by Skyla Madi
“I know you’re not, but you’ve never had a man like me.”
And that’s the truth. It was easy to please Pierce.
“How do you know?” I stroke him while he rubs me, and we release a moan at the same time, his baritone sound complementing my higher, feminine notes. “I could have.”
“I mightn’t’ve been in the picture, but I’ve kept tabs on you, Blondie.” Creed rocks his hips, pushing my hand lower until my thumb touches his. “One boyfriend. One lover. One small cock in your tight little pussy.”
He laughs under his breath, and my lips quirk. I don’t think Pierce has a small penis. Average, maybe, but not small. Of course, I keep that to myself and continue to stroke him while he circles his thumb over my sensitive bundle of nerves until I can barely keep my hips on the mattress or my grip on his length firm enough. Cursing, Creed pulls my hand off him and pins my wrists above my head, the tip of his bare, firm cock pressed against my center. His grip on my wrists tightens, and he rolls his hips forward, pushing against me, sliding his hot, hard flesh along me. I moan his name in disappointment and frustration as he leans over me, watching me squirm underneath him.
“You want it bad, don’t you?”
I nod, arching my back to be closer to him, and he shifts his hold, gripping both my wrists in one hand and pushing my shirt up, his rough palm gliding along my ribs to expose my breasts. He cranes his neck and envelops my hard nipple in his mouth, kissing it as if it were my mouth, licking it as if my swollen peak is my tongue. I groan, and the guttural sound I release is a needy, raspy sound I’ve never heard fall from my lips before, a result of his touch.
God. He’s right. I’ve never had a man like him, and after this, I don’t think I’ll want anyone else.
◦ C R E E D ◦
I moved my hips, sliding my bare cock along her soaking pussy, and she writhed. In my grip, I felt the tendons in her wrists move as she balled her hands into fists and ground her hips against me, wanting more, seeking more. I wanted to be inside her. It’d be so easy to slip inside, to take her, but I wouldn’t. When I finally had her, there’d be no hesitation, no guilt for betraying my club. She’d be free to be mine, and Judge would know exactly where I was, what I was doing, and who I was doing it with. They’d all know. I’d make sure they heard her, that they knew who she belonged to. I released her breast then claimed her mouth, kissing her hard while I moved on top of her. Arousal leaked from us both, making it easier to slide, and Isabelle was getting closer to her release. I could tell by the way she moved and the noises she made, so I picked up my pace, bringing myself closer and closer to spilling over the flat of her stomach.
Powerful shockwaves of pleasure exploded through my system and bubbled at the base of my length. I could bury myself inside her…it would be so easy. I broke the kiss and pulled back. Keeping my grip on her wrists, I reached between us and grabbed my cock. I’d never been so hard, so fucking desperate for pussy. I jerked myself against her, burying the very tip of myself in her creases, pressing hard against her little clit. Her breath hitching, Izzy bucked her hips, pushing my cock to her entrance. My lips parted, and she pushed down on me, stretching her tight hole over the tip of my dick. For a second, I didn’t think I would fit, but my hips flexed of their own accord, forcing the whole head of my cock inside her. We gasped at the same time. She was tight, almost too tight.
“Oh, fuck,” she hissed, her voice cracking into a rasp. “James.”
She moved her hips again, desperate to get more of me inside, but I tightened my grip on my shaft, my fist against her pussy so she couldn’t pull me deeper, so I couldn’t thrust deeper. I groaned and closed my eyes as she rolled her hips, squeezing the life out of me. Her breathing, shallow and quick, was all I could hear, and it stirred unbearable pleasure between my legs. She felt good. Too good. I clenched my jaw against the urge to let my pleasure erupt and pulled out of her, sighing in relief when the pressure in my balls subsided. Growling, Izzy bucked her hips, searching for me, demanding more, but I wasn’t going to give it to her. Not until I could truly make her mine.
“VP!” A shout and a bang into the hall wall shattered the bubble I immersed myself in.
I tensed then shook my head. What was I doing? Releasing Izzy’s tiny wrists, I eased away from her to get clarity. I should wait until this is over. If I wait…having her will be sweeter.
