Nowhere (Crimson Outlaws MC #1) Page 5

  Unfastening his hand around my neck, Nash slips it between our bodies. I gasp as it brushes my pussy on his way to unbutton his jeans. His zipper rips down at warp speed. “I’m … fuck … I dunno…” he mumbles to my mouth, unable to catch his breath. Nash’s trembling fingers move to my pants, and he fumbles with the button. “I need in … fuck … I don’t know what I’m … But I … need … shit.”

  Swallowing thickly, I stroke my lips over his. “I don’t know if this—”

  A violent pounding on the door snaps us out of our fog and into the present.

  “Fuck,” Nash curses in a harsh whisper, letting my feet down and stepping away, but not before he pecks my lips one last time. I smile shyly at his sweetness, and try to right myself as he readjusts the thickness in his jeans, then runs his hands through his messy hair.

  I can’t believe that just happened!

  The pounding ensues again, this time, followed by Kelly’s enraged voice. “Nash! I’m not going to sit out here all fucking night, while you play house with your damn sister, talking about shit that doesn’t even pertain to you. I want to leave! Now! Your strange little codependency will not interfere with our time. Do it on your own!” Pausing for a moment, her tone drops to a menacing snarl. “Gwen, you better let him out of there or I’m beating this damn door down.”

  Her words sober my fuzzy brain right up.

  Oh, hell no! She did not just say that to me!

  “I’d love to see you try, bitch!” I yell at the same time Nash replies calmly, “I’ll be out in a minute, Kelly. “

  “Oh no. You are not going to let your sister call me a bitch, are you?!” Kelly screeches like trailer trash from the Jerry Springer Show.

  I look to Nash, who’s shaking his head and smiling hugely, as his fingers ghost over his swollen lips. It’s sexy to see him still affected by what just happened. I know I am. God, he looks so fucking hot like this, doesn’t he? That heaving chest pumping beneath his t-shirt. Even those flush cheeks are hot. And the way he keeps swaying on his feet like he can’t stand still.

  Kelly makes an agitated sound outside the door, snapping Nash out of whatever’s going on in that head of his.

  “You chicks never make shit easy, do ya?” he whispers so only I can hear.

  Following by example, I run a shaky finger across my lips. They’re tender to the touch, and I can still taste him in my mouth. Jesus! That has never happened before. Ever.

  Shrugging nonchalantly, I reply, “What do you expect me to do when she acts like that?” I thumb point to the door at my back. “She’s not usually that much of a bitch.”

  “I don’t hear you coming!” Kelly screams, cementing my statement.

  The itch to tell her that he was close to coming when she interrupted us crawls under my skin, but I remain quiet, not wanting to make shit worse for Nash. Part of me realizes that I should probably be freaking the hell out about what might have happened. The other part doesn’t give a rat’s ass. Right now, I’m concentrating on the open-minded part of myself and staying away from the self-loathing, overthinking portion. It’s better this way. No need for overreacting. It’s not like we haven’t kissed before. I mean, he does have those damn bruises all over him thanks to me. So I shouldn’t be surprised that in the heat of the moment when we’re both emotional and needing a little comfort, that it might get carried away. That makes sense, right? I’m not insane for thinking that way, am I? Fuck … I don’t know.

  Nash takes a step in my direction and tucks an errant strand of my hair behind my ear. “She’s on edge ‘cause someone—you—left some deep scratches on my…” Instead of finishing his sentence, Nash lifts his shirt so I can inspect the damage.

  I gasp.

  Shit. It’s worse than I thought. Deep gouges from my nails mar his slightly hairy chest. I take a step forward, laying my hand over his skull inked pec. It’s soft and warm under my palm, as the rough scabs from my abuse graze my skin. Lower, where his thick six-pack ripples, tinier bruises sprout beneath the surface. I’m not sure how they got there, and I don’t want to ask, just in case I don’t want to know. On his shoulder, underneath the protection of his shirt, is the worst of it all. Sunken teeth and claw marks are embedded in his flesh. It’s like a wild animal inflicted the worst of its attack there. Kelly was right when she said he looked as if he’d been mauled. He does. Everywhere. And if it weren’t for his tattoos masking some of the darker bruises, I’m sure he’d look a helluva lot worse.

