His feet begin to move as he backs me up, my legs hitting the bed. He doesn’t stop though he forces me to sit and I’m eye level with his zipper.
“Nope,” he states, his hand pressing against my chest to lay me down on my back.
Then without another word, he yanks my leggings and panties down my legs. His hands wrap around the backs of my knees as he spreads my thighs apart and then his mouth is on me.
With a long sigh, I close my eyes. His tongue feels so good as it slides through my center. I reach down and slip my fingers through the soft strands of his hair, gripping him, and moving against his face.
Prescott’s beard tickles my thighs, and when he moves his attention to my clit, his beard tickles my slick center as well—it feels amazing.
I moan, lifting my hips, searching for more—for everything. His hands wrap around the inside of my thighs and he presses them wider, opening me. I let out a long groan, my fingers gripping his hair tighter, assuredly hurting his scalp.
“Pres, oh shit,” I cry.
My hips jerk, my eyes pop open as I cry out with my release. I didn’t even know I was so close, it rolls through me at a frightening speed and by the time I finally relax, I don’t feel satisfied, not even close.
Pres stands, and I sit up, reaching for his pants. I tug the button open, and the zipper down before I push them off of his hips. Wrapping my hand around his hard, thick cock, I give it a gentle stroke.
“Fuck,” he groans.
He doesn’t say anything else, his hand wraps around my wrist before he slams it down above my head on the bed. I fall back with it, waiting with rabid anticipation for him to fill me. His cock slides along my center, the head teasing my clit with each stroke.
“Shit, peaches, this pussy is so hot and wet,” he groans.
When he fills me, it’s slowly. I suck in a breath, feeling every single inch that slips inside of me. His fingers flex against my wrist and he begins to thrust in and out of me.
I want it hard, and fast, but he doesn’t give that to me. He’s drawing it all out, building me back up again. The gleam in his eyes tells me that he knows exactly what he’s doing.
My breath hitches when he grinds his pelvis against my clit. “Will you come for me again?” he grinds out.
“If you fuck me instead of treating me like a china doll, I might,” I smart off.
His eyes widen and then he laughs, the sound low and rumbly. “Fuck,” he grunts. He pulls out of me suddenly, I whimper at the loss of him, but not for long—he has ideas.
“On all fours,” he grunts.
I quickly scramble to my hands and knees, spreading my thighs wide and tipping my ass the way he likes.
“Christ, this ass,” he groans as he grabs ahold of my cheeks and spreads me apart.
Without any warning he dives right into my core, slamming with such intensity that my hands move forward.
Prescott wraps his hands around my hips and holds me still. Then he fucks me. It’s hard, fast, and unyielding. Each thrust of his hips sends a jolt of pleasure through me. I moan, crying out as my body builds toward my release.
I’m on the edge, so close as he continues to pump his hips behind me, slamming against my ass. Tomorrow I’ll ache, but it will be a delicious ache and I’m almost excited for it. Each step I take, each move I make, I’ll remember this moment.
My pussy clenches and I let out a mewl as I come, it’s hard and overwhelming, causing my entire body to tense. Prescott doesn’t stop behind me, he continues to fuck me, and it draws out my release.
Then he stills, his own body tightening as he shouts with his release. His sweat soaked chest is pressed against my back and his tongue tastes my neck.
“Is that what my girl needed?” he asks on a whisper. I can do nothing but hum as my response. I’m completely sated.
Prescott slips from my body and gently rolls me to my side, climbing up behind me and wrapping his arms around me. His mouth is at my shoulder and then he kisses back up to my neck. My stomach growls and I can’t help but giggle.
“Dinner,” he murmurs against my neck.
I can feel his lips form a smile and mine follow suit. “Dinner,” I agree.
He stands from the bed and I look up, surprised that he’s shirtless. He must have taken his cut and shirt off when I turned around.
