“How do I trust and believe you when you don’t do the same with me?” I ask, looking into his blue eyes.
“Who says I don’t?”
“You didn’t believe me about your whores,” I explain, wondering why I have to explain this to begin with.
“Maybe you weren’t so far off. That shit that happened today—.”
“You mean the cute little games she was playing?” I ask, arching a brow.
“Mary,” he warns.
“Maxfield,” I counter. “They don’t know their place. You think it’s fine that they’re fucking with you even though you’re the president and you’re taken?”
“No, no, I don’t,” he finally admits with a shake of his head.
“I don’t know what to do with you.”
“Fuck me ‘til we pass out?” he asks with a grin.
“I’m hurt, Max. Then you yelled in my face, and I just don’t know what to do with you,” I whisper.
Max doesn’t reply. He wraps his arms around me, one across my shoulder blades and the other around my waist, and he presses me into his chest. His chin rests on top of my head, and we just stand there for what seems like hours.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Mary-Anne. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t believe you, and I didn’t mean to brush off what Kisha did as nothing. Shit needs to change. You’re right,” he murmurs against the top of my head.
“So I’m your Old Lady now?” I ask, looking up at him.
A slow grin plays on his lips and he nods.
“Yeah, sweetness, you’re my Old Lady. Fucking hell, how did this happen?” he asks, sounding astonished.
“I don’t know. But even though it’s happened at the speed of sound, I’m happy about it,” I whisper as I reach up and run the pad of my thumb across his full, lower lip.
“You’re still mad at me?”
“I am. Though, I have a feeling you’ll make it all up to me, and you’ll prove that you trust me?”
“You bet your fuckin’ ass,” he grunts before his lips touch mine in a sweet, gentle caress. “You’re mine, Mary. Don’t you dare even threaten to leave me again.”
I nod. Unable to say a word, unable to lie. I don’t know what tomorrow brings, but I know that I couldn’t lie to him today. So instead of lying, I simply don’t say anything. I kiss him back, my tongue sliding across his lips before it slips inside of his mouth.
“I want to show you my tattoos,” I whisper against his mouth.
I probably should have fought against them, told him no, and not allowed them—especially after all of our arguing the past couple of days. But this man—there’s something he gives me that I’ve never had before, aside from amazing orgasms.
Even in his heated anger, he doesn’t scare me. And today, when I told him to eat shit, I’ve never been that defiant with a man. Granted, he left me sitting there alone, but he didn’t hurt me. He didn’t physically lash out in anger toward me, and he came back for me.
Max picks me up, holding me against his body as he carries me up the stairs, my toes touching the ground every so often with his steps. Then he takes me into the bedroom and sets me down before he wrenches the comforter off of the bed and throws it onto the floor, decorative pillows flying everywhere.
I don’t say a word, even though inside I really want to fold the messy comforter. I slowly strip my shirt off, then my bra, and watch him as his eyes roam over my naked torso. He’s looking for new ink, but he won’t find it there. Then I slowly pull my jeans off and try not to cry out as the rough fabric scrapes against my freshly inked skin.
Max sinks to his knees and gently unwraps my thigh as his thumb, feather light, skims across his name. It’s low enough that when I wear any kind of shorts or skirt, it will be seen; but I can cover it with jeans or pants if need be. I love it. I love the simplistic beauty of it.
Then he hooks his thumbs in the sides of my panties and very gently pulls them off as well.
I know when he’s seen his real name on my body, because he lets out a moan and he gently takes the wrapping off of it.
“I should be pissed as fuck you let him touch you here,” he murmurs.
His name, Maxfield, is written in scroll right on the inside of the juncture of my thigh, in an angle from my hip bone, and the d’s scroll ends on my pussy lip. I’ll always have to keep myself bare for him, so that he can see his name, what part of me is his.
Later, perhaps my heart will be his one day; but right now, I know what part of me belongs to him, and it’s not my heart—at least not yet.
“Are you?” I ask, arching a brow and quirking my lips.
