Fury (7 page)

Chapter
Eleven

Shorty
brought his palm down on the club whore’s ass, watching the flesh shake like a
warmed bowl of pudding. He held a joint in his other hand and took a hit from
it. Although he was fucking tired as shit, falling asleep wasn’t something he
could probably do right now anyway.

“Let
me see it, Shorty,” the club bitch said as she looked over her shoulder, this
sexual gleam in her eye. She shook her ass in front of him, bouncing that meat
right over his flaccid cock. He might touch the club girls, even make them
come, but truth was he’d never stuck his tongue or dick in any of them. He had
his own issues going on with that, but these used up girls were not his thing.

“Fuck
no,” he said and leaned back on the couch.

“I
heard it’s huge,” she moaned and turned around, her big tits moving back and
forth as she shook her chest in front of him.

“Yeah,
it is.” He didn’t deny he was packing a big fucking cock. Being known around
the club as sporting a nearly ten-inch pecker made him a legend around the MC,
even if none of the females actually saw it. But his former life, before the
club, was pretty fucked up, as was the case with the majority of the club
members. Maybe that’s why they all worked so well together and became a family?
They all knew what fucked up was.

The
club whore stopped moving and looked him up and down, this confusion on her
face. “You like guys or something?”

Shorty
lifted a brow. “What the fuck does that matter?” He didn’t like dick, but it
shouldn’t have made a difference. Shorty had known plenty of hard ass guys that
were into strictly cock. Didn’t change who they were or the respect he had for
them.

She
shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, but it would explain why no one here with a pussy
can get that monster you’re hiding behind your pants up and at attention.”

Shorty
didn’t move, just stared at her as he puffed on the joint.

“We
all know you haven’t fucked any of us. Makes us wonder if you like dick instead
is all.” She shrugged but kept dancing for him.

He
was getting tired of this fucking conversation. “Fuck off, bitch.” Shorty
wasn’t gay, but it shouldn’t have mattered anyway. “Ever think I just can’t get
hard for loose twat?”

She
stopped dancing and huffed out, but he could have fucking laughed that she was
offended. She was a club whore, a woman that had no issues with spreading her
legs for any of the MC guys that crooked their finger. That’s what all these
women at the club did, and they eagerly begged for more with hopes that one day
they’d be an old lady.

When
she didn’t move to get the fuck back he stood to his full six-foot-six height,
not trying to intimidate her, but just trying to get the hell away. He didn’t
get the name Shorty because he was petite. “I said fuck off.” She still didn’t
move, but now had her hands on her hips and her lips pursed. So he was the one
to fucking move away. He didn’t have time for this bullshit. He walked past her
and went to the bar. Shorty was running on a handful of hours of sleep over the
last two days, was drunk, high, and had blue balls. He might not fuck these
women, or get aroused by them, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to be balls
deep in some warm, wet cunt. He just had his own issues to work through, and
getting involved with a woman, especially a club whore, was far down on his
list of priorities.

He
took a shot for the road, and headed down the hallway to the room he was
crashing in for the night. Once the door was shut behind him he got undressed
and headed into the bathroom, cranked on the shower, and stepped in before it
warmed up. Shorty braced a hand on the wall, closed his eyes, and breathed out.
He thought about having a woman pinned down beneath him, seeing her wide eyes
staring up at him as she didn’t know what in the fuck was going to happen.
She’d slap him, bite him, give him hell, and he’d relish all of it, fucking get
hard because of it.

He
felt his dick get hard as those visions played through his mind. He didn’t
doubt he could find a willing woman at the club to slap and hit him, to act
like she didn’t want it. But that wouldn’t get Shorty off. He liked giving
pain, but also liked receiving it. It’s what made his blood rush through his
veins, what had also made him tick. He was fucked up, he knew that, but he’d
accepted it, as well.

Grabbing
his dick had a harsh groan leaving him. In his mind he envisioned the stinging
slap across his face. He’d lean down and lick her tears away, hear her moan,
because deep down she’d want him, want whatever he gave her. Shorty wasn’t a
rapist, would never force himself on a woman, but people who enjoyed the kind
of serious, hardcore play he liked were far and few between. A woman might act
like she enjoyed it, but deep down she wouldn’t.

He
squeezed his cock as he stroked himself, pain moving through his dick and right
up his spine. The pain felt good, made him harder. Shorty started jerking off
like a madman, bringing his fist down to the base of his cock right before
sliding it back up to the tip. He added more pressure to his dick, the pain and
pleasure mixing as one. He felt his orgasm rush forward. The pain had his balls
drawing up tight and a hiss leaving him, but fuck, did it feel good.

He
braced his forearms on the tile and breathed out, just letting the water beat
down on his back.

Yeah,
Shorty was one fucked up asshole.

****

Nando
sat in the plastic chair in front of the window of the motel room he’d rented
out for the night and stared at the Bleeding Mayhem clubhouse. He was using a
long-range scope, the smoke from the cigarette hanging from between his lips
wafting around him.

The
only security detail he saw were the two guys standing on the other side of the
gate bullshitting with each other. These men were either careless and stupid,
or thought they didn’t need the protection. Maybe they didn’t. It wasn’t like
they were a crime family, or part of an elaborate operation that needed around
the clock security. All they had was some fucking gate that went around the
perimeter of the clubhouse, as if that could keep someone out if they really
wanted to get through.

He
watched them for ten more minutes before putting down the scope and rifle and
leaning back in the chair. Nando finished off his cigarette, rubbed the butt
out on the bottom of his boot, and felt adrenaline move through him. He was
good at his job, good at tracking and hunting. It might not be the most
law-abiding work, but Nando knew when it came to staying afloat he had to do
what was required of him. And what was required of him to do to this fucking MC
looked like it would be easy pickings.

