Bjorn: Teutonic Knights MC (29 page)

Ironside arrived as Andrew began to bring the weapon up, grabbing his hand to force the weapon down. Andrew jammed his hand under Ironsides chin, forcing his head back, squeezing the trigger as they struggled. Ironside felt the heat of the discharge against his naked leg, the hot shell casing hitting him in the cock as it ejected from the side of the gun, but the bullet splattered harmlessly against the concrete walk, showering them in fragments of bullet and masonry.

The two men grunted, straining over the gun. With two hands on the gun, Ironside began to twist the weapon away from himself. Andrew realized he was losing the battle of strength and released Ironside’s head to put his other hand on the weapon, roaring in effort as he tried to force the gun away.

Slowly, inexorably, Ironside continued to turn the weapon, the two men’s shoulders against each other as they shoved, every muscle bulging as they fought for any advantage. Andrew slammed his head forward, their foreheads connecting solidly, both men staggered by the blow. Ironside shook it off and continued to turn the gun, their bodies pressing in tighter and tighter as they used every ounce of their strength in their mortal struggle.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Ironside snarled, winning the war of strength. He released the gun with one hand and grabbed Andrew by the back of the head, pulling them together to trap the gun between.

Andrew screamed in rage as Ironside pulled him in tight. He could feel his hands and the weapon crushing the tip of his cock into his stomach, but he could no longer tell where it pointed. His own fucking wrist was binding him up, so he pulled the hand out from between them and grabbed Ironside by the head, as well. They would finish it here, the gun caught between their cocks, in a final showdown of strength.

The gun popped and Ironside felt the burn, gasping as he realized he’d been shot, but then the pain began to fade as Andrew’s eyes opened wide in surprise.

Andrew released the gun and stepped away, looking at his stomach in shock. Ironside looked down at his own stomach, each trying to determine who was about to die. He had a black stain just below and to the left of his bellybutton, a flash burn from the weapon’s discharge, and his stomach and hands were covered in blood, but not his blood. Andrew’s hands where pressed to his stomach, blood seeping through his fingers, and there was a grisly hole at the top of his shoulder. He was dead already, the bullet passing through his lung and possibly his heart, he just didn’t know it yet.

Panting, Ironside cleared the jammed gun, pointed it at Andrew’s head, and pulled the trigger.

His battle with Andrew had felt like hours, but the war with the Saracens was still going on, which meant it had only been a couple of minutes. He looked around, trying to find Peyton. He saw nothing, but then heard a woman scream behind him. He turned and ran in the direction of the sound.

***

Honey tried to close the bathroom door but Peyton crashed through it before she could get her back into it. Honey stumbled back as the door burst open, then tried to rally. Peyton turned and grabbed her hair with one hand, intending to pull her head down, but as Honey twisted, grabbing Peyton’s wrist, she hit her heel on the side of the tub.

Overbalanced, she fell backwards, tearing the shower curtain down as she crashed backwards in the wall, then slid down, screaming in agony as her back hit the edge of the tub, Peyton falling in on her only adding to her pain. The women tumbled and rolled in the bottom of the tub, the slick nylon curtain preventing them from getting any traction, and as they twisted and spun in desperate battle, wrapped them tighter and tighter, preventing a quick escape. Bound, they came to a stop, and Peyton began to pound Honey’s head against the side of the tub.

“Die, you fucking bitch! Die, you fucking bitch! Die, you fucking bitch,” she screamed as Honey’s head collided over and over with the side of the tub.

***

Ironside burst into the open room. The room was a wreck. One of the lamps was in the floor between the beds, broken, a chair overturned, and the linens on one of the beds was strewn on the floor. He heard Peyton screaming in the bathroom and he charged in as Peyton beat Honey senseless.

“Peyton!” he cried in relief.

Ironside’s voice cut through the fog of rage and she stopped pounding Honey’s head into the tub. Honey moaned, moving sluggishly as Peyton fought her way out of the tangled curtain then the tub. She threw herself into Ironsides arms, holding him tight as his arm went around her, barely flinching as his gun coughed. She looked behind her, seeing Honey lying lifeless in the tub with a hole in her chest, but then turned away and pulled him in tight.

“You’re bleeding!” Peyton cried. Ironside was mess. His face was covered in blood as was his stomach and hands, his chest a mass of cuts and scratches.

“Not mine,” he said, pulling her in tight. She was covered in scratches and welts, her hair a tangled mess, but she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“Is Andrew dead?”

“Yes. Shot.”

“What are we going to do?” she asked, the sounds of the battle sinking in. “You’re not exactly dressed for a gunfight.”

He grinned as he dropped the magazine on the gun then slammed it back in. No matter how bad it got, he could always depend on her for a smartass comment, but with only three rounds left, there wasn’t a lot he could do. “We’re going to hole up here until this is over,” he said as he moved through the room and closed the door.

