Dirty Bastard (Wet Dicks MC Book 1)

by Echo Slater

  “Well, it could be worse.”

  “How?” I ask as Bane runs for the door.

  “You could have shit yourself in bed.”

  Frowning at her, I grumble, “I don’t like you.”

  “No denying I’m an acquired taste.”

  Shuffling to the door, I’m ready to cry and tell Mad Dog to come back when I’m less insane.

  “Hey,” I mumble sheepishly as I open the door for him.

  Rather than pick up on my signals, my sexy biker cups my face with his powerful hands and plants a breath-stealing kiss on me.

  Just like that, I remember why I blurted out “I love you” to Mad Dog last night. He rips away my ability to be smart and guarded. One kiss leaves me focused only on pleasing Mad Dog.

  Right now, with his lips on mine and my heart racing only for him, the future seems clear and easy.

  MAD DOG—SHARP DRESSED MAN

  Cameo tastes like mine. I could suck on her lips forever, even with Hagan eyeballing me, a white furball barking wildly, and the Sutton parents nearby. When I finally end our kiss, I find Cameo watching me in a daze.

  “Did you miss me?” I ask when she just stares.

  Only nodding, Cameo seems out of it.

  Leaning down, I whisper in her ear. “Do you still feel me inside you?”

  Cameo turns her face toward me until our lips are nearly touching again. “I got too wild yesterday.”

  “No, you were perfect.”

  “I lost control.”

  “So did I,” I say and brush my lips across hers. “And it felt fucking great.”

  Cameo finally stops pouting and offers me a big smile. “It did.”

  “Then, why do you seem sad?”

  “I worried I did stuff wrong.”

  “Yet, I’m here for your mother’s spaghetti casserole.”

  “Yes, you are,” she says, running her hands down the front of my white T-shirt.

  I kiss her again, winning an irritated grunt from Hagan. Cameo’s bestie decides to calm the dog, who is fucking pissed at how no one will acknowledge how fucking pissed he is.

  “What’s his name?” I ask when Cameo’s lips leave mine, and she wraps her arms around my waist.

  “Bane, like the Batman villain.”

  I frown down at the fluffy, old-lady dog now cuddled in Hagan’s lap. Bane pants and wags his tail at me. He might be the least intimidating animal I’ve ever seen.

  “He’s clearly a badass,” I tell Cameo, who smiles at my bullshit.

  My gaze meets Hagan’s, and she literally sneers.

  “The dog gets a hello, but not me?” she grumbles and looks to Cameo for comfort. “Am I invisible?”

  “No, I see you,” I answer. “Did you do something different with your hair?”

  Hagan scowls darker, likely sensing I pull that line on women a lot. The truth is chicks love talking about their hair. Unfortunately, Hagan isn’t so easily distracted.

  “What would you be doing right now if you weren’t here?” she asks, trying to stir up trouble.

  “Riding with the guys.”

  “And what do the women at the Ranch do when you bros are playing with your bikes?”

  “I don’t know. Gossip about our dicks while manicuring their nails? There might be some waxing involved, too. I can text Raqui and ask.”

  Shrugging, Hagan gets up from her spot on the floor. “Are her parents a fan of boxing?”

  “Raqui like Raquel,” Cameo explains, glued to me now.

  I run my fingers down my girl’s spine, aiming to land my hand on her sweet ass. When I notice her parents coming, I rest my palm on the PG-rated spot on her shoulder.

  “Oh, boy,” Hagan says and smiles at Phil and Arlene.

  “Mad Dog, how are you?” he asks, having chosen to refer to me by my road name.

  “I’m good. How about you?”

  “We’re fine, Mike,” Arlene responds, deciding on the name my parents chose.

  “Thanks for inviting me to dinner,” I say and flash a smile at Cameo, who’s the only one not frowning at me.

  “Mom’s casserole is great.”

  “Cameo only knows how to cook two things,” Arlene says and then frowns. “Not that cooking knowledge is important to a woman’s worth.”

  “I know how to cook four things,” Hagan announces and smiles at Arlene. “And I learned three from you.”

