Addicted: A Secret Baby Romance (Rebel Saints MC) Read online

  Waiting outside the door is the goldfish from before, his yellow mustache a scratchy sneer.

  I smile back. Am I supposed to be ashamed or something?

  The albino leads me out of the bar without looking at anything, oblivious that every man in the place’s stares are locked on me. Eyes on the door, the albino doesn’t stop, doesn’t pause, not even when we step outside.

  “Where are we going?” I ask as we step out into the cool night.

  “My bike,” he says, not pausing.

  Now I stop.

  “And then?”

  Ahead of me, his hand still locked around my arm, he stops, speaks to the dark empty parking lot, where, at the edge, the moonlight is glinting off a motorcycle, “I know a place.”

  He takes a step forward, and I don’t move.

  “And what if I don’t want to go to a place?”

  With his palm to my shoulder, he shoves me to the wall. Then, taking a leaf out of my book, he runs his head over my entire body, from the top of my head to my face to my neck, chest, belly, crotch.

  “Don’t pretend that she doesn’t want this,” he says, grabbing my pussy, reverberations of want trembling through me.

  I shove him back, though he barely moves.

  I say, “Fuck you.”

  He smirks, grabs my arm again and, yanking me along, says, “Not yet.”

  As we near the motorcycle, I see that the Harley Davidson is as much of a hulking beast as its owner – huge front wheel, flames on the side and a roar like it’s on fire.

  “Get on,” he says, and I do, my gaze never leaving his.

  As he walks to the front, I slide myself around, lay back so my head is resting on the front seat.

  “Sorry, this seat’s taken,” I purr, arching my back.

  The albino looks down on me, his eyes running over the length of me.

  “You’re not one for taking orders, are you?”

  I lick my lips, lock my gaze on his. “I’m better at giving them. Come here.”

  He leans over me, presses his mouth to mine. My hand slides for the bulge in his pants, and his hand slides mine away, holding it back. When my other hand reaches for his crotch, his other hand holds that one back, too. Then, with one hand, he grips both my struggling arms, while the other presses the side of my head into the motorcycle seat. His warm breath rasping in my ear mockingly, he says, “Guess you’ll have to learn.”

  He lets me go, and I heave upright.

  “Fuck you,” I say, throwing myself on him into something between a blow and a kiss.

  He shoves me back, and, holding me at an arm’s length while I struggle, cautions me, “Careful.” Then he steps back, says, “I'll fuck you when I want and not a second before, got it?”

  I glare at him, then turn back to the bar. Where there’s at least five other guys waiting there, who can give me just what I want, when I want.

  I look back at the albino, and my glare sags.

  And yet – not quite.

  This fire raging between my legs isn’t just to get fucked. I want to get fucked – by him. I hate his domineering aggression – and yet it’s exactly what’s making me so wet.

  “You ready?” he asks.

  I turn back and he’s on the bike, gaze on my crotch. As if he knows. That she’s the one making the decision.

  I get on the back without another word, and we barrel off.

  The entire ride is foreplay. Even through my panties, my wet pussy claws at the soft leather angrily. I clasp my hands around his chest, running them up and down when it gets slow enough that I don’t have to hold on tight.

  At every red light, his hand goes back, feels for my head, which he pats, absently, infuriatingly. Like I’ve been a good dog or something.

  After a few of these annoying head pats, on the next one, I sweep his hand down under my dress. To my bare breast, the soft nub of my nipple.

  His hand freezes.

  The light goes green. We don’t move.

  Horns blare behind us, and he rips his hand away. The bike careens sideways, onto the sidewalk, then, a few seconds later, down an alleyway, then shrieks to a halt.

  He jumps off the bike. “You little slut,” he growls.

  He twists me around, grabs my dress and yanks me to the edge of the bike, spreads my legs, and presses himself against me, his angry hard cock digging into me.

  His mouth envelops the top part of my ear, nibbles on it, growls into it, “I’m just trying to get you to a motel so I can fuck you good and proper, is that too much to ask?”

  I shove my pelvis back onto him, throw my lips around his ear, hiss into it, “Yes. I want you. Now.”

  He rips himself away, and, white-blue gaze meeting mine, freezes. We stand there for a minute, breathing in time, then I rip open his jeans and tear down his zipper.

  Jesus. He is so hard, so thick.

  My hands grasp his dick eagerly, part the flaps of his pants further.

  I kneel to the ground while my hand slides up and down his shaft, his silky black briefs as good as Vaseline.

  He pats my head again, and a pleasurable spasm of anger flares through me.

  I pull down his briefs and his cock rises to meet me.

  He slaps me in the cheek with it, grabs me by the hair and yanks my head back so I’m looking up into his cruel smile.

