BIKER DADDY: The Chain Gang MC

by St. Rose, Claire

  He broke the kiss for a moment to look at her in the dim light, his hand cupping the back of her head.

  “Are you sure?” he said. “Tell me you’re sure. Tell me you want me.”

  She reached between them and cupped his erection, hearing him hiss in the darkness.

  “I want you,” she murmured, even though what she meant was I want this. He didn’t say anything after that. He lifted both of her legs, cradling her against him easily and carrying her to the mattress. He dropped to his knees first, then laid her down on her back. He didn’t hesitate, just flipped up her ridiculous skirt and—Jesus, she was still wearing the absurd frilly apron—then her panties were off, and he was covering her with his mouth, and she stopped worrying about the apron.

  Her back arched up off the mattress at the splendid feel of his hot tongue stroking her slit and finding the right rhythm to make her heave against him, desperate and eager and so very wanton. It felt so good, so incredibly good, but even as he twisted his fingers inside of her, groaning at finding her so warm and open and welcoming, it wasn’t what she wanted. She tugged at his shoulders, pulling him up to her and fighting with the buttons of his shirt. He tore the apron strings, trying to get the apron untied, and then yanked at the button front of her dress. She showed him the zipper, and he yanked it down, burying his face between her small breasts as he let out another one of those groans. He angled his hips up enough to unzip his fly and push his jeans and boxers down, and then it was just a few short movements before his hard cock was tracing the tip of her opening.

  He froze, right there, and caught her chin in his hand. She noticed how very blue his eyes were, how strong his face looked, the sandy blond of his hair, and the scar that ran along his jawline and disrupted the flow of his stubble, which looked real, not just artfully poorly shaved.

  “Tell me you want this,” he said. “Tell me with words.”

  She angled her hips up, trying to pull him deep inside of her, but he teased away.

  “Tell me.”

  She lay there for a moment, her dress open around her, his arms still in his shirt but his ass bare, and she tried to find the words. To explain the hunger, the need for him, the itch that had overtaken her tonight and the sure sense that he could scratch it just right.

  “Yes,” she said, not finding anything better after a long, soul-searching moment. “Yes, please. Jack. Jackdaw. Fuck me.”

  He groaned as he sunk into her, as sweet and smooth as a magnet turning towards the north. Her body was arching up to meet him in moments, aching at the sense of him so very deep inside of her. He was big, really big, and she was astonished he’d slid in so smooth; it told her something about how eager and ready and wet she was. She could feel her body stretching to accommodate him, but even more, she felt him crashing into her. She didn’t know what was driving him so deep into her body, but she didn’t care; she didn’t care if it made him fuck like this, made him want her this much.

  He reached down, his hands going under her ass to adjust the angle and let him drive in just a little deeper. It made his pelvis grind into her clit, and within moments an orgasm was circling her, swirling through her, making her bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming. He cried out with the pain, and she felt his body tense, felt his cock swell just a little bit more before he came, jerking inside of her in sharp, shattering spasms. He had barely taken a breath after that before he was reaching down between them, making just enough room to finger her clit in sweet, tight little circles. It would have been too intense without his cock still inside of her blunting the sensations just enough to drive her over the edge and make her spasm for him, shattering and bursting into bright lights as he stroked her gently through her climax.

  When she came back down to earth, he crashed down next to her, laughing softly. His hand lay on the flat of her belly, a completely natural feeling of possessiveness that she found she liked. She’d never tolerated a man being possessive before; any attempt at cuddling was sharply rejected, and the offending man was sent on their way. Or, if they were at his place—which was much more likely—she found an excuse, got up, and left.

  But Jackdaw’s hand on her belly was somehow soothing. Calming. She liked it quite a lot. She liked seeing that the chain wrapped all the way up his bicep before it turned into a piece of dangling chains over his chest. And maybe his back, too. She wanted to find out. She wanted to trace every inch of it with her fingers.

  For now, however, sleep was claiming her, and she let it. Her eyes drifted shut with his hand on her belly. Mindy slept.

  Chapter Three

  He woke her up; she didn’t know how many hours later. His cock was hard as steel against her ass, and his hands were roaming over her side. When she moaned and arched into him, he found her nipples and twisted them. This time she came for him long before he entered her, but he did enter her, and he filled her up again.

  After that, it didn’t matter whether the Wardens were chasing them or not. They spent two days in that little room, wild and wanton together, fucking every time they were awake, and existing on whatever Jack could rustle up at the nearby corner store for food. She let the battery on her cell phone run down, ignoring Cook’s increasingly panicked text messages. It didn’t matter. Jack mattered. It scared her how much he mattered.

  That was Wednesday and Thursday.

  It was Friday now.

  She woke up to find him gone.

  At first, she assumed he’d just gone out for food, but as hours passed and he didn’t return, her stomach started to twist in fear and worry. She waited longer, but she got hungry, and she had no idea where he’d gone. No note, no cell number, and the old fears started to twist in her. The knowledge that everyone left, eventually, and that he was part of everyone, so this was inevitable. The knowledge that she’d done something wrong; not been good enough in some way. That she had failed him, and herself, just like she always did.

