His Claim: A Bad Boy Romance

2. Corbin

CorbinThere is a single, beautiful moment after a long night of hot and dirty s*x where you wake up slowly, your d**k half-hard but satisfied, and you dare to think, for a half a second, that the slut you’d been boning had the good sense to get up before you and sneak out into the night.

Either she was gone, and that beautiful moment got to turn into a beautiful day – you know the type, riding around on your motorcycle in the hot tropical sun, perhaps pulling a few dangerous gigs for the good of the club, until finally ending up in the same dive bar where you’d started, ready to pick up a new slut.

Or, she was still there, and you were in for a hell of a f*****g day.

I felt myself waking up, enjoying those last few seconds where I could be alone in bed. I reached down and gave my c**k a squeeze, feeling the lazy hardness of morning wood emerging. I thought about the night before.

That raven-haired girl.

I’d met her last week at one of the many bars frequented by the Devil’s Wings. As an established lieutenant of the club, I had absolutely no problem picking up the slut.

I was sure my shaggy-yet-silken brown hair and biceps like Virginia hams didn’t hurt, either.

Anyway, I was there ten minutes, ripping with my buddies about our president’s latest venture in stupidity. Normally, I would have punished disrespect for our leader, but boy, did Jorge Montengo deserve it.

“Did you hear,” my buddy Joey whispered to me, “that he split half his f*****g share from the last heist with that w***e? And for what?”

“So she’ll suck his c**k harder,” I shrugged back, feeling cynical. Joey, however, continued to press.

“And he shut down my car idea again,” he complained. “If only he’d look long enough past the f*****g chop-shop to realize the money making potential here …”

“And look up from that ho’s p***y long enough to dry his mouth—”

“Hello, boys,” a voice like warm oil sifting through water interrupted. We looked up, twin grins of lust appearing on our faces as the raven-haired girl gazed down at us. Her t**s, pushed up hard by her lacey black bra, and the winking of her thighs as she shifted and flexed, might as well have shouted to the world: “I want some motorcycle c**k!”

Joey and I looked at each other, but I acted first.

“Let me buy you a drink,” I said, gesturing her to sit down. She was well worth that, I supposed. Ten dollars of liquor in exchange for some fresh p***y. Fair f*****g deal.

Within minutes, her hand had been creeping up the inside of my leather pants, while my eyes constantly dove down her cleavage as if drawn by gravity. We chatted, of course, but I couldn’t tell you now a damn thing we spoke about. What was important was the palpable heat radiating from between her legs. I could have roasted a f*****g marshmallow.

Within an hour, she was on the back of my bike, and I was taking her to the club house. President Montengo had f****d up a lot of things, but he at least made sure that the bedrooms were fully equipped: lube, condoms, porn, toys. The works.

She complained a bit when I tore her clothes off. Not because I’d hurt her, or she did not like the roughness, but because “that outfit was expensive.” I told her to shut her w***e mouth and take it like the slut she was.

Predictably, she complied.

I f****d her for an hour, then, growing bored with her caterwauling, I blew my load, rolled over, and went to sleep.

When she didn’t have the decency to disappear that next morning, I should have known she was a dud. I wanted to shout at her, “What the hell gave you the impression that I wanted you to stay?” But I didn’t. I was a gentleman: kind but firm. I led her out, and promised myself that I would not be calling her again.

Me and the guys often complained that our president spent too much time, “Thinking with his dick.” Well, I’m here to officially say that I have done that as well. And man, did I pay the price.

I called her again. I was bored. I was horny. It was two a.m. on a Wednesday night, possibly the dreariest time in existence. It was a time fitting for an easy slut like her. At the third ring she picked up, and a half an hour later she had called a taxi over.

I tell you this because I want you to know what kind of woman I was used to dealing with. I demanded p***y, and she f*****g paid to get a ride over!

My god, I loved the Devil’s Wings. There was so much power in it. Power and p***y.

By the time she arrived, I was feeling both dominating and lazy as a cat. I decided in an instant that she should do all the work. Why the hell should I waste my time and energy trying to impress her? She’d already proved she was desperate for anything.

So she blew me. She rode me. She strip-teased me. And I sat back, enjoying myself and flicking ash from a lazy cigarette onto the tray. After half the night of pleasuring me, I climaxed, and she collapsed with exhaustion and rolled over to sleep.

If I was smart, I would have kicked her out then and there. But I felt bad, and vaguely grateful for her hard work. Her thighs and t**s were red from rubbing, and I could see sweat on her eager, butterfly brow. So I let her stay, assuming she’d know to be out by morning.

You’re an i***t, Corbin. A f*****g i***t.

I breathed in and breathed out, smelling the permanent scent of s*x that lives in the MC beds, rolled onto my side, and opened my eyes.