  Wincing at the sight, I scan the destruction one more time. Then I raise my eyes to Nash’s. “I’m so sorry.” It doesn’t matter how many times I apologize, it won’t repair the havoc I’ve already wreaked. Now, I really do feel like a monster.

  Nash peels my hands from his chest and brings them to his lips, giving them a tiny kiss. “I.” –Kiss— “Don’t.” –Peck— “Fucking.” –Nip with his teeth on my thumb. — “Care.” –Kiss— “How they look,” he finishes by kissing each pad of my fingers one by one.

  I lose all ability to speak as one kiss lingers longer than the next. Then he reaches my pinky, and I gasp a noiseless breath as he sucks it into his mouth, swirling his hot tongue around it before pulling away with a cunning smile. Releasing my hands, Nash carefully escorts them to my sides, his pleased eyes still glued to my dazed ones.

  “You were saying?” he prompts with a knowing wink.

  Christ almighty, what has gotten into him today? I’ve never seen him like this. How’s he acting playful and sexy when his girlfriend is standing right outside the door?

  Clearing my throat, I force myself to speak. “I’ll … I’ll bring over some first aid stuff later. To keep your scratches from getting infected.”

  He dismisses the notion with the wave of his hand. “Don’t bother. Kelly already took care of that.”

  She did?

  Speak of the devil. “Hello! I can hear you two whispering in there!”

  “Please go sit down, babe. I’m about done.” His tone is sickeningly gentle. I wanna puke.

  “Promise,” he adds.

  “Fine!” Kelly huffs in retort. “But I’m not sucking your dick tonight.”

  Great, that’s just what my parents need to hear.

  “That’s fine, babe. Now go sit down.”

  I can’t believe he's still so patient with her when I’d like to ram a two-by-four down her throat.

  “And I want a new pair of earrings,” she demands.

  “Fine.”

  “And a necklace to match.”

  “Okay. I’ll throw in a bracelet if you just go sit your ass down,” he snaps. It’s about damn time he’s starting to lose his cool.

  “Yes, baby. Anything for you.” Kelly’s tone is anything but sweet. She sounds like a sarcastic cunt.

  The sound of feet stomping away are music to my ears as I turn my attention back to Nash. He’s re-securing his hair into a low man-bun. “How in the hell do you put up with that? How much did you have to promise to buy her, for her to clean your cuts?” I sass.

  In all my life, I’ve never heard of a female blackmailing a guy into buying them stuff when they’re the ones acting like a gold digging thundercunt. Who does that?

  “It’s not like that,” Nash defends. It’s weak at best.

  Swelling with attitude, I cock my head to the side, hitching my hand on my hip. “It sure sounds like it. You hold me while a group of men pound my pussy like a punching bag and I tear into you like a savage. Yet, you never ask—”

  “Don’t even go there, Gwen,” Nash interjects, raising his voice. “I got your back when my brothers pound that pussy. There’s no shame in it. And the marks are a sweet reminder of all that pleasure you felt when you finally let yourself go. That makes me happy as hell. You gettin’ outta that head of yours,” he gestures to my noggin, “and succumbing to their dicks. There ain’t nothin’ more beautiful than that.”

  Uh huh. If it’s not shameful, then I was born yesterday as David Beckham and woke up this morning with
a sex change.

  My brashness kicks up a notch. “So you’re tryin’ to tell me that there’s nothing more beautiful than me being filled by ten different cocks? You can’t be serious.”

  He has to be joking. No one in their right mind would find that beautiful. Slutty? Yes. Appalling? Hell yes. Beautiful? Not unless you’re a sadistic son of a bitch. Just thinking about being stuffed by that many dicks makes me oddly turned on and disgusted at the same time. I’m ten ways of fucked up, I tell ya.

