The Death Lords, Volumes 1-3: His Wild Desire, Her Secret Pleasure, Their Private Need (12 page)

Unlatching the door, I open it slightly standing with my hand curled around the frame. His wide frame nearly fills the entire hallway. He looks too big for the trailer and probably too big for my life.

“Your walls are thin so I couldn’t help hearing your conversation about your residency problems. I’ve got some solutions for you.”

“You really are a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?” I wonder how many troubles he has shouldered in his lifetime. Maybe he is wired that way, but it can still be a burden. His arms are crossed and he looks as strong as a tree and every part of me wants to lean into him.

Somehow he senses this because he’s inside, kicking the door shut with his foot before I can take my next breath. He lifts me flush against him and turns so that I’m sandwiched between the particleboard door and his hard chest.

“We’re doing too much talking and thinking and not enough doing,” he growls into my hair. With his thick erection pressed against my ever-dampening panties and his mouth covering mine, it’s hard to think at all, let alone too much.

He rubs against me in a slow roll of his hips and his mouth takes a leisurely exploration of my jawline up to my temple and then back to claim my lips. His tongue is everywhere, caressing the roof of my mouth, the sides of my cheeks and rubbing along the top and underside of my own tongue. There isn’t a space inside that he’s not touching at least once and then his caresses turn to heated stabs. My legs hook around his hips and I clutch at his bare shoulders, both riding him and hanging on for dear life. Knowing what’s behind his jeans makes this over-the-clothes humping some kind of delicious torture.

He breaks the connection and I exult in hearing his ragged breath next to my ear. He swings me around and places me on my small bed and steps back. In two quick jerks, he’s nude before me—like a master artist’s sketch come to life in perfect proportion of muscle, sinew and tendon. His cock is large, hard and wet at the tip. I lick my lips anticipating the feel of it inside me, stretching me until I’m full up with Judge Harrison.

His fist closes around it and the bulbous head seems to fatten and widen. “A man is most vulnerable when he’s in a woman’s mouth. She could bite off his dick or crush his balls. And the moment when the orgasm pushes from the base of the spine and outward, she could ask for anything and he’d give it to her. Money, life, death, anything. It’s the moment of Samson on everlasting repeat.”

“Are you trying to talk me into giving you a blow job as a way for you to apologize to me?” I ask incredulously.

“Put your mouth around me and see if I’m not telling you the truth. There’s no point during sex where a woman owns a man more than when her mouth is around his dick.”

Judge places his hands behind his neck as if he is preparing to be arrested. “I won’t lay a finger on you until you ask me to.”

My mouth waters at the thought of that big cock in my mouth. I reach for his waist and at my first touch, the muscles of his hard stomach contract. While I can tell from his erection that he’s into it, the sight of his body reacting to the simple contact of my fingers on his torso pulls a corresponding tightening between my legs.

I’ve felt that thick monster in my body and now I’m going to be able to put my tongue on it, suck his length, and breathe in the musky smell of his privates. His feet are braced on either side of mine and while his hands are behind his neck, he still exudes power and presence.

And soon I’m going to have the very essence of him spilling down my throat. He’s so right…and yet wrong. This is a position of control but submitting to him, allowing him to not only direct me but call for my orgasms from the deepest well of my being is also powerful. It’s something he’s hinted at being willing to do, something I’ve longed for but never been fully able to articulate. Or rather there hasn’t been a partner I’ve really trusted.

Judge oozes confidence, but it’s not the phony arrogance of a guy with a fat wallet or plastic good looks. It comes from inside him. The way that he walks with long strides that eat up the pavement. How he sat in the passenger seat of my Mini Cooper with nary a complaint. He doesn’t need to drive to show off his manliness. He doesn’t engage in unnecessary displays of testosterone.

I don’t need his submission. I want him to demand mine.

Judge

As Pippa stares up at me, wide-eyed with longing, I feel my knees to start to buckle. The plea for me to take charge couldn’t be more clear if she’d shouted it out.

