Forbidden Beauty (Coffin Cheaters Motorcycle Club) (12 page)

“You can put it anywhere,” I breathed, barely, surprised at
how easily I was able to speak in the moment—and how good it felt, talking
dirty to him. The sweat from my temples had begun to occlude the vision in the
corners of my eyes. I heard a ringing in my ears. I had thought the night
before had provided a pleasure no feeling could rival—but I'd been so, so
wrong.

Seeing me waver, Carter finally slid three thick fingers
deep into the center of my pussy, while keeping his thumb fixed on my crest. He
never broke eye contact while he pushed into my moist center, and I brought my
hips towards his, so as to guide his thrusts. I felt myself widen with each
stroke, as if in preparation for the fullness of his dick. After the fourth
stroke, I experienced a new ceiling to my pleasure: he'd found my G-spot. His
hands moved faster now. I could not tamp down a scream.

“Are you on the edge, baby? You want me to make you come?”

I couldn't form the words anymore, so I nodded weakly,
instead. The whole space below us felt wet with my want. Though I hovered on
the lip of an orgasm, I couldn't imagine feeling better than I did at that
moment.

Intuitive again, Carter gently slid his fingers out of me,
leaving me to pant and writhe for a moment below his bulk. I watched the hair
on his bare chest ripple in an evening breeze. I tried to reach out and touch
his muscles for a moment, before remembering that I was bound.

Lifting his hips slightly, Carter began to fumble at the
buttons of his pants. My heart leapt, with a mixture of desperation and fear.
This was happening. I was about to fuck Carter Knox. And I couldn't fucking
wait.

When he unfurled his cock, I saw it in a different light
than the evening prior: he was perfectly smooth, straight, and thick as the
bottom of a glass coke bottle. A strand of pre-cum rose along his top. His
thighs, dressed in dark hair, framed his manhood neatly.

I was ready.

His eyes still fixed on mine, Carter stood briefly, to
remove his pants. I watched the swell of his taut ass appear, round and ropy
and perfect, as the leather slid to the floor. Once he was completely naked in
front of me, he turned his attention to the sopping remainder of my underwear,
and peeled these way from me, flung them to the floor. My heart was racing. I
wonder if his was, too.

When he climbed on top of me again, he swept his hands from
the bindings at my wrists down to the scoops of my breasts, and then, finally,
to my waiting pussy. Gently, he parted me with his fingers. Slowly, he slid
inside.

He was so wide that it hurt like a bitch, at first—but I
felt my body aching to open itself to him. My walls were aware of the pressure.
But he was slow, and he never turned his face away. His first thrust was
incremental, but deep—and once he'd secured himself fully inside, he rested for
a moment. Above me, his eyes were fluttering in his skull. His hands, returning
to flank me on the chaise, trembled under his weight. I felt his member
throbbing inside of me, and after a few seconds of pain, the pleasure returned.
I felt whole, holding Carter inside of me. I felt open, and free, and full.
This was nothing like the fumbling sex I'd had with Dog, on my childhood bunk
bed. The two acts had nothing in common at all.

“Keep going,” I said, my voice hoarse. It was my turn to
make demands.

The second thrust was just as slow, but somehow easier.
Instead of resting at the top, he continued his rhythm, pulling out slowly and
returning stronger, harder. I winced slightly at the increased pressure, but Carter
kept thrusting. I watched his ass arc towards my hips and I drew him further
in, lifting my ass to ease his passage. This felt better, instantly—I felt the
roundness of his sizeable cock begin to press against my G-spot again, and I
let out a coo.

“You like that?” he grunted into my ear.

“Yes,” I whispered back.

Slowly, we found our way toward a rhythm. Carter pushed in
deep, and I continued to grind myself against his hips. I widened my legs, so I
could use my feet to raise myself towards him. After minutes of this, the full
joy returned. My thighs were slick with the both of our juices. I craned my
face forward towards his moving chest and kissed the damp hair along his pecs.

He thrust harder, and harder, each time bringing more
pleasure and less pain. At one point, he reached down to cup one of ass cheeks,
so as to hold me even closer. He moved in and out with ease, and I groaned and
groaned with want. I felt that I needed every single inch of his cock.

“
Fuck
,” he murmured above me, his nails digging hard
into my ass. “I'm gonna come. I want you to come with me.”