The door had barely latched when he heard the bang of a door being kicked in. “Behind the bed!” he urged, pushing her down as he joined her crouching in the floor, his weapon pointed at the door. There was another crash, nearer, and she gasped for breath.

The door burst open with a crash, and he jerked his weapon skyward as he recognized Hammer.

“Fuck! I almost shot you!” Hammer gasped, his weapon going down and away. He looked at the battered and nude Ironside and Peyton as they rose from behind the bed. “Do I even want to know?”

“I’ll tell you later. What’s going on?”

“The Saracens are scattered to hell and gone. We’ve divided up into five teams, two on each floor and one on the entrance to the courtyard. We’re going room by room, trying to root them out.”

“How many dead?”

“I don’t know. Several. When you disappeared, I thought
you
were dead.”

Ironside held up his gun so Hammer could see. “I’ve only got three. Do you have any extra?”

“I’m down to my last magazine. Just stay in here. With only three, you’re not going to be much help, and if you come out behind us, you’ll probably get shot.” There was a flurry of muffled gunshots, then quiet again. Hammer grimaced. “They’re really dug in. We’re trying to hurry this up before somebody realizes what they’re hearing and calls the cops.” Hammer stepped out. “Leave the door open so we know we cleared the room. I’ll pass the word you’re in here.”

He stepped out and a moment later they heard the door of the next room being kicked in.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Peyton asked, turning his head toward her. He’d stopped bleeding, but she could see a cut in his eyebrow.

He pulled her hand away. “I’m fine.”

She pulled his lips down into a kiss. “I was so scared!” she whispered.

“So was I. When I got back to the clubhouse and everyone was gone, I thought I’d lost you.”

They looked at each other before he pulled her to him for a torrid kiss and she moaned as her hand went to his cock, gripping him firmly as their tongues danced. He pulled back from the kiss, already hardening as he pushed her back onto the bed.

She scooted back in the bed as he crawled in, his eyes hard as he tossed his gun to the side. There would be no love-making here, only fucking, their anger, pain and fear morphing into lust unlike anything either had experienced before.

He plunged into her, his hard swift insertion making her gasp. She ached from Honey’s blow in the pool, hurting as if she had already endured a long, hard, fucking, and the ache excited her even more. She looked at him, covered in blood, sweat and dirt, his face twisted in pleasure as he drove into her hard and fast, she could imagine him as a Viking, returning victorious from war and claiming his spoils.

“Fuck! I’m coming!” he bellowed, driving into her hard and fast, unable to stop his plunging hips. Peyton was everything he wanted in a woman. Covered in battle scars and dirt, she was by far the most desirable woman he’d ever known, and she was his. Nobody, not the Saracens, not the fucking devil himself, would take her from him.

She closed her eyes, her orgasm building, rising higher, until it exploded over her as she called out her release. Never had Ironside come so quickly, his excitement, the sounds of shattering doors and occasional gunshot, the cries of angry men as they fought around them, whipping her into a frenzy.

He collapsed onto her, holding her crushingly tight as he continued to fuck her hard and fast. She shuddered out of her orgasm, gasping for breath. He’d fucked her right through their orgasms, his need for her washing over her and winding her tight. He was a lover of breathtaking skill and endurance, he was hers, and nobody would ever take him from her.

“Fuck!” he snarled, the first tickling of another orgasm welling up within him. He pushed up onto his hands, driving into her as hard and fast as possible. She dragged her nails across his chest, the light scratches searing lines of pleasure. He cried out in effort as his muscles began to burn from the sustained hard fucking, but unable to stop.

She pushed at him, shoving him off of her. He rolled to his back, pushing his gun out of the way. She swung her leg over him, settling as she steered him into her again. “Fuck,” she gasped as he plunged in deep. She began to move rocking her hips hard and fast, watching his face twist in pleasure. He’d come for her. He’d come for her and again fought for her, battling Andrew to protect her and avenge Melissa’s death. He grabbed her sides and began to slam her down on him, bellowing with the effort.

She saw two Saracens through the open door, running across the courtyard, running for freedom. There were several pops of gunfire and the men went down. There were a couple more pops, closer, and someone cried out in pain. She could hear the sound of running feet above them and the cries of angry men.

“Fuck!” she cried, the word long and drawn out as her orgasm rose within her like a great wave. They were fucking in the middle of gunfight, the danger amping her up. They could die any moment, their lives snuffed out in an instant, but they we’re living, and loving, and fucking to their last breaths.

