Chapter 19
STEVIE
I’ve been at King’s place for a month, and nothing in my life has changed.
Most of the time, I lay in bed, reliving what’s happened since moving to Moose Grove, wallowing in self-pity.
I’m completely clueless as to my next step in life.
My work skills are minimal unless someone wants me to bury a body.
I could fall back on waitressing, but I’d also need another job to make ends meet.
Another thing to worry about is where to live.
I’ve overstayed my welcome at King’s place.
Correction. I’ve overstayed living here.
He hasn’t welcomed me into his home. Guilt or the club ladies probably convinced him to allow me to stay.
My bet is on the club ladies, because guilt isn’t a word in King’s vocabulary.
I toss the covers off, pad into the washroom where I remove my brace and splint. It’s about time I rid myself of them. The doctor said at least a month, which it’s been. I toss them in a corner of the washroom and shower.
King’s at work, so for the first time, I wander through his house, scoping it out to find what kind of biker he really is.
He’s crude, rough, and plays by his own rules, including sexual assault and tattooing people.
My finger runs over the tattoo. A GPS to be exact.
Then there’s the other King who showers, feeds, and holds me at night.
Gives free tattoos to veterans, and tattoos women who are searching for a new way of looking at themselves after disease has changed them.
All the drawers have been checked, and I find nothing to enlighten me about him. Staring out into the backyard, I realize how big and beautiful it is. There’s a small shed at the back of the property. Several mature trees add some shade to the large area, along with a row of bushes.
My head turns to the refrigerator, and I rummage through it and the freezer to find those edible brownies. Taking the entire container out, I bring them into the living room to thaw while I watch television. Even though they’re frozen, I nibble on one until the rest defrost.
Two hours later and two brownies in, the cannabis has worked its magic long ago. My body is slackened, and whatever is on television has me laughing. As of this moment, the horrors of the past year are tucked away in the far reaches of my mind.
I lift my bad wrist, wiggle my fingers, rolling the wrist in a circle.
It’s fixed!
I stand and walk a couple of feet.
No pain!
Dropping onto the couch, I laugh at my theatrics, and grab another brownie to celebrate my recovery.
I say aloud, “Yay, to me.”
Bite.
“This is fun.”
King comes in, pauses for a moment after seeing me on the couch, and heads upstairs to clean up.
When he returns, he asks if I want something to eat, but I decline, letting him know the brownies are doing the trick.
He grabs a brownie and collapses onto the other side of the couch.
Without asking, he switches the channel, except I couldn’t care less.
Or is it, I could care less? I wave my hand in front of my face, laughing.
He’s giving me a sideways glance, so I stick my tongue out at him.
This has him sighing, flipping through the channels, munching on his second brownie.
“They’re good, huh?”
He nods, I shrug, and all is right in the world.
A crime show is on. The bad guy is running away from the good guy. At least, I think he’s a good guy. Nowadays, who knows.
I shout at the television. “Run! He’s gonna get you.”
King turns to me laughing as he reaches for a third brownie. “You’re a crazy bitch.”
I point my finger at him. “And you laughed. I thought I’d never see the day King would laugh.”
He shakes his head, a whisper of a smile on his face as his eyes say something different. Aggravation? Desire? Huh?
King adds, “These are good.”
“Duh! They’re loaded with weed.”
His head snaps to me. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why? Are you allergic?”
“No. I don’t do drugs.”
I grab my stomach and burst out laughing. “You do now.”
His eyes narrow in on me, but it isn’t as daunting as the other times he did it.
We turn back to the television. This show is funny.
The cops are researching and running around to catch the guy, and he’s right there in front of them.
Damn, they’re dumb. Fake blood. No one’s hurt.
Not like the crazy shit I’ve seen. Yikes! This has me laughing.
King turns to me again with a smile. “Did you just snort laugh?”
“Fake blood! I’ve seen the real stuff and it doesn’t look like that.”
While the right side of his mouth turns upward, his eyes appear to be darkening. I crawl over to him, sticking my face in his to see if his eyes are darker, and then I sit back on my heels.
“You’re handsome when you smile.”
Eyes locked on me, he bites into his brownie, and asks, “Yeah?”
