Priest - Innocent Page 2

  The full beams of his brown eyes were on me. My breath caught. He called, “Beanie? More coffee, prospect.”

  ‘Prospect’ was a thing to do with motorcycle clubs. It meant that Beanie was a part of the same club as Priest. Or he had applied for membership. Something like that.

  I don’t know why, but I felt safe with Priest. I don’t usually open up to strangers. Coming from a family background like mine, I didn’t open up all that much even with close friends. Priest seemed different.

  The way he looked at me, it was like he could hold me with his eyes. He listened. Really listened, like what I said would matter to him. I told him about Laurent, about how his dreams of the big-time. How he practically dragged me to Boulder.

  “Boulder fucking Colorado for Chrissakes.” I said, my head slowly shaking, “Man was in his mid thirties—he said—told me he wants to be a big-time gambler, ‘whale of a whale,’ whatever that’s supposed to mean, and so he drags me to fucking Boulder?”

  “I didn’t think there was any gambling in Boulder.”

  “There isn’t. There’s one casino. One, and that’s out on Highway ninety-three. Laurent thought he was going to clean up due to the scarcity of opportunity.”

  Priest’s grin flickered up, “And did he?”

  “Um… no.” Priest and me, we were light, easy together.

  So before I knew it, I’d told him how I came to be stuck here and that I wasn’t exactly sure how I was going to get out.

  His eyes smiled and he took my hand as he said, “So maybe Laurent’s in Boulder or maybe he’s not. Are you in a big hurry to be somewhere in particular, or are you just looking for a way out of Peaceable?”

  “I have to do something. I have no money and I think it’s a pretty safe bet that I have no place to live.”

  He thought something over for a moment. Then he said, “We got a space for a bargirl in the clubhouse.”

  “A whatnow?”

  “I didn’t think it would be your kind of work.” He was testing me. I saw it in the pools of his eyes. He was cool and serious on the outside but, if you looked hard enough, there was a little spark that was wicked and playful.

  “I don’t have a kind of work,” I told him, “and I need to acquire one pretty fast. Would you tell me what it involves?”

  He sat back in his chair. “Mainly it involves a girl, in a bar. The bar then fills up with bikers.” He chewed on his lip.

  I said, “And then the girl does the same, is that the idea?”

  He said, “I’m thinking it would be way too wild for you.”

  I asked him, “What makes you say that?”

  He tugged the lobe of his ear, “You look more the college-educated, sophisticated professional type.” His eyes narrowed as they swept me up and down, “I don’t know how you’d be, down among the lowlifes on the outside of town.”

  “You call this a town?” Sometimes my mouth gets away from me. “How can you tell when you’re outside from when you’re inside?”

  His eyebrow lifted, slowly. He was a man how made you just want to jam your fingers in his hair and muss him up. Not that he wasn’t mussed already. I just felt like I wanted him to be mussed up my way. Or by me. Maybe it was the mussing I was thinking about.

  He asked me if I’d done bar work and I told him no, but I knew how to make a Margueritta, a Bloody Mary and a Moscow Mule. “A masters in mixology is not required,” he said, “The orders are nearly all beer or bourbon.”

  I said, “I can carry a tray.”

  I saw him hold back a grin. He asked, “So, can you do math in your head when you’re off your face?”

  “I don’t get off my face.”

  His eyebrow lifted again. “Know the square root of 69?”

  Sixty-nine. Cute. I could have said, The square root of sixty-nine? That’ll be the hypotenuse of me, hanging upside down off of your shoulders. But I didn’t say that. I said, “It’s going to be eight point three something-something.”

  He watched me. I said, “I’m pretty sure the bikers I met in Boulder would think a square root would mean you got fucked with a two-by-two.”

  He chuckled at that. He had one of those chuckles, once you hear it, you want to hear it again and again.

  I said, “I nearly said ‘a two-by-four,’ but that would have been stoopid.”

  And he said, “Because it’s not square,” and it was like we’d rehearsed it a hundred times. He looked like he was a man who had come upon a plan. I hoped it looked like the plan that I was beginning to see in my own head.

  A hunch told me that one skillset I have could be pretty valuable in a bikers’ club. I thought maybe I’d keep quiet about that for the time being, though. Keep it up my sleeve, so to speak. In the hole.

  Chapter 6

  “IT’S FORTY BUCKS A night plus tips. Most girls make a whole lot more in tips than they do in the wage.”

  “I’m guessing the tips come for services that go beyond pouring drinks and carrying a tray.” He didn’t say anything.

