I don’t give her a chance to respond before I’m face deep in her pussy, devouring her cunt, and loving every single second of it as I do. Her taste, her whimpers, her cries, they’re the best sounds in the world to me; and right now, she’s filling this quiet room with them.
I know when all thoughts leave her because she fists her fingers in my hair and sobs out her release as she grinds against my beard.
I don’t stop fucking her with my mouth until her body relaxes. I press my lips to my name on her pussy, then I slide up her body, resting my dick against her belly.
I want to pound inside of her, but I don’t. She needs a little tenderness this morning. As much as I want to take from her, I won’t.
Sometimes, you have to give when you’re in love with a woman; sometimes, you have to read them and know what they need—even if they don’t.
“Max,” she whispers, cupping my cheeks with her palms.
“Sweetness.”
“Alone, in this room, we make so much sense. But out there,” she says with a shake of her head.
I wrap my hand around her thigh, covering her tattoo before I squeeze her gently.
“Baby, we make sense. Here and out there, we do. You’re letting other people’s opinions muddy your head. I can’t fix that for you. All I can do is tell you and show you how you make me feel and how important you are to me. The rest, that’s on you, sweetness. Would fuckin’ gut me to see you walk away from this, from us. But darlin’, I’d let you go if I thought you weren’t happy.”
“Don’t leave me,” she whispers as her eyes fill with tears.
I lift my hips and slowly glide into her wet heat, watching her face as it softens. She moans as she adjusts her legs to wrap around my thighs.
Sliding my fingers into her hair at the sides of her head, I stare into her eyes as I take her body. She needs to see me, all of me, and I aim to show it to her. I’m not losing her, not over something as fucking stupid as other people’s fucking opinions.
“Ain’t goin’ nowhere, sweetness,” I murmur as I fuck her with long, even strokes.
“You always feel so good, Max, you fit just right,” she whispers as she hitches one of her legs up and presses her knee against my ribcage. I sink a little deeper inside of her with a grind against her clit.
“Baby, you felt just right the second you wrapped your arms around my middle and I drove you away from your apartment,” I grunt.
“Maxfield,” she whispers.
It goes straight to my fucking dick. Nobody has ever called me that, not in my adult life; and every time it escapes her lips, I love it just a little bit more.
“Come for me, sweetness. Come for me and stay at my side,” I mumble as I keep my eyes connected with her watery ones.
She bites her lip with a nod as she lifts her hips to meet mine. Her pussy flutters around me before it clamps down, and she squeaks out a surprised noise as she comes. I thrust deep inside of her and stay planted as I follow her with my own climax.
Once we’ve recovered, I press my lips to hers, and she opens her mouth to speak.
“No more bullshit, sweetness. Don’t let their words penetrate, because right here, you and me, alone in this bed—that’s all that fuckin’ matters,” I grunt.
“Okay, Max,” she whispers.
“You gotta do better than that, Mary.”
“Okay, Max,” she says a little louder, but still weak as shit.
“How are you going to stand up to your brother, to your girls, with that?” I challenge.
“We are all that matters. How you make me feel, how you treat me, and how you fuck me,” she shouts, her face pink with anger.
I chuckle, the move making my now soft dick fall from her heat before I lean down and press my lips against hers.
“Okay, sweetness. You’re good, yeah?”
“I’m good,” she says on a sigh as my lips kiss down her chest. I take one of her nipples in my mouth.
I don’t say anything else. There’s nothing else to say at the moment. Instead, I feast on her tits—tits I fuckin’ love to lick and kiss. Then I thrust two fingers inside of her pussy and slowly fuck her with them. Her body shivers as she spreads her legs wider for me, gently thrusting her hips with my tempo.
“How good are you, Mary?” I ask as I continue to fuck her.
“So good,” she moans. I press my thumb against her clit and she shivers again.
When Mary comes, I can’t help but feel like I’m a fucking king. Three times in one morning—Christ. Once her body relaxes, I slip my fingers from her center and I paint my name on the lip of her pussy with our mixed cum.
