8. Headstrong
Chapter 8
Headstrong
Mensa
He turned his head to the side. She had a helluva knack for turning shit around on him.
His cock was weeping with the need to be buried inside her, and here she was, throwing his shit back at him.
Again.
Still.
His mind replayed the last two minutes, and her words resounded crystal clear.
“Yes.” And, “I want this, Mensa.”
She wanted him, and God knew he’d wanted her for a long time.
Those lips wrapped around his cock were sheer heaven.
He wanted to get back to that, but first, he had to take care of her.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
Her body under him made him crazy. He felt like he was even more on the verge of losing control. That didn’t happen to him.
This didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t.
He stared down into her gorgeous blue eyes. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Her lips quirked into a half-smirk and he kissed her. That wasn’t the best move, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d wanted to kiss her smirk off her face for months. Now that he could, he took her mouth hard.
Best of all, Whitney gave it right back to him. Her fingers drove into his hair and she hooked a leg around his hip. He felt her wetness against his cock.
She hummed into the kiss before tearing away. “I need—”
“Know what you need,” he said, grinding his hips.
Her hand grabbed his cock. He gripped her wrist. “What the hell are you doing?”
Those blue eyes glinted with her resolve. “I’m clean and on the pill.”
He dipped his chin. “But you don’t know shit about me.”
Her cocky grin set his teeth on edge because he felt it in his dick. “I heard you tell Cynic your blood work came back a-okay in February. I’m so on-edge it isn’t funny, Mensa. So fuck me.”
Every so often, she reminded him of how he underestimated her. “February, woman. It’s late May. That’s plenty of time for me to fuck that blood work up.”
Her smile fell away and her eyes narrowed. “Last week, Finn said you were so crabby because you haven’t been laid since February.”
He wanted to punch Finn, but he kept focused. “You’re gonna trust that?”
“I know I’ve never been this wet for another man. Even though you’re holding out on me right now, I also know once will not be enough. Let’s go, Kenneth, so I can fuck you in the positions I’ve imagined over the last fifteen months.”
He crushed his lips to hers again, but only gave her a hint of tongue before he cut it short. “I’m tasting you first or it’ll eat at me. Now keep your voice down, Blume.”
He trailed his lips down her neck to the slope of her breasts. His hands shoved them together and gave one a playful nip.
She gasped, bucked her hips, and threaded her fingers into his hair to hold him there.
He smiled against her soft skin, then lifted his head. “You like rough?”
“I like sex, and for some fucked-up reason, the more you infuriate me the more I want you.”
He grinned. “Misery definitely loves company.”
He drew her nipple into his mouth and sucked – getting a better idea of what she liked. Her hips shifted, but he made a mental note that she didn’t buck like when he bit her.
He snaked down her body, kissing here and there. She smelled like hotel soap. It disappointed him that he didn’t get a nose full of her usual gardenia fragrance.
She widened her legs once he made his way to her center. She kept herself well-trimmed. He skimmed his finger through her wetness.
She spoke the truth: her pussy was soaked for him. He lifted her legs, tossed them over his shoulders, and set to devouring her.
He’d heard her half-whimper ten minutes ago. Now she whimpered in earnest and he looked up her body. She had an arm flung over her head, a hand in the headboard, eyes full of lust.
He felt her push toward him.
On a chuckle, he squeezed her thighs. “Serious, Whit. Keep it down.”
Her eyes widened and the annoyance shining at him pleased him.
They were so fucked up.
Glutton for punishment that he was, he dug that even more.
That thought reminded him that he had to keep this physical.
Redoubling his efforts, he licked around her clit. She cupped the crown of his head to hold him there. He drove a finger inside her, then added another.
“Yes! Don’t stop, honey. I’m so close.”
He sucked her clit for a moment, pulled away, but left his fingers inside her. “How close?”
“Very,” she growled. “If you hadn’t stopped.”
He grinned. “Good.”
With a curl of his finger, he found her g-spot, began stroking, and went back to eating.
His girl did not lie. He set her off moments later, and lapped up her orgasm with gusto. She tasted better than any woman he’d ever had.
His balls ached and he shoved his boxer-briefs off. In a fluid motion, he rose to his knees, lifted her hips, lined himself up, and pushed in to the base.
No whimper this time, she cried out, “Oh God.”
“Quiet, baby.”
He leaned forward, and savored the experience of being fully-seated inside the woman who drove him crazy. Centimeters separated their noses.
She stared up at him. “I haven’t even come down yet.”
“Even better because I want to feel you come again on my dick.”
Her chuckle forced her pussy to clutch his cock tighter. He hissed at the sensation.
“Sorry, bad boy, but I’m not sure that’s in the cards seeing as how I just came. I’ve never had a double.”
He laid a hot and heavy kiss on her, stroking in and out gently. On an inward thrust, he pulled his lips from hers. “Tonight, that changes.”
He withdrew, pushed up on one arm, used his other arm to hike her leg up. The new angle felt so good he almost blew. Once he had that under control, he checked off one fantasy by fucking her hard, dominating her sweet body and watching a second orgasm come over her. Feeling that sweet pussy milk his cock was pure icing on the cake.