  So, Mindy left that little room, telling herself that those two days were a nice dream, and now it was time to get back to her life. She could have scrawled her phone number on the wall in lipstick, but that seemed pretty goddamn pathetic, even for her. It had been two days, and she smelled like sweat and sex, and she was scared. So, she got out, used the little bit of cash she’d tucked in her apron from tips on Tuesday night, and got a cab back to her apartment. She resolved never to think of Jack Dawson again.

  And she was doing a damn good job of that for two long months. Two months until she put together the nausea and the late period and the fact that none of her bras fit anymore. The stick turned blue nearly the second she peed on it.

  That was also a Tuesday. That was when shit, for Mindy, got very real.

  Mindy stared at herself in the mirror, and tried to decide whether she looked more horrible with the stupid damn apron that Cook insisted be tied up high so that it fell over her growing bump, or around the middle of it, where it completely highlighted that she was looking less and less like she’d started skipping gym time and more and more like—well, like she was a woman with a “condition,” as her gram would have said. A long torso and years of planks and sit-ups meant that the situation wasn’t dire yet, but that “yet” was getting closer and closer with every passing day.

  “What am I going to do with you, Bean,” she said to her belly, and not for the first time. After that initial appointment, her OB had convinced her to sign up for an email newsletter that told her what size her baby was every week by comparing it to a fruit or vegetable. The week it was the size of a mung bean had stuck with her, for some reason.

  So far, she’d managed to avoid Cook’s prying questions, and she’d been able to trade all of her shifts so that she could get to her appointments. But right now, they were only every month. When she had to go to weekly appointments, that wouldn’t be so easy. And it wasn’t like her bump was getting any smaller.

  The adult thing to do would be to tell Cook exactly what was going on and pray he was willing to have a pregn
ant waitress on staff. After all, some people got off on that kind of thing, and her mosquito bite tits were certainly filling out her bra better than they ever had before. The Mindy thing to do would have been to decide not to have the baby at all, or to give it up, or at the bare minimum to cut the string and move on to somewhere where she would always have been pregnant. Somewhere she and Bean could build a life.

  But she couldn’t quite shake the idea of Jackdaw; the incredible way he’d played her body like a tuned string. Since the vomiting stopped, her hormones had gone absolutely wild. She’d given up on her fingers and bought a vibrator, and she was still incredibly horny all the time. No one had told her pregnancy could be like this. She thought about him often, the gorgeous ink up his shoulder, the way he’d felt when he buried his fingers, his tongue, and his cock inside of her. The two days that they hadn’t been able to take their hands off each other’s bodies. She couldn’t help thinking how it would have been if he’d come back to that little room.

  She heaved a sigh and adjusted the apron again. Even if he’d come back, it probably wouldn’t have changed anything. He would have hated the idea of Bean, and he would have insisted on her making a different choice. Or worse, he would have just left then, and somehow, that would have been even more soul-crushing.

  She patted her belly. “Who couldn’t love you, Bean? Well, you can quit it with the heartburn any time. But other than that...” She had to go out there. If she stayed in the bathroom any longer, Cook would start making noises about sick waitresses serving food, while taking pointed glances at her belly. God, he had to know. She should just admit it. If she just admitted it, she could do whatever was necessary to keep going. But there was no way she could get the words out. Somehow, saying it out loud would make it real in a way that hearing the heartbeat and the OB appointments and the endless blue pregnancy tests those first few days had.

  The apron was still awful, but it would have to do for tonight. She walked out of the small bathroom and into the dining area. Then her heart just about stopped in her chest.

  She saw the ink first; the chain that spiraled up his forearm, disappearing into the rolled up cuff of his button down shirt. Then, the sandy blond hair and bright blue eyes. Because he was looking at her. He was looking at her with a surprised but pleased expression and—Oh crap, there was nothing to do but run. Mindy turned on her heel and rushed through the back. She heard Cook yell a surprised, “Hey! Girl!” echoing through the kitchen. She yanked off the apron and tossed it onto the floor.

  She’d come back to Cook’s when hell froze over.

  Chapter Four

  When Jack saw Mindy come out of the back, wearing that damn frilly apron that had somehow gotten him so cranked up the first time he’d seen her, his heart lifted up just a little bit. He’d never meant to leave her behind like that, but when Bodhi finally caught up with him outside of the old clubhouse, there was no choice but to go with him. He thought he’d be back in an hour, so he hadn’t gone back inside to wake Mindy, or leave a note or anything. It was half a day before he got back there, and by then she was long gone. He couldn’t blame her. And it wasn’t really a surprise she ran for it as soon as she saw him. It would be either that, or a slap across the face, and he would have deserved either one.