  “Who said you could do that?”

  I twist myself out of his grasp and, throwing my lips on and off the tip of his cock with a loud smacking sound, say, “I did.”

  Just as I’m going in for another taste, he grabs my dress and yanks me up, shoves me into a wall.

  “Looks like you still haven’t learned how to listen.”

  Cock burrowing into my dress right where my pussy is, hand pinning me to the wall, he growls, “Guess I’ll have to teach you myself.”

  I grab his cock and start pumping it. “Fuck you.”

  He shoves me back to the ground, to my knees. He rips my hands off him. “I don’t need your hands, slut.” He presses his cock into my cheek. “I just need that pretty little face of yours.”

  Red-hot desire runs out from my pussy in all directions.

  God, even his voice, those gravelly commands, are enough to make me wet.

  He sweeps his rod across my face to the other cheek.

  “I’m going to teach you how to listen.”

  I give his dick a sweeping lick. Grab it, then give it another. Cover its entirety with slow, sweeping flicks, as if it's an ice cream that’s melting. The dribble of precum on the tip is my lip gloss, my face cream, my little snack.

  He pulls back, then grabs my hair again.

  I look at him, lips parted, waiting for it. There’s lust in his eyes too. He’s not going to be able to keep his dick out of my mouth for long.

  “Nice try, but we’re not moving at your pace, slut.” He shoves his dick all the way into my mouth. “We’re moving at mine.”

  I respond by opening my mouth further so he can go in deeper. He does, takes the extra space gladly, rams his way into my mouth further, down my throat.

  He repeats the motion again, this time faster, harder.

  “There, that’s better now, slut, isn’t it? It’s not up to you, see.”

  And then he throws his cock into me so hard my head is thrown back into the wall. He grabs onto my hair for support and starts pumping, each time going a bit further.

  Finally, I pull back for a heaving gasp of air.

  He pats me, asks, “You good?”

  I nod and open my mouth further.

  Next thing I know his hands are grabbing both my wrists and holding them above my head, while his cock is slamming back into my mouth, picking up where it left off. Now his thrusts are merciless, insistent, carving a path further down my throat. A current of pleasure courses through us with every slam of his cock.

  As he paws at my head and his thrusts grow more frantic and urgent, I can barely hold myself together. My own desire writhes up my legs as I splutter and ga
g and angle myself just right to take him all the way down to the base.

  God, the feeling. The thump of the head of his swollen cock against the back of my throat. Not doing something, but having it ruthlessly and relentlessly done to me.

  On his most violent thrust yet, I grasp his buttocks and pull on them as hard as I can, forcing his shaft completely down my throat. I hold him there while he twitches with pleasure, and my whole body shudders with warmth and breathlessness. And then, finally, his hands squash my wrists into the wall then drop them, while his cock pulses spastically and his cum pours into me, filling my already-suffocating throat. By the time he pulls out of me, I’m wheezing for air. I cough and, sputtering cum down my front, collapse back against the pavement.

  After, he pulls himself out slowly, pats my head again. He zips himself up, then sits beside me. I lean into his chest, and he strokes my hair.

  “What do you think?” he whispers.

  I lean in further so my head is in his lap. I direct my answer to his crotch, “Think I may need another lesson.”

  In one swift motion, he flips around and spanks me. Then he lifts me onto the back of the bike so I’m in a sitting position, gets on the front and, turning it on, over the roar of the motor, says, “My thoughts exactly.”

  As we ride, the city lights pass in a blur, a surreal accompaniment to my hazy thoughts.

  What am I doing? Who is this guy? How is it that he knows just what to say to me, just what to do? And, more importantly, where is he taking me and should I be scared?

  After we pull in front of a motel, he turns to me and, as if hearing my thoughts, says, “Don’t think too much. We’re teaching you how to listen, remember?”

  Then, getting off the bike, he strides over to me, kisses me on the lips and, gaze boring into mine, says, “Be right back. Stay here.”

  As his footsteps fade away into the night, the quiet becomes loud. The moon is a remote sliver, as if it isn’t here at all.

  Now will be my last chance to escape. After this, there will be no saying “no” to this man, whoever he is.

  A rabbit hops along by, on the sidewalk. God, how drunk am I?

  And yet, instead of the thought of no escape frightening me, it invigorates me. This is just what I need to take my mind off the business.

  My stomach swirls.

  I can hardly bear even the thought of it – what my family does to those girls…

  Cold metal slides along my back, and I turn around into a kiss.

  His hand locks onto mine, while the other runs the room key along my back.

  “Come on, I got us a place,” he says, pulling me up the stairs then along the row of rooms, past 27, 28, stopping at 29.

