Ash: Devil's Crucifix MC (36 page)

After cleaning up at the coffee shop restroom, and inspecting his split cheek, he road back to the tavern. The split was going to need a stich or three, but he didn’t mind. Neil came through the doors of the tavern, greeted by raised beers and shouts of victory. He nodded his head, and then watched Varnish walk up to him.

"Man, Neil, I was out of line working with wrong info. Way out of line. If someone said, what I said, about my lady," he shook his head, "fuck... blood man. So, if you want to lay me out, do it. I fucking deserve it."

Neil hit him with everything he had across his left ear, staggering the man back eight feet to motley into a set of stools, and high table, and then crash with the set, out cold.

Everyone at the bar, stopped, and then started laughing again.

"Careful what you ask for," Judge howled.

Ace and Sammy went over to check if Varnish was still breathing.

"You should let him sleep," Neil told them. "He won’t thank you for waking him."

They nodded and walked back to the bar, avoiding eye contact with Neil.

"You were backing a brother. I got no malice with you."

They nodded, but kept their eyes away from his.

Neil sat down, ordered a beer and ten guys said they were buying.

"Not you West, I still owe you for last week," Neil told him.

"Paid in full my brother, paid in full. I thought we were going toe-to-toe with those guys. It looked grim from where I was standing."

"No shit," Clayton added. "Ever seen a line up like that? Shit. Green, Barrel, Eddie, Chime, that fucking crazy-ass Sparks. Fuck me. And two to one?"

"Would have been a long day," West laughed.

"Overtime for sure," Fire joined in. "We’d still be gnawing on that meal come sunrise."

Neil didn’t notice Anton come out of his office, or know how long he’d been listening, but he was now in front of him looking sore, "What the fuck was that Neil? Twenty Highwaymen ride up here looking for violence and you ride their injured to the hospital? What kind of wimp ass move was that?"

The room silenced and smiled turned grim. Neil looked up at his president. He wasn’t allowed to call him out, but Anton could call him out. He held back his loathing rage, and said, "At least it wasn’t a coward’s move."

"What? What’s this coward shit?"

"Gomez’s were loyal for five years, good times and through some hard times. They never wavered. Stuck with us. Then you start giving them crap, cutting down to 70, then 60. Like they were the enemy. Then 50, which I wouldn’t sell to my enemy. You punked them like they were prison hoes. Instead of giving you shit, they just left."

"So what? If they had a problem they should have called."

"Why? And talk to you? You’re the one with morals so far out of whack you thought it was a good idea. Like talking to wind."

"They shouldn’t have jumped to the Highwaymen. They knew the score."

"What score?"

"They were ours," Anton seethed.

"Fuck they were. They were dealers. We never had exclusive with them. None of them. You show me anything that says we did. Just one fucking thing."

Anton’s face went red, heading for purple.

"Then you over react like some late night movie. I still can’t believe members from this club agreed with that shit. What the fuck? You know who over reacts Anton? The stupid, and the cowardly."

Neil lifted his beer and took a drink, keeping his eye on Anton, who he figured was about ready to pop, and hoping he would.

"You’ll be lucky if our dealers don’t run now. All of them," Judge said, with a half interested voice. "They didn’t sign up for this shit."

"Nearly started a war over your bullshit. A full out and months long war," Clayton said, with a bored voice.

"In fact," Judge said, "That wasn’t your call. That was an officer vote. You had no authority to make that call and put the club at risk."

Hugh wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, "And then you have the fucking balls to come out here and give Neil shit? The man who saved us from war? You know, if it wasn’t frowned on to disrespect the president, I’d have to say Fuck you, but it is, so I’ll keep it to myself."

The red flushed from Anton’s face. He looked down the bar at Stevie, Ace and Sammy, who all looked to their bottles. They weren’t backing him.

"Well," Anton said, "Thank god the membership isn’t made up of dead weight like you fucks." Then he turned and walked back to his office, slamming the door after himself.

Chapter 13

It was five weeks since Neil put his ring on Shayla's finger and every time she woke and saw the sunlight inside the two carat diamond, the sliced light rays pierced her heart. She grinned, finding its magic hadn't dimmed even on Monday morning several weeks after. Shayla stared and smiled and shivered with the wonder of being this loved.

When Neil's hand came across to cup her breast, she stretched and bent back to see his eyes. Their eyes met, the pure lust filling his cobalt made her think of forges, blades, and hard lines wrought with hammers. Usually it's Sydney who gets the morning fucks. Sydney with her round little tight butt and her perky round tits. Syd's curves would give Barbie a complex and definitely steal Ken. But Neil's eyes and hands assured her with daily affirmations that her ass and tear-drop breasts were just as attractive to him, and certainly as arousing.

