So we’ll have to be together.
I decide not to bring that up just yet.
“I’m assuming the wives will throw you a shower eventually?” Sin queries, and I cringe outwardly. Gross. A baby shower with all the other club wives? I mean … that is club culture right there in a nutshell. It’ll be a huge affair, and by the end of it, I’ll have everything I ever needed for a baby. I don’t even have to worry about it. The other women will shower me with gifts galore.
I’ve been to two such occasions on this compound—one of them for Queenie—and I’ve seen it with my own eyes.
I exhale.
“Don’t remind me of that,” I say, and Sin grins down at me.
“Anyway, if you do well with your lesson today, not only will I fuck you—”
“So completely generous of you,” I interject dryly as he ignores me and continues on.
“—but I’ll let you drive my bike again.”
He moves away and picks up the screwdriver.
“Lesson one: do you know what this is?”
I narrow my eyes on him and pick up the nearest thing I can find—a random screw—and I chuck it his way.
“Alright, dickhead. Let’s dig into this.”
And then we squat side by side together so that he can explain to me how, exactly, one goes about repairing a hundred-plus year-old engine.
Later in the day, when the air is cool and clouds have rolled in to cover the sun, Sin grants me the use of his bike. This time, however, he makes me climb on the bike and drives us up one of the old logging access roads into the thicker part of the woods. The roads are maintained because, as I’m sure you know, there are all sorts of hidden operations and nefarious things that go on inside the safety of these trees.
Sin seems to know where he’s going, taking me to a fairly empty portion of the compound.
Any initial fears I had about mafia interference were squashed when we skirted by the fence, and I saw exactly how many patrols my father has put on perimeter duty.
It’s a testament to Grey’s skill that he was able to get out of here at all. Unfortunately, he has yet to contact me since the night of the hit; I’m starting to get worried.
Sin parks in the middle of the road and trades places with me, taking hold of my waist and pressing his large form against me as I struggle with the change in balance. It’s different, riding with someone on the back of the bike, isn’t it?
I manage okay, but only at much lower speeds than before, and we end up at the end of the road in another of those strange empty cul-de-sacs. Not the one I found last time, but an entirely different one. There’re the bones of an entire house rotting in the rain.
Creepy.
We take a break there and climb off to stretch, removing our helmets and then pausing as fat raindrops spatter on our exposed faces.
“What timing,” I remark, but I’m too exhilarated from the drive to care. I can see why these men put such stock in their motorcycles, in the feeling of freedom that comes with riding such a glorious hellhound into battle. It’s not the same as a car. A car is safe, enclosed, predictable.
Riding a motorcycle is anything but.
There’s a hint of danger there, the promise of the open road, a sense of rebellion.
I hang my helmet over the handlebars and then move beneath the canopy of the trees with Sin trailing behind me. Even here, the rain manages to find us, dripping through the branches and plastering my hair to my head.
I turn around and there we are, me and Sin, in the rain on an ashy day, tucked beneath a tree.
“Oh,” I say, and he smiles sadly, putting one palm on the trunk of the huge tree and looking up at the waving branches. Water slides down the sides of his face, sluicing between his lips as he parts them slightly in awe as the slow, lazy drops melt into a cool deluge. “Here we are again.”
Just like the day of the funeral.
“Here we are,” he agrees, dropping his gaze to my mouth. Is he as fascinated by the water collecting on my lips as I am by his? His lower lip is so full that it catches its own little pool of rainwater before he licks it away. “They’d both be proud of you, you know? Queenie and Posey.”
“I don’t know about that,” I offer up, but my heart swells anyway. Sin is my best connection to my sisters, the person who knew them best besides me.
“Well, I do. Because I know that they only ever wanted you to be happy.” He reaches out and cups the side of my face as the rain spatters his bike and the empty cul-de-sac, our tree providing only a relatively small amount of protection. There are better trees nearby with thicker canopies, but I think we’re both enjoying the sensation of the storm on our skin. I know I am. “Are you happy, Gidge?”
