Hard (17 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Bridget backed into the bedroom, never taking her eyes of Stiles, watching his cock bob as he followed her down the hall. She still felt the tingle of fear, not entirely sure what she had released within him.

Once she was near the bed he stormed her, throwing her roughly to the bed and piling in behind her to hold her down as she struggled. He had never forced himself on a woman in is life but he was going to—he grabbed his monster by the throat and held it at bay.

“This what you want?” he snarled, his face inches from hers as he held her down.

Her fear disappeared. He had scared the shit out of her when he threw her on the bed and then held her down, afraid she had pushed him too far. But as threatening as he sounded, he had paused and was offering her a chance to back him off, but there was no fucking way she was backing off now. “Come on!” she hissed. “Show me what you’ve got.”

His entry caused her to cry out, surprise mixed with pleasure, as he rammed into her so hard she felt like she slid up in the bed. He held himself deep inside a moment before he began to move, pushing in even harder before pulling slowly back and ramming himself home again. Each savage thrust caused her to cry out, but her face spoke not of pain, but of excitement and pleasure. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them high over her head, stretching her taunt as he drove into again and again. 

She was completely trapped, bound like a fly in amber, the weight of his body pinning her to the bed, her wrists locked over her head. She had always enjoyed being controlled in the bedroom, turning herself over to her lover, but never before had she be so thoroughly immobilized. His grunts as he slammed his cock into her added fuel to her already raging fire, causing her to struggle harder to free her hands, straining against his grip and twisting up with effort.

Bridget’s struggle to free herself, her grunts and groans as she twisted and writhed under him as he fucked her, excited him like no woman before her. She was surprisingly strong considering her small size, but she was no match for him. He would release her if she asked, but not before she admitted his control over her. He flexed his hips faster, trading power for speed, as he took her lips.

She arched her back, straining with every muscle in her body to free herself from his grip, wanting to test herself to the limit and fail. She gasped, her strength failing her and she needed to rest a moment before trying again as he plowed into her, his breath a hot flame on her neck.

Her struggles ceased and he was both satisfied and disappointed. He had broken her, but her defiance excited him deeply and he could feel his orgasm lurking. He changed his grip, crossing her wrists so he could pin them to the bed with one hand, using the other to scrape gently down her arm.

When he began to hold her hands with just one hand, she threw everything she had into one final attempt to break his grip. She felt her hands slip, and she strained to twist her hips, to roll him off of her. He stopped his thrusting as he tried to force her back. He growled, low and deep as they strained, his cock moving inside of her as they struggled, and she could feel her orgasm coming, bearing down on her like hurricane. He pulled back and slammed into her again, then again, snarling as he tried to force her hips back flat.

“
Fuck!
” she wailed as her orgasm took her, the cry of pleasure long and drawn out as she bucked and writhed, her body no longer hers to control.

He released her hands and rose up, using the sudden leverage to pound into her furiously hard, determined to destroy her, here and now, to make her come so hard and long she would never question his mastery over her again.

“
Shit…fuck!
”
she cried out again, her orgasm seemingly never-ending as he pounded into her like a machine. She grabbed his arms and pushed desperately hard trying to escape the pleasure that was overwhelming her. She burned, her body alive in erotic fire as her climax continued to pour through her. Then, as quickly as had arrived, it was gone, leaving her gasping for breath.

He paused his frenzied pounding strokes as she suddenly became still under him while panting hard and fast. He lowered himself to her, gathered her into his arms and kissed her deeply, the monster within him temporarily sated. She returned the kiss weakly, her hands fluttering lightly over his back and shoulders.

“Fuck,” she gasped out as the kiss parted. “I have never come like that before.”

Stiles smiled, his need to overpower and control her satisfied. “Don’t push me again or there will be more from where that came from,” he snarled playfully before kissing her again.