“Max,” she murmurs. Looking up at her, I see that her lids are lowered and she looks tired, yet satisfied.
“You’re mine, Mary. Every part of you belongs to me now,” I grunt.
“Every part of me?” she asks, arching her brow.
“Every single fuckin’ part of you.”
“What about that letting me go thing you said earlier?” she asks.
“I know you’re not unhappy, you’re just listening to people’s shit. So fuck that, you’re mine. Your body knows it, and so does your head. You just have to accept it and realize that nobody is always going to agree with us being together. They’re going to have opinions, but that’s just the way people are. Opinions are like assholes; everybody’s got one. You let their shitty opinions penetrate and affect you, then you’re not the strong woman I’ve thought you were all this time.”
“That’s not fair. These aren’t just opinions of strangers, Max. They are our family,” she murmurs, sitting up to look at me. That fire burning in her eyes means she’s gearing up for a fight.
“They can be family and have shit opinions, sweetness,” I grunt as I stand and start to throw some clothes on to make my way to the showers.
“Them being concerned isn’t a shitty opinion,” she shouts.
“It is when it has you second guessing us. My name’s on your body, my baby could be growing inside of you, and a couple people pass judgement and you’re ready to bolt. Fuck. That.”
“It’s not that simple, Max,” she cries.
My patience with her and with this situation is now nil. I walk up to her, where she stands at the side of the bed, having thrown one of my shirts over her naked body, and I don’t stop making my way toward her until her back is against the wall.
She hits the wall with a thump, but I don’t hear it over the rush of blood running through my body, the anger boiling inside of me, my patience completely fucking gone.
She opens her mouth, but I ignore her and wrap my hand around her throat, squeezing—not hard, but enough for her to know I’m fucking serious. Then I lean in, our noses touching, and her breath shaky.
“I’m done with this conversation. I don’t want to have it again. Do you fucking understand me?”
She nods with a jerk of her head and I see the fear in her eyes, but I’m too fucking pissed off to care.
“You’re mine. All of you. You’re marked, your cunt is branded. That’s the end of the conversation.”
I release her and walk away. Slamming the door behind me when I go. I know I’m being an asshole, but I don’t fucking care.
I’ve held her while she cried—I’ve fucking fallen in love with her.
If she’s ashamed of us, of me, that’s something she has to deal with. I’m not fucking going anywhere.
I shower, and by the time I’m finished, the bedroom is empty. I dress and leave, taking a few of my guys with me. I’ll be back before dinner with Fury and the kids, but I have shit to handle today, and Mary-Anne has some fucking thinking to do.
I hurry to the showers once Max storms out of the bedroom without so much as a glance back at me. He’s pissed and I understand why. He told me he loved me. He opened up to me. He’s taken me as I am. He’s remodeled his house—a home he shared with his wife, his deceased wife.
He’s done all these things for me to show me that he loves me and that
I have a place at his side. He’s made me his Old Lady, which is as good as walking me down the aisle.
And what do I do? I tell him that I’m having doubts; that other people’s opinions mean more to me than everything he’s said and not said, but shown me.
I’m a special kind of bitch.
I walk back into the bedroom and notice that Max’s bags have been rifled through, and he’s gone. I quickly dress, throwing on a floral maxi-dress. It’s completely backless, save for a few strands of fabric that hold it up, criss-crossing my bare back.
I slide my feet into a pair of flat sandals, and braid my wet hair down my shoulder. I don’t bother with makeup. I’m not in the mood for it, and I’m in a hurry to go apologize to Max.
Once I’m downstairs, I slump my shoulders when I realize that not only is Max gone, but so are three of the men that traveled with us here. I walk into the kitchen, in search of coffee or tea or something that will wake me up a bit, and I’m surprised to find Brentlee there.
“Hey,” I say as I walk over to the coffee pot.
“Drink this, that’s crap. These assholes can’t make coffee,” she chuckles, shoving a store-bought coffee at me.
