Page 42 of Spyder
The feeling of him pulling my hair as he thrusts himself into me in a steady, pounding rhythm is exquisite and has me crying out and calling his name. I push myself back against him, taking him even deeper into me. With one hand on my shoulder and the other still pulling my hair, Derek keeps pounding me, the sound of our bodies slapping together filling my ears.
Even though we’re not looking each other in the eye, that feeling of connection between us continues to grow. Strengthen. I feel closer to him than I ever have to anybody before in my life. The depth of my feelings for him is incalculable, which is confounding me since we haven’t been seeing each other very long at all. But it’s not something I’m going to question… it just feels too good to care about right now.
“Harder, Derek. Harder, baby,” I gasp.
He obliges me, grunting as he powers himself into me with a force that rattles the bones in my body but sends shockwaves of bliss through me at the same time. His grip on my hair and shoulder tighten up and I feel his body stiffening behind me. His breath is ragged and shallow, and a low growling passes his lips.
As he buries himself into my hot, wet center, I feel his shaft swell. I feel his cock begin to throb and I cry out as an orgasm comes crashing down over me out of the blue. I tremble from head to toe, a bright line of heat and light filling me. I press my forehead to the cool tile of the counter as I cum, giving myself over to the sensations that are gripping me tightly.
Derek lets out a choked gasp and a moment later, I feel him erupt. He bursts inside of me, filling me up with his hot, sticky seed. We remain coupled together like that and every twitch of Derek’s cock sends another spasm of pleasure through me. I slowly stand up and turn around, pulling him into a warm embrace.
I melt against him, feeling comfortable. Feeling content and satisfied. But most of all, feeling safe. Of everything that Derek makes me feel, it’s the fact that he makes me feel safe that I cherish the most. It’s also one of the things that’s been the most unexpected. When I first ran into him on the street that night, I never expected that I could feel this way.
I still don’t know exactly what to do with it all, but like everything else, I’m just going to go with it. We’ll figure it all out as we go, I suppose. In the meantime, I’m just going to enjoy it for what it is.
“I don’t know how it is you make me feel this way,’ I tell him. “I don’t know how you make me feel this way.”
“Years of fantasies and pent-up sexual frustration,” he says, and I laugh.
“Well, whatever it is, keep it up,” I tell him. “It’s straight magic.”
“I’ll be sure to do that,” he says with a laugh.
Chapter Eighteen
Spyder
“I’m not gonna lie to you guys… this is gonna get nasty,” Prophet says.
“You sure you should even be out here, boss? I mean, no offense or anything, but you’re still pretty banged up,” Monk notes as some of the other guys murmur their agreement.
“I’m fine,” Prophet replies. “I’m not gonna ask you guys to do something that I’m not willing to do myself. That’s not how I lead. You all know that.”
Domino and I share a look and I can see the same concern in his eyes that I’m feeling. For an op like this, we need to be fast and agile. And although Prophet is healing remarkably quickly, he’s still nowhere near one-hundred-percent. He could be a liability out in the field.
I clear my throat. “Prez, nobody’s gonna say anything if you stay here with the bikes instead of—”
“I said I’m fine. I’m not sitting it out. If you guys go in, I’m goin’ in. That’s just the way it is,” Prophet snaps at me. “Now, I appreciate the concern, but that’s enough of that shit. And don’t worry, I’m not going to get in your way. I’m not going to be a liability out there.”
I look away, a rueful grin on my lips. It’s almost as if he’d been reading my mind or something. But when I cut a glance around at the rest of the guys, see them all looking away, at least I can see I’m not the only one who had that thought in mind. Prophet’s always been a good leader of this MC, and from what I’m told, was a hell of a platoon commander back in the shit, so it’s not really all that surprising he knew the concerns we all had. A good commander is going to know all of the variables in an op beforehand, as well as what his men are thinking.
The sun is slipping below the horizon and the world around us is cast in the dark purple and darker blue shades of twilight. About a dozen of us are standing in a dirt lot just off the highway, and in front of us stands a tall, imposing forest. About a half mile to the west is our target… a small, isolated farmhouse.
“We sure the intel is good, prez?” one of the guys asks.
Prophet nods. “Tarantula gave us the heads up,” he says. “A few of us scouted the cabin the other day. The intel is solid.”
Tarantula had called to let Prophet know Zavala had put some of his soldiers in a safe house on the outskirts of Blue Rock. He’d said they were planning something, but he didn’t have the particulars other than it involved taking a few of us out. Zavala has apparently been planning on whittling down our numbers with hit-and-run attacks. He thought it would eventually whittle down our numbers enough that we couldn’t continue to fight or demoralize enough of the guys that they’d just leave… achieving the same result.
It’s a smart tactic. The fighters over in Afghanistan and Iraq employed the same basic idea, though they didn’t have quite the level of success the Vietnamese did with that style of guerrilla warfare half a century ago. Against a small group like us, though, that kind of fighting would be devastating. If they picked us off one or two at a time, it really wouldn’t be long before we were reduced to nothing.
Which is why we’re here… to make Zavala think twice about taking us on. We’re going to show him what trained soldiers can do and why it’s best he not stir up this hornet’s nest. The thing we have that Zavala knows he doesn’t is training and discipline. The majority of his men aren’t soldiers. They’re untrained trigger-pullers who have no discipline or combat training.
They’re mean as hell and with a weapon in their hand, they’re as deadly as anybody else. But when the shit starts getting heated and the bullets are flying, I would bet everything I have that they’ll break and run in the face of the sort of tactical offensive we can muster. And Zavala knows it, which is why he’s planning on this hit-and-run, sneak-attack jobs, hoping he can head us off before we get organized.
It’s too late for that, though. I’ll have to remember to buy Tarantula and Bala a beer the next time I see them.
“You okay, man?”