I arced myself higher still, so his thrusts rammed against
my G-spot again and again, faster and faster and faster. Carter licked his
index finger, and returned this to my clit. He rubbed me in tight, furious
circles as our rhythm reached a fever pitch. I felt every part of my skin grow
hot—my face, my thighs, the bottoms of my feet.

“I'm gonna come,” I cried out. I arched my back upward, so
my breasts fell to the side. Carter made as if to kiss my nipples, but we were
moving too quickly for him to latch on.

Finally, I felt myself vibrating at the highest possible
pitch. His strong, fervent thumb...his thick, powerful cock...flexing down so I
might gaze into his eyes, I felt myself begin to spasm around him. I tilted my
head back again and began to scream, just as...

“FUCK!” Carter cried, his voice booming and loud—and just as
suddenly, I felt him relax into my arms. His head fell against my chest. I
could feel his heart racing against my abdomen. Inside of me, his member pulsed
in tandem with my own walls. I was aware of our combined wetness, flowing
slowly from me. And the sweetest, deepest, sleepiest kind of relief began to
spread over each of my pores, from my fingertips to my toes. I can honestly say
I'd never felt so fucking good.

“Jesus,” I breathed, after it seemed like a full minute had
gone by. “That was--”

“Not bad,” Knox completed. “And down came the wall of
Jericho.” His voice was raspy and weak. I was proud, in that moment: I'd been
able to tame him, in my way. I had conquered (and been conquered by...), the
most badass biker in the Knights of Styx.

“Hey, Mama Owens. I have a question,” Carter was saying now,
his breath ticklish against my exposed skin. I became freshly of the evening
sounds around us—the frogs croaking, the flies buzzing. I wondered idly where
Tati could be.

“Shoot.”

“What would you say, if I asked you to be my old lady?” He
tilted his chin so it rested fully on my stomach. His violet eyes were sweet,
imploring. Like a little boy's.

“I'd say...untie me first, you jackass”—he cracked a grin,
and the dark world felt warm—“But after that? Yeah. Sure.”

Chapter Fifteen

* * *

Though I would have liked to say we spent the rest of the
week in that lounge, fighting nothing but mosquitoes with nothing but sex
sounds—as soon as darkness had completely fallen, I remembered the work that
still needed to be done. Scotty's empty club was just another reminder: of the
show-down we needed to derail, the villains we needed to catch. I thought of
that young kid, stiffening up in the garage. Had anyone in my club found him
yet? Would they know who he was, if they did?

Knox vanished from our love nest in the middle of my second
nap—and when I woke next, I'd been miraculously re-clothed, moved to the inside
of Scotty's cabin, and placed on the couch. Scotty, Knox and Tati were speaking
in hushed tones around my face. Ice clanked lightly in three tumblers of what
looked like scotch.

“So what is it you've done?” my sister was asking, her voice
striking a familiar, skeptic's tone. “Since you came to—where the hell are we?”

“Casablanca,” Scotty proffered.

“Casablanca, thank you—since you came to this bar, it sounds
like you've just been bumming around. Why didn't you try to get in touch with
your MC earlier? Last night, after the first attacks? I just feel like every
second we waste is another second that could lead to a fight.” T was working
herself into a frenzy. “Why aren't we on the road already? We could be halfway
to the Styx camp by now, if we'd've left earlier.”

“Well
earlier,
I had something to do.”

“Oh, I'm
sure
you did.”

“That's damn right. I had to
make sure your sister was
okay
, after being attacked twice, by two
different
men, in a single
day.”

“I know exactly what you were up to, you goddamned scumbag.
Don't talk to me like you're better at protecting my sister than I am. Or,
didn't you hear?
I shot a guy today
.”

Everyone drank in silence for another moment, but I could
practically hear Tati and Knox fuming with righteousness. Well, it was nice to
know I had two pistols in my corner. I stretched myself into wakefulness, and
took note of the strange sensations in my body: my pelvis was sore. My wrists,
too, for that matter.

So it hadn't been a dream.

“She's awake,” Scotty declared, rising from his post and
making for the makeshift bar. I rose slowly to a sitting position, and drank in
the scene. Though the straits were dire, I have to say—it was kind of magic, being
around the people who loved me best in the world. These two made me feel
capable, and confident; the three of us were tough. Perhaps our motley trio
could really defuse this ticking time bomb. I was ready to get a move on, in
any case.