I gladly take it and then sip from the container, thrilled that it’s a mocha and not a plain black coffee.
“Thank you so much,” I moan.
“We have to talk, before your brother gets ahold of you,” she says with a grin.
“About?” I ask, arching a brow.
“I like you and MadDog together. I think that, given your childhood, you need a man who can take care of you,” she begins. I take a step back from her in surprise, but also defensively. “I know what Bates and your mother suffered at your father’s hand, so I can only imagine what you’ve been through.”
I nod. I was abused by my father, silently and secretly until Bates left, then it was just me and mom and his fists.
“Bates will come around. He’ll see how happy you are, and the rest of it won’t matter. It’ll take time, though,” she says with a sad smile.
“Thanks,” I nod.
Taking my hand with a squeeze as she walks by me, she leaves me in the kitchen. I can feel my brother’s presence, and I know that’s why she’s left, but I don’t turn around. I can’t.
I’m hurt, not only by his words, but also his reaction last night. I’m also embarrassed, so embarrassed that he saw me the way he did.
“Not gonna lie. Yesterday was a shock,” he grunts. I chew on my bottom lip before I release it and take a drink of coffee. “But I said some shit that I shouldn’t have.”
I turn around and face him, knowing that this is as close to an apology as I’ll ever get from him. These men. None of them know how to apologize. It’s as if they teach classes to each other on how to avoid the words, I’m sorry, for their entire lives.
“I do love him,” I say softly.
“Yeah, gathered that,” he shrugs.
“I knew you wouldn’t like it. That’s why I’ve been keeping it from you. But Bates, he treats me better than any other man I’ve known, aside from you,” I admit with a small smile.
“Yeah?”
I respond with a nod, keeping my eyes connected with his.
“I’m his, and he’s mine,” I whisper.
“It might take me a while to accept it, to be cool with it. I only want you happy, Mary-Anne. If that’s him, then fuck it. I won’t say nothin’ else.”
I set down my coffee and run into my big brother’s arms. He envelopes me in a hug and holds me close to him, blowing out a breath against the top of my head.
“Thank you,” I whisper against his neck. His beard tickles, but I don’t care.
“Now you comin’ to the house to see your nieces, or what?” he asks with a chuckle.
I nod and follow him out of the kitchen. When I see Brentlee wiping away a stray tear, I know that she was listening to every word we said. I can’t help but grin over at her. She smiles back and I hear Bates grunt.
“Women.”
“You’re surrounded by them,” I say with a smile.
“And as much as you all are a pain in my ass, I wouldn’t want it any other way,” he says, wrapping his arm around my neck and squeezing gently.
Together, we all walk to their SUV, where I find my two sweet nieces. One by marriage, and one by blood, but both my family. I love both equally.
They squeal with delight when they see me, and Stella, the oldest, starts to tell me all about her new Barbie jeep that her daddy Bates bought her.
I listen intently to every single word she says while Jelena wraps her sweet hand around mine and holds onto me the entire car ride back to Bates and Brent’s home in the country.
I pull up to the shitty house and turn my bike engine off. West and my other men look around, surely curious as to why we’re here. They’ll find out soon enough.
I have a promise to keep.
A promise that Mary-Anne probably forgot about, but a promise nonetheless. I stand, swinging my leg off of my bike before I start to walk toward the shitty little house. I reach around my back and pull my piece out, nodding to my men who follow suit.
Grisha Lukin is a mean, drunk sonofabitch, and I don’t put a damn thing past him. I don’t bother knocking on the door, kicking it open with one push of my boot. Piece of shit front door.
“The fuck?” Grisha slurs as he tries to stand from his spot on the sofa.
I look at the couch and see that there’s a permanent dip in the cushion from his ass. He’s big, like Bates. Strong as fuck back in his day, but now he’s older, slower, and drunker than he probably ever has been in his life. His eyes try to adjust, and I grin when they do. He’s discovered that my gun is up and aimed right at his chest.
“MadDog Duhart,” I grunt.
He looks at me with confusion.