  He cut away from the flirty waitress who was running her hand down his arm, whispering something about how he’d earned his nickname—which, damn, he knew was supposed to be an ego boost, but having a whole bunch of waitresses whispering about the size of his dick was actually pretty creepy—and headed for the back. He’d heard Cook yell at the girl as she moved away from him, and then yell louder as Jack ran past the food prep stations and the hot grill. He didn’t much care; he needed to talk to Mindy, and he needed to do it now.

  Cook actually blocked him, and Jack seriously considered knocking the other man flat on his ass. The girl he needed to talk to was getting away. But Cook was shouting, right in his face, and something he said finally got through to Jack. “What? What did you say?”

  “I stated,” Cook said, in the irritated tone of someone who is repeating themselves, and not for the first time, “that you better treat that girl nice after getting her in as much trouble as you have.”

  Jack blinked several times, very fast. He couldn’t make Cook’s words make sense. Trouble? What kind of trouble had he gotten her into? The Wardens hadn’t been back to the diner, and guards were posted to make sure that Cook’s place was safe, and that Chain Gang territory was respected. Had someone been hassling Mindy somewhere other than work?

  And then the pieces clicked together. When she’d seen him, there had been a moment. One moment where their gazes locked and her hand fluttered over her belly, which wasn’t as flat and tight as it had been when they’d been together. He hadn’t thought anything of it, but trouble. Cook had said she was in trouble. And that was what his mama used to say. Shake her head and cluck her tongue and say, “That girl is in trouble.”

  Jack let out a curse and shoved past Cook. He thought he needed to talk to Mindy before, but if this was true… he had to talk to her now.

  He ran out the back door, hoping to find the girl standing or sitting somewhere sobbing. But it wasn’t that easy. It wasn’t ever that easy.

  He looked along both of the roads that led away from the diner, and down to the east, he saw a small figure moving at a rapid pace away from him. He ran for his bike and kicked it into gear, setting off after her. When he was within shouting distance, he called her name.

  She didn’t say anything or look back at him, but he saw her shoulder stiffen all of a sudden. Her pace picked up just a little more, although one hand came to the small of her back like she was winded or sore.

  He slowed way down, to the point where speed wasn’t keeping the bike balanced well. He put his feet down, walking it along next to her.

  “Mindy, come on. Let me give you a ride—to wherever you’re going. We need to talk.”

  “I don’t have anything to say to you,” she said, her teeth clenched tight.

  “Come on, don’t do this. We can talk. I’m sorry for what happened. Business took me away, and I thought I’d be back in minutes, an hour tops. And then everything in my world exploded, and you would’ve gotten hurt if I went back to you.” Her jaw was working, but she hadn’t said another word to him. “Mindy, I swear. I’m so sorry. I wanted to talk to you—”

  She spun, facing him, and he let the bike idle out. “Then, why didn’t you?” She was shouting, and she seemed to notice and try to reel herself back in. It didn’t work well, though. She stepped into his space and jabbed him with one finger. “You knew exactly where I was. You knew how to find me. And you didn’t try. So, you must not have wanted to talk to me very bad.”

  Well. Yes. That was the logical flaw in his plan, since the very beginning. The truth was that he was sure that a girl as pretty as Mindy wouldn’t want a damn thing to do with a rough-edged biker like him, especially not if she knew what had pulled him away that morning. If she knew he had blood on his hands. He spread his hands, trying his very best to look soft and worth forgiving. Now that he was looking at her again—God, he didn’t care if she didn’t want him, he’d do anything to be worthy of her. Especially if he was right about the swelling in her belly. Had she noticed that her uniform was starting to stretch around her middle? He wanted to lay his hand over that soft swelling. He wasn’t sure why he had so little doubt that he’d caused this. Any other man, he was quite sure, would be suspicious—would wonder how many other bikers she’d left the bar with—but there had been something about that night that made him just trust that this was his. She was his. There had been a connection there, or else why would she be so pissed?

  “I’m sorry, Mindy,” he said, instead of trying to explain. “Let me give you a ride home. Or wherever you want to go.” He looked off to the west and pointed. “There’s a storm coming in, and it’ll be a bitch. I don’t want you caught in the rain. Not in your condition.” It was a
n old-fashioned thing to say, but what the hell, he was more old-fashioned than the ink and the bike let on.

  She followed his gaze down to her belly, and then she stepped back, crossing her arms fiercely under her breasts. Now that she’d called attention to them, he couldn’t help but notice that her uniform dress was stretched there, too, with a lot more cleavage than he remembered from that first night. He tried to keep her impressive tits in his peripheral vision and focus on her face.

  “What condition?” Her expression was fierce, daring him to say anything.

  “Mindy. Come on. Tell me, please. Is it mine? I never would’ve left you alone all this time if I’d even thought…”

  She scoffed at him. “Jackdaw, we spent three days fucking every time our eyes were open, we never once bothered with a condom, and it never occurred to you that something might have happened? And I swear to God, if you suggest I should’ve been on the pill, I’ll—”