Savage Kings MC Box Set 2

by Lane Hart

  A drop of his salty flavor landing on my tongue brings my attention back to the task at hand. I suck him harder until it turns into a steady drip right before he growls out a strangled curse with the full gush of his hot, sticky release.

  “Again,” Ian demands, his heavy-lidded blue eyes staring down at me before I’ve even had a chance to swallow all of his seed.

  Damn right again.

  Doesn’t he know by now that I would live on my fucking knees for him?

  I would, even though I know that Ian will never feel the same way about me.

  Chapter One

  Quincey Cohen

  Present day…

  “It’s my penis, isn’t it?” my boyfriend Clint asks me when I tell him I’m breaking up with him.

  Yes. Yes, it is your micro-penis.

  “Of course not,” I say, proud of myself for keeping a straight face while lying through my teeth. “We’re just not…compatible. I think we…want different things, and it’s best if we go our separate ways now.” All that is code for, ‘The sex is horrible, and I can’t pretend to have orgasms anymore. I need real ones!’

  “Are you seeing someone else?” he asks.

  “No.” That’s the honest to god truth since seeing naked men in pornos doesn’t count as an affair. They’re practically fictional. Hot guys with gorgeous faces, six-pack abs and foot-long subs swinging between their legs don’t exist in the real world, only in porn. Gay porn, to be more specific.

  “Then I just don’t understand why you’re breaking up with me, Quinny.” Ugh, I’ve always despised that nickname, which I’ve told him, and Clint ignored.

  “I just, I can’t do this anymore,” I tell him. “We gave it a good try. The past year has been great, really. I hope we can stay friends and maintain a professional relationship at work.” That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. You should never, ever, get involved with your boss for this very reason right here.

  “How do you expect me to work with you after this, after you break my heart?”

  “Things will just have to go back to the way they were before we started sleeping together,” I reply. Clint is attractive in a normal, dad-bod way. He’s incredibly kind and super smart, which is how he became an Assistant United States Attorney. As his paralegal, I spent a lot of time with him. We flirted with each other which led to me kissing him when working late one night. A few days later, we ended up in bed together with all of the lights off. That should’ve been my first clue that there was trouble in paradise. And then he was on top of me, kissing me, and I was playing up the dirty talk, telling him to “get inside me already” which is when he froze and said those three very unfortunate words, “I already am.”

  Honestly, I’ve never actually seen Clint’s dick despite the fact that we’ve been dating for a year and living together for over six months. Yet another mistake of mine. If I had to guess based on what I’ve occasionally, sort of, felt, I would estimate he’s approximately three inches long and not very wide when fully erect.

  And while I tried so hard to overlook his size because of all of his many other wonderful qualities, I can’t do it anymore. Thanks to his insecurities, we rarely have sex; and when we do, he doesn’t even attempt to make up for his…shortcomings with foreplay.

  No kidding, one night he got excited after a dream and endeavored to take me from behind, but the distance was far too great for his teeny weeny. Yet, that didn’t stop him from coming between my thighs and going right back to sleep.

  I need more! So much more. Not just below the belt but a guy who takes care of me in and out of the bedroom.

  My decision to end things with Clint is solidified when he says, “If you break up with me, then-then I’ll have no choice but to fire you!”

  “You can’t fire me for breaking up with you! Human resources would never let you get away with that!”

  “Actually, human resources has asked me on several occasional to discuss your inappropriate work attire with you and demand that you stop wearing short skirts.”

  “What?” I ask, glancing down at my black pencil skirt and sleeveless, white blouse. “What’s wrong with my work attire?”

  “They want me to fire you for not following the dress code. You’re a distraction to the male employees. Some of the attorneys have complained about your ample cleavage that you flaunt like a floozy.”

  “Flaunt like a floozy,” I repeat slowly. “Who talks like that? I don’t think the term floozy has been used by anyone in the last twenty years!”

  “You know what, I don’t need any further insults from you,” Clint huffs. “Pack your things. I want you out of here before I get home tonight and don’t bother coming in to the office. Your termination is effective immediately.”

  “Oh, fuck you!” I yell at him. I tried to do this like an adult, but if he wants to act like a child throwing a temper tantrum, then I can too. “And you know what? Size does matter, but I could’ve overlooked it, literally, if you had made me feel good in other ways every once in a while!”

  “You know how I feel about oral sex. It’s not hygienic!”

  “No, you don’t like oral because you’re selfish and too insecure for a blowjob. I offered to go down on you. All the time, in fact. Not once did you use your hands or mouth on me,” I exclaim. “Watch some porn. Get some tutorials. I’m sure your next girlfriend would appreciate if you put in a little effort!”

  “I thought you were different, Quincey. I thought you wanted a life together and a family. I thought you cared about more than just sex!”

  “I do want a husband and a family,” I agree. “But I refuse to sell myself short.”

  It was a low blow, but it did what I wanted it to do — it ended our conversation.

  Clint walked out of our, no his, apartment without another word, and I started packing.

  Chapter Two

  Gabriel

  You would think that after holding my breath for five fucking years I would be dead by now.

  No such luck.

  I’m still enduring, just trudging through my life. All that’s kept me going are feelings of guilt and one monumental unanswered question.

  Despite all my weekly visits to the prison over the past year, Ian refuses to broach the subject of what the fuck we’re doing together.

  Were we just messing around because he’s horny and desperate behind bars?

  Most likely.

  Is it too much to hope that we could keep sneaking around since we’ll be living next door to each other at the Savage Asylum?

  Probably.

  Ian will never, ever give up women, especially not for me, the person who’s responsible for him spending five years locked in a cage.

  “You don’t look happy,” my older brother Abe comments as we wait on Ian to be released with the rest of the Savage Kings in the parking lot of the prison. “Why don’t you look happy?”

  Because at least when Ian was locked up, he was sort of mine.

  Clutching Ian’s leather Savage Kings cut in my fists, I fake a smile for Abe, which is easy since I’ve been lying and faking shit around him my entire life. Then, I tell him, “I’m fucking ecstatic. It’s just…I worry about Ian trying to get acclimated again after serving so much time. You got any advice for him?” I ask since Abe served a big chunk of time when we were teenagers. He thinks I lived in foster homes after our mother overdosed and he went to prison. He would never be able to handle my dirty truth, so I’ve never had the heart to tell him.

  “I don’t know anything about getting acclimated or whatever you said, but he’ll be fine,” Abe says as he strokes his black beard. “Ian’s tough as shit and nothing ever gets to him.”

  No shit. Especially not me.

  “Yeah, I bet you’re right,” I agree just to end this conversation. “How’s Mercy and the baby doing?” I ask because I know his wife and unborn child are things my brother loves to discuss.

  “Great, man. They’re both doing great. Little Abram was doing backflips a
nd shit during the ultrasound,” he tells me excitedly with a huge smile on his face. “Did I show you the picture?”

  “Yeah, bro. You showed me. Like four times now,” I remind him. “But get it out. I want to see my nephew again.”

  “Damn straight,” he says while removing his wallet from his back pocket and pulling the black and white image from where it’s safely tucked inside. “I swear he’s gonna come out with his momma’s red hair.”

  “Maybe so,” I agree as I try to figure out which way is up, and which is down on the photo before Abe starts pointing out his hands and feet.

  “He’s going to be cute as fuck,” I tell my brother when I hand the pic back to him.

  “I know, right?” he agrees as he stares down at the image that he’s probably looked at a million times by now. Apparently, Abe’s behavior is not all that unusual since Chase does the same thing. I’ve even caught the two best friends comparing their kids already, arguing which unborn son is going to be bigger.

  I’m happy for my brother. He deserves to have a wife who loves him and to start a family, something I’ve always wanted but may not be in the cards for me. Still, I can’t help but feel like as his own family grows, the further apart we become. The same is true for the entire MC lately.

  All the guys are settling down and having babies, which is not something I can see myself ever doing. At least not with a woman. And based on my history, it seems impossible to have a serious relationship with another man, especially one that includes having children.

  The prison gate suddenly creaks open and out struts Ian Long with the natural kind of bad ass swagger that could never be learned.

  Finally.

  His blond hair is cut short, like always, and he looks damn good with a golden goatee and scruff along his jawline. The black Savage Kings t-shirt he was wearing when he was arrested looks like it has shrunk a few sizes thanks to him bulking up these last few years with the prison weights. Not to mention his jeans are so snug on his upper thighs and crotch they look damn uncomfortable.

  And good.

  Really. Fucking. Good.

  The jumpsuit made for easy access to his dick, but I’ve missed seeing his ass in jeans.

  I’ve missed him period. I just wish I knew I wasn’t going to completely lose him now that he’s a free man.

  Ian

  Finally getting to walk out of the filthy fucking prison I’ve resided in for five years should feel good.

  And I guess it does in a way.

  I’m stoked to be a free man, but that also means I’m a homeless free man without a dollar to my name and no idea what the hell I’m going to do with my life, which is sort of terrifying.

  I’ve never really had much after growing up poor in a coastal town with few job opportunities. My mom skipped out on my dad and I before I could walk. And then my dad fucked me over, so that was that for my relatives. The only family I have now are the Savage Kings.

  At least the Kings don’t give a shit that I’m a convicted felon getting out of prison. Hell, most have served time at one point or another, whether in prison or for our country. There’s not much of a difference. Either way you lose your freedom and have to take orders from someone else. At least one is honorable and pays…

  When I step foot outside for the first time in years without barbed wire fence surrounding me, I see that all the members of the Savage Kings showed up for my release. They’re standing in clusters around a line of Harleys, all wearing the same cuts and jeans. Everyone’s here, Torin, War, Chase, Abe, Cooper, Miles, Sax, Dalton, Reece, Maddox and a kid I haven’t met who I’m guessing is a prospect. Oh, and of course there’s Gabriel.

  Even if I hadn’t spotted him right away, I would’ve felt his dark chocolate eyes on me, eating me up. Those same eyes haunt me constantly. It’s the way he looks up at me when he’s on his knees, like he knows that I think about him every time I fist myself, even though I don’t want to. Even though I’ve tried to think of anyone and anything else.

  But that’s all over and done with now.

  Never again.

  It’s the promise I made to myself this morning as I redressed in the same clothes I was wearing the night I got arrested – a black Savage Kings tee and faded jeans. That was the night everything changed because of Gabriel…

  “Look at this bunch of pretty boy pussies!” I say in greeting to the group, pushing aside those memories. “Do you fellas know how to actually ride those shiny new Harleys, or are you just posing with them to try and act like you’re bad asses?”

  “Ian!” Torin says as he comes up and gives me a backslapping hug. “Money’s been good for the club since you’ve been locked up. We all upgraded to bikes that don’t have to be jumpstarted.” Pointing his finger down the row of shining chrome to the red beauty, he adds, “And that one on the end would be your 2020 Road King, buddy. Welcome home!”

  “No shit,” I say in disbelief. I’ve never owned a new anything. My old Harley was a salvage yard special, held together in some places with duct tape. Hell, even my clothes have always been second-hand thrift store buys. I think the Savage Kings t-shirt I have on was one of Chase’s that I stole from his apartment at the clubhouse when I didn’t have any clean ones.

  The rest of the guys come up to shake my hand or thump my back, welcoming me to the world of freedom with Gabriel bringing up the rear.

  He doesn’t try and hug me surprisingly. Instead, he holds up my leather Savage Kings cut in front of him.

  “Missing something?” he asks with a half-grin.

  “Fuck yes,” I reply as I take it from him and slip my arms through each side. I’ve missed the smell of the leather, the weight of it on my chest. Hell, it’s even nice to have pockets again.

  “You ready to finally get the hell out of here?” Chase asks, dangling a set of keys.

  “Shit yeah,” I tell him. “You boys try and keep up now,” I joke since Torin and Chase always lead the pack.

  As our convoy heads out of the prison lot, I fall into place in the middle of the pack. It’s been so long since I’ve been on a bike that my guts clench nervously as we hit the highway and the fierce coastal winds whip around me. The freedom and the speed are overwhelming after all this time, making my eyes water. I’m sure it’s just road grit in my eyes, and not tears of the joy that I feel being back out on the streets with my brothers.

  It’s a long ride back to the Savage Asylum; and by the time we get there, I’m as comfortable on my new bike as I am in my skin. We all pull our bikes into a neat line in front of our clubhouse, Gabriel parking right beside me.

  “Come on,” Gabriel says after he hangs up his helmet. “Follow me downstairs and let me show you where you can crash.”

  “Thanks,” I nod. I follow the crew into the bar, stopping for a moment to take in all the old familiar sights and smells before I walk over to Gabriel, who is punching in the code to the private quarters below.

  “Today’s code is 8521. I’ll remind Reece to get you a phone and to text you the code for tomorrow,” he says before we start down the stairs. “So, here’s the room we set up for you,” Gabriel tells me when he stops and opens the door to one of the apartments in the basement of the Savage Asylum. “I put fresh sheets on the bed.”

  “Thanks,” I tell him as I step inside…and then freeze. My vintage Harley Davidson clock and tin sign with a hot chick washing a Harley are both hanging on the wall, collector’s items I never thought I would ever see again. The four by six photos sticking up from the bottom of the mirror on the dresser are ones of me and some of the Kings hanging out back in my prospecting days. And I’m guessing that, if I look in the dresser drawers, they’ll be filled with my clothes.

  “How did you get all of this?” I turn around to ask Gabe. I figured my landlord would’ve tossed it all in the trash after I didn’t pay rent or show up again those first few months I was locked up.

  “I, ah, I had some of the guys help me move it into a storage unit. No big deal,” he r
eplies with a shrug of his shoulders, hands shoved in the front of his pockets.

  “And let me guess - then you paid for the storage unit for five fucking years?” I snap at him.

  “Are you seriously pissed at me for keeping your shit?” he asks. “It was my fault you got arrested, so I figured it was the least I could do.”

  “Whatever. Get out. I need to take a shower with sandpaper to scrub the prison dirt off of my skin.”

  “Yeah, okay. The bathroom’s stocked up. Let me know if you need anything else,” he says before he leaves me alone in the room and shuts the door behind him.

  I didn’t correct him when he said it was his fault I got arrested, but I should have. At first, yeah, I did fucking blame him. That’s the reason I didn’t want to see him for the first four or so years I was locked up. And then one day, we had this stupid motivational speaker come in talking bullshit about taking responsibility for our actions instead of blaming everyone else for our mistakes. That’s when it hit me that I am the reason I got arrested. I’m the convicted felon who forgot to take my gun out of my saddlebag before hitting the road, knowing I wasn’t allowed to carry it. I was also the one speeding down the highway to try and outrun what had just happened. It wasn’t Gabriel’s fault I got pulled over. It was mine.

  And for the past few months, I’ve let him get on his knees as a way to repent, which was wrong. I shouldn’t have ever taken advantage of his guilt.

  That’s why things are over now. Because I can’t keep being a selfish asshole and because what we did…it’s not who I am.

  After a few minutes of standing in the middle of the room, I realize that it’s too quiet, too empty in here. It’s the first time I’ve really had a moment alone since I left the prison, and I don’t like it. In a way, it feels like I just traded one lonely place for another.