading herself wider for him. “Baby? Can you do that for me?”

She wiggled, pulling the arm trapped underneath him out, making him lift up to assist. Both hands on his head now, he felt gentle tugs as her careful fingers worked the leather cuff free. He saw the system of eyelets and hooks arc past, falling to the floor. Reflexively, showing she either had long hair not long ago or knew someone intimately who wore their hair long, she thrust her fingers into the locks falling around his face, massaging and scratching lightly at his scalp until he groaned.

He nuzzled into her appreciatively then set about doing what he intended when he asked her the favor. Fingertips to her leg, drawing small circles again while he indulged both breasts with kisses, licks, and tiny nips, he then moved his mouth back to her belly, dragging his hair across her titties. Trailing his hair back and forth, he moved his mouth from side to side, tonguing and mouthing her skin as he scooted down further in the bunk.

Nails dragging, hand sliding, he fondled his way up her leg, exploring new territory there, too. Each inch pulled a different noise from her, and he worked to separate the actions that carried the most response, repeating those, pushing the sensation for her. Above her knee was a soft gasp, tender and sweet to hear. Halfway up her thigh earned him a shuddering rush of air, deeper and more than a gasp, but just as soft. Fingertip tracing the seam of her jeans, thumb rubbing firmly at the muscles underneath gave him an idea to set aside for now, but he promised himself he would circle back to it. Oh, yeah, this is fun.

Determined to meet in the middle, he shifted on the mattress again, bringing his mouth that much closer to the prize. Bellybutton next, tempting tiny divot in the center of so much quivering flesh called for a dip and a nip, beard dragging back and forth as he traced the circumference with the tip of his nose. Her belly was jerking with each breath, hipbones holding her jeans up, a dark, inviting separation between fabric and skin that grew and shrank with each gasp.

Mouth to that strip of skin, tongue trailing and dipping underneath, teeth to the button fly flap. Pulling and tugging, growling playfully, he brought her laughter to the surface again. That same refreshing rise and fall of sweetness filling the cab for a moment before cutting off abruptly when the button slipped through the hole. Palm to her other thigh, he pushed high and rubbed the side of his hand at the edge of gloryland. Heat from her pussy radiated out from her. Gonna be so fuckin’ hot and tight. Relishing the idea, he moved his body over her leg, hemming her in and settling between her knees, elbows to the bed.

Hands on both her thighs now, he toyed and fondled, covering her still-clothed mound with his mouth, giving her the heat of his outgoing breath until she squirmed. He rewarded himself with a sipping inhalation that carried the scent of her arousal. Fuck, yeah. So rich and thick he could already taste her, already imagine how the folds of flesh would feel under his tongue. Tipping his head, he ensured his hair covered her belly, hiding his face as he rocked back and forth.

Mouth working her jeans, teeth biting at the seams where they joined together to cover her intimate areas, hands moving and gripping, pulling and lifting, hair teasingly light across her belly—it wasn’t long before her vocalizations were louder. Not yet loud, but, at least more than a barely-there inrush of air. Her oooooh, and mmmhm, and a shaky aaaahh were music to his ears, and he again worked to push her up the slope. Easing a hand underneath her body, he threaded his way across her ass and up to the bare skin of her back. Hot and smooth. Silk under his touch.

Splaying his fingers wide, he pressed firmly, letting her feel the power and strength of his hold. At the same time, he trailed delicate fingertips up her side, across the fabric that still framed and accentuated her breasts, finding and teasing the hardened nipple. The hand underneath pressing, lifting, reminding her she had a man in her bed, the other hand carefully plucking at sensitive flesh, skillfully pleasing. Leaning forward, he opened wide, taking as much of her into his mouth as he could, rigid tongue pressing against that hot pussy just out of reach, lips locking so he could suck and bite through the fabric. His efforts were proven worth it when she stiffened and shuddered, the low moan flooding the air around him just as bewitching as her laughter. “Bell!” Fuck, yeah, I gave that to you, baby.

Backing off, easing up, he gave a practiced flip of his head, settling his hair around his face and down his back. Mouth open, she was drawing in unsteady drafts of air, eyes squeezed tightly shut. Hands draped across her belly from when she lost her hold on his head. Twisted watched as her fingertips moved in intriguing circles, imitating what he’d been doing to her only moments ago. He grinned and then moved, pressing his chin firmly just above her pussy. With his palm settled over her tit, covering and protecting it, he had nothing but confidence in his voice when he reminded her, “All night, Penny.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered, turning her head to one side, chin tucked tight to her neck where it met her shoulder. Hmmm. Not the enthusiastic reaction I expected. Then she surprised him when she asked, hesitantly stopping and starting, “Did you need me to…um…do…um…anything?”

“Penny.” He adopted a tolerant tone, one you might use with a favorite student. “I’m a man. I only got so many chances at reaching those peaks. Now, I can bring you,”—he mouthed her pussy again, grinning when she writhed in place, pushing up against the pressure—“as many times as you’ll let me. Make you come until your throat is raw from screaming my name.” Hands gripping again, firm to the point of fierce, he pulled and tugged, reminding her he was all around her. “But, biology declares I only have so many chances.” Easing off, he plumped and caressed her tit, other hand splayed wide across her back, covering as much skin as he could. “I got three condoms and all night. I plan on using all three.”

Shifting, he lifted to his knees, moving over her on all fours. Suspended for a moment, he stared down into her eyes, noticing their color for the first time. A bright crystal blue that went perfectly with everything he could see. “All night.” He made the words a promise, bringing his mouth down to hers, giving a hum of pleasure when her lips parted immediately, granting access that he plundered. Tongue sliding and stroking, he traced the inside of her lips, touched the tip to hers, then plunged deep, twining and thrusting, head slanting this way and that. Her chest arched up, and he rubbed across her, the fabric of his tee snagging and dragging on the lace surrounding her tits. “All night.” He pulled back, leaving her panting and staring up at him. Those blue eyes locked on his face, dipping to his mouth when he said her name. “Penny.”

