“Excuse me?” I said, setting my beer down. “No way in hell am I staying here tonight. I need to go home and feed my dog.”
Lie. I didn’t have a dog, but he didn’t know that. It was just a desperate bid at an excuse to escape. I couldn’t stay here with him. He wasn’t safe from me. Clearly, there was some deeply disturbing shit going on in his life. Someone in his position probably wasn’t thinking about sex; they were more concerned with survival. I’d always had an issue with being a little too blunt, and I didn’t trust myself not to proposition him if I couch-crashed.
Jakob frowned. “You don’t have a dog.”
I froze. Danger. Danger, Will Robinson. “Uh, yes, I do.”
He prowled over to me, stopping close enough that our shoes touched. If he was trying to intimidate me, he had failed spectacularly. His broad shoulders filled my sight. I had to physically restrain myself from reaching out to touch his chest, just to see if it was as hard as it looked.
“No, you don’t,” he said, low and insistent. “You live in a tiny studio apartment in a building that doesn’t allow pets.”
I forced myself to step away from him. Lusting after a potential stalker isn’t mentally healthy, Krista. “How do you know where I live?”
“Charley asked me to check you out when you applied for the bartender position.”
An image of him rummaging through my underwear drawer flashed through my mind. I found it far less disturbing than I should have. “And you were going to tell me about the fact that you’ve stalked me when?”
He sent me a flat look. “I didn’t stalk you. We check out every new arrival to Kearny, especially ones that will have access to the club. You think we haven’t had undercover feds try to slip into town? We had to know you weren’t law enforcement before letting you into our bar.”
Okay, fine, that made sense. “I’m still not staying here.”
He picked his beer up, but instead of taking another sip, he turned and dumped it down the kitchen drain. Afterward, he leaned against the sink and crossed his arms over his chest. His biceps strained against the sleeves of his shirt. Just one good flex, and they might rip.
Flex, damn you.
“Daniel thinks we’re fucking,” he said, unaware of my mental gutter dive. “How would it look if you slunk out of here five seconds after he left? He’d know something was up.”
“Then I’ll stay long enough to convince him.” I looked Jakob over. Between his spartan apartment and no-nonsense persona, sex with him would probably be both mind-blowing and time-friendly. “What should we say, half an hour?”
He dropped his gaze and looked me over in return, the ice in his eyes melting. “Two, at least.”
My mouth went dry. Focus, Krista, we’re just talking hypotheticals here. “Why the need for so much deception?”
A muscle along his jaw jumped out in sharp relief. “You don’t need to know.”
From the look on his face, there was nothing else I could say to make him talk. Both of us had been through SERE school – Survive, Evade, Resist, and Escape. The military had trained us along with all its other airborne troops on how to resist interrogation and keep our mouths shut. I wasn’t going to get anything out of him about why Daniel broke in, nor any revelations as to who Mike might be. At least not without duct tape, a set of pliers, and some hardcore psychopathic tendencies.
This was MC business. Since I didn’t wear their leathers, I didn’t get to know. And really, it was probably best I didn’t. The answer might reference The Kings’ illegal activities, and I had no desire to be an accomplice to any of their crimes.
I took another swig of beer. “Well, this isn’t how I saw my night going.”
“How did you see your night going?” he asked, his tone heavy with innuendo.
I blinked, caught off guard. Daniel wasn’t here anymore. There was no one to perform for, and Jakob’s hardcore persona had slipped away, replaced by something much more dangerous. Those pale eyes took me in, slowly, languidly, lingering over my breasts and the swell of my hips.
Holy shit, maybe he was thinking about sex.
I saw an open challenge in his eyes when they lifted back to mine, like he didn’t expect me to answer him honestly. I’d never backed away from a fight in my entire life, and I’d be damned if I started now. He wanted to know how I saw my night going? Fine. I’d tell him.
“Worst case scenario, I went to bed alone and horny,” I said.
“What was best case?”
“Best case was us breaking my bedframe.”
In a blink, my butt landed on top of the kitchen island. He’d lifted me onto it like I weighed nothing. I winced when I hit, my battle scars reminding me that I couldn’t have a single pain-free moment to myself.
His hands stilled and fell to my waist. He must have seen me flinch.
“It’s my goddamn leg,” I said. “Ignore it. I’m trying to.”
He turned away from me.
I reached out and snagged the back of his shirt. “Where do you think you’re going?”
He sent me a look over his shoulder that had no right to be so devastating. “I’m getting you that aspirin you asked for.”
I released him. “I’ll allow it.”
He chuckled, a low rumbling sound like distant thunder, and pulled open a kitchen drawer.
I took the aspirin from him a minute later and popped two in my mouth, swallowing with a sip of beer. “You know, I think I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen you laugh.”
