Respect Is Now Earned

Savannah

After a good few minutes of nothing but silence and the entire bar lost in shock, I poked the bear.

“Sir, you should pick your jaw up. It will attract flies.”

I sat up carefully and got to my feet. I almost fell but I pulled it back together.

Lucien stared at my cards like they would change or something.

“Good game.” I held my hand out for him to shake. My dad taught me to be a good winner and not rub it in anyone’s face.

Lucien stood, gawking, before he looked at me as if I had taken a dump right on his lap.

I held my hand out, no smile on my face. My eyes locked to his. This would be my last show of respect. If he didn’t return it, he wouldn’t be getting it anymore.

He didn’t deserve it, but I wanted to show who I am in the face of this situation.

Luci looked down at my offer of mutual respect and the start of a friendship and stared like it would bite him.

“It’s called a handshake. We could fist bump if you want?” I balled my hand up and put it back in position.

“Wanna make it explode? I can teach you that too if you want.”

I wiggled my eyebrows and encouraged him on. He swallowed the bitter taste of defeat.

I saw his Adam’s apple bob. His jaw set, his thin lips turned a shade of off-white, he offered his hand out.

“Fist bump it is.” I knuckled his much wider hand and blew mine up.

“Oh right, so you just pretend, like, you make the sounds. Here, I’ll do it again.”

I fist bumped my own hand and blew both of them up, then looked up at him.

He shook his head, rolling his eyes and walking away without blowing it up.

The bar started back up with nonsense chatter. Dane stood from our table and came around to me.

“Sorry about that. He’s kinda a d-bag.”

He held his hands out and hugged me.

“Totally hot though, the way you killed his ass,” he whispered into my ear before pulling away and clicking his tongue and giving me finger guns.

“Thanks?” I told him as he walked away.

Darrion looked me over. “Any chance I’ll get my money back?”

“You going to win it back?” I teased him.

“Well, fuck no.”

“Here, but I warn you now. If my ass looks like hamburger meat after your playtime earlier today, I promise you: there is no place on this green earth that you can hide that I won’t find you.”

My pointer finger out in a stern warning.

His crestfallen frown faded in an instant, that smirk back in the limelight. His eyes, much like his father’s, a steel-green color that truly was beautiful, but harder when on Lucien.

“I promise. It would be like Soray painting over the Mona Lisa. I would never ruin such a masterpiece.”

His hands were out in surrender, but his words didn’t fall on Damon’s deaf ears. He was at my side like Darrion had offered to stick his dick in it.

I scooted an armful of chips towards Darrion; Damon’s hand possessively snaked around me like that would lay an imaginary claim.

I wasn’t his girlfriend and I could take care of myself.

“That was epic. So proud. How’s about that raincheck?” Daxon leaned in front of me, not caring in the slightest that Damon was draped around me like I was a tree and he was my koala bear.

“Go fuck yourself,” Damon warned, his body plastered to mine, forgetting the two stitched-up bullet holes on my hip and the top of my ass cheek.

Looking at me, Daxon winks. “Maybe I won’t have to.”

That was it for Damon. He made this predatory grunt, his body becoming solid rocks, one hand leaving the tangled mess he had coiled around me.

“Damon. Daxon. Behave. At least while I recover.” I grabbed at Damon’s hand, even with it ready to swing, and put it back around my stomach.

Damon said nothing, Daxton blew me a kiss and gave an exhausted, “Fine, anything for you, darlin’.”

And strutted off like he didn’t just make Damon beet-red.

“You better not start humping my leg in this bar.” I patted his hand.

Moonpie and Sunshine were cleaning the rest of the cards up.

“I’m not the one who likes fucking someone’s leg.” He kissed my bare shoulder.

His comment made me stop counting my chips; I felt heat roll in and paint my face like a stop sign.

“You’re an bitch.” I peeled his hand off my stomach.

“What was that, Shortcake?”

His arms squeezed tighter, his head lowering to my shoulder and resting his chin on top so he could sniff my hair.

“Did you not hear me? Let me speak louder then.” I cleared my throat and laid my head back so our cheeks touched, my mouth closer to his forehead.

“I said your knee was better at getting me to cum than your tongue game.”

Damon scoffed, chuckling maniacally with his grip growing tighter.

“You weren’t thinking that when you cried my name from the ~multiple~ orgasms I gave you.”

~Oh, this cocky motherfucker.~

“Three, was it?” he added like the smug son of a bitch he is.

“You seem to think that’s a lot. How cute.”

I felt the hot shot of breath hitting my ear and neck—he was getting pissed and I was loving it.

“If you weren’t hurt, I would bend you over right here, in front of everyone. Stripping you down, spreading those thighs, sinking my long. Hard. Cock. Into that sweet pussy.”

My vagina awoke from her slumber…

Like one of those zombie movies where they pop out of the grave, arms stretched out and eyes open wide, green skin and spiderwebs hanging off like she had been asleep for centuries and not a few hours.

“Your hands would be…” His stance moved, taking me by the wrists and holding them in a standard arrest position behind my back.

“Here. Your face against the table. Your legs spread apart for me. That nice ass perked up for me. I’d keep you on your toes while I pounded into your wet pussy.”

His voice dropped, the tone changing, so husky that it had my vagina doing her sex prep.

He was being his savoring self, but in this new way.