  As he unlocks the door, his hand slides to my ass.

  Then he pushes me in.

  Behind us the door clicks closed, shutting out my worries with it.

  Tonight, there is only him and me, and nothing more.

  Chapter 4

  Gabriel

  I take a minute to look at her. To really savor my fuck for tonight. Those liquid chocolate eyes, that fat pillow of a lower lip, those pert tits I already know are perfect.

  She stands there and lets me lead her in the room, trying not to smile, clearly hardly able to wait much longer.

  I shove her to the wall.

  Well, I won’t make her wait any longer.

  I grab her zipper and pull down. I pull as slowly as I can, leaning into her, my forehead against hers, staring into her eyes, enjoying the tortured look there.

  Finally, she grabs the zipper herself and yanks down. Her dress flops to the floor, her tits jiggling with their newfound freedom.

  I flip her around, slap her ass, which jiggles with its punishment.

  Pressing her to the wall with my entire body, I hiss, “We’re teaching you to listen, remember?”

  She struggles, hisses back, “You didn’t say anything.”

  I press into her harder, so my dick is burrowing into her thick ass cheeks.

  “I didn’t, did I?”

  She sighs, then sticks out her ass further, starts grinding it against my dick, red ruffles swaying as her olive cheeks move against my jeans.

  I unzip them.

  God, I want to take this little slut now.

  I step back.

  No, just a little longer now. I’m enjoying this too much.

  I stick my finger in her, one then the other.

  Oh yes. She’s wet already.

  As I jerk my finger in her and her huge ass trembles with pleasure, she lets out little murmurs of pleasure.

  Just wait until my dick’s in you, little slut.

  She bends over and spreads her legs further, sticking her ass up.

  “Please,” she groans, “Just take me now.”

  I slap her ass, and shove her so hard she hits the wall.

  She trembles with pleasure, while my dick twitches with it.

  Shit, she’s practically dripping.

  “Oh God,” she moans.

  I shove my dick between her ass cheeks deeper, and she whimpers.

  I pet her, growl into her ear.

  “Not yet, little slut.”

  I reach around and grab her breast, her nipple taut already, just begging to be played with. I indulge gladly, tug and swat it, knead it between my fingers.

  My other hand she lifts to her lips, starts sucking my index finger, twirling her tongue around it expertly.

  “Turn around,” I command.

  She does and, my eyes on hers, I shove myself in between her legs.

  Her eyes flutter closed, while her lips part, a groan slipping out.

  I pause for a second, my cock reveling in how tight and wet her cunt is.

  Her eyes open, half-lidded, her lips part again, her breath shallow already. She’s panting for it.

  I pull out partway, throw myself back in and get to work. My hands on either side of her hips, lifting her slightly like she’s a doll, her vanilla raven hair sliding across my chest, I fuck her good and hard, just like I wanted to the first second I saw her.

  Each slam of our bodies together sends both of us trembling. Her nipples are hard nubs of bliss, her hands grasping at my face, my chest, my butt, delirious with pleasure. She’s so wet, her juice is running down my leg, her moaned words are incomprehensible, sound like they’re a different language.

  But when her whole body starts shaking, I understand.

  For my part, I’ve been ready to cum since the second I was in her tight pussy.

  I ramp up the pace until she’s howling for it, until finally I start pouring into her and she collapses back to the floor while I jerk myself all over her.

  I can hardly believe how much cum pours out of me, how much warm whiteness I let rain upon her pretty eager face.

  When I’m done, she flops back onto the floor, limbs spread like a snow angel, her chest rising and falling with each exhausted breath.

  I leave for the bathroom and return with two robes and a Kleenex. I kneel down, pet her head, hand her the Kleenex.

  I put on my robe and, when I turn back, she’s in the same position, except the Kleenex is stuck on her face.

  That funny little whore.

  I lie down beside her, whisper in her ear, “I don’t know if that’s where the Kleenex goes.”

  Her still red lips are visible beyond the white sheet. They smile and say, “I can only know that I know nothing.”

  I lift the Kleenex, scrutinize her closed-eyed, blissful face, ask, “War and Peace?”

  A smirk works its way onto my face before she can respond; I know the answer already. There’s no way.

  Her eyes open with momentary comprehension, then she nods solemnly. Giggles, then, eyes closing, her head flops to the side.

  And just like that, she’s asleep.

  I wipe off her face, then pick her up and tuck her into bed. I watch her for a minute, this beautiful stranger. This woman I’ve gone and had tonight, known the most intimate way you can,
and yet whom, as I watch her soft contented breathing, I realize I don’t know at all.

  Chapter 5

  Gabriel