WITHOUT SHAME: Babylon MC Book 4

by James, Victoria L.

  Chapter Ten

  DREW

  She’d won.

  My rough hands tugged at her clothes mercilessly, hating the way they blocked me from feeling her silky-smooth skin and witnessing the way her goosebumps took ownership. I needed to rid her of everything—rip her clothes off her back and fuck her like she deserved to be fucked.

  The top she was wearing split with one tug, the tear of it giving me enough to rip at it just once more before it came undone down the middle. Ayda’s body melted against mine, and the low moans of appreciation and passion that rumbled in the back of her throat let me know she needed this as much as I did.

  Ridding her of her top, I pressed her into the corner of the wall, using my hips to pin her in place and drive my rock hard dick against the seam of her jeans. My hands were everywhere, angry, urgent—thankful. Relieved. Above all else, relieved. I glanced down between us, taking in her tight stomach and the way it tensed and repeatedly released from her heavy breaths. My eyes traveled up to her tits, watching them as they slowly bounced in front of me, falling into a hypnotic rhythm. I saw the bruises, not knowing if they were from tonight or the one before, her skin was pink and red in so many places. I wanted to kiss her and slap her ass all at once. I wanted to drown her in something… everything.

  “Crazy kind of something,” I panted. “The kind of crazy I need.”

  Ayda’s eyes flared to life as she took me in, the dazed haze of arousal mixing with satisfaction as her hands fumbled to my bloody shirt and tugged at the stained material. She was already panting as she whispered her next words. “Stay with me.”

  “Make me,” I bit back.

  A subtle erotic laugh fell from her before her teeth slid over her bottom lip and bit down hard. Her hands dropped to my belt, and her fingers made quick work of the buckle. “I would punch you if I didn’t want you so much.”

  “Do it,” I breathed, kicking out of my boots.

  Ayda paused, her breaths heaving in and out as her hands stilled on my zipper. There was a flash behind her eyes, a darkness I’d never seen before. For a moment it looked like she was going to carry on with what she was doing, but she raised one hand and slapped it against my chest lightly, her brows furrowing with the sound of her palm against my body. The second hand came as a balled fist with a little more force behind it and forcing a stutter from her chest.

  Looking up at her through hooded eyes, I challenged her with a single look before I curled my lip and leaned in closer. “That all you got, darlin’? I thought you were mad.”

  “God damn you, Drew.”

  “Fuck me to Hell,” I urged her, dragging a finger down from the center of her stomach, all the way down the seams of her jeans and pressing against her clit.

  Both her hands came against my shoulders and pushed me away from her. A grunt of something fell from her lips as she pulled her right arm back, she met my eyes and let it rip, planting the small ball of her fist right into the center of my stomach with a scream of rage.

  I braced myself just in time, accepting the blow while appreciating the force she put behind it. My chest bounced as my breathing became heavier—a mixture of admiration, shock, and the need to screw her seven different ways all at once.

  Not saying anything, I unzipped my stained hoodie and dropped it to the floor, exposing my stained T-shirt for just a second before I reached up to grab the back of it and pull it over my head, and then dropped it to the floor.

  I stood strong. Determined. Watching as her eyes danced all over me, and her face filled with fire and confusion.

  “Go on. Show me how much I hurt you,” I whispered roughly.

  Ayda rocked back on her heels, her eyes suddenly full of uncertainty as she stared at my bared chest. Hunger and want flashed behind her eyes when she took me in, but it wasn’t enough to kill the anger that was still eating at her. With her palms, she pushed against me, driving me back as she threw her weight behind the action. Moans of pain and frustration fell like little bombs as her hands fisted and she pummeled into my abs, my stomach, the punching bag she needed. Her sobs started the closer she got, her punches soon becoming sloppy. As her tears fell, she let go of any inhibition, allowing the screams of rage come with every punch she threw.

  I let her go until the point her emotions took over her actions. My stomach burned from her assault, but I welcomed it, just the way I welcomed her to me when I grabbed her by her arms, brought her body against me and claimed her mouth with mine. Her tears ran into our kiss, and her strangled cries were swallowed by my need to fix everything.

