by V. Theia
Only as Law wrapped his fist around that thick cock again, punishing the purple head with fast furious painful twists did he watch the play of emotions cross that hard face warring with himself to admit what Law already knew, the skull reared down, hanging on the thick corded neck and a puff of air expelled from his throat.
Defeat. Submission. Acceptance. Good fish.
Lawless realized then why the guy wasn't arguing or fighting back, no matter how much he taunted him with his secret truth.
He needed this like medicine. Humiliation was his kink, his valve to normalcy. And right then leaning into the wall, that massive chest heaving for air with Lawless jacking him off, Law saw how the release was desired.
And who was Lawless to judge? His own appetites bordered freaky by anyone's standards and fuck them if they said a word to him about it. No one judged the housewife on her knees for dear old husband, did they? Why then would they for the shit that jived for Lawless? Assholes.
His voice grew hoarse as he asked, "Do you need my belt, bastard sub?" His tone was very precise, spoken like the monster he was accused of. He’d go so far as to admit he wouldn’t allow anyone else to manipulate him this way, damn those warm fuzzy feelings he held for his club-brothers.
Snake's head reared up so fast, pinning Lawless with a startled stare, he gave three long blinks, heaving in air, he slicked his lower lip with his tongue, then said "Yeah."
Air shot through Lawless. The stab of surprise. He’d expected Snake to tell him no, to go fuck himself and storm off.
Medicine was a bastard, wasn’t it? It was a stinker what a guy needed to feel normal.
"Fuck. Okay. Okay. If I kill you it's your own fault, I won’t shed a tear at your funeral. I probably won’t even go to the service, not for the likes of you, not even if they served lobster, I’m busy that day braiding my hair." The humiliation was making the cock in his hand harder.
He let go to unbuckle and pull off his belt, the leather whooshed through the denim hooks, the metal echoing in the small closet.
Lawless' knowledge for many things was varied, he could pick out a person's hidden appetites long before they even spoke about them. He and Snake had never discussed Snake's sexuality, though he'd seen him fuck countless women in the years they'd known each other, nor had Snake ever talked about his broader ... proclivities, but last summer Lawless had recognized an undisguised need in his fellow troublemaker, one that had flashed through his eyes that fateful night. Murder had brought the jittering club brother to his knees and it had been Lawless who had leveled Snake back out.
The scales of power always tipped in his direction, he couldn't see a day when he'd give that up to anyone, least of all a sexual partner, it gave Lawless hives under his skin to even contemplate, but he could recognize the need in others, to let go and have someone else take the reins.
He loved the fucking reins.
The reins felt good in his large paws.
When he buckled the belt around Snake's neck he supposed they were both cognizant of what they were doing was fucking wrong in some small way.
They were club brothers. Friends. Murderers-in-arm. How sweet and nostalgic. Lawless got all tingly. Or maybe it was just his Johnson wanting to shoot off.
And this was the second time Lawless had commanded his dominant side over Snake ... at Snake's request.
It was like he was running a day-care for deviants.
With the ends of the belt wrapped around his fist, he tugged and made Snake's head cant down. His other hand kept moving on his cock, drawing the leaked fluid down the shaft.
Snake was groaning heavily, the pleasure making him spit curses.
Lawless had a bit of a book club going with Texas. No dicks were harmed in the making of those e-readers.
He supposed this was his freak club. Dicks included.
"You gotta get your shit together." Law told Snake. “Life’s too fucking short to deny the kinky shit you like. And I won’t do this again for you, are you listening? I’ll snap your fucking neck if you ever look at me like this again.”
"Do it." Snake issued thickly in a tortured voice that didn’t even sound like him. “Please…” The submissive asked and what could a dominant do but answer.
God-fucking-damn.
This was all wrong.
And right.
And it felt good.
But still, fucking wrong, wrong, wrong. Friends did not choke each other out just because one friend was a closet motherfucker who liked to be treated like shit. Didn’t they make a song about that? He’d have to check his Spotify later.
Lawless sucked in air and then very slowly he twisted his wrist and tightened his belt forcing a fresh bout of grunts from Snake as he struggled to contain what he was feeling.
Strange that Law hadn't thought he'd be choking a brother tonight. He might have dressed up for it.
Stranger still to know they'd both get off very soon.
He knew what he was doing, hadn't he watched a YouTube video that one night when he was drunk and covered in pussy.
His own blood boiled.
Fuck.
Fuck.
"Get me out." He issued in a voice that croaked nastily. For good measure, he kicked Snake's legs wider, making his back crack against the wall and the belt to tighten around his throat cutting off his air. Erotic asphyxiation between friends, just what every boy wanted for Christmas.
Fingers went at his jeans.
Lessons were for those who wanted to be taught. He wasn't the right man to show Snake it was okay to be who the fuck he wanted to be. Bi. Straight. Alien fucker. He didn’t care what a person was.
But for this one last time the dirty, secret bi-sub wanted to be fucked like a whore and what do you know, the meat between Lawless' legs began to pulse, some lessons he could give.
Their groans rained.
Teacher was in session.
