Chapter Ten
Unhurt. Unstruck. Unbeaten.
Jagger
Sunday morning, early, his alarm went.
Jag opened his eyes, reached out, and came up empty.
He pushed up to a hand in the bed and looked around the
room.
Thrown on the chair in the corner was the black outfit
Archie wore to dinner the night before that was essentially a collared shirt
that was clingy and almost mini-dress long, the bottom of it hugging a fitted
pair of black short-shorts. She’d worn this with black knee boots with silver
rivets over the toes.
Definitely testing his ability not to give in and let her at
least suck him off.
Her beat-up backpack was lying on the floor next to the
chair and it’d exploded since Jag dropped it there the night before.
As far as he knew, she’d slept good after he fed her, got
her tipsy, brought her home and took his time eating her out.
But now she was…
Where?
He got out of bed and noted the bathroom was dark, but he
looked there anyway.
She wasn’t there.
He then headed out.
His search didn’t last long.
He found her perched on the felt of his pool table, cross
legged, wearing panties and a tank, the backs of her wrists on her knees.
Her eyes were closed.
And, okay…
There was only ever going to be one woman’s ass on the back
of his bike.
But he didn’t expect there would only ever be one woman’s
ass on his felt.
Feeling his lips twitch, he retraced his steps, did his
bathroom business including brushing and flossing, yanked on the jeans he wore
the night before, leaving his chest bare. He headed back out, went to his
kitchen and started coffee.
By the time he returned his attention to her, she hadn’t
moved, but her eyes were open and on him.
“Please come here,” she requested.
Apparently, meditation-on-a-pool-table time was over.
This chick was something else.
No hesitation, he went right there.
He stopped, standing in front of her.
She reached out with one hand and touched the tattoo over
his heart.
“OG,” she said.
“Yeah,” he muttered, taking her in up close, hearing the
vibe of her voice, not certain what her mood was.
“Where do you go from there?” she asked.
He understood her question immediately.
She wanted to know where she would be.
Their kids.
“Where do you go from there, Jagger?” she pushed.
Her voice was soft, sweet, reflective.
She got it.
OG.
Always there.
Right at the heart.
It would always be them.
His mom. Dutch. Hound. Wilder.
His dad.
OG.
He wanted to answer her question, because he had an answer,
but all of a sudden, his throat had shut down.
His throat had shut down.
She took his hand, moved it to her inner right arm, and
wrapped his fingers around the three symbols inked there.
Even with his hand covering them, he knew what they were. In
the last few days, he’d spent some time taking in her tats.
Those were detailed, intricate, even if not a one of them
was bigger than his thumbnail.
Two Hamsa hands protecting a Chakra Third Eye.
Yeah.
With that tat, with the easy way she talked about shit,
shared it, Jag knew she was there.
She knew herself or was capable of digging deep if something
reared that needed contemplation.
He was not.
“Where do you go from there, Jagger?” she whispered.
He wanted to give it to her but he couldn’t.
Instead, he closed his eyes, dropped his head, and felt the
tight muscles pull hard in his neck.
She left his hand where it was on her arm and swept hers
over his hair.
She caught it at the back in a gentle fist.
“This is mine, okay?” she stated, tugging lightly. “From now
on, you don’t cut it unless I say it’s cool. Yeah?”
At her words, that tug, his dick started to get hard and his
hand moved in a way it didn’t feel like he was moving it. With a mind of its
own, it went to hers and took control.
He positioned it, wrapping it around his throat.
Then he lifted his head and locked eyes with her.
“Here,” he forced out.
That syllable was guttural.
“You’ll be here,” he said.
She held his gaze and hers was penetrating.
Deep.
“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he told her.
“Yes,” she agreed instantly.
“Come in you, no glove.”
“Yes,” she repeated.
“You clean?”
She nodded.
“Yeah,” he answered a question she didn’t ask that he was
too. “Protected?” he went on.
Another nod.
With that, he moved.
Fast.
He jerked her legs out, yanked her panties down.
She gasped.
He felt that in his dick too.
He dragged her ass to the edge of the pool table, and when
he got her there, she lay back, lifted her arms over her head and watched as he
unbuttoned his jeans and pulled his cock out.
On sight of his dick, her eyes grew dark and she licked her
lips.
Oh yeah.
That went right through his cock too.
He spread her legs, moved in, dick in his hand, positioning.
He dropped to a hand on the table at her side, slid the head
of his cock through her slick, and finally pressed in half an inch, all while
watching her face.
“Baby,” she whimpered.
He pulled away, then pressed in a little further, slid back
out, in, not far, and out.