  Ass-kissing teenager for the win! Hagan’s comment immediately settles down Cameo’s mom.

  “Can I get you a beer?” Phil asks, and I suspect he’s proving a point to his princess, who can’t legally drink booze yet.

  “Naw, I’m driving later.”

  Cameo hides her face against my chest and laughs for an unknown reason. Either she’s loopy from a lack of sleep, or my jizz was laced with something. Well, I guess she could also be nervous around her parents. If so, she probably should remove her hand from my back jeans pocket.

  “How long until dinner is ready?” Hagan asks, now bending over to pet Bane.

  “Ten minutes.”

  I can’t claim the next few minutes are the worst I’ve experienced. My father was a violent, moody fuck. My mom would tell long, tedious stories about people I didn’t know. I spent time in the county lockup. Sure, I’ve suffered worse experiences.

  But I’ve never made weather small talk with people while their daughter felt me up and memories of her naked in my bed flashed in my head.

  Fortunately, the casserole finishes cooking, and we move to the dining room. I end up with a plate full of baked spaghetti, a mixed salad, and garlic bread. I smile at how normal Cameo’s family seems. I know some bitch threw Cameo away in a dumpster, but my woman ended up with two people who value her every day.

  Arlene and Phil sit at opposite sides of the table. Hagan is across from Cameo and me. We all take turns saying how good dinner is and thanking Arlene. She looks tired of the praise by the time we stop.

  “You live on that ranch with those other biker men,” she says despite us going over that earlier in the week.

  “And several righteous moms.”

  “Is yours one of them?”

  “Mine lives in Florida.”

  “Are you close?”

  “No.”

  Arlene nods as if my estranged mom explains why I ended up in the Wet Dicks Motorcycle Club. Though she’s probably right, I don’t see anything wrong with my life.

  “How about your father?” Arlene asks while Cameo and Hagan talk using their eyes.

  “He’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mama Sutton mumbles, rightfully assuming my dad was a piece of crap.

  “He wasn’t worth mourning.”

  Next to me, Cameo gives Hagan a weird look. I think they’re worried about the conversation topics.

  “And you live in a house with those men?” Arlene asks.

  “We have our own houses.”

  “It’s really nice, Mom,” Cameo says while resting her hand on my thigh. “Felt like a model home, all organized and clean. Even smelled good.”

  “I like that cinnamon scent,” I say, and Arlene frowns. “It sprays out of a doohickey on regular intervals.”

  “It did smell like cinnamon in your house.”

  Cameo and Hagan nod at the air freshener thing as if they’re super impressed with my ability not to stink up the world. However, Phil and Arlene look constipated. They’ve no doubt spent years hearing stories about what goes on at the Ranch.

  Of course, most of the gossip is true. Before Grizz hooked up with Raqui, women did run around the Ranch naked all the time. We partied harder. Guys passed out everywhere. Each weekend, local people came out to drink, dance, and get stoned.

  But Grizz can’t have losers at the Ranch all the time when his kid wants to play. These days, our wildest parties are a once-a-month thing. Raqui and Cross hide in their house while the rest of us get crazy.

  “I have an idea,” I say, wiping my mouth. “Why don’t you folks come out to the Ranch
next weekend? We’ll be having a birthday party for my president’s son. You can meet my club brothers and the family living out there. You’ll see how we aren’t heathens.”

  “Can I come?” Hagan asks immediately.

  “Of course. You’re Cameo’s sister.”

  “That I am,” Hagan says, smiling at her bestie.

  “What exactly will take place at this party?” Arlene asks warily.

  “Well, it’s a birthday party for a two-year-old, so balloons and a bouncy house. Stuff like that.”

  Arlene and Phil share a look, maybe assuming my president’s son was a party-animal teenager.

  “I ought to warn you we’ve got a gender reveal planned, too. Raqui found out what the baby’s sporting, and she’ll lay that news on Grizz at the party. Last time around, she had a man dress up as the blue bear from ‘Monsters, Inc.’”

  Hagan snickers. “You mean, Sully?”

