Devil's Fall: Dust Bowl Devils MC

by Britten Thorne

  "But if I'd been around..." He felt dizzy. He felt like he was going to be sick. "If I wasn't such a piece of shit maybe I would have known."

  He shielded his eyes with his free arm. It wasn't supposed to feel like this. I was prepared. I didn't see him for three years, were we even friends anymore? Tears that felt like fire burned trails down his face. He felt like he was breaking apart.

  "I'm his mother and I lived with him," she said tonelessly. "And I couldn't stop it. How do you think I feel."

  "I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm so fucking sorry."

  "You go home, now, Gunner," she said, a familiar, motherly sternness back in her voice. "You take that girl home, and you make love to her until the sun comes up, and then you call me in the morning and let me know that you're okay. Can you do that for me?"

  He couldn't choke out an answer right away.

  "I mean it. I need to know that you're okay."

  "Yes," he said, "I'll call."

  She finally hung up after dragging one more assurance out of him.

  I have to get away from here. He couldn't make himself move.

  And then Senna was there, as if summoned by his need, kneeling between his legs and pulling his head to her chest. He fought her for a moment, not wanting her to see him like that, but the comfort of her arms was too great.

  He could catch his breath there in her embrace. In and out. Her warmth surrounded him as he breathed her in. Terrible things happened and always happened and would continue to happen, but she was there. He wouldn’t fall apart today. She was still there, and he could hang onto her for as long as she let him, and he’d continue to not fall apart. Not yet. Not today.

  He looked up. “Time to ride.”

  She dried his cheeks and his eyes with the bottom hem of her shirt, taking care to be gentle around his bruises. "You're okay to drive?"

  "I will be." He drew her to him and kissed her gently. It took his breath away again, warming his chest and dulling the pain. He spread his hands over her back and kissed her harder.

  Someone whistled at them on their way inside the bar. She pulled away, rolling her eyes.

  It was time to go home.

  There was a dark energy about Gunner when he brought her back to his home that night. A possessiveness in the way his eyes swept up and down her body. A roughness in his touch.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. He spun her around once inside the apartment and pressed her back against the wall, crushing her against the hard surface. A thrill ran through her as she felt his strength, as he trapped her in place. “Do you want to talk?”

  “No talking. I-” He bit back whatever he was about to say, instead gently stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “No talking.”

  She nodded. His fingers traveled from her cheek to her lips, then pressed between them. She flicked them with her tongue. Then she pressed him away with a hand on his chest. He resisted at first, smirking at her puny strength before stepping back.

  With a smile, she pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it at her feet, followed quickly by her bra. He reached for her but she scampered away. “Nope,” she said, “Look first. Tell me you like what you see.” His “no talking” definitely didn’t apply to dirty talk - not knowing how much he enjoyed it.

  “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he said, then raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t I told you?”

  “You may have hinted.” She cupped her breasts, the sensitive skin warm in her hands. “I think they’re pretty nice. They sure feel good.” She kneaded them and moaned, watching his expression.

  A wicked grin split his face. There he is. Still shadowed by sadness, but anything was better than that hollow look, that far-away stare focused on nothing. He draped his cut over the back of the couch before wrestling with the laces of his boots. “Are your nipples hard?” he asked.

  “Want to check?” He moved to grab her but she shook her head. “Keep your hands to yourself.” He leaned against the back of the couch and tucked his hands behind him. “Good.” She stepped up to him then, lifting her tits like an offering. “See?”

  “Too dark.” He leaned down and swiped one with his tongue. The hot, wet sensation made her tremble. He nipped it between his teeth, then soothed the sting away with his lips. “Pretty hard, I guess.”

  “You guess? Check the other.” His tongue laved it with a firmer touch. When he moved his hands to grab her, though, she danced out of the way.

  “You haven’t seen everything yet.” Unbuttoning her jeans, she found herself enjoying toying with him. She’d wanted to distract him, give him respite from his grief and his guilt, and it seemed to be working. At least for the moment, his focus was on her. He undressed as well but never peeled his eyes away, letting his clothes lay where they hit the floor.

