Simply Sinful: Lost Angels MC, page 6
Running a finger, starting at my wrist, he moves up my arm around my shoulder, until his body is behind mine, both his hands on either side of my hips. His erection now pressing between my buttocks. When his hands start to travel down, I shiver with anticipation.
“I've been thinking of this all day,” he says the moment he starts to drag my skirt up my thighs. When I'm revealed to him, he doesn't seem surprised I wear nothing underneath. His palm caresses over each cheek and stops to fool with the garter straps. He brings one away from my skin only to release it, causing a snap against my sensitized skin. When a gasp leaves my mouth, the rest unfolds quickly.
The only thing to stop us, a knock comes at the door, right as we neared the crescendo. What came next froze him inside me, and it quieted my soft mewling, “Darling, why is your door locked?”
It took him a second too long, but he responded as if his dick wasn’t shoved deep within me. “I was working and didn’t want to be disturbed. My colleague was just leaving, she’ll get the door.”
With lightning speed, he was zipping his pants, smoothing his hair, and sitting behind his desk once more, whisper shouting at me. “Put yourself together and let my wife in.”
The second to the last word had me jerking up, and away, as if slapped. In a haze of rage, I jerk my skirt down, and run hands against the stray hairs that had left my bun. Without looking back at him I jerk the door open. What stood before me is the picture of elegance, right down to the cherry red lipstick and fingernails to match. She's lovely, and the way she assessed me with her clear cerulean eyes I knew she saw me for what I am; a whore that had slept with her husband behind this very door. Her smile falls, and her cheeks redden, and something sad but knowing is in her gaze. I knew then, if not before, how stupid I had been. He's done this before. She only wavers a second before her smile reappears. With a smile of my own, that bordered on something else internally, I say all I could think to say and mean it. “He’s all yours,” I breeze past her, gather all that I would need for several days working from home and left.
“Em? Still with me?” Cole asks, bringing me from my memory.
The feeling of guilt over thinking of Adrian and our escapades has my cheeks feeling hot. “Yes, sorry, what did you say?”
“Where to next?” he asks.
“Home. Martha would skin me alive if I'm late for dinner.”
“I suspect you’re right. Should we call it a night, and see each other bright and reluctantly early tomorrow morning?”
“That’s probably best, but we don’t have the luxury of stopping. In fact, why don’t you come in, we can work as we eat.”
“Are you sure? Martha has a policy for guests the last time I checked.”
“Don’t worry about Martha, I know how to handle her.”
He snorts, “It’s your funeral.”
“She isn't as bad as everyone seems to think.”
“She didn't berate you for five minutes without the need to reload on air as she spoke about dirt and how it's not allowed in her house,” he scoffs.
“That's because I know all the rules that can be broken, bent, or the ones that you just follow.”
“Insider information is something I've not been privy to, not even while we were dating in high school,” he says. Yikes, if those aren't bitter words.
I shake my head. “Dad was the one that didn't approve of you. Martha just followed orders.”
“That hasn't changed at all.”
“He let you into the club.”
“A decision he regrets daily, I'm sure,” he states. "Maybe if I quit, we can move on to saying hello to one another across the street."
“You must have done something that gained his respect. You know besides me and Martha, the club is his life. He of course has kept me completely separate from it, but I know he wouldn't have gambled on it if he wasn't sure about you.”
“No shining moment comes to mind.”
“Ask him.”
“You say that as if it's simple.”
“It is,” I reassure.
“That would be showing weakness, once that happens, you spend the rest of your life not getting the respect you earned, back.”
“And here I thought conversations between women were minefields.”
“It's a closely guarded secret.” He tries to keep a straight face, but soon he's smiling.
“Sharing secrets with the enemy. What a position you're in now.”
“Trying to hold it over my head? Use it as leverage...it won't work,” he says with another smile, “I won't negotiate with terrorists.”
“I've always known how to get you to talk.”
“In or outside the bedroom, or rather the truck?”
