A Leap in the Dark (Assassins of Youth MC Book 2) (13 page)

Levon said, “You’ve gone under for me.”

“What?” I dared to whisper. It came out like the squeak of a mouse.

“You’re in sub-space. It’s a place where you float, meditate, wait for your master to manipulate you.”

Oh
. That made sense. That pretty well described how I felt. My clit shivered. “Yes.”

He fell to his knees clumsily between my legs. “Then you’re ready. Damn, are you ready.”

And he dove in face-first.

Oh my sin, how I exploded almost immediately! It was the strangest orgasm ever, I think because I’d been hovering on that precipice for so long. Once he started lapping with big long strokes of his fat tongue, the brimming dam burst.

My uterus exploded like a supernova, sending intense spasms down the entire length of my canal. The contractions were so ecstatically forceful it was like every muscle in my pelvis and thighs was seized up like granite.

He lapped hungrily, keeping the rhythm balanced just so. Any less and the intensity would have dropped off completely. Any more and I would have jumped out of my skin.

Then he let me down slowly. His licking slowed until I was sobbing. Yes, actual tears were coursing down the side of my face and into my ears as I lay on the desk. At last he stopped completely. I could hear him wiping off his face or something. My sobs ebbed until they were overcome with sort of a blissful bloom, as though the sun was rising inside my blindfold. The red champagne bubbles gave way to the otherworldly glow of planets or deep space.

Was I leaving my body? The second this thought occurred to me—bam! I was solidly back on that desk, just some idiot coming down from an orgasmic high. A flat-chested moron with her hands bound, naked aside from some trendy combat boots.

His fingers closed around the zip-ties that bound my hands, and he hauled me to an upright sitting position. Shiz, did the blood stream from my brain then, back down where it was supposed to be, circulating around my heart.

“Whoo!” I cried, like a simpleton.

He cut the plastic ties with something. “I didn’t fuck you because I don’t have any rubbers. I want you to know I’m responsible.”

“Oh, that was just fine.” I felt drunk. My head wobbled on a lazy neck.

“You’re in subdrop,” he said, lifting the bandanna from my eyes. “Let me get you something sugary to drink. Come on, lambikins. Come back into the kitchen.”

And you know what? I didn’t even mind that I was pretty much a hundred percent nude as Levon marched me back to the kitchen. I draped myself around his powerful shoulders, plastering my nipple decorations to his warm back, as he leaned over a small fridge to withdraw a 7-Up.

He cracked it and handed it to me around his arm with a lopsided grin that was thoroughly adorable.

“You know what?” he said. “You’re a banging hot woman. The best part is, you don’t even know it.”

He was right. I didn’t know it. The way men had treated me my entire life, plying me with lies and betrayals, how would I know it?

“I want to,” I slurred. “I want to know it.”

LEVON

“W
ait. These are
pills. What’s Antabuse?”

Gideon told me, “That was all our nurse friend in Bullhead City had. Shumway will drink booze, right?”

I shrugged. “I suppose. Most of the fundies around here do.”

“Okay. It’s what they give alcoholics to prevent them from drinking. Some kind of severe reaction. Nurse said nausea, puking, dizziness.”

I was underwhelmed. I was hoping for something at least as serious as what he’d done to my dog. But I was a newbie at this outlaw stuff, and an outlaw was handing it to me, so that was what I’d do.

Gideon clapped a hand to my shoulder. “Just grind it up and have our bartender John put it in his next drink.”

“John’s in your back pocket?” I assumed John was an Elk, as we were currently standing behind their freshly painted club. Men carried in big tubs of ice and crabs, and an overwhelming wave of garlic emanated from the kitchen. It was already rockin’ in there. Apparently Elks knew how to party.

Gideon said, “John’s so far in our back pocket he’s practically up our ass.”

“All right.” I grinned. “I’d better get back to my date.”

“Yeah, what’s up with your good nurse?”

“I didn’t want to involve her in this Shumway business.”

“No. I mean are you hitting that? Be good to keep it all in the family like good Mormons.”