He stripped his shirt off, shaking his hair out as he tossed it to the side. Settling back on his heels, he freed her arms from the straps of her bra, leaving her shoulders bare but keeping the confining fabric in place just underneath her tits. Tugging at the buckle of his belt, he felt the leather slip and catch in the loops as he removed it from his jeans, letting it drop over the side of the bunk to the floor, a muffled thud cushioned by the clothing already there. Unbuttoning his waistband, he eased the zipper down and then left off there, reaching instead for her jeans.

Fingers working, he glanced up to see she was looking uncomfortable again. Needs some confidence. Maybe a little direction will ease the way for her. “Hands behind your head, Penny. Under the pillow is fine, but I want you to keep them there.” Uncertainty was writ large on her features, so he paused what he was doing to smooth his hands up either side of her ribcage, cupping her breasts as he stared into her eyes. “That’ll be a reminder that you don’t have to work for this, darlin’. My pleasure to please you.” Her hands lifted, shoving under the pillow behind her head, and he grinned, appreciative of the movement and how that showcased her tits. “Beautiful,” he told her, earning a curve in her lips. Not quite a smile, but he could work for those. “So fucking beautiful.”

Hands sliding down, thumbs tracing a double line down her center, he reached the waistband of her jeans and tugged. She lifted her hips obligingly, and he pulled, finding a pair of panties hidden underneath that matched the copper of the bra. Fingering along the lacy edge, he told her, “Appreciate the view, baby. Perfect color for you. My shiny Penny.” With a smooth motion, he removed jeans and panties from her, dropping them in a tangled mess to the floor, then took off her socks one at a time, flicking them over the side with a grin.

Knees primly together, legs pressed tight thigh-to-thigh, her feet were splayed slightly, one on either side of his knees. Clean and sweet, he didn’t have any doubt she’d turn away at his next question, but it was one he’d be asking anyway. His hands in constant motion, up and over her calves to her knees, there was resistance to a tug, so he slipped his hands back down, cupping her instep, thumbs rubbing in broad circles.

“Penny,” he began, staring down into her eyes. Her gaze fixed on him, immovable and tense. He got it, understood her nervousness, knew she was aware of exactly where her pistol sat on the cabinet three feet from her head. She was naked, unclothed and bare skinned and with just as bare emotions, the orgasm stripping her of anything to hide behind. He knew how she came now, one of the most intimate things a man could know about a woman, and she’d given that to him.

When he didn’t continue, she ran her tongue over that plump and bitable bottom lip, and then whispered, “Yeah, Bell?” Muscles in her belly jumped and jerked, the peaks of her beautiful breasts tightened and stood firmly upright. Heartbeat in her neck pounding, she seemed to be holding her breath, waiting.

“You clean, baby?” Always best to ask directly; get any conversation out of the way so he could decide how to move forward. It had been ages since he’d been near pussy he wanted to eat, but having her flavor rolling through his mouth with every indrawn breath, he was hungry for her. Musky scent surrounding them in the close atmosphere of the truck’s cab a reminder of what might be his tonight. Patience was never his strongest suit, and if she wasn’t as untainted as he prayed, he didn’t know what he’d be willing to do.

“I showered this morning.” Her voice quavered, satin slipping through the air to run up his spine. “I don’t do anything special.” Slick as a freshly-waxed fender, ignorance of his real question wasn’t unattractive, merely underscoring what he already knew: she didn’t get regular dick and may have had a long dry spell. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, Penny.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to one kneecap. “Shiny Penny.” He kissed the other one, running his fingers up her calves, cupping her legs and slipping his thumbs between. He then kissed the inside of the first knee when she allowed him to spread her legs. “Beautiful Penny.” Mouth to the other knee, Twisted's tongue worked at her skin. “You smell sweet enough. I got no worries there. I was asking if you had any STDs you knew about.” Blunt had been the right way to go here, and he watched, enthralled as she reacted, red flooding up her chest and neck into her face, fair skin flaming from her embarrassment. “I don’t, but don’t have any papers to show you.”

“I do not.” With her chin tipped to the side again, he lost her eyes when they closed, lips in a tight line, every move screaming retreat. “Have anything, I mean.”

Mouthing her knee, he pushed forward with his head, feeling her muscles tense to hold her legs together, hold him out, keep him away. Avoidance. Aversion. She’d only allowed him to strip her because she’d still been woozy from coming so hard. Coming hard with only titty-play, pressure, and heat from his mouth on the outside of her jeans. Not old, barely old enough to have a license if he read her right. Glancing around, he took in the inside of her cab again. Tidy, she’d put a few touches on it, but the truck hadn’t been hers long. Scuff marks on the interior where things had been removed. Maps and paperwork showed she was working a lot. This was a long-haul rig with a hard-working driver, loads taking her coast-to-coast. But young. Embarrassed, and a—

“That’s good, darlin’.” One hand slipped down the back of her thigh, his fingers brushing along the outer lips of her pussy. Slick and wet. Aroused. At the touch, she stiffened and started to pull her hands from under the pillow. He knew she was reaching down to pull him away. “Hands, Penny,” he barked, and she froze, but kept her face averted and eyes closed. Amenable, but uneasy, it seemed.