He stepped between my legs and planted his hands on either side of my hips, crowding in close. A little line appeared between his brows as he stared down at me, and I got an up-close and personal view of his Fuck You face. The intimidation tactic was only slightly ruined by the fact that his lips kept twitching like he wanted to smile. “And you were going to tell me about the fact that you’ve been stalking me when?”
“Ha, ha,” I said, but I was struggling not to smile too. “It’s not that. I’m just…aware of you when you’re in the bar.”
The humor fled his face. “I don’t laugh much in the bar.”
“No, you don’t.”
There was a story here as to why, I could feel it, but if two minutes ago had taught me anything, it was that I wasn’t going to get answers from him that he didn’t want to give me. Fine. I didn’t need them. It’s not like I wanted his whole life story or had planned our marriage vows out in my head. I didn’t even want to be his girlfriend. I just wanted to strip him naked and do terrible, debauched things with him over the course of a marathon weekend that left both of us unable to walk straight.
I reached out and grabbed his shirt again, this time using it to pull him closer. He braced his hands on the counter, biceps straining, and came to a full stop with his mouth an inch away from mine. I growled in frustration and tried to close the distance, but he straightened away.
“Wouldn’t want to touch you without permission,” he said.
From the small grin he wore, I could tell he was at least partially joking, but the fact that he remembered what I said to him in the bar and was subtly telling me he was willing to keep his promise was hot as hell.
My focus fell to his lips. “Consider this permission granted to touch me as much as you want for the rest of the night.”
His lips crashed into mine. Our chests bumped together, and my breasts flattened against the hard planes of his pecs. I reached up, desperate to grab onto something, and wrapped my arms around his neck. He leaned into me harder. My butt slid a little over the marble counter, away from him, and one big hand landed on my lower back and pushed me forward again. The motion was an inaudible command of, “Get the fuck back here.”
He might have looked like some half-frozen Viking raider, but he kissed like he was on fire. His lips were hot and demanding on mine. My head spun as I tried to keep up with him. This wasn’t foreplay; he’d gone straight to fucking me with his mouth.
I nearly moaned when he broke away.
He stayed there, lips tantalizing close, the warmth of his breath rushing over my skin, and said, “Will it hurt if I pick you up?”
It took me a second to remember how to speak. “Yeah, but walking will hurt more.”
I tightened my arms around his neck, and he dropped his hands to my ass and lifted me off the counter. The apartment blurred around me as he turned toward his room. I took full advantage of the position I was in and pressed my nose to his neck, breathing in his cologne. On instinct, I opened my lips and gently bit him. He made a low sound of masculine approval and pulled me closer, dick straining between us.
The world tilted as he set me down on the bed. I sunk into the mattress, his added weight pushing me deeper. God, I had missed this. The feel of warm skin beneath my hands. The sight of a man rising above me. I hadn’t had sex since before I’d moved to town, and four months of abstinence had left me hypersensitive to touch.
I shivered as his hands slid up my bare arms, his callouses deliciously rough against my skin. I’d braided my long hair to keep it out of my face while I worked, and he coiled it around his wrist and then clamped his fingers down on a section close to the base of my neck, using his grip to tug my head sideways. His beard tickled when his lips hit my neck.
I shivered again, harder this time, a familiar ache building between my thighs. This wasn’t enough. There were too many layers between us, and I wanted to be skin to skin with him. I reached down and tugged at the hem of his t-shirt. He let me go and pushed off the mattress, kneeling between my legs, and pulled it over his head.
I was torn between wanting to launch myself at him and wanting to stay right here and stare at him for a while. The man was absolutely jacked, but he didn’t look like one of those testosterone-fueled monstrosities you sometimes see in weight rooms. He was leaner, meaner. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. His was the kind of physique that came from constant exertion. I knew through the grapevine that he belonged to a local mixed martial arts gym. He must have been in the dojo six days a week to look like this.
The tattoos didn’t stop at his arms. They marched right up his shoulders and down his chest, covering his pecs. The contrast between the dark ink and his pale skin was striking in the dim light of his bedroom. And because he was so fair, it was impossible to miss the scars. On his lower right side was the telltale mark of a gunshot wound. The tattoos covered it, but I could see a similar indentation on his right pec that might have been another one. There was a dark line across his left ribs from the kind of slicing wound a knife would leave. It was still pink and angry-looking, like the stitches hadn’t come out that long ago. Several more scars dotted his torso, varying in color because of their age. The Kings of Kearny weren’t always a peaceful bunch, and with other motorcycle clubs within striking distance, violence between them was always in the cards. It was impossible to tell if Jakob had earned the majority of his scars while still in the military, or after he was discharged. I wasn’t going to ask. Ultimately, the answer to that question didn’t matter right now, and it would ruin the mood.
