Monday, June 4, 2012

Somewhere near Tuscon, Arizona

Matteo closed his eyes and counted to five backward, wishing like hell he could just hang up on his father. He didn’t want to deal with him right now.

Giovanni Visconti wasn’t above blackmail— emotional or any other kind. “It’s Italian Fest, Matteo. The family always attends. You know this. I’m going to pull the plug on this one. You’ve had nine months to find the guy. Eventually, we will, but you’ll do it from home. You’ve been gone long enough.”

Fuck.

Matteo looked around the room, disgusted by the grimy walls and shoddy furnishings. He’d booked it only because the by-the-hour motel had working air conditioning to dispel the heat and it was outside the city limits. The county mounties who visited were too busy making traffic tickets disappear to pay him any heed. Which was fine by him. He was here for one thing and one thing only: following his latest lead on Neil Rhodes, also known as Reaper, the President and sole surviving member of the Blackwater Demons MC.

The rest of the club had been destroyed in the war with the Visconti family and the Avenging Angels MC. Matteo had made it his mission to find the man who’d brutalized his cousin and put a bullet in his shoulder.

He wouldn’t rest until Reaper was dead. Unfortunately, he was no closer now to finding him than he was eight months ago. He’d hit the road as soon as the doctor released him. He’d been living on it ever since.

He hated to admit it, but his father was right.

“Okay,” he sighed. “All right. You win. It’ll take me three days to drive home if the lanes are open and construction isn’t a problem. I’ll call you if there are any delays.”

“Good boy,” his father hummed. “We’ll see you soon.”

Matteo missed the old days when the click of a phone signaled the end of a call. With burner phones, he got his father’s voice, then nothing but dead air space and the echo of his conscience, reminding him that he had yet to avenge his family’s honor.

His last night here, he tried to drown his regrets with alcohol. When that didn’t work, he dialed the number that he’d used twice since he came.

“Phoenix.”

The hooker’s voice was just as low and sultry as the night that he’d first heard it.

“Al at The Shady Rest. You free?”

“For how long?”

He could tell from her tone that she was free. Since the last factory closing, when she wasn’t working a pole, she was turning tricks at the truck stop by the highway, just down the street.

The strip club where she danced and a bar with package liquor were conveniently between the two.

“All night,” he said. Not knowing what he’d find on the road, he intended to get it out of his system. “I have condoms. Bring lube and your toys. Be prepared to play hard.”

“It’s five hundred for all night. No cash, no nookie. Capiche?”

If Phoenix was trying to get a rise out of him, she was doomed to disappointment—in this, anyway.

“Two fifty,” he countered. “I’m in Room 107. Be here in fifteen minutes or you can kiss my cash good-bye.”

Ten minutes later, knuckles rapped softly on the exterior door. Matteo put his eye to the peephole and saw nothing but bubblegum pink hair, pale ivory skin, and the start of tats that decorated her double D erotic dancer’s body from neck to toe. Pulling the gun from the back of his waist, he held it in one hand and let her in with the other.

Phoenix slid her gaze from his feet to his face, lingering on his groin and smirking at his body’s natural reaction. “So,” she drawled, “I can’t kiss you but I can kiss your money?”

He wasn’t letting that mouth of hers anywhere on his body. “I don’t know where those lips have been. It’s risky enough reaming you out with nothing but a trench coat between us. You gonna fucking stand there while I shut the door in your face, or are you coming in?”

Phoenix rolled her eyes and pushed her way past him. “You don’t know shit about sweet talking a girl, Al. You got the cash?”

She was wearing a sundress and nothing beneath it, from what he could tell. Her oversized shoulder bag bulged with whatever she’d brought. Remembering their last kink session, he felt his cock become self-aware.

“Money’s on the table,” he said. “Same as last time. And the time before.” He’d made it five fifties to simplify things.

Her loaded bag landed on the tabletop with a heavy thud. Phoenix picked up the bills and fanned them. “No tip?” she pouted.

“I’ve got a tip. Shut the fuck up and I might let you come. Keep it up, and you’ll be seeing a proctologist tomorrow.”

She started to open that smart mouth of hers but snapped it closed when he set his gun on the nightstand and reached for his belt. She was enough of a painslut to enjoy licks of leather biting into her skin, but taking it up the ass all night would make it a challenge to walk, let alone dance.

“Pull out your toys,” he ordered. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Nipple clamps. Two dildos, different sizes. A rabbit vibrator. A flogger. A paddle. A blindfold. Anal beads. A cock ring with a clit stimulator. Lube. No handcuffs or rope, though. She might do bondage with someone she trusted, but not customers with cash. She knew enough to keep her options open. A hooker needed to be able to get away if she had to.

Crossing her arms, she caught the hem of her sundress and pulled it over her head, exposing inked skin and a body built for sin. Shaking out her pink hair made her tits bounce. Cupping them in her hands, she pinched her nipples into tight, hard buds that begged for clamps.

“Bring it all and put it on the other nightstand.”

His held a pile of condoms and his gun.

Laying his belt on the turned-down bed, he peeled off his A-shirt and tossed it on the closest pillow. Phoenix played with her tits and watched him undress. She knew enough to wait for his commands.

