Never Ever: Book One Perdition MC

by Isabel Wroth

Chapter Five

  He still wasn’t sure how he’d walked himself right into that trap without realizing it. The feel of her baby bump rubbing against his abs had fucked with his head. That and the scorching furnace of her pussy, notched up against his cock, pulsing moist heat through two layers of denim to further fuck with his head. He wanted to fuck her something fierce. But he was getting his brand on her before he’d give her that again. She was too fucking crafty, sexy, for him to keep his head on straight and not walk into another open trap like that.

  Five fuckin months to convince her to marry him.

  Only bitch he’d ever known, that would need convincing, to get her to marry him.

  Sexy bitch.

  Bitch that went ape shit when he made a remark about their kid she didn’t like.

  Sexy, fucking, bitch.

  He watched her walk off in a snit, into her bedroom, and followed her with his duffle, ignoring her indignant look when he tossed it on her bed. Her room was nice, girly, but nice. Big ass bed, crystals and pink blocks of salt and shit, one of those mirrored vanity things with brushes and combs and perfume and more girly junk. The room was free of clutter, done in shades of grey, blue, green and rich brown, girly, but not to girly. “You’re not moving in,” She told him as she came out of the closet, and in answer he flung himself down on her bed and stretched out comfortably, “You took away four months of me watching my son growing inside you. Not taking any more.”

  The hard expression on her face faltered for a minute, and underneath all her hard, all her tough, he saw an ache. A sadness so deep it hurt to look at. It was just a flash, just a flicker, and then she was back to being a tough bitch. But that flicker, that flicker and the shirt she was attaching to his boy’s baby blanket, told him that somewhere in there, there was a soft spot. A soft spot that was so tender it needed major protecting. Someone had taught her how to protect it, to fiercely protect it, keep it safe and off limits. He watched the tail of her pony whip in the air as she spun on her heel and marched her sweet ass into the bathroom, muttering under her breath while she slammed the door behind her. Made him grin like a fool for no good reason. He wanted that soft spot, wanted his name all over it.

  She took her time, which left him able to look around her room for more clues about who she was. There were pictures on her walls of flowers, her flat surfaces clean and free of dust, crystals and trinkets here and there. Books about horticulture and farming, DIY home project books about something called a Pergola, for expanding rooms onto an already existing home, a desk with business stuff and a sleek lap top, closed. No family photos, no evidence of a man in her life from the state of her underwear drawer, all her sexy panties were stuffed to the very back. Some still had tags on. And his ginger bitch had some sexy ass panties. He didn’t find any toys in her bedside table drawers, no diary, not even a token three pack of rubbers for emergencies. “You done looking through my shit?”

  Her tight growl made his cock so hard it was fuckin ridiculous, and when he turned around to answer, he almost swallowed his tongue. She’d changed out of her jeans and her work shirt, braided her hair in one long tail, put on a tight long sleeve black shirt and a jean skirt that left her long, long, beautifully pale legs bare all the way down to the tops of her biker bitch boots. “Fuck me.” He growled, shaking with the restraint it took not to put his hands on her and fuck them both into a coma. She snorted indelicately, tossing that long red whip of hers all sassy like. “We going or what?”

  He’d hauled a few bitches on the back of his bike before, and maybe it was the fact that this one was carrying his kid, or he had some kind of sex deprived insanity eating at his brain. But no bitch, had ever felt so good behind him. Her arms were snug around his waist, her breasts pressed tight against his back, against his cut, her cheek turned to his shoulder while his pipes roared and the road fell away under his tires. At any stop light they hit, he kicked a foot out to balance them and curled his hand around her calf, rubbing at her soft skin while they idled. Each time he did it, he felt her shiver behind him. Felt her take a deep breath and just shiver. Men who sat in their trucks beside them looked over and he could tell they thought his bitch was every bit as sexy as he did. Gave him a hell of a thrill, pride mixed with furious jealousy. Pride because his bitch was so beautiful, and jealousy because those cocksuckers were looking at her with hunger in their eyes.