Voice hoarse, throat full up with emotion I’m not fully ready to acknowledge, I tell her, “I got you, baby girl.”

I clutch her heavy fall of curls in my hand, and jerk her head back. Her mouth falls open as if I’d pulled a lever. My darling girl wants a man in charge in the bedroom. It’s what turns her on. It’s what she’s been searching for.

“Grab my wrist,” I order. “Tell me how much of this you can take. You let go and I’ll stop feeding you my cock.”

She reaches behind her to grab my wrist, the hair tangling over both our hands.

Gripping my heavy erection, I guide myself into the hot cavern of her mouth. I push in slowly, enjoying the smooth glide across her tongue. I pause before reaching the back of her throat. “Show me you understand.”

She grips my wrist harder. I push in another inch. She doesn’t release me.

In measured movements, I press forward until my cockhead hits the back of her throat. “You with me, baby?” I manage to ask. The urge to fuck her throat is threatening to take over. I pinch the base of my shaft, the pain helping to push back the red haze of arousal.

She squeezes my wrist and I almost shoot off then. With her unspoken permission, I thrust down the back of her throat, completely engulfed.

“Jesus,
fuck,
baby,” I groan. My hand tightens in her hair but I keep the pressure at the root, staving off my ejaculation because I want this to last. My pace is smooth and unhurried as I enjoy every bit of friction pulling out of her tight throat. The pleasure is intense—almost painfully so.

She sucks me hungrily with tightly pursed lips, a flat tongue and an open throat. I’m undone by her eagerness. My ass muscles flex and tighten as I drill into her mouth, down that tight passage.

Her eyes are fixed on the thick length of me moving in and out of her mouth and my breath catches in my chest. Does she get it? Does she feel the power shift? Does she know that she owns me? I thought I saw in her eyes the need to submit, the desire to let all her worries stack outside the bedroom door.

She moans then and the vibration and sound nearly do me in. I only allow myself a few more strokes before pulling out entirely.

She makes a distressed sound and grips my wrist. “I didn’t tap out.”

The hoarseness of her words makes me shudder. My cock did that. Shit, I’m an animal.

“I know, baby, you did good. Real good, but I wanna taste my girl’s pussy.” I place a hand in the middle of her sternum and push her onto her back. Her hands flutter down around the front of her panties.

“God, Judge, these are my ugliest panties. I put them on to keep you away.”

I laugh and nudge her hands away with my nose. “These panties are hot as fuck because you’re wearing them. If you were wearing burlap, I’d think it was the sexiest thing ever. Move those fingers so I can eat you out proper or I’m going to tie you up.”

Her hands fist lightly at my warning and then relax. I hide my smile against her thigh. The idea of being tied up turns her on. “I can feel your smugness. It’s a palpable thing. Like a third party, really.”

I burst out laughing. “Baby girl, we are going to have so much fun.”

And we do.

Well, I had fun. She orgasmed. Three times.

•••

The next morning I wake with a crick in my back and an armful of warm woman. Pippa’s body is basically blanketing me which I don’t mind in the least. My cock is screaming for immediate attention and her hot pussy is a leg lift away. Reaching over, I lift my phone to check the time.

I could have a quick fuck now and possibly make Pippa late for her job or visit her over the noon hour. While not a fan of delayed gratification, I know that Schmidthead is aching for an excuse to get her fired.

I curl up and shift her onto the bed. She’s still out like a light. Either I wore her out or she sleeps like the dead all the time. I look forward to getting to know which it is. Out in the kitchen I find Morgen waiting by his bowl. I fetch him clean water and another can of food. After he gobbles down his breakfast, I let him out to run the property and do his business.

Inside the refrigerator I find a lot of fruit and yogurt. Since I don’t have a cooking bone in my body, I dump some yogurt into a bowl, wash a few strawberries and stick them on a plate. Breakfast is served.

I lick some of the yogurt from the plastic bin and grimace.