Fucking and making love were different things altogether.

Fucking to me was more like going wild at and on each other, more about getting off than being with the person.

Making love was sweet, sensual, savoring, time-consuming in a way that you pictured emotion tied to it—not just the basic ones of wanting to cum, but wanting to make that person feel your love.

To feel your heart and soul.

When I embarrassingly used Damon’s knee that day I first walked into biker country, I felt so much passion and softness in Damon.

He ruined it by what happened after, but I felt his feelings. I felt like I had effectively made love to his knee. Yes, it’s still embarrassing to admit, but it is what it is.

Damon was like this mix between what Angels are seen as.

This light, bringer of goodness and saving the day, the ones that help with prayers and naturally do good shit, but also what we seem to overlook or forget.

Angels did dark shit too.

The angel of death?

Lucifer was an angel, and now is thought of as the opposite.

Damon was like a walking contradiction.

He was rough, battle-ready, dark, leather-clad, biker gang, hot-headed teenage boy.

One who thought of girls he slept with like toys for him to play with.

One who saw all cops as the enemy and hated my guts the moment he saw me.

But that’s not all he was.

He had depths that rivaled oceans, even if we only argued and sexed each other up, I knew it.

~I could feel it.~

Damon wasn’t what he seemed at the surface, just like me.

The only difference between us was, while I seemed together, I wasn’t.

“The sound of our bodies slapping together and you moaning my name. Begging me, crying out for me and my cock filling your tight little hole up. Your sweet juices dripping down my balls.

“I can hear it now.”

His lips had engulfed my ear, and he spoke his teasing words into my skin like that’s where they belonged.

I didn’t realize it, but my vagina already had me on my toes—she already had his dick pressing to our good side.

“Can you hear it, Savannah? Hear me ~taking you~?”

He said the magic word to switch out my blood with fire and had my hot self working out how we could do this so it wouldn’t hurt me.

“Angel. Don’t do this to me.”

I could hear it. Hear him. His body and mine. I could feel it. The way the green fuzzed table would feel on my face. How the table would creak from us going at it.

How hot we would get, how good it would feel and how fucking delicious this man is.

“I haven’t done anything…~yet~.”

His words held promise. So much promise that I was ready to see come to fruition.

“Angel,” I moaned, the picture of us in my head going faster. He let me move my hand a little higher so I could feel his boner through his jeans.

I rubbed it and wanted to feel it, bare in my hands again.

The velvet steel of him, his heat and the warmth of his cum splattering on my body.

“I can see you behind me, Angel. Your hands on my chest, my tits spilling out on the side from being too big for you to hold all in one hand. My back against your tattooed chest.”

I arched just like I was seeing it.

“Our skin shiny with sweat. My legs spread out around yours. Your warm lips on my neck.”

My hand gripped his hard-on the best I could from the non-stretch of his thick, black jeans.

“Can you feel how warm and wet my pussy would be around you? How tight I would be squeezed around your hard cock? How easy you would slip inside me?

“Can you feel my soaking folds spreading to taking you all the way in? How good it would feel to bury yourself inside my pussy?”

His breathing was as heavy as mine now and I didn’t know exactly what we were doing, but, fuck, it was better than not doing whatever this was.

“I’m soaked, Damon. Your boxers I’m in…are sopping wet. All because of you.”

I rocked on my toes slightly so I wouldn’t hurt my hip and moved my hand to the same rhythm, even over his jeans I felt the tip of his cock pooling with precum.

The rest of the bar might be looking, I’m sure some were, but I was lost. My vision blurred to a lusty haze, Damon and I were painting together like some body art.

His arm looped around my good side, his hand flipped down the band of the boxers I was sporting, creeping down and slipping between my drenched folds.

My chest heaved and the air felt heavy.

His nimble fingers swiped down my slickness, teasing what I wanted, what he was wanting to give me.

“I don’t want to hurt you, baby. We should wait.” He kissed along my shoulder blade till he made it to the other side like he was laying down an invisible line for his signature to be laid down.

His middle finger prodded my entrance. I spread my knees farther, I was starting to hurt from the position my hip was getting put in, but I could work through it.

I could take it.

“No, wait.”

I tried grinding down to push his finger inside me, but he wouldn’t let me. I was a mess—and not just from the liquid heat dripping from my needy pussy.

Not from the throbbing ache in my clit that felt like a siren going off with the red flashing light and the eardrum-shattering blaring of a horn.

I was a mess because I couldn’t turn my dirty mind off from the porn channel playing on the flat screen inside my head.

I could only see him and me together, his hands on my body, roaming me in an orgasmic storm of body parts shiny with sweat…

Hair sticking to our faces, the parts of us that could jiggle and move were.

I could see him ramming his hard cock into me, how my pussy would look snugged around his shaft.

I could see the different angles that I would get if this was real-life porn. It was making it so much worse.

I could hear him.

His voice and the sounds he would make from feeling all of it with me.

Doing exactly what I needed.

His middle finger plunged into my channel—I lost it. I didn’t care.

I did not give a single iota of a fuck about anyone watching, anyone seeing, or whatever could be said.

I moaned and tossed my head back, my grip over Damon’s pants tensed and worked with his finger.

His kiss on my neck and the way I trembled, Damon had to hold me up.

Just a little more.

~Just a little.~