An hour later when Lawless had showered off the sex from his skin, he took a stroll through the party to grab a drink and maybe a couple of dogs from the BBQ before he went to feed his kittens, he saw Snake, heard him first actually, with his big barrelling laugh. A woman with little titties popped out of a tube top sitting on his lap, hands all over him as she helped with lowering the zipper to his jeans, she was grinding on Snake’s dick like the hungry serpent all women were.
Lawless laughed to himself. That asshole had bigger problems than Lawless could ever dream of. At least his own secrets were at face value. Snake’s went deep, so deep he used any sweet malleable pussy to hide behind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“What happens when you cross the Bratva? No man has lived to tell that tale.” – Grigori.
Rough sounding Russian came out of the mouth of Grigori’s right-hand man, Grigori listened with half an ear, his attention held elsewhere. Borya was a stupid man known only for fighting. He had fists and little to no brain to speak of. He had traveled to the states with Grigori for one purpose only and it was not for his capable mathematical skills. Grigori had needed muscle.
“Da.” Grigori replied idly to Borya’s question. The engine was motoring quietly and the lights switched off within his black Jaguar as he surveyed the compound off to the right just a little way up the road, any closer and he risked detection and that would not do right now.
It was lively. Lights and music, engines roaring and a lot of revelry.
Information trickled into his inbox just this evening and because he trusted his IT specialist with face recognition technology Grigori was now in receipt with the name of the dark-haired male from his own party several weeks previous.
And what do you know, that same man belonged to the Renegade Souls MC. Funny then when he had extended the invitation to his get together of like-minded criminals this dark-haired man had not been introduced to Grigori as part of the Renegade Souls. In fact, the man and the other three who had attended never even crossed paths, oh, and Grigori had scoured the camera footage for evidence of their connection a
nd found none.
The dark-haired man was not known to Grigori, he had no way of knowing he was one of those outlaws. He had not dressed in their revolting garb, no club colors adorned his clothes. It had been a mystery who he was until this very evening.
Now he knew.
Nathan Frazier, better known in these parts as Grinder. Also known in the underground as the best tracker Renegade Souls have ever had.
Grigori knew him as the male who had stolen from him.
“Let us go,” he informed his driver and the car pulled away quietly, only turning on the high beams when they were far enough away not to be detected from the gate security.
“What now?” asked Borya. “Are we going to contact Marinos?”
“Oh, nyet.” A shadowy sneer slashed across Grigori’s face. He was not a man to show any expression whatsoever in normal circumstances, a male who showed his hand often lost and Grigori did not care to lose. But to be cheated in this style, when he had offered the hand of friendship, better still, businessmen coming together in endeavors they could both profit from, now this was galling.
The rage swelled within his chest, fisted his well-manicured hands within his lap.
And no one could be allowed to get away with that. “I will not extend a courtesy hand.” He told his bodyguard, who was practically salivating to hit something, anything, he was an animal with such things. He would get his chance.
“They played dirty first. Let us show them how filthy we can get.”
Plans were put into place before they’d reached home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“It’s not until you’re gone that you realize what you miss, even jealous, moody bikers.” – Luxe
“Come on! Jesus. You can drive any time today, Miss Daisy! Imbécil. Dios.” The Chrysler crawling at a snail’s pace in front of Luxe didn’t have the first clue how wound up she was by his driving skills or lack thereof, she’d been behind him for more than a mile without room to overtake him.
Any fricking slower and she’d roll to a stop on i-76, as it was, this guy was well under the speed limit and she had places to be, she’d already been on the road longer than she’d wanted to with barely a rest stop in between to grab a salad wrap and a latte, she really needed to find a job closer to home, one that paid as much as she was going to get paid from Jamie. But Grinder isn’t in New Mexico and you like him---his body. Hm, thought provoking, one she couldn’t give the proper time to when the car in front slowed further, for Christ sake. “Try walking next time.” She muttered finally taking the exit that would lead her back toward Fort Springs … the question still and had been for the last hour, which turn would she take; the one heading back to The Apollo Kingsmen quad compound which was where her actual job was waiting for her OR take the exit and go into Armado Springs to see the biker with the body she liked so much.
It shouldn’t be that difficult of a decision. Money over hormones. Easy, right?
She’d had fun.
They’d had a lot of fun.
She wouldn’t mind a little more fun with him before she had to leave again.
Maybe she could check in with him, see what he was about, maybe he was seeing someone already. Her stomach churned greasily. It had been several weeks.
Just thinking of Nathan and his beard and cocky all too arrogant smile twisted an invisible screw at the apex of her thighs, a sharp pulse to go with the already too warm interior of her car that just rounded off the constant ache she’d had in her body since she’d left his bed.
Some would have said her happy sex vibes should have gone some way to decreasing her anger issues. Who could get mad when they were having self-induced orgasms every night just from the memory of that one fantastic night, right?
Wrong.
Everything lately was bugging Luxe, more so than usual. The baby-boy barista, no older than kindergarten from the fuzz on his chin, who served her morning drink still didn’t spell her name right. It was four fucking letters and she’d spelled it for him no less than five times already. And the angry irritation didn’t stop today when she climbed out of her car to refuel, the jackass in the car behind honked his horn.
