by Kane, Jessa
My uncle’s fist slams down on the table with enough force to knock his beer over and upset the silverware. I’ve never seen him like this. There is murder in his eyes and it’s centered on these two men. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life than I am that Mase is about to commit a double homicide.
Which means he’ll be taken away from me.
For life?
Chills wrack me. The idea of him back behind bars is so terrifying, I whimper in my throat and his gaze flies to my face, incorrectly interpreting where my fear stems from. He thinks I’m scared of the men and it fuels his rage even more, his nostrils flaring, his body vibrating with barely leashed violence. This is the man my father tells stories about. The force to be reckoned with who, at one time, ruled the streets from the seat of his bike. His head whips back around and whatever look he pins on the men sends them back a step. Then another. “Mase,” Clint laughs nervously. “We were just joking around. Whatever you do is your business.”
“Stay put.” Mase growls the order at me, moving to leave the booth. But I know I can’t let that happen. If he gets his hands on those men, he’s going to pound their bones to dust.
“No, please. Wait.” I sling my leg across his lap and haul myself up until I’m straddling him, my arms wrapping around his neck. “Don’t. Please. I need you here with me and the baby. Please don’t do something that’ll get you taken away from me.”
“They scared you,” he shouts, his murderous gaze fixed over my shoulder.
“No. Only the thought of you leaving scares me.”
His barrel chest heaves. “They disrespected you, too.” He tries to leave the booth again, but I clamp my legs around his waist, so when he stands, I’m clinging to him like a monkey. “I have to handle this, Ripley.”
“No, you don’t.” My near-paralyzing fear of Mase being taken away has made me realize how stupid I was to think I could send him away. To think I could be without him. To think I could raise this baby alone when having him near me is a necessity. “I love you,” I say truthfully, dropping kisses on his face. “I love you and I need you to take me home. I-I need you to pick me up from class every day and make sure I’m eating for the baby.”
The anger starts to clear from his eyes as he looks at me, leaving wonder in its wake. “You love me, Ripley?”
I nod enthusiastically, tears forming in my eyes. And for the first time, it occurs to me what the men said when they approached our table. It really sinks in. “You left the club for me?”
“Of course I did.” He leans in and whispers the rest beside my ear. “You were the purest light I’d ever seen. You baptized me. Made me new. Made me want to be worthy of five minutes in the same room as you. I love you.”
Euphoria rolls through me at his confession. How ridiculous I must have sounded, accusing him of wanting a relationship out of obligation because of the baby. He changed his whole life for me years ago and never said a word. “Forget about them.” Aware of the multitude of eyes on us, I squeeze his hips with my thighs as subtly as possible. “I need you so bad,” I sob quietly into his neck. “Now.”
He’s already striding toward the back of the restaurant.
* * *
Mase
Christ, I shouldn’t fuck her when I’m this worked up, but nothing is going to stop me.
Ripley’s pussy grinds down on my cock as I stomp through the noisy kitchen, kicking the back door open with my boot and carrying her into the dark alley where I parked my bike earlier. The sun has set since we entered the restaurant, leaving nothing but moonlight to guide my way as I take two steps and pin her to the brick building opposite the door we just exited.
I ram my cock up between her thighs and she cries out, her fingernails digging into my shoulders. “Mase. Yes. Yes. Please.”
“You’re giving me forever, Ripley,” I groan, almost delirious from how good it feels to hump her after an hour in the restaurant sitting beside her looking so sexy. “Say it.”
“Forever. Forever,” she chants, jarred by my thrusts. “Forever.”
Ripley was never supposed to come that close to my former life. None of it was ever supposed to touch her and I’m still reeling over my past and present colliding. As pissed off as I am about Chavez and Clint daring to breathe in my girl’s direction, though…maybe it was a good thing. The reminder of who I used to be forces me to acknowledge who I still am.
A possessive bastard. Her possessive bastard.
I need her to acknowledge it, too. And I pray it doesn’t scare her.