She's taller, but only by two inches. Her legs are longer in proportion to her body. Other than that, Sydney and her are nearly identical. The silk blond hair down to the middle of their backs, and the deep blue baby eyes, are just the same. They wear the same size clothing, the same bra size, the same shoe size, which living with Sydney can be more than a little annoying, since Sydney never buys clothing.

She finds that Neil comes to her when he wants deep, slow sex. He tends to go to Sydney when he wants animal-sex. Sydney is definitely the fun one. She is quick to giggle, quick to run, quick to jump in with both feet and ravage him. Sydney will charge into the room and throw herself onto the bed, whereas Shayla walks, and comes to him as a seductress. She sits on the edge of the bed and then does her best to enthrall him. She offers everything, without limitation — but then so does Sydney, and she even lets him do anal, which Shayla has yet to try.

So, when Neil's hand rubs and deeply fondles her breasts in the morning, she has to ask herself, what’s troubling him. She is also the one he talks to when he is working out a puzzle or perplexing situation.

These are generalities, certainly. Neil will ask both of them, and respects both of their ideas, and counsel. He enjoys sex with both of them, one-on-one or both at the same time.

Over the last couple of weeks he has brought her back here to their bed and made love to her for hours. Just her and him, and then laid with her talking about things couples talk about; movies, books, what they would do with yard space if they had some, what travel dreams they have — stuff. Stuff that make up lives that are together.

He has also done the same with Sydney, though with her there’s a lot more laughing, bouncing, and flying hair.

Neil is kissing her neck and pulling playfully at her nipples. She rubs her legs against his and tells him with a soft, warm, morning voice, "Yes Neil, take me."

She often feels like the woman, the provider of pleasure. She is Neil's woman, but she is also Sydney's.

When they decided that Neil was too important to them to risk losing, and that their own friendship was too important to risk as well, it left them with limited options. When the two of them knew they would commit to sharing Neil, Shayla understood that she would always have sexual encounters with Sydney. That was just part of the package. The trouble with commitments however, is you make them blind. You never really understand how deep you'll have to go, or how long you'll be under until your next breath. You have to commit though, or it will never work, and to fail without giving everything was unacceptable to Shayla when it came to this relationship. Still, there on the edge, you don't know what you are really committing to.

In the heat of passion — and Neil is definitely a flamethrower in that department — you're not exactly picky about whose lips you might be kissing, or whose nipple you might be sucking. Also, she had several encounters with Sydney over the last two years. The weeks between meeting Neil, and seducing him, they used each other regularly, because neither of them was interested in sex with any other man — it just seemed pointless.

So, girl-girl sex was an accepted raiment, a garment she was willing to wear, and even a pleasant source of sexual gratification. She loved Sydney. Sydney was the first true love of her life. Her family life was shit. She knew at six years-old that whatever it was that parents offered their children emotionally, she was never going to get it from hers. By the time she was in puberty, she knew she was on her own with her sexuality and relationships as well. She tried sex in high-school, found it not up to the hype, and ignored boys from that point forward. Until she met Sydney.

When Sydney came into her life, many things changed. Sydney was the one who taught her all the things she didn't know about fun, sunlight, and how to enjoy sex.

Several weeks ago, Sydney confessed that yes she loved her, but she was also in love with her, as a lover. It wasn't just girl-girl action in the heat of passion for Sydney, but something deeper. Something that fulfilled her heart and not just her libido. She said she wanted to be able to kiss her during the day, like lovers do. She wanted to touch her, and connect with her outside of the bedroom, like lovers do. Sydney said she wanted these things, but Shayla saw that she actually needed these things. So, she offered Sydney fulfillment -- in the house. It felt like she was hiding Sydney, and well... she was.

So, she was the provider of affection for both of them. They both caressed her, and fondled her. They both sought her lips, and made out with her in the kitchen or on the couch. Sometimes they did this at the same time. Most often during movie time — a time which was quickly equating to 'drive Shayla insane with desire time'.

Neil, after he puzzled out Sydney's new level of affection for Shayla, and talked it out with Syd, began sharing her with Sydney. His favorite thing to do during a movie was to lay her across his lap, so that her ass was on his thighs. This would also put her upper back on Sydney's lap. Then he would work her pants off, and Sydney would take her top off, and her bra if she was wearing one, and then they would rub her and massage her while they watched the movie together.

She rarely sees the end of movies any more. If she wants to see the whole thing, she has to do it the next morning. By the middle of any movie, she is having soft-light orgasms, and then liquid-light orgasms, and then trembling orgasms.

Neil’s passion this morning was desperate as he pushed her flat to the mattress and moved between her willing thighs. She raised her hips to meet his cock, as shivers of anticipation verved her spine. Neil hovered above her, his deep dark hair falling around her face, his eyes lit with fire and lust. His chest muscles are flexed, his thick arms are like pillars on each side of her body. He's six-four. His shoulders are intimidating and thick — roped with defined muscle and lattices of veins. His body is of a violent and dangerous man. Even his features are hard — chiseled, as if stone became flesh.

