by K. L. Savage
He slithers his hands between mine and places each palm on either side of my neck. His thumbs stroke down the curve of my neck, and I close my eyes, tilting back to give him more access. “I fucking love you, you know that?” he asks, skimming his hands down my front and cupping my breasts.
“Reaper, we can’t do it here,” I moan, rocking my hips against his erection pressing against my center.
“Your support turns me the fuck on. I need you now, Doll.”
“We can’t.” I gasp when his lips land on the side of my neck, sucking one of his famous marks he likes to leave on me.
“I’m the President. I get to do whatever the fuck I want, when I want, where the hell I want.” He unbuttons my jeans and dips his hand under my panties, his fingers brushing through the trimmed blonde tuft. My jaw drops when his index finger presses against my swollen clit. “I get to touch my ol’ lady’s cunt whenever I want; isn’t that right?” he asks, nibbling down my neck. He licks the edge of my collarbone, and my skin pebbles with excitement.
“Yes,” I hiss, rocking my hips for more friction.
“Prez!” Patrick knocks.
I sag against Reaper’s body and bite the muscle of his shoulder into my mouth. I have to do my best not to cry out in rage; I’m so worked up.
“This better be fucking good, Patrick. Speak,” Reaper barks, still rolling my clit slowly, and with every complete circle, my body jerks and my teeth dig further into his shoulder.
“Remember that guy I met in rehab? Loch? Him and his sister are here.”
“Sisters are dropping from the sky today,” Reaper mumbles, pulling his hand out of my pants with disappointment. He drops his forehead on my shoulder. “Sorry, Doll. I got to go.”
“I know.” I claw my nails into his shoulder as I try to gain control of myself. “I want you so bad.”
He growls, picking me up and placing me on the table. “You’re testing every ounce of my control. You have no idea how much I want to lay you down and fuck you right here.”
“Real quick. Make them wait,” I beg, pulling off my shirt and throwing it against the wall. I unhook my bra, which luckily snaps in front, and the material falls to the side.
I know I have Reaper hook, line, and sinker when he sees me half naked.
He takes his time dragging his hands over my flat, scarred stomach. He tweaks my nipples, poking his tongue from between his lips as he tugs on the red peaks. I bend my back and dig my nails into the old wood grain of the table from the sensations.
“You’re nothing but trouble,” Reaper growls, giving the beads a hard twist, which has me gasping for air.
“What are you going to do about it?” I fire back, challenging him, hoping that he makes them wait outside because I need him so much it hurts.
He unbuttons my jeans, unzips my pants, then tugs them down to my knees. “I’m going to fill you with my cock, use that sweet cunt, leave my cum in you, and then go take care of business.” He slaps my ass as he takes a leg in each hand and flips me onto my stomach.
“Yes,” I hiss, pushing my cheek into the table.
I hear the delicious sound of his zipper and then the cool air breezing over my wet heat. His finger pushes the annoying material of the panties aside, and then in one thrust, he’s settled inside me. He wraps my hair around his wrist and yanks me up, so my back is flush with his front. Reaper nibbles on my ear, pushing another inch inside me, and I pulsate around him, already close to the edge.
“I love how wet you get for me. This is going to be quick, Doll. I want to fill you so bad.” His dirty whispered words have my clit throbbing between my legs.
I place two fingers on the swollen bundle and quake as the sensitivity overflows through every nerve of my body..
“Hold on tight, Doll,” he warns me as one hand grips my left hip and the other stays locked in my hair. His cock stretches me as he pulls out, then roughly shoves back in. His pace is quick, hard, and unrelenting. He shoves me face-first into the table, pressing me against the wood, and gives me the ride of my life.
The noises that leave me let everyone know what’s happening inside Church, and isn’t that just sinful?
I love it.
“I’m going to come, Doll. And you. Will. Take. Every. Drop.” He punctuates his hips with every word, moaning his pleasure as he comes. I can feel the flex and jerk of his cock, knowing he’s orgasming because I made him feel that good.
