Page 2 of Deep Cover

2

Jesse pounded into me. Rage sex. He was taking out his frustrations over a buy gone bad and a lot of money gone down the drain.

There wasn't a lot of privacy in the clubhouse but I'd gotten used to that. Since I could still hear the men outside playing cards, tuning up their bikes, which were, after all, in the kitchen, and watching porn or even lower forms of entertainment like Ridiculousness, I figured they could hear us, too.

His cock was hard as steel, long and thick and brutal. He wielded the thing like a club and I tried never to acknowledge, at least to myself, how in thrall of it I was.

When I first found my way to him, the story of being the girlfriend in a connected gang, Rodrigo's Lily, I'd winced every time he laid a hand on me. Rodrigo was dead and the real Lily was in solitary for the run of this operation, and as far as everybody at her prison knew, she had been paroled. So now I was her.

And back in our apartment in Portland, my fiancé, Mark Tomlin, had no idea what I was doing in my undercover assignment, only that I was going to be gone for several months and there'd only be the rarest of contacts, that he shouldn't worry.

That he shouldn't wait. But I hadn't quite the courage, or the cruelty, to say that to him. Mark was an intern at a Portland Hospital, finishing up his med school years, getting ready to do some course of specialization. He kept telling me it was fine, just fine for me to be a regular patrol officer, even to ride a desk because that was safer and he saw what happened to police officers because he was one of the guys who patched them up during his rotations in emergency. We could live on my patrol salary and he could graduate and –

And there were all his student loans, I'd remind him, it wasn't like he'd been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Or a trust fund. Or anything he could trade in to pay for all that schooling.

Besides, I was born to a father who had the blue uniform in his blood. I was raised by a policeman and I had been bound and determined to become one myself, even as all my sisters went off and got married. All three of them, the three who formed their own little dolly and tea party cliques and left me out because I just didn't fit and they just didn't understand.

I looked like them – small, with black curls and olive skin and big boobs over slim hips, wiry muscles and washboard abs in my case – but only on the outside. On the inside we were different species.

We all looked younger than our ages, too. I looked like a teenager but I was twenty-four. I was a cop. I'd already shot a man in the line of duty.

My sisters didn't understand me.

My fiancé thought I was looking for a way out of what I did for a living, that of course I'd want to stay home, even though he himself loved his chosen profession.

And Jesse? Yeah, I wasn't going to think about that.

Because maybe the man pounding into me with the finesse of a pile driver, the man who had slugged the mattress beside my head, and whose eyes burned with fury at the cosmic fuck up of a buy gone bad – maybe he understood me better than anybody else in my life.

Did that just suck? Or was it terrifying, too? Did the very terror of it make my heart beat faster and make me wetter for him?

"Wrap your legs around me," Jesse growled in my ear.

I didn't hesitate. He'd hit me, once, when I didn't move when he told me to because I was so close to crashing over the edge into orgasm. Hauled off and hit me so hard I saw stars and had to eat on the other side of my mouth for a week.

Now he grabbed my wrists and pulled my arms high over my head, pinning them down so hard my hands went instantly to sleep. I couldn't have freed myself if I'd tried. I didn't. I cocked my hips at an angle, letting his cock plunge farther and farther in between my legs, and locked my ankles onto the small of his back.

No objection. The friction changed on my clit and I could feel all the better the orgasm building low in my belly, like an itch, a tingle, a tightening of muscles all over my body as blood rushed down there. I bit my lip, let my head fall back the way he liked, and felt his teeth graze my neck like he was some kind of fucking vampire.

He rocked into me, rhythmic but with no particular grace. His cock started to throb, pulsing as he got ready to come deep inside me.

It's all it took to send me over the edge, even as his fist pounded the pillow again, close enough to stir my hair. Both of his hands came away from my arms. Even with my partial freedom, all I did was tighten my grip on him with my legs.

"Jesse!" Everything pulsed inside me, a heartbeat speeding, circling around and around as the pleasure surged through me. My nails clawed at his back and that was the last straw for him. He came hard, shooting deep into me, his head thrown back, his back arched. He said, "Fuck," long and drawn out, the word only dying away when his head dropped forward.

His eyes met mine. No way it was love, but there was acceptance there. I wasn't some nameless motorcycle bitch, not some whore he'd paid. Jesse saw me and somewhere, without realizing it, he understood that something in us marched to the same unusual drummer.

Undercover cops and motorcycle bitches both have mothers and fathers. Mark didn't have my cell number but lots of dubious contacts did. All the people who called me had numbers that traced back just to them. I wasn't going to get killed over some administrative snafu. But my parents? My name wasn't really Lily, it was Annie. But if someone answered my phone, the fact that it was my parents calling and really was...? I thought that was all right and my dad's health had been so shaky for the last few years, taking a phone that went to the fictional version of Lily and letting them have that number was all right.

Dad was a cop. Retired now, but he understood. He rode my mother hard about the phone number. He didn't know I was undercover, not the whole story – not only because no one did, but because I didn't think he could handle everything that went with this assignment. But his knowing meant mom could have the number at the same time none of my sisters did.

At the same time no one asked about Mark not having it. Mark didn't have a way to get hold of me short of calling my father and asking him to get a message to me. I didn't think he'd go to that extent unless it was a pretty serious emergency.

I also didn't think too hard about not giving my fiancé a way to contact me directly. Or the fact that I didn't trust him to use it responsibly. Mark had an underlying core of romance that meant he just might underestimate the danger he'd put me in if he decided he just had to talk to you, Annie and that was the emergency.

So when my mother called, I knew it was bad.

"Annie?"

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