Devil's Heart, page 3
part #1 of Executioners MC Series
“Maybe. But you’re still here.”
I glance at the door where the old man went.
“He won’t be able to do anything until morning,” Mason says, seeing me looking. “He makes the dead look lively.”
“I don’t care!” I hiss. “I’m just enjoying my drink.”
This time when he puts his hand under the table, I don’t stop him. He clutches onto my knee like a clamp. I find myself moving closer to him, making it easier when I should be trying to find any excuse to leave. But I’ve never been touched by a man like Mason. There’s so much strength in his hand.
I can almost trick myself into believing it’s impossible for me to move, he’s so strong.
Almost, but not quite. The truth is there’s nowhere I’d rather be right now than right here, wine swilling around my head and tingles buzzing around my body.
Mason’s hand slides higher.
4
Jasmin
He slides his hand all the way up to my panties. I’m leaning halfway under the table to give myself to him, as though dragged there by some irrepressible force. My legs are split. I’m so hungry for him I can hardly think. I try to remember my noble intentions from before. The words “I’m not that sort of girl” ring around my head like a warning bell. But instead of listening to them like I have dozens of other times, I push them deep down. I can’t spend my life listening to warning bells.
His fingers press firmly against my panties.
“Oh,” I whisper without meaning to.
He grins like a jackal as he pushes my panties aside. I reach down and grab his hand.
He pauses, staring at me with those wolfish eyes. “You good?” he asks gruffly.
“I …” I try to summon up the words. I know what I want to say: I can’t do this, because I just met you. And the thing is, I actually kind of like you, even though we only just met. If I let you do this, you won’t want to see me again.
But the words just won’t come out. They won’t form. It’s like they turn to air on the tip of my tongue and float away.
He pushes my panties aside and finds my clit with his callused fingertips. He brushes roughly against me. I bite down hard to stop from screaming and waking the old man in the next room. Even if Mason told me he won’t wake. Questions whir around my mind, but I leave them unanswered.
He slides the tip of his finger inside of me. I sit down heavily on it with a gasp. It’s burning hot, the heat moving through my entire core. He slides deeper. I keep my eyes locked on him, on the tension in his jaw, the intensity of his gaze. He is focused on me and nothing else. It’s like he’s playing an instrument.
“Goddamn, you’re beautiful,” he snarls as he pushes his finger even deeper.
I grip the edge of the table so hard my knuckles turn white. He moves his finger around in quick circular motions, getting deeper with each one. Finally his knuckles are pressed right up against my clit and his finger is buried deep within me. I bite down on my lip as a hot flush creeps up my neck and over my face, everything going bright red. I can’t see, but I can feel it.
The lust taking over.
I grab his wrist as he moves his fingers around and around and around. Endlessly. Sweat slides down my forehead, getting into my eyes. I wipe it away with my free hand. It feels like I am going to burst at any second.
It’s not just the way it feels though; it’s the absolute captivity of it. It’s like he has me pinned to the chair, his finger driving me deeper and deeper into the seat.
It’s the sheer fact of it, too. It’s being here in this strange place, with this strange man. It might be wrong in some vague way, but sometimes it feels good to be wrong.
“Come for me,” he growls quietly.
I let out a shuddering moan. My jaw aches from where I’ve been clenching my teeth. My knuckles are bone-white now, I see when I release his wrist and grip the table again.
“Come,” he urges, moving his fingers even quicker. “Come, come, come.”
“I—” The tremor in my voice cuts my words in half. I can’t think, let alone speak. The shock of it throws me back, my entire body. It’s like there’s a hurricane whipping at me, locking me into the chair. He moves even closer, the table screeching along the floor. I don’t even glance at the door. I can’t.
My eyes close by themselves as the orgasm erupts within me. A burning fuse lit within my pussy, the sparks hiss up into my sweet spot and my belly. It crunches my body, making it tight like a coiled spring. Then he growls something I can’t quite make out, driving another finger inside of me. It slides in easily, I’m so wet.
“Ah!” I cry, gritting my teeth to stop myself from screaming. My legs twitch, like they’re trying to run away from my body. My knees knock together, closing around his arm, trapping his hand inside of me.
He presses his thumb against my clit as he works his fingers even quicker. I didn’t think it was possible, but it is. He does it so fast now, all that exists for me is the burning between my legs and the distant, moaning voice. My voice, but it feels far away. I’m someplace else, floating on top of the pleasure. My belly twists as another wave of orgasm washes over me.
Finally, I fall forward, panting heavily. It takes me a long time to catch my breath.
“That’s probably the best workout I’ve had in a year,” I mutter when I can finally think straight again, pulling my panties back in place.
I wonder if he wants anything from me, but he just leans back and takes a sip of his whiskey. “Are you … okay?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah, Jasmin. I’m great. Are you?”
I must be looking at him strangely because he tilts his head at me as though I’m about to go crazy or something. Maybe it’s the way I’m panting, like a tigress getting ready for a fight.
I should’ve stopped him. But it’s too late to realize that now.
“I bet you’d fuck me right here on this table,” I say darkly. I don’t want to be petty. But wine and a fuzzy head and a lack of control make for a potent cocktail. “Wouldn’t you?”
He sighs. “I’m happy to just have a drink. Don’t try and act like I made you do anything you didn’t want to do, goddamn.”
“I’m not saying that,” I argue.
“Then what’re you saying?” He doesn’t look at me. It’s like the very idea of talking to me disgusts him.
“I’m saying that … I didn’t want to do that!”
He pushes back in the chair, hands on the table as though he’s ready to stand up. “You’re fucking joking.”
“No, no, that came out wrong. I just …” I shake my head. Wine and regret – and, most of all, lust for more – swill around in a confusing mess.
Part of me wants him to grab me and bend me over and take me right here, dirty and quick and rough.
Part of me wants him to tell me to shut the fuck up and do whatever he wants. But of course, that’s just a twisted fantasy. If he actually did that, there’d be a problem.
“I don’t know!” I snap. “I just …” I sigh, shoulders deflating. Then I pour myself a large glass of wine and drink half of it in a quick gulp.
“I would’ve walked out about ten times right now if you were any other woman.”
I half-giggle and half-gasp at that, a sound I have never made before. Maybe it’s the delight and the anger mixing together, or maybe that’s what this night is destined to be: a big mess of everything just smashing together until I don’t know where one desire starts and the other ends.
“Why haven’t you walked out now, then?” I challenge.
He shrugs, looking around the bar. Anywhere but at me, it seems. “Because we’re in the middle of nowhere,” he says after a pause.
This whole conversation is made more difficult by the wetness still between my thighs, by the way his dark blue eyes move over my body. I quickly finish my wine while I think.
I debate with myself for a long time before I say my next words. I don’t want to come across as desperate, but at the same time, I want to correct tonight. Refresh it. Maybe other women wouldn’t care. They’d just let their lust go. Maybe it’s an unfair world when I feel this way after something I really did want to happen, deep down.
“Are we going to see each other again?”
He is pouring a glass of whiskey. The pouring pauses for half a beat. Then it continues. He takes a slow sip, probably so he doesn’t have to reply straightaway.
“That sort of stuff is difficult in my world,” he says finally. He places the glass down with a heavy thump.
“So I’m just some girl you brought to a bar and finger-fucked and that’s it?” I snap.
His smile flickers for a moment. “I wouldn’t put it like that,” he mutters.
“Well, then, how would you put it?”
He shrugs. “What do you want from me, Jasmin?”
I swallow back the cool chill that races down my spine every time he says my name. “Is it so crazy want to see somebody again?”
He knocks his whiskey back with a grunt. “Let me take you home,” he says, standing.
“After all those whiskeys?” I counter. “No thank you. I’ll call a cab.”
“You’ll have to get it from the end of the street. They won’t come here.”
“Okay, fine!” I snap, leaping to my feet. “Then I’ll call one to the end of the street.”
“I’ll wait with you,” he says, standing unhurriedly. He gestures toward the door as though everything is fine. “Come on.”
We head outside together. The night is as warm as his hand was between my legs. The stars are bright, just like the pleasure was when it moved through me. My belly is still warm and tingly; my pussy screaming at me to get something else from him. His cock, it screams. My body wants – no, it craves – his massive hard cock.
I shake my head to chase the thoughts away as I take out my cell phone.
“I can get a car here in ten minutes,” Mason says. “Getting a cab at this time of night’s gonna be a problem.”
“Fine!” I snap. “But the driver better be sober.”
Mason shrugs. “You need to stop talking to me like that, Jasmin. Got it?” He takes out his cell phone.
I pace up and down. I regret having that last wine already. I don’t feel like myself. I have never been very good when it comes to alcohol. I can drink if I am careful and have plenty of water in between each one. But slugging back wine has never really been my style. I take several deep breaths, trying to stop myself from puking.
A pitch-black jeep turns up about ten minutes later. We don’t talk as we wait. I’m mainly focused on trying to push this sick feeling somewhere it can’t bother me. The ride is pretty much the same.
Mason follows me out to my apartment door.
We stand there awkwardly for a few moments.
Then he leans in and crushes me with the best kiss of my life. He presses me up against the wall, his body trapping me. I don’t care. Our tongues find each other. He tastes like whiskey, but it’s a good taste. His lips are warm and slightly chapped.
But it’s his moan that gets me, quiet, almost too quiet to hear. Yet it’s there, guttural and full of animal pleasure.
And then, before I know it, he’s broken it off. He strides back toward the jeep.
I head inside, Mason’s taste still on my lips.
5
Mason
Danny pats his belly as he leans back on his bike.
Looking at him, some folks might think he’d be no good in a fight. His belly is big and round and he doesn’t really give a shit about changing that fact. His black beard is stained orange from buffalo wing sauce.
But the hints of danger are there. Like the two teardrop tattoos under his right eye from his time in prison.
He tosses the remains of the chicken wing into the trash can and grabs another.
“Want one?” he offers.
He’s about ten years older than me, but he doesn’t talk down to me. Nobody in the club does, not after what I did to the first guy who tried it. They learned pretty quickly.
I shake my head, grinning. “Nah, I’m good.”
He shrugs. “Your loss.”
We’re sitting on the edge of a long stretch of dusty nothingness. A lot of the land around Hope Town is like this, just dust and sand and gravel and ground-up bricks and a thousand other things that swirl up into the air any time a light breeze blows. Not that there’s much of a light breeze this evening. The air is dead still.
The hut sits right across from us, almost looking small, we’re so far away. I peek through the scope of my rifle.
“Anything?”
“Nah, they’re still in there.”
“The fuck are they doing in there?”
I shrug. “No damn clue, but the boss said watch until they come out, so that’s what we’re gonna do. Finish eating those damn things so we can get some better cover.”
I stand next to his bike with my rifle slung across my shoulder. He glares at me like I just asked him to run a marathon or something. Then he takes the wings to the trash can and inhales the meat from the bone. At least that’s how it looks, he eats them so fast. He drops the remains into the trash can and grabs his rifle.
“Ready?”
We creep over to the nearby rubble, left over from the town council when they couldn’t be bothered to finish demolition on a kids’ play center.
“What about this girl then?” Danny asks, peering through his scope.
I grit my teeth. “Biggest mistake I ever made was telling you about Jasmin.”
“How long’ve I known you, Wolf?”
“Too fuckin’ long,” I snarl.
“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you call a woman by her name.”
“Pretty sure we’re out here to work, not to grow lady parts.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m just saying.”
“Any movement?”
“Nothing. Reckon we should draw them out?”
I check my watch. Half past ten.
“Yeah, maybe. But not now. Wait until early morning, I figure. Either they’ll be asleep or fucked up on something. No point making our job hard.”
“Imagine if civilians knew how fuckin’ boring our work was.”
I laugh gruffly. “I don’t think they’d believe us.”
“Shit,” he snorts, “you’re probably right. So you’re gonna see this Jasmin again?”
“I thought you’d let that go, goddamn. Why do you care so much?”
“It’s been a week,” he goes on, ignoring me. “You can’t start bitching and whining now just because I’m asking you a few questions. You’re the one who brought it up to begin with, motherfucker.”
“Like I said, biggest mistake of my life.”
“I bet you’ve been sitting in your apartment writing poetry about her. Oh, Jasmin, you smell like the sun …”
“Is that Shakespeare?”
“No.” He thumps himself in the chest, grinning. He has some chicken wedged between his two front teeth. I don’t tell him. “That’s Danny Lake.”
I can’t help but laugh; the goofy prick looks so proud of himself.
“So…” he starts again.
I cut him off. “Drop it, motherfucker. I met a girl, it didn’t work out, and–”
“And what?” Danny snaps. “You know, some people might find that shit cool and interesting, that half-finishing-sentences bullshit. But I don’t. It just makes me want to punch you in the fuckin’ face.”
“You could try.” I shrug. “Any action?”
“No. What about meeting this girl?”
“What about it?” I growl. “I met her and we had some fun and that’s it.”
He narrows his eyes at me. He has a chubby face, but his eyes are like a child’s. Light brown and full of mischievous curiosity.
“Have you been by her place then?”
I turn away. “Go fuck yourself.”
He laughs. “You’ve been by her place, but you haven’t had the balls to go in. I’m right, aren’t I?”
I flip him the bird and lean up over the rubble. Through my scope, I see the same thing I’ve seen for the past few hours. A squat wooden hut with no windows and no clue as to what’s going on inside. There are four bikes parked outside though.
We know who the motorcycles belong to – the bastards we tracked here.
“You can keep looking all you want,” Danny says with his self-satisfied grin. “But we’re in this for the long haul. We both know it. I’m right, eh? About going by her place?”
“Maybe,” I mutter. “Don’t know what damn difference it makes though. So I rode by her place a couple times? The fuck does that mean? Nothing, is what. It don’t mean a damn thing. The last I checked, there ain’t a law against riding around town.”
“Yeah, true. And the last I checked, you sound pretty fucking defensive right now.”
“Listen, Danny. I’m glad you’ve got a wife and a kid and all that shit. But it’s not for everybody.”
“How do you know if you’ve never tried it?” he counters.
“That don’t really seem like the sort of thing you just try,” I snarl.
Danny nods. “True,” he says. “But still, you know what I mean.”
“I wish I didn’t.”
He shrugs as if to say it doesn’t make any difference to him, which is true. He shouldn’t give a damn about me or what women I speak to or don’t speak to. But the thing with Danny is he’s always been the type to care a whole lot about his friends. That’s a good thing for sure. When it comes down to the MC, brotherhood is all we have.
But sometimes it can be a pain in the ass, too.
“Listen,” he says, picking the chicken from his front teeth. “I get it. You get nervous around women. It’s a little pathetic, but I ain’t gonna hold it against you. Let me walk you through it, eh? All you need to do is buy a bunch of flowers, ring her doorbell, and stand there with a smile on your face. When she opens the door, you give her the flowers and take her upstairs and fuck her brains out. It ain’t complicated, see?”
