Demon (The Northern Kings MC #1)

Chapter Twelve

Demon

I’d worked her till she was wet enough to take me. Because if she wasn’t I would hurt her, and I didn’t want to do that. Not yet anyway. Not until the only thing she could think about was taking my cock over and over. Because something inside of me had become obsessed with her. Even though she annoyed the fuck out of me with the constant challenge.

She was incredible, lying on her back, her tits spilling off to the sides, full and fleshy and just so fucking perfect. So much more than a handful, but pert and round and just amazing. And now, with her legs spread wide apart, her almost hairless pussy bared to me, swollen and ready, I moved into position. Even under the condom, the tip of my cock could feel the heat radiating, her pussy slick from the juices I’d just worked from her. There was a nervousness on her face now she’d seen the size of me. I hadn’t missed the way her eyes tracked my length, and I wondered which worried her the most? The length or the girth. I had both. But not everyone could take it all. Ciara was taller than most women I’d fucked before, and that would help, but she’d still find it difficult when I filled her.

The thought made my balls clench. I should slide into her slowly, inch by inch, so that she could adjust. But most women tensed after the first surge, when they realised how big it felt. And I couldn’t walk away from her now. I just couldn’t. I would fuck her, and she would take it, every bit of me.

I bent over the top of her, distracting her with a kiss, hard and desperate, the way I knew she liked. I was rough with her lips, persistent with my tongue, feeling her wriggling against the head of my cock, anticipation itself punishing her. Then I pulled my lips down her neck, her pulse bounding against me, fear and lust. An incredible cocktail of emotions. Better than any drug. I found the right spot, hearing the exhalation of air, and then I sucked hard. She moaned loudly. And then I pushed into her. One hard, determined thrust. My cock tearing into her flesh, no time for her to react or change her mind, because suddenly I was there, inside, filling her. And she was fucking incredible.

Ciara writhed underneath me, yelling and swearing, unsure whether to push me away or take it and enjoy it. She closed her eyes, her mouth dropping open, a whole tumble of unintelligible expletives dashing out in that soft Irish purr. Her pussy held me tightly, trying to fight against the huge hard cock invading her, impaling her. I couldn’t move. I needed to give myself a couple of moments to focus, because the vice like grip she had around me was going to make me come straight away if I didn’t get hold of myself. Ciara wriggled. Fuck.

“Don’t move, darl’,” I whispered in her ear, hardly able to form the words. “Not just yet. I just need a second.”

She nodded, her eyes finding mine, the look of fear and need battling it out behind those brown orbs. Then, watching her intently, I drew backwards, her flesh grabbing and pulling against me.

“Oh. God,” Ciara moaned.

“You OK?”

She nodded, her teeth raking her bottom lip, trying to stop it quivering, her eyes squeezing shut.

“Eyes on me, babe,” I instructed, carefully moving back into her, letting her juices coat me, her body tensing around my shaft each time I moved a millimetre. I needed to know if I was too much, if she still wanted to do this.

Slowly I built a rhythm, drawing in and out, trying desperately not to lose control and hurt her, because this fucking pussy was asking for it. Squeezing me with everything it had and what I really wanted to do was hammer into her over and over and over. I bent down and kissed her, my tongue pushing in roughly, my hips rocking faster, and she moaned into my mouth. Fuck, Ciara. I couldn’t help but go a little harder, drawing nearly all the way out and driving back into her with a long, thorough thrust. She moaned again, loudly this time, arching her back into me.

“Fuck, Ciara. Careful,” I warned.

“Why?”

“Because I’m trying not to hurt you and you’re making it really fucking hard for me.”

“Really?”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

But she did. Her hips rising to meet mine each time, pushing me deeper, her moans turning to cries as I moved in and out of her. Faster now, her pussy juices soaking me, letting me drive deeper.

“Oh fuck, Demon!”

Her voice had changed. A note higher, a note closer to coming. And this time when I drew out, I forced myself in, hard and fast, pushing as far into her as I could get. She screamed, like she was hurting.

