Chapter Twenty Two
Fury’s brows furrowed as he read the text on the screen from the phone he’d taken from me.
“You got this just now?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And you don’t recognise the number?”
I shook my head.
“Well, at least there is one,” Fury continued, taking his own phone out of his pocket and snapping a picture of the text message on my screen. “I’ve a friend or two who can run this through some software shit. Should be able to get something on this number. You ready to go up?”
I nodded, almost completely forgetting that only a few moments earlier I didn’t want him in my room alone, for fear I’d repeat my indiscretions of earlier in the day. But now, I needed him to be there. In case anyone would jump out of my closet or pull me down a stairwell.
Fury swung his legs out of the truck, while I teetered on a high heel, clinging onto the handle just above my head, negotiating the big drop onto the first step. Fury’s hands touched the back of my pelvis, guiding me out. A little scrunch of his fingertips into my flesh and my pussy was already clamping, sending a bolt of heat into my stomach.
We walked through the massive glass reception, dripping in chandeliers and lavish curtains trimmed in gold. The staff on the reception desk looked up, smiling at me and then their eyes sweeping over the huge biker at my side. He looked so out of place amongst the suits and designer clothes, his head turning left and right, his gaze wandering over every inch of the hotel lobby and the rooms shooting off at every side.
We took the lift to almost the top of the building, watching Newcastle get smaller and smaller below us.
“It’s beautiful for a city,” I said, the glass elevator, suspended on the outside of the building, slowing crawling higher and higher.
“Thought you’d find it disappointing compared to London.”
“London is too busy. Everyone walks with their heads down. Never up. We miss most of the things we could be looking at. Here, it’s small enough to appreciate and friendly enough to go wandering around at night.”
“You wander around Newcastle at night?” Fury was surprised.
“Sometimes. When I can’t sleep, I go for a run. Sometimes I just walk. If you look up, there’s so much to see.”
“Doll, Newcastle is a dangerous place at night. Don’t underestimate it just because it’s smaller than your London.”
The lift stopped at my floor, pinging lightly, and Fury stepped aside to let me out in front of him. But he stopped me just as I exited, stretching his hand in front of my stomach, his head switching left and right again, taking in the thick red and gold carpet and the ornate light fittings. Then he pushed his hand into the small of my back, guiding me along until I stopped at the end of the corridor.
“This your room?” He grunted.
I nodded, and he pushed his hand towards me, palm upwards.
“Your key card,” he prompted when I did nothing more than stare at his hand. “I’ll go in first. If it’s clear, I’ll let you in.”
“So, I just stand waiting in the hallway for someone to attack me here?”
“It’s clear in the hallway.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do, doll. It’s clear in the hallway.”
I scowled, looking at Fury and then at the empty hallway.
“Fine, you can stand just inside the door. You don’t come any further in till I tell you. Understood?”
I nodded, biting my lip at the command. I wasn’t used to being told what to do. I wanted to retaliate; I wanted to do something, but there was something else I felt every time he used that tone with me, and it went against everything I promised myself on the drive here. I would not lose control; he would not take that control from me again.
Fury moved inside, and I closed the door behind us, squashing us into the little corridor. The suite opened out in front of us if we moved through the doors. But we didn’t. Not right then. Fury just stared at me, his enormous frame shrinking the space even more. The space filled with the smell of him, the faint scent of leather, the sweet and spice of his aftershave. Clean and strong and ingrained in my nose and my memory, making me feel all those things I shouldn’t.
“Stay here, Heidi.” His voice was low, the command written on his face even if it wasn’t in his voice. “Let me check your room. If I’m happy, you can come in.”
I nodded, not able to let him hear me agree.
Then he walked away, disappearing through a door at the end of the corridor. I waited a little while, straining my ears, but his steps were inaudible, the rich, deep carpet cushioning his feet. Outside the suite there was a drone of voices, of people walking past. They were probably going to their own suite, but the deep drawl of words I couldn’t make out tightened my chest, a sudden stab of panic attacking me in the side. I slid the chain across the hotel door, and then I followed Fury into the bowels of the suite.
“Thought I’d told you to stay put?” he grumbled from the bedroom, his back toward me as he slid back a wardrobe door.