“Fuck no,” he grunts before he fills me with two fingers. I gasp in surprise, my eyes wide as I look down at him. “This pussy is mine. Good to know you realize it, sweetness.”
“Max,” I whisper as I start to ride his hand, a hiss escaping every time he accidently brushes my new tattoo with his palm.
“How about I eat this pussy nice and slow since you’re sensitive?”
“Yes. God, yes,” I moan, throwing my head back.
He chuckles before he gently eases his fingers out of me and then strips out of his own clothes. I watch as he climbs into the center of the bed and lays down.
“C’mon, sweetness, ride my face,” he murmurs huskily.
My eyes drift down to his cock. He’s holding it in his hand, and I want it in my mouth. I need to taste him, the man that’s taken this something that we were, and made us official. Only he’s done it in one of the most important ways possible, permanently. He’s made a commitment and made me his Old Lady.
I climb onto the bed, straddling his face before I lean down and lick the tip of his hard cock. He licks my entire slit, and I moan before I settle down against his bearded face. Then I envelop his entire length in my mouth.
My Old Man.
Mine.
Just as I am—his.
I walk into the clubhouse after a long day of phone conferences with my Russian contact, Kirill, and his men in Denver.
I fucking hate talking on the phone, but the first run from Frisco to Denver has to be discussed, and it has to be laid out flawlessly.
The last thing I want to do is put my men in jeopardy, so we have to have at least two routes mapped out, and we’ll alternate between them.
Also, I’ll have brothers from other clubs stand watch and inform us of any police activity on our routes, or anything suspicious in general. This isn’t a two-man operation. It has to be an all hands, all clubs on deck kind of thing.
“So what are the other clubs getting for helping us?” Grease asks as I look around the room to make sure everything is ready for tonight.
“A percentage taken off of their dues,” I say.
“How much?” he balks.
Decisions like this one are usually voted on as a club, but I needed them to agree immediately, and I didn’t have time to call Church. I made a decision as a president, for the good of the club, one that won’t impact us too much, since we’ll be getting a fuckton of money from the Russians for these runs.
“Ten percent discount,” I say. He nods but doesn’t protest.
“You like this kid, West?” Grease asks, changing the subject.
I smirk at him. He’s had West watching out for his little sister, Ivy, for a few months. He doesn’t know it yet, but I suspect he and Ivy have a thing going on. I haven’t said shit. I’ll let West handle his own business; but Grease is going to be fucking livid when he finds out.
“I do. Kid’s like fuckin’ camouflage, gets in and out without ever being seen, and he’s smart.”
“Yeah, I agree. I called Ivy the other day. She hasn’t even seen that ex-asshole that was bothering her,” Grease mentions.
I almost burst out laughing.
Of course she hasn’t seen him; I’m sure West has been in her bed every night.
“Okay, we vote in fifteen,” I grunt.
I walk into my office to find Mary sitting behi
nd my desk, her brow furrowed in concentration, and her sweet little tongue poking out from between those sexy-as-fuck, pink lips.
I shut the door and walk over to her side, knowing that she hasn’t realized I’m here yet. When she’s working, nothing else around her exists. I gently place my hand on her shoulder and she jumps slightly.
“You scared me,” she gasps.
“Got church in fifteen, sweetness. I’ll be here but not available. Then we’re gonna have a party. It’ll be a wild one, because it’s a patch-in. Most Old Ladies don’t attend. It’s up to you, though,” I murmur, looking down at her.
“But the whores will be there?” she asks, lifting a brow.
“And other girls that just come to parties for some fun,” I explain.
I think she’s about to tell me that she’s coming, and honest to fuck, I wouldn’t care. But then she shocks the shit out of me by placing her hand against my stomach and tipping her head back further.
“I think I’ll spend a nice evening at the house. I would love it if you came home when you were finished,” she murmurs.
I lift my hand, touching her nose with my index finger, and then tuck a bit of her hair behind her ear before I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, giving it a squeeze.