“Tati, Carter—I see the pair of you have met,” I yawned. “But
enough pleasantries. We should probably go hunting for the Coffin Cheaters,
yeah? Before they find the Knights of Styx and raise some kind of hell.” I
glanced a little shyly at my new old man. He was beaming at me, like I was his
proudest possession.

And hell—I guess I was.

After a short discussion, it was decided that Tati should
stay behind. I could tell that she was still too shaken from the murder in the
garage to be of much use to our mission—and there was the fact that she wasn't
exactly easy on her whip. As I prepared for the journey ahead, she called her
boyfriend, and I overheard her sweet, sad murmurings from Scotty's bedroom.
This jerked me out of my love haze, to an extent: it made me sick, the
unfairness of it all. My wonderful, brave sister had been forced into a
situation that could compromise her entire future. I had to do whatever it took
to make sure no more harm came to her.

My thoughts drifted again to the body in our wake. He'd be
long dead by now—had the ashtrays heard the noise in the garage, and sent
someone out to investigate? And what would the riders think? I prayed that
there was some shred of sanity left within the reaches of my club, that some
saving grace of a Cheater might connect my blurted story to news of the masked
corpse—but it seemed just as possible that my twin and I would be blamed for my
attacker's death. Those men who used to be my brothers...would they ever trust
me again? Would I ever be able to call myself a Coffin Cheater again? I
wondered.

“You about ready, doll?” Knox asked, appearing suddenly in
the mirror behind me. He'd slicked his hair back with a shiny gel, and donned a
leather jacket, riding boots, and motorcycle gloves. He looked fit for a
stealthy, super-important secret mission, and absolutely fly as all hell.
Glancing down at my scuffed leather pants and ragged flannel, I kind
of...didn't.

“You know I need you to come with me, Gisele,” my old man
said. “No man's as strong as the lady who rides behind him.”

“But Carter—what if it doesn't work? What if we can't stop
the Coffin Cheaters?”

“It'll work.”

“I just don't want you to go through what we did. I don't
want someone I've known all my life to hurt someone
you
love.”

Knox had crept up behind me, and now his beefy arms
encircled my waist. He nuzzled my neck.

“You think too much, Mama,” he said. “Now. Are you sure you
can travel alright? Do you feel back on top after resting?”

Right. Like we'd gotten a lot of
resting
done.

“Oh, I'll be fine.”

Carter smirked. I wondered how much of his bravado was
studied. He couldn't possibly be this calm and confident all the time, showing
no fear in the face of serious danger. Though it already felt like we'd known
each other forever, and our recent commitment in the lounge was still making me
dizzy with glee—I still saw so much mystery in this man.

Turning, the biker smacked my ass so hard I let out a yelp.
“Let's get a move on then!” he hollered. And he looked, of all things, excited.

We drove and drove into the humid night, Carter leading the
way toward the Knights of Styx campground, in the distant North. I found myself
checking the roads for other motorcycles, other lonesome headlamps wending
their way around the off-roads we traveled. Tati had confirmed that sometimes
the masked men of Satan's Refuse rode alone—but thankfully, there were no other
motorcycles on the road with us that night.

As good as it felt to be back on my bike and moving with
purpose, all of my fear and adrenaline had also returned, about as soon as the
Vicodin had fully cleared my system. I kept my eyes pinned to my leader's back,
in an attempt to focus. My thighs, I noticed, were still sore from our fucking.
For the first hour of the trip, I tried to concentrate on this strange,
wonderful pain. But well into hour four, I felt all my limbs had grown numb.

At long last, Knox signaled for an exit—one of those sad,
Florida truck-stops advertising the home of the world's largest alligator at
some backwoods barn miles out of the way. As I slowed to his speed, I felt
tired again. It seemed like an impossible thing to ask for, but I hoped against
hope that we'd find some place to sleep for a while. But could we afford to
wait that long? How long would it take the Coffin Cheaters to suss out their
enemy's secret lair?

Dismounting, my biker came towards me.
He's my old man.
He's my old man,
I thought to myself. I had to keep repeating it. It didn't
feel real yet.

“You hungry, princess?” Carter asked.

“Could use some chow, sure.”

“Why don't you wait here? I'll grab us burgers or
something.” He indicated a Checker's with a toss of his slick mane, and I
nodded. I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten.