  He just smirked at the assholes, knowing that they’d never have a chance. He wasn’t going to give them one.

  His brand.

  His ring.

  His kid.

  His wife.

  He’d never wanted a family of his own. Never wanted to settle down with just one bitch. He liked his life, he had his brothers, the club, cash flowing in like water, peace with their enemies for now. Hadn’t wanted anything more. Hadn’t needed it. Till the ginger bitch on his bike, had walked in and knocked him on his ass.

  He parked outside the tattoo shop and held his hand out for her to dismount, and froze when he saw her swipe at the tears that had fallen down her cheeks. “Are you really that upset about getting my brand?” He growled, insulted and concerned, but she shook her head and tugged her helmet off to settle on his handlebars. “No. It’s just been…a really long time.” She murmured, glancing at the back of his bike with the longing plain on her face, until she wiped it away and turned to walk into the parlor. “Ever,” She took a deep breath and paused on the stairs, half turning to face him with her arms hugging herself tightly. She sucked back another round of tears when he slid his hands down over her shoulder blades, tilting his head to catch her gaze, watching her struggle to toughen up. Tough, sexy bitch. God she was beautiful. She made his guts churn with worry for her, made him feel like breaking something, killing anyone he had to, to make her stop crying those fat, silent tears that dripped off her eyelashes. “Babe,” She shook her head and swiped the tears away again, “Hormones. It’s a pregnant lady thing, better than the puking my guts up. I’m good, don’t worry.”

  He opened his mouth to tell her what bullshit that was, but she shrugged him off and walked into the tat shop run by one of Perdition’s people. She got a hold of herself in time to bust his balls over the brand he’d asked Ringer to lay across her low back. Made him grind his teeth against wanting to grin. “I want it higher,” She told him firmly, and he leaned down to growl in her ear, “I want it on your hips where I can see it every time I fuck you.” Her eyes had narrowed to glittering green slits of fury, but then her lips twitched and she shrugged, “Fine. You want to see your brand get all stretched out and warped as my body wigs out from the pregnancy, no problem. I’ll get it lasered off after my sentence is up.”

  Fucking hell if that didn’t chap his ass and make him want to wring her pretty little neck. But Ringer found her argument valid and put his two cents in. “She’s right, seen it before man.” Her expression turned smug, and in the end she wound up getting it right where she wanted. A few inches higher than the waistband of her skirt.

  Bitch.

  Damn she turned him on.

  His dick was throbbing like an open wound by this point, craving her so bad that while Ringer was getting ready he snagged her by the back of the neck, drew her in and slanted a starving kiss across her ripe, peachy lips. She fought it for all of two seconds before she fed him a feathery little moan and leaned in on him. Tilted her head back, curled her fingers in his cut and hung on for dear life. It was all he could do to not drag her into the back and fuck her brains out against the wall.

  Chapter Six

  She sat on the massage chair, ignoring the burning lust tearing through her pussy while she tugged her shirt up off over her head and sat there in her lacy black bra, not even sure why she’d bothered putting on something pretty like that. Maybe she’d done it to torture Roar a little, his pissed off growl was sure satisfying, and so was the look on his face when Ringer, who’s only un-inked skin was on his face, gave a low whistle and drew his gloved fingertips down her spine. “You
ever want to use those fingers again, I suggest you quit touching my woman like that.” Roar bit out, his jealousy, his possessiveness crazy plain in his voice and on his expression. The willingness to break every bone in Ringer’s body, reminding her of days long gone. “You know I don’t eat pussy, Roar. I’m appreciating this moment. Blank canvas like this is rare. Not a single freckle. Virgin skin, man.”

  Roar growled again, and Ringer put his hands up, getting ready to lay the stencil of Roar’s brand on her skin. It was cool, his touch gentle, and she closed her eyes, remembering the last time she’d been in a tattoo shop. The last time a man had drawn his brand for her and waited weeks to tweak it until it was just right. Until he was satisfied with the mark she would carry on her flesh for the rest of her life. She saw his face when Ringer set the buzzing needles to her skin and the stinging vibration began. The pain of it wasn’t horrible, but it drew her away on a haze of her own memories, until she was back there, in that other life.