  “I don’t know the thing’s name,” I reply, grinning at the girls’ amusement. “So, this costumed guy came flying out of the house at Grizz. Poor sonovabitch got tackled by Horse, thinking we were under attack. I don’t know what Raqui has planned this time around. I figured I’d let you know how things could turn out.”

  “That sounds nice,” Phil says, nodding at Arlene. “We’ll bring a gift. What does the boy like?”

  “I don’t know. Trucks, I guess. I only know his stuff is tiny and hurts when you step on it.”

  Arlene finally settles down and smiles. “Oh, we remember those days. Cameo and Hagan had those little blocks everywhere. Even after we cleaned up, they were often hidden, just waiting for a wayward foot.”

  “I never wanted for anything as a kid,” Cameo says, smiling full of love at them.

  No doubt Phil and Arlene Sutton are far better parents than I knew growing up. Can’t imagine many people in Barrow would be as welcoming of me as these two.

  Sure, they wish Cameo wanted someone else. Yet, Phil tries hard to play the cool dad, accepting his daughter’s step on the wild side. Arlene, though, knows what a bad man can do. I see those worries written all over her pretty face.

  Hopefully, if they spend time around my club brothers when we’re on our best behavior, Cameo’s parents can accept I’m not dangerous. Well, to her, anyway.

  CAMEO—BECAUSE OF YOU

  Mad Dog wins over my parents as much as possible during dinner. I do suspect they’re curious about life on the Ranch. So am I. I’ve seen the place during a party and a quiet dinner with the club. I wonder what an average day is like.

  Though I hate telling Mad Dog goodbye after dinner, my bruised bajingo begs me not to sneak off and ride his dick yet.

  Of course, by the next day, I’m dying to feel him inside me again. After Mad Dog picks me up at my house after school, we grab sandwiches and go to his place. I try to soak in details I missed last time, from his home’s masculine décor to the organization of the various bungalows.

  “Did you pick where your house would be?” I ask as he sets the sandwich bag on the countertop.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t care.”

  “Did you pick the style?”

  “The outside stuff? No,” he says and sizes me up. “How do you get more beautiful every time I see you?”

  “I think you smoke too much pot,” I say, sliding my hands up his shredded chest to his bearded jaw. “It’s made your brain fuzzy.”

  “No, you just get hotter the harder I fall.”

  His words are clearly a line. Maybe one he’s used on a lot of girls before. But I still instantly blush and wrap myself against him.

  Once in his bedroom, Mad Dog strips me down. He kisses my hickey-covered breasts and apologizes to my bruised inner thighs. He focuses his most tender attention on my swollen pussy.

  “You’ve addicted me,” he tells my wet, bare flesh. “I can’t stop myself.”

  Mad Dog kisses my tender pussy, sucking gently at the lips and turning me to liquid heat.

  I quickly fall in love with the sight of Mad Dog propped over my body, thrusting slow and steady. His dark eyes watch me, and I can’t look away. Eventually, my gaze drinks in the way his hard muscles flex. My fingers slide across his tatted flesh, wanting to memorize every inch of him.

  “I wish you could stay over,” he murmurs after we both come and I’m tucked against his sweaty body.

  “Maybe on the weekends.”

  “Do your parents not let you sleep over anywhere without them?”

  “I went to away games and stayed in hotels, but Hagan was there, and we had adult supervision. Sometimes, Mom would come along.”

  “But you’re eighteen.”

  “I haven’t graduated yet. That’s the official point where they’ll think of me as an adult.”

  Mad Dog wants to complain. I feel him fighting troublemaking words. Lifting my head, I study his frowning face.

  “You were running wild at my age, so I seem like a baby.”

  “No, you’re the sexiest woman on the planet, and you belong with me. Except you need to leave soon.”

  “I can talk to my parents.”

  Frowning harder now, he asks, “What if they tell you no?”

  “Then, I’ll talk to them again.”

  “Just wear them down, huh? Does that work?”

  “Usually.”

  Mad Dog exhales deeply, struggling with how he can’t bully his way into a win here. “I’ve never wanted a woman like I do you. Dating, where I see you every few days for a few hours, feels like a punishment.”

  “But even if they let me sleep over, I wouldn’t be at your beck and call.”