“This shit is terrible,” I mutter but by the number of tubs she’s got stacked in the fridge, she must love it. Still…maybe the shit has gone bad. I don’t want Pippa to get sick. Rather than risk it, I trash everything and wash up. In a bin on the counter, I find bread and I eat two slices before going into her bathroom and doing
my
business. We’ll get breakfast in town.

After washing up, I pull on my jeans and T-shirt and shrug into my cut. I make no effort to stifle the sounds of my morning but Pippa has not stirred her hot ass an inch.

The time on the clock indicates that she needs to get up and going soon if I know anything about women. Maybe I should’ve given her a quick fuck. I toss the sheet to the side and unzip my pants. My dick is happy at this new development.

Leaning over the bed, I spread her legs and stroke her pretty pussy. That generates a moan and a shift on the bed. Her hand slips underneath her body and starts to rub her clit.

Good enough for me. I test her readiness and find her slick and hot. From my back pocket, I pluck the last of my three condoms and cover myself. “Open up, baby girl.”

She might be half asleep, but she responds to my commands just fine. Her legs part and her ass hitches up making a perfect target. As I slide into her, I hum to myself. It’s going to be a good morning.

She rubs herself as I thrust into her.

“Got any toys?”

She mumbles something into the sheets. I’ll take that as a yes.

Her pert ass is begging for attention. I circle the rosette and then dip in. She responds by shoving her ass back and deepening the penetration.

“Anyone have you here?”

Her head shakes no. She’s either too tired or too aroused to talk, probably a combination of the two.

“You’re going to enjoy being full. I’m not into sharing but a toy in your cunt and me in your ass is going to make you come so hard you’ll see stars.”

I stroke her ass with my thumb and fuck her hard with my cock. Her hand works harder and faster and I match that rhythm until she’s convulsing around me, mewling her release into the sheets.

Nothing like starting the day with a shit-hot orgasm. I feel loose and ready for anything.

Pippa, on the other hand, is a beast until she’s had some caffeine in her. The death glare she gave me when I admitted I didn’t make any would’ve felled a lesser man.

“Not a morning person, are you,” I observe over the coffee she’s poured. Her prim black skirt and cream and black polka dotted blouse presents a much more demure image than the one I prefer to remember. Either the one where she sat on the bed and took my cock down her throat or when she was straddling my face last night, pulling her titties tight as I fucked her with my tongue. Course this morning wasn’t bad either, what with staring at her creamy ass and watching myself penetrate both holes.

She grunts and sips her coffee. Her hair’s a little wild. She brushed it, took out a wand-shaped iron, looked at the clock and put it away. I like it but know better than to say anything. Besides, I need to pick my battles and this next one I need to win without making her feel like she’s giving up her independence.

“You need to pack a bag,” I say.

“Why’s that?”

“Because your bed is too damn small for me.” Going the sex route is both truthful and less damaging to her pride than bringing up Schmidthead and the issue of her housing status.

She gives me a hard look. “Sleeping in your bed isn’t going to make that residency requirement go away.”

I like that—how she faces her issues head on instead of skirting around a problem. I need to give her a helluva lot more credit.

“True, but it’s a solution that allows you to flip off Schmidthead in more ways than one.”

She rinses her mug out and places it in the dishwasher before responding. “Am I being targeted by Eric because of you or because I turned him down?”

“Probably a bit of both.” I take care of my own cup because while I don’t know a thing about cooking, I’ve washed and dried plenty of dishes in my long years of bachelorhood. Gesturing for her to proceed to her bedroom, I continue, “He’s a guy with a small dick and a big gun. He uses that badge to compensate for a shitty personality and bad technique.”

“And you know this how?” she asks, watching as I root around for a suitcase. I find one in the back of her closet.

“Girls at the club talk.” Throwing the case down, I wave for her to gather her things.

She reaches over and pulls the case away from me. “Residency is more than sleeping in someone’s bed. It’s having an address to call your own.”

“Right. I’ve already called the cable company to get your name added on the address label. They said it’d take seven to ten business days. I told them to overnight it.”