“Fuck, Iz,” I swore, pushing my fingers through my hair. “We gotta stop.”
“Stop?” She thinned her eyes then sat forward and grabbed me. I cursed as she slid onto my lap and wrapped her soft thighs around my hips, burying her fingers in my hair, grazing her mouth against mine. “I don’t want to stop, not when I’m so close. Not when you make me feel so good.”
Jesus. I tilted my head and glanced up at the skylight, and she pressed her lips to my neck, kissing me all over, licking me, making it hard for me to think straight. Blondie was sexy, and soft, as if she hadn’t lifted anything heavier than a silver spoon her whole life, and it turned me on.
Another bang and a shout in the hall snagged my attention, followed by footsteps and a pounding fist on my door.
“Sons inbound, VP,” someone shouted, and hair rose all over my body as a sick feeling twisted my stomach. Shit.
“Get dressed,” I told her, easing her off me. Cool air clung to the parts of me she warmed, and I hated it. “Hide.”
Resting on her elbows, she frowned up at me, pressing her knees together. “Hide? Why hide? What’s happening?”
I left the bed and stormed to the bathroom. Adrenaline manifested in my veins, causing my heart to race. Twisted Sons are coming here? They had some big brass balls to approach our clubhouse after the shit they pulled. I flicked on the bathroom light, gathered clothes I’d already worn. Didn’t matter if I got blood on them.
I slipped into my boots and yanked open the bathroom door. Izzy stood awkwardly beside the bed, squinting at the light pouring from the bathroom. She folded her arms across her chest, her sexy bare legs sticking out from under a shirt that wasn’t mine. I cut my eyes at her and stepped forward. She swallowed hard.
“Whose fucking shirt is that?” I demanded, my voice low.
Isabelle glanced down. “It was on my bed.”
“Don’t care. Take it off.”
“Take it off?”
I turned my back and stalked toward my wardrobe. From it, I pulled out one of my favorite t-shirts and grey sweatpants. When I turned around, irritation swirled in my gut at the sight of her still in the shirt and the way her wild, blonde hair draped over it. Rolling her eyes, Isabelle grabbed the shirt by the hem and lifted it, tugging it off over her head. My gaze fell to her perfect breasts and hardened nipples, then I brought it back to her face.
“I can’t find Isabelle!” Kace shouted down the hall. “She’s not in her room.”
“You had one damn job, Kace. One.” I recognized Judge’s furious bark instantly and tossed Blondie her new shirt. She quickly whipped it over her head. “Grab a gun. If you survive, you can look for Blondie later. Right now, we’ve got more important shit to worry about.”
A heavy fist rapped on my door, startling Isabelle, and the hinges creaked under the pressure.
“Creed! Get your lazy ass up.”
“All right!” I shouted back. “Give me a minute.”
“What’s going on?” Izzy asked, stepping closer, nervously wringing the other shirt in her hands.
I held out the sweatpants, and she took them gratefully, stepping into them one leg at a time. As expected, they were much too big for her. I sauntered forward and grabbed the strings, tugging them tight. She gasped and looked up at me. Worry filled her blue eyes and made her plump lower lip tremble.
“The same people who came to my house?” she asked, searching my eyes.
I nodded, tying the strings on her pants. “Yeah.”
“Are they after me?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I told her, finalizing my knot. “They won’t get you.”<
br />
I stepped to the side and pointed to my open wardrobe. She eased toward it and hid inside, glancing briefly at all my tees, jeans, sweats, and who knew what else. Isabelle looked sexy in my clothes. I’d tell Judge she was safe in my room and that was where she’d stay whether he liked it or not. Whatever we had with the mayor was over. Dead, or alive, his daughter was mine.
I grabbed the handle to the wardrobe and leaned forward. “If I ever see you in another man’s shirt again, God help you.”
Her lips quirked, and her eyes flashed dangerously. She liked it when I was possessive, when I threatened violence—or worse.
“I don’t believe in God.”
“You’ll wish you did by the time I’m finished with you.”
“Are you jealous?”
Jealous? I wasn’t a jealous person. “No.”