“You like hitting women and children, I hear.”
He doesn’t wince at my words, doesn’t even blink, his eyes staring right into mine. Cold, blue, dead fucking eyes. One of my men comes from the back bedroom with a woman in front of him. She’s thin, curvy, and by the looks of her, was a hot piece of ass back in the day.
However, now, she’s a fucking wreck. Her face is bruised and scarred, and she looks exhausted. Her hair is greying at the roots, her dress ill fitting, and her body more emaciated than naturally lithe, like her daughter’s.
“Never hurt nothing that didn’t belong to me,” he spits with a heavy Russian accent.
“Tie his worthless ass up,” I bark at West.
It takes West and my other man to wrestle the drunk fuck to a chair and tie him up with some rope.
The wife screams, but when I glare at her, she has the good mind to shut her fucking trap.
“You’re just as worthless,” I spit as West ties a rag between Grisha’s lips so he can’t talk.
“Why, why are you doing this?’ she sobs.
“You let your children get beat by this fucker,” I grunt.
“I couldn’t leave,” she blubbers. “They turned out fine,” she tries to convince me. Or maybe she’s trying to convince herself. I’m not quite sure.
“You’re right; they did turn out fine, eventually,” I grunt.
“You know them. You’ve seen my Mary-Anne?” she asks with wide eyes.
“I’m Mary’s man,” I grin. Her eyes go wide and her jaw slacks.
“Impossible. My Mary-Anne isn’t even thirty,” she snaps.
Immediately after, she winces, obviously afraid that her outburst will earn her the back of my hand.
Gisha moves around in his chair and shouts something from beneath his rag. I lift my chin to West who removes his rag.
“You sick fuck. You touch my daughter, you pervert,” he yells. I burst out laughing.
I can’t help myself. It’s the funniest shit on earth. The fact that this worthless fuck is trying to judge me and parent at the same time, all the while, he abused and tormented his entire family for years—it’s fucking hilarious.
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I put my gun down, ready to be done with this fucking piece of shit. I have a woman to get back to, and my grandkids to spend time with. What I don’t want is to ever see this scum breathing free air again.
Walking into the kitchen, I grab a butcher knife from the block on the countertop and then walk back into the living area.
“I might be a sick fuck,” I whisper leaning down close to his face. “But your daughter’s cunt feels like goddamn heaven around my cock. And I’ll be fucking her later, and filling her with my cum, and knocking her up,” I grin.
“You son of a—.”
The bastard doesn’t get to finish his thoughts, because I take the knife and slam it down on his wrist before I start to saw through his bones. There’s crackling and screaming filling the room, and all I can do is smile.
Before he passes out, I grab his hair with my hand and hold his lolling head up, right as I finish cutting off one of his hands.
“You hit my woman with your hands. Now you have no hands. Funny how that works,” I chuckle.
Then I slide the blade through his neck. The blood that wasn’t flowing out of his arm now sprays all over me. I turn to the wife, who is staring at me in shock, her body shaking against the man that holds her. She’s just as guilty as her old man. She may not have hit my Mary, but she allowed it to happen, repeatedly.
I give her mercy by only slitting her throat before I step back, picking up my phone and placing a call.
“Pops,” Fury says as his answer.
“Need a clean-up crew,” I announce. Fury curses and asks me where. “That’s the Lukin’s house,” he mumbles.
“Yeah, I know,” I grunt.
“What’d you do, Pops?” he asks.
“Taking care of my woman,” I grunt before I walk away.
My men follow behind, except for West, who I’ve instructed to wait for Fury’s men.
Fury assures me that a crew will be at the house as soon as possible. I don’t care. The only thing I care about right now is seeing Mary-Anne.
The clubhouse is empty when I arrive, save for a few whores who look at me with panicked fear in their eyes. I make my way toward the bathrooms, not bothering to check if Mary is in the room we’re staying. One look in the mirror, and I know why those bitches looked at me in horror.
Rough & Ruthless (Notorious Devils Book 4) Page 18