“Jesse!” I shout his name as one last circle against my clit has me clenching around him, trying to pull him deeper.
He collapses against me, kisses the back of my neck, and we groan when he pulls out. He hurries to slip my panties into place and grabs my shirt while I pull my pants back up. “You do know that everyone probably heard us.” He gives a slight pat to my ass, and I shrug my shoulder, uncaring.
I needed that.
I re-hook my bra and pull on my shirt. I fluff my hair and try to look like I wasn’t just fucked on the table. “How do I look?”
He grips the edge of the table on either side of me, his taut muscles bulging with the desire to grab me and have his way with me again. “You look like you need my cock again.” His hands caress my backside and squeeze. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but I fucking love it.” He smashes his mouth against me, burying his tongue in my throat and stealing the breath from my lungs as he owns me. He breaks the kiss, and he’s right—I’m ready to go another round.
I must be ovulating. I hate that I know my cycle to the nearest second, but I always feel extra rowdy around that time of month.
“Now, you need to go to bed, and wait for me naked. When I’m done, I’m going to be inside you—” he blows cold air against my neck, and I whimper “—all night.”
The space in front of me loses warmth, and then the door creaks open from his departure. “What the fuck are you looking at? Didn’t you say someone is here to see me?” Reaper barks.
“Come and sex! You fucked her good in the pussy!”
I hold a hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh.
“Hi, Loch. How are you doing?” Reaper sighs.
“Not as good as you, sex machine, but I bet you have a little dick!”
This is going to be a long night.
Crap.
We didn’t get the damn tree.
Look at them.
Their festive Christmas spirit makes me sick. There’s one hanging up lights right now, wrapping the red, blue, white, green, and yellow lights around the porch. If I remember him correctly, I believe he is the one with the drinking problem.
Maybe it’s time I plan my next attack.
If I leave him alone in a room with a shot of whiskey or any alcohol, how long would it take for him to break? A grin stretches my lips as I think about him relapsing. He seems so happy, but I’d bet anything he craves for a drink to slide down his throat even still.
I watch him from the distance with my binoculars as he gets tangled in the lights. They wrap around his legs, and he nearly trips and falls when he pulls tight. Damn, he catches himself.
The tree branch sways from the wind, and I grasp onto it tightly so I don’t fall. The Kings think they can beat me with these walls to keep me out? I will always find a way to hurt them, to try to make them weak. They might have beaten me these few times, but someone will fall.
And all of them will break.
“What are you doing?”
“Shit!” I slip off the branch, and the binoculars fall the ground. The lens cracks, and anger boils because I know they are ruined. It’s my third pair.
The bark scratches against my fingers as I look down to see Zain, the leader of our little misfit loony bin we have created; only I’m not crazy. I know what the hell needs to happen in this world to make it better, and biker scum—along with prostitutes and drug dealers—do not make it a better place. I’m cleaning the place up. People should be thanking me!
I’m not fucking crazy.
“Zain, what are you doing here
?”
He crosses his huge arms over his chest. “It’s good to see you too, Porter.”
“Don’t call me that,” I seethe. I hate my name.
He rolls his eyes. “The Groundskeeper. That’s ridiculous. I’m not calling you that.” He rubs a hand over his bald head, then drags it down his face. “Also, I need you to lay off the Ruthless Kings. Okay?”
I let go of the branch and hit the ground. My knees soak up the vibrations as I straighten. “Why?”
“Because no thanks to you and your fucking stupidity, they are our new landlords.”
“What? No, that’s impossible. I scared them from that place!”
“No, you don’t scare a King. You only dare them. Plus, I’m related to one.”
“You’re…” I clench my fists, doing my best not to launch myself at him to wrap my hands around his throat. If he’s related to bikers, he’s just as bad as they are. Except me. It’s not like I asked to be related to Tongue. He’s my half-brother.
That doesn’t even count.
Plus, I haven’t told anyone.
“Which one?” I ask.