Fucking honked at her to hurry. She turned and glared at the young kid through his Camaro windshield. Her glare was about as violent as it could get while she was holding a pipe full of gas. Maybe boy-racer sensed danger because he shrank back and lifted his hands in surrender.
What in the hell did he want her to do, pump the gas faster? Right, chico.
She couldn’t afford more court dates and anger management classes, if anything those things pissed her off more, can’t a person just be naturally cross and not have do-right citizens crawl up her butt about it? So, with her temper in constant check she didn’t do what she wanted to do by reaching through his window and throat-checking him with her palm.
She paid and drove off without getting into a fight; fist or verbal. Yay, progress. Mimi would be so proud.
After delivering the sketches into the grasping hands of an art collector, she’d mentally set that aside ready for the next job. It was the criminal circle of life. Luxe knew some questionable people and because of her flare for flying off the handle when things didn’t go according to plan …. well … she was one of those questionable people to some who had encountered the sharp tongue of her temper. She thought nothing of cursing someone out if they were in the wrong or trying to scam her no matter their place in hierarchy in the underground circles. If you were a dick then Luxe was going to call it like it was.
She didn’t suffer fools lightly and never stood for anyone trying to make her into one either.
In her profession, it was better they think she was a crazy bitch and to tread carefully when dealing with her, than for them, criminals and thieves alike, to assume she was a pushover. Women got such a rough fucking deal in this world without allowing people to treat her like a hallway rug. All she wanted to do was earn her money fair and square (and illegally) only among thieves honor was thin on the ground, she had to keep her wits about her.
Her bank balance was all the fatter since she’d supplied the sketches and now she was heading back to Colorado, after the brief stop to check in with her abuela, to help Jamie with his new chop-shop.
The latest news on Mimi was she’d dumped one of her gentlemen friends when he dared suggest they become exclusive. The nerve of the old man, it was as though he didn’t know Mimi at all.
Luxe had to laugh, her Mimi was a pill, if not a little bit of a wild player.
The decision as to where she was going first was fast approaching, she put a call through to Jamie on speaker. “Yo, pocket-rocket. Thought you’d be here by now.”
“I’m not getting into the saga of the slow bastard I was stuck behind. I’m nearly there. Am I good to drop my bag at the apartment?” she asked.
“Sure. But I’m over at Rider’s place in Armado right now. Can you let yourself in?”
Rider? The cogs in her head went through the series of names and places she knew and found who she was looking for. “You’re playing with another MC, Jamie? Did we all die and fall to Hell?” Jaime Steele wasn’t knowing for his friendliness with another MC.
She went on. “I dropped the key with Amos before I left last time.”
“Okay, swing by, I can give you mine.” She caught him ask someone if that was okay. The deep voice answered sure. “You know where the Renegade Souls compound is?”
Oh god. Nathan. Everything clutched all at once, her pulse sped up and she felt the beginning stirring of desire in her belly. She was going to see him sooner than anticipated after all.
And that tender ache she was experiencing suddenly turned into a fresh wave of sticky hell between her legs.
Her breathing became a little shallow.
She hadn’t stopped thinking about him in two long weeks.
Walking through the double doors ten minutes later, she ignored the rising anticipation of seeing the stud-biker bubbling within her skin
, he’d done the impossible with his sex, and made her want more of it. Sex was fun and all, but Luxe never became addicted.
Why then were her eyes skimming left and right, not taking in her surroundings, but searching out the heads of people in hopes it was him she saw?
“Your boy is through there.” An old guy with silver hair pointed his thumb right as Jamie came out of an office, flanked by the RS president himself.
******
“You might wanna drop the drill and head inside, G.” Preacher called out through the noise, walking back into the garage, can of soda in one hand and a shark smirk on his face. If he was about to brag he’d just got laid on his lunch break Grinder was likely to punch him.
“I got more shit to do before this gets collected tomorrow.” It was only his sex life taking a dive, bikes he could fix in his sleep. With oil coated hands, he hunkered down again to work on the carburetor.
“Okay. If you don’t wanna see your girl.” Whistling, Preacher began pulling on his overalls.
Grinder’s attention halted, his head reared up. “Say what?”
“Just saw your kidnap participant heading inside.”
Disbelief and heat punched him in the gut. Tools forgotten he was on his feet. “Luxe? Luxe is here?”
Preacher bust out laughing. “Damn, man, you look like you’re about to start jacking off all over the floor. Yeah, that’s who I saw with my two pretty eyes. But like you said, you’re busy, so…” smug bastard grinned at Grinder.
He was already heading out the door. “Oh, hey, and Jamie is inside, so play fucking nice with my brother in law, Ruby will have my guts if I let you kill him.” Advised Preacher to halt Grinder. Fucks sake. “Maybe just rough him up a bit. I saw nothing.”
Jamie fucking Steele could go fuck himself was Grinder’s consensus.
Sure enough, there was her Lincoln parked next to an unknown hog. He felt the crunch of his jaw as his teeth mashed together.