  She caught her panties with her toes as she wiggled out of them and lifted them to her hands. She brought them to her nose. “Want to know how turned on I am?” Her eyes kept straying to his cock, so hard and standing free as he leaned back and gripped the couch. Her mouth watered and her sex grew hotter and wetter yet. She buzzed all over with anticipation.

  “Hand ‘em over.” She flung them at him. He grabbed them from the air and brought them to his nose with a deep growl. “Woman…” he warned.

  “Name,” she said, wagging a finger.

  He took a step towards her. “Senna.”

  She bit her lip and pressed her fingers between her legs. She circled her clit and gasped, holding his gaze.

  That ended the game right there - he was on her in a flash, lips crashing, hands clawing. He lifted her, pulled her thighs around his waist, and walked her into the bedroom as their tongues tangled and her hands grasped the back of his neck. “You want it?” he murmured, his cock nudging her between her legs. He sank to the edge of the mattress and she straddled him, rubbing her pussy against his erection, pulsing with need.

  “I need it,” she breathed.

  His hand grasped her hair and pulled her head back, exposing her throat. “I can’t wait for this to grow out again,” he said. She couldn’t either, and not only because the cut was so haphazard and the dye so unsuitable. She wanted to feel him wrap her long locks around his hand, to get a proper grip and tug her head back hard. How long will it take to grow out? How long will I be here? He didn’t seem bothered by those questions at the moment - his lips were on her neck, nibbling, sucking, as she undulated her hips.

  "I want you to come inside me," she said suddenly.

  He paused. "You trust that I'm clean?"

  "I know you won't do it if you aren't." He kissed her ear for that comment. "And I know you trust me. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't safe." He loosened her grip on her hair and she looked up into his darkened blue eyes. “It was just an idea, don’t-”

  He silenced her with a long kiss. I’m gonna assume that’s a yes.

  “I want to try something,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  “Ride me.” He pulled himself along the bed, taking her along with him until he was lying on his back. “Do it.” He squeezed her breasts hard, making her arch her back. “Do it.”

  She reached behind her and stroked his cock, loving the feel of the soft skin, thrilled by how damn hard he was. She moaned, “You feel so good.”

  “It’ll feel even better inside you,” he said, pumping his hips. She nodded. Positioning herself with her other hand planted on his firm chest, fingers splayed across his skull tattoo, she slid back onto him. One slow inch at a time, she impaled herself, panting, still surprised after all this time by how incredible it felt, how perfectly he stretched her and filled her. “Beautiful,” he muttered, pushing a stray piece of hair from her face. She rocked against him experimentally and bit her lip.

  “Wider,” he said, indicating her knees, “And stay still.” Then he thrust up into her, hard. She inhaled sharply. “Look at me.”

  Something dark and primal came alive in his eyes as his big hands reached up and wrapped ar
ound her throat. She grabbed his wrists. "Trust me," he demanded, and she instantly relaxed.

  She had never been a very kinky woman. But she suspected she'd enjoy the hell out of anything Gunner did to her. She did trust him, completely.

  Her eyes bugged a little as he cut off her airflow. She didn't thrash or flail, though - all her practice being calm through anything had prepared her for this. As he squeezed, he continued to fuck her, lifting his hips from the mattress. His movements were fluid, deliberate - he used his cock to deliver pressure and friction to all the right places rather than taking pleasure for himself.

  Choking, penetrating - if she'd heard it described, she would have seen it as an act of extreme violence and taken off running. But nothing about it hurt, and the undercurrent of fear only added to the thrill. It was like he was taking her body and using it against her. He was locking her in the present moment somewhere outside her mind, where she couldn't hear any of the usual flurry of thoughts and worries. She could hear her own heartbeat, see his eyes, feel her body coiling tighter and tighter with the pleasure he delivered. That was all there was.