A shadow appeared in the door. Ironside grabbed the gun on the bed and fired, three quick shots as the man’s gun came up. Another orgasm, the hardest one yet, slammed into her as Ironside dropped the gun and roared as he splashed into her again. Even as he fucked her, he was protecting her from harm, the sudden rush of danger as she climaxed pushing her rapture to unmatched heights. She screamed her orgasm to the word, a throat-rending cry of pleasure unlike any she had experienced before.

He had reacted, grabbing the gun and shooting the man without thought as Peyton bounced on his cock. He’d felt a rush of doom, then gasped in relief when he realized he hadn’t shot a brother. His orgasm swept over him with his relief and he dropped the now useless gun, holding her as he came, his orgasm so hard he cried out as his cock burned with every pulse of semen that erupted from him.

She collapsed onto him, kissing him hard as he continued to plunge into her. There were more shouts and running, two men dash past the open door, not seeing or not caring she and Ironside were fucking inside the room. There was a thud so hard the room shook, then another, followed by the cries of two men in pain.

Ironside rolled her off of him as two men fought in the room next door, the men roaring challenges and obscenities at each other as the walls shook.

“Come on! You want a piece of me! I’ll fuck you up!” a voice roared, followed by another thud as Ironside flipped Peyton to her stomach, then drew her ass up.

She cried out as he pushed deep into her ass. He’d taken her ass before, but never without lube. She wailed in pleasure and erotic pain, so turned on she didn’t care. Their natural lubrication would have to do.

“Ah, fuck! You’re so tight!” he snarled as he pulled back then pushed in again.

There was a bellow then a thud followed by the sounds of something breaking as he began to drive into her. “Oh my fucking
God
!” she cried, as he reached under her and began to tickle her clit. There was another volley of gunfire somewhere above them, followed by a cry of pain and a thud. There was another huge crash from the room next door as two men roared, then there was silence.

The light from the door dimmed and her heart almost stopped as she looked to see a man standing in the door, his clothes torn, blood flowing from his nose. He watched them a moment, her heart thudding in her chest as they stared at each other before he turned and walked away.

Ironside glanced to his right as a figure appeared in the door, preparing to launch himself at the intruder until he realized it was Club. The man, beaten and battered, watched them for a long moment before he gave him a nod and turned away.

“We need to stop!” he snarled as he thrust hard and fast, the lingering silence telling him the war was over.

“A little more,” she gasped.

He continued to pound into her, his finger tickling her clit until she shuddered, moaning softly as her hands gripped the linens, biting the pillow to keep herself from screaming again.

He looked through the door as the women ran from the manager’s office, joining up with their men in the courtyard, and he knew the Knights had carried the day. He’d beaten Andrew, beaten the Saracens, and rescued his woman. He groaned again, his orgasm welling up as their victory,
his
victory, flooded him with the feeling of power and invincibility.

“Come, Bjorn,” Peyton cooed, sensing his erotic agony. He could often come twice, but he’d never come three times and she wanted him to. “Come for me. Come on, Baby, come on. You can do it.”

He snarled, twisting up as his rapture spooled up. He’d never twice come so quickly, and never a third time, but he could feel his orgasm slashing at him, shredding him with sweet anguish. He needed the release, needed to come, but he couldn’t.

“Come on…come on…come on…” she chanted softly, his rising need washing over her and exciting her. She wanted to give him another orgasm, wanted to please him, wanted to see his face twist in rapture. She twisted her hips to tumble them to their sides, his cock still in her as she twisted so she could look into his face as he pounded into her. He cried out in distress, his face twisting in pain and pleasure. “You can do it,” she purred.

“Fuck,” he groaned, tingling as he strained for his orgasm.

“Come on, you can do it. Come for me. Come.”

He buried his face in her hair, his hands holding her breasts, as his orgasm began to overtake him.

“That’s it,” she murmured, sensing him twisting up as she dragged her nails along his leg. “Come for me. I want you to come for me.”

“Fuck…” he gasped as his orgasm swept over him, holding her tight as he fought the pleasure, throwing his head back and gasping as every nerve lit up, erotic energy coursing through him like electricity until with a gasp, his climax washed out of him.

He held her, panting, unable, unwilling, to move. With a groan he pulled out of her, tugging her onto her back before he rose over her and kissed her long and slow.

“I love you,” he whispered as he caressed her cheek.

“I love you,” she replied, the three little words never failing to make her smile.

He kissed her lips again. “We need to go.”

“I know.”

Neither moved until with another groan, Ironside rolled to his feet.

He led her out of the room, pulling her along by the hand toward the pool as his cock began to droop. The men and women gathered there began to move toward them.

“How many?” Ironside asked.

“All the Saracens are dead. Sixteen in all,” Whiteshirt said, his shirt still as crisp and clean as it was when he put it on. “We have five of their old ladies in the Manager’s office.”

“How many did we lose?”

“Four.”

“Fuck!”