I look at him, blinking raindrops from my lashes as I think about that question.
Am I?
I think about Carol Briggs’ mother and how I wish with my whole heart that I could’ve saved her. I think about Cat and how he killed his own son. I think about Gaz and our fight in the office that easily could’ve ended in my death.
Still, even with all of those things, I’m coming into my own.
I’m creating a family in a yellow farmhouse.
I’m riding motorcycles and repairing vintage bikes.
I’m … having a baby.
Most importantly, I’m falling in love.
If I were the type of person who needed everything soft and perfect all the time, then I’d never be happy. I can pick out moments of perfection and joy even amongst all of the blood and the grit.
“I’m happy,” I tell him, and he makes a small sound, leaning in to kiss me in the rain. It’s different than it was the last time we were in a situation like this. Not quite so obscene, not quite so wrong. Rather than all of that, it feels right.
This is right.
I pull away from Sin, the heat of his mouth lingering even as the cool air fills the space between us.
“Turn around,” I tell him and then I push him gently aside to see if he’ll listen. He does, following my instructions and leaning his back against the tree trunk. I kneel down in front of him, reaching up for his belt and enjoying the way he tangles his fingertips in my wet hair.
He watches me from heavily lidded eyes, their color brightened to an almost-blue by the rain and the backdrop of brown and green behind him. Not so melancholy in this moment I don’t think. How could he be? I’m about to suck him off.
I free Sin’s cock from his jeans, pleasantly surprised by how hot his skin feels against my palm. He lets out a sharp hiss as cool droplets splash across the swollen head of his cock.
“You like that?” I ask him, smirking as I lean forward and add the scalding sweep of my tongue against the underside of his shaft. “The heat of my mouth and the cool kiss of the rain?”
“You’re practically a poet,” he murmurs, kneading my scalp as I kiss his body with reverence, savoring this easy, quiet moment between lovers. I decide he deserves a reward for that comment, darting my tongue out against his tip and grinning as he bucks his hips out of sheer instinct, straining to get closer to the warm silk of my lips and tongue. “I take that back: you’re the devil.”
I pause and think about that, listening to the musical quality of Sin’s panting breaths. Even with such a frantic, needy sound coming from his lips, I recognize the talent inherent inside of him. Maybe he’ll sing to our baby? I muse, knowing that regardless of who the biological father is, these men are going to commit themselves as parents.
Just like they did to me.
Because their love for me, their want, their need, it’s more important than winning.
I twist my hand in a corkscrew motion on Sin’s shaft, and he grunts, leaning his head back against the tree trunk. Thunder rumbles in the distance and, shortly thereafter, lightning fills the sky with a blue-white snap. It bathes Sin in stark relief as I look up at him, rising up slightly so that I can press kisses to his lower belly, moving upward until I find his belly button. I even swipe that with my tongue, an
d he moans.
He tightens his fingertips on my scalp, pushing down slightly to encourage me to return my attentions to his cock. I allow him that much, brushing my lips against the base of him before moving my tongue along the seam of his balls.
Cool droplets slide down the back of my neck and under my jacket as I swipe my tongue back up the length of him, giving a few hard pumps of my fist before I drop my mouth down over his tip. He hisses in pleasure as I take as much of him as I can, letting him hit the back of my throat before I pull back, gently scraping my teeth along his skin.
“Oh fuck, Gidge, you really are the devil. You’re the goddamn devil.” He sounds like he’s praying which I like, begging for mercy or sin, I’m not sure. But I do agree on one thing: I am the goddamn devil—or at least, I’m the devil’s daughter. I’m okay with that. I accept it.
I start bobbing my head up and down, sucking hard enough that when I pull his dick from my mouth, it comes away with a pop. I look up at him from beneath the thick, wet lengths of my lashes. Our eyes clash with a snap that reminds me of the lightning, blue-white and hot, hot, hot.
My hand works him into a frenzy, pre-cum leaking from his tip that the rain quickly washes away. I’m not going to let him come in my mouth, not when I’d much rather have him pumping away inside my pussy.