“Ready?” he asked between his teeth, because he was ready.
He was ready at the Taste of Colorado years ago.
He sure as fuck was ready right now.
Ready to take her.
Ready to make her his.
“God yes,” she answered.
No hesitation, smooth and quick, he stroked in to his balls.
She closed around him, fitted and silky.
Oh yeah.
Fuck yes.
She was everything.
Perfect.
Her back left the table, her knees slid up his sides, and
she clamped on.
“Calves around the back, Archie, you’re gonna be rode
rough,” he warned, voice thick, balls heavy and aching.
She moved instantly to comply.
And Jagger started fucking her.
Hard.
So hard, with each stroke, he grunted with the effort.
Archie tensed her legs and cocked her elbows. She planted
her hands in the felt above her head and pushed down as he thrust in, holding
himself above her, watching her take his fucking. Her tits bouncing. Her body
swaying. He slid his free hand up her belly, over the tank between her tits,
and wrapped it around her throat.
She righted her head and they locked eyes.
He fucked her harder.
Immediately, her pussy rippled around his dick and she
gasped, “Jagger, baby, I’m gonna—”
She didn’t finish.
Because she was finishing.
Lips parted, head falling to the side, she soared for him,
her cunt clutching and seizing, milking his dick as she came.
He pulled out, tugged her legs from around him, yanking one
up. He stepped away, pulled her legs back down, then whipped her to her belly.
Her feet fell to the floor, and he went back in, bending over her, pressing her
to the table, his chest to her back, her soft ass in his groin, his face in her
neck.
He wrapped an arm around her hip, part to protect her pelvis
from thumping into the table, part to go after her clit.
“Oh my God, fuck, Jag. Yes,” she panted,
bouncing back into him as he drove his cock into her.
He went after her throat again with his free hand, using it
to push her head back so it pressed into his shoulder as he sucked the skin
under his lips.
“Baby,” she whimpered and her clit convulsed, her pussy
spasmed, she was coming again, so Jagger finally let himself go.
Cupping her between her legs, he jacked into her until his
world wiped clean of everything but his cock and her cunt, that perfect union,
his dick jetting, his balls draining, her pussy clenching.
When he came down, he felt her wet tightness holding him,
and his first thought was this was the first time he’d fucked that pussy, and
it’d be the last pussy he ever fucked.
Other thoughts were on Archie’s mind.
She was prying his hand from her throat, and he worried he’d
hurt her, or scared her, but before he could ask, she was positioning his
thumb, pressing it deep into the center of her palm.
And she was talking.
“Anahata. Unhurt. Unstruck. Unbeaten. The heart chakra. You.
And what I’ll give to you. Tatted forever in the palm of my hand,” she
whispered.
Christ.
Fuck.
Christ.
He shifted so he could rest his forehead against the back of
her neck.
She shifted too.
So her thumb was pressed dead center in his palm.
“Our life can be at your throat, but I wanna
be here, Jagger,” she said. “In the palm of your hand.”
Now he was getting why she kept touching his palm.
“Then you’ll be there,” he told her back.
“When the time comes, you pick my symbol.”
“Okay.”
“Like when the time comes, you give me what you need to let
go. I won’t ask again. I’ve come to terms. I’ll wait a day. I’ll wait four
decades. Unhurt. Unstruck. Unbeaten. That’s mine to give to you always. You
tell me when you trust I can take your hurt and leave you with peace. Not
before. In your time. On your terms.”
Christ.
Fuck.
Christ.
He dug his head into her back.
She gave him long moments.
Then she said, “You fuck like a goddamn animal.”
This was not a complaint.
He let out a big breath.
Then he grinned.
Now only semi-hard, he slid out, turned her again, scooting
her up for comfort, and bent over her.
She curled her legs around his hips and combed her fingers
through his hair, her eyes roaming his face.
His did the same to hers.
She looked sexy, sated, all good.
That had been deep. It had rocked both their worlds.
And there he was, in her arms, and they were both all good.
“Ready for the second-best ride you’re gonna get today?” he
asked, referring to putting her on the back of his bike and taking off into the
mountains.
“Absolutely,” she answered. “But first, I need a shower, you
need to pour me coffee, and also get me off your table or you’re gonna have a
cum stain on your felt.”
They would own that table until he died and he would never
forget fucking his woman for the first time on it.
But he had the memory.
He didn’t need a physical reminder.
So he lifted her up and she held on with all four limbs as
he hitched up his jeans.
Keeping her where she was, he walked her to the bathroom.
He dropped her feet to the tile, took her head in his hands