“I’m gonna touch you again, darlin’. Touch your beautiful sweetness just waiting for me.” Matching motions to words, he trailed a fingertip across side-to-side, then dipped inside, bottom to top, flicking across her hard clit. The moan escaping her lips surprised her and when her eyes flew wide, he grinned, repeating the action. “Touch you, finger and fill you.” He stretched out on his belly, shoulders holding her legs apart now. “Eat you.” Mouth to her inner thigh, he stretched, trailing the tip of his tongue up and up, her scent spicy and thick, arousal written in each of her gasping breaths.

Nuzzling deep, he licked bottom to top, flattening his tongue wide, covering everything he could reach. She jerked back, ass pushed deep into the mattress, and he chased her pussy, having only gotten the barest taste, but already hungry for more. “Let me in, baby,” he murmured, tilting his head, seeing her mouth slowly falling open, eyes squeezed shut. Palm to each leg, he lifted her knees, bringing them up and pressing outward. Licking slowly, he repeated the path, bottom to top. The already swollen lips of her sex were beautiful, flushed and red. They begged him to go again, and he did, leisurely, taking his time. And again. Lingering, lazy. Loving. He pushed that thought aside.

The simplest graze of his upper lip against her clit was enough to send a full-body quake through her. When he followed that with a flick of his tongue, diving underneath the hooded beauty, dragging up and over the hardened nub, her slick wet flooded his mouth. Palms to her thighs, he curved one hand underneath her ass, lifting her to his mouth so he could latch onto her clit, mouthing and tonguing it gently, taking everything she fed him, rewarded with a soft and breathless, “Aaahhh, Bell.”

Pursing his lips, he sucked her, focusing with his mouth and tongue. The blood pulsing through her pussy scorched as he teased her entrance. One barely-there fingertip, slipped up and down, circling the opening, circuit after patient circuit—mouth to her clit, sucking and tonguing over and over. His name gained syllables as she wailed, “Bell!” when he pushed that single finger inside. Halfway only, in and out, patiently thrusting in time with his mouth on her, feeling the tight walls of her pussy clamping down on him. Fucking tight. Staring up her body, he watched her ribcage rise and fall at breakneck speed. Her back bent, arching, and she called his name again, and again. Ripples of her orgasm were beautifully visible on her skin and seductively felt on his fingers and tongue.

Her face had gone from taut and strained to soft, lips parted, and relaxed. Two, he thought, moving both hands to cover her belly, slipping up to tease the slowly softening nipples into peaks again. Her skin flawless, a virgin canvas touched only with God’s brush where freckles dusted her breasts and nose, thicker across her cheeks. Dark lashes dipped and touched those flushed apples. In contrast, his inked arms and hands looked dark and erotic as they moved across her. Spanning her ribs, fingertips finding purchase in the dips between, counting idly as he pushed up to cup her breasts again.

Still air in the truck cab carried enough moisture to the windows to have set up a thick fog. Condensation from their sweaty bodies filled the glass and shone a spotlight on her truck as dramatically as if the suspension was singing like he hoped it would be in a few minutes. He was hard enough to pound nails, blood surging thick through his cock, rigid with need. Dipping his head, Twisted lingered, lapping at her one last time before pushing to his knees and shimmying his jeans over his ass. Cock in hand, he stroked himself, root to tip and back again, once. Just once, and with the feast laid out before him, it was enough to nearly bring him to the edge. Makeshift cockring of thumb and finger beat it back enough for him to unclench his jaw to say, “Hand me a condom, Penny. Time for me to play.”

Eyes jerked wide open, and she stared up at him, his intent because he wanted her full participation. The writhing and shuddering she’d done as he ate her inflamed his imagination of how she would be under him. On top of him. In front of him. Plunging up, down, back…chasing his cock like he’d chased her pussy a minute ago. Her gaze dropped to his cock and he flexed, tightening, feeling the crown mushroom out, knowing without looking it was red edging to purple, the crest defined. Throbbing.

“I have to move my hands,” she told him, and he smiled, supporting himself up on one arm, suspended over her. Reaching between them, he trailed his palm up over her pussy, circling her clit with two fingers slow, then fast, then slow again.

“Move your hands, baby,” he told her, engrossed in the way her lips parted when he hit the fast speed. She gasped, then bit down on her lips and then gasped again. Every reaction controlled by his hand on her. Leaning in, Twisted kissed her softly, letting the flavor lingering on his mustache and beard from his intimate exploration of her invade this soft caress of lips on lips.

“Ohhh.” She breathed in, and he smiled against her mouth, fingers circling slowly, and then rapidly. Movement followed by a crinkle, and then her hand was between them. He took the package, angled down and kissed her again, hard. Sucking her tongue into his mouth before tangling his own with it, pushing back into her mouth, thrusting. Timing his movements, Twisted played careful pursuit of her arousal. Fingers circled fast, gliding across her clit while at the same time trailing slowly against her tongue with his. Changing speeds, his fingers circled slowly, diversion for a hard kiss, head slanting, biting at her bottom lip. A contest to see her finish, fingers circling fast, a brisk thrumming side-to-side, earning her crying gasp into his mouth as she came again, worked to the edge and over with generous kisses and attentive play. Three.

Ass to heels, the fabric of his jeans cut into his thighs as he rolled the condom down. He frowned when he realized it was the kind he used for blow jobs. No matter, she made enough lube for two fucks with only the first orgasm. Her panties were wet and soaked before he removed them, darkened copper center giving everything away to attentive eyes. Fingers to her pussy, he spread her lips and pressed the tip of his cock inside. Knees wide, he arranged her before him, the fire-red patch just above his target leading him forward.

Supported on his elbows, he glided over her, and slipped both hands under the pillow. Finding her hands, he laced their fingers together. She clutched him with desperate strength, and he wondered again, Is she? Slow push, two inches in, one inch back, slow and steady. Push until her fingers gripped him hard enough to bruise, then pull back slowly, fucking those few inches he had inside her. “Spread your legs wider, darlin’,” he murmured, and the stranglehold her thighs had on his hips lessened. “Bring your knees up.” This instruction was less enthusiastically followed, but he felt the softness of her calves along his flanks, and the angle changed, “Oh, yeah, baby.”

“Ohhh.” He watched the sound leave her mouth, lips pursed in a sweet circle he would fucking love to have wrapped around his cock before the night was over. Tight as her pussy was, he would be ecstatic to stay right where he was, though. I told her she didn’t have to do anything, he reminded himself, flexing his fingers around hers. In a near echo of his thoughts, she asked, “What do you want me to do?”

“Darlin’, you don’t have to do anything.” Pushing steadily, feeling her parting before him, hot, soft, tight, sweet pussy, his for the taking. “All night,” he promised again, pulling back slowly, the drag against his cock excruciating in its beauty. “No rush, no hurry. You just do what feels right, baby.” Surging farther in, his hips sashayed side-to-side, rocking slowly. Her bottom lip disappeared into her mouth, and he watched as her teeth dented the skin, biting firmly. “Am I hurting you, Penny?” Ass and back tensing, ready to pull out entirely if she indicated discomfort. Un-fuckin-like me. He dropped that thought like a hot potato when her back arched, torso pushing up against him with a moan. Her shoulders rounded, lifting, head tilting to brush her lips against his, feverish in her wordless need. He gave her what she wanted, kissing her hard, pressing her hands into the mattress as, rocking side to side, he thrust slowly until he was firmly seated inside her as deep as possible.

Her fingers twisted, frantic in their need to get away, get close, get into him, get away from him. He held on. Held on and lifted up to watch as she called his name and he felt that fucking flutter and ripple that he’d experienced at such a distance earlier. All around him, fluttering, clenching, tight and hot. Neck curving, back bowing, she twisted underneath him, shoulders and ass pushing into the mattress as she came just from his cock being inside her, nothing else. Mind. Blown. Fuck, she’s hot. He watched her titties strain, begging for a caress of their own. Mouth to one, then the other, he offered tribute to her beauty with sucking kisses, maroon blossoms dotted in their wake. The edge of his teeth provided a different sensation, one she liked if the noises coming from her throat were any indication. Four. This thought giving him a deep satisfaction.

“Gonna fuck you now, baby. Keep yourself spread for me. Hands in position, don’t let them roam.” Reluctantly releasing his hold, knuckles catching on hers as he unthreaded their fingers, he shifted to one arm in the bed, the other hand trailing up her chest to her neck. Cupping and tugging, he tilted her head, and then leaned down, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth. Thumb caressing the apple of her cheek, then trailing down, his hand closed gently around the column of her throat, heartbeat underneath his palm. Teeth gripping her lip, he muttered, “Stay spread.” Heat and pressure from her legs disappeared, and he clenched his ass, grinding into her, feeling the last of her orgasm leaving her, drawing a final gasp as he jerked inside her, head of his cock bumping and rubbing deep.

Hips flexing, he pulled halfway out, carefully and slowly thrusting in, testing the waters to ensure she was stretched enough to take him without pain. Out—drag of her pussy torture, losing the heat of her skin against his balls—in, back to heaven, hot and soft, willing, sweet. Out faster, frame underneath him shuddering, her hips pumping up—in, quick and hard, bottom and grind, then—out.

Mouth to her neck, he felt her rapid breaths gusting past his ear, transitioning into a little moan when he pumped into her, deep and ringing while giving her his teeth in the muscle where her neck joined her shoulder. It fit his mouth like made for him. Twisted laid a series of soft kisses interrupted by tight grips with his teeth, each different effort bringing a new reaction from her.

“Sweet pussy, Penny. Shiny Penny,” he whispered to her, lips ghosting across her skin. “Sweet Penny.” Hips and back working ceaselessly now, he thrust into her steadily, each stroke exquisite and glorious. Wet, she was so wet, their play having every good return he could hope for. This was a messy fuck, and those were the ones he loved the most. Messy is good, so good. But having tight, hot, and sweet…better. So much better. Never had it like this before. Where the pussy wasn’t afraid of him. Wasn’t afraid of pleasure, taking everything he had to give, and giving him back…this.

Coiled need settled on his spine, shivering its way up his back and wrapping threads of desire everywhere along its path. Muscles jerking and flexing independent of his intentional motions, his sac drew up, contracting and pulling close to his body. His cock was so thick, the lips of her pussy pulled and tugged with each stroke, inner walls holding him close. “Beautiful Penny.”

It struck him she was quiet, and he shifted minutely so he could see her face, pushing one knee down in the bed, approaching her pussy from a slanting angle, finding exquisite there, too. Perfect. Mouth open, she lay trusting and lovely in his hands, throat working with each gasped breath. A rare beauty in his world, flawless the only word he could think. With her head moving side-to-side on the pillow, a fall of hair draped across her brow with the piercing while curls and strands stuck to sweat covering her cheeks.

Hard, deep, fast. The mattress squeaked under him, and the truck rocked side-to-side with the movement, her hips rising up to meet each downward thrust. “Fuck,” he said, the tingle hitting hard when her bottom lip disappeared into her mouth again, the sight of her teeth biting into the ruby flesh too much. Powering through, he thrust hard, grunting and feeling the heat hit the head of his cock, surrounding him. Deep, deep, deep. Fuck. Holding his breath, he grunted and then stayed planted, mouth to her throat. Fuck. Pussy like this can’t be bought. Struck by the epiphany, he took the thought to conclusion. Can’t be taken. “Gave yourself to me,” he said, lips to her shoulder, head pressed into the pillow beside hers, the lumps of her hands moving underneath. Has to be given, presented, offered. “Gave me something so sweet, man would break his back to keep that.”

Breathing hard, sweat slicking his skin, he slipped across her belly, staying root-deep. Burying his face into her shoulder, he licked and sucked his way up her neck. Mouth to her jaw, Twisted nibbled up, pulling her earlobe into his mouth, surprised at the unmarked skin there. Pierced brow, virgin ears, no ink that he’d seen. Not a virgin between her legs, but damned close. He’d bet every dollar in his pockets she’d only been breached once, maybe twice before. Sensitive and so fucking responsive, the things I could do to this woman.

Lips to her ear, he whispered what he knew, words spoken soft as the wing sweep of a butterfly, “I ain’t your first, but I’m your best.” She moved under him, arms straining with the need to push him away, but still obediently folded out of the way. “Ain’t nobody ever ate that pussy before. Gave me something sweet. So fucking sweet. Something that sweet. Now I know what I negotiated for, I will be using the whole night, darlin’. I got plans on what I’d like to do with you.” He felt his softening cock beginning to slide out and reached down, anchoring the edges of the condom against his shaft as he pulled out slowly. “Need a tissue, Penny. And a wipe or towel, darlin’. Let me see to you. Tonight is all about you.”

Panting breaths had dried her mouth; he heard her lips part just before she whispered, “Tissues up by my seat. Wipes in the drawer to my right.” He sucked on the skin just behind her ear, taking all her air along with a few stolen nips. She cleared her throat, then softly said, “Shower stuff, with a towel, in the built-in on the other end of the bunk.” Organized, like he already knew. Everything in place, so she could put her hand to it in need. “Bell?” Calling his name like he wasn’t still on top of her, like they weren’t slick with sweat and lying close. She called his name as if she were across a room, untouchable, out of reach.

“Yeah?” he answered, bringing his mouth down her throat, lips moving in tandem with his tongue. “Whasup, Penny?” Next her chest, kisses on every inch traversed along his way to her breast. Titty in his mouth on a deep draw, he sucked hard, flicking the tender, sensitive nip with his tongue. A gasp escaped over the top of his head, then her fingers threaded through his sweat-clumped hair near his scalp. A sweep of her hand cleared the long hair from one side of his face, and he tipped his chin, dragging his beard across her breast, angling his head to look into her face.

“Thank you.” Her words didn’t make sense. Then he took a punch in the chest when she said, “Promise I’ll make it worth your while.” Fuck. Prostitute. Right. Not a supremely sweet connection like he experienced. She assumed his actions the work of countless practice sessions. His thoughts must have been evident on his face because she frowned, tipping her chin to the side like she’d done before and then whispered, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what…” Rattling a breath in, shards of pain like broken china laced in her voice. “…I’m sorry.”

Recovery might be possible if he were honest with her. Not happenin’. He rejected the idea. Modified truth, maybe? “This wasn’t about that, darlin’. This is just me, with you. Tonight, I want to be just me.” That was a truth that cut close to the bone because, in every second spent outside this truck, he wasn’t himself. He was Twisted, president of the Incoherent MC, a man who had killed and cheated every step of his way to the top. Twisted wouldn’t be lying here, holding a used condom to his cock, worried about the emotions of the woman underneath him. Twisted would be flipping her over, hand over her mouth as he fucked hard, takin’ her ass because she wouldn’t have been sweet enough to get him off. Not the kind of cunts he fucked. Bell was a memory. George Bell someone he knew in a past life, memories flowing through dreams at night.

But tonight, he could be Bell, could be what might have been if Twisted weren’t birthed years ago by circumstance and events beyond his control. “Just Bell and Penny, exploring the boundaries of what we like together.” Dipping his chin, he tugged at her nipple with his lips, kissing the curve of her breast and across to the other one. Lips to her skin, he murmured, “Can you let me just be?” Teeth to the clasp, he released the bra still confining her torso.

“Yes.” This response rang clear in the cab, the swell of her ribcage expanding out with her breath. “Yes, of course.”

“Then, let me thank you, Penny dear.” Moving down her body, he folded, rising on his knees, sweeping her frame with his gaze. “You’ve provided me with a priceless opportunity I will not squander away. Turned me into a pinchfist, and me holding onto these minutes with miser’s fingers.” Winking at her, he grinned, deliberately lightening the mood by drawing the two words out long, “Aaaallll niiiight.” Her laughter was a sweet reward, too.

Five minutes later he was stretched out beside her, having shed his jeans along the way. She had flipped a sheet over their hips, in modesty or out of habit he couldn’t say, but he liked her cuddled into his side like she was. Head to his shoulder, her touch grazed around his nipples, dragging her fingertips through his chest hair, down his belly and back up, repeating the journey tirelessly.

For his part, he had one hand pushed under the sheet, fingers tracing interlocking rings on her hip in an endless loop of tenderness. His other was thrust under the pillow in mimicry of her earlier pose. Glancing down, Twisted let his eyes dance across her exposed breasts, liking how they pressed against his side. “Tell me about Penny,” he said, finding a curiosity inside him about her, an interest nearly as broad and profound as his appetite for her. Even having just taken her, just fucked her until he came, and came hard, he wanted to be back inside her. Reliving of his fantasies from earlier had him dancing along the edges of rational reasoning. Two more condoms.

He’d had her under him now, every bit as beautiful as he imagined. Loving slow and sweet like that had been unique in his experience, and he found himself hungry for more of that feeling. That fitting together, the sense of giving something of yourself even while your partner gave you everything. “Tell me how you came to drive a truck.”

She tipped her face to his chest, kissing his skin softly, hot lips with a sweet dip of her tongue. “My uncle drove. Had a regular route, LA to Boston and back again. Produce up east, seafood headed west. Needed a relief driver the summer I turned nineteen. He threw me up into the truck and taught me everything I know.” Her hand lifted, gesturing to the cab surrounding them. “He didn’t have any kids of his own. This was his truck. Now…mine.”

“What happened to him?” Something had, that was clear. Even with her holding it back, the sorrow in her voice was strong, the grief fresh.

“Old business caught up to him.” She kissed his chest again, gently tonguing the flat, pebbled surface of his nipple and he gave up a groan to her softly giggling amusement, glad she could set aside her heartache momentarily. Tease. “About six months ago.”

“What kind of business?” Old business didn’t sound physical or accidental, which left only intentional for his death. Intentional ain’t good. A health hazard for those left behind, in some cases. Wonder if she’d know about any blowback her direction since she worked with him and was apparently favored?

“He was an officer in a motorcycle club until a couple years ago. Gracefully backed down because his health was bad.” She drew an uneven breath. “Bad. Cancer. He stayed a member, of course. Stayed in, just couldn’t give as much time anymore. But something had happened in Baton Rouge years ago. A man came hunting him, and someone in his old club gave him up.” Gaze to her face, Twisted watched as she blew the breath out from pursed lips, trying to control the shaking in her voice, her wobbling chin. Angry, she bit out, “He was going to die anyway. There wasn’t any reason for them to come along and take their pound of flesh.”

“Do you know what his club name was? What club he was in?” His questions skirted the edge of too much knowledge, but she didn’t notice, thankfully.

Voice soft, she cooed the name. “Bagger.” The smile that curved her mouth with the word fell away, a resigned look taking its place. “That was his road name. He was in the Caddo Hobos. In there for years, the vice-principal.” She shook her head, hair rustling against his beard as she corrected herself. “No, that’s not right. Vice-president.”

Shit. Who had he stumbled into tonight? “Baton Rouge, is that home?” He had intimate knowledge that Louisiana clubs ran fiercely loyal, her statement that someone gave up her uncle didn’t make sense, especially if he’d served until health forced him to step down. He wondered if she had it right.

“Yeah. Red Stick.” She gave the English translation that locals used for the town’s name. “I’m Cajun born and raised.” Her voice back to soft, something about those words triggered a memory for her, safe and sheltered. Floating light on the air, giggling laughter shook her frame, settling into his gut, warm. Sweet. “Creole through and through.”

“No accent,” he observed, and she giggled again, the sound changing to a gasp when he curled his hand around her hip, fingertips tapping her mound right above her clit. Mmmm, quick to rouse. Stiffening his middle finger, he swiped once across her hooded nub. Her instinctive push against his hip, the restless movement of her legs, these things told of her eager desire. Hunger. A swipe, a gasp, then he retrieved his hand, retreating to draw small circles on her hip again. He’d instigate another sneak attack in a moment, was just giving her time to recover. “You don’t have an accent,” he restated, making the unspoken “why” a question.

A shiver moved through her, and he relished the knowledge that he drove her to that feeling. “Hmm. Yeah. No. Daddy pushed me to be better than my raising. Started with a demand that I speak proper English. Movies weren’t fun days. They were linguistic lessons where he analyzed everything the actors said, how they said it, and then bent those things into something that I could fit around me.” She rolled her tongue across his flat nipple, her thigh lifting onto his legs, tangling there. Teasing herself as much as him. She shrugged, the motion moving her tits against him. “It stuck.”

Palm to her thigh, he cupped and pulled, sliding her leg up his until her knee was nearly in his crotch. Fingers trailing back down her leg, tender skin under his touch, arrowing directly to his destination. He skimmed against her pussy once…twice…middle and ring finger met, creating a single shaft that pushed into her slowly. Her sweet accompaniment of sighs and moans was glorious to hear. Working gently, in, then out, he finger fucked her shallowly. Deliberately taking his time, going slow, waiting. After only a minute or two of these careful caresses, she arched back against his hand, which retreated with her movement, denying her the desired depth. She hissed, “Bell.”

“Yeah, Penny?” Pushing in hard, he buried his fingers, then crooked them inside her before pulling halfway out, dipping his thumb to find her wetness. A moment later that thumb was poised at her pucker, fingers back into place inside her, working in and out deep, in and out shallow. Her ass retreated from the probing pressure, much as his hand had moments before, but he twisted his neck, pressing his face into her hair. Wanting this, his voice was guttural when he whispered, “Let me try, Penny. If it hurts, or you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

She stilled for a moment before nodding consent, and he ran with it, teasing, on a crusade to rouse her this way, too. Touching, circling, pressing, he kept a steady thrusting rhythm inside her with his fingers. Frowning when nothing pulled a reaction from her. Stiff and still, she rested at his side, but was no longer cuddling, not playing. All the fascinating charm was gone, her breathing tightly controlled. Not even indifferent, ass play was a turn off for her. She had switched off. Her enjoyment chased away.

Abandoning his efforts, he focused on her pussy, in and out, out and sliding up to finger her clit, then back inside. Within seconds, she was no longer locked in place, not yet animated in her movements, but at least not frozen. Provoked to rage, fighting the urge to howl in anger, he asked the question kicking at a tottering wall in his head. “Did someone hurt you that way, Penny?”

Her nod wasn’t a surprise, but his bitterness was. It surged, and he withdrew, hand back to her hip, urging her closer to his side, wanting that cuddle puppy back that he’d had for such a short time, stolen away by his own eagerness to introduce her to…everything. So inexperienced, especially to have had that done in a way that left ugly, lasting pain was inexcusable. He wasn’t successful in tamping his temper down and knew it filled his voice when he spoke. “Never let someone do something you don’t like.” A squeeze of her ass cheek, squeeze and lift, then a soft hand caressing her curves. “Never. Not even me.”