He seems to get the memo first, pushing my hand away and dropping to his knees in front of me. Sin takes my face in his hands again, using his razorblade of a mouth to cut right through all of the bullshit as he kisses me. Our tongues work together in harmony as I dig my own fingers into his wet hair, yanking on it as he does the same to me.
We end up tumbling backwards together into a mossy patch, the ground quickly turning to mud on all sides of us. It’s been dry for so long that the earth is just gobbling up any available moisture. It’s soft and squishy and dirty as fuck.
Since we’re in love now, and our relationship has lost all of its taboo, I guess we need this sort of thing: mud and moss and rain. An element of wild, of unchained mother earth.
Colton reaches between us, still frantically kissing me and tasting like sweet rain and sin. He makes a sound of triumph as soon as my pants are undone, pulling back and curving his fingertips beneath the leather. With them wet the way they are, he has to peel the fabric down like it’s glued to my skin.
He doesn’t stop until he gets to my boots, removing them along with my socks, and then off go my pants. All the items end up in a pile at the base of the tree.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he slips out of his vest and t-shirt.
“Getting naked. I want you like a man wants a woman. Just that. Just me and you and nothing else.” He stands up and kicks his own boots off, peels his socks away, shucks that perfect denim.
I do the same, sitting up and slipping out of my jacket, my shirt, my bra.
Sin comes down on me hard, pinning my wrists into the mud and dropping his mouth to the painful points of my nipples. Not only is it cold and wet, but oh my God, the pregnancy hormones have turned my breasts into equal sources of pain and pleasure. When I struggle to pull my wrists from his grip, he lets me, instinctively realizing my need to cling to him.
I even scream when he bites down on one of my nipples, grabbing his head and forcing it more tightly against me. His mouth eats at my tits like they’re a delicacy, switching from one to the other as I gather him close and encourage him to give me more, more, more.
While he’s at it, he puts his hot shaft up against my folds, thrusting against my clit. The head of his dick meets my clitoris over and over, until I wonder if I might actually come from that alone. That’s what he wants, I bet.
He really is an addict.
“You’re so beautiful, Gidge,” he whispers, lifting up his head, blue hair dripping across his forehead. “Worth waiting for. Worth sharing. Worth my life. I’d give it up for you, you know that right?”
“I know,” I choke out, and his mouth clashes against mine, sword to sword, sparks flying, a fight of tongues and teeth and lips. Sin pulls back, kissing frantically down my neck as I writhe against our mossy cushion. Up above us, I can see resurrection ferns sprouting from the tree’s trunk.
You can survive without water, but isn’t it better when you’re sated, when you’re fed? You can survive so much, but you shouldn’t have to just survive. You should be able to thrive.
The fronds sway in the breeze as Sin kisses down my body, licking rainwater from my skin until he finds the needy bud of my clit. He swirls his tongue around it, tracing down my folds to my opening. He even runs that naughty heat across my rear entrance before returning back to my clit.
He works me up until I’m coming hard, wanting him and begging him to slide into me the way he likes.
“Please Sin, please,” I whisper, shuddering and shaking with the overwhelming surge that lances through my body. Again, like lightning. We are a storm, me and Sin. A perfect motherfucking storm.
Rather than enter me as I’m coming, he just watches me, studying my face as I lie naked beneath him, the most vulnerable I have ever been.
“You’re perfect,” he breathes, his voice catching on the words. “So perfect.”
He waits for my contractions to slow down, kissing me again. I wrap my arms around him as he works my mouth with slow, languorous movements. We have all the time in the world, his kisses tell me. We will be together forever.
I love it, too. Just as much as I loved the dirty, obscene nature of our relationship before. It makes sense, for things to change. Stagnation is not an acceptable response to fear of change. Change must happen. Sometimes, it’s good. Sometimes, it’s terrible. We don’t get to choose, but anything is better than being mired in a single place.
