by K. L. Savage
He growls, then charges toward me in loud, pounding footsteps. He wraps a strong arm around my waist and picks me up. My legs wrap around his hips, and my crotchless panties rub against him, soaking his briefs with the lust he causes me to feel. He senses something different and slides one hand between us, dipping his fingers through my exposed folds.
“I’ve been real fucking naughty,” he rumbles, sinking two fingers inside of me.
I moan, a jaw-dropping sensation taking over my body as he pumps into me, preparing me for the long, thick intrusion he’s about to give me.
“You’re never allowed to wear anything else ever again.” He brings his hand from between my legs and stuffs the two fingers in my mouth. I let my tongue wrap around his thick digits, letting the sweet nectar slide down my throat. He loves it when I taste myself. “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s been naughty,” he says with hooded eyes as I suck his fingers like I would his cock.
He holds me by the meat of my ass and carries me to the bed in two steps. The soft comforter hits my back, and I sink into the soft pillowtop of the mattress. Reaper appreciates my body, slinking his hands up and down every curve before parting my legs. He closes his eyes when he sees me, then licks his lips. He takes my left ankle and places it on top of his shoulder, then does the same with my right.
His shaggy hair hangs in his face as he rubs his cheeks against the leather boots while staring at my pussy. Reaper slides up while wrapping my legs around his waist and finally kisses me. His lips always surprise me because they’re so much softer than they look. Our tongues meet and lick one another before he takes my bottom lip into his mouth, then he runs his palms over my breasts. We groan into each other’s mouths as my palm wraps around his scorching hot steel.
I push down his briefs just below his ass and guide him to my entrance. Every inch of me is on fire, and I need him to extinguish it.
“In a hurry?” I can feel the smirk of his lips stretching across mine just as the wide tip of his cock settles inside me.
“I need you,” I moan. My clit throbs, my nipples are tight beads, and if he doesn’t get inside me right now, I think I might die.
Is that possible? To die of not being fucked properly? It has to be.
He curls his hands around my shoulders, then pushes me down and thrusts forward at the same time. “Oh, yes!” I shout in relief as all of his thick, delicious inches fill me up.
“Fuck, Doll. So wet, so tight,” he murmurs against the side of my neck. My nails drift down his shoulders, scratching down his back until I’m squeezing the firm globes of his ass. He pulls out, then thrusts inside again, leaving me gasping and that much closer to an orgasm.
He picks up the pace and lifts off me, staring at where we’re connected. “This cunt is mine, Doll.”
“All yours, Jesse. All yours.” I drop my arms behind my head and stretch them out, getting lost in the sensations he’s giving me. No one could ever make me feel as loved, appreciated, and sexy like Reaper does. He never makes me feel unwanted. If anything, sometimes I think his love for me hurts with how he looks at me and touches me. It’s as if he can’t get enough and that’s what every woman in a relationship wants to feel.
“That’s right,” he growls, gripping the headboard behind us. He loves doing that. The more leverage he can get, the deeper and harder he can fill me. “My fucking pussy, my fucking body.” He lays his hand over my heart and rocks his head back. “Mine.”
“Yes,” I moan as my orgasm approaches. “Yes!” A fever rushes in my veins as my belly flips and turns.
“Come for me, Doll. Come all over my cock,” he orders.
I drop my hand between my legs to rub my clit, but he slaps it away, and the slight sting has me whimpering for more.
“You’re going to come because of me and me alone. Understand?”
I nod, stretching my hands on either side of me and grip the sheets. I’m holding myself back. The pressure builds in the lower half of my body, and my breath catches in my ribcage.
“That’s it. I feel that cunt wanting to release. Come on, Doll. Milk me,” he says. Reaper brings his lips to my ear. “I want every drop of my seed inside you.”
Thinking about finally having his baby tips me over the edge. “Jesse! Yes, so good,” I shout, my entire body tensing as waves of sheer ecstasy pump through me at the same rhythm of his cock.
