by V. Theia
Filthy longing filled his lungs, his addiction was alive and well, breeding like a greedy bastard hanging onto every single word. He’d fuck so much giant assholeness into her.
Fuck, shut up with that.
Time to check out and get over to the MC, Rider would have made the call to alert them his VP was on the way.
He was supposed to be gone. Now he was ever closer to her.
Reluctant, he paused to read the messages again.
The phone message thread went on for years. He never deleted anything from her.
“Little bit….”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Sex with a kidnapper. Isn’t it on every woman’s bucket list?” - Luxe
Their second time was faster than the first, as though their hunger had tripled instead of waning. There’s no words to describe what it felt like to be ridden by Grinder with his do-me slabs hanging on his torso. The man was hard all over. And he lived up to his name, that was for sure.
There was no part of her body he didn’t worship, didn’t make feel like it was the first time being touched.
This way, that way, he had her every which way he could bend her body and she fucking loved it all.
They came quickly at the same time. She came everywhere. No part of her body was left out of the drugging pleasure. They came slow and languid, fingers digging into flesh just to hold onto something solid while the pleasure became a forest fire.
There was no getting around the embarrassing amount of times she’d cried out his name.
Or pleaded to him for more.
She thought being desired was the pinnacle of any sexual experience, that’s how it’s always been in her history. How wrong Luxe was. Being obsessed over was a far greater, richer feeling. Desire was a simmer in contrast to the sexual obsession she’d felt from Nathan those past hours. It was a rolling boil that never dulled in all the time spent in his bed.
Obsessed.
She was lost in it.
His warm exhale sent tingles all over her body, her sex clenched harder, painfully tight as though she’d been emptied and needed to be filled. He’d filled her so perfectly she was still dealing with the meaning of that. Empty and now full.
Lost in that same seductive dream she’d had for a full year of those meaty arms crushing her with want. Soaking her in his intense attention. Every skim of his gentle callused fingers right before they turned rough and grabbed her. Each thrust of his thickness as she struggled to take him, then her body gave and relaxed.
Desire, once the orgasm wanes becomes diluted and waits in the background until a person wants to fuck again. But the obsession is constant. It never sleeps, it doesn’t wait patiently. Without words spoken it’s more than obvious it’s obsession they’re both experiencing, it’s what keeps them reaching out for the other even when exhaustion weighs heavy on their limbs. Kisses are tender and gentle, the roll of their bodies just to keep them in constant joining.
She could barely catch one breath as orgasms battered her before he was flipping her over and sliding into her sore, wet body.
“Nathan.” She moaned languidly as she had done all night, wanting more and he’d given it to her no matter how tired he seemed.
This gorgeous strong man with a touch of her hands on his body was controlled by her in the same way he’d controlled her.
God, his fingers.
Already hot, her body temperature notched up another level. She was hot, so hot, and panting now. Oh, Nathan.
He didn’t make a sound but she felt him groan.
Holy hell, he’d rearranged her insides, jangled them all out of order.
She could hear the wet glide of their bodies moving desperately together. It wasn’t enough, not with Nathan in this state, he pushed her to her knees, a hand curled around the front of her neck, encouraging her to push back on the tip of his cock. She barely had to clench at all to feel how thick he was stretching her, making her feel so damn good, working himself in deep, forcing inch by inch. His thrusts went from urgent to wild, so frantic she was caught up in emotion as strong as a monsoon. Overwhelming as it was new.
“Jesus. Luxe.” His voice gusted over her head.
He slammed one last time, her aftershocks intensified when he released his own pleasure, grunting by her ear, enveloped so tightly in his arms she went through the series of body spasms with him.
Pushing aside any doubts for now. As enjoyable as he’d made the sex for her, this between them was ephemeral. As fleeting and misleading as a dream. Sex like it didn’t truly exist in the real world, they’d stepped inside this weird bubble for a second and soon it would be over.
His arm curled around her waist, and she was left with an empty sense of wonder and what the hell had just happened.
Being with him felt a lot like falling and flying.
******
Grinder welcomed the surging dose of adrenalin, letting it coat the back of his throat until he swallowed slowly. It usually, mostly, only came from tracking some dipshit through the state, hounding enemies who owed the MC money until he caught them, only now he was feeling that spike in his brain from watching a woman jump herself back into her tiny pair of panties with a shimmy of her hips dragging them over to cover the full globes of her ass cheeks. Smiling for the movement seemed a fucking shame since he was about to peel her back out of them, not done with her, so not done with her. He wasn’t going to ask why she carried fresh panties around with her. He’d torn her thong off. Don’t fucking ask.
She wasn’t staying the rest of the night.
He wanted her to stay.
“This was fun.” She told him as she twanged her panties in that way that caused his abdomen to tighten with lust.
He laughed closed-lipped. “Fun?”
“You don’t agree, chico?” Every time she called him boy Grinder wanted to reply yes ma’am and then lick her pussy until she cried.
“That wasn’t fun, love. It was fucking amazing. Stay. We can do it all over again. I got a few goes left in me.”