I pulled my shirt off. Thank God I’d gone into tonight hoping to end it beneath him. I’d shaved before leaving my house, and had the foresight to slip on one of my nicer bra and panty sets. Nina and I had been spending our days off loitering at my apartment complex’s pool, and the red lace popped against my suntan.
Jakob’s gaze drifted from my bra down over my stomach and landed on the waistband of my jeans. He reached out and unbuttoned them with a practiced flick of his fingers. “Tell me it’s a matching set.”
I stretched beneath him like a cat. “It’s a matching set.”
He let out a grunt of approval and slid my zipper down. This was usually the part of the night where I stopped my potential partner and warned them about my leg. The kind of injury I’d sustained, paired with the surgeries that followed it, left gnarly scars. And not just thin slashes of red running across my skin like the worst of what Jakob seemed to have. I had chunks missing where metal had cleaved through muscle, permanent mesh patterns from the skin grafts I’d needed, and Frankensteinian marks where my body had been held together by staples.
I didn’t think I needed to warn Jakob. He had his own litany of past injuries, and as a King and a fellow vet, he must have seen his fair share of life-threatening wounds, both fresh and healed. Still, I couldn’t stomach the thought of watching his face twist in disgust as he took my leg in for the first time, like one of my past aborted one-night stands had.
“The leg is pretty bad,” I said.
He gripped the top of my jeans and tugged, shucking them down over my ass. His eyes came up to mine, slowly, like he didn’t want to look away from my panties. “So?”
I let out a sharp exhale.
Bless the man for giving absolutely no fucks.
“Just thought I’d warn you, in case you were squeamish,” I said.
He didn’t say anything to that, just tugged my jeans down lower, pausing when he realized I was still wearing my shoes.
I swore and started to kick them off. Several heartbeats later, we were both naked. Neither of us had the patience to strip each other down and slowly savor every inch of freshly revealed skin. That wasn’t what this was. Instead, we ripped our own clothes off in quick, jerky movements, our gazes focused on each other.
He pulled a condom from the pocket of his jeans before dropping them to the floor. I was neither offended at the assumption, nor surprised he had one so readily available. If I looked like Jakob Larson, I’d keep all four pockets stuffed full of them at all times, with a spare pack strapped to my ankle like a backup gun.
I braced myself up on my elbows and watched him. He tore the packet open. My gaze dropped to his dick as he rolled the rubber on. It was big like the rest of him, and thick enough that I’d be worried about having to take things slow if I wasn’t already soaked.
Jakob chucked the wrapper aside and then paused, his gaze running over my right leg. One big shoulder rose in a lazy shrug. “I’ve seen worse.”
I dropped my eyes to his left thigh, where a noticeable divot in his flesh and thick, ropey scarring showed me that he was missing a small chunk of muscle himself.
He stilled, noticing my line of sight. “Still want to fuck me?”
I let out a shaky breath. “God, yes.”
He slapped my left knee and then jerked his head to the side. I might have been annoyed at the command if I didn’t realize what he was doing. He wanted to take me from behind, with me laying on my right side, because that position would require the least amount of movement from my injured leg.
Goddamn it. Just when I’d convinced myself that this would be a one-time-only thing, he had to go and be sneaky nice.
I rolled onto my side. The mattress dipped. I glanced over my shoulder and stilled, committing the sight of his rippling body stalking toward me to memory. The reality was already better than the ten million fantasies I’d had of us together, and we hadn’t even done more than kiss.
My inner muscles clenched in anticipation as he slid into place behind me. He gripped my shoulder and turned me a little more, just enough that he could sear his mouth over mine like a brand.
You are mine, his kiss said.
I gave myself over to him wholeheartedly. It might only be for a night, but while I was here, I was his. He could have whatever part of me he wanted, and I would happily claim him in return.
He wrapped my braid around his wrist again and gripped my hair, holding me in place as he slid his dick between my thighs. I lifted my left leg a little to ease his way and felt him slick through my wetness. Even with the condom between us, I could feel the heat of his skin.
I braced myself for the feel of him shoving into me from this angle, but he surprised me by pushing further, until his tip stroked over my clit. A moan slipped from my mouth, and he drank it down as his tongue continued to ply my own. His free hand stroked up my side and landed on my breast. He palmed it, my C cup filling up his grip, and then eased his hold just enough to roll his fingers over my nipple. I ground my ass backward just to feel the friction of his dick against my clit.
He rolled my nipple, plied my tongue, and thrust again, harder this time. I knew he could tell from the wetness gathering between us what he was doing to me, and as my moans gained a pleading edge, he must have realized that I wanted more.
He broke the kiss and chuckled. The sound was despotic. Goddamn it, he was denying me on purpose.
The kicker was, it turned me on.
Letting someone else take charge in the bedroom was something I could get behind when that someone was Jakob. Another partner, or, hell, another mood, and I might be the one calling the shots. An image of me rising above him, his hands tied to the bedrail while I rode him flitted through my mind, and I knew I wanted to do this again. And again.