I watch as he picks up his pants from his ankles, bringing them up his hips. Then he walks out of the room, shirtless. I can’t help but smile. I love the man, even when he pisses me off—he’s mine.
SNAKE
Free watches me walk into the room and he grins. I already told him church had to be over quickly today because Ginger is going to the doctor.
He called me a pussy and hung up on me.
The fucker.
I am exactly as he claims, but only for Ginger. I sit down at my place, the head of the table and wait for the brothers to gather around, dropping to their seats as well.
Once everyone has arrived, I begin. I tell them the basics of Hayden’s situation and then I explain how Lucifer has gone AWOL. Nobody has heard from him, and if they have, they’re keeping it quiet from the rest of the Devils.
When I’m finished giving a rundown of Lucifer, and warning them to keep their eyes peeled, just in case, I then go over what I expect the rest of the month to look like.
They all grunt with their approval and I inform them that I’ll send out texts with duties for the week. I’m a shitty fucking bookkeeper, and even worse with schedules. It’s a wonder our operation runs at all, let alone as smoothly as it does.
“That shipment of guns coming from Idaho, will it make it in time?” Motorhead asks.
I let out a sigh. We’ve got a big shipment that’s supposed to be headed our way. The brothers in Idaho stopped crossing the border with them a few years back when their president was caught and locked up.
Now, I send a crew of two down there to pick them up and drive them over. Not my most favorite thing to do in the world, but it’s a necessity.
Gun restrictions are tight as fuck here in Canada, and the demand is heavy. Sometimes I feel as though it’s too heavy. The weight and worry I carry over my men, not only bringing the merchandise back but also delivering it to the buyers is too much at times. I sometimes wish that our club did something else, something other than guns and the occasional dope.
“You okay, Pres?” Crooner asks me once I’ve dismissed everyone.
I lift my chin in response, then change the subject. “How’s Hayden?”
He clears his throat, looking off to the side before he brings his gaze back to me. “She’ll be okay,” he says.
I’m not sure what that means, but I don’t ask him. He’ll tell me if there’s a problem. I stand, clapping him on the shoulder and then I decide to go to my woman. I quickly walk toward my bike, straddling the seat before I start the engine with a roar.
It doesn’t take me long to arrive at Ginger’s doctor’s office, and when I park my bike, I glance at my phone. I’ve just made it; her appointment is scheduled for two minutes from now. I jog toward the door and hurry upstairs.
In the waiting room, my eyes scan the pregnant women until they land on the one pregnant woman I continuously crave. As if she can sense me in the room, her eyes lift from the magazine in her hands and she aims a warm smile in my direction. I walk toward her, sitting down in the empty chair next to her.
“You made it,” she breathes.
I grunt. “Fuck yeah I did. You made it clear I needed to be here, today.” Leaning over, I press my lips to her temple and slide my arm around her shoulders.
“All of the women in here are panting over you,” she points out.
I don’t bother looking around, I could give a fuck if another woman looks at me. I only have one woman on my brain, and that’s her. My only response is to smirk at her, which causes her to roll her eyes.
“Ginger Gordon,” a nurse calls.
Ginger jumps up, and I hear her suck in an audible breath
. She’s probably a mixture of nervous and excited, I don’t blame her one bit.
Rising from my seat, I place my hand on the small of her back and gently push her forward. Together we walk up to the nurse, then follow behind her.
I watch as Ginger stands on the scale, averting my eyes when her weight appears. I could give a fuck how much she weighs, and I think she looks perfect, but I know the rising numbers have been bothering her a little lately. Then the nurse shows me to a room and takes Ginger to do some other routine shit, which I assume is pissing in a cup. Why they’re both acting like it’s some big secret, I have no fucking clue.
A few minutes later Ginger walks through the door and I help her up onto the exam table. “The doctor will be right in to see you,” the nurse offers with a smile before she walks out.
“You haven’t said what you’re hoping for.”
I blink, looking over at her, surprised that she’s even mentioned it. I tip my head to the side. What do I want? I don’t know, a boy I suppose, just because I know how to handle boys.