Teasing dark eyes slide over to him by the dresser and he saw her assessing him with the same watchful lust he was feeling, sneaking glances. The thief was always sneaking glances at him like she thought he wouldn’t stand still and let her look her fill. He would.
“Is this where you turn into a needy niña? Are you going to stalk my social media now, Nathan, stand outside my window and serenade me like it’s 1980?”
His lips twitched, arms folded. Any second now he was going to stalk forward and claim those smirking lips, thought she was funny, did she?
“Maybe. So, you should stay and save me the embarrassment of being a needy girl, at least until lunch, let me feed you.”
“I’d really like to. Really. But I’m sitting on thousands of dollars, I need to get it to my buyer.”
He’d been so busy kidnapping and wooing he’d forgotten the real reason she was even in town. His brow puckered in the middle. Fuck.
On went her red dress again over her machine-gun hips he’d grabbed and held onto for hours. He’d had her in so many different positions if his back worked properly when it was time to hunker down while he fixed engines he’d be lucky.
He didn’t regret a thing.
If anything, he was stuck on Luxe more than he had been. The sex hadn’t changed a thing, hadn’t cleaned her from his system.
She made him feel like he was sinking and soaring.
How about that.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Enemies are just friends who haven’t bowed down and submitted yet.” - Grigori, Russian Underboss.
Grigori stepped over the bleeding man with a somewhat grimace of disgust on his tight, sweating face, the day was young, plenty of time for death to stain the air with its pungent scent. He detested blood on his tan Magnanni's. You pay for alligator shoes and expect a great deal of them, to be protected from bodily fluids for one.
Such a messy business, da. But necessary.
Taking a hand
kerchief from his breast pocket he wiped his face, the heat bothering him more than the dead man at his feet. He longed for the cold of home, for his wife and children and a fine glass of vodka straight from the deep freeze. This shit hole was too hot, too many people and every one of those American’s were grating on the underbosses nerves.
If not for Alexei giving stringent instructions for him to be in Colorado he’d be somewhere more pleasant than a shit hole full of ingrates who couldn’t follow orders.
“Clean this up.” He ordered Borya. Russian was the only language they spoke when alone.
Ruminating on his task for a long time, he finally took the phone from his pocket and tapped a select few keys.
He did not like being swindled. Not at all.
And right under his nose someone, two someone’s in fact, had come into his house and taken something that did not belong to them.
The fact it did not truly belong to him either, was here nor there.
Criminally minded men did not carry currency in cash these days, it was easier to move dirty money through art, gems and the like.
The call connected. “Boss. We have had a setback. Nyet. I am sorting it now.”
Alexei was back home in Kazan, he was not a healthy man, choosing not to travel so much these days, he was not a patient man, not a fair or just man, he was a brutal Pakhan who ruled with a fist of iron and hate. Grigori heard the wrath of the man for a full five minutes until his ears blistered.
Holding onto his own temper, knowing it would not do to answer his Pakhan back, that was how Grigori had been promoted so swiftly several years ago when the last underboss had deemed his opinion worthy.
Wrong.
There was the Pakhan’s opinion and everyone else was incorrect.
“Da.” He agreed when Alexei told him to sort it and hung up unceremoniously. Wiping more sweat from his face he shrugged out of his wool overcoat, tossing it over a chair, he took the same seat to watch the footage once more, though he had watched several times already and observed the beautiful woman in red sashay around the party guests, seemingly talking to no one in particular and everyone at once.
She was gregarious, her features evocatively expressive. She seduced herself into the crowd.
“Plokhoy kotenok.” Bad kitten. Her behavior had gone unnoticed, if not for the split-second glance towards the dark-haired male.
There. Right there. His eyes narrowed towards the screen. A look of nothingness but everything at the same time.
It was only a second.
That in itself was not clue enough.
But then the dark-haired male had split himself off from the blonde shlyukha he had hired to keep every man there happy with sex, the whore was paid well to suck cock and keep his associates entertained, but the dark-haired male had seemed disinterested in Tatiana, he’d disappeared but then another camera had picked him up heading up the stairs.
Soon to be followed by the woman in red. Precisely five minutes later she emerged first, hurrying through the crowd and out the door with one of the known Renegade Souls males.
Now, Grigori had to ask himself was this just a huge coincidence his safe was penetrated without a hint anyone had touched it on the very night two unknown people had sneaked up to a floor that was off limits to the party guests.
The feared underboss did not believe in coincidences of any kind.
And because of inept security the blood spill on the floor today would not be the last. He hired men who were meant to know what they were doing.
If two unknowns could slip through a room full of mafia members and walk out with expensive pieces of art … well … it did not please Grigori.
Death was a messy business.
A necessary business when trying to establish a foothold in someone else’s territory, but as he was known, he always got his way in the end.
You were either a friend to the bratva or ... you were dead.
He would have the two names very soon and then he would teach a lesson on what he considered bad manners.