Goddamn it!

There she was, looking less than sexy with her mouth open in a snore and her raven-black hair dampened and dulled by the morning. Though she was naked, and her body was hot as ever, I felt my morning wood automatically disappear.

I didn’t want s*x. I wanted her out.

As I went to wake her up and tell her so, I realized that I didn’t know her name. “Hey … you!” I said instead, thumping her shoulder. “You! Hey, you! Wake up!”

Her eyes flickered open, slowly, affectionately. Bovine-like. She gazed at me and smiled.

“Good morning, champ,” she said.

‘Champ?’ I thought. ‘What am I, six?’

“Hey, uh … babe,” I responded, avoiding her name. “I thought I made it clear last time, that this isn’t a serious thing.”

She puckered her lips into a baby’s pout. “Of course you did!” she said. “I just thought you’d like some more of this when you woke up!”

She thrust her hips at me. Like the untamed animal it was, my c**k perked up at the motion, but I squashed the thought.

No, I told myself. Already she is getting too invested. If you f**k her again, you’ll make it worse.

If c***s could sigh, mine would have done so then.

“Look … baby,” I continued. Some of me wished I remembered her name, while most of me knew that even that would make things worse. “I have a lot of important duties around here. I can’t spend all morning looking after you.”

“Oh, I don’t need looking after!” she exclaimed, rising up and brushing her hair with her fingers. “Is there anywhere we can get breakfast around here?”

I grunted in annoyance. Was I really going to have to spell it out for her?

“Baby, I have things to do! Heists to pull, club girls to initiate. You know the drill …”

“Club girls?” In an instant, her playful, childish posture was gone. Her eyes crackled with menace, and she glared down at me, poised like a snake about to strike.

I also sat up. “Yes, club girls,” I said. “It’s important to the club to maintain a source of pleasure for the men, and—”

“Club girls?” She practically screamed it this time. “But, Corbin! I thought we had something special!”

I c****d my eyebrow at her.

“And what exactly made you think that?” I demanded. Anger rippled through me. Why did these women always end up like this! I was always clear from the start: I was in it for the p***y. To think otherwise was just plain stupid.

“Well, we kissed, and we had s*x, and we … made love!”

I rolled my eyes. “Honey, if you think that is making love, you’ve lived a damn sorry life.”

She recoiled as if I had slapped her. I could see tears forming in her eyes, but I found I didn’t care. You live the life of a biker, you get used to stupid tears.

“Look,” I said. “I’ve been clear from the start. I never once lied or tricked you about what this was. If you thought otherwise, it’s your own damn fault. Now get out.”

I could tell I’d stung her, but just then my phone rang from the nightstand. A clear reminder that I had more important things to do than deal with this b***h.

“Hello, Madam Venus,” I declared as I answered the phone, instantly polite. I heard the sugary voice of our nearby brothel owner crackling over the phone. The connection was bad, and I could barely make out what she was saying.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, Madam Venus,” I said. “The president isn’t answering his phone? No, I’ll be sure to contact him immediately …Yes … I know … Don’t worry, Madam Venus, we hold you in the highest esteem … I’ll have him contact you immediately …Yes … Thank you … Goodbye.”

I hung up and turned around, only to wince when I saw that the raven-haired slut was, in fact, still there.

“Madam Venus?” she growled. “Madam? As in, a woman?”

I stared at her. “Yes, of course a f*****g woman. There are plenty of woman in this business. Now, I’ll not say it again. Get the f**k out of here—”

“A woman!” She practically howled in rage. “f**k! You!”

And with that, she reached out and slapped me.

I blinked. It didn’t hurt. It had all the strength of a butterfly being blown into my cheek by a breeze. But still, she had tried to hurt me. Rage filled me, and I leapt from the bed.

“Get out!” I roared, my junk waving in the morning air. “Get out of here, you crazy b***h! Out!”

I grabbed her arm and flung her from the bed. She landed on her feet and gazed at me with an animal intensity. Then, with a grin, she reached over to the lamp which helped to light the f**k-room, seized it, and hurled it to the floor.

It struck the tiles and shattered into a million f*****g pieces.

“You asshole, Corbin!” she cried, now flinging herself to the doorknob and out the door. I charged after her, naked as the day I was born, and heard another smash as something else was broken.

“Get out, you cunt!” I cried, dodging barefoot past the broken mess that used to be a computer monitor. “Get out!”

And she did, whirling like a destructive dervish as she did. Glass shattered. Important papers were swept to the floor. And all the while she swore and spit like an angry cat, until she was, at last, shunted out the door.

I slammed it, glaring out after her, my butt cheeks flexed in righteous indignation, my c**k thrust forward.

And that was, of course, how President f*****g Montengo found me, strolling in with his latest hooker on his arm.