He groans, tossing his head back until the tendons are thick and protruding. His hands fall from the headboard and grab onto my tits with a painful squeeze, but I love it. I always love when he feels so good his pleasure brings pain.
In three rough thrusts of his hips, he plants himself inside me, trying to shove deeper inside me with every jet of cum. I milk him just like he told me to, hoping that one finally takes root. I want nothing more than to have his child.
Just one.
If I can have just one…
“Sarah,” he grunts my name through a held breath and a red face as he pours everything he has into my womb.
Like he does every time.
He collapses on top of me but catches enough of his weight on his forearms, so he doesn’t squish me to death. Reaper’s cock spasms the last of his orgasm and he moans, capturing my mouth in a heated, yet gentle kiss.
His gigantic palm lands on my belly, and I know he’s hoping something happens from this. I’m not holding my breath. It hasn’t happened, and it will probably never happen, but no matter what, he’s going to love me through it.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he says, breaking the kiss. We gasp for air, and the heat of his breath puffs against my chin. The room smells of sex, sweat, and cum.
And a hint of sadness.
“It’s going to happen,” he states with endless determination.
I wrap my arms around his neck and bring his head closer again to kiss the man I love. I don’t want to get lost in despair right now. I want to be lost in Jesse, my heart’s reaper. Our tongues intertwine tenderly, and he runs his fingers softly through my hair, pouring every ounce of love he has into it. I don’t know how long we lay there kissing one another, but he slowly starts moving again.
It isn’t rough.
It isn’t hurried.
It isn’t desperate.
He makes love to me, and I let him.
We’re only open for a few more days before we close for Christmas Day. We’re debating staying open for Christmas Eve for all the lost souls that wander in off the streets, alone with no place to go. It sounds like a good thing to do, even if it is only one person, but we also want to be home with our Ruthless Kings family.
If I know Tool like I think I do, he’s going to decide to keep Kings’ Club open. On the inside, he’s a big softy.
And he never stops being sexy.
“Damn it!” he shouts in pain for the hundredth time from across the stage. He’s hanging mistletoe.
Everywhere.
He says if everyone has to stop and kiss every few feet, no one has a reason to go home alone.
I think he’s about to give up because it’s the fourth time he’s hit his thumb with the hammer. It isn’t his tool of choice. My man is good with a screwdriver, but a hammer? He might end up killing himself if he isn’t careful.
“You okay, sweetheart?” I yell, wrapping the garland around the vintage microphone.
“Fine,” he grumbles. “’Tis but a flesh wound.”
I roll my eyes from the quote. Him and Reaper can’t seem to stop watching that damn movie. I’m about to call Boomer and have him blow up that damn DVD. Every single copy ever made. I’m sure he’d appreciate the challenge.
“Do you want me to kiss it to make it better?”
The hammer clatters to the ground, and his boots slam on the floor as he jumps down from the ladder. I don’t even have to look away from what I’m doing to know he’s on his way over. A black and blue thumb is shoved in front of me, and I gasp from how horrible it looks. I wrap my fingers around his wrist and gape. “Tool,
I didn’t know it was this bad. We might need to see Doc.”
“I’m fine. It’s just bruised.”
“It looks broken.” I twist and turn his hand, trying to look at it from every angle. I’m learning a lot about medicine from Doc, and I help out when I can because the poor man does so much for everyone when they’re injured, and I know he gets overwhelmed.
“Well, it wouldn’t be if you’d kiss it.”
“Oh yeah?” I purr, adjusting my knees on the stage. I bring his abused thumb to my lips and press a kiss to it. “That better?”
His nostrils flare. “A little more.”
The damn screwdriver behind his ear is getting the space between my legs wet. I love how he protects me with it, what he has done to make sure I’m here with him. There isn’t anything hotter than a man, especially a man like Tool, defending you. He’s muscular, tattooed from head to toe, and don’t get me started on his cock.
It’s huge, pierced, and always gets the job done.
And he needs to get to work on me because we’re the only two here. The club doesn’t open for another hour, and with how my eyes are level with the growing bulge in his pants, if I don’t get a taste, my Christmas might be damned.