A girl, I can’t imagine how I would even know what to do with one. I don’t tell Ginger that though, she’s talked about a girl once or twice and I have a feeling that’s what she’s hoping to have.
“A healthy baby, and a healthy you,” I offer with a smile.
She narrows her eyes and tips her head to the side. “You lie. You want a boy, I can practically see the wheels turning.”
“Am I that transparent?” I chuckle.
She shakes her head, then bites into the side of her bottom lip. “Will you be disappointed if it’s a girl?” she whispers. She sounds almost worried, as if a girl would change anything between us.
I snort. “Peaches, a girl would be perfect, and a boy would be perfect, as long as you’re all safe, I don’t care. Honest to fuck,” I grunt.
She opens her mouth to respond, but the doctor walks in. “How about we go take a look at that baby today,” he announces with a clap.
We follow behind him and into a small room off to the side. There’s a machine set up and a large monitor. I take a seat against the wall and watch as he puts a bunch of shit on Ginger’s belly then places a wand thing against it.
The lights go down and a sound of quick thumps fills the air. A heartbeat, my baby’s heartbeat. My own heart swells at the sound, then I see the shape of a baby against the screen. Last time it looked like a blob, but right now, staring back at me is the profile of a real fucking baby.
Holy shit.
“Congratulations Mom and Dad, it’s a girl,” the doctor announces.
CHAPTER SIX
GINGER
I glance over at Prescott who looks about as pale as humanly possible. I can’t stop my smile though. A girl. We’re having a girl. I had a feeling that’s what it was, but knowing for sure… it’s indescribable.
Prescott doesn’t say anything though, and the doctor finishes up the exam, checking all of the baby’s organ developments and whatever else he does. My mind is still reeling though—a girl.
Then a niggle of doubt rolls through me. Is Prescott not saying anything because he’s upset? Is he angry that she’s not a he? The appointment finishes and the doctor hands me some images from the ultrasound before we leave. Prescott continues to stay quiet as we leave, and he walks me to my Jeep, still fucking silently.
When we stop in front of my door, I place my hand on his chest. He jerks slightly, then his eyes go to my hand before they meet my gaze. Swirling in his dark green gaze is concern, worry even.
“Pres?”
He shakes his head once as if to clear his mind before he speaks. “It’s all real,” he whispers sounding almost surprised, definitely in shock.
“What’s real?”
“You’re having my baby, a baby girl,” he breathes before he breaks out into a huge grin.
I can’t hold back. My laughter bubbles through me until it’s spilling out of my mouth. I’m not able to stop myself as my laugh turns into full-on giggles. I press my forehead against his chest as I try to catch my breath.
“Of course, it’s real,” I say. I wipe my eyes and lift my head to look up at him.
He has a small smile on his lips, but his expression is otherwise serious. He cups my cheeks in his palms and looks directly into my eyes.
“I just, it just hit me. Seeing her move around, knowing it’s a her and seeing that she looks like a real baby. It hit me, and it’s real,” he breathes.
My eyes fill with more tears, but not from laughter. No, these tears are because this man is beautiful and I’m so in love with him. “It’s all real, Pres. She’s coming in just a few months and she’s ours,” I whisper.
Prescott lowers his face closer to mine and presses his mouth against my own. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and he kisses me. It’s wet, sensual, and gorgeous.
I accept it all, every stroke from his tongue, moaning as my hands clench against his leather cut. I allow him to reluctantly break the kiss, inhaling his spicy scent as his forehead presses against mine.
“I have some shit to do for a few hours. Stay home and I’ll be there soon,” he grunts. I nod, letting out a shaky breath.
Prescott helps me into my Jeep and I drive away, feeling like I’m on a cloud. Names start flitting through my head as I think about this baby girl in my belly.
I wonder what he’ll want to name her?