  Nash shakes his head in palpable irritation. “Your pleasure … happiness, means everything to me. And if it takes ten or twenty or thirty dicks once a month to make you happy, then that’s all I care about. You knew that years ago when you first came to me about it.”

  God, I remember that evening vividly. I’d been drinking at Nowhere, and as always, Nash was tending bar. Toa was seated there with us, shootin’ the shit. He always seems to chill with me when I’m there. He’s a friendly guy.

  On that particular night, I’d had a few too many, which inevitably killed any moral reserves I held in place. By the time my head started to spin, Toa had begun chatting about some threesome he’d had with another brother. I was fascinated with the story, so I asked him how it worked logistically. At that time in my life, I was using my vibrator three times a day. Hell. I was buying a new one every six weeks. Nothing was satisfying me. Not any man. Not any toy. Not even my fingers. Nothing. I couldn’t be fulfilled no matter how hard I tried. So when Toa openly spoke about double-teaming this chick, it turned me on to possibilities I’d never considered.

  Over the course of those hours, I don’t remember much of what I said. But I recall being enamored enough to ask an abundance of embarrassing questions, which at the time, didn’t bother me. It wasn’t until the next morning when I woke up in Nash’s bed with a hangover from hell that I recalled the conversations from the night before—where I had asked to be double-teamed at least once. With a cocky smirk on his face, Toa had slipped behind the bar with Nash to discuss it and came back with a definitive hell yes. Three nights later, my very first threesome took place with Nash standing in the room as my bodyguard, while Price and Toa fucked me senseless. It was singularly the most liberating sexual experience I had ever had up to that point. And it unleashed a part of me that’s never been tethered since.

  Over the months, the escapades grew from a threesome to a foursome. By the time I hit a fiver, I was desperate for Nash to be more involved. Sure, we’d kissed sporadically over the first few months. His mouth gave me that extra shot of thrill that my inner, dirty whore craved. However, as things wore on he started to hold me. To control more and more of my pleasure by dispensing duties for the brothers to follow. Soon, all of them were in tune with my body, and I began to comprehend that nothing would ever be the same. No man could satisfy me on his own. No toy could give me so many orgasms that I nearly went blind. It just wasn’t possible for anything to feel as good, even if I knew deep down, it was bad.

  Uh. I need to stop thinking about this. About that. It’s too much right now.

  Blinking rapidly, I clear my head. “It doesn’t gross you out to be there?” I ask because we’ve never discussed this before. After the first night they agreed to the threesome, Nash and I have never expressed our feelings on the matter. Today is a first of many, it seems.

  Nash scowls at me, his brows pinched, lip curled. “No. Your body is beautiful. And sex is just sex. I am a man, Gwen. I know the difference between fucking and making love.”

  I know the difference, too. At least, I think I do. I’ve never actually been in love before. The desire to be in love, and to have to worry about my heart being ripped from my chest when it didn’t work out has never been important. After what I went through raising Trish, it didn’t seem logical. I’m too busy with work, anyhow. And yes, I do recognize what Nash said about my body being beautiful. I’m just choosing not to dwell on that, or the fact that it’s making those butterflies take flight again. I wish those damn things would just go away. Is that too much to ask?

  Done with this conversation, I wave dismissively. “I can’t talk about this anymore.” Grabbing the door handle, I unlock it, then pry it open just a smidge. “You can go buy your girlfriend some expensive jewelry now.” I try not to sound snobby about it. Although, I’m pretty sure I fail when Nash’s face screws into an even bigger scowl.

  “Don’t be like that, Gwennie,” he speaks softly, resting his hand atop mine that’s holding the knob. The sensation of his skin touching me shoots a bolt of lightning up my arm, yet I choose to ignore this feeling, too. There’s just too many damn emotions to go through in one day. I’m all tapped out.

  “Just go.” Refusing to look at him, I stare at my sock covered feet instead. They’re cute with pink, fuzzy giraffes encasing them.

  “Alright,” Nash sighs, giving my cheek a quick peck that leaves a lasting imprint that I’ll feel for days. “I love you,” he adds, sullenly.