She nodded slowly as her strength began to return. But she wasn’t ready to admit defeat just yet. “That the best you got?” she asked, trying to sound tough and mean, but she couldn’t pull it off and broke into a broad smile. She had never been fucked like that before, and she wanted to be, again and again, by the very man that was inside of her.

He met her smile with one of his own as he began to flex his hips again. “You want some more?”

“Oh god, yes,” she purred, as she clamped down on his cock. “I want you to fuck me long and hard,” she murmured, staring into his eyes. “I want you to fuck me without stopping until you come, but I want you hold out as long as you can. I want to see if I can make you come before you can make me come again.”

“A contest?” he asked, his smile broadening.

“Fuck yeah. A fucking contest.”

“Doesn’t seem fair to me,” he teased. “You got the edge taken off and
now
you want to see who can last the longest?”

“Not up for it big boy?” she cooed.

“I’ll show you what I’m fucking up for,” he rumbled playfully as he began to drive into her harder, tightening his embrace on her.

“Prove it,” she challenged, knowing it would wind him up.

His smile turned hard as his monster howled deep inside of him again.
I’ll fucking prove it,
he snarled to himself. 

She pushed hard at her orgasm, trying to hold it off. They were dripping sweat, panting and gasping. They had spent the last twenty minutes tumbling over each other as they fucked, first Stiles on top, then Bridget. He had just rolled her off of him and back onto her back before pounding into her again. His groans and hisses of pleasure, the twist of his face, indicated he had to be close to climaxing, but she couldn’t fucking make him
come
!

He buried his face in her neck as he pounded into her, thinking of his Harley, of his mother and father, anything to take his mind off the goddess, her skin aglow with sweat that he was fu— He shook his head, trying to clear the thought as he felt his orgasm try to take him. He groaned, his hands gripping her tight as he tried to hold on.

“Come on, you bastard, fuck me!” she snarled, working her hips, dragging her nails along his back, squeezing down hard on his cock, using every trick in her book to push him over the edge.

He kissed her, trying to shut her up, her pillow talk preventing him from focusing, but she grabbed his hair, holding him into the kiss, and he realized he had made a mistake.

She kissed him with everything she had, her tongue battling his. She was close, but he was closer. She broke the kiss, tugging his head back to her neck. “Come on! Fuck me!”

He couldn’t hold back the rising tide any longer. He came with a deep and hard grunt, shivering as his orgasm burned through him, but he couldn’t stop, not now, not with her so close. He continued to slam into her, his orgasm soaring higher and higher as he fucked her even as he came. He cried out, his pleasure morphing into an erotic pain, his orgasm twisting him up as muscle strained against muscle.

With his cry of completion, she released her own orgasm and allowed it to flow. It began to swell within her, making her whimper in pleasure as it began to surround her. She held him tight, feeling his muscles twisting and bunching under his skin as he struggled to finish her. He cried out, a harsh cry of pain and pleasure before driving his head into her shoulder, holding her tight as he whimpered, his hips battering her, driving her to orgasm.

“Oh…” she breathed, her breath freezing as her release coiled up within her gaining power. “Fuck!” she breathed, squinting her eyes tightly closed as her climax finally crashed down upon her and drowned her in pleasure.

He stopped his driving hips with a gasp, grateful the most pleasant of tortures was over as she tumbled into her orgasm, panting into her neck as she clung to him before relaxing with another whimper.

He held her, his breathing slowing and falling into rhythm with hers as they allowed the closeness they felt to wash over them. Slowly, almost painfully, Stiles rose, allowing her to move, tumbling to his back beside her. She crawled into his arms and sighed as he wrapped her in his embrace.

They lay quiet and still for a long time, neither saying anything, the cooling sweat no match for the warmth of their love.

“Take me away, Stiles,” Bridget said softly, not looking at him, her head on his chest.

“Take you away?”

“Yes. Let’s run away. Just the two of us. We can leave tomorrow. Tonight even. We can run away and be together.”

“What about your family, and Terry?”

“I don’t care. I just want to be with you.”

“Just tell Terry and then we can be together.”