“Then I suppose it doesn’t matter what shirt I wear, does it?”
Isabelle took off her shirt—my shirt—and put the other one back on before smirking at me like a brat. She tossed my shirt to my feet. My palm twitched; so did my upper lip. We were caught in a standoff, and if I acted on the possessive feeling in my chest, if I showed her how easily she could burrow under my skin, she’d rule me. I drummed my fingers against my thigh before it became too much. I snapped and surged forward, gripping her collar in my hands.
Blondie made a choked sound in her throat as I ripped the fabric right down the middle, exposing a large sliver of her milky flesh and her bouncy breasts. When the shirt was in pieces, I got in her face, my nose nearly grazing hers. She arched a perfect eyebrow, smug.
Damn it. I am jealous.
“You play too much,” I warned her, pushing the shreds of fabric off her shoulders. Isabelle remained silent—smug, but silent. I bent down and picked up my shirt, and she was smiling by the time I straightened. I stuffed the fabric against her naked chest. “Sit tight, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.”
I closed the wardrobe and exited my room into the brightly lit hall. Men ran by me, checking their guns and sharpening their knives.
“Catch, VP.”
I turned my head toward the voice, Armi’s voice, and just managed to catch the rifle he tossed at me. I held it in one hand and lowered the end, pointing the muzzle brake to the floor. I blew air out of my mouth. It was too early for this shit. Hanging his rifle from his shoulder, Armi tied back his hair and exhaled, content. He’d always felt less anxious with a weapon in his hands. He joined the Devil’s Cartel after two tours in Iraq and was our shortest-running prospect. In the first week, we were ambushed on a run by a bunch of Nazis. We were outnumbered and lost two guys, but Armi shot most of them dead from wherever he was posted. He saved our asses, so we rewarded him with a beating. When he survived that, we gave him a patch and voted him our Sergeant-at-Arms.
“Get much sleep?”
I shook my head. “No. You?”
“Nope.” He grinned at me. “Don’t know why you gave the brunette up to me. She was quality fresh meat with a mouth like a Hoover. You missed out.”
I shrugged my shoulders. He considered me palming the new brunette patchwhore off to him a gift, but it was strategy. I trusted Armi, but he was only human, and after Blondie saw the brunette on my lap, I didn’t want her revenge fucking Armi. So I kept him busy.
“I didn’t miss out on anything,” I told him. “I got what I wanted.”
Armi glanced at my door and swore, laughing under his breath. “Judge is gonna be pissed.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
Speakers in the ceiling crackled. “Sons arriving in five, so get your asses into position.”
Shit. They must be flooring it. I walked off, making my way to the front of the trashed clubhouse, and Armi fell into step beside me. “You’ll talk to him?”
“That’s what I said.” I lifted my rifle, holding it in two hands. “Blondie’s gonna be my bitch whether he likes it or not.”
“And Jonathan?”
“If Jonathan’s dead, he’s no longer a threat. If he’s alive, we’re going to kill him for setting us up.” I smirked at him. “Either way, his baby girl is mine now.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
We stepped out of the clubhouse and into the cool air, passing other members who waited patiently for the threat to arrive. It could go one of two ways. The Twisted Sons could drive by without stopping, or they could engage us. I didn’t see it ending well either way. It was one thing to drive through the town on the main road. It was another thing entirely to use this road. This was our road, and no one used it but us; we made sure of that.
“You gonna make her your old lady?”
I frowned, peering sideways at Armi, who kept his attention on the front gate. I knew exactly where he was going with this conversation. The DCMC Exeter Chapter Bylaws, section five—old ladies. I fought a shudder.
“Fuck no.”
He howled with laughter, earning glares from members whose names I could never remember and a mimic howl from Modo—somewhere.
“Because you know what has to be done if you want an old lady, unless you plan on making her Mama and sharing with the rest of us.”
“Shut up, Armi.”