“Reaper. He’s my nephew.”
“I’m so sorry.” It disgusts me. How did I not know this when we were all in Riverside Mental Institution together before we broke out? If I would have known, I wouldn’t have agreed to live with him.
“Why? It’s going to be because of me that we have a home. I’m going to introduce myself, pay rent, and then we can move into the old asylum. You should be thankful.”
“I’d rather live on the side of the road than live in a building they own,” I spit.
“Then have fun dodging cars, fucker.” He flicks me off as he walks away.
“Wait, you’re doing it now?” I run after him and shove my hands in my pockets. I can’t walk to the front door with him considering Daphne knows my face. Sweet little thing. She’s got fight in her that I want to see again. I lift my hand to my head and feel the indentation left from the bar she smacked me with. I wasn’t expecting such a hard hit from such a small woman.
It’s beautiful.
“Um, yeah, I have to do it now if we want a place to sleep tonight. The others want a home too, Porter. Not everything is about you.” His chest rises and falls, then he snaps his neck from left to right, an audible pop telling me to tread lightly.
I hate treading lightly.
But Zain has this disorder called mania, and when he’s in one of his episodes, I know he could kill me if he wanted. A part of me wants to see him try. His mania is triggered when he feels like he has to prove himself. He gets a surge of energy and lashes out, becoming out of focus, desperate, irritable, and he gets an overload of confidence. When he crashes, he enters a depressive episode that can last days, maybe weeks.
Blah, blah, blah. We all have our problems, don’t we?
“Stop calling me Porter.”
“Realize you have an identity disorder, and maybe I will,” he sneers. “Now, go back to the asylum. The others are there.” He spins on his cowboy boots and kicks up the desert dust. His lumbering body turns the edge of the wall, and I don’t tell him I’m not going back to the asylum. I’m going to watch this unfold.
I grab my broken binoculars from the ground, accidentally getting sand embedded underneath my nails, and climb up the tree again. I lay across the branch like a panther and get into position. “Yes,” I cheer when I see only the left lens is broken.
The right is crystal clear.
I peep through the lens and watch Zain get to the front gate. Immediately, a scrawny guy appears from the gate, holding a gun at his head. The guy is brave; I’ll give him that. Zain is holding on to the last ounce of strength he has not to release the mania building up inside him. I swing the binoculars to the right and see Reaper standing on the porch. He passes a tangled-up Patrick on his way down the steps to confront Zain.
Oh, this is going to be good; only, someone on the porch has me backtracking, and my breath catches when I see the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s helping Patrick untangle himself, laughing at him because he was dumb enough to get twisted up in Christmas lights. Her blonde hair hangs over her shoulders, and her body has parts of me awakening that rubs against the tree branch.
This must be Sarah, Reaper’s ol’ lady. Isn’t that what the bikers call their bitches?
I want her to be mine.
“What a vision,” I whisper with awe, just as she bends over to help pick up the lights off the porch. Her ass is fucking perfect. I rock against the tree branch, needing some type of friction as I watch her every move.
I knew she was beautiful. I really did, but my god, I’m seeing her in a new light since the last time I paid a visit here without any of them knowing. She isn’t like Daphne. I was only trying to help Daphne when I kidnapped her because we are so much alike. People should stay with their kind of people, you know?
But Sarah might be the exception.
Merry Christmas to me. It looks like I’ve been a better boy than I thought this year.
So much happened last night. I thought Reaper’s head was going to pop off his body and explode. Not only did we find out his dad got a club whore pregnant, but that he has a sister! A hot sister. Not that I’d ever do anything about the fact that I find her hot. I like that my heart beats in my chest and not Reaper’s palm.
So besides that madness, he finds out he has an uncle named Zain, a man he’s never met, who was his dad’s brother.
Damn, Reaper’s getting hit left and right with all the surprises for Christmas.
All I want for Christmas is tacos.
Preferably an all-you-can-eat taco buffet.
