Page 13 of Demon
Her lips were smooth and plush, flesh plucking against me, her tongue hot and wet, and each swipe sent me wilder. Desperate to punish her, desperate to dominate. Yet she fought back with every movement, pushing her mouth against me. And then her fingers scraped up the back of my head, fingernails scratching my scalp. I stepped up the last step, pushing her back against the door so our bodies were forced together, my swelling cock pushing against the bottom of her stomach. I knew she could feel it through my jeans and the scant clothes she wore. So, I pressed harder. A promise.
Shit. I could just fuck her here. Against her own door. For all the street to see. It would be so easy to peel those short shorts down her legs and plunge into her till she woke the neighbours up. Too easy.
I broke away, my breath coming heavy like I’d just finished a marathon.
“You know, you could invite me in?”
“I could,” she answered, her voice husky.
“So?”
She smiled. For the first time. And it was fucking beautiful. Those deep smile lines suddenly connected, her face lighting up, her heart-shaped features accentuated, and the thick scar thinning as it was pulled over her cheeks. Then the door clicked and suddenly she stepped backwards, slipping inside, and closing the chipped painted barrier in my face before I had even had a chance to react.
*****
“How did the club night atTroublego?” my father asked the next night during Church.
“Lived up to its name,” I grunted, tiredness swarming my brain.
The last thing I needed was a club meeting after an all-nighter and then a full day of work. I was over-dosing on caffeine just to keep my eyelids prized away from my eyeballs. It looked like my dad could have done without church too. He was agitated. Shifting his weight continually in his chair, unable to get comfortable. He looked paler than usual. A sickly hangover looking grey. That’s what it was. While the younger members were out on club business, the older ones had probably been out all night too.
“What happened?”
“Just some kid touching up a back patch. Don’t think he’ll do that again.”
“Don’t tell me. Brie?”
“Aye. Mental bastard.” I nodded, rolling my eyes at the memory of the crazy, middle-aged president of the Angels and Demons MC, named after his love of time-served French prostitutes.
The men round the table broke into a chorus of laughs, my father with them, until the cough he’d been nursing for the last few weeks took hold. He stood up suddenly, bolting out the door and down the corridor towards the toilets, the barking sound of the cough growing quieter.
“He still got that cold?” I glanced at Indie, watching my brother’s brow furrow, the greying eyebrows drawing together.
“Seems that way.”
We waited patiently for his return, not making a fuss over his sudden exit when he sat to resume the meeting.
“We got a good chunk of quid from last night. The investment in Tez is paying off.”
“It was a gamble to invest outside the club members, Demon,” my father noted, “one that could have gone to shit. Let’s not do too many. Speaking of investments…. Magnet, how are you getting on?”
“Good boss. Got the product coming in the next week and have a unit earmarked to calve it up a bit.”
“Who’s doing the cutting?”
“The prospects. Need to keep this well under wraps. They want to earn their patches. They’ll work for it and keep their traps shut.”
My father nodded, stifling a cough as he tried to keep another round of it at bay.
“Good plan,” he said eventually, between sips of water.
I watched him carefully. At the way his chest heaved in between breaths, at the sickly pale of his skin and the thin sheen of sweat misting his forehead. He really needed to quit the late-night drinking sessions. But who was I to comment on his lifestyle when I hadn’t had any sleep in the last thirty-six hours?
Chapter Seven
Ciara
It was dull this morning. The sunlight hadn’t assaulted me as I slept like it had the last few days. Instead, a dim grey light filtered through the gaps in the curtains. My head thumped furiously. Sleep had been becoming more and more sparse with the extra shifts I’d been picking up. But for once I wasn’t searching my pockets for change just so I could buy a loaf of bread to last till payday. The wages fromTroublewere good, and even last night, when I was an hour late leaving, Terry gave us extra as a ‘thank you’ for sticking around. The tips were generous too, and I was learning to engage with the punters, because the more I was civil, the more money I got in tips.