Page 61 of Red's Peril: Part 1

She’s a perfect fit for my cock, her tight muscles trying to hold on to me as I hammer in and out.

When I swivel my hips, I hit her sweet spot, so I do it again, then again. It doesn’t take long before she’s tightening, squeezing my cock to death. As she convulses, I lose it myself, shooting cum into the condom.

“Jeez.” My lungs heave for breath as I lie down over her. “That was good.” Slowly, I pull out, holding onto the condom.

Once I’m free of her body, she rolls over, and throws her arm up over her face. Her chest is heaving as she struggles to get her own breath.

“Red, you’re something else, lover.”

What man wouldn’t feel pride, even though she probably says that to everyone. But for a second, I’ll believe it.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Pixie.” She deserves my praise. What more could I ask for but a warm, willing body? “Want a smoke?”

When she nods, yes, I pick up my jeans, and still naked get out my pack. I offer her one, then take another for myself. I lie back on the bed propped on the pillows. She inches herself up, so she’s lying beside me.

“I think I’m glad you transferred to Vegas.” She sighs in contentment. “Love you fuckin’ me, Red. Wanna do that again.”

“Maybe we will.” It’s a certainty, but I’ll be making no promises. Don’t want a club girl getting ideas that we’re exclusive or some such shit. Though Pixie’s been here a while by all accounts, and probably knows the score.

I close my eyes, relaxed and at peace, mechanically putting the cigarette to my lips, taking a drag, then huffing smoke out. If I were to grade myself, I reckon I’d given a good performance, maybe an A.

Opening my eyes, I grimace, flick ash into the ash tray, and think with regret.With Cheryl, I was probably a D minus.I’ve improved a lot since then.

Would it have mattered? Would it have made a difference?

Finding myself thinking of one woman while another’s in my bed, I slap Pixie’s butt. “Time to go now, sweetheart.”

Without complaint, she stubs her cigarette out, slides into her meagre clothing in seconds, then with a wink, shows herself out.

My good mood has evaporated.Why did I think about Cheryl again?Sometimes I hate the woman who appears to have rented space in my brain. It’s not as if I’ll ever see her again. Despite the time that has passed, often something will send me back to that short time I spent with her. Though I like the way things turned out, I’m always left wondering, what would it have been like if she hadn’t left? Would my ride through life have been better? Or would she have brought me down? Would I have joined the Devils? Or found something to keep me content in civilian life? Unanswerable questions.

One thing’s for sure, I’ve never found a woman quite like her in any respect, and none that have held my interest for any length of time.It was the timing, the death of my father, the excitement of heading into a future unknown. It wasn’t her. It was circumstance, I reason with myself.

So why, when I breathe in, do I imagine her scent in the air?Why do I compare all pussies to hers and find them lacking?

As I hear Pixie’s high-heeled footsteps tapping against the wooden floor, I grimace, wondering when I became the man who’d be satisfied with casual sex. I’d originally thought by now I’d be married, have a couple of kids, be the example to them just like my dad had been to me. Instead, I’m in an MC, and unlikely to attract the woman of the sort I’d thought I’d be looking for.

Maybe Cheryl would have left anyway as soon as I put on the Satan’s Devils’ cut.

Or maybe, she would have stayed and maybe she’d have made a great old lady.

Fuck!

There’s only one way to get her out of my head. That’s to get dressed, go downstairs, drink with this new set of brothers and maybe find another sweet butt to sink my cock into.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“That fuckin’ gang is coming on strong,” Rope states, his worried eyes meeting Cuff’s. “They were waiting for us last night.”

In the two years since I’ve been in the Vegas club, some things have changed. The two BDSM-loving hangarounds became prospects, and after serving their time, had been patched in, picking up the fairly predictable handles of Rope and Cuff. Subsequently, we got a new prospect by the name of Sarge. An ex-Army dude who’s not without his own baggage. But we make allowances for his PTSD, and in return, it’s already clear he’d die for the club. There hadn’t been many places for a vet who can’t sleep at night, but instead naps during the day. Oh, and he can’t cope with loud bangs, and an engine’s backfire can leave him catatonic for a while. But once all allowances are made, he’s a fucking good guy, and he’ll be patched in before long.

The other change has been the security business, which I now concentrate on along with Keys. There’s a gang who’re running a protection racket, and we’ve stepped up to protect the businesses from them. We’d thought the message had been received—they were messing on the wrong side of town—but apparently, according to Rope, we were wrong.

“They want a meet,” Cuff states.

“You talked?” Brick questions, then turns his head away to cough.

“Couldn’t do much else. We were fuckin’ surrounded,” Rope confirms. “Ten against two ain’t good odds. Luckily, they wanted to parley more than shoot us down. Think they want to take a cut.”

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