  She was floating in that haze, feeling sleepy and excited, the buzzing of the needles on her skin a weirdly enjoyable pain. Relaxed her even. She felt fingers on her cheek and opened her eyes to see Roar crouched close, a worried frown on his face while he told Ringer, “Break,” The buzzing stopped, the pain ebbed until there was only a mild burn, a throb across her back . “Hurt?” Roar asked her when they were alone, and she shook her head, feeling weird and floaty, like she wasn’t quite stationary anymore. “Then why you cryin?” She sighed and rested her cheek on the cool padding of the chair to study his features. “Told you. Hormones.”

  His eyes narrowed while he searched her face, and her pulse kicked up, wondering what he could see. He curled the end of her braid around his fingers, bring it up to rub against his lips while he stared at her, “I’m not the guy you want to lie to. Keep doing it, and you’re going to regret it.” He warned her menacingly, and she almost was intimidated. Almost. “You don’t look like the type to smack a woman around,” She stated, and she might as well have slapped him. The insult was instant, the anger black and ugly, plain to see on his handsome face. “I’ve done my fair share of bad shit, but I would never hit a woman. What I will do, is spank the shit out of your round ass. You’re sittin there, crying those big fat tears while you’re taking my brand, and every single one of them is like a slap in the face. I want to know why, and you’re not goin to lie to me.”

  “Will you let it go if I swear to you, that it has nothing to do with you or getting your brand?”

  “Fuck no.”

  “Didn’t think so. How long does your tattoo guy have for this appointment?”

  “Long as it fuckin takes. He knows the drill. Why are you cryin?”

  She sighed and sat up, wincing a little because her chewed up skin pulled a little and the burn got worse now that she started focusing in on it. Roar used his index finger to turn her face back towards him, raising his brows in a clearly expectant expression. “I’d given this up a long time ago, stopped thinking and dreaming about it. Made myself do that to keep from going crazy I think. It’s not what I expected, not what you wanted, and part of me is sorry for it. But you’re a big boy, making this decision on your own, despite my willingness to leave you out of it.”

  “Babe. What the fuck are you talkin about? Gave what up?”

  “Belonging somewhere. Having a family again.”

  He sighed long and heavy, scooting his chair up so that he could be nose to nose with her. So he could rub his big rough hands into her shoulders and stroke his palms over her hair. So he could touch a kiss to her brow and brush her tears away. “It’s honestly been a shit four months after I let you walk out of my room at the clubhouse. You can ask the brothers, I’ve been an uptight mother fucker, sore as a lion with a thorn in its paw and screwin shit up left and right. You’re right, this whole thing, you being pregnant, it’s not what I expected. Or if I’m bein honest, what I wanted. But I told you, man takes care of his business, and baby, havin you in my bed every night is not gonna be a hardship at all. Seein you wrap my boy up in that blanket you made out of my shirt, that’s not gonna be hard either. You’re my business now, Everly, I’ll take care of you right. If I don’t, I expect to have my ass plugged with a few of those knives of yours. And despite your willingness, you’re not leaving me out of shit.”

  She nodded, he kissed her forehead again and shouted for Ringer. He stayed right there with her, petting her shoulders, kneading his fingers into her hair while he kept his lips pressed to her forehead. Killing her with his gentleness. Overwhelming her with the sultry scent of his skin, and he didn’t miss it when she turned her cheek to his throat and slowly inhaled the scent of leather, sweat, smoke, sun and his spicy aftershave. No sissy store bought cologne for this guy, whatever his stuff was, it was the shit and it made her already unruly hormones stand up and scream like a drunk sorority girl at a rock concert. “You like that?” He murmured, “Yeah.”