  Ayda struggled for only a moment before she started to kiss me back. Her left hand grabbed for the waist of my jeans, but her right… her right drove her tiny fist into the spot just under my ribs.

  “Now you can fuck me,” she whimpered.

  I turned us both, holding her face and her hips to me until her legs hit the edge of the bed. I pulled away to take a breath, feeling the air hit the remnants of our kiss on my skin. I took her in, all wild eyes, burning cheeks, and that Ayda-love pouring from her face.

  “Don’t stop on my account.” My eyes trailed the entire length of her exposed body one last time before I picked her up in my arms and threw her on the bed like I was a goddamn animal, my knees sinking into the mattress and stalking over her like the predator I had, once again, become. “Your punches won’t stop me fucking you now.”

  She was panting as she looked up at me, but the anger was giving way to lust. She covered her face with her hands, her knuckles red and bruising. It took a moment for her to do anything, but when she moved again, it was with purpose. Her hands pushed at my pants with despair, her legs rising so her feet could drive them farther down my legs when she could no longer reach them. When she finally raised her chin, and our eyes met, she nodded... daring me.

  I couldn’t help but smirk.

  Kicking my jeans off completely, I lowered my lips to hers, brushing them over and over again while teasing her with my cock. “Feisty girl,” I whispered. “Living in my fucked up world. Never backing down. Always pushing for more.”

  Raising her hips from the bed, Ayda fisted in my hair. “You’re the only thing I want to fight for.”

  I searched her eyes, the old, fuck-with-them side of me wanting to slam into her and make her feel everything I had to give. But in that search, I saw something that scared me. Something that warned me this could end badly.

  “Wait right there.” I broke away and climbed off the bed, hearing her tremble of breath as I picked up the Glock she’d set down and twisted it in my hand.

  It felt heavy. Good. Like it was worth something for once.

  Her eyes were wide with wonder as I climbed back on the bed on all fours, coming to a stop between her legs and pressing the gun into her flat palm.

  “Never let me hurt you so much that you see me differently.” I pressed my lips to hers, my eyes still open as I spoke against her mouth. “You’re the only thing with a heartbeat that can stop me, Ayda. You’re the only one who can bring me back. Put that gun to my head if you have to.”

  Then I slammed into her, holding my body over hers as I watched her reaction.

  Her hand tightened around the gun, even as her back rose from the bed and welcomed me deeper inside. She tightened around me for a second, both of her hands rising to her temples. The gun was dark against her fair hair as she stared past my eyes and found something more.

  I held my weight above her, tensing every muscle I had as my jaw ticked and I studied her. When my ass began to move, my dick gliding in and out of her slowly, her body softened beneath me. She was no more able to hide how right we felt together than I was.

  My hips moved, legs tensed, and my arms throbbed as I moved back and forth with a hard, slow rhythm that felt like an awakening.

  Ayda shifted beneath me, her heels digging into the mattress, her hips pushing her tighter against me, accepting me deeper with a groan of my name. All it took was one leg to ride up over my hip, and she mad
e her move, flipping us both in one fluid movement before she sank down on my cock. One hand pushed against my chest, the other, still holding the gun, pressed my palm down into bed as she moved over me.

  Her rhythm picked up, and our eyes stayed locked.

  Fuck, she was a defiant little thing when she wanted to be. It was my favorite thing about her. My eyes drifted down to the way her tits bounced as she rode me, traveling south to where we connected. I inhaled sharply, enjoying the tightness of her mixed with the vision in front of me, and all the fucked-up thoughts that ran through my head, thinking of all the fucked-up ways I could take her. My toes curled, and my legs tensed as I pushed my hips up, matching her stroke for stroke, letting my eyes rise to hers as I brought the gun up.

  I held her gaze, and I curled my fingers around hers and the Glock as I pushed it to my head.

  “Only you,” I told her in a ragged breath. “Only fucking you, Ayda.”

  She just stared at me, her body moving against mine with more purpