KICK

Two years ago

The mattress dips with the weight of another body and the soft slide of leather and flesh over my naked hips. At first, I think it’s just another club whore—god knows I’ve fucked enough of them in the days since princess has been gone—but then the barrel of a gun is pressed between my eyes. It’s still fuckin’ hot, which means it’s been used recently. My head clears a little, and I know instantly without having to turn on the light who’s straddling me. Out in the hall I hear nothing, complete and utter dead silence, and considering this clubhouse is home to at least twelve men and doubles as a fuckin’ rumpus room for a bunch of degenerate criminals who come and go at all hours of the fuckin’ day, that’s kinda disturbing.

After Slayer’s boys had beaten me within an inch of my life, bloody and completely fuckin’ broken, I’d ridden to the nearest hospital. I had a fractured wrist, broken nose, a couple broken ribs, two black eyes, and a concussion. They kept me for a few days, and by the time the club had found me Prez was well and truly out for my blood. I fed him some bullshit story about being attacked by a group of teenage thugs that I knew he hadn’t bought. I could see it in the depths of his cold, black eyes, but I’m still waking every day to the same damn dreary fuckin’ existence.

“Pretty brave of you to come back, princess.”

“I said I would, didn’t I? That first night? I told you I’d be back to kill you.”

“And here you fuckin’ are, makin’ good on that promise. Better get it over with then, darlin’. Mustn’t keep the reaper waiting.”

“Why did you help me escape?” she whispers, her game face is on. I don’t need the light to see that, but that broken girl I glimpsed beneath the clubhouse, and again in my shower, isn’t far beneath the hard exterior. I can feel her, fighting to slink further inside, and fighting to be freed. Always fucking fightin’.

“What does it fuckin’ matter? You’re gonna shoot me anyway.”

“Why?” she demands, shoving the gun against my skull.

“’Cause I fuckin’ wanted you. In my bed. On the back of my bike. I wanted you for myself. I want to fill up that pussy with my cum, I wanna shove myself inside every fuckin’ hole you have, and feel you break beneath my hands. I want you shattered into pieces, so that only I know how to put you back together again. I fuckin’ want you, princess. In every way, shape and fuckin’ form a man can want a woman, but what the fuck does it matter now that your gun is pointed at my head?”

To drive my point home I grind my cock against her, relishing the way she moulds to my poor misused dick. Her satin panties catch and tug on the barbell through my frenum, turning my self-control to a pile of fuckin’ mush.

She’s crying now. I feel it, rather than hear it. Her hot little body trembles on top of me. I move my hips in a steady rhythm, thrusting slowly forward against her and back into the mattress. She writhes with me, so I grab her hip and slam her pelvis down on me while I thrust my cock against her satin-clad cunt. I use my other hand to try and pry the gun from her hand, but she snaps to and tightens her hold, her finger hovering dangerously close to the trigger. 

“Give me the gun, princess. You didn’t come here to kill me—you came to take what’s yours. So take it.”

“You. Broke. Me,” she bites out, punctuating each of her words by driving the barrel against my forehead. “I would have stayed strong. I could have closed my eyes and pretended all of this was a bad dream, but you took that away from me—”

“I know,” I admit, pathetically. “Time to repay the favour, princess.”

I wrench the gun free from her hand, but she doesn’t make a grab for it, just allows me to empty out the clip all around us. I toss the piece on the bedside table and wrap my hand around the nape of her neck, pulling her body down to my level. She sucks in a sharp hissing breath when the movement forces my cock to push against her hot, soaking, fuckin’ wet pussy. I take her mouth with mine, driving my tongue as deep as it will go, practically eating her alive from the mouth down. I can’t get enough of her taste, of the slide of her flesh against mine.

As she nibbles on the stud in my lip, I slip my free hand under the pillow beside mine and curl my fingers around the cold metal handle, bringing it out, and positioning it at the base of her spine where I cock the pistol, my finger on the trigger. She stiffens. Her writhing stops, and she registers the danger she’s in.

“One shot would sever your spinal cord,” I say.

“That one shot could easily pass through me into you.”

“That’s a chance I’m willing to take,” I whisper. “Now, push your panties aside and climb on top of my cock.”

“Fuck you,” she hisses.

“Yeah, princess, fuck me.” I dig the barrel of the gun into her back for a little reminder. I know she knows I wouldn’t really shoot her, but she also needs me to take away the choice for her, because what woman in their right mind would fall in love with her captor? What sane person would come back to exact their revenge and end up giving themselves completely over to one of the arseholes responsible for taking away her freedom? No one would. It’s the shit nightmares are made of, only every god-forsaken second of it is real.