“You OK?” I asked through gritted teeth, willing myself to slow down.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Don’t stop, Demon. Harder. Hurt me. Please?”

This girl was crazy. Much crazier than I’d given her credit for. But I didn’t think she really knew what she was asking. I’d show her. I kissed her hard again, a half apology, pulling out and then plunging back in, hard and fast, over and over. She screamed and yelled, her words turning to a language I couldn’t even understand, but it was beautiful, enthralling. I worked harder, bottoming out, the pressure inside of me reaching boiling point. Did I really want to give over to this now? She might never let me do this again. And this was fucking incredible. Her hips met every thrust, taking everything from me, never letting go as I plunged deeper and deeper, an unbearable heat hitting me in my stomach. I was going to come, any second.

Reaching between us, I swirled over her clit, driving hard inside her.

“I need you to come, Ciara,” I growled into the side of her, my lips sucking at her neck, my fingers plucking and rubbing at the sensitive nub as I moved into her with long, hard, ferocious strokes.

“Fuck!” she screamed, high pitched and loud, her legs wrapping around me, shaking against me, her whole body erupting in tiny convulsions. Beautiful.

Then I let my hips go wild, thrusting, and fucking, like it was the best sex I’d ever had. It was. She was perfect. This cunt was perfect. My balls clenched, my dick pulsed, and I held myself inside her, balls deep in the best pussy I’d ever had.

“Fuck,” I groaned into her ear, lying on top of her breathless.

For a moment, I couldn’t move. My heart was racing, threatening to break right out through my ribs and fucking off to God knows where. Ciara lay underneath me, her fingers stroking through my hair, her own breaths coming down from a dramatic crescendo. For a moment I closed my eyes, the gentle strokes of fingertips unfamiliar, contradicting what I’d just done to her. I’d meant to hurt her, driving in so deep that she couldn’t differentiate pain from pleasure, all so I could take mine from her. And now I lay there, my cock still in her pussy, the last remnants of my hard-on fading away, and she stroked my hair.

Propping myself up, with my elbows on either side of her head, I gazed down at her. Down at the warm-brown eyes and thick brown hair splayed out on the mattress underneath her. At the peaks of her cheekbones and the angry scar on one of them. Sliding my hand under her jaw, I glanced at my fingers against her skin, watching as her eyes fluttered closed for a few seconds. My thumb trailed up her chin, and she smiled. It was tired, faint, but it pulled into those beautiful smile lines I’d seen just once before, softening her perpetually angry, but hot-as-fuck stare.

Kissing her, savouring the moment when we were not arguing, no fighting, just exhausted come down. Then I slid out of her, Ciara’s face contorting slightly, wincing.

“I’m sorry darlin’,”

“I’m ok, Demon. You’re just…big. I’m not used to it.”

“I can help you get used to it.”

She smiled again, the smile lines deepening, almost creating dimples in her cheeks, but not quite. I wanted there to be an again, desperately. She was stunning outside and in. My thumb drew up her face, brushing over the scar on her cheek, the edges rough, even against the rough pads of my thumb. Ciara drew in a breath.

“How did you get this?” I asked, staring down at her.

Her teeth raked her bottom lip, the sudden rush of confliction washing across her face.

“Someone cut me,” her voice was just a whisper, as if she couldn’t say the words any louder and suddenly there was a knot in my stomach, anger rushing back.

“Who?”

“Just someone I upset.”

“And where is that someone now?”

“Hopefully nowhere near here.”

A hint of fear sparked in her eyes. I wanted to know more. I wanted the name of the fucker who had hurt her and if he was still alive, I’d change that. But right now was not the time. Later. I’d get that name.

I rolled over onto the mattress, a disgruntled squeak of springs under my weight. I’d seen inside her place before, but now, in the murky daylight, it really was a hovel. The bed was knackered. It sagged in the middle, and I could tell it doubled up as her settee by the line of fluffy cushions positioned all along the wall.