She raised her hips to meet his thrusts and her hands dug into his ass, her nails stinging his skin.
“Shit,” he hissed, feeling the tell-tale sensation in his balls.
Moments later, he came inside her with a long groan. His arms gave out. She took his weight without any complaint, wrapping her arms and legs around him.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
“Yeah… we definitely did that,” she muttered.
He laughed.
She brought a hand up to his cheek, guiding his face to hers. He shouldn’t have let her do it, but once he was close enough, she kissed him.
Still inside her, she took her time while taking exactly what she wanted from the kiss. It hit him that letting her take control would be just as satisfying as dominating her.
He’d just come hard, but hell, if he didn’t feel like he could recover faster than usual.
Dammit. What was she doing to him?
She ended the kiss by softly brushing her lips against his. He rested his forehead on hers, his eyes closed.
“That was… that was something else,” she whispered.
He opened his eyes. “Yeah. You want to clean up? Or do you want me to bring you a—”
Her eyes went wide. “I can handle it. If you let me up, big guy.”
He pulled back, but that felt so good and he glided back inside.
She inhaled sharply. “Mensa.”
He grabbed her hands and rested more of his weight on her. “Right here, woman. I’m letting you up, but you better be quick. I’m not done with you. Gonna roll to my back, so I can watch you ride me… and maybe I’ll play with your tits.”
She leaned up and kissed him again. “So many promises. You better deliver, Ragstone.”
Her using his surname hit him hard and his control snapped. He leaned down to nip at her neck just below her ear. He caught a hint of her gardenia scent, and he sucked her skin into his mouth.
“Oh, fuck, Mensa. That shouldn’t feel so delicious.”
Her voice had gone husky.
He pulled away and gently pulled out of her. “Clean up, and be quick. I got plans for you, Blume.”
Mensa woke up to three conflicting sensations. First, the bright sunshine in the room indicated it was well into the morning, which alarmed him because he’d never expected to sleep past dawn and he hated not doing what Har expected of him – getting Whitney to the body shop first thing in the morning. The second sensation was almost primal. He didn’t want to leave the room. His initial thought yesterday, that he’d hole himself up with Whitney in the room for five days, had been completely accurate.
The third sensation was physical pleasure. The moment he opened his eyes, he knew why.
After two more rounds with Whitney, he’d fallen asleep naked. From what he could see lifting the covers, she had slithered under the sheets and down the bed. She’d wrapped her fingers around his cock and taken him fully into her mouth.
Goddamn. Her mouth needed a permit. Yet, he was eager to discover how she would suck him off.
He tossed the covers off and her eyes met his. The way she looked up at him, hit him deep. He wanted to see her like that a year from now and beyond.
Her free hand moved from his balls and she touched herself.
She enjoyed what she was doing and that turned him on even more. His hips began to thrust and he called on some restraint so he wouldn’t fuck her mouth outright.
He groaned. “Get up here, woman. You can’t handle me fucking your face yet.”
She stopped and semi-glared at him. “Shouldn’t I be the judge of that? I mean, how do you know what I can handle?”
He curled up, slid his hands under her arms, and hauled her on top of him. “I don’t know, but I want your cunt right now.”
“Could fool me. You didn’t see your face when you finally woke up.”
He gave a short head shake. “Your mouth is a fucking dream, Blume, but I don’t want to get too rough with you right now.”
“Thought we were pretty rough last night,” she murmured.
He slid a hand down to massage her breast. Keeping his hands off her was harder than he’d ever thought it would be. “Yeah, but we slept in and we don’t have much time. That means, you’re gonna kiss me, and then I’m gonna fuck you from behind so we both start the day right.”
“Be better if I just ride you. I’m already in position—”
He craned his neck and kissed her silent. She also enjoyed his kisses, that was clear early, but he liked how with just a kiss he could convince her to do things his way. Just like four hours ago, her body relaxed and practically melted into him. Then he noticed she hadn’t run her fingers through his hair.
Her hand wrapped around his cock and guided him toward her.
He opened his eyes and broke the kiss. “Whitney.”
She grinned. “You can’t blame a girl for trying. Besides, you really liked watching me ride you.”
He couldn’t deny that. If they’d been at the clubhouse, she’d have gotten her way on both the blow job and riding him.
Two could play her game, and he reached down to glide a finger through her wetness. “I did, but this ends once we leave this room, and I’ll be damned if I don’t get everything I want from you.”
Her eyes filled with a strange combination of expressions. A blend of defiance, resolve, and it might have been disappointment or sadness. She quickly hid it, and squared her shoulders. “Then you better make it damn good, Genius. Because I guarantee, I’d have made it damn good for you.”
Forty-five minutes later, they stepped off the elevator into the small lobby. Mensa clocked the two cops at the counter immediately. They were in plain clothes. Both stood with their sides to the counter, facing each other, which meant they clocked him and Whitney, too. One was younger and had brown hair cut in a crew cut, his brown eyes narrowed on Mensa. The other officer had short, gray hair and light blue eyes.
“Agent Blume,” the younger officer said with a fake grin.