I fall onto my hip, resting my arm on the back of the couch, and my head on top of my arm. “Yeah.”
His gaze hasn’t left mine, and I notice leftover brownie on the corner of his mouth.
Sitting up, I reach my thumb to wipe it, except it remains there.
My eyes wander over his face. King is ruggedly handsome.
I’m not one for blonds, but his mohawk style fits him.
And those hypnotizing light blue eyes, captured by a gray ring are spectacular.
My ex, Noel, couldn’t hold a torch to this man.
Or is it, candle? Can’t hold a candle? Whatever it is it’s true.
I lean in, focused on the smudge of brownie on his mouth, and lick it.
We both stop breathing, and our eyes meet as our lips touch.
Everything’s in slow motion. We break lip contact, except our eyes are bolted on one another, gauging the other’s reaction.
Well, I’m gauging, he could be shocked. I mean, it’s me, the one who hates him, licking his face, so he’s probably thinking…
King crashes his mouth against mine, bruising and dominant while fisting my hair.
My hands fly to his blond locks, twisting strands around my fingers, tugging him toward me.
I fall onto my back with him on top of me.
We’re frantic; mouths and hands restless to find a spot that could satisfy us. Nothing does.
Damn, he’s a great kisser…and he smells phenomenal.
If I wasn’t full from the brownies, I’d be nibbling on him.
His tongue swabs the inside of my mouth, caressing my tongue, and his teeth catch my bottom lip.
A small nibble and I feel it swell, but it’s a good swell.
A really good swell. Like my pussy lips swelling for him.
Our hips crash together, withdraw, and meet again, circling.
I hear tearing. King tosses my shirt off and I don’t care, only wanting these plush lips of his. Wild in capturing my mouth, kissing my face, biting my jaw, soothing with his tongue. Shit, I’ve never felt this beautiful. This sensual. Every part of me is stimulated by King’s mouth and hands.
Trying to match his enthusiasm, I yank at his t-shirt, except it isn’t going anywhere. I want to tear it like he did mine, so I stop kissing him, grab it with both hands, and manage to create a rip along the seam.
King chuckles. “I’m guessing you want it off.”
My bobble head nods as he takes the back of the shirt, pulling it over and off. I don’t know where to look first. Ripples of muscles run down his torso, arms, and legs. My hands smooth over his tatted skin, my eyes following the movement, smiling.
He moves from my touch to discard my pants and underwear. I’m butt naked, and his eyes wander over me. King’s gaze is hedonistic; pump full of testosterone, and I don’t want it to end.
King bends me in half, burying his face in my pussy. My hand fists the couch cushion while the other holds one of my legs up. Those lips that were once on my mouth are now sucking on my lower lips and clit. His tongue nuzzles between the seam, flattens and glides from opening to clit.
“Yes, King, there.” I smack the couch. “Oh, God, yes!”
He unleashes his thirst and hunger on my pussy. Dragging, sucking, licking and nibbling, and then slipping a finger inside me. My hips want to lift up, but he has me folded, knees by my face.
King’s finger pumps at high speed, his knuckles grazing my clit, lifts his head and growls, “Good girl, Rebel. Do you hear that? Your pussy is sucking on my finger. Does your pussy want more?”
Shortly after, I clench my body and heave out a scream. A scream I can’t silence because the aftermath is just as good as the onset of the orgasm. My eyeballs roll back and I’m riding the most incredible sensation I’ve experienced, and it doesn’t stop here.
I’m so caught up in my orgasm that I miss King stripping off the rest of his clothes.
It’s only when he thrusts inside me, I’m reeled back.
The stretch is so intense while something else kneads my insides.
Another scream comes from pain and pleasure.
His hand clasps around my throat, the other pressing my ankle into the cushion by my head, fucking me raw.
King’s breathing is erratic, grunting with his thrusts, and my body pinned down.
It’s claustrophobic and erotic. I find myself staring at his face twisted into a painful eagerness for a release.
His dick must have sprouted tentacles, because I’m experiencing additional stimulation.
The way King snaps his pelvis in a feral way, holding me steady, I’ll have his finger prints on my ankle and throat.
A second later, my head becomes fuzzy, air leaves me, and I’m seizing from another orgasm.