“No, I…Please, Stiles. Let’s just leave.”

He said nothing, his hand slowly caressing her back. They could leave and start a new life, but she couldn’t make the commitment. She couldn’t let go of Terry for him. He smiled softly, sadly. He loved her, and as they lay on top of the damp and tangled bed, he realized what he had to do.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Stiles McCoy, President of the Black Aces Motorcycle Club, leaned on his Harley, staring into the haze that gave the Smoky Mountains their name. He had come to the Blue Ridge Parkway to get away from the world for a couple of days, to do some soul searching and try to get his head sorted. It hadn’t been an easy task. To help him think, he answered the call of the open road, riding, sitting, watching, going where his boots took him, stopping when was tired, riding when he wasn’t. At the moment he was at the peak of the Smoky Mountains, stopped at one of the many vista overlooks, searching for answers in the distance, just him, his Harley, and his thoughts.

The soft burble of a V8 pulled his attention away from the landscape and he watched as a drop top Mustang crept to a stop. The couple exited the car but ignored him after a friendly smile and nod in greeting. He watched them as the woman did various cheesecake poses while her significant other snapped away with a compact camera. They were obviously happy and in love as they traded positions and the woman snapped a couple of her mate.

When they began taking selfies, mugging at the camera, Stiles smiled and rose from his comfortable prop on the bike and wandered over.

“Want me to take a couple of you together,” he offered as he approached, not wanting to scare the couple. It always amused him that just because he rode a Harley and had a patch, people automatically assumed he was trouble.

“Would you mind?” the woman asked, smiling brightly.

“Not at all.” The man handed him the camera and gave him a quick tutorial on how to use it. “Smile,” Stiles prompted, pressing the shutter release. He took three more before the man retrieved his camera.

“Thank you,” he said with a big smile.

Stiles nodded but said nothing before returning to his bike. He settled against the seat again and watched the couple until they returned to their car and left, leaving him alone with his thoughts again.

It had been three days since Bridget had returned to his arms and begged him to run away with her. He had left the next morning. He hadn’t known where he was going, and didn’t care. He had no appointments scheduled over the weekend so he was free to lock up and hit the road. He wandered through the Northern part of North Carolina, then the southern part of Virginia, giving his hog its head and allowing it to carry him where it willed, ending up at the beginning of the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Treble had called him Friday evening, wanting to know where he had gone and informing him he had seen on the local news that the block thrower had an unfortunate accident while preparing to toss another concrete block from an overpass, but gave no other details over the phone.

Stiles hadn’t told him why, but he had explained how he just needed to get away and feel the wind in his hair again. He smiled, remembering how Treble had offered without hesitation to ride out and be his wingman. Treble was a good friend and brother, but as much as he would have enjoyed Treble’s company, he needed alone time.

He was hurt, hurt that the woman he loved, that the woman who claimed to love him, couldn’t commit to him. She wanted to use him, to string him along, to be Mrs. Terry Lewis, MD by day, but Stiles McCoy’s old lady by night. He had bedded her, repeatedly, during her engagement even though he knew it was wrong, but he had to draw the line at her marriage. That was a line he wouldn’t, couldn’t, cross.

Saturday, she called him. He hadn’t heard the phone ring as he rode, but the moment he heard her voice in voicemail, he deleted her message. That book was closed, and he intended for it to stay closed.

With a snort he pushed himself off his bike and swung a leg over, thumbing the machine into life. It was time to roll again.

He rode, his mind at ease, dancing the bike around the long sweeping curves, listening the steady thumping of the Harley’s mighty V-Twin heart, the bike’s heartbeat joining with his own, the wind in his face blowing away the fog of confusion.

As he rode, he debated how to cut his attachment to Bridget. Should he simply walk away, leaving her hanging and wondering what happened to him. Perhaps he should take back everything he said, tell her he was just using her and that she meant nothing to him. He rejected that idea and the one before it.