Sin finally, blessedly, reaches between us, pushing himself into me with a slow, careful precision that allows me to feel the full shape and length of him, allows my silken muscles to conform to his cock.
He looks at me as he does it, too, his hard body and all of his tattoos on display. Even the bandages that cover his still-healing wounds are beautiful, a reminder of how fragile, how brief life and happiness can really be—a reminder to savor and love every, simple happy moment.
He starts to move, and it’s blessed and raw, natural and free and perfect. We’re male and female, just as he asked, but we’re more than that, two twisted souls intertwining into one imperfect thing. Messy and wet and musky, even beneath the wash of rainwater.
Thumber rumbles again, lightning strikes, but we ignore it all, trapped in each other.
My hips lift up, undulating against his, so that each one of his thrusts is met with one of mine. He makes sure to knead and tease my breasts, too, with his hand and his mouth, alternating between the two so that he doesn’t leave my lips neglected for too long.
When we climax, we climax together in near perfect unison, one of those bullshit romance novel moments that are so rare in real life. Rare, but not impossible, like a jewel plucked from the rocky earth, a single perfect thing in a casing of endless rock.
“My old lady,” Sin whispers, still shuddering, still holding me against him as he thrusts a few more times and fills me with the heat of his orgasm. “My old lady, my woman, my Gidge.”
He gets my name right, and I sigh in bliss, closing my eyes as I wrap my arms around him and we stay like that for a little while, just me and Colton and the storm.
Together like this, I can weather it; I can weather anything.
It takes me almost an entire week, but I’m finally able to get ahold of Grey.
“You’re still in one piece,” I say, a bit of awe and wonder in my voice. After what happened with Ms. Briggs, I wasn’t sure that my friend really would live to see another day. His father suspects him, that much I know for sure. Smart as he is, I’m sure he knows it, too.
“For now,” he agrees, drawing his finger in a circle around the rim of the whiskey tumbler that’s resting on the table in front of his phone. “Thanks to you.”
I de
cide not to tell him it was a fluke, that’s Cat’s obstinance saved his life.
“How are things?” I ask, but this isn’t just friendly banter between buddies. The question is as loaded as they come.
“I have an opportunity for you,” he says, frowning hard as he continues to play with his glass. His gray eyes are focused on the amber liquid inside instead of on my face. I’m situated on Crown’s bed, a cardboard box open beside me as I try to sort through some of my things. I’m committed to this, to making this house my home. To settling in here. So I’m unboxing my stuff and putting bits and pieces of myself all over the place.
The wooden husky carving that Reba gave me goes on top of Sin’s dresser; my books fit nicely on the shelves in this room, Crown’s room. Queenie’s cookbook is in the nightstand drawer beside Beast’s bed, while my small collection of sex toys are safely tucked into Grainger’s end table.
“An opportunity?” I query back, drawing out random items and deciding where I might want to put them. I don’t have much. I never did. Even when Cat started making money, and Posey went crazy with the shopping, I didn’t buy myself much. After she died, I didn’t buy anything at all. So here I am, starting over with relatively few material items. “What sort of opportunity?”
“Consider yourself double-blessed: both my mother and my father’s most loyal men—the ones you’ve been after for so long—will be at the casino this weekend.” Grey picks up his drink, sighs heavily, and then downs it all in one, single swallow.
“The casino?” I echo, my stomach twisting into an impossible knot. The casino. It’s like the catalyst for this entire nightmare, the first domino that fell, sending all the others crashing to the floor. It was in the casino that my brother found his mafia contact, in the casino where Kian met Queenie, the casino that saved me from shooting Grey in the face that day inside Uncle Benny’s cabin. “Triangle Lake Resort.”
“That’s the one,” Grey says, and I wonder if, all along, this is what it was meant to come down to. The fucking casino. “It’s technically neutral territory. Mostly, it’s the general public that walks in and out of those doors save for a few select plants that bring cash into the place.” He sets his glass down and leans back in his chair. “If you bring a small team in, you can take care of business quietly enough to sneak back out.”
I Will Revel in Glory Page 29