  I told him, “I want this clear from the start, OK? I don’t sell sexual services and I wont. I’ll do what I’ll do, or not. Whatever I do it will be my choice and for my own reasons.”

  His face hid a smile. I chewed the inside of my cheek, trying to make up my mind. I asked him, “Is there an interview process?”

  His lip curled in a leer. “A try out, maybe. A practical test.”

  I knew what I wanted to to. I’d wanted to do it since I saw him. I felt like it was wrong and I didn’t want him to think I would do anything like that to get a job. Although the truth could have been that, if anything, wanting the job would just give me the excuse to do what I wanted to do anyway.

  My voice was hoarse. “You want to know what I can do?”

  His eyes smoldered. “Could be the clincher.” He stood. He was big enough to take my breath away. I saw the bulge hardening in his jeans. My chair squeaked as I stood, unsteadily.

  Priest put out his hand and I let him lead me out back. Beanie’s eyes as he watched had just a little hint of sad puppy about them. My heart swelled and beat for him, but I also wanted to tell him, See? That’s what I meant when I said I was too old for you.

  And just then I wished that I wasn’t.

  Out in back, Priest’s evil grin made me want to say something about his name. But I had something else to do that was more urgent. He held my jaw and looked into my eyes. His hand ran down the side of my throat. I watched, breathless as his eyes raked over me and his tongue moistened his lips.

  He leaned back against the peeling, rusty paint of the cement wall. And he pulled me to him. I pressed on his chest, through his t-shirt. the beat of his heart and the swell of breath in his chest made me pant hard. My teeth sank into the side of my lip as I dragged his t-shirt out of his jeans and up, over his chest.

  His pecs and abs made me almost groan. My lips sank onto the glistening bulges of his tattooed pecs and he grabbed my hair as I drank in the scent of him. My fingers slipped down to find the rivet buttons of his fly. Behind the denim I could feel the swelling heat of his hard rod. Inside his soft, snug white cotton, a fat armadillo was uncoiling and straining up to meet me.

  My fingers found and traced the shape of it. They always seem bigger when they’re behind some cloth. I gasped. This one was definitely an XL. I slid my hand down the lengthening rod and cupped his goody-sac. The head reached most of the way to the crook of my elbow.

  Nibbling down his silky skin and over the humps of his abs I told him, “I have two good reasons to get your cock in my throat right now.”

  “What are the reasons?”

  My tongue touched his navel, “One is that I kind of like you, cowboy.”

  I licked down, into the front of his tighty-whities. His voice was thickening. “What’s the other reason?”

  “The other reason is none of your damn business.”

  I reached inside. He was so hot and so hard. The pulse of it made my mouth water. I cupped my hand over
the firm, silky head. My teeth nipped the skin by his little furrow. The scent of him made me crazy.

  I slid to my knees and slipped my lips over the head of his cock. He pulsed in my mouth and I waited to savor it, feeling the raw, animal strength of him. Loving how he vibrated with energy.

  My nipples scratched inside my t-shirt and I hugged his powerful thighs to feel the heat of them pressed against my breasts. With the tip of my tongue, I licked him from behind his sac, all the way up the seam, slowly till I reached his head.

  I licked all around the head and slurped it into my wet mouth. My lips slid off then onto the side of the shaft and slowly back down. His hand came to the back of my head. With the backs of my fingers I lifted it gently off and raised one finger, Not yet.

  He got it. I felt him anticipate the anticipation. His beating muscle sent shivers of thrill through me, but the charge that I got from the feeling of connection was much bigger.

  I held my mouth over him, but barely touching him. Letting him feel my breath. While I blew slowly along the length of his stiffening pole, my fingers lightly touched the backs of his thighs, the crease under his buttocks, and, especially, his sac.

  When he made a faint groan, I lightly traced the furrows at the sides of his hips. Despite the urge to grab him there, to pull his hot member hard into the back of my throat, I let my fingers barely touch him.

  His pulse rose and hardened. So did his cock. With my breath and the touch of my nails I told him the story of a blowjob. In slow motion, and rising in detail.

  He got the idea as his hands hovered over my head. I could feel him at the edge of my hair, like he could fee the shape of my mouth through the warm air around his cock.

  There’s no time this stops getting better. The longer you can both hold back, the more intense it becomes. As soon as you both get it, it’s a contest for who cracks first. Who can’t hold out any longer. Who has to grab hold, make contact hard and go for it.

  The skin of his hips and the tops of his thighs vibrated under my fluttering touch. His breath thickened. He thickened.