I had to chuckle at that. We were basically pushing up on two sisters. And now that I was wearing an Assassins leather cut with a
PROSPECT
patch over my left front pocket, we truly were brothers in arms.

This whole clusterfuck with the mayor and building inspector had inspired me to accept the Assassins’ offer. Since I wasn’t about to go crawling back to Liberty Temple with my tail between my legs, I was going to fight back. I’d taken their cut along with all the responsibilities, trust, and duty that implied. Since Dingo was now fully patched—a fully patched monster with an ego so big he couldn’t get through the door, if you asked me—when I wasn’t at my dojo I’d be serving beer and polishing tailpipes at The High Dive.

“Kiss and tell, brother. Kiss and tell.”

Gideon nodded with understanding. “I get that. In other words, you haven’t gotten a taste of that yet.”

My vanity must’ve taken control then. I blurted, “Oh, I’ve gotten a taste, all right. Listen. Is it true Skippy Cavanaugh’s out of there?”

Gideon nodded tersely. “Yeah. Sledge and I had to escort him off the premises at the business end of our pieces.”

“You know for sure he’s the snitch?”

“Yeah. Dingo left his laptop open on purpose and pretended to go to the bathroom. Skippy went over with a pad and started writing down what he’d left on his screen.”

“Nothing important, I gather.”

Gideon grinned. “Not unless you call purchasing chastity harnesses and enema kits important.”

The truth was, I didn’t
know
if I was “hitting that” with Oaklyn. The scene in The Chop Shop—my crossword puzzle clue name for my studio—had been completely impromptu. I’d never imagined that
shuriken
ninja stars could be used for nipple clamps. And once I got my face between her legs, I knew she was perfect for a bit of clit torture.

Gideon and I went in the back door. The banquet room was already packed like a slave ship and the salad course hadn’t even been served yet. Upstairs several rows of elegant and pricey silent auction prizes had been laid out. Mexican and Alaskan cruises, a guitar played by Neil Young, spa treatments, and a chance to throw the first ball at a Salt Lake Bees game. I’d been considering getting Oaklyn a spa treatment. I could picture her lounging back in a tub of mud, getting a facial, having her nails done or whatever they did at spas.

Now, as I squeezed myself between two rotund Elks who already seemed rip-roaring drunk, I caught sight of her. She’d worn a sparkly sweater for this December event. Her eyes caught the glint of her Christmas-colored necklace as she leaned across the long table to shout at Mahalia. I had to pause to marvel
I made her come. I made her scream out my name. I made her beg for release.
Knowing she was a BDSM virgin made it all the more exciting.

She was a scrawny, lithe thing, but that was the way she was built. Touching her was like manipulating a ballet dancer. She might not have the curves of most women, but she had sass, fire, and explosive sexuality. I’d honestly never seen a woman come that powerfully. Maybe ten percent of my clients at Liberty Temple were women, and almost all of them ordered a whopping climax as part of the package. Some faked it. Some came in dribs and drabs, like they were in a raft plunging over a Class II waterfall. Only a few were ever close to the atomic level of an Oaklyn orgasm, and I couldn’t wait to try it again, with a different scene.

Oaklyn caught my eye. I motioned to her I’d be right there. I had business to attend to. Elbowing my way through the crowded bathroom, I waited for a stall so I could crush some of the pills. The bottle said to give 500 milligrams to alcoholics, so I crushed 1500 inside the bottle with my knife blade.

“John?”

The bartender immediately looked at me. He was the one. He looked about like your average Elk—in other words, like your father—but he nodded slightly when he glanced at my cut.

“Gideon said to give you this.”

“Gotcha.” John palmed the white bottle, then gave me an eye wave that directed my gaze toward a particularly rowdy table of men. They were setting up for their feast by melting butter in little warmers with candles under them. Some of them had practically brought their own picnic, with champagne glasses, their own silverware, and crab crackers. Shumway was among them. Looked like he had one of the red cups John was handing out booze in.

“Thanks.” When I turned around, I smashed right into Deloy.