“Don’t know if I will or not, depends on how drunk I am,” I admit. She smiles.
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll call Teeny to come and pick me up in a few minutes.”
I lean down and place a kiss on her lips, then I give the back of her neck another squeeze before I turn and leave her alone in my office. I’m curious as to why she’s being so fuckin’ cool, especially considering just a few days ago I woke up with a naked Kisha next to me.
It doesn’t add up.
Something is going on with her.
I walk into Church and all thoughts of Mary disappear. It’s time to focus on my club. I drop the gavel and begin, telling the brothers about the other clubs and the cut in percentage for dues. They all agree that it was a good deal, and I’m glad for that. Then it comes time to take a vote. Every single brother votes ‘aye’ for West, making him one of ours.
Grease calls him into the room, and I walk over to him before I slap his back and push a patch in his hand.
“Congrats, brother,” I murmur. “Camo is now one of us,” I call out.
“Let’s get fucking wasted,” one of the guys calls out.
I walk over to my office and find it empty. Mary-Anne must have already gone home to relax for the evening, whatever the fuck that means.
I decide I’m not going to get wasted tonight. I’ll have a couple beers with my brothers, but this hardcore party shit is for the young guns.
All I really want is to be wrapped around Mary’s lithe body, fucking that sweet pussy of hers and making her scream my name—all while I stare at my name etched on her body.
I see West, alone, looking miserable as shit, so I decide to talk to him. A couple words, and I know he misses his woman— something he needs to man up and tell Grease about, otherwise he’ll be in a bigger pile of shit when it comes out.
I shake my head as I walk away from him, thinking that I’m a fuckin’ hypocrite and I need to take my own advice and do the same exact fuckin’ thing. I need to tell Sniper that I not only am sleeping with Mary-Anne, but I’ve also claimed her and branded her as mine—my Old Lady.
I go to my office and lock myself inside, sitting down at my desk and looking at the top of it. It’s got little pieces of Mary-Anne all over it. Not just her laptop, but also a gum wrapper, a pink pen, and a half-eaten chocolate chip granola bar. It makes me smile, just seeing her becoming a part of my life, something I haven’t had with a woman since Eleanora.
I turn around in my chair and open my bottom filing cabinet before I pull out an old photo album. I don’t look at it often, the memories sometimes being too much for me. But tonight, I’m feeling nostalgic, and I’m going to look through it before I head on home.
I flip open the first page and see a picture of me and Eleanora. She looks like she’s about to explode, nine-months pregnant with Pierce. We look happy. I was still a prospect with the club and hardly ever around, but this picture was taken at a family club BBQ.
Ellie and I had our moments of blissful happiness, but we had our moments of complete turmoil, too. I start flipping through the pages and see where there are some of those bitter, turmoil years captured. Her eyes give her away. They always did. When we were good, we were fuckin’ great; but when things were bad, I avoided and ignored her.
Young and dumb is exactly how I would describe myself back then, and the way I handled our relationship. To her credit, Ellie fought to be at my side, fought for that Old Lady status, and was a fuckin’ great one, too.
I just wish that I would have treated her better over the years, and that I wouldn’t have nailed every piece of ass I could find the moment she was dead. It was a shitty way to cope with a broken heart, and an even shittier example for my teenage son.
I close the album, the memories better left as just that—memories. I look around my space again, taking in all of the elements of the room, Mary-Anne’s things comingled with mine, and I smile. I like her being comingled in my life—being part of me. It feels good, it feels right.
After Teeny dropped me off at home with nothing more than a look of concern on her face, I thanked her and went inside. She was curious as to why I didn’t go to the party, knowing about the Kisha thing, and the fact that it could possibly happen again. I looked at her and told her, flat-out, that I wasn’t MadDog’s baby sitter. If he wanted to fuck other women, that was on him; and if I found out, I’d just leave.
She bit her lip, worrying it before she whispered something that sent chills down my spine.