  He was firm. Solid. Hot. He moaned as his hands shook around my head.

  Taught cables of muscle in his thighs wound and tensed. His buttocks rolled and clenched under the feathery brush of my hands. When my fingers felt at the cleft behind his balls and hovered between his cheeks, insinuating by his star, his mast swelled and pulsed.

  I lost it. My fingers probed his ass and my mouth plunged on his cock. I dove. I pushed down, hot and wet until my lips hit his pubic bone. His hands seized me. One hand plunged into my hair, gripped and twisted as it shoved my head harder onto him.

  The other went to my wrists, behind his ass. He tried to pull my hands away. But his heart wasn’t in it. I backed off. His thighs spread as he torpedoed into my throat. My mouth flooded with a sweet overflow of thin saliva. The dark taste of him filled my head as I swallowed him.

  His hand, my head and his cock synced perfectly. Our beat rose and grew together. Finally I grabbed him with Aphrodite’s handles. He sunk into me. I moaned and cried out. But it made no sound, only vibration along the hot, sawing rail of his cock.

  His hips drove into my face. Rippling rings swelled along his shaft and a fountain of hot love-lava erupted into my mouth. I took him deep. I sucked, licked and slurped. I slipped my lips and slathered my tongue on the ridges of his pulsing pump.

  I didn’t lose a drop.

  It took him a moment before he said, “Well, it’s a promising start.”

  Chapter 7

  AS WE RETURNED TO the diner I looked up at him and asked, “Will the bar work be a lot wilder than that, biker?”

  “Oh, yeah. A lot wilder than that,” but his eyes were telling a different story.

  “Did you want to find out if my blowjob skill were up to the standards expected in your clubhouse?”

  He laughed. “If you ask most bikers the difference between a good blowjob and a bad blowjob, they’re going to telly you a good blowjob is one they got and a bad blowjob is one they didn’t get.”

  “So, what then?”

  “You need balls to work in a biker bar. Assuming you want to survive, that is. I needed to see if you’ve got balls.”

  “So, whats the conclusion?”

  “You want to work in a biker bar?”

  “I want to make some money.”

  “You’re hired.”

  “Ok,” I told him, “Lead on.”

  “One thing, you’re hired until you’re not. You’re on probation.”

  “Till when?”

  “Till you’re not.”

  I saw Beanie watch through the window as I clambered onto the back of Priest’s Harley.

  Chapter 8

  ALL OF MY PREVIOUS experience with bikers was one night. The night that Laurent’s ‘Perfect craps system’ failed big time. He probably got his ‘perfect system’ on the internet for five bucks. Still, after it crashed horribly, he thought he’d chase down his losses, ‘Gotta stay on the steer,’ he said.

  He found a table of bikers playing poker. For some reason, Laurent thought they would be an easy pond to fish. I don’t know why he didn’t want to try out his game on the half-dozen too-rich, drunk and entitled college kids wearing soggy and stained cashmere in ridiculous colors. I didn’t think to ask him. He never appreciated me giving him pointers. Especially not in the casino.

  So, Laurent’s chip stack slimmed south and before long he was down to the table and he got to putting up markers on things he didn’t even own. Even behind their shades, I could tell that the bikers had seen clear through Laurent.

  They knew they weren’t going to take the keys of an Escalade off him. They wouldn’t be going with him to his box in the casino vault. Both of those things were obviously figments of Laurent’s imagination but they weren’t things that figured in theirs.

  Across the table they saw something they did want, though. Laurent apparently had no idea how lucky he was. He didn’t see that there was a reason they were inspired to be open and welcoming to him. The reason was the sight of me, squeezed into a spangly boob-tube and a tiny leather skirt. I was what made them want to offer him a deal over a big pot.

  “Laurent, wait,” he waved me away. then leaned over and grabbed me by the shoulder.

  “This is going to set me back straight.” He gripped my shoulder tighter, “You aren’t going to hold out on me now, are you? It’s one game.”

  Of course Laurent went for the deal. Barely even looked at me. Just squeezed my hand hard. Laurent never ever had the sense at the beginning of a hand that he just might lose it. He was always sure that he was going to win.

  I didn’t like the looks of those three huge men, nor the razor’s edge on their laughs. I could see the kinds of things they had in mind. They didn’t involve any soft music, sweet words or sensual massage.

  I could see that they were starting to look forward to something hard, forceful and loud. Something with violence. They were considering how much of a fight I’d be likely to put up. The hard glint of menace in their eyes said they hoped it would be a lot. I really didn’t want to do it.