  “No, not until you graduate.”

  “Wait, is that your plan?”

  Mad Dog smirks. “I don’t have a plan, baby. That ought to be obvious by now.”

  Kissing his buff chest, I try to distract him with more sex. Mad Dog’s howling stomach interrupts my plans. We end up downstairs with him naked and me wearing his shirt. Mad Dog seems happy enough until I mention how I can’t see him for a few days since I have extra school stuff all week.

  “You’re killing me, Smalls,” he grumbles.

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Have you never seen ‘The Sandlot’?”

  “Is that a movie?”

  “When you spend the night, we’ll watch it.”

  “Is it a horror movie?”

  “No, it’s a coming-of-age flick about a bunch of boys playing baseball.”

  I stare at him, silently expressing my complete lack of interest in his movie idea.

  “We’re different,” he says, narrowing his dark eyes at me. Suddenly, he smiles. “Good thing, too. I don’t want to date myself. I’m a slob.”

  Mad Dog tosses his wrapper near the trash can, promising to clean it up later. Realizing I’m done eating, he carries me over his shoulder like a caveman back to his bedroom.

  Soon, I enjoy a nice deep doggy-style fuck. He tugs at my nipples with the same rhythm as his thrusts. I reach down to stroke his balls slapping against my ass. Our fucking feels incredible, and I fantasize about what staying overnight would be like.

  When Mad Dog drops me off at home, he says I need to work my magic on my parents.

  “Every time I leave you, I feel like shit,” he mutters, frowning as I tell him goodbye.

  I think to mention how he and I didn’t know each other only weeks ago. We’ve been on a handful of dates. He’s moving too fast.

  But then, I remember how I said I loved him after having sex for the first time.

  “Summer isn’t too far off” is all I can offer.

  Mad Dog gives me a little scowl before noticing eyes on us. He kisses me quickly before speeding away.

  I shuffle into the house, confused if he’s genuinely upset or not. I’ve never had a real boyfriend, and Mad Dog isn’t like the guys at school. He doesn’t put on a show. But I’m unsure if he’s giving me an ultimatum. Can we last to summer? Or was th
inking long-term always dumb?

  “You can just ask him,” Hagan suggests when we rest in bed and listen to Doja Cat.

  “I feel like he’ll lie to protect my feelings.”

  “Well, then, just don’t worry about it.”

  Cuddling closer to her, I ask, “How do you figure?”

  “Do what he wants. Talk to Phil and Arlene, try to get more time with him. When you’re with Mad Dog, let him fuck you stupid. If that’s not enough for the dirty bastard, so fucking be it.”

  Sensing Hagan is sick of talking about my love life all the time, I shut up and stop obsessing over everything Mad Dog’s said and done since we met.

  Two days pass while I try to care about school. With cheerleading finishing up, the team has a handful of final events scheduled to celebrate the upcoming graduation of a few girls and me.

  After finishing with an after-school team meeting, Hagan requests that we stop at the gas station across from the gym to get ourselves ICEEs. All day, she’s been edgy in a way only sugar will fix.

  “I’m worried high school will be the time of my life,” Hagan says as we exit the store with our drinks. “Like, when I’m showing off to my kids one day, the only good times I’ll have to share are from now. They’ll be ashamed of me.”

  “It’s possible your kids will be tragic train wreck losers, and your lamest story will be a million times better than their best day.”

  Scowling hard at me, Hagan asks, “How is that better?”

  “I don’t have any emotional attachment to your imaginary future children. Let them feel bad.”

  Hagan grins at my comment. “Yeah, screw those dipshits. Serves them right for having a loser dad who clearly gave them all their shitty qualities.”

  I’m about to agree when I notice a party girl headed in our direction. We move aside, thinking she plans to go inside.

  Instead, the woman says to me, “Hey, shit-eater.”

  I ignore her because I do not, in fact, eat shit. Even as a baby, I was extremely careful about not putting poo in my mouth. My mother was very proud.

  “Dumbass, I’m talking to you,” she says, gesturing in my direction.

  Accepting how her insults are for me, I turn slightly to face her. Hagan slurps on her giant ICEE and frowns.