Hopefully he’ll agree with me and go with something classically beautiful. I really don’t care for my own name, Ginger. I prefer a name more like his, Prescott just seems so much more regal than my own, more poetic.
I’m still lost in my name game thoughts when I pull into my driveway. I don’t notice it at first, but as I walk up my front steps, I see it.
My eyes widen, and I look down at the welcome mat. It looks less welcoming than it ever has. There’s a large yellow envelope sitting on it, with the words—Aryan’s Whore—scrolled across the center in big black marker.
I turn around, looking to see if anybody is around. That feeling that has been coming and going, that feeling of being watched, it’s back. A shiver slides through me, but I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. I quickly pick up the envelope and unlock the door, slipping inside of the house. I quickly flip the lock closed and dump my purse and keys on the floor before making my way over to the sofa.
With shaky fingers, I turn the envelope over and slip my finger beneath the flap to open it. Letting the contents fall into my lap, I close my eyes tightly before I look at them. There are photographs, four to be exact.
I scoop up the pictures before looking at them. The first one is of me, it’s before my kidnapping. I can tell because my hair is shorter. I’m standing outside of the bar, reaching for Prescott’s hand but he’s walking away, an angry gaze on his face.
My heart aches at the sight, I remember that night. That was one of the last nights before I was taken. I was trying to cling to him, but he was pissed at me, we had been fighting and he told me he was done.
The next two pictures are of me in town, one at the grocery store and the other at the post office. The fourth picture I fling to the ground as soon as my eyes scan it.
The image is of me, bound and in that dark, dirty bedroom where I was held for months. I’m wearing only a tank and panties. My hair and face are dirty. It’s disgusting, and it makes everything that happened to me flash through my mind.
Taking a deep breath, I unfold the note that was also in the envelope.
Aryan Whore,
You think you’re safe. You are not. Just because the Devils have killed some of us, doesn’t mean they’ve killed us all.
I’ll see you soon, whore.
I gather up the pictures quickly, and shove them plus the note, back into the envelope. My fingers shake with every single move that I make. I need to hide this thing, get rid of it. I don’t want Prescott to see, though.
Whoever this is, he’s just fucking with me. I’m safe. I know that I’m safe. Nobody in that h
ouse survived. The men that visited but weren’t there, Pres killed most of them. I know he killed them, and I was proud that he did.
No, this isn’t someone from the Aryans, this is some sick fucker that’s trying to mess with me. I hurry upstairs, the envelope in hand, and open my panty drawer. I shove the bits of fabric to the side and drop it inside, covering it up with my panties.
There, nobody will even know it’s there.
Nobody except me.
I spend the rest of the afternoon and early evening pacing. I pace my bedroom for a while, then I move down into the living room and pace there. I don’t eat, but I do take a small break to drink some water, then return to pacing.
I don’t know what to do.
I can’t call anybody about this either. I don’t want Prescott to overreact, and I don’t want whoever this sick fuck is to win. I refuse to publicly freak out—privately though? That’s a completely different story.
The sun sets, and I expect Pres home at any second. I decide to start dinner, something to keep my mind off of that damn envelope upstairs in my panty drawer. I should have put it somewhere else, that weirdo doesn’t deserve to have his sick note near my pretty panties.
I cook. I don’t even know what I’m making, I’m so lost inside of my own head. The excitement and giddiness of today is completely gone, and it’s replaced with dread—complete and total dread.
I don’t need this, my blood pressure was actually pretty good today, and this will force it higher. I close my eyes, inhaling a deep breath. I need to relax, to calm down, and not to stress about this. Stressing out does nothing but let him win, and I refuse to allow that.
Looking down into the pan, I’m surprised to see that I made chicken, rice, and broccoli casserole. Glancing up at the microwave I frown at the time.
It’s after seven and Prescott said he’d be home early. He’s been really good about keeping his word when he promises something lately, and honestly, this is the longest we’ve been apart since I’ve come home.
Laced with Fear (Cash Bar Book 1) Page 7