“You don’t leave them, Mary. If you do, he’ll just drag you back. Only if he’s done with you will he release you; but you can never be with another man again, not unless you have his permission.”
I didn’t bother responding to her. Her words scared me, and I wondered just what the hell I got myself into with Max.
I spend the rest of the evening just staring at the television, a movie I’m not listening to playing in the background while I think. I wonder why I let him talk me into the thigh tattoo, and why on earth I thought it was a good idea to get a tattoo on my pussy. I’m such an impulsive idiot.
The front door bursts open and Max stands there, his eyes taking me in, his head tipping to the side before he kicks the door closed and walks over to me. Without a word, he plucks me off of the couch and carries me upstairs. I’m wearing a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top, having showered when I arrived home much earlier.
“Max,” I whisper.
“Quiet.”
I look into his eyes and see that they’re heated. No, they’re on fire as he sets me down on my feet. He tips his head to the side, a move he did downstairs, and it’s no less intimidating now. I don’t move, and I certainly don’t speak. His hands move to me and I gasp when he rips my sleep tank—In. Half!
My breasts are exposed, and he nods down to my shorts. I quickly remove them myself, my thigh and pussy still tender from my fresh ink.
“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing,” he starts. I open my mouth to reply, but his hand comes up to silence me. “But I’m not playing games here, Mary. You’re mine. Branded, marked, and claimed. It doesn’t go away, you don’t walk away, and what we have—it doesn’t just fucking end. You’re a big enough girl that you have to realize this.”
I nod, afraid to speak—deathly afraid.
“It’s my job to protect you, and to care for you and your wellbeing. It’s not my fucking job to sugar coat shit. This life ain’t an easy one, and being my Old Lady sure as fuck isn’t a walk in the damn park. But you won’t leave me, not now, not ever,” he growls.
“I’m not playing any games,” I whisper my lie.
“Yeah, sweetness, you thought you were. Did you think by not coming tonight, I’d f
uck a whore, and it’d give you license to walk out the door?”
I blink up at him. I was giving him rope to hang himself tonight, it’s true. I was also trying not to be that clingy girl that is afraid her man is going to fuck around if she’s not there.
It’s not that I think he’s going to; it’s not that I think all men do; it’s not even that I know he’s going to. I honestly don’t think he slept with Kisha. She was a little too proud and boastful—too happy to tell me all about it.
However, I know he slept around on his wife, a woman he claimed to love, to love so deeply that it’s been thirty years and not once has he attempted to even date a woman—before now.
So my hope that he’ll be committed and faithful to me? That’s not real strong. How am I any different than Eleanora? I’m not. I know that, eventually, he’ll cheat on me. He’ll be with someone else, even if his intentions are great and honorable. I just don’t think that he can keep his cock in his pants.
“Why me?” I ask.
“Are you fishing for compliments?”
I shake my head, unsure of how to answer that. I’m not fishing for compliments, not really. I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that he wants me—me. After all of these years, he claims he’s just going to give up all other women for—me.
“Whatever sick shit you have swimmin’ in your head, sweetness, you gotta get that out now. You’re mine because you’re you. You’re sweet, soft, and when you smile, those blue eyes sparkle. You’ve been dealt fuckin’ shit, and it’s as if it hasn’t touched you. I want to keep you at my side, I want to fuck you every night, put a couple babies inside you, and keep you happy,” he rasps, pulling me up off of the floor and into his arms.
“I don’t want children,” I whisper.
“Bullshit,” he snorts. “You’re almost thirty.”
“I don’t want them, not ever. I have nieces, and you have grandchildren, and that’s just good enough.”
“I’m giving you babies, Mary,” he insists before his head slants and his lips press against mine.
I don’t get a chance to argue for another second. Max spins me around and practically tosses me face first on the bed, my feet still firmly on the ground. Then I hear his pants whoosh to the floor and his hands wrap around my hips before he thrusts inside of me with one quick pump of his hips.
Rough & Ruthless (Notorious Devils Book 4) Page 13