By the time he kicked off his pants, she was practically drooling. Very few customers could fill her greedy holes like he could. The first time that she’d seen what he was packing, she’d practically orgasmed on sight.

Snagging a condom from the pile, he tossed it in the center of the sheet, within reach of wherever he would be when it came time to cover up.

“Bend over the bed, slut. Stick that ass in the air. My belt has your name and a number on it. Twenty to start.”

An erotic shiver rocked her frame. Gooseflesh skittered down her arms. “Yes, Sir.”

Phoenix stretched her torso over the mattress and arched her back in a near-perfect display of anatomy. The only thing missing was a toy.

He settled on the anal beads. Applying a light coating of lube, he shoved them none-too-gently up her ass. She grunted and squealed into the sheets, muffling the sound. The dildo was next. The big one. Wetting the tip on her juices, he found her opening and corkscrewed it in, pushing and pulling, driving inside her until he’d bottomed out and could go no deeper. Stuffing her would heighten her senses during impact play and make it all the sweeter when he ripped out the beads and shoved eight-and-a-half inches of man-meat in her ass.

His cock nodded its approval.

“Count,” he growled. With his doubled belt in his hand, he hauled back his arm and swung it with the precision of a major-league pinch hitter.

She yelped on impact. “One,” she choked out, shocked by the strength of the blow. He didn’t tell her that he’d gone easy on her last time. Tonight, she’d learn just what it took to satisfy his dark side.

He swung again and watched red and white bloom across the pale skin of her twin cheeks.

“Two,” she whimpered.

Smack!

“Three.”

She was an ugly mess by the time he got to twenty. Her face was wet with tears. Her nose was red and her mascara had run, blackening below her eyes and tracking down her cheeks. She’d made the mistake of laying down her head and soiling his sheet with her makeup.

Crawling up over her, he grabbed a fistful of pink hair and yanked back her head.

“Gah!”

“Look what you’ve done, slut. My fucking sheets need changed and there’s never goddamn room service here when you call for it.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

Rising to his knees above her, Matteo reached for the condom and let go of her hair. He ripped open the foil packed, pinched the end of the rubber, and rolled down the rest with practiced ease. Backing off the bed, he stood behind her, humping her bright red bottom while he reached for his belt. He caught her wrists, pinned them behind her back, and used his belt to cuff her hands more securely than any kink store set. He gagged her next with the A-shirt that he’d left on the pillow, knotting it behind her head.

“Sorry, she says. If you’re not, slut, you will be.”

Finding the protruding end, he pulled out the anal beads and tossed them at the trash can. They landed half inside, sparing the carpet, at least. He thought about taking her with no lube, but honestly, with the dildo still in her pussy, a slick slide into her back door was going to feel better than forcing his way in and dragging back out.

Popping the lid, he drizzled coconut oil down her crack and coated his length. He set the oil aside, pressed the head of his cock against her pucker, and lunged, relishing the scream that only he could hear. Jesus, she was tight. So goddamn tight. Yeah, leaving the dildo in was a good call. It was almost like being in a threesome. He hadn’t done one in a while—unlike his rock star brothers who indulged on a regular basis. Out on the road, there were plenty of groupies who were willing to be shared.

Taking her ass was like plunging into an endless sleeve of soft, warm clay. He thrust into her, enjoying the feel of her, inside and out. The fiery heat of her abused flesh. The white-hot stretch of her anus as it struggled to accommodate his girth. The friction of the dildo, the fake dick separated from his by only a thin wall of tissue.

At one point, he pulled out, flipped her over, and fastened the clamps on those tight, hard nipples of hers. Fresh tears sprang from her eyes, running down her temples and wetting her hair. To add to her torment, he used the flogger that she’d brought, raining lashes onto her thighs, her belly, her midriff, her breasts. Flogging her clamped nipples made her shake with sobs.

He wailed on her until his bad shoulder started to complain. Tossing the flogger aside, he fondled his balls and looked at her, trying to decide what he wanted to do next. He pulled the dildo from her pussy and stuck it up her ass, filling her to the brim with ten inches of pliant synthetic cock. He drove his condom-covered dick into her cunt, unwilling to risk taking anything away from this except his ultimate satisfaction.

Hooking his elbow behind her knee, he opened her up further to his possession. The change in angle let him grind against her clit and force the first orgasm from her. Her climax had the desired effect, making her pussy walls tighten around him, rippling along his length. He fucked her harder, driving into her until he heard her panting breaths and felt her body stiffen with her impending release. Lowering her leg, he caught the chain connecting the nipple clamps and gave it a tug to send her hurtling over the edge.

He dipped his head and bit her breasts hard enough to leave teeth marks in her mounds of flesh. Flicking the tips of her nipples with his tongue, he tormented her sensitive flesh and earned more tears for the pain that he was causing.

Matteo grinned like the sadist that he was. The hooker writhed beneath him, desperate to escape but unable to get away. Lying on top of her cuffed hands was wrenching her shoulders.

Good luck with working that stripper pole tomorrow.