Her body is sloped downward, her shoulders taking the brunt of her weight as I devour her. The angled position of her body pushes her hips higher. I shoulder her legs farther apart until she is completely exposed. The taste of her drives me wild. My cock is leaking pre-come all over my groin. I have to be inside her. So much for my plans to go slow, I think ruefully. I pick up the pace with my tongue, bringing a little sting to the party by biting her clit. She screams and her come floods my mouth.
As she comes, I drop one hand to my lap and unbuckle and unzip. I pull my steel pipe out and drop her onto my lap, straight onto my dick.
She screams again when I impale her but I know her by now. That’s a scream of pleasure and I don’t stop hammering into her. She clutches my head to her chest so hard my mouth and nose are mashed in between her big tits. If I suffocate between these mounds, I’d die a happy man.
The long fall of her hair brushes my hand and I grab it and tug her neck backward so all her vulnerable parts are exposed to my ravening mouth. I bite and kiss her tender skin, pulling her hair as she grinds on my lap. It’s a fucking miracle we don’t break the chair.
The need to come is pressing against my spine but I hold on, gritting my teeth and blocking out my own desperate need. I feel her spasm around me, her tight walls rhythmically squeezing me until I can’t stop my own orgasm spiraling out of control. My hips hammer upward while I drive into her again and again until I’m completely spent.
She collapses against me, her body trembling and shaking from the force of her orgasm. I tuck her head into the hollow of my shoulder and rub my hands over her back until her breathing evens out and her body stills. I hold her until I feel the come leak out of her.
A thrill jets up my spine.
There’s something real primitive about knowing my jizz is all over her body. It’s a toss-up whether I like coming on her or inside her more. On the one hand, it’s awesome to have her cunt milk me while I come but on the other hand, there isn’t anything like seeing my spunk all over her tits, her ass or even her face. God, that’s hot.
I can feel myself stirring again. It’s nice to be young and have almost no recovery issues.
“I’m good to go again.”
“Again? You’re an animal.” I can’t see her because her face is hidden but I can hear the euphoria in her voice. She’s going to have a hard time walking tomorrow.
* * *
Chelsea finally dozes off but her sleep is fitful. She tosses and turns which makes it impossible to get any rest. Chelsea has always had a sixth sense about things. The same dark cloud she complains of now existed right before I got sent away to prison. Around two in the morning, I finally get up because damned if I can sleep either. The dirty dishes are still sitting on the table. It’s amazing none of them fell off while I was fucking her. I find a plastic container and dump the now-cold noodles into it. The sauce goes on top and I shove the whole thing in the refrigerator. The pots in the sink are filled with cold soapy water. I pour everything out and load the dishwasher.
The kitchen is relatively clean and I figure if that isn’t blow job worthy, I don’t know what is. I settle my ass in front of the television but a sharp knock at the door diverts my attention before I can turn the set on. The only folks who have business with me this late—or early because the clock on the microwave says its around two in the morning—would be members of the Club. But my old man’s the president and he’d call…usually.
The knock comes again, louder and insistent. If the fucker at the door doesn’t quit, he’ll wake Chelsea. I vault over the back of the sofa and am at the door but I don’t answer fast enough because Chels appears in the doorway wrapped in one of my t-shirts, looking sexy as fuck. Opening the door is the last thing I want to do but we both know that I have to.
“It’s the Club,” she says, and for the first time I hear real annoyance. No, it’s more than annoyance. It’s almost…disgust.
She’s grown up with the Club as part of her life, but she resents it now because she swears that if I wasn’t trying to protect a brother, I wouldn’t have gone to prison. I don’t even try to argue with her because she’s right. But standing up for the brothers who have your back is what makes a man worthy of wearing the patch.
“Go to bed, baby. Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it and be back in bed before you know it.”
“Bullshit,” she coughs into her hand but she spins around and retreats to the bedroom. Better that she doesn’t know who is at the door. If it’s Easy or Michigan then my hands are getting bloody. If it’s Judge, well, shit’s about to go down.