I roll my tongue over his thumb, licking it like I would his cock, and he grumbles. Wrapping my lips around the digit, I bob my head up and down, then stop. “Better?” I ask, my voice hoarse with arousal.
“Almost,” he says, unzipping his pants. He’s about to pull out that big, beautiful beast when an urgent knock on the door stops him. Tool’s hand is inside his pants, most likely wrapped around his cock. “No! No, no, no. We can ignore them. They will go away.”
But the pounding continues. It’s desperate and fast.
“Son of a bitch,” Tool gripes, zipping his pants in anger. He grabs my chin and forces me to meet his chocolate brown eyes. “You aren’t going anywhere. I expect those lips around my cock to make my thumb better.”
“I forgot your thumb was connected to your dick.” I chuckle.
“Little sparrow, every part of my body is connected to my cock when it comes to you.” He slams his mouth on mine and his new tongue piercing massages the inside of my mouth which has me whimpering with more need. That damn person at the door better be bleeding.
His tongue untangles itself from mine, leaving me wondering how the hell this is my life and how I have a man like Tool.
I watch his perky ass walk away from me, and I hurry to fix my hair, so I don’t look like a sex fiend. I get back to wrapping the garland around the microphone. I’m hot all over. I knew I shouldn’t have worn long sleeves today. Tool always makes my temperature rise.
“Juliette! Get some blankets from the back, now!” Tool yells, and I jump from the stage when I see him carrying a woman who is battered and bruised all over. Her lips are blue, and her skin is pale. I don’t question him. I run through the club and dash through the purple velvet curtain. The pitter patter of my feet echo off the walls as I hurry to his office.
It’s still the only part of the club that has yet to be renovated. We’ve been too busy to worry about it. I yank the door open and rush toward the closet in the back. I flip on the light and grab as many blankets as I can, including a heated one. If people aren’t from Vegas, they don’t know, or maybe consider how cold it can get in the desert. This girl looks like she’s been in the cold for days.
And if the Ruthless Kings’ history is anything to go by, it means bad shit is coming our way.
We will handle it. We always do.
Or maybe we will get lucky and this is some random girl, who just needs a little help getting on her feet, and is not lost, or getting abused, or homeless.
Christmas miracles happen, right?
I run out the door and down the hall, hugging the blankets to my chest. I push the curtain open, and Tool has her laid on the stage. He gently lifts her head up to tuck a pillow under her; he must have got it from one of the couches in the corner. “Here, I grabbed a heated blanket too.”
“Perfect,” he says, unfolding the electric blanket and throwing it over the frail woman. There’s an outlet right beneath us, and he plugs in the cord and cranks the heat up to high. Luckily, we have outlets everywhere. We never thought they would be used for this though. Through the day, we serve brunch and coffee, and we get a lot of business from college kids and hungover partiers.
“My gosh, she’s so cold.” I touch her hand, then wrap my fingers around the side of her palm. Her entire body shivers, and her teeth clatter together. Her eyes are closed, but they’re moving behind her eyelids quickly. “Miss?” I try to nudge her awake. “Miss, what happened to you? Can you hear me?” I try saying, knowing it’s a longshot, but we have no idea what to do right now. Her clothes are thin, worn, and with plenty of holes. Her shoes are old, the soles barely hanging on, and she’s filthy. Her hair is matted, her lips are chapped, and she’s so damn skinny.
I can tell, even underneath all the mess and dirt, she’s beautiful.
“Go get some water,” I tell Tool, but he’s already reaching for his phone in his pocket.
“We have to call 911. Maybe they can help her,” Tool says, but her hand suddenly grips his wrist so tight, his skin turns white.
“No,” she croaks, licking her dry lips. “No hospitals. Please,” she wheezes. “Jesse. Get Jesse.” She opens her eyes, and Tool inhales a sharp breath that sucks all the air out of the room. The woman’s eyes flutter shut, and Tool just stares at her, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.