“I liked the rest of what you were doing.” Honeyed tones of pleasure told him he hadn’t broken the spell woven by their play from earlier. Not completely, thank God. She moved, hand flattening on his chest, palm over his heart. Can she feel how it sped up at her touch? His hand on her ass moved again, squeezing and lifting, coaxing, then once she was persuaded to slide at his urging, pulling her into place on top of him.

More contact than before, breasts flattened against his chest, she snuggled into him. “I like your beard,” she whispered, thinking she told him a secret. Quick fingers running through it, lifting from underneath, then smoothing it down again. “It’s so…” Her voice dropped to a softer version of her already tender whisper, this one barely a breath, “…rough.” This word came out as ‘rruuuffff,’ sound drawn into letters not used in its construction, but better conveying her emotions. His hand stroking her face felt her lips move, and without that, he would never have heard the last word. “Everywhere.”

“Hungry, Penny.” Stroking down her back, Twisted's palms settled on each cheek, pushing her up…up… Her head lifted in surprise, her crystal blues staring down at him. Eyes bright as the summer sky. “Feed me, baby.” As she moved up, he shifted down until things were lined up exactly right, and then he fed.

Afterward, he handed her the second condom, and she inexpertly applied the raincoat. Her fumbling attempts causing his head to rear back into the pillow, and she seemed to forget what she was doing at the sight, licking and nuzzling his neck underneath his beard. Hand to his cock, he adjusted things, rolling the rubber into place and pulling her down while he thrust up with his hips. Catch, slip, a slight adjustment, thrust…homerun. Her teeth bit into the side of his neck, and he groaned, lifting his hips again. Bent knees gave him the leverage needed for a gentle rocking motion he could maintain for a long time. His hands lifting and pulling, her weight taking care of the return trip that settled him back inside her.

She sat up slightly, and leaning far forward, rested her forehead against his. In territory so far from fucking, he didn’t know what to call it. Yes, I do. Eyes open, breath mingling, her hands cupped his head. Penny's fingers wound into the hair at the back of his head on either side, her elbows brushing across his chest as her upper arms pressed her tits together. Her hair wasn’t long enough to fall around them, but strands of it tickled his face, and those blues were staring at him. Looking deep and long, he watched her eyes haze and lose focus, knew she was chasing those stealthy sensations he stirred in her. When she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, he knew she was close. Picking up the pace until her eyelids fluttered, her lashes playing touch-me with her cheeks as she came.

Not giving her time to recover, he rolled, positioning her under him and chased his own orgasm. He found it deep inside her, where it seemed it had been hiding forever. He heard himself grunting, flesh slapping loudly in the enclosed space. Hair streaming down on either side of their faces, curtained and shuttered from the world. Safe. Sheltered. With the sheet twisted in their legs, he watched as she came back to herself, staring up at him in wonder and then—fuck him—she threaded her hands under the pillow, giving him her submission again. Wordlessly he affirmed her instincts, raining rough kisses on her face, down her neck and back up, shouting her name when he came.

“Rest,” he murmured, curling in behind her, arms crossed over her chest, holding her close. “Get some shuteye and dream, darlin’.” Cleanup had gone quicker this time, his knowledge of her living space expanding with every exploration. He found the wipes and made swift work of taking care of the messy evidence of their lovemaking—fucking, his mind corrected. In minutes, her relaxed, calm breathing told him she’d found sleep, resting easy circled about with his care of her. Safe. Held in the bloody hands of a man much like the ones who killed her beloved uncle.

He knew he should go, should leave while she was lost in sleep. Leave her with the fantasy of a sweet man who loved on her until, sated and exhausted, she’d forgotten who she was with. A real life charade to follow the storyline of her books. Pretense and playacting. Make-believe. Gaze flicking around the cabin, it snagged on the lone wrapper, a folded corner catching the light, giving a glinting reflection. I should go, but I’m a greedy bastard, he told himself, lip curling in a sneer. “Yeah,” his muttered agreement was audible as he settled behind her and closed his eyes.

A stretch of time later, a truck parked next to hers in the line started, the rumbling roll of the engine startling him awake. Still dark out, the hour was early. Listening carefully, he heard footsteps moving between the trucks, the hollow thump of a tire knocker doing an old school pressure check. Thud, thud, thud, thud. Two axles, four wheels, moving on to the next set.

Penny was still sleeping, the only change in position was her hands had lifted, cupping around his wrists where he held her captive. There was so much skin in front of him, so much heat, so much to explore. With his mouth to her neck, Twisted worked up to her ear, running his teeth along the curve of the shell, nipping gently at her earlobe. The whole time he thought to himself he wanted to ask about the barbell on her face but then got distracted when her breathing changed, signaling she was rising from sleep.

“Penny.” He called her name quietly, not wanting to frighten her but he shouldn’t have worried because the first sound from her was his name in return. Palm to her chest, he captured the curve of one breast, fingers plumping and caressing as he nibbled on her ear again. He hadn’t been gentle the first time, had taken her hard, now finding the idea of hurting her as distasteful as it had been earlier, asked, “Are you too sore, baby?”

Her head moved, shaking back and forth. “Sure, sweetheart?” A different movement, up and down, which was interrupted by a gasp as he pinched her nipple lightly, rolling it between his fingers. “Okay,” he breathed, “okay.” His cock, already thick and hard, thudded against her ass. Releasing her breast, he moved one hand to her throat, sliding the other down her belly, cupping her pussy. He gave a squeeze with both, feeling her body move as she blew out a careful breath, skin gone to goose bumps under his lips.