“Don’t make me say it,” I ground out. Please make me say it.
He thrust again, so slow that my back arched as the ribs of the condom danced over my clit. His lips ghosted the shell of my ear, all the warning I had before he bit my earlobe, harder than I had bitten him.
“Say it,” he growled.
Oh. My. God.
His hand slid from my breast down over my belly. It dipped between my thighs, and he used his fingers to guide himself to my entrance. I shifted the angle of my hips toward him, and a small stab of pain sliced into my right one. Thank God he couldn’t see me grimace. With so much steel holding my bones in place, sex was never a pain-free experience. Some days it got close to it, if I’d taken it easy, but on a night like tonight, after I’d been on my feet for hours, there was no escaping a fair amount of discomfort with my pleasure. At least I’d learned how to trick my brain into enjoying a little pain during sex. I had a nice Army therapist with a kink for B&D to thank for that hot tip.
Another hot tip nudged inside me, and my pain was drowned beneath a wave of pleasure.
Yes. God, yes. I needed this.
The angle made me tighter than normal, and despite the slickness of my arousal, Jakob had to work his way in and out of me a few times before the condom was coated enough that he could thrust deeper. Even then, he took his goddamn time pushing in.
I made a low sound of annoyance. “If you go easy on me, so help me God, I’ll tell every woman I know that Jakob Larson made slow, passionate love to me.”
He stilled behind me. “Why does everyone always want me to fuck them?” His voice was low, with a plaintive edge to it I’d never heard before.
I craned my head around, trying to see his face. Had I just made Jakob Larson…sad? While he strutted around town, laying waste to unprotected female hearts, deep down, did he really just want someone to make love to him?
In the dim light of the bedroom, I had just enough time to catch the white flash of his teeth before he speared into me, hard and fast.
I nearly screamed. And not in pain.
“Don’t tell me you fell for it,” he said.
He’d been joking. The man could make you come with a kiss and was so good at banter during sex that I’d actually fallen for his sad little boy voice.
I opened my mouth to snap out a witty one-liner, but his hand was still between my legs, and the next time he thrust into me, the pad of a finger landed on my clit. Words lost all meaning then. He tightened his grip on my braid, slid one leg between mine, forcing my left one out of the way, rose up on his elbow, and fucked me sideways.
My body stretched around him, pulsing in time with his thrusts like I was trying to draw him deeper. I didn’t know if I could comfortably take much more of him, but if it felt this good, I was willing to risk it. Conscious of my injured hip, I carefully tilted my pelvis backward. The angle changed, and he rammed fully home.
Both of us moaned.
He thrust again, slaving his fingers and his dick. I reached out and grabbed his ass, urging him on. At this rate, we wouldn’t need that whole half hour I’d initially predicted. We’d barely begun, and I was already tipping past the breaking point.
“Jakob,” I said, my nails biting into his skin.
He leaned down and whispered in my ear, still fucking me, “If your leg wasn’t bugging you, I would drag this out for that whole two hours.” With his voice gone rough with sex, it sounded like a threat.
How was he still talking in complete sentences? I tried to respond, but his fingers rolled over my clit just as his dick hit my cervix, and all I managed to do was slur, “Maabae nest time.”
God, I hoped there would be a next time.
He didn’t change his pace, knowing I was close. A lot of men thought that meant it was time to jackrabbit you to completion, not realizing that what they had been doing was exactly what you needed. Jakob knew. He kept up the same, relentless rhythm, playing my body like a string instrument. It sung beneath him, every nerve ending coming alive as he pushed me closer and closer to the edge. My hip ached, even in this position, but it wasn’t enough to delay the inevitable.
I dug the fingers of my free hand into his sheets and lost myself to the feel of him driving into me. A heartbeat later, I came screaming his name, my inner muscles clenching around him. He let go of my braid and braced himself up with his hands, changing our angle, prolonging my orgasm even as his thrusts slowed and his dick throbbed inside me with the strength of his release.
Afterward we lay on our backs, boneless and lethargic, the sweat cooling on our skin as his A/C unit whirred to life.
“I need to take a shower,” I said. “I smell like beer and sex.”
Jakob leaned toward me and nipped at my shoulder. “You taste like beer and sex.”
He rolled away and stood, and I turned my head so I could take in the view. Damn, the man had a nice ass. The only blemish was the four little half-moons my nails had left in his skin. He strode out of the room, and a minute later, I heard the sound of a shower coming to life. I was just convincing my body that it would be worth the effort of getting up when he padded back into the room and scooped me off the bed.
“I can walk, you know,” I said.
His features slid into the same expression he’d given me when I’d warned him about my leg. “So?”
Copyright © 2020 by Navessa Allen
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.