“Ripley, do you remember what I said to you when I spanked you that night in the brothel?”
Her expression is dazed, but she visibly tries to focus. “Um. I remember…there was a part of me that l-liked it.”
“Getting spanked?” My cock pulses hotter. “Being punished?”
She nods, her cheeks pinkening. “I didn’t cry because it hurt. I cried because you pushed me away.” When I heave a miserable sound, she soothes me by tracing circles on my chest. “You told me…you’d do that if I didn’t answer your phone calls. Or if I smile at another man.” A breath shudders past her lips, her eyelids drooping. “You said you’re my master.”
I struggle to focus after she repeats the words back, hearing them in her voice is such an aphrodisiac. Having her acknowledge my possessiveness and not turn away from it. “I meant all of it, Ripley. Every word, do you hear me?” I reach down between us and yank her skirt up to her waist. Then I grip her pussy roughly. “You want me, you have to understand that I’m consumed by thoughts of you. Your body. Your safety. Your perfect heart. This cunt.” I squeeze her flesh and she whimpers, her eyes losing focus. “I’m not some chump who’ll be content with text messages and a fucking movie date once in a while. Your free time is going to be spent riding my cock like a good princess. And my free time will be spent coming up with a million ways to make you happy and safe. You won’t be my girlfriend, you’ll be mine. Plain and simple. You’ll be property of Mase, no exceptions.”
“And y-you’ll be property of Ripley?” she sobs the question through swollen lips, her wetness already pooling in the center of my palm.
My head tilts out of pure incredulity. “You really have to ask me that, sweetheart? Do you think I’ve ever wanted to lay down these rules for someone besides you? No. No, these are Ripley specific. You made me this way, niece. This insanity of mine is all for you. I’m going to obsess over you until the day I die.” I slide my hand around the back of her panties so I can knead her supple ass. “I can’t live without you being happy. Tell me again I’m getting that chance. Tell me again you want every fucked up thing that comes with me.”
She looks me in the eye and whispers, “I want it. I want you. All of you.”
I can’t get her panties ripped off fast enough. My dick is throbbing, ordering me to claim her, and my heart is still held in thrall over her confession of love. I’m fucking shaking with desire and emotion as I unzip my jeans, my shaft slapping out right where it needs to go, without being guided. It searches for her tight little hole, finds it, spurts come against it—and I slam home, cutting off her scream with my mouth. Keeping our lips suctioned tightly, I fuck her in a frenzy, wedging my hands between her back and the wall so not a scratch finds her.
She bucks her hips like a goddamn wildcat, moaning in her throat, not a single complaint even though I’m banging her harder than I have any right to, this only being her second time. I can’t imagine it ever being another way for us, though, and she seems to agree. Seems to love my rough reentries to her body, even opening her thighs wider to receive them harder.
“Yes, Uncle Mase. Yes. Faster.”
Growling into her neck, I angle her against the building and jackhammer her tight, slick cunt, clenching my teeth against the need to come too fast. “God help me,” I grit out, raking her neck with my teeth. “Our babies are going to have my last name. And so are you. You’ll be my wife before my come finishes drying on your thighs.”
She whimpers, “Yes. Yes.” Her pussy spasms, her thighs jerking tight, and I bounce her through the climax, groaning over the way her titties shake for my entertainment.
And with her pleasure seen to, I take my own, grinding her down hard on my lap, tight enough to put an unholy pressure on my aching balls—and I let her clenching pussy milk the seed right out of me, the entire sweet piece of her rippling around me, root to tip. Rippling. “That’s where you really get your name, isn’t it baby? Couldn’t keep it a secret from me forever, could you?” I pant, kneading her butt, my knees dipping under the rush of the best orgasm of my thirty-eight years, because she’s finally mine. All mine. “Oh Christ. Yeah, sweetheart, just like that. Let me feel why I’m such a lucky motherfucker. Ahhhh. God.”