I watched the biker whistle as he moved toward the fast food
joint, and I tried to relax a little on my seat. But something felt so...off.
It didn't feel right that Knox was all smiles and smooth sailing—not when his
entire MC could be in mortal danger. There was some sort of urgency that our
mission lacked. I was antsy, and ready for action. I wanted to put this trouble
to bed, so I could get back into one. ..

It was then that I heard the clutch of a dozen motorcycles,
popping and putting like a rain of bullets. My heart lurched in my chest. I
froze on my bike.

The chorus of a dozen whips sounded closer and closer behind
me, until I was sure I was in recognizable spitting distance from the Coffin
Cheaters. If these guys were from my MC...Well, I could imagine them killing
me. I could imagine Flapper wobbling off his Harley and pulling that damning
Magnum out of his holster, shooting me dead right there in the parking lot.

I was suddenly sweaty all over, cold with fear. I kept my
eyes locked on the door of the Checker's. A part of me prayed for Carter to
appear immediately and whisk me off to safety, but another part mentally
commanded him to stay inside. Whoever these fellas were, they were likely no
friends of ours.

“So what did the bird say then?” I heard a rider yell,
cutting his engine. Slowly, I lowered my head, so it was level with my
handlebars. Thankfully, the voice didn't sound familiar.

“The dumb bitch asked why I wore the mask,” called someone
else. This voice was deep and throaty, full of phlegm. Neither of them, I
confirmed, were of the Coffin Cheaters. I breathed a little easier. But just as
soon, I recanted my relief—if they weren't Cheaters, they were Satan's Refuse.

“Whad you tell her, Sput?”

“Told her to mind her own fucking business.” Someone spit on
the ground, and I jumped ever-so-slightly in my skin. I was currently blocked
from the group, separated from these new bikers by a big, tan Cadillac.
Oh
Jesus Lord,
I prayed,
don't let the person who owns this car come
outside.

“And then what happened?”

“Bitch still wouldn't shut up. So I had to give her the
slip.” The gang was silent for another moment, until a few riders busted out
laughing. Another chill raced down my spine. Gave
who
the slip?
“I never get why sweet butts need to know all the answers,” cried someone else.
They sounded young, whoever this was. “Should be enough for them, really. All
they need to know is: we're in an MC. MC's got a uniform. End of story.”

“A-fucking-men!”

“But the masks
are
some kind of Freddy Krueger
bullshit,” piped up another speaker—the whiniest so far of the bunch. “I get
the whole element of surprise thing, but I see why it can scare a lady.”

There was silence then, but for the flicking of a few
lighters. Yet, I could feel the atmosphere grow tense on the farther side of
the lot. I imagined the young boy from earlier, the man now lying dead in the
Coffin Cheaters' garage. How would his voice have sounded among this angry
crowd? Whatever had enticed him to be a part of a group so vicious?

“You think the masks are bullshit, Hunter?”

“I didn't say that!”

“'Cuz that sounded like that was what you said.”

“I'd
never
say that! Jesus, you know I'd never say
that, Sput!”

“You know why it is we wear them, huh?”

“Of course I do! We hafta protect ourselves.”

“More like we hafta protect
everyone else
!”

“Shut up, Rook. And no: we wear the masks because we've got
a code. We're not the usual fucking MC shit. We do whatever the fuck we want,
we fuck with whoever the fuck we want, and we wear the masks because we're
Satan's
fucking
Refuse, and that's the end of the goddamn story. It's
just like Flapper says—”

But the men hooted and holler at this, each voice guttural—almost
animal.
Flapper?!
Were they talking about my Flapper? What were the
odds? But then again, didn't it make perfect sense? If Flapper was really in
cahoots with a mysterious new MC, these tough guys could easily have helped him
obliterate Dixon, and Rodney, and Lord knew who else. Furthermore, if Flapper
was working with Satan's Refuse, he'd have more than enough manpower to destroy
the Coffin Cheaters AND the Knights of Styx, if he so chose. He could make some
kind of super-group. That motherfucker could be holding all the cards.

“And with that, it's burger time. Someone stay out here and
watch the bikes. I elect: Rook.”

Laughing and stamping, the crew dismounted. I didn't move a
muscle as I watched them process toward the truck stop, I merely held my
breath. Carter was still in there.

Carter, who some of them probably still recognized from the
other night at Casablanca.