Easing into it, stroked slowly along her folds, finger to either side of her clit, then across the top of it, then either side. Up and down, faster and faster, positioning and angling his hand. Biting down on her ear, without warning he thrummed across her clit hard and fast. Her open-mouthed cries of shock as much a reward as her body jumping, shoulders bowing back into him, hips thrusting forwards, seeking.

Rolling her stomach-first onto the mattress, he knelt behind her, pulling her up with him. “Knees wide, sweetheart.” Hand to her jaw, he turned her head and—“God,” she cried—captured her mouth, silencing her scream. That was followed by a moan he ate down, lips locked to hers. Breaking the kiss, her head fell to his shoulder, her body curving back. Staring down her body, he watched as his hair swept across her breasts, curling around well memorized curves. Looked farther to see his hand working frantically between her legs, fingers moving fast side-to-side as they slipped back and forth along the length of her pussy, doubling the sensation for her.

With another cry, calling his name, she came, a teeth-grinding, rolling motion evidence of the powerful feelings storming through her. Clenched fists flew wide as her palms lifted, releasing into outstretched fingers. Her hands rose as if to fend off a dangerous animal stirred to life.

Pushing her to the mattress, he settled a palm in the middle of her spine in a silent command she accepted as gospel. Knees bent, ass up, arms stretched over her head, her open palms came together, and he watched as she laced her fingers tightly, holding on. Behind her, he put an arm to either side of her legs to give her support and buried his face between her thighs. Nose to that tight opening denied him earlier, he ate her pussy hard and fast, tongue thrust far inside, feeling the quaking pulses of her orgasm still affecting her. Sweet, clean pussy, flowing with the sweetest nectar he ever tasted, he devoured her until her frantic movements matched the cries rolling from her throat.

Rearing up, palm to her hip, he reached with the other to gather the final condom from its resting place. Tearing it open with his teeth, he rolled it on, staring down. Positioned as she was, quiet as she was, controlled as he’d taught her in the short time together, she could have been anyone and he found he didn’t like that. No fantasy needed in this bed. “Penny,” he called, cock in hand, poised at her entrance. She turned her head, neck twisting back—Twisted, his alter-ego chuckled—and he had her crystal blue eyes in sight. Her freckle-dotted nose. The glinting barbell in her brow. No longer faceless, this was his—“shiny Penny”—woman. With one long thrust, he buried himself inside her.

Now he was the frantic one, diving deep, rocking hard against her ass, hands on her waist, dragging her backwards onto him as he rushed headlong. More skin. He needed more. Bending over her, hand to the mattress, taking more. Curving his back, he fucked her hard, free hand gliding under to find and cup a swinging breast. “Down,” he ordered, and she slid forward, belly to the mattress. Compelled to chase her, he rolled and circled his hips. Deep, deep, mouth to hers, browns to blues locked in place. One arm encircled her waist, anchoring her, his other arm under, palm cupping the column of her throat. Pulse beating under his thumb, around his cock, her every breath gusting across his lips, life in his hands. Hold on.

Fuck. “Penny.” She stiffened underneath him, tight and clenching, pulling him in and he gave into the sensations, deep, hard, once…twice…a third stroke. “Penny, sweetheart.” Teeth clenched, forehead to her shoulder blade, Bell filled the last condom as she came for him a final time.

***

Four days later, Twisted stood in the backroom at the Incoherent clubhouse in Mandeville, just across Lake Pontchartrain from New Orleans, listening to the confession of the man who had murdered Penny’s uncle. Bagger had been part of a crew more than a decade ago. He had seen the writing on the wall and didn’t like what it said, trying to derail the infestation of their territory by drug gangs. The club had embarked on a successful campaign of destruction that had severe consequences for a Central American drug cartel. That cartel a family operation that, when it was failing, turned deadly for the ones who had backed the Louisiana expansion. It wasn’t club that had talked about his whereabouts, just a chance meeting in the VA hospital where Bagger had gone for treatment. He’d been seen and recognized, knowing with the disease he had his days were already numbered, then he’d had that number divided down to nothing by filth.

“Tell me who else is targeted.” With bloody knuckles curved into bludgeons, he urged the man kneeling in front of him to provide answers that would cut his suffering short. His end was already writ in stone. The blood tracing his lifeline running thin, but the suffering could end.

The answer provided ensured that wouldn’t happen because he said one name. The one name that Twisted didn’t want to hear.

“Penny.”

***

Feet to the parking lot, engine idling, Twisted straddled his bike, eyes locked on a truck parked on the fuel line. Hair braided into a single-tail, he wore a bandana tied around his face, covering his beard, secure in anonymity.

He heard a whistle, then another, lilting and lifting, dancing through the air. Walking the long-handled window washer around the front of her truck, jaunty steps moving in time to the tune, the woman he watched swayed through her tasks. Huge nozzles cocked into the tanks on either side of the truck, hood propped up and out of the way, Penny climbed onto the front tires to better reach her windshield. Arms lifting, muscles in her back moving as she scrubbed, unaware of any scrutiny. Twisted scowled when he realized the driver of the truck at the next pump was watching her titties move under her shirt. Mesmerized by the show, the foolish man took a step towards her. Tipping his head at his second, he sent Po’Boy to explain the dire mistake about to be made. Move on, mister.

My shiny Penny, he thought, and at that moment she turned, scanning the area. He marked the instant when her gaze locked on him. Saw her lips part, knew what she whispered, heard it in his head as if he were lying beside her again. “Bell.”

Not yet. But soon. He cast the words towards her with the same intensity used two weeks before. “Told you, darlin’. Gave me something so sweet, a man would break his back to keep that. I plan on holding on.”

 

End