I’m not picky, but if I know the guys, they aren’t going to get me tacos.
A guy can dream.
There’s officially five days left until Christmas, and while there are decorations everywhere, there’s still no tree. My little Miss Avocado is bummed about it. I’m sitting at the kitchen table, waiting to see if Reaper has a brother that’s about to walk through the door to stir the pot. I sip my coffee and see Maizey swirl her fork around in her scrambled eggs. It’s more like ketchup with eggs, but to each their own, I guess.
It looks disgusting.
She lets out a big dramatic sigh, waiting for me to say something.
I grin around the rim of my mug and nod at Knives when he walks into the kitchen and heads for the coffee pot. His hair is a mess, and he seems like he’s still asleep since I can’t see his eyes. The man has gotten so many tattoos lately that he hardly looks like the same guy. My favorite one he has is simple. It says ‘Judge Me’ right where his neck meets his chest.
Maizey lets out another long exhale and taps her fork against the plate, creating that awful fucking sound I hate, so I give in. “What’s got your unicorns lacking color, squirt?” I ask her, hating to see her so down.
She sits up and shrugs her tiny shoulders.
“Oh, no, come on. Tell ol’ Uncle Slingshot what’s wrong.” I steal a piece of toast off her plate and bite into it.
“We don’t have a tree, and if we don’t have a tree, Santa won’t come and make my Christmas wishes come true.”
“You mean leave presents?” I question.
“No!” she shakes her head, and her dark brown frizzy hair poufs around her shoulders. “If we don’t have a tree, then Santa won’t know to give Mommy and Daddy a baby. They really want one. I wrote Santa about it and everything, but he hasn’t answered. It’s because we don’t have a tree.” Her bottom lip starts to wiggle, and those damn brown eyes get big, but I know what she’s doing.
Nope. It isn’t going to work. “The puppy eyes aren’t going to work on me.” I find myself saying that every time because when it comes to Maizey, I seem to be the one to give in the quickest.
Knives snorts, then pretends to clear his throat.
Ass.
“Did you really write Santa a letter for Sarah and Reaper?” My heart melts at the thought. What a swee
t kid. And she’s calling them Mom and Dad? They must be over the moon.
She nods like a bobblehead. “I did. I did. I even made a copy. Want to see?”
“You made a copy?” Knives repeats her question. His voice is rough with sleep still, tinged with gravel and morning time.
“Just in case Santa didn’t get it, duh,” she sasses, then leans in and whispers, blocking Knives from reading her lips by placing her hand next to her mouth. “Does he know anything?”
“’Fraid not. Poor guy. He still counts on his fingers.”
“Everyone counts on their fingers, Slingshot! If not, you’re a liar.” He slams his mug down on the table, then picks it back up and stomps out of the room.
“He is so not a morning person,” Maizey grins, pinching her lips before scooping up some ketchup egg soup.
Bleh, gross.
“He really isn’t.” I lean back in the chair until it’s balancing on its hind legs, then rock forward. “Okay, I’m not going to be the reason why my Prez and his ol’ lady don’t get their baby. You want to go get a tree today?”
“Sucker,” Badge’s voice booms from the back room where he hides away.
“Officer Butthead,” Maizey grumbles, then giggles. “I said a bad word.”
“I’ll let it slide because he is a butthead,” I shout the last word over my shoulder to make sure he hears it.
“Okay, go change. We’re getting a tree.”
“Really?” she squeals.
I point to her breakfast. “After you finish that mess you call food.”
She bounces in her chair as she scoops the food into her mouth. Reaper and Sarah walk through the entryway. Neither of them look like they have gotten much sleep with the dark circles around their eyes. “What’s all the excitement about, Maze?” Reaper bends down and gives her a quick kiss on top of her head, followed by Sarah.
“Uncle Slingshot is going to take me to get a tree!”
“I want to take her to get a tree.” Reaper narrows his eyes at me, pissed that I’d dare take this opportunity away from him.
Oh my God. I can feel him about to take my heart.