Mensa’s defenses went up immediately, but he forced himself to stay calm.
If the officer’s behavior bothered Whitney, she disguised it well. She stepped forward and stretched out her hand to the older officer. “Whitney Blume, Officer…” she let that trail with a questioning tone.
The gray-haired man shook her hand, his lips quirking every so slightly. “Detective Robinson. This is Detective Fortner. You reported your car stolen last night.”
“Yes, sir. Do you have any leads?”
Detective Fortner aimed a pointed look at Mensa and back to Whitney. “Is this your boyfriend? Or can we talk with you alone?”
Mensa stepped closer to Whitney. “I’m her ride to her car, if you’ve found it.”
“That’s what’s strange about this. Why didn’t you take her home last night?” Fortner asked.
Mensa answered before Whitney could. “She told me her registration was in the glove box. That lists her address, and I sent a buddy to her place. He didn’t see anyone, but he felt like the place was being watched.”
“He ‘felt’ that?” Detective Fortner asked.
Mensa slowly dipped his chin. “Yes, sir. In your line of work, I suspect you trust your instincts even when they defy logic.”
Detective Fortner stepped away from the counter. “You don’t know a thing about my line of work.”
Whitney put her hands out in a calming gesture. “He didn’t say that he did. Do you have news? Otherwise, why come here and not…,” she trailed off.
The detectives being there signaled that something else had happened.
“Why were you at Twisted Talons last night? And why was Dontrell Barlow there with you?” Detective Fortner asked.
“Is this official questioning?” Mensa asked.
Fortner ignored him.
Mensa looked at Whitney. “Wait for a lawyer.”
Her brows lowered over her blue eyes. She wasn’t going to listen to him – as usual. That had to be the number one thing that bugged him. She was so damned headstrong.
“The answer to his first question is in my report from last night, Mensa.” She looked at the detectives. “I went to Twisted Talons for karaoke. Dontrell was there to deliver food to him.” She tipped her head toward Mensa. “I saw Dontrell, not knowing he was making a food delivery, and decided to say hello. I ran out to grab something from my car, saw it was gone, and I came back in to see if Twisted Talons had access to their security feeds. That’s when a man wearing a Corrupt Chrome Motorcycle Club cut joined me and Mensa. His cut indicated his road name was Rod. He offered to help me find my car. Dontrell came back from the restroom, and Rod threatened Dontrell.”
Fortner’s lips twisted with skepticism and he glanced at his partner.
“We haven’t found a member of Corrupt Chrome MC with that name or a member who fits the description you provided when you made your report last night,” Detective Robinson said.
"He's probably laying low," Mensa muttered.
“Why did you leave the scene when shots were fired?” Fortner asked.
Mensa glanced around the small lobby. “Why are we doing this here? Out in the open?”
Detective Robinson crossed his arms. “Can we trust you to come down to the station?”
Mensa nodded. “Sure. I have to gas up my bike, and we’ll be there.”
“Mind if we follow?” Fortner asked.
Mensa locked eyes with the detective. “Are we under arrest?”
“No.”
“Then we’ll be at the station in thirty minutes. We haven’t had breakfast.”
The detectives exchanged a look. Fortner frowned at them while Robinson led the way out.
After Fortner cleared the doorway, Whitney edged closer to him and spoke through clenched teeth from the sound of it. “Why did you play it that way?”
He shifted so his back was to the doors and his body shielded her from view. “Call it a protective instinct. Nothing about that is right and I don’t like it.” She opened her mouth to speak and he held up a finger. “Fortner kicking this off by calling you Agent Blume didn’t sit right, and something tells me he did that to make a fucked-up power-play. Not sure why you’re no longer with the FBI, but my gut says you got screwed over. I’m not gonna stand here and watch those two twist your words.”
“Okay,” she drawled.
He shrugged a shoulder. “You’re all about right and wrong. When you answer their questions, have a lawyer there.”
She nodded. “I could ride with them, save you the hassle.”
“No way. Have you ever heard of them before?”
“No, but Mensa, I can’t know every detective in town. They’re hardly going to—”
“Whitney, I’m sticking to the plan which is that I get you to your apartment, or your car – if it’s been recovered.”
“Fine. After you,” she said, tossing an arm toward the door.
A ghost of a smile toyed at his lips. “You know better, Blume.”
She took one step past him when his phone chimed with a text.
He pulled it from his hip holster and saw it came from Finn.
Weather says it looks like rain today. WTF, man.
His gut clenched. That was a code phrase the brothers used for bad news.
He caught Whitney’s bicep. “Wait. You got your phone?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Check the news sites. Something’s wrong.”
“What am I checking for?” she asked, tapping in the security code for her phone.
“The shooting at Twisted Talons to start. That would have made the news considering the state of things when we were chased.” He pulled up his own search. Rather than search the bar’s name, he entered Dontrell’s full name. A newspaper headline sat at the top of the search results.
He read it aloud. “Local restaurant burned down overnight. Police searching for arsonist.”
“Oh no,” Whitney sighed.
“Yeah. I’m calling Har. For once, don’t argue. Our club lawyer is the shit and you might need her.”