He wouldn’t string her along as she had him, and he wouldn’t hurt her. She would see through his lie in an instant if he told her he didn’t care for her and didn’t want her still. The only way to end it was to tell her the truth, to tell her that he couldn’t live with the knowledge that she was in another man’s arms.

He stopped outside Cherokee for a burger and a beer at a place that was well known to be motorcycle friendly. After the waitress took his order, he surveyed the place, catching the eye of a cutie sitting with a group of women at two tables pushed together. The women were dressed in black leather with pink trim, long heeled boots, and he could see on their backs a succubus with the words
Divas of Sin
above and
Motorcycle Club
below. The cutie smiled. He smiled back with a nod, causing her smile to broaden as she gave her head a slight jerk.

I should walk over there,
he said to himself.
I should pull a Treble, walk over there, and see if I can bury my troubles balls deep.
But even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn’t. The hurt was too fresh, too raw. Still, they were the most pleasant thing in the place to look at, so he continued to watch the table as a couple more women began to furtively watch him until his food arrived and he turned away.

“You local?” the cutie asked as she sauntered up.

“Charlotte. You?” he asked after he swallowed.

“Birmingham. We rode up yesterday to run the
Dragon.
We’re freshening up before we hit the road home
.”

“Nice piece of road,” he agreed. He was well acquainted with the
Tail of the Dragon,
having ridden it several times himself, a stretch of road widely regarded as one of the best motorcycle roads in the world.

“What brings you here?”

Stiles smiled at the woman as he waved at a stool and she sat. “Same thing you are. Answering the call of the road.”

“Gitty,” the woman said, holding her beer bottle up.

“Stiles,” he replied before clinking his bottle softly to hers.

“The Aces ever get down to Birmingham?”

“Nah. We tend to stick pretty close to home. The Divas travel?”

“Depends. If we have a reason.”

“What reason would that be?”

“Oh, you know. We like to visit other clubs, spread the word. Not enough women’s clubs if you ask me.”

“You know, I think you’re right,” Stiles agreed.

Gitty grinned. “Do the Aces old ladies have an axillary?”

“No old ladies. Well, nothing formal anyway. The Aces, we tend to avoid entanglements.” He smiled, reflecting on how entangled he was, but Gitty didn’t see his smile that way.

“You don’t have an old lady?”

“Nope.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe?”

“I don’t know. Why do you?”

Gitty flashed him a smile. “Just seems like a missed opportunity, that’s all.”

“Gitty!” one of the women from the table called. “Let’s roll!”

Gitty smiled at him again. “Nice talking to you, Stiles. If you or the Aces ever get down to Birmingham, look us up. We’ll show you around,” she said as she slid off the stool.

“Same if you get up to Charlotte.”

She smiled at him briefly then turned, but turned back to face him. “Sounds like the Divas need to plan another road trip.” She offered him another brilliant smile then turned and walked slowly out.

He watched her ass until she disappeared outside and then turned back to his burger. Two years ago he would have been all over Gitty, but now he felt nothing, nothing but an empty space.

He finished his food and beer, leaving a twenty to cover the burger, beer, and tip, and sauntered out. As he donned his helmet and sunglasses, he decided on what he needed to do, what he had to do. As soon as he got home he was going to talk to J. J. Treble and then call a meeting of the Aces. It was time for the Aces to stop taking contracts and begin wrapping up their business in Charlotte. It wasn’t the first time the club had to up-stakes and hit the road, and as President, it was up to him to find their next home.

He hated moving and the hassle of having to set up their charter in a new city. They had all hoped Charlotte would be their final stop, but they also knew that sometimes the city just got too hot. The block thrower’s
accident
was going to bring down some serious heat. The police didn’t like street justice, even if the scumbag deserved it, so this was probably a good time to leave anyway. That was how he was going to sell it…the fact that it let him leave behind some bad memories just being a side benefit.

He thumbed the Harley to life and kicked it into gear, turning the bike east and back toward home, wondering if Birmingham might be a good fit for the Aces.