Hell on Wheels (Kings of Mayhem MC 4)

But I didn’t know how to accept her comfort, only the uncomplicated offer of her lips as she dropped to her knees and took me in her mouth, in the shower.

My mind warred with the pleasure while my body wanted the sweet suckle of her mouth. My brain told me I didn’t deserve the pleasure. Wasn’t worthy of her tongue licking at my cock. Wasn’t worthy of her lips and mouth making my balls swell with the intensity of an approaching orgasm.

She moaned, her mouth full of me, and the rising tension inside of me snapped. Anger collided with desire, and I braced myself against the tiled wall, feeling the approaching release of my orgasm. I closed my eyes. My breath was quick, my lips wet with water. I was close and if she kept fucking me with her luscious mouth, I was going to come despite the agony taking place inside my head. But she didn’t. Instead she released me from between her lips and rose to her feet, pressing her velvety body up against mine.

I felt her kiss me. Felt my surrender burst through the surface. The last woman I had touched was her, and the sting of her kiss still lingered on my lips. Now I was jamming them against another woman’s mouth, savagely kissing this woman as if I could somehow kiss the memory of her from my mind.

Growling, I pushed her up against the wall and hooked her leg over my arm. My first thrust was hard and deep, and she gasped, taken by surprise by the ferocity. Then she moaned and bit down on her lip, raising her arms above her head as my second and third thrusts plowed into her just as deep.

It was fucking. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t intimate or gentle or the beginnings of anything. There was no promise, no hope, no lies. Just a primal instinct and one man running from his truth. I kissed her fiercely, my hands winding tightly around her neck as light and darkness raged inside of me. Lust roared through me, wild and fierce, and my hands began to squeeze.

At first she whimpered, but then she let out a strangled, almost mocking laugh.

Her eyes darkened and my mind followed as my orgasm possessed me. I squeezed my eyes shut, overpowered by the battle of pleasure and pain as I came violently, rocked by the power of my release as it pumped out of me in perfect time with the blood pounding in my head.

As I started to come down, I became aware of her punching at the hard muscle of my shoulders.

My eyes opened to find hers wide and bulging as she frantically kicked and punched for me to let her go.

Suddenly realizing what I was doing, I loosened my hands around her neck and she dropped to her feet, slumping against the wet tiles, gasping for air.

Alarm tore through me, quickly followed by shame and guilt because I had almost choked her unconscious.

What the fuck.

That wasn’t me.

I was a King and we didn’t lay a finger on women.

We honored and served them. Protected them.

We didn’t tolerate violence against them. And I would be the first to step up to any man that dared try it in front of me.

Fuck.

I was losing it.

I looked at the girl, and she watched me with terrified eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I said hoarsely.

“Are you fucking crazy!” she cried, grabbing her throat.

Scrambling to her feet, she almost fell out of the shower cubicle trying to get away from me.

“You should go,” was all I managed to say as I wrapped a towel around my hips.

She snatched her clothes off the floor. “They told me it was an easy gig. No weird shit. If I’d known you were into that, I would’ve charged them more.”

I stared at her, confused, but then anger lit me up like an atom bomb. She’d been paid to fuck me.

I had no idea by who. But I would find out.

“If you like that shit, it’ll cost you more—” She stopped and her eyes widened again. It took me a nanosecond to figure out why. My scar. I didn’t have a shirt on and there it was as plain as day for her to see. To judge. She gasped, her face twisting into an ugly expression of disgust and pity. “What the fuck?”

“Get out of here,” I said, my calmness a direct contradiction to the agony pouring out of me.

But she didn’t move. She just stood there, her wide, glassy eyes darting from my face to the scar tissue on my back. “What did they do to you?” She gasped.

Her pity might as well have been a fucking bullet coming straight at me. Because I hated pity and I’d seen enough of it in the last year to last me a fucking lifetime.