  When she was sure she couldn't take any more, he let up and allowed her a breath before squeezing again. It made her dizzy; and it sent a mad rush of rejuvenating, oxygen-rich blood through her - it was like nothing she'd ever felt before. It was frightening, and as he thrust into her even harder, the heat inside her threatened to explode.

  When he let her take another breath, when the oxygen hit her brain, she came, and she came hard. Her back arched and her toes curled. She clenched Gunner's cock inside her as her insides contracted again and again, making him groan, milking his own release out of him. Feeling the heat of him, the pulsing of his cock and the jerky movements of his body beneath hers as she came extended her pleasure, drew it out for an immeasurable moment where ecstasy was all she knew.

  She wasn't sure how long she remained there, frozen with her head thrown back and her mouth wide, sucking in huge gulps of air. "You okay?" Gunner asked. He sounded a little shaken himself. She slid off of him and stretched out at his side.

  “I think so.” She touched his face with her fingertips and he smiled. He looked the way she felt - content. Sated. At peace. It wouldn’t last - not for them, not with everything that had happened and everything that was happening. But in that moment he was reprieved of his guilt and she of her fear. In that moment their worlds had shrunk to the size of just two people.

  “What the fuck are you doing to me,” she murmured, curling his hair around a finger.

  He chuckled. “I asked you the same thing, once.” He shrugged. “Who the hell knows what.”

  It’s that bitch called “love,” that’s what. The revelation brought her back to reality. It was a love of the worst order. The kind where you know you’ll end up hurting, and hurting the one you love in return. The kind where the object of your affection is in more pain than you can ever hope to alleviate for long. His state of contentment was temporary. His grief would return - there’d be no escaping it. She knew. She carried enough of her own. Could I even imagine a life with a man like this? Would he eventually tire of her? Would his club ultimately have their way and tear them apart?

  She kissed his neck. “Let’s ride this thing until it wrecks us, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  The look in her eyes was making him nervous. Too much emotion. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take that day, so he was grateful when she changed the subject.

  “What’s with the… you know.” She wrapped her hands around her neck in imitation of what he’d done to her.

  He wasn’t sure he understood it himself. It was something he’d been into for as long as he could remember. Since coming home years ago. “Felt good, didn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” she said with an incredulous laugh, “Really good. Scary good.”

  “I love making you come so hard,” he said, “Watching you. And that you trust me that much.” Alarm bells sounded in his head. Saying too much. Chill the fuck out.

  “Not because you like watching the lights dimming?” she asked quietly.

  That was a line of thought he didn’t want to explore. “You know I would never hurt you.”

  “I know,” she sighed. Her fingers traced the ink on his upper arms. “It was just… really intense.” She kissed his chin, then pressed her body closer to his. “But I still can’t seem to get enough of you. It’s kind of crazy.”

  "Dying is proof that you're living," he said, suddenly remembering something Alvarez and the guys used to talk about. Something Alvarez himself had said. "People fuck like rabbits after funerals for a reason." He kissed her again, consuming her mouth until she whimpered. "It's why you can't get enough. You’re afraid that death is around the corner every minute, and fucking is like screaming at the universe, 'look at how alive I am!'"

  "Death is proof of life," she whispered, nodding, "Flipping both middle fingers at the cosmos."

  He was hard again. She had that effect on him. Both still covered in a sheen of sweat, breathing as though they'd run for miles, he slid inside her snug, warm grip once more. He couldn't seem to get enough of her, either. And the more of her he got, the more he wanted. The closer he got, the closer he wanted to be. It was like gulping water and only becoming more thirsty.

  It was terrifying.

  ◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙

  Only dumb, blind loyalty to the Devils made him drive her to the clubhouse that day. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to cast a vote on her fate - assuming he was allowed to vote at all, involved as he was.

  They hit the road after he called Rosa, as promised. The grief-striken woman sounded worse that morning. Weaker, more tired. But she assured him that she had her family - she just needed to know that he was okay. I’m the last connection to her son. His last friend, piece of shit that I am.