“You really think someone would hide in the wardrobe?”
“It’s been known.” The door slid closed, and he walked to the immense windows that looked out over Newcastle, pulling a curtain out and checking behind it. “Anything look disturbed?”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“Nice balcony.”
“You not going to check someone’s hiding out there?”
“Look, doll. You were the one that looked like they wanted to cry earlier after that text message. I said I’d check your room and make sure everything’s ok. So, stop being an arse.”
Fury stepped out onto the balcony, the cold air rushing in through the door as he slid it open. I watched him walk to the table, pick up a cigarette butt from the little dish in the middle and drop it down again.
“Didn’t know you smoked?” He asked, moving round the bedroom systematically.
“Sometimes. I had quit, but being here seems to bring out the worst in me.”
Fury turned and grinned at me, his eyes lighting up and the tiniest show of dimples. Then he sat on the side of the bed, sliding open a bedside drawer. Shit. I shot across the room, stumbling on my heels, reaching for him just as he pushed his hand inside.
“Now, then. What do we have here?”
Fury pulled out the silver toy, the thing now buzzing angrily.
“Put it down!” I shouted, grabbing for the vibrator, but missing as he snatched it out of my reach.
“Jesus, Heidi. This bugger is big.” He laughed a deep chuckle, holding it above my head as I found my feet again and jumped for it.
I crashed down on top of him, knocking him backwards onto the bed, climbing up his body as he rolled around under me, his chest heaving and vibrating from the laughs coming from him.
“Fury, please? Give it back.” Heat flooded my cheeks, turning my face red from shame, making me hot.
Fury glanced up at me, his smile fading, his eyes darkening. Dropping the vibrator back into the drawer, he sat up, staring at me just a bit longer. For a moment I recoiled, pulling back, retreating from the darkness now in his eyes. He reached out, grabbing at the lapel of my jacket, his fist twisting and tightening, so that if I’d tried to back away, I couldn’t. And then he pulled me forward, twisting his body out at the same time and now suddenly, in a split second, I was underneath him, his arms either side of my head, the weight of his body over mine pushing me into the mattress.
I should have told him to stop, pushed him away, slapped him. But inside I burned, and that heat seared away any self-control I had. Reaching up, I pushed my fingers into his hair. It was the first time I’d really touched it. The strands were thick and silky smooth, better conditioned than my own. It fell over his face now, draping down past his shoulders. And his eyes were so fucking dark I could be forgiven for thinking they’d suck my soul straight out. I tugged gently, pulling him down towards me with the handful of hair, controlling where his head went, where his lips fell. But they stopped, just a few millimetres from mine, our faces almost together, almost touching. I couldn’t get any closer to his eyes, to the darkness, and the tiny flecks of rich chocolate brown that fought for purchase somewhere in the background.
Then, I lifted my head from the pillow, brushing my lips against his, feeling a little whoosh of his breath dust over my face. Gentle. Delicate. Everything he wasn’t. His tongue teased carefully. Not diving in, but caressing my lips, my mouth. But it wasn’t what I needed. I needed his ferocity, the demands of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth against my lips, the way he nipped at them to force me to open them.
Instead, he lay over the top of me promising but delivering nothing, my insides tensing, desperate for the usual rage. His leg slipped up the inside of mine, the leather rough against my already ruined tights, clicking and pulling. With my free hand I tugged at the zip of the heavy jacket, undoing it and pushing one of his shoulders almost free, the armoured shoulder pad not quite slipping over the bulge of his shoulder cap. Fury stopped, his tongue withdrawing, pulling back, no matter how hard I tried to stop his face from leaving mine.
Untangling my fingers from his hair, he sat up, pulling off the leather bike jacket, dumping it on the floor beside the bed with a loud clunk. And then, without prompting, he pulled the black t-shirt he wore over his head. The man was beautiful underneath. His skin was weathered, like he spent all his time outdoors chopping wood. The muscles of his arms, hard and bulging, but the skin was not smooth on them. Lines criss-crossed, a puckered scar, a slug-like line. Under that shirt, and under those bike leathers, he was so damaged.