I could swear my whole body goes up in flames. “Outside,” I whisper, and it sounds husky. I should have waited longer to reply. Scenes upon scenes, replay in my mind. We hadn't always joined in the truck, but it had been most times.
“I remember your skills of interrogation being much better while in,” from his response, hearing how husky it is, I know he's just as affected as I am, “shit, I'm not sure how much longer I can do this.”
“Do what?”
He glances over at me, then back to the road. He does this several times before my insides clench as I see him nibble on his bottom lip, “fuck it,” he suddenly says and jerks the car over onto the median. Before I can cuss him out for pulling the same stunt, his belt is off, and his lips are on mine. I would be embarrassed later for how I moan the second they do. It gives him the opportunity to sweep his tongue in.
Jesus, it should be criminal that he tastes and feels just the same as he does in my memory. Salty with a bit of tang, hard in the set of his jaw but soft as his hands roam. There may not be enough difference between the man and the boy, for me not to fall back in love.
Behind all the walls he’s constructed, from the accumulated untold pain he’s carried over the years, he’s still that lost boy with the sweet underbelly just trying to find a place he can call his own. If I can find a way under all these new hurts, I know I can once again find the real him waiting for me on the other side.
I can't get close enough to him, the space of the armrest too great for my immediate liking. When he breaks the kiss, I actually grasp onto his shirt not allowing him to move far. He chuckles. “You've got to let me go,” he grasps hold of my hand and when I release him reluctantly, he kisses my palm.
His next actions have me laughing. “You've got to be kidding.” But as he finds a seat in the back and pats the seat next to him with his eyes on me, I shake my head. “Not a chance.”
“For old times’ sake,” he holds a hand out towards me, and what can I say, I've never been able to tell him no.
I giggle as I try to maneuver gracefully into the back with him. Instead, my hips get stuck in between the front chairs. When I twist to get myself out, I twist too much and lose my balance, tumbling right into Cole's lap. One of his hands grasps onto my arm, the other squeezes onto an ass cheek, “I remember it being easier to do this,” I husk out.
“I do too, you alright?” He shifts underneath me and his erection digs into my ass.
I nod, since words are failing me. I don’t remember our times in high school being this tension-filled, or maybe there was a young urgency that isn’t relevant now. It’s combustible in here with how much energy is being generated in the small space. It’s exciting, though it is so intense that it freezes me in expectation. However, I shouldn’t have worried, his hand on my arm that had helped me steady, now moves up to cup the back of my neck. For seconds that feel like minutes he stares down at my lips, there's heat in his eyes, and his dick twitches under me. I'm strung so tight with anticipation that I'm breathing hard by the time he takes my mouth again.
Once we are lost in the kiss, his hand on the back of my neck starts to move down, and I arch into his touch as he grazes a hardened nipple through my shirt. When I let out a little gasp his mouth maneuvers down my neck and I squirm further in his lap.
“How is it that you feel the same under my mouth?”
I’m not sure if he’s waiting for an answer, but I’m not sure I can answer. His hand ventures slowly down. I should stop his progress, I should stop the unbuttoning of my jeans, but I don’t want him to stop.
“I want to know if you taste the same as I remember too,” his voice is gruff just as his fingers skim the edges of my panties, “tell me that I can, that you want me too.”
The nibbling at my neck increases, and I manage a whimper. “Em,” he lifts his head to look in my eyes. They are blazing as they stare into me, “tell me I can have a taste.”
Maybe I should say no, maybe I will regret it later, but right now it’s not in me to care. “Yes,” I say in a whisper that is drenched in tension as my panties are with my readiness for what I anticipate happening next. I want so badly to be touched.
His grin is wicked as he moves his fingers down to my sex over my panties. My cheeks feel on fire, I know my panties are already showing his effect on me. When his grin gets wider, I know how right I am. His fingers dig until it feels like there is nothing between me and his fingers. I whimper as he rubs at me between the cloth.