It’s a long time until she stops trembling and sighs into my sweaty neck. “I love you.”
I kiss her with every ounce of love in my soul, love that will multiply and grow more intense every minute for the rest of my life. “I love you, too, baby.”
Epilogue
Ripley
One week later
I press my nose to the back of Mase’s leather jacket as we hum down the highway, inhaling the scent I now associate with safety, love, excitement and orgasms.
So many orgasms.
Except for the classes I started attending on Monday, I’ve barely been off my back.
Or my hands and knees.
Hours have been spent naked, sweaty, breathless, writhing, his mouth on mine, his hands everywhere, his words of praise and devotion ringing in my ears. I’m a sated, tensionless, love-struck blob, basically, hanging on to my rock as the bike purrs beneath us. This is my preferred mode of transportation now and I have no idea how I got around before. My purple Volkswagen Bug still probably sits unused in our driveway forever, because if I can have my arms wrapped around Mase, I will. Always.
We ease to a stop outside of my parents’ house and I take a deep, bracing breath. Mase takes off our helmets, hanging them from the handlebars, then he lifts me from the bike, sliding me slowly down every sensuous ridge of his body.
“Nervous?” he asks, molding my hips in his strong hands.
“A little.” His hands slip around to my backside, palming my cheeks roughly, and I sway into him, going up on my toes to fit my curves to his muscle. “Are you turning me on to distract me from my nerves, husband?”
Heat flares in his eyes at the title. “Call me that again and we won’t make it inside.”
When Mase told me he was going to be intense and jealous, I understood.
It’s part of him and I love all of him.
I didn’t expect his controlling nature to excite me so much.
During a morning class this week, I received a text message from him asking if my legs were crossed like a good girl. And if they weren’t, why the fuck not? The only time you allow space between your legs is when I’m between them.
I practically climbed Mase when I walked out to find him straddling his Harley, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, stalking my approach. Now, I eye the bike seat longingly, remembering how he made love to me on it afterward behind the campus library, my ankles thrown over his shoulders, his eyes burning with lust.
“Ripley…” he says warningly, sliding a hand into the back of my panties and giving it a swat. “You’re making me hard.”
I moan into his neck. “You’re always hard.”
Muttering a frustrated curse, Mase snags my wrist and drags me toward the house. “Let’s get this over with so I can get you alone.”
With my desire momentarily thwarted, I eye the front door with a fresh case of trepidation. “Do you think they’ll handle it well?”
“At this point, sweetheart, it’s just a formality.” We stop at the door, Mase gazing down at me with ownership as he knocks. “You’re mine.”
I nuzzle my face in the arm of his jacket. “I’m yours.”
My stepfather chooses that moment to answer the door. “Mase?” He rears back when he sees me, my fingers threaded through those of his brother. “Uh. Ripley?”
A muscle flexes in Mase’s jaw, but he looks my stepfather right in the eye, unflinchingly, and a silent communication passes between them. “Can we come in?”
“Oh, Jesus.” My stepfather steps back, raking a hand through his hair. “Her mother is going to kill me. She saw the way you looked at Ripley. Warned me not to let you around her.”
“Yeah? She was probably right,” Mase drawls, tugging me inside, past my gaping stepfather. “It’s too late for that now, though.”
My mother breezes out of the kitchen with a glass of white wine in her hand. “Honey, who is it?” She grinds to a halt. “Ripley?” Her throat bobs. “Mase?”
“Mom, can we sit down?” I say, trying to sound soothing.
She spies Mase’s hand holding mine tightly and knocks back her entire glass of wine. “I think I’ll stand.”
Mase and I trade a wry look. His eyes tell me he’s worried about this confrontation and how it will affect my relationship with my parents. I’ve reassured him a million times that I’m all in. That I’m with him no matter what happens. No regrets. I smile at him now to remind him of those promises I made, mostly while he was inside me.
“Mom, Dad. Mase and I went to the courthouse today and got married.” I step into his side and lift my face for a kiss, which he delivers slowly, his eyes turbulent with love. “It’s always been him. It’ll always be him.”