****

Angelina
was still thinking about the dinner they’d just finished and what they’d talked
about as she cleaned up after dinner. This felt so … domestic, yet at the same
time it kept her mind from wandering and her hands busy. Even though there was
so much hanging over her: Fury planning on killing her father, her giving up a
location where her father most likely was, and recently finding out her brother
was dead, all she could think about was Fury.

The way he touched me.

The feeling of his hands on my
body.

The fact I’ve never been so aroused
with another man.

And the way he’d made me come.

She
braced her hands on the sink, breathed out, and she closed her eyes. He’d left
dinner and gone to take a shower, and she’d been thinking about what he looked
like without clothes on, how powerful he’d look totally naked, and how she felt
so small and feminine in his presence. Exhaling once more, she turned from the
sink and headed down the hallway to the bedroom. She should just go to sleep,
and she hoped her dreams wouldn’t be filled with images of all the filthy
things Fury would do to her.

And
then right before she got to her room the bathroom door opened and steam
billowed out. She stopped, frozen for a second as she waited to see if Fury
would emerge. Her heart was beating a mile a minute, and she felt her pulse
throbbing in her throat. The light went off in the bathroom, and then Fury came
out in nothing but a towel wrapped around his lean waist.

The
only light on was the one that came from the kitchen and living room. It was
the backdrop for this heated encounter, and yet she was the one that felt like
she was burning alive. Fury wasn’t even looking at her yet, not with the small
towel over his head as he dried off his hair.

Her
heart raced, her body reacting instantly to the sight of him in nothing but a
towel slung low on his hips. There were beads of water still on his hard,
tattooed and muscular chest, and she curled her hands into tight fists at her
sides. She knew she should just keep going, to keep her head down and her
thoughts clean. But God, she was still on edge from the orgasm he gave her,
which now seemed like it had been ages ago. There was something darkly addictive
about Fury, and something twisted about herself, that had Angelina wanting him
so damn much.

A
light sheen of perspiration formed between her breasts, her breathing
quickened, and her nipples grew hard. Her pussy was wet, had been from the
moment she stood at the sink washing dishes and thought about Fury touching
her.

I should keep walking, and not act
like I want him.

But
all she could do was stare. He took a step out of the bathroom and into the
hallway. And then he removed the towel from his head and looked right at her.
The fact he didn’t appear surprised to see her had Angelina wondering if Fury
had known she’d been standing here the whole time.

They
stood there, neither speaking nor moving, and then he moved closer to her until
he was a foot from her. The smell of him, darkly rich, clean, and intoxicating,
washed over her. The need to just close her eyes and sway toward him ran strong
in her, but she needed to show him he didn’t affect her, that she wasn’t this
fucked up little girl that wanted the man that had kidnapped her.

You’re not a captive anymore.

He
was so big and tall, so intense and dangerous. Maybe that’s why she wanted him
the way she did? His masculinity and testosterone surrounded her, rivaled any
other man she’d ever been around. He didn’t move, just looked down at her with
his eyes at half-mast. Angelina swallowed, knowing the smart thing to do was to
leave this place, to run from him, yet she didn’t want that.

Like
she was someone else, Angelina found herself lifting her hand, maybe to touch
him, or maybe to push him away. But she chickened out at the last moment and
curled her nails into her palm, about to move her hand back to her side. As if
he anticipated the act, Fury grabbed her wrist in a firm, unmoving hold. She
couldn’t think, let alone breathe. He placed her hand on his chest, right over
his heart. His skin was warm, smooth, and the steady beat of his heart right
under her palm told her he was calm, collected. She, on the other hand, felt
like her heart would explode right through her chest. Was he so unaffected by
her?

She
licked her lips and saw Fury’s gaze dip down to watch the motion. She wanted to
be pressed up against him, wanted to have her mouth on his, but she was too
afraid, to too nervous to even move.

But
before Angelina could react in any way, Fury let go of her wrist and took a
step back. But they were still so close together, and the scent of him washed
through her, making Angelina feel drunk.

“I…”
Angelina had no idea what she should say. Fury was raw, animalistic sex appeal,
and she was helpless to stop herself from succumbing to it.

He
moved an inch closer once more, and she pressed herself against the wall,
feeling trapped, but loving it, as well. And when he was close enough that she
felt his erection dig into her belly, this whimpering sound left her on its
own. He lowered his head until their lips were mere inches apart, and then he
closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

“Mmm,
you smell really fucking good.” His voice was low and so deep. Fury slowly
opened his eyes, the darkness of them drilling holes right into her soul.

Their
breaths mingled together as their gazes stayed locked. She knew that if she
leaned in just a little, her lips would press against his, and she’d end this
need inside of her, or at least tame it for a bit. Her pussy clenched
involuntarily, and she had to hold back the moan that would have spilled forth.
The only thing keeping her from the monster between his thighs was a thin piece
of terrycloth. That thought had more moisture leaving her pussy.

“I
don’t think you really understand the kind of motherfucker I am, Angelina,” he
said, his focus still trained on her eyes. “If you did you wouldn’t be wet for
me right now.”

“I’m
not wet for you.”

Liar.

He
didn’t show expression, but he did curl the corner of his mouth up. “Do you
really want me to prove you wrong on that?”

She
wanted to say something, to deny the effect he had on her, but the words were
lodged in her throat.

“Do
you really want me to show you what a liar you are?” He leaned in that last
inch and ran his tongue over her bottom lip, then did the same to her top,
making this gruff sound as she stood there accepting his touch. “Do you really
want me to touch your pussy and show you exactly how primed you are for me?”
His lips moved along hers as he spoke. The act shouldn’t have been as erotic as
it was, but when he pulled away all she was left feeling was the tingling of
where his tongue had been.