“You’re already soaking for me.” His smile falters when I bite my lip. His eyes zone in on the action, and as they open to let out another noise of pleasure the smile is long forgotten.
He’s quick to move me onto my back, he hovers above me and now that I'm no longer sitting his fingers slide under my panties with ease. I gasp as the first finger enters me, and my legs instinctively grow wider in response, my fingers dig into his arms for anything to ground me.
“I thought...I thought you only wanted.” I gasp when his fingers curl in, hitting my g-spot.
“What did you think I wanted?”
“Just a taste,” I breathe out, though it sounds more like a moan.
“When I taste you, it will be when I've earned it, when you’ve sweetly constricted around my fingers. Your juices always tasted like honey after you’ve cum. I want that taste.” With a steely set to his jaw he adds his thumb into the fray. The little circles he starts to inflict on my clit have me arching into him and moaning a plea.
“What was that?” he asks.
“Please,” I grit out between clenched teeth. My whole body is tingling with the pending orgasm.
“I love when you beg,” he growls out before dipping down and swallowing another of my moans.
We are so wrapped in what he’s doing to my body that we hadn’t suspected an interruption, until one taps on the front driver’s window. We both freeze, and I admit I let out a little whimper of protest before the fog in my mind clears. My head bends in an uncomfortable position to try and see who it can be, but from this angle I can’t tell. From Cole’s pinched expression it doesn't matter who knocked. Pressing on Cole’s chest, he looks back down at me, and leans up, realizing what I want.
When I'm finally seated and my jeans are back in place as well as buttoned, I look over to see a middle-aged man trying to see in my car. He’s close, hands on either side of his face. I’m thankful that my car has tinted windows. Though admittedly with all the fog we’ve created on the inside of them it’s astonishing I can see him at all, yet I’m grateful for the additional cover. I let myself get carried away, swept in him enough to not care of the consequences. We were on a fucking side street in the middle of a busy road, it had been stupid to think someone wouldn’t have stopped.
“I’ll get rid of him,” Cole says. He adjusts himself in his jeans, the discomfort there obvious.
I put a hand on his arm, and shake my head, “I’ve got it,” I open the door and shut it swiftly behind me. Grateful for the barrier between the two of us for as long as it will last. It will give me time to gain some composure back.
Pasting on a smile, I look over to the man that looks like he’s been caught red handed. “Sorry,” he points to the window, “I was afraid you needed assistance,” though as his cheeks pinken it must have been obvious what had been transpiring, “but it seems my help isn’t needed.”
“No, it’s fine,” I run a hand down my hair self-consciously and can imagine how crinkled I look. I should have paused long enough to make sure of my appearance first, "thank you for stopping."
"Uh, sure, no problem," he backtracks to his car. I don't get back in until he's back on the road and nearly out of sight.
When I get back in I pull down the visor and look at myself in the mirror there. No wonder he'd known, my hair is a rat's nest utop my head, going in all directions but the one it’s supposed to be going. I do my best to try and smooth it down, but eventually give up the cause and put it up in a ponytail.
Cole, while I've been fussing with my hair, has found his way back up to the front but this time in the passenger seat, saying, “A shame...I like your hair wild and untamed."
I sigh, apparently our surprise interruption did nothing to stop the train of thoughts of his mind. Right now, I need to be as far as I can be separated from it, or I'll be in danger of falling right back into his arms. "Buckle up, we're already late." I don't wait for the click of it before pulling back into traffic.
****
“You be late,” I hear Martha scold from the kitchen, “You know how I feel ‘bout that.”
I kick off my shoes, and gesture for Cole to do the same, “I sure do, Momma M, and I also know how you feel about guests, yet I still brought one.” I smile despite me poking at her.
Walking towards the kitchen I see Cole trying to follow, I wave him off, and continue on alone. She's at the stove, her dark hair wild, grayer than I remember, her voluptuous hips swaying as she stirs.
“Whoever your guest, they be leavin now.”
“Momma M,” I come behind her for an embrace, “I need him to stay to work strategy for the wedding. I'd hate to fail Lidia.”
