Page 13 of Devil to Pay: Cutter

Oh, she shouldn’t have said that. Now I know exactly what I’m going to do with her. Challenge accepted.

I get up to follow her into the bathroom, waiting until I hear the water going and she’s under the spray before invading her space, pushing her up against the tile, kissing her neck. I hitch her leg around my hip, opening her up to me and I slide in.

She groans. “I told you… I need a rest.” But she doesn’t push me away and because I don’t want to hurt her, I go slow, utilizing my hands and my mouth to help me slowly bring her to orgasm again. My kisses swallow up her moans as she sifts one hand through my hair while the other gently glides over my back. I’ve never fucked a woman this slow and gentle before.

Aja tears her lips from mine, squeezing her eyes shut. Her chest raises and lowers as she struggles to take in breaths. “Cutter,” she cries as she falls apart and I hold on tighter, taking my last few strokes before losing myself in her beautiful body.

“Please…” she whispers, panting. “You have to give me time to recover before you fuck me again.”

“This mean we’re fucking again?”

She laughs softly, slumping back against the cooler tile behind her. It’s the only thing keeping her standing after I slide out. Then I kiss her once more before washing up and leaving her to it.

There’s a shift in the smell of the room when she exits the bathroom, even though she used my products. Who the hell knows why. But it’s fucking intoxicating. I’m sitting on the bed fully dressed. It’s definitely her.

Her.

God, that body. Rounded hips. Slightly rounded belly. Those heavy tits. She’s stunning. Visual perfection.

“Got one of the shorter pussies to find you something to wear.” I point to the pile of folded clothing on the bed.

“That’s nice of you.” Aja fastens on her own bra. I think she washed her panties in the bathroom yesterday because she has them in her hands now, shimmying them up her legs. “Now that we’ve fucked, what are you going to do with me?”

A slow smile spreads across my face as I lasciviously eye her body up and down.

Her eyes grow huge. “No, Cutter—”

I cut her off. “We’re getting breakfast.” Then I wink.

“Is that a euphemism?”

“It’s a word that means breaking the morning fast by eating food.”

“Oh, okay… I could eat.”

Me too. But we’ll discuss that later. Next time, she won’t need to ask.

5

AJA

Cutter has us take his pickup truck rather than his bike, which is surprising. It’s newer. A comfortable ride for driving a half hour out from the small town of Bentley at the base of the mountain road we turn on to get to the clubhouse, to the larger town, maybe a small city, called Middlesboro.

We stop at a place that has “Best pancakes in the city!” painted in the front window. Hell yeah. Because pancakes. Nothing breaks a fast like syrup-sogged rounds of carby goodness. I’m all about it. And I’m not going to lie: I need a drink to be able to swallow the couple of desperately needed ibuprofen thanks to the pulse pounding through my pussy. I had to keep squirming on the ride here. I feel it. This crazy phenomenon hasn’t happened since the night that my first jackhole took my virginity when I was fourteen. Men like to think of themselves as these epic alpha lovers, but in my experience, they don’t even come close. With too many encounters, I’ve found myself faking a good time to keep from getting smacked around because they’re embarrassed or kicked out and left without a place to stay—especially in the middle of the night. Men love to kick you out in the middle of the night.

Cutter waits at the front of the truck for me. He drops one hand to the small of my back while he pulls open the door, then shoves me gently through it. The hostess seats us in a booth by a large window, sets the menus down, and tells us our server will be with us shortly.

We study the menu. I want the blueberry pancakes with sausage and eggs. The server shows up. His name tag says: Darrin. He looks like he’s been serving for a long time. Gray hair pulled back in a ponytail fastened at the base of his neck and a craggy, wrinkled face. Time lines. That’s what my grandma called them when she was sober enough to speak coherently. He sounds like he’s smoked a pack a day since he was birthed when he asks me what I want.

“Blueberry pancakes, sausage, eggs, coffee… And can I get an ice water right away?”

“Won’t be a problem, little lady.” He called me “little lady.” That makes me laugh. No one has called me a “little lady” in years.

Cutter eyes me and Darrin before saying, “I’ll have the banana pancakes. Bacon. Extra crispy hash browns. Coffee.”

Darrin nods then says, “I’ll get that ice water to you right away, little lady.” He winks at me before turning to leave.

“He’s old enough to be your grandfather,” Cutter says—to my confusion.

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