Fury’s chest was smoother, apart from the muscles. The skin was less battered, but there were still slight scars. Evidence of a life hard lived, or recklessly so. I stroked over his chest, his skin warm to touch and as gentle as the satin it looked. The marks and blemishes were old, clear, but barely raised in the skin. I ran my fingers over his arms, the skin uneven, even rough in places.
“What happened to you?” I breathed, feeling over the slug-like wound.
Fury covered my hand in his, pushing my fingers harder against him.
“Someone stabbed me.”
“Shit. Was it deep?”
“That one was. Lots of blood, but just my arm. It was the twist of the knife as they pulled it out that hurt.”
“Why did someone stab you?”
“I pissed them off. A long, long time ago.”
“What? Really?”
“Yeah. Biker war.”
“A biker war?”
“Aye. We have them from time to time.”
“You’re a bike club. What would you be warring about?”
“Territory.”
“Is that what those bikers with the blood emblem wanted? Something to do with territory?”
Fury cocked his head sideways, his lips pushing together, his eyes lightening slightly as I distracted him with questions.
“Yeah. They wanted us to join them. Takeover the club.”
“Hostile takeover, huh? Who knew bikers had politics like that?”
“You’ve no idea, doll. But right now, I need you to shut up talking.”
“Why, Fury? I know nothing about you. Don’t you think we should get to know each other better before we have sex? Assuming that’s where this is going, you know, you on top of me shirtless, can really only end one way.”
“We’ve had sex, Heidi.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“Why doesn’t that count? I put my dick in you, doll. That’s sex.”
“That was a quick fuck in a graveyard, Fury. This is sex. Naked sex.”
“We’re not naked.”
“I suspect we’re gonna be.”
“Yeah, good plan.”
Fury dropped my hand from the scar on his arm and reached forward, grabbing my shirt and ripping it open. The material shrieked, and the buttons popped. And Fury stopped, suddenly staring down at my chest like he’d never seen boobs before in his life.
“Fuck, they’re beautiful,” he spoke to them, not me.
He dropped his hands to my stomach, the rough pads immediately sending ripples over my skin, sliding up over me until he stopped at the under wire of my bra. His fingers slid behind me, popping the clasp and pulling it off, a loud exhale of air slipping his lips. Then he stopped and stared, not moving, his eyes devouring, but the rest of him not touching.
“Fury?”
“Shush, doll. Just let me look a moment.”
And so, I lay there, my chest on show, watching Fury, watch me.
“Fuck,” he breathed, dropping his hands back to my body, cupping my boobs, his fingers slowly working up over them. He circled my nipples, not quite touching, just teasing, thousands and thousands of tiny sparks skittering over my skin. And then he squeezed both gently, flicking his thumb over the very top, so light I could barely feel it, but the tiny light flick was electric. I arched involuntarily, pushing them into his hands.
“Fuck,” he breathed again, not to me, not him, just aloud.
Fury moved, switching his weight a little so that he was straddling me, his hands working down my stomach now, pushing behind me, fiddling with the zip on my skirt, and then losing patience.
“Take it off, Heidi,” he commanded.
And I did. Pulling the zip free, sliding the black skirt over my hips. But he didn’t let me finish before he took over, wrenching it down my legs, tugging at the tattered tights, for what good they now did, until the only thing covering me were the black lacy knickers. He stopped and stared again, his brow furrowing, those eyes growing dark.
“Your turn, Fury.”
His face moved, pulling into a smile at one side. A smirk, and he reached for the button on the leather bike trousers, popping it open like he was flicking the top off a beer bottle, sliding the zip down and then pushing the leather off over his hips. Slowly he worked them lower, a little patch of hair at the top of his groin, just trimmed enough so it was there, trailing deeper into his pants. And then, just as he reached the very top of his thighs, it sprung out in all its perfect, hard and glistening glory. I’d expected underpants. Boxers. Tight ones. I’d expected him to wear something. But there was nothing now covering him, just cock. And it was big, and tanned like he was, a darker tip, like that had been tanned too, only a deeper colour, almost brown. The entire head stared at me, ridged, and engorged, and angry. Just like him.
“Fuck,” I breathed.