It’s easy to grab the case from her slack hands and even easier to start throwing shit from her small dresser into the case. I zip the case shut and exit the bedroom. A quick glance behind me shows her mouth is still ajar.

I don’t mind catching her off guard. I feel like those times will be rare so I’m going to savor this one. Outside, I put the case in her toy car. An old lady or two or maybe Chels, if it’s not weird for her, can come out and get the rest of her stuff. Morgen is lying in the sun, panting like he’s gone hard and needs a breather. When I slam Pippa’s trunk shut, Morgen moves toward the door of the trailer. She has him well trained.

“You coming?” I ask, opening the door to let Morgen in. Pippa gathers her purse and phone and stomps out.

“I don’t have time to argue with you because I need to get to the library, but we aren’t done discussing this.” She opens the driver’s door, climbs in and shuts it with a bang.

“My son Wrecker just got out of prison. He spent three years in a medium security facility for killing a white supremacist in self-defense. Everyone present gave statements that it was self-defense and the prosecutor could have chosen not to pursue, but Schmidthead banged the drum loud and long until the prosecutor felt that he had no choice but to file charges. Yeah, it’d be fair to say we’ve got issues. Didn’t know that would blow back on you but it has, so I’m going to do my part to make sure you stay our town librarian.”

“Oh.” She’s pissed off but not at me anymore. The pursed lips and narrowed eyes are focused forward in Schmidthead’s direction.

I have her drop me off at the garage. Wrecker is already there. We’re working on a couple of projects at the shop. I’ve got a 1965 Stingray in the middle of a restoration and 1968 Shelby Mustang getting an overhaul. That last one is close to the paint stage. I’m going to be sorry to see it roll out. I love those Shelbys. Pippa would look sweet in one. I don’t know how long I can sleep with a woman who drives a Mini Cooper.

“Wrecker, office,” I call out when I finally stroll in. He wipes his hands on a rag and tosses it on the table. Most of us wear a work uniform of blue coveralls but Wrecker told me that the cover-up reminded him too much of prison. He wears jeans and a T-shirt and no one gives him shit about it, least of all me.

I drop into a cheap rolling office chair I’d picked up during a county swap meet.

“What’s up?” He kicks the door shut behind him and leans against the edge of the desk. The office has two main functions—billing and parts inventories. I eye the paperwork unfavorably. One of these days I need to hire someone to take control of this office.

Turning away from the pile of invoices I need to work through, I get right to the point. “I’m sleeping with a woman who turned Schmidthead down. He’s none too happy about it. I’m sending you and Chels to Minneapolis to get some parts for the Stingray.”

Predictably, Wrecker is angry about this. “What the fuck, Dad? I’m not running out of town like a scared rabbit. Schmidt can watch me all he wants. Maybe the shitstain will learn something.”

“I’m more worried about the two of you being targets. He’s mad and he’s going to want his pound of flesh. No doubt he’s got the skinhead club on speed dial telling them to send down some expendable punks. I don’t want Chels caught in the cross fire or you to have to palm a gun which—as we both know—would violate your parole.”

He scowls and curls his fingers into fists. It only takes a second before one of those fists is punching the metal filing cabinet behind him. “That asshole. One day we’re taking him down,” he vows.

“One day, but it’s not going to be today or this week. We don’t have any solid evidence that he’s involved with the Eighty-Eight Henchmen or anyone else running meth along the river. Until we do, Schmidthead is untouchable.” I pick up my cell. I need to call Easy, one of my enforcers, to set up watch outside the library—or maybe inside. “When you two get back, I want you to think about moving into the apartment above the Cut-n-Curl. It’s shitty now but in a few weekends, we can have it fixed up.”

“You serious about this woman?” Wrecker gapes at me, rubbing a hand across his sore knuckles.

“You sleeping with my stepdaughter?”

He grins, unembarrassed by this. “Can’t wait to tell Chels about our new mom.”

“Get out of here, fool,” I laugh.

Wrecker whistles as he exits the office. I’ve got my kids out of danger and out of my house.

It’s still a good morning.

Doesn’t stay that way, of course, but it started out good.