I branched off to the left, and he went right. As I walked, I thought about the stupid bylaws I swore by when I joined the Devil’s Cartel. I didn’t want an old lady then. Nothing sounded worse than settling down with one pussy. Back then, I never thought I’d want anyone the way I wanted Isabelle. I could keep her as my bitch and not concrete it…but I’d have to make her my old lady after four years anyway or let her go. Before I could give Isabelle her own cut with my name on it, before I could claim her as mine and only mine, I had to share her with someone else. The act would create a pact between us and whoever she chose, a promise that in the event of my death, he would continue take care of her emotionally, financially, and maybe even romantically—if it panned out that way. If I wanted Blondie the way I was sure I wanted her, I’d have to come to terms with the bylaw then explain it to her too. When it came down to the wire, and Blondie wanted to choose another member, I’d heavily guide her toward Judge. I trusted him with my life. I trusted him to respect that Isabelle was mine during and afterward. And if I died, I knew he’d take care of her. He’d treat her like family, even if he had an old lady of his own.
But I didn’t have to think about any of that tonight. There were more important things to worry about—like the enemies approaching and telling Judge I disregarded his rule. I sauntered to my spot beside Judge and sniffed, peering into the darkness across the road. I reached into my back pocket and retrieved a cigarette from its pack. I always had one before moments like these, not knowing if it’d be my last.
“Where were you?” Judge asked, leaning against the gate, his right leg bent at the knee, a shotgun clenched in one hand. “You’re normally the first one out when we get an alert.”
“I was busy.”
“Didn’t see you with a whore.”
I glanced at him. His jaw was tight, his eyes angry as he watched the road. I raked my teeth over my lower lip. Something told me he already knew why I was the last one out.
“Because I wasn’t with one.” I lit the smoke and dragged on it. “I was with Blondie.”
Judge turned his head, and I felt his glare slice through my skin. Nothing in the world pissed him off more than someone breaking his rules.
“Are you stupid?” he snapped, turning his body toward me. “Jonathan’s stored the photos you sent him, told Izzy you’re a rapist, set us up by hiring the Twisted Sons to ambush his own daughter, and your first thought—your first fucking thought—is to put your DNA all over her?”
“She came into my room. What did you expect me to do?”
He pulled a face, a squinty face, that told me he was having a hard time trying to understand my train of thought. “Kick her out, Creed. Christ. It’s not like there was a shortage of pussy around the clubhouse tonight.” He pinched th
e bridge of his nose. “We have to keep her away. If they get her, and do what I think they’re gonna do, it could ruin us.”
I clenched my jaw as guilt pulverized my stomach. I hated it, but he was right. If Jonathan was alive, he could build a compelling case against me—against all of us—and we could lose Exeter.
“What is it about her, anyway?” he asked. Pulling a toothpick from his cut, he held it between his lips. “She looks like the rest of them. Why her? Why the fucking complicated one?”
I frowned. I didn’t know myself, but I knew meeting her flicked a switch in me. When I told her to look at me and she did, my disarrayed life fell into a tidy deck, and every decision, every shitty life choice, made sense. She was mine—made for me—and I felt it in my bones. I poisoned her space that night. I was a dark, bad mass, an unkempt ball of toxicity, but she was pure, and when we kissed, I felt…peace. And I knew any one of us would do anything to get a few seconds of peace—Judge especially.
I shrugged my shoulders and glanced down the road and back. “She’s got a nice set of tits.”
Judge snorted, and in the distance, approaching bike engines rumbled.
EIGHT
I Z Z Y
It’s quiet for the longest time. My shallow breathing is all I hear until the gunfire starts.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, sinking to my ass behind a row of hanging sweatpants and jeans deep inside Creed’s walk-in wardrobe. “Shit.”
My wild heart thrashes against my battered ribs and runs circles around my stomach, tying me up in knots. I’m in trouble. I don’t know how, or why, but I’m in big trouble.
I squeeze my eyes shut and chew my thumbnail. When there’s nothing left, when the skin around it stings, I move on to the other thumb. The gunfire gets louder, the sounds of smashing and crashing suddenly too close for comfort. Bad thoughts and grotesque images fill my mind—of Creed’s violent death or mine if I’m found. I curse my father and whatever he was involved in for dragging me into it, too—for dragging everyone in this clubhouse into it.