Home > Bayonet Scars #2 - Thrash(3)

Bayonet Scars #2 - Thrash(3)
Author: J.C. Emery

I give us both a moment to come down from our highs before I give his chest a soft pat and slide off of him. His eyes pop open with a cloud of confusion beneath the surface before he washes it all away and just like always he’s back to being the bad-ass I know he’s always had to be.

On shaky legs, I stand beside the bed, watching as he tears the condom off and tosses it in a nearby trash bin and then zips his jeans up. Blowing out a deep breath, he stands, and pulls me to him. Cupping my face in his hands, he slams his lips against mine. This time I expect the power behind his touch and his rough lips. Duke has always been like a gravitational pull that I can’t escape, but knowing how his lips feel on mine is going to be a difficult thing to ignore.

“I gotta go, but when I get back…” he trails off and then shoves his hand down between us and slides one of his fingers between my wet folds. “This is mine. We clear?”

“Excuse me?” I say, stumbling over the words. A gasp escapes me as he uses his thumb to rub my swollen nub and then hooks his finger inside of me. My hands fly up to his chest to keep myself steady and my eyes fall back in my head. The only thing I can do is focus on the incredible feeling that he’s creating with his hand, and not on the words he’s said.

“You let me have it, and now THIS. IS. MINE,” he says, and presses hard on my clit, sending a slight tremor through my body. I moan and let my head fall onto his chest. He wraps his other arm around my waist to keep me up. He unhooks his finger inside of me and slides three more in. The shock of being filled so suddenly is too much to take and I burst apart in his arms. My legs quake, my breathing stops, and my entire body spasms. I’m clutching his cut like it’s the only lifeline I have and when my head finally clears and he removes his hands from my slick pussy, I realize that he’s claimed me and try to process everything that that means.

Nodding my head out of stupidity and pushing off of his chest, I suck in a much-needed breath and look around slightly dazed. I’m barely able comprehend what he’s said before he’s out of the room.

He claimed me and then left me, and while this is something I’ve fantasized about many a night, while I was alone in my bed, stroking my own pussy and pretending it was Duke-- I don’t want this. I only want him if it’s real, and it never is real with Duke. So I don’t want it.

I’m left looking for my clothes so I can get out of here. I find my pants and pull them up my legs, then find my thong and shove it in my jeans pocket. As I’m pulling the bra tank on, I start to feel myself sobering up and the reality of what I’ve done sneaks up on me. The only thing worse than denying myself Duke is having Duke and then losing him.

Now that I’ve been here, I can’t go back to that place where I bury my feelings for him and pretend that he’s just another member of the club.

Chapter 1

“HAVE YOU HEARD a single word I’ve said?” The words come out of my mouth, but I still can’t believe I’m saying them. I’m way too young for this shit.

“I heard you. Just fucking chill, won’t you?” Jeremy says. My brother’s a good kid—or rather, he’s not that bad of a kid—but he’s got a mouth on him. He wasn’t always so bad, but the older he gets without his dad around the more uncontrollable he gets.

“Then what did I say?” Fuck. I sound exactly like my mother, and I hate that bitch. She should be the one here, dealing with this shit.

“Look,” Jeremy says, standing from his seat at the table. He’s so tall now, just like his dad, Butch. Over six feet with broad shoulders and muscles that have come out of seemingly nowhere. Jeremy’s as tan as anyone gets around here, and despite his size and attitude, he’s still got the same smile he did when he was little.

“I get it. You’re pissed that you had to leave work. Point fucking taken.” Leaning over the back of the chair he was just sitting in, he lets his hair fall into his eyes as his head is tipped down. He looks like a grown man already, and he’s only seventeen.

“No. Point not fucking taken. That shit job I had to leave puts food in that smart mouth of yours. Do me a favor and just don’t hit anybody else after your suspension’s up, okay?”

Tipping his head up slightly, he gives me a blinding smile. “Sure thing, boss.”

“Don’t do that,” I say, letting my head fall into my hands. I’m worn out and figuring that it’s just not worth the fight. As much as I want to do right by the kid, there’s only so much I can do. In less than a year he’ll be eighteen and my guardianship will be over. The only thing I’ll have then is the roof over his head and the fact that we’re the only family each other has. When Butch-- Jeremy’s biological dad, and my step-dad-- went down for something club-related back when I was in high school, we ended up living with the club president and his wife. It didn’t last long though and the president managed to get social services off our asses and me and Jeremy back into our own home. Now, looking at my brother, with all his attitude and arrogance, I can’t remember why I wanted to take this on myself.

Rounding the table, he walks up behind me and kisses the top of my head, saying, “Love you, Sis.”

“No more fighting?” I say, lifting my head and tilting it back to meet his eyes. His eyes are a navy blue that he’s used to melt the panties off more than one of his female peers.

“No more fighting,” he says, backing up into the living room and then turning and walking into his room. I know it’s bullshit, but it’s better than nothing. If I can just keep him off the principal’s radar for the remainder of summer session, he might be able to graduate on time next spring.

Pushing up from the table, I cross the kitchen to my purse atop the counter by the stove, and pull out my small compact mirror. Checking my makeup for signs of wear, I make sure I don’t look half as much of a mess as I feel. I powder my nose and then shove the compact back in my bag and rush out of the house. I’m a total disaster with my bleached blonde hair as messy as ever and my makeup half worn-off. The only thing worse than the way I look right now is the way I feel.

Jeremy’s going to be home for the rest of the week doing God only knows what, but I don’t have that luxury. I have to get back to work and explain to my boss why I had another family emergency.

I lock up the small ranch house Jeremy and I share and take a look up at the sky overhead. The cool air hits my exposed skin, leaving faint droplets of condensation behind. Rushing to my car, an old Toyota Corolla, I yank the driver side door open and slam it behind me before I get too wet. It can’t be above sixty outside and I’m wearing a low-cut black tank top and tight ripped jeans. I’d grab a sweater, but business has been slow this week and I need the tips, especially after missing half of my shift this morning to deal with damn teenage shit.

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