The door shakes under more pounding.
“Fucking A, I’m coming,” I snarl as I throw the lock and open the door. Whatever I plan to say next dies in my throat as four of Fortune’s shiny boys in blue stand there wearing smirks. Behind the four police officers stands Schmidthead, our Chief of Police. He’s smiling so broadly that I wonder if his face is going to crack.
The shithead closest to me slams a piece of paper onto my chest.
“We have a warrant to search the premises.”
“On what grounds?” I quickly read the warrant. On this day an application supported by an Information on oath was made by Chief of Police Eric Schmidt, bla bla la, for the purposes of ascertaining whether evidence of a criminal act including but not limited to the homicide of Jessica Trainor. Jessica? That seems like too ordinary of a name for that bitch.
The brush of the police as they enter wakes me from my shocked stupor. Our apartment consists of three rooms, four if you separate the kitchen from the living room, which I don’t. And in two more steps, the assholes are going to be at the bedroom door where Chelsea is either naked or wearing my t-shirt and lying innocently on our bed.
Fuck that.
No one gets to see her like that but me.
Maybe it’s because I’m still in shock or maybe it’s because I feel like my woman is being threatened, but I don’t stop to think how my actions will be perceived. Or maybe it’s just that I don’t give a good goddamn what these assholes think because I leap forward and push by the two uniforms to warn Chelsea.
The boys in blue don’t like that and strike back. One of them swings a stick at my head. I duck and punch at the same time, driving my head into his chest. My momentum slams him against the wall and I hear his head crack against the drywall with a satisfying thunk. He tries to bring his knee up but I block that by sweeping my leg to the side.
A blow to the back of my head staggers me and my vision blurs. I feel the air displaced as the fist from the second attacker swings toward me. I release the asshole in front of me and drop to my knees. The second guy falls into the first who tries to check his swing but comically ends up punching his buddy.
But I don’t get away clean because the third boy in blue is there and his boot makes contact with my forehead. I crash into the two behind me and we all go down in a pile of thrashing limbs and bloody noses. The skin above my left eye is split and the warm drip of blood is making it hard to see who or what I’m hitting.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Chelsea screams.
“Stay away, Chels,” I order. I don’t want her hurt.
“You touch him again and I’m going to sue all of you for police brutality,” she yells.
“He assaulted a police officer.”
“You fuckers hit me first!”
Above me I hear a scuffle and then Schmidthead growling at Chels. “Stop that. You stop that right now.”
“No, I’ve got a right to record your actions. This is being posted tomorrow if you don’t stop hurting him.”
The cuffs go on and I’m jerked upright. Through the blood and the rapidly swelling eye, I can see Chelsea dressed in a t-shirt and shorts. Her hands are shaking but she’s holding her cell phone up videotaping every second.
“Call Judge.”
She nods and they lead me away.
3
CHELSEA
I tape it all. Chief Schmidt and two o
ther officers walking him out the apartment and down the stairs. The two shoving his head toward the edge of the car frame and him struggling a bit not to get hurt as they roughly push him into the squad car.
The two remaining officers are upstairs ransacking the place but they aren’t going to find a thing other than a Glock which is registered to me even though it’s clearly a man’s gun. Big grip, extra-long barrel. It’s on Grant’s side of the bed but they don’t know that.
The rest of our stuff? My laptop where I’m searching for community college classes? They can have it.
Once Grant’s taken away, I race upstairs.
Kelly Paulson, a dipshit who was two years behind me in school, is pawing through my underwear drawer. The scrawny-ass kid still has acne but the badge makes him feel big and strong. He lifts a pair of black lace panties to his face and sniffs. “Nice, bitch. Why don’t you model these for us and maybe we’ll give Harrison a meal while he’s inside.”
“Smile for the camera Office Kelly Paulson because tomorrow you’re going to be viral.” I pause for effect. “Bitch.”