Da. He despised this whole place with its cheery have a nice day baristas and constant heat and ever growing annoying roadblocks with his business of red tape with that MC and the mayor’s pockets he was lining with persuasive money. Why they could not just take their special imports through New York as was his suggestion last year, but no one told Alexei no. That was the motorcycle club’s first mistake. The sooner Rider Marinos bowed down and accepted the fate in which it was presented would be better for everyone concerned and then Grigori could go back home to his pregnant wife and his mistress.
Unlocking the desk drawer, he reached in and palmed the cool metal, pulling out the Walther P99 handgun.
It would not be long now before two people would know never to cross not only the bratva, but Grigori personally.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“I’m not moping, you’re moping.” - Grinder.
Stepping down from the treadmill, legs rigid from fatigue, Grinder had nothing good going on inside his head other than burning out his frustration, snarling like a mad man to himself, muttering curses like he was a priest exorcising a demon. His uncle was big on religion and would probably thump him in the temple for that, whatever, he was still in a bad mood and he couldn’t shake it. No amount of booze and weed last night had gotten him to relax and then three of the groupies who hung around had sidled up to him in the kitchen with the fake lashes and seductive tits… The less said about that the better.
“You get locked up for that, bro.” Snake announced his presence straddling the weight bench, his tattooed fingers braced out in front of him. He wasn’t dressed for working out so he’d come solely to needle Grinder or gossip. Blinking out of the Luxe part of his brain, he knew he had a case of infatuation going on and didn’t do a thing to stop it other than whine to himself like a fucking harping bitch.
“Yeah, so Preacher likes to tell me. You bastards will all end up in the next padded cell so I won’t be lonely.”
Snake laughed, but Grinder noticed a strain around his eyes, the humor didn’t reach all the way to the top floor today. “You good, bro?”
“Yeah.” He nodded rubbing his face. As much as Snake was known for being the class clown, he was also the caretaker, he made sure everyone in the club was mentally sane, that ship had sailed for Hawk and Law, but still, the sentiment was always appreciated from the brothers, he always seemed to sense when a brother was going through some shit and was there for them. “You’re coming to the cookout tonight, right? Pretty-boy’s picking up the new strain of green to try.”
“Yeah? The Irish grow some good shit. I’ll be there. I got nothing else to do.” Not as though Luxe showed any indication she wanted to see him again, she’d hit and quit his bed so fast he had whiplash.
“Looked like you had your hands full last night,” he smirked, reminding Grinder of the groupies trying to coax him into a foursome, or was that an orgy when it was more than three? Women, when they traveled in packs, were ferocious man-eating bitches, Grinder was lucky to get out of there with his beard intact. Truth was, none of them even stirred a lick of arousal in him, they were good looking women, probably tasted like sweet heaven If he got his mouth on their tits, and he knew some of them were adventurous in the bedroom, real dirty shit, they were the most loyal groupies who were around most days, and more so when there was a party hoping to rope in an outlaw of their very own, why they didn’t go for a banker or a factory worker he didn’t know, those fuckers were more likely not to cheat on dear ole Cherry, but the MC reputation spoke to chicks.
“Yeah, not my scene, bro.” He left it at that. The chicks didn’t have hurt feelings, they’d soon moved on to get their fun elsewhere, Grinder had spent the rest of the night smoking out by the sheds like a damn loser.
“Seriously, G. What’s the matter with you these days, you’re not yourself. Is it a drink problem? Caught an STD? You in debt to that donut place?”
Huffing a snort. Jackass. He cas
t his gaze over. “I got woman problems and don’t you even fucking laugh or I’ll knock you out.” He hissed with fair warning, finger pointing.
To be fair Snake tried really hard, what with the way he pressed his lips together and gulped a few times making his massive chest heave from exertion and his shoulders shake with a silent laugh. Grinder scowled and picked up the weights again. “Oh, fuck you.”
Snake just began cackling.
“I’m sorry, man, but I’m kinda liking all you jolly-fuck-monkeys falling like trees, it leaves more groupies for yours truly. I might make a harem. Should I have a brand name? welcome packs?”
Grinder laughed. Have at ‘em, he wanted to say, none of the chicks who hung around the club on the regular were doing it for him, it was like he was staring at lamp posts with hips.
The curl of weights burned his biceps, air exerted out of his body in hard groaned huffs, veins lifted under his skin, but he kept on going, went on lifting, sweat pouring down his chest and back, keeping his mind on the task rather than wondering if Luxe was all cozy in Fort Springs with Steele instead of crawling her ass into his bed and staying there.
Hell, he was gonna drive himself Hawk crazy if he continued that path. He dropped the weight, grabbed towel to do a dry down. The lust coiling inside him wasn’t lazy, it lay dormant while he worked, while he rode out of town to grab some info on a new prospective client who wanted to use the bunkers. Rider always got the lowdown on the guy first before any deal was struck, so while that was going on he was able to kick back on any feelings he had, but the indulgent need forever simmered in his background.
One night with her was not enough.
Two days, and he’d needed to jerk off this morning so hard it was as though he’d been in space for ten years without a climax. She’d been gone from his bed only two days and the come shot out from the tip of his cock like a bullet from a gun and though the edge had been taken off, the pressure was left behind, he needed Luxe to feel that bone deep satisfaction.