by Isabel Wroth
Dillon's lips parted on a shaky indrawn breath, her gaze transfixed on the movement of his lips, her eyes hooded with renewed lust. Nasa savored the sweet, tangy flavor of her honey. It was delicious, and he told her so.
“Next time, I'll have this right from the source,” Nasa promised as he sucked his index finger into his mouth to clean the last of her from his skin, watching her watch him do it. “Would you like that?”
Dillon gave a disjointed nod, tipping her face up when he leaned in, stopping only centimeters away from her kiss-stung lips. The short whimper she gave sounded like music to his ears.
“Use your words, Dillon.”
She opened her mouth to answer him, but Damon's untimely bellow cut her off. “Time for PT! Haul that universal ass up outta your hole!”
Nasa growled under his breath, turning his head to shout back, “I'll be there in a goddamn minute!”
“I've heard that before,” Damon scoffed doubtfully, “Don't make me come down there!”
“Fuck off, dickhead!” Nasa roared, “I'll be there in ten!”
“Sheesh, alright already. Who pissed in your Wheaties this morning?”
Nasa waited to hear Damon's retreating footsteps before returning his attention to Dillon, who had a soft, dazed smile on her face.
Her cheeks were pink with embarrassment, but when she looked up at him, her eyes sparkled with warmth and happiness.
“Is eight minutes enough time for me to return the favor?” she asked, and if not for the real desire to please in her husky voice, he would have been offended.
Nasa bent to touch a slow, lingering kiss to her smiling mouth.
“That was all for you, and it wasn't a favor. It was a claiming. You’re mine now, Tiger Lily.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Dillon sat on the porch beneath the shade of a wide umbrella with a pineapple, mango, and kale smoothie in her hand, courtesy of Athena.
The petite redhead sat beside her with a ridiculously large sunhat on her head and an equally enormous pair of sunglasses perched on her dainty nose.
They sat in quiet appreciation as the sun rose higher in the sky, sipping their smoothies, watching the guys flip the tractor tires up and down the length of the field, lifting weights, throwing medicine balls back and forth to one another, push-ups, pull-ups, and all manner of sweat-inducing exercises that made their muscles ripple and flex beautifully.
Relaxation permeated every pore, every follicle on her body, and every time Nasa glanced her way, Dillon's vagina did its best impression of a fainting goat. Convulsion, seizure, and a little death.
She couldn't get over how quickly, or how intensely he'd made her come, or how amazing she felt afterward.
Her sex drive had been non-existent until Nasa, and there was a small part of her insisting she was moving way too fast, but the voice was swiftly becoming no more than the annoying whine of a mosquito in her ear.
“Enjoying the show, ladies?” Top called as he made his way across the deck.
In the days she'd spent here at the compound, Dillon spent some time watching all the men of Perdition, and the president of the club hadn't escaped her observations.
He had an odd habit of wandering around the compound, his booming voice bouncing off the walls as he talked on his cell phone—using plenty of four-letter words—slamming the doors he went in and out of with enough force to rattle the windows.
It took a while for Dillon to realize Top wasn't pissed off, he just made a lot of noise and liked slamming doors.
For all his bluster and rough curses, there was a gentleness about Top that Dillon found fascinating. The women of Perdition all adored the older man, the men all respected him, and no matter what they were running with, they always made sure to clear it with Top and give him the last word.
Dillon also noticed Top seemed to move carefully in the early mornings, and some days the heels of his ostrich cowboy boots scuffed along the floor instead of striking the concrete in his usual, loose-limbed stride as he did his phone call laps.
Today, it was already over a hundred degrees in the shade, the humidity made it feel even hotter, and Top came toward them wearing a sweatshirt beneath his heavy leather vest.
“My man is out there without his shirt on,” Athena chortled in delight. “Of course I am.”
Munch gave a yip of delight and zoomed toward Top at warp speed, running circles around him in wild abandon until Elka ripped off a rabid bark, like an older sister yelling at him to knock it off.
Munch immediately went belly up, his tail a blur as it whipped back and forth, tongue lolling out the side of his wide gator jaws.
“Now that's a neat trick,” Top drawled, using his foot to carefully wiggle Munch's belly. “I didn't even have to holler at you, psycho boy. You're here awful early, Athena.”
Athena lifted her shoulder and wiggled her fingers at her man, “We stayed over last night here at the compound. Raid was working late and didn't want me to be at home alone.”
Top grunted in understanding. “You got any extra chloroform on hand? I'm outta that alfalfa ass juice you're making me drink.”
Dillon's eyebrows slid up in surprise, but Athena only huffed in annoyance. “Top, it's chlorophyll. We're trying to boost the oxygen in your blood, not incapacitate you.
"And yes, I've got some in my bag, along with some spirulina I want you to start adding to your vitamin routine. In fact, why don't I mix you up a smoothie right now? You're looking a little gray this morning.”
Athena hopped up and clucked at her dogs to follow, the humid breeze catching the hem of her flouncy hippie skirt. Top lowered himself into Athena's vacant chair with a grumble.
“Spirulina, ha!” Top muttered darkly. “A man's shit ain't supposed to be green.”
Dillon nearly spat a mouthful of her smoothie across the patio table. Top patted his belly, and Elka got up to lean against the side of his chair with her head on his chest.
“You're bad to the bone, pretty girl. Yes, you are,” Top praised, giving Elka's scruff a deep massage. “I bet your mama wouldn't feed you stuff that turns your shit green.”
“Green poop would be a small price to pay if she were having health problems,” Dillon assured him. “Cancer?”
“You been talking to the girls about me?” Top asked it with a wide smile on his face, as though the girls could do no wrong. The affection in his voice came through loud and clear.
“We've talked mostly about the mystery of why guys can't pee inside the toilet bowl, swapped paleo recipes, they've told me about their businesses, and what it's like from their side of the fence regarding the Leviathans. Nothing about you, except to say they absolutely adore you and love being part of the crew.
“I've noticed you move a little slower, and your breathing gets a little rough going up or down the basement stairs.
"Raid was bitching the whole drive back from Dallas about Athena making him go paleo and eat kale because of his back injury, so if she's making you juice that tastes like alfalfa, I assumed it was for health reasons.”
Top shot her a sly, sidelong look and a manly grunt. “I've always said women have a natural talent for deductive reasoning. Lung cancer. S'what happens when you smoke two packs a day since you were eight.
“The shit Athena has me drinking tastes like fresh cut grass with a squeeze of lemon, but between her herbal hippie shit and the diet my damn doctor has me on, my tumors have shrunk enough to push back my expiration date. You're gettin' cozy with my boy, huh?”
Dillon fought to keep her face expressionless, but she felt the heat in her cheeks all the same. He couldn't possibly know that less than an hour ago, she'd had Nasa's hand between her thighs.
When she didn't immediately respond, Top continued, thumping on Elka before the huge hound retreated to lie back down beside Dillon, stretching out in the shade.
“Out of all the women in the world, I see how you compliment Nasa. Y'all have a lot in common. You get his need to prepare, and cons
idering your line of work, you get why he's so over the top when it comes to security. How are you handling having Tobias up in your space?”
Top slid that question in while Dillon was still off-balance, wondering if Top could tell what all had gone on in the basement.
She looked out onto the field where Tobias was on his back with his legs up in the air, ankles crossed while he did a series of crunches.
It was the third time she'd seen him without his shirt on, and the scars on his back were a constant reminder she would likely be dead if not for his intervention.
“I still have a knee-jerk reaction if he comes around the corner and I'm not prepared for it, but it's getting better. He's a good man.”
Top laced his fingers over his stomach and turned his gaze to watch his guys on the field, “Takes some kinda woman to forgive the guy who had a hand in her abuse.”
Dillon's mouth ran dry, but Nasa chose that moment to look up from his turn at flipping the tire and back to her. He saw Top beside her, but his eyes remained fixed on Dillon's face, waiting for some sign from her to say she was all right.
Dillon didn't mistake his posture for anything except what it was. Alert readiness, silently conveying he'd be at her side in a heartbeat if she needed him, and Dillon felt a peculiar melting sensation in her belly.
It was easy to give a genuine smile, which Nasa took as reassurance to say she was fine. With a short nod to her, he got back to work, sweating alongside his brothers, wearing nothing but his workout shorts, socks, and trainers.
His body was a thing of beauty. His wide shoulders and muscular arms wrapped in delicate, precise lines of blue, black, and gray. Computer circuitry etched into tanned flesh to resemble armor, making him look a little bit like a cyborg.
Dillon felt prepared to lay down a hefty wager to say Nasa had designed the layout of the tattoos himself.
She hadn't really noticed or been attracted to a man's body in nearly a decade, but physically, everything about Nasa flat out did it for her.
Obviously, he was the tallest guy on the field, his musculature proportionate to his body. He looked positively lean beside Roar and Damon, the two of them so stacked it was a wonder they could wear clothes and not split them open.
There wasn't a beer belly to be seen on the field, and listening to Damon shout orders to switch from this exercise to that, trash talking to motivate his guys in a way that made them groan and laugh, was an interesting way to spend her morning.
Initially, Dillon objected when Nasa scooped her up and started to carry her up out of the basement. She had her own workout and run to get to before the sun could come up and broil the meat off her bones.
Undeterred by her protest, Nasa bent close and licked at her bottom lip before giving her the sweetest kiss ever.
“I need you where I can see you.”
At the time, Dillon rationalized it. She had other stuff to do, but he'd expressed his need after fulfilling hers. Sitting outside watching him work out felt like an easy thing to give.
It wasn't until he'd opened up the umbrella for her and brushed his fingertip down the slope of her cheek with a cocky grin on his face that Dillon felt the impact of what else he'd said to her in the basement.
“It's not a favor. It's a claiming. You’re mine now, Tiger Lily.”
Dillon still wasn't entirely sure why it made her melt a little every time he called her Tiger Lily, but in the haze of the most epic orgasm she could ever recall having, Dillon hadn't yet delved too deeply into dissecting it.
“I only ever saw Tobias when I was being moved from room to room during my interrogation, and even then, it was a brief glance,” she finally told Top. “Enough to remember his face. Enough to look back on and say he never participated.
“I believe he had a hand in protecting me, and I believe he put an end to the torture. If he hadn't helped me, I'd be dead.
"Those scars on his back are all I need to convince me he did what he said. So, yeah, I can forgive him. It's just going to take some time before I stop fighting the urge to kick him in the balls and run screaming in the other direction.”
Instead of offering her platitudes or assurances, Top threw his head back and roared with laughter. It was a good laugh, loud and authentic.
“I'd pay good money to see that,” he chortled wickedly, but before long, he got back to being serious. “So, this is the part where I stick my nose in your business and ask you if you're enjoying spending time with Nasa on a temporary basis or if you've looked far enough ahead to see yourself taking the long windy walks with him.”
Dillon regretted having taken a sip of her smoothie because Top's casual delivery of a very serious question made her choke on it.
“Wh-what?”
Top waved his hand at where Nasa was swinging a sledgehammer over his head, doing his best to kill the tractor tire.
“He's gone from suspecting you're a plant to absolute certainty you're as much a victim as Saint and Damon were when Ghost got hold of them, to lookin’ at you with stars in his eyes. He's invested now, and in his fucked up way, he feels responsible for bringing Ghost into your life.
“I see that heart of gold and the soft spot you've got, so does Nasa. Considering you're one bad bitch with the same tendencies and interests as him, it ain't much of a stretch to guess Nasa's endgame.
“I can picture y'all going the distance without much effort, and I like the way that looks in my head. No doubt in my mind, he'll treat you like a queen and help you make all your dreams come true.
"But if you're not going in the same direction he is, if you're planning to take off after your problems are over and break his heart, he'll never be the same again.”
“Are you... are you asking me what my intentions are?” Dillon clarified with mild incredulity.
“Somethin' like that,” Top confirmed. “For the first time I can ever recall, Nasa left this compound without giving two shits about his constant fear of being tracked by satellites, he hauled ass to Dallas once he heard you were in trouble.
“He painted and redecorated the basement after insisting he liked everything exactly the way it was since he moved in.
"He didn't pitch a fit when you disrupted his filing system, and you've got real estate in his private domain. I'll wager a fair amount of cold hard cash, he'll stick his brand on you in two months or less, because he's that serious.”
Dillon felt that post-orgasmic relaxation evaporate like morning dew as a spurt of temper kicked up red hot sparks inside her.
“His brand? Do I look like a cow?”
Top ripped off another gut-busting laugh, and a few seconds in, Athena walked up with a huge glass of bright green juice.
“What's so funny?”
Top's laughter dried up at the sight of the juice, but he dutifully took it and grunted at Athena in thanks. Bikers, at least the ones all around her, seemed to communicate using differently toned grunts, like gorillas.
“Show Dillon your brand.”
Top delivered his order, put the glass to his lips, tipped it back, and sixteen whole ounces of liquid disappeared. Dillon must not have disguised her look of astonishment because Athena gave a giggle.
“Crazy, isn't it? I'm convinced he's part snake. He doesn't even swallow, just disarticulates his jaw and down the hatch it goes. I don't think he even tastes it.”
Top shuddered in disgust and put the glass on the table. “Oh, I taste it alright. Christ on a cracker, did you add dog shit to that one?”
“Of course not,” Athena snapped tartly. “It's the same juice I make for you every day, but I crushed up the horse pills your doctor gave you because I know you've been struggling to choke those down.”
“Thanks, darlin’.” Dillon saw the admiration plain on Top's face for a split second before he was back to being the gruff president of a biker club. “Now, go on. Show Dillon your ink.”
With a proud smile, Athena lifted the hem of her tank top all the way up to just below her ribs, turning in
a slow circle so Dillon could get a good look at the beautiful, lacy tattoo with flowers done in vibrant pinks and oranges, and an incredibly realistic looking locket between her breasts that Athena had to pull her bra up to show off.
The words, 'Property of Raid' were clearly inked into the metallic looking surface, and Dillon couldn't believe Athena was okay to be permanently marked as property. Ugh.
“Calling it a brand is total biker lingo, and a really lame word considering the beauty of what it stands for,” Athena declared. “I was seriously offended to be likened to a cow, right up until the moment I realized Raid designed this for me himself, and he told me why he picked my favorite flowers in my favorite color.
“He took his time to find the perfect design to suit me as an individual and described it in detail to the guy who does all the ink for the club.
"Before Raid framed it, he used the stencil to incorporate elements of the tattoo on a feminine cut I wear when we all ride out, and it's one of my prized possessions.
“Saint designed Ripley's brand, the same way Roar did for Ever. It's unique to the story of how we all fell in love.” That did sound so much more romantic and special than the word 'brand' implied.
Athena lowered her shirt and tipped her sunglasses down to peer over the frames at Top with a suspicious hike of her brows.
“Why are we talking about brands?”
“Just came up in conversation,” Top answered in his casual way.
Athena snorted like she didn't buy that for a second. “Yeah, right. You're doing the thing, aren't you?”
“What thing?” Top gave off the air of a harmless, completely innocent man.
Athena cocked out her hip and folded her arms across her chest, “The same thing you did you me, Ever, and Ripley—while she was at the hospital with Saint, who had a bullet hole in his gut—you fussy, meddling old man.”
“Fussy? You are calling me fussy?” Top pressed his hand to his heart as though Athena were harshly accusing him of an unforgivable sin.