  Damn. Talk about a brutal shot to the heart.

  “Uh huh … and I love you, too.” I play it up like I’m pissy, instead of how I actually feel right now, which I’m too chicken shit to tell you either.

  On the way out the door, Nash doesn’t say another word. Lifting my head just after he crosses the threshold, I watch him walk away. An ache in my chest amplifies with each steady step that separates us. Why did Kelly have to come here today? If she hadn’t, then none of this would have happened as it had. Or, I don’t think it would’ve. I guess we’ll never know.

  Nash’s retreating back turns the corner at the end of the hall. For a second, I listen to Kelly give him hell about wanting to leave. But he scolds her, telling her that he needs to speak to Trish first. Words that I can’t decipher are exchanged between niece and uncle. Then my parents say their goodbyes. All the while I stand in the doorway, staring straight into a wall of air. Air that seems to take my breath away as the feeling of loss consumes me. The stifling emotion only seems to swell to a whole new level when I hear Kelly and Nash depart with the slam of the front door.

  Why did he have to leave? Why did I tell him to go? Why did we kiss? Fuck! Why did today happen at all?

  Dad’s tall, lean frame steps into the end of the vacant hallway. There’s a sad smile playing on his lips. “They’re gone, sweetheart. You can come out now. I’m sorry she acted that way. I tried to stop her,” he says, running a hand over his bald head. I know he would have tried to stop her. What little good it did. Nash is gone, I’m sad, and all I want to do is curl up in a ball and watch junk TV with my family for the rest of the day.

  Hope your day turns out better than mine.

  Popcorn with extra butter, here I come.

  No more school!

  Hallelujah!

  I’ve been living in end-of-the-school-year Hell for the past two weeks. Two weeks of nonstop grading, cleaning out my classroom, restless high school students, and end of year exams. It’s a special kind of torture. For kids, they love it, because that means school is almost out. Teachers love and dread it in equal parts. Today was my final day, just as Tuesday was the student’s last. I’ve been inputting final grades into my computer before taking a nice, long weekend off. A weekend that I’ve been looking forward to since last summer. It’ll be my very own sweet release. I can’t wait to take off and catch some wind. There’s nothing better than that.

  Although, right now, I guess it’s time to tell you that Nash and I haven’t been as friendly as of late. After the Sunday incident that took place weeks ago, we’ve kept it cordial with basic texts. The times we do see each other, it seems strained. I’m not sure if he’s mad at me, or if I’m supposed to be peeved off at him. Honestly, I have no clue what’s going on between us, and it sucks. We’re growing apart. Not closer. Kelly has still attended weekend luncheons with Nash and is clingier than ever. Trish finally brought her boyfriend over last Sunday. It went over better than I expected. Nash kept a lid on his obvious irritation, and nobody had a blow-up. H
owever, as soon as lunch had ended, Nash told Kelly they were going to go fuck, and they left. Yup, he said it right in front of my parents, and Trish. He can be such a peach sometimes, can’t ya tell?

  So, yeah, that’s been my past couple of weeks. It’s not very exciting. I’ve been too exhausted to do much more than go to work, come home to my empty house, chat a few seconds with my neighbors Asher and Justin, eat something horrible for dinner, masturbate a handful of times, take a shower, and then off to bed I go—wash, rinse, and repeat. It’s rather mundane, I know. But with the summer here, my life’s about to change drastically. This weekend commences the illegal street bike racing circuit. It’s a bi-weekend event throughout the entire season, here on the East Coast. I fell into it a few years back when I started shopping around for a street bike on Craigslist. The man I bought my souped up Ducati from was a former racer and introduced me to a group of his buddies who were still heavily involved in the scene. All of them are men, which appealed to me the most. I’ve always loved being around dicks more than chicks. Nothing against women, but most of them don’t get me. They’re too focused on how they look, instead of how they feel. They try to be who they’re not. Yes, I guess I do, too, on occasion. However, I still try to be myself, by embracing who I am and what I enjoy. And one of those things just happens to be racing. It’s a fucking thrill.