Hovering above her like this, she always quails a little, and a feeling of helplessness induces a slight adrenaline rush. She has no desire to say 'no', but something deep wonders if she could. He touches mental depths where 'fight or flight' was born. Under his piercing gaze she arches her neck, offering her throat, and presenting her breasts. She whimpers softly, nods her head, touches his face gently offering everything.

She becomes completely submissive.

This is so new to her, so completely out of character for her, that she was conflicted and highly emotional after the first one-on-one session with him. She never gave authority to her lovers. She never submitted to them. She was, sexually speaking, a predator; a great cat. She often visualized herself in this manner. She seduced them. She took them to bed. She fucked them. Their job was to satisfy her.

With Neil this was never the case, and it confused the shit out of her.

"Neil? I feel like I'm losing me," she told him tearfully, after their second one-on-one encounter. "I feel like the best parts of me, the parts I am most proud of, are taken away from me. I don't understand."

"Taken?" he asked, "Or offered? If I am taking them from you, then why are you still the strongest woman I've ever been with? I feel, what I experience with you, is an offering, a willingness to be vulnerable with me. It feels amazing. I feel like you're telling me, I'm worthy of you."

"Worthy of me? Neil," she sighed, "You own me, all of me," she told him, and then felt the rush of epiphany.

"Oh," she popped with wide eyes, like her thought might have stuck her with a pin.

"What? You alright?"

"I get it. You're right. I am offering, I am giving you my vulnerability, showing you my submission. Because I am yours." She looked to him, then laid down into his lap, and for the first time was comfortable with him. "God. It's amazing what you can say with conviction, and not understand a thing about the words you are saying.."

Above her this morning, Neil kissed her, but still doesn't move to enter her. Shayla caresses his face and neck, then his shoulders with her left hand, while making herself ready for him with her right. She moved her hips, and let out soft suppressed moans.. Once she was ready, she took a hold of him and rubs his thick, smooth cock-head to her opening, and presses up with her hips, giving herself to him.

She watched his eyes as he finally thrusted forward, and stretched her open.

No, you never really knew what you were committed to, or how deep it would go, or how long it was going to be before you could take a breath again. Not until you were already committed.

In him, the flames and urgencies were billowed. His body strokes his cock back and forth, spreading her open, stretching her apart. Her hands grip his chest, and her eyes beseech him — I'm yours, please don't hurt me.

She matched his strokes with her hips, and willed herself to open to him, while her whimpering turns to sex-music and hushed outcries.

Once he was fully inside of her, he grinds his hips into hers, she wrapped her long legs around his waist, and rubs her hand across his cheek, "Yes Neil," she tells him through moans of aphrodisia. "Take me. I'm yours. Use me."

Taking her for her word, Neil took her, and used her with long powerful strokes, that emptied her until only his thick head is inside, and then powers back, stretching her, and grinding into her clit, sending waves of ardent pleasure through her body.

"I love you Neil. Anything you want, just ask me. Just take me."

She moved her right hand down between her legs, and makes motions like she is rubbing her clit, but doesn't actually do so. Her performance is for him, and his body responds to her seductions. There is no way she could stand any more stimulation. She would lose her mind. But it has the desired effect on Neil. And it added a thrill to her experience . It was a bit like teasing a tiger. When his level of urgent passion jumps as far as it did this morning, she feels a flash of primal fright — which coalesced the rising tides of rapture building an orgasm in her gut.

"Oh Neil, baby. God!" she cried, and bit her lip, and pulled her nipple hard with her left hand, stretching it out for him. Again his passion grows, and his rhythm increases the speed of her ravishment.

Her hands comb her fingers through her hair, and she bites and sucks at them as well, then rubs them down her body, arching her back, lifting her breasts to him. He rewards her succubus bewitchery with harder thrusts and a groan from his own, a deep rumbling which flushes her breasts with ecstasy and sets off her orgasm.

She pines and pleads, and begs, as her body is convulsed and twisted beyond her control. Her hips fuck him wildly, and her hands claw at his shoulders and neck.

She loses her eye contact with him, her only means of restraint on him, as her neck arched from a spasm of agony, "Dear god Neil! Fuck! You are so fucking good! Shit!" she cries through gritted teeth and a constricted throat. "Oh god, oh god," she pants, "I'm going to come again! Oh god, oh Fuck!"

This is why she never rubs her clitoris when she acts like she is masturbating for him. Her climaxes are already so out of control, rubbing her clit only served to end her performance too quickly. And once she loses her eye contact and begins to climax it never stops until he does. And without restrain, Neil is pushed hard by his lust. The orgasms cascade across her, as he pounds her like storm waves on a shore line.

There's no performance now. No control over her hands, her hips or her legs. Her body is his thrall.