“What is it?” I ask, but he doesn’t hear me. “Logan!” I make sure there is emphasis on his name, so it pulls him out of the trance he’s in. “What’s going on?”
He blinks, his lush black lashes fanning over his face as he prepares for what he’s about to say. The damn anticipation is killing me. “What?” I ask again, getting impatient. He knows something. “Logan, out with it. We have an hour before we open, and we have a half dead woman on the stage.”
“I think…” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I think she’s asking for Reaper.”
“Okay?” I say, not understanding where he’s going with this. “A lot of people come to the Kings if they need help, right?”
“Yeah, but most of it is money situations. People owe us a lot of money, but Reaper stays on top of it.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“It isn’t that important compared to all the other things that have happened.”
“So what, you think she owes money?”
“No. She doesn’t need that kind of help. I think she’s asking for Reaper because this woman, whoever she is, is his daughter.”
“Shut the hell up!” I squeal so loud my voice echoes, and Tool throws his hands over his ears. “Are you sure?”
“Not completely, but they look so much alike; it’s hard to deny the facts.”
“I don’t think they look that much alike,” I say, tilting my head as I examine her face. Same nose, but she has bigger lips, sharp jawline like Reaper, brown eyes, dirty blonde hair, but that isn’t evidence. “Plenty of people have similar features.”
“And the people who have similar features don’t just go around asking for someone who looks a lot like them.”
That’s a valid point.
“She’s young.”
“So is Sarah,” he argues.
Another valid point.
“If that’s true, things are about to get awkward.”
“I just hope I’m wrong because if he has a daughter while Reaper and Sarah are trying to get pregnant, Sarah will feel like he doesn’t need her anymore.”
I hope Logan is wrong, but the more I look at the woman on stage, the more I think he’s right.
“My Maze, wake up.” I nudge my little girl’s arm gently as she sleeps. It’s kind of late, but I’ll be damned if I miss one more day to make her excited for Christmas. I’ve been a bad dad; I haven’t tried hard enough to make Christmas special for her. That changes now, though, becau
se it’s the first holiday she’s spent here since she was rescued, and she deserves to feel all the Christmas cheer.
I also shouldn’t think of her as my daughter. Nothing is finalized. If anyone ever found out we had her, we would probably be charged with kidnapping. Badge dug into the missing persons database, but since we don’t know her last name, there was only a few hundred pictures to look through because her name is so unique.
What we found had me begging to kill her father, who is currently in prison for sexually assaulting her younger brother. I don’t know where he is; we have looked everywhere. I just hope her father didn’t sell him to the same people that had my Maze. Her mother is dead, so we are the only real family she has.
Are we fucking dipped in gold?
No.
But we don’t hurt innocent people. We don’t fucking hurt kids. She’s safe here. I’ll fucking climb all the mountains, kill all the people, and slay all of the dragons if it means keeping her safe. Someone hadn’t tried hard enough before, but that’s not the case now.
She has more than a dozen men at her side, her army, and nothing is going to get in the way of us fighting all of her battles. Even when she’s grown. And I don’t care what I need to do, what laws I need to break—Maze will be here with us. She will have my last name, and she will be my little girl.
It’s the only way I know she will be protected. We can give her the love she deserves. She’s so different from me and Sarah. It’s obvious she isn’t our biological child, but it feels like it. Maze has long dark hair and big brown doe eyes with long lashes that nearly touch her brow. When she’s older, she’s going to be gorgeous.
You know how many souls I’m going to have to reap then? Stupid fucking boys. I know what they want, and they sure as hell aren’t going to come near my Maze trying to get it.
Her lashes flutter, and those beautiful brown irises blink at me. “Dadd—
I mean, Reaper,” she corrects herself, and I have to hold my breath to stop the pure fucking joy and emotion coursing through me right now.
I clear my throat and hold back the burn behind my eyes, so I don’t lose it. I’m the Prez. I can’t lose it. I have to be strong for everyone a hundred times over because that’s what Presidents do—they find strength when none is left.