Cassidy
“You’re mine forever, Cass,” he whispers, yet I don’t think I was meant to hear it.
He falls forward as if his arms have given out, almost squashing me before he lets out a low chuckle and rolls us so I’m on top of him.
His hand is banded over my back, holding me in place, his cock still stuffed inside of me, and his other hand rests on the back of my head.
The feel of his heart thudding against my chest is soothing and relaxes me in a way I don’t understand, but I don’t want to.
I just want to lie in surrender in his arms. Enemies be damned.
His words of me being his swirl in my head. Though I’m too afraid to ask him to elaborate, worried I won’t like his response.
“Can hear you thinking, Cass,” he grunts from beneath me, and I tilt my head to rest my chin on his tattooed chest.
My finger trails over the ink tarnishing his skin, and I watch in rapture as goosebumps spread out beneath my touch.
“You like my ink?”
“Yes.”
“Gonna get you some ink, want my brand on you.”
I scrunch my nose. “Your what?”
“Somethin’ permanent on you that tells everyone you’re mine.”
As I think back to what he said to me, my breath stutters. “What about when you’re done with me?”
My question goes unanswered, but his heart pounds, and he brings my scarred wrist to his lips, leaving behind a lingering kiss. So instead of pushing for his response, I ask him a question that’s been bugging me. “Why did they nickname you Killa?”
He laughs, and I love the sound. “It’s my road name. Every MC member gets one when they become official.” He licks his lips, and my hand slides down his arm and over his thick hand to the rings on his fingers. “I got mine after I killed my uncle when I was a ten-year-old kid.”
My eyes widen and my lips part as I search his face for a lie, but I don’t find one.
“He was molesting my little sister. So I took my father’s penknife, snuck into his bedroom at the clubhouse, knowing he would be blind drunk with a club whore in his bed, and stabbed him in the throat.
He was my first kill. When they gave me my cut at eighteen, the dumb bitch couldn’t spell right, so it became Killa with an a. ”
I scrunch my nose. “You do talk very biker. I can see how the a and er got misinterpreted.”
A roaring laugh leaves him, and I smile. “I guess so,” he says, and I sink into his embrace.
I think over his reasoning, and something strikes me. That’s so young to be responsible for a sibling, and to kill a man, no less. Unless, of course, there’s more to the story. “Why didn’t your dad kill him? So you wouldn’t have to.”
He swallows hard and waits a minute before opening his mouth again.
“He was in prison at the time, and Mama bailed years before. Our uncle was meant to watch over us. Him and one of his sidepieces, a club whore named Lippy, were playing house while his own family lived a few houses away. We were good until we weren’t. ”
Playing house?
Lippy?
“Lippy?” I scoff.
A broad grin stretches across his handsome face, and he shrugs. “She was good with her lips.”
I rear back slightly.
“Not as good as yours, baby.” I try to fight the smile on my face at the smooth and affectionate way he calls me baby.
“What about you?” He peers down at me with intrigue. “Your mom and dad bring you up?”
A searing pain catches in my throat, and I shake my head. The stabbing of knives into my stomach feels as raw as the day I discovered my mom had passed away. “My dad wasn’t around. My mom said he wasn’t a good man, so she brought me up as a single parent.”
“Was your childhood a good one?” he asks, with hope in his eyes, and I want to tell him the truth, but I opt for a half one.
“Very. But she passed away when I was a teenager, and things changed then.”
He grinds his jaw from side to side, and his hold on me tightens. I feel a change in the atmosphere; his demeanor has gone from playful to dangerous, and I long to lighten the morbid tension.
My finger continues trailing over his ink; the skulls, the flames burning up his arm and down the path of the roses on his shoulder.
“Who was he?” Silence stretches between us; a coldness sweeps over me as I flick through scenarios to tell him. “The guy at the diner,” he tacks on, as if I didn’t know who he was referring to.
My finger stops moving, and I tense; his arm becomes like a coiled viper, as if he’s scared I’m going to dart, and I’m sure it’s a response to my reaction.
“He’s nobody.”
“He a pig?” He lifts an eyebrow, and it takes me a moment to realize he means a police officer.
“No.”
“You fuck him?”
My mouth drops open, and I shake my head venomously.
His body relaxes, and so does his arm.
“He’s just a friend.”
He eyes me skeptically. “Does he know your brother?”
My body locks up, and I move to climb off him, but he holds me firm, determined to keep me in place. I push at his chest, and he laughs, then grabs my arms and pins them behind my back, forcing my tits to push out and his cock to jerk.
He stares at where we’re connected, and I grind down on him before he darts his gaze up to mine.
“You gonna ride me, Little Demon. Use your anger to please your man?”
“Are you?” I mumble, almost brokenly.
“What?”
“My man?” I hate the vulnerability in my tone and the way his nostrils flare at the question.
With his free hand, he grasps my chin, and his fingers dig into my cheeks, holding my head in place. He rises up and brings his lips next to mine. “I’m your man until I say otherwise. Now fuck me like you hate me.” Leaning forward, he bites at my tit, and the stinging sensation shoots to my core.
In this moment, I do hate him.
When I wanted reassurance, he shrouded it in doubt. Any sense of hope I was something more is obliterated, and when he thrusts up inside me, I grind down on his cock, giving him what he wants while ensuring I get what I want too.
If he wants to use me, then I’ll use his body for my pleasure too. Nothing more.
I push him back, but not before sinking my teeth into his neck, delighting in the wince leaving his handsome lips, and the way his cock jolts deep inside me.
I’ll become the little demon he claims me to be.