  He waited with Senna by the bar as the rest of the club appeared, one by one, and filed into the back room. Their newest bartender was an Eagles prospect and he didn’t even bother asking his name. He was surprised to see Jupiter and Yards arrive - he thought for sure that Bill would only include Devils originals, but it seemed the other chapter members had been invited as well. Because he knows Jupiter will be a “no.” He wants to balance the odds in his favor.

  “Everything will be fine,” he told her for the fiftieth time, it felt like. He started to think he was trying to reassure himself more than her. Bill was the last to arrive - and he beckoned Gunner to follow him.

  He wasn’t sure how much he trusted this Eagle bartender but the place wasn’t entirely empty. Dawn hadn’t made an appearance but Anchor’s wife was there. He pointed her out to Senna, saying “Just hang with her if anyone bothers you.” The older woman had never particularly liked Gunner but she was always kind to the girls who passed through. Eager to befriend them and quickly convince them to move along, go somewhere else, get away from the club. Which was all Senna wanted in the end anyway, right? Maybe the woman would be able to help her when the time came. Gunner himself didn’t think he’d be able to bear it.

  They’d had to drag extra chairs into the meeting for the transferred members, but Gunner himself preferred to stand, anyway. He shut the door behind him and Bill called the meeting to attention, sitting at the head of the table like he was king of the damn state.

  Gunner caught his father’s eye as Bill began, thanking everyone for showing up and quickly summarizing some other club issues that Gunner wasn’t a part of. He’d been away at Bars’ club for a long time and had missed everything having to do with the Eagle’s partnership. Don’t care anyway, he grumbled to himself.

  Finally, Bill singled him out. “I’m sure most of you have heard about the troubles of our wayward brother.” Mutters around the table. Glances. Who knew what sort of bullshit Bill had filled their heads with. Punch one cop and suddenly you’re “wayward.” Like none of them have done it. To be fair, it hadn’t been his first cop, nor even his secon
d problem with local law-enforcement, nor had he been the most reliable club member over the past… well, ever. All strikes against him.

  “He wants to make a witness to last week’s disposal into his old lady. None of us had met her until two days ago, he’s only known her for less than a week, she’s got some bigwig city folk hot on her trail for some stolen money, and quite frankly, I just plain don’t like her. Shall we vote?”

  “Not until I’ve had a chance to talk,” Gunner snarled from where he stood, nearly opposite Bill across the table. The president gave him a sarcastic wave, indicating for him to go on. Asshole. “We don’t execute innocent women. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time and that’s all. I wouldn’t need to make her an old lady if you shitheads would just let it go. She’s not a danger.”

  Bill shrugged. “I made you an offer.”

  “Drugging her and dumping her out of the country is not ‘letting her go,’ Bill, it’s just another sort of death sentence.”

  "So this is purely about protecting an innocent?" Bill asked. Gunner didn't answer. "It's not because she's got you all wrapped around her finger?"

  "We're all real sorry about your friend," Bars said, "But don't you think that maybe it made you vulnerable? We get it, we understand." So Bars is playing good cop today.

  Gunner shook his head. "No." They won't convince me. Not again.

  "She's a seductress," Bill said. "She's going to use you and take off and who knows what she'll do with what she knows then."

  He clenched his jaw. "You don't know that. What's your problem, Bill? Is it her? Or do you just hate women?"

  Bill slammed a fist on the table. "Vote."

  "I've got something to add." Gunner blinked as his father stood. Everyone silenced and waited for the former president to speak. "Firstly, she's got family here. Most of you know Dawn." A couple of the guys whistled good-naturedly, just to rib Irish. "Secondly, I know my son. He's impulsive and thoughtless and has a godawful temper. But he is a good judge of character. He's beaten a lot of people he shouldn't have beaten but if we're being honest, every last one of them was an asshole." That earned a laugh from the table - all except Bill, who still wore a scowl. “Thirdly, he's right. We don't execute innocents. In fact I was under the impression that we weren't the sort of men who carried out executions at all. And if this is the direction the club's heading, we've got bigger issues than one unlucky college girl."