She leans up and places one hand on my chest to steady herself, while the other does exactly as I ask: pushes the satin of her panties aside. Impatient now, I decide I want nothing in the way of my cock sliding into her perfect cunt, so I reach out with my free hand and yank hard on the delicate fabric. With a snap, and a muffled gasp from Lauren, the wisp of fabric comes away in my hand. I bring it up to my nose and bury my face in her scent, lick at the wetness her delicious cunt left behind.

“You’re sick.”

I laugh, “And you’re fucking perfect.” I take hold of her hip with one hand and position my cock at the entrance to her pussy. She’s drenched for me, and so fucking hot. I let her control how much of me she takes inside, but I have to fight like the son-of-a-bitch I am not to drive into her and rut like a fuckin’ dog.

She surprises me by sinking down hard and seating herself in my lap. She gasps as if she’s in pain, but something tells me that despite what she’s been through, she needs it to hurt. I need it too. I need the reminder that whether she plans to blow my brains out next or not doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I’m as good as dead anyway, no one just up and leaves the club. Especially not for some bitch you betrayed them for. I’m dead before I even leave this room because letting her walk away again will kill me. Assuming she gets to walk, and isn’t spotted by one of my other brothers. I reach up and tug on a lock of the blonde wig she’s wearing.

“I had to go blonde to get past that big dopey fucker at the gate. He was onto me, so I shot him anyway.”

“Jesus Christ.” There’s no love lost between Frogger and me, but my princess just admitted to taking out a fucker in cold blood to get to me. Granted he’d held me down and made me watch, but he and Tank were the only ones that didn’t take a turn with her. Yes, even dear old dad had relished fucking the shit out of the girl that I’d just tried to claim as my old lady. Of course, he had.

“How many more of my brothers did you kill?” I ask.

“Three. Two in the club lounge and one outside. I used his key to get in.”

“Fuck me,” I grunt, as she rides my dick like a fuckin’ pony. “Turn on the light. I wanna see my cock as it disappears inside you.”

“No,” she whispers.

“If you’re gonna kill me, I at least want the visual before I die.” She shifts, but doesn’t reach for the light. I work on thrusting my hips into her, forgetting all about seeing her face for a moment.

I rub the wig’s cheap synthetic fibre beneath my fingertips. I yank it off and toss it across the room. Soft auburn waves fall down her back. I run my fingers through it, pulling a couple of strands towards me until she dips her head to the side to avoid having them ripped out completely. And then I take the gun and place it on the pillow beside me, clearly within reach.

I know as well as she does that she won’t turn it on me. Not now. She might have fantasised about it, but she’s never really wanted to kill me. Hurt me? Yeah. I’d believe that as much as I believe my father would have aborted me from my mother’s womb if he’d had the option. But Lauren never wanted to kill me; that isn’t why she came here. She could have easily slipped into Prez’s room and shot him while he nailed a club whore to the wall. She could have done that with any one of the brothers she sought revenge from. She didn’t. She killed who she had to in order to get to me. She came to me first because she had a choice between revenge and me, and she may be the only person in the world who has ever chosen me over something they really want. I feel weightless and weighed down knowing that. It’s a fuckin’ heady thing to feel like another person on this huge planet wants you that much.

Or maybe it’s my cock hitting the end of her, impaling her root to tip that has me pondering the fuckin’ existence of my belly button. I scoop her up in my arms and fuck her like I mean it. And I do mean it, with all that I have—with every part of me I mean it.

I stop thrusting and lift her off me, laying her back on the mattress. I climb on top of her, positioning the head of my cock just inside her sweet pussy, and then drive the entire way in. I shove a hand between us, rubbing her clit, hurriedly at first, and then as she gasps for breath and her legs tremble, I slow my pace, and touch her with soft, lightly punishing strokes. I pull out and drive back in slowly, deeply. Each stroking glide of my cock in and out of her pussy tugs on my piercing, heightening everything.

“Come for me, princess,” I whisper, as I groan in her ear. “Show me why you risked your life to come back for me.”

Her soft moan, the way her hips rise to meet my thrusts, the hurried, angry kisses she places on my lips, let me know she’s close. All of this makes me know I didn’t need her to verbalise the answers to those questions either. “I ...” she moans. “I came to ... kill you.”

“You are killing me. Hurry the fuck up so I can fill you with my cum.”

“You first,” she challenges.

“Woman, fuckin’ give me that orgasm or I’ll take it from you by force.”

“Take it,” she whispers. “Take me. I’m yours, Daniel.”

“I know,” I growl and pump faster. Her breathing peaks, her muscles clench and she cries out as I pull that orgasm from her, and my cum shoots from my cock in hot, hard bursts.