“I’m getting a Coke!” he protested, hands in the air.

I frowned.
Whatever.
I’d been worried that Deloy might’ve seen the gossip column referring to him, but he hadn’t said anything about it. “Good. Come sit at our table when you’re done.”

We did the mirror shuffle, both stepping to the same side at the same time. I finally broke free in frustration by grabbing Deloy’s shoulder and shoving him toward the bar. I only had eyes for Shumway—the mayor was sitting farther down on the same side. Strangely, Shumway chose this time to get up. I still don’t know if it was chance or what, but we met face to face at the end of the table. We were packed so close I almost could
not
reach up and grab his stupid shirtfront without anyone noticing anything amiss. Logic told me I shouldn’t have, but emotions got the better of me.

“You’re a fucking dead man for trying to poison my dog,” I snarled.

“What are you talking about?” Shumway shrieked in a high woman’s voice. “Get your hands off me.”

“You fucking well know what I’m talking about. You gave mints with fake sugar to my dog
on fucking purpose
, you scumbag.”

He snarled back, his face darkened under the brim of his ten gallon hat. “You keep making false accusations like that, you’re
never
getting a business license.”

I kneed him in the balls for good measure. He folded like a jackknife, but the guy he fell into shoved him back, sending him crashing into the long tables with the melted butter. It was a great dramatic effect, the little cups of melted yellow oil flying through the air, soaking people’s shirts and splashing their faces. I reserved my dirtiest look for Ladell Pratt, whose mouth was an
O
as he gazed at the buttery destruction. But when he saw me he smiled like a lizard. He had something up his sleeve.

Sledgehammer was standing on the bench making a rip-roaring fist pump at the sight of my little tussle. “That’s it, Levon! Stick it to The Man!”

I wasn’t exactly making a statement on the downtrodden dilemma of the working class in Utah or anything, but now that Sledgehammer mentioned it, maybe I was. I had to thread my way past several bikers to reach Oaklyn, all of them slapping me on the back so heartily I almost pitched into the table heavy with salad fixings. We were as bad as the others. Bikers had brought their own bottles of salad dressing and wine, everyone celebrating the launch of Maximus’ political career.

In a fittingly Roman bid for power, Maximus would be our next mayor. He’d already been well-known around town riding with his Lazzat Un Nisa club. The Assassins had culled him from there as the coolest, most desirable guy with his flowing silver hair. He ran the new barber shop, another plus on his side. And he was retired from an engineering job with the County, so he already knew lots of people.

And he had only one wife.

Dust Bunny, with his Stanford degree, would have been a logical choice. He was probably the only other Assassin who had a clean sheet. But he wasn’t as good-looking as Maximus, and he held a lot of conspiracy theories about aliens and governments reading our emails. So he’d be Maximus’ campaign manager. Already he was standing up next to Sledgehammer yelling, “Maximus for mayor!” He’d attracted quite a crowd of people wanting to know what the fuck was up. I heard a couple of people saying “About time someone ran against Pratt.”

But I knew what the fuck was up, and I wanted to spend more time with Oaklyn. When I sat next to her, she stopped talking to Mahalia and put her hand on my thigh under the table.

“Shall we go see Nana again tomorrow?”

Nana’s surgery had taken place earlier that day in St. George. We’d spent about four hours there, but she’d been so doped we weren’t sure she knew we were there. She was stable, so we’d planned to return tomorrow. “Definitely. This time, I want you riding one up behind me. On my pussy pad.”

Being basically from a Mormon background, Oaklyn automatically looked around to see who’d heard me say “pussy.” Then she seemed to remember that she was in a crowd of bikers, and she smiled. “Okay. But only if you buy me a leather jacket down in St. George when we’re done seeing Nana.”

I got a big thrill out of picturing that. I was so inspired, I put my hand on her thigh under the table. From here I could see Pratt’s insipid face as he cast me a pantload of dirty, smarmy looks. I hadn’t seen Shumway go to the bar yet, but when I raised my cup to Pratt, he seemed to get all befuddled. Now
he
went to the bar.