  “Knew you liked something about me,”

  He got her back to her place later that night, watching in total amusement while he watched her moving around in the kitchen, talking to herself about what she was craving for dinner, and rubbing on her bump absently. He just leaned his shoulders against the wall and watched her, her goofy damn dog sitting at his feet and looking up at him with a tongue lolling look of puppy love. “You good with shepherd’s pie?” She asked, and his brows pulled down, “Don’t even know what the fuck that is, babe.” She turned around and looked at him like he’d grown a third head. She spluttered, guffawed, grabbed a bunch of ingredients out of the fridge and smacked them down on the counter, firing up the oven, “You gonna just stare at my ass all night, or help?” She quipped, and he cleared his throat. “Help?”

  “Come chop up these veggies,”

  She put out a cutting board, a big knife, and a bunch of bright, awesome looking carrots. Some celery, few small onions and some garlic. He started hacking at them, and she shot him a weird look, “It’s a carrot, Squatch, not a dead body. Small pieces, yeah?”

  “Call me Squatch, again and I’ll spank your ass till you can’t sit right.”

  Sexy bitch rolled her eyes at him.

  He did his chopping job, she took it from him and started to cook the veggies in a pan, boiling water for the potatoes, added in some meat and spices that started to make his mouth water and his belly clench with hunger. “Prez is gonna want to talk to you.” He told her eventually, and she just nodded. “No problem.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “He’s a hard man, scares women off with just a look.”

  That made her smile, that sadness touching her eyes again when she glanced at him. She shrugged carelessly, scooping the meat and veggie mix into a few round bowls. “Born and raised in an MC that ran guns, drugs and probably worse that I didn’t know about. There’s not a whole lot that scares me, Roar. I can handle your Prez.”

  “Even when he gets shitty and demands a DNA test from you?”

  “Even then. I’m happy to give one. I’d have done it if you demanded it of me. Still will, so long as it’s not harmful to the kid.”

  “Saw you today in the sun with that kid, showing her a fuckin caterpillar, and my dick’s been hard ever since. Now you got my brand, got my boy growin inside you, and I’m not so pissed about having knocked you up.”

  She didn’t say anything, just continued to cook up what smelled like heaven, mashing up a heaping bowl of potatoes, adding cream, butter and cheese, like she knew just the way he liked to eat his spuds. She spread a thick layer of it over the stuff in the bowls and shoved them in the oven, turning around with a spoon in one hand, the big bowl of mashed potatoes cradled in her other arm while she chowed down thoughtfully. “I don’t know you well enough to decide whether or not you’re blowing smoke up my ass to get laid again, or being serious.”

  He took a deep breath and swiped his finger through the bowl of potatoes, watching her watch his mouth while he licked the fuckin perfect, fluff
y, delicious stuff off his skin. She licked her own lips, blinking, shivering a little as she shook herself and backed up. But another step would have put her up against the hot stove, so his hand shot out and cupped her ass, tugging her forward to keep from getting burned. He tugged the bowl out of her arm, getting growled at in the sexiest way when he put it out of her reach. Took her spoon too and licked that clean before putting it in the bowl, “You want to live to see your son grow up, don’t you ever do that again.”

  He’d heard of how territorial pregnant women got with their food, how dangerous it was to come between them and their much needed snacks, but shit if it just wasn’t one more thing, that growl, that turned him on. “Ever, babe, as hot for me as you are, I think we both know if I put some serious effort into it, we’d be fuckin like rabbits in your kitchen right now. Especially with you growling at me like that, in that skirt and those sexy biker bitch boots.” Her pupils dilated, he could see the pulse in her throat pounding, hell, her cheeks even washed a pretty pink.

  He reached into his cut and pulled the panties she’d been wearing that night, showing her the torn blue lace. She’d tossed them in the trash on her way out, and the week after he figured she wasn’t going to come crawling back for more, he’d fished them out and brought the soft material to his nose to inhale the sweetness left behind. “Mine now,” He told her softly, and she made a face at him. “Only cause you got lucky and knocked me up in one go.” She snapped back, and a grin spread over his face, a smug, cocky shit eatin grin. “Bastard,” She muttered and shoved out of his arms to finish getting their dinner ready.