“It’s always been her,” Mase repeats gruffly. “It’ll be her until the day I die.”
Though it’s hard, I tear my eyes off of my husband and split a look between my mother and stepfather. “I hope you can be okay with this in time. I know it’s probably a shock.”
Mase presses his lips to my forehead and slowly smooths a hand down the front of my belly, though there’s no bump to speak of just yet. “I’m going to take very good care of them.”
My mom squeaks, dropping down onto an ottoman sideways. “I’m going to need more wine.”
I giggle and my husband smiles at the sound. How many times did I stand in this room with him, marveling over his masculine features, the power he radiates, wishing he was mine? Now he is. And I don’t think I can wait until later to show him how much. To make up for all those times I pined for him in this very house, my heart lodged in my throat.
“I forgot a few things in my room. That I, um…need. For college.” I pull Mase toward the stairs and he prowls after me, shaking his head, because he knows exactly what I’m up to. Not that he could ever deny me. Not anymore. Now that we’ve experienced the magic we make together, we wield it every chance we get.
Disguising myself in the brothel is one plan that definitely paid off for this troublemaker.
Mase is already unzipping his pants when we walk into my room, sitting down on the edge of the bed and stretching his long legs in front of him. I drag my panties down my legs slowly, twirling them from a finger before casting them aside. “I think we scandalized them.”
“Do you?” Mase pumps his freed shaft in his right hand, his eyes in that predatory swirl they turn into when we’re about to make love. His chest expands on shallow breaths, rampant hunger etched into his expression. “It sounded like they saw it coming. I guess I didn’t hide my feelings as well as I thought.” His gaze burns into mine. “Maybe it’s not possible to hide obsession.”
“Thank God,” I whisper, sliding down on his shaft and beginning to rock while he growls against my lips, my childhood bed groaning beneath us, loud enough to be heard in every part of the house. “I dreamed of this day while lying in this bed. The day you’d be my husband.”
I’m flipped over onto my back and as Mase pumps, the headboard rams into the wall in quicker and quicker successions. “Thank God it’s not a dream, Ripley. Thank God you’re mine.”
* * *
Mase
Five Years Later
The socket wrench sits forgotten in my hand as I watch my wife wo
rk the pottery wheel across the studio, sunlight spilling in through the skylight and casting her in a glow. She’s humming to herself, lost in her own world, unaware that my heart is going four hundred miles an hour. Oh, Ripley knows how deep my infatuation with her runs, but she thinks I can compartmentalize it or that maybe my obsession with her has lost its sharpest edges since I made her my wife. But she’s wrong.
I had to learn to give my wife some freedom so she could attend school before she graduated. So she could see her friends. But I never stop checking the clock. I follow her on my bike, I make demands on her time and body, I’m every inch the possessive motherfucker I told her I would be—and she loves me anyway, thank Christ.
Ripley shakes her hair back over her shoulders and it happens in slow motion, the light kissing her throat, her tits swaying in the tight neckline of her mint-green dress, her bare toes flexing. The perfection of her makes my hands shake and I have to set the tool down before I do more harm than good to the bike I’m building.
After we got married, we lived in her house off campus for a while, but not long. Alana moved in with her own husband, who happens to be the good friend of mine she met that fateful night in the brothel…and then me and Ripley found a place of our own—a secluded, modern cabin with a connected studio. We share the space, my bike shop on one side, her ceramics area on the other. The ideal setup for a husband who prefers to keep both eyes on his wife every second of the day. She’s right where I can see her. Although I probably only get half of the work done I should since her beauty has the ability to distract me for hours.
More often than not, we end up fucking in one of the storage rooms before lunchtime even rolls around, Ripley’s sweet ass pinned to the wall, my jeans around my ankles. I swear to God, the need for her gets stronger every hour, every day, every second. As my love for her grows, so does my hunger to be inside of her.