Page 30 of Justice

Tipping her head back, she parts her lips and drops her chin, allowing him to pass the head of his cock into her mouth, sliding it against her wet tongue. He closes his eyes and allows himself to fall into the warmth surrounding him. While the touch feels good, and the pressure from her lips and tongue bring him pleasure, there is something missing.

Reaching down, he takes a handful of her hair, changing the direction and speed of his thrusts. The new approach feels much better, and as he fucks her mouth, he can feel the tension leaving his shoulders. The burn in the pit of his stomach increases as he nears his orgasm. He is nearly at the finish line when she scrapes the underside of his shaft with her teeth.

“Careful, Sasha,” he reprimands and keeps going, the pressure in his balls returning almost immediately. As he tosses his head back, ready to fill the room with his cries, she does it again, this time to the head and most sensitive part of him.

Pulling all the way out, he grabs his shaft and resumes stroking. “Wrap your lips around your teeth.” He waits patiently as she does as he asks, then slowly enters her mouth once again. He is apprehensive about her teeth scraping his dick, the fear of the pain to his prized appendage getting in the way of his enjoyment. Instead of closing his eyes, he watches his cock disappear between her distorted lips, the visual combined with the sensation causes his dick to swell and before she can sink her teeth in for a third time, he pulls out and comes on her face, the opaque streams lie across her chin, and nose. Sasha reaches over, taking him in her hand and begins pumping, coaxing the last of his come into the hollow of her mouth.

Tucking himself back into his pants, he moves to the bar on the opposite side of the room, pouring himself a drink, yet not bothering to offer any to his companion. Tossing back the amber liquid, he takes pleasure in the burn as it travels down his throat. He wasn’t certain what went wrong tonight. Sasha had been a hellcat in the bedroom the last time they were together, maybe he would give her another go, or perhaps he would cut his losses and send her home with cab fare.

As he fills his glass for the second time, the ding of a new email makes the decision for him. Drake reminds himself he is a leader, and there was a multitude of people counting on him. His lack of pleasure from a blowjob was not their concern, nor should it be his at the moment.

Tossing Sasha some cash, he walked her to the elevator and wished her a good night. Just as he’d promised himself, there were no plans of tomorrow, no offer to sleep over and no oaths of commitment. This was his life now, and goddamn it, he was going to live it.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE

Tobias pulledCandy from the clubhouse, her ability to walk in the impossibly high heels without tripping, impressive to say the least. He needed to get them out of here, considering the scene he got a glance of on Red’s phone.

As he hit the side door, he caught the taillights of several bikes as they dipped and bounced in the distance, disappearing through what he could only assume was a hole in the fence. He needed to get them out of here, as the last thing he needed was to spend any time behind bars.

Turning toward where he parked his bike, he saw Candy walking with purpose toward the edge of the property. For a half-second he lost himself in the sway of her hips; how her tight cheeks called to him, begging him to reach out and slap the butterfly tattoo on the left side, turning the wings from a deep purple to a nice shade of pink.

The roar of a bike starting beside him pulled him from the ripeness of the girl walking away and back to getting the hell out of here. Something was off about this girl, more than the tattoos, which appeared overnight, or the fake name she gave him. This girl, who sat inside a coffee shop dressed like a woman going shopping, instead of the patch whore who was walking away from him. She knew way too much about the layout of this place to have learned from an afternoon gawking through a hole in the fence. He needed to know more about her, and whom she was working for.

Cupping his hands on either side of his mouth, “Hey!” he shouts to gain her attention.

She spins but continues to walk backward, strands from the hot pink wig covering her eye as the wind whips the strands across her face.

“Get over here,” he orders, as he straddles his bike, kicking the motor to life. When she spins back around and picks up her pace, he guns the motor. Gaining momentum, he hits the brakes and twists the handlebars to the left, bringing the bike to rest blocking her path.

“I brought you through the gate, and I’ll take you right back out.” He doesn’t give her time to argue. Using her shocked expression to pull her across his lap, her tits and stomach lying across his jean-clad thighs.

Following the path he hopes is the way out, he ignores Candy’s protest to stop the bike, speeding down the dirt path and crossing a set of railroad tracks. Feeling confident he had enough distance between them and the clubhouse, he pulled off on a side street and killed the engine.

Candy pushes off his lap, her natural hair a tangled mess from the passing wind, the hot pink wig gone, the wind claiming it somewhere along the way.

“So, are you a lesbian or bisexual?” Tobias grilled, pulling his vibrating phone from the pocket of his jeans. Glancing down, he doesn’t recognize the number, but it's clear by the message who it's from.

‘Beat my house in two hours, after you ditch the girl.’

“Not that it’sany of your concern,” she argued, combing her fingers through her tangled locks. “I’m whatever I need to be, I’ll tap dance for the devil if I have to.”

Using the guise of checking his phone, he snaps a photo of the mystery girl beside him. “And why would a beautiful woman like you need to dance for anyone?”

“You got something against strippers?” she challenges, a lick of fire in her tone. It’s clear to Tobias he has hit a nerve, but he’s not about to stop now to save her feelings. He has no loyalty to this girl, other than to use her to get him closer to Red. And by the reaction he witnessed earlier, Candy was his golden ticket.

“No issue with strippers. Everyone is entitled to use what they have to get what they want.”

“Good,” she barks, raising her left leg and placing her toe on the leather of his seat. “And just so we are clear, get any thoughts of not bringing me with you tomorrow out of your head. Unless you have a pussy hidden somewhere on you, Red ain’t gonna be happy.”

Tobias smiles at her cavalier attitude. This girl, given different circumstances, could be someone he would spend time with. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart. Now get on, so I can get you back home, cause unless you’ve got a gun hidden somewhere in those scraps of fabric you call clothes, you won’t make it far.”

After dropping Candy off outside a tiny cottage she claimed was her place, he could tell even in the dark the property had seen better days, he headed back to his hotel. With roughly an hour and a half, before he had to meet Marino, he needed to get to his computer and find out the true identity of this girl. In order to save time, he narrowed his search to the state of Georgia, as her familiarity with the area was too precise to be a coincidence.

Pulling a beer from his fridge, he lay back on his bed, allowing his mind to drift to the way she moved on the bar. How she seemed to glide like a seasoned pro in the way she spun and twisted on the pole. He tried not to think of the how she tasted or how much he enjoyed having her wrapped around his waist. Just as he was about to grab his hardening cock and jack himself off, his computer chimed with a notification. Sitting up, he was glad he hadn’t taken a pull from his beer as the name scrolled in red against the black background of his screen caused his breath to hitch.

“Justice Hart.” He read aloud, blinking his eyes several times in an attempt to wrap his mind around what is on the screen. This gorgeous girl who claimed the name of Candy was, in reality, the stepdaughter of the man he was hired to kill. Not to mention the man she had abundantly flirted with. He thought back to the events in the club; Justice had taunted Red, drove him nuts with desire, but she had exchanged minimal contact, and never once did she kiss him.

He scanned through the court transcripts, shaking his head and laughing at the gross negligence on her attorney’s part. Flipping through photos of the crime scene, he questioned how such a small framed girl managed to get a knife so high in the back of a man as tall as Red. He zoomed in on the photo of Lavender Campbell and the single slash to her throat. The prosecution had labeled it as a passion-filled murder, however, the evidence showed a smash and grab, more the style of a break in. Several newspaper articles described her as a rebellious teen, but her lack of a juvenile record spoke differently. To a normal individual, Justice Hart was the shy girl next door.

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