She lets out a heavy sigh and pats my hand. I let her go, only to jump on the counter to look her in the eyes. Her chocolate eyes firmly on her task, though I'm convinced she could do it blindfolded, she's deliberately avoiding me. She knows just as I do that if she looks up, she'll give in.
“Momma, I promise he'll behave, he's already taken off his shoes, and I'll walk him to the bathroom to wash his hands just in case he's extra dirty,” that has her lips turning up and rolling her eyes, but she still doesn't look my way.
So I'm surprised that she says, “You'll be responsible for him.” I give her a kiss on her smooth cheek before jumping off the counter.
“Thank you, Momma M.”
“Mmmhhmmm,” she attitudes.
Martha is the only mother I've really known. My mom died around the time I turned five. I still have a picture of her...and memories. Though I question if most of what I remember is true. She feels more like a dream than a reality. Being that she chose my name, Emmaline, she had a fondness for it that others didn’t appreciate. Others quickly gave me nicknames, abbreviations, Em, or Emmy to make it easier on them. I think she liked it that way, she and I had it to ourselves. After she died, even now, it is rare to hear another say Emmaline. I think it’s due to the memories that come with it. Or the flinches I give as I hear a name I’m no longer used to hearing, and every time it’s said I remember a woman that doesn’t do her justice. She died of cancer, and from what I can recall it was not kind to her by the end. My visits to her became less and less frequent. It saddens me sometimes to realize all we missed out on, and how much more life she could have lived.
It was years after, that Dad found Martha, and even then, I remember it being a slow transition. He didn't introduce us until a year after they met.
He had loved my mother. Martha however was good for him. She also had been good for me. I started in my teens, and I needed a woman in my life, and someone to hate more than I hated life. I wasn't all that bad, but I did test her quite often enough that bonded us for life as we made up.
Tugging on Cole's arm as I pass to indicate he follow; I stop just outside the bathroom.
“If it was that easy to have me over while in high school, why didn't you ever do it?”
I snort. “It wouldn't have been then. Believe me I tried, but it wasn't only M that posed an obstacle.”
“I don't know why he hates me so much.” It truly seems to bother him.
So as we sit around the table eating, I ask my father outright, “Dad?”
“Hmmm?” he replies without looking up from his plate.
“Why do you hate Cole so much?”
Cole starts to choke on his food and I absentmindedly pat on his back to help clear his airway, but mostly I am watching my father. When he lifts his head, he looks between the two of us before sitting in his chair straighter and placing his fork on his plate.
“Oh good lawd.” Momma M stands up and walks straight into the kitchen, apparently not wanting to get in the middle of whatever is going to be said.
“He’s a self-absorbed prick that never learned to keep his mouth shut.”
“Some would say the same about you,” I say only to provoke him. He leans back into his chair, his arms crossing over his chest as he assesses me.
“No one would say that about me, because it’s not true. I know when to keep my mouth shut. Him on the other hand says and does rash things. I can’t afford to.”
“You sound envious.”
“My younger self may already know a thing or two about it, but I grew out of it. Cole never did. I just never thought he was good enough for you.”
“What traits are you looking for in a man that would be? Cole has never lied to me, ever, and that in itself is more than I can say for everyone else in my life. Including you,” I decide to tack on. “He’s never raised a hand to me. He stands up for me. He listens and respects me. He makes me laugh. He… he makes me feel more alive than I've ever felt in anyone else's company. Cole isn’t perfect, but he doesn’t have to be if everything that matters is accounted for.”
Cole squeezes my thigh, and I turn to him. He looks cracked open, tears coming but none of the anger that's usually their company. He wipes them away quickly and jerks out of his chair. The chair slides back and hits the wall, but it doesn’t stop him as he walks out of the house. I have an urge to follow him but instead I look back at my father and I know he’s seen too, and I think he’s as taken aback as I am. Then his face softens the way it always does when he’s seen an error he’s made.