The tiny bench wasn’t even enough to call itself a kitchen, and it looked like she lived out of a microwave most of the time. That was when she ate, judging by the size of her. I couldn’t see a bathroom, only a sink. The curtains were half falling off the curtain rail, which was falling off in places itself and the black mould clung to the wallpaper, more evident in the corners where damp had taken up residence with her.

I should find her somewhere else, somewhere safer. I had all sorts of contacts, not to mention people who owed the club favours. Yet even though I didn’t know her all that well, what I did know was that she wouldn’t thank me for meddling. Moving her somewhere else was a fight for another day. What wasn’t though, was getting this car fixed.

“Hey darlin’,” I said cautiously, “what you say we get your car fixed?”

“On a Sunday? No where will be open.”

“We’ll take it to Indie’s garage. He’ll be open.”

“Why? Cos you told him to be?” She turned onto her side, propping her head onto her elbow, her tits spilling onto the mattress, beautiful and full, and distracting.

“No. Because I asked him to. He’s my brother, Ciara.”

“Like fellow member of the bike club, brother?”

“No. Real brother. Like family.”

“Really? He doesn’t look anything like you. And he’s a lot older.”

“Different mams, babe. Half-brothers really.”

She smiled. This was becoming a habit, but I wasn’t going to point it out to her. That was like poking a bear and right now I needed this bear to cooperate. Yet the smile faded quickly, sadness filling its space in her eyes.

“Thanks. But I can’t afford to get it fixed yet.”

“He wasn’t charging you. Or me.”

“I don’t take gifts, Demon. Because then someone expects something in return.”

I studied her, something inside me dulling and a question forming that I didn’t know whether I needed the answer to. And I was sure it was to do with that scar.

“Look, I continued. It’s the least I can do since I was the one who broke it.” I reached forward, pushing a lock of rich brown hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Ciara pulled at her bottom lip with her teeth.

“I need to study. I have to get at least one assignment finished today.”

“Fine. Bring it with you. We’re only going to the Dog on the Tyne . I’ll find you a quiet corner to sit in.”

Ciara nodded, slowly.

“ Dog on the Tyne ?” she asked.

“It’s a pub on the banks of the River Tyne. On the Gateshead side. And it’s the Kings’ clubhouse too.”

“Thought your patch was Newcastle?”

“Yeah, mostly. When we absorbed another club a load of years ago, we took part of Gateshead too, but not enough to call it ours.”

“So, it’s true you have patches, then?” Ciara pushed herself upright till she was leaning just slightly sideways onto her arm, her tits almost right in front of my face. I could just taste them again. “Demon?”

“Sorry. Yeah, patches. Well, we call them occupied areas. We occupy Newcastle and a little bit of Gateshead.”

“So, who occupies the other half?”

“Angels and Demons MC.”

Ciara’s brow furrowed.

“They were in Trouble on the Tyne a few weeks back. The big fella who knocked the kid out?” I prompted.

“Yeah. I remember. What was that all about?”

“Kid touched his back patch.” I shrugged.

“What do you mean?”

“The kid touched the patch on his cut. Rule number one. Never touch the back patch.”

“You’re kidding me?” Ciara straightened up, crossing her arms across her chest, those tits now staring at me, perky and alert. If I wasn’t drooling down my naked chest, I’d be impressed.

“It’s a slur on a club member if someone steals your back patches. Not only does it make you look like a pussy, but it can get you kicked out of the club. We have to protect them. So, we never let anyone touch them. The kid touched them. He’ll know never to do that again.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“It’s the rules.”

In truth, worse things had happened to a club member who’d had their patches stolen. And that was from his own club. I glanced at the floor, where my leather bike jacket lay in a heap, the cut over the top of it buried underneath it and the rectangular badge just below the lapel on show. DDC. Dirty Deeds Club. I wasn’t sure how I’d explain the meaning of that to her. Hopefully, she would never ask.