Chapter 6 - Hellfire
Her challenge makes me smile. She never backs down. Always pushing, always digging deeper.
"Ladies first."
She settles back into the couch, tucking her legs under her. The movement brings her closer to me, and I catch another whiff of that jasmine scent.
"My dad was a journalist," she says, her eyes taking on a distant look. "Before I was born. He used to tell me stories about exposing corruption and giving voice to people who needed it. It wasn't just a job to him – it was a calling."
"Was?" I prompt gently, noting her use of past tense.
"He died reporting from a war zone." She takes another sip of tea. "I was twelve. Mom... well, she moved away a few years ago. Left me this apartment, actually."
"Why didn't you go with her?"
"I'd just gotten the job at the Gazette," she shrugs. "Besides, I love this town. Even with all its... complications."
She looks at me pointedly, and I can't help but chuckle.
"Complications. That's one way to put it."
"Your turn," she says, those green eyes on me. "Why did a man like you choose this life?"
I clasp my hands behind my head, studying her. There's something about her that makes me want to tell the truth – the whole truth, not the sanitized version I usually give.
"Might not look it now, but I used to be somebody important in the military. Special forces."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "You're right – you don't look it."
"Watch it, sweetheart," I warn, but there's no heat in it. "Did twenty years, made it pretty high up the chain of command."
She leans closer, her thigh pressing against mine. "What happened?"
I set my teacup down, the memories I usually keep locked away surfacing.
"Haven't talked about this in a long time," I admit. "Lost some men – good men. They were captured, and I got orders from above to stand down. Do nothing."
"You followed orders?" she asks softly.
"Yeah," my voice turns bitter. "Like a good soldier. They died in that hellhole, and I... I promised myself I'd never leave anyone behind again. Never take orders from someone who sits behind a desk making decisions about other people's lives."
Her hand finds my arm, small and warm through my shirt. "So you started the club? And your daughter?"
"Left the military not long after. Started Iron & Blood with some like-minded individuals – Butcher, Ruthless. Others joined along the way. Angel’s mother left us soon after. I don’t judge her. This life… is hard." I look at her. "We might operate outside the law sometimes. You know that. But we never leave our own behind. Never abandon someone who needs help."
"Like the trafficking victims," she says, understanding dawning in her eyes.
"Like them," I agree. "Like Mark. Like anyone who needs protection from bastards who think they can play God with people's lives."
She's quiet for a moment, processing. Then she says something that catches me off guard: "That's why they follow you. Not because they're afraid of you, but because they trust you."
"Both," I correct her, but something warm spreads in my chest at her insight. "Fear and trust aren't mutually exclusive in our world."
"And what about me?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "Should I fear you or trust you?"
"What do you think?"
"I think..." she says softly, "I can trust you. But there's a line we shouldn't cross."
The oversized leather jacket has slipped off one shoulder, revealing smooth skin. Her chest rises and falls with quick breaths, those gorgeous curves straining against her blouse.
My cock throbs painfully against my jeans as I take in her parted lips, her flushed cheeks, and the way her curvy body seems to lean toward mine.
I shouldn't. I'm the president of Iron & Blood MC. The man who makes the rules, who maintains control, who keeps his head clear. But watching her bite her lower lip, I feel that control slowly slipping away.
Before I can stop myself, my hand is on her cheek. Her skin is impossibly soft against my calloused palm.
"And what line would that be, sweetheart?"
Her eyes flick to where my hand cups her face, her breath catching.
"This one," she whispers.
"Yeah," I agree, my thumb tracing her bottom lip. "This line." Her face looks so delicate, so small in my rough hand. "Thing is, I've never been good at following rules."
"Neither have I," she admits, leaning into my touch.
"Guess that's why you were behind my dumpster." The reminder of how we met makes her smile, and that's it – my last thread of control snaps.
I close the distance between us, capturing her lips with mine. She makes a small sound of surprise that turns into a soft moan as I deepen the kiss. Her hands clutch at my shirt, pulling me closer, and I know I'm not the only one fighting this attraction.
As our kisses grow more heated, my hands roam her curves, savoring every soft inch. She tugs at my shirt, and I break away just long enough to pull it over my head. Her eyes widen as she takes in my scarred torso, but there's no fear in her gaze – only hunger.
I make quick work of her blouse, groaning when I see she's not wearing a bra. Her breasts are perfect, full and topped with rosy nipples that are already stiff with arousal. I cup one, marveling at how it fills my large hand, before lowering my mouth to the other.
She gasps as I suck her nipple, her fingers threading through my hair.
"Hellfire," she moans, and hearing my name on her lips like that nearly makes me lose it.
I trail kisses down her stomach, intent on tasting every inch of her, when she suddenly tenses.
"Wait," she says breathlessly.
I look up, concerned. "What's wrong?"
She bites her lip, looking embarrassed.
"I... I'm a virgin," she admits. "But this feels right. You feel right."
Fuck. I should stop this. Should tell her she deserves better than some old, scarred biker for her first time. But the way she's looking at me, all trust and desire, makes it impossible to pull away.
"Sweetheart," I say gruffly, "you shouldn't expect some dreamy first time with an old bastard like me."
She cups my face, forcing me to meet her eyes. "I never expected my first time to be perfect," she says firmly. "I want you, Hellfire. All of you."
That's all I need to hear. I capture her lips again, pouring all my pent-up desire into the kiss as I lay her back on the couch. My hands work at her jeans, pushing them down along with her panties. She lifts her hips to help, and then she's gloriously naked beneath me.
I take a moment to drink her in – all soft curves and creamy skin. My cock strains painfully against my jeans, eager to claim her. But I force myself to go slow, to savor this.
"You're sure?" I ask one last time, my fingers tracing the inside of her thigh.
She nods, spreading her legs wider in invitation. "I'm sure."
I dip my head between her thighs, giving her wet pussy a long, slow lick. She cries out, her hips bucking against my face. I hold her still with one arm across her stomach as I devour her, using every trick I know to bring her pleasure.
It doesn't take long before she's writhing beneath me, her thighs trembling around my head.
"Hellfire," she gasps, "I'm going to—"
"Cum for me, sweetheart," I growl against her sensitive flesh, and she falls apart with a cry that I'm sure the neighbors can hear.
As she comes down from her high, I quickly shed my jeans and boxers. Her eyes widen when she sees my cock, thick and hard and leaking at the tip.
"It's so big," she whispers, a mix of awe and nervousness.
"We'll go slow," I promise, positioning myself at her entrance. "Tell me if you need me to stop."
I push in slowly, gritting my teeth against the urge to slam home. She's so tight, so hot, it takes every ounce of control not to lose myself immediately. She whimpers as I stretch her, and I pause.
"You okay, sweetheart?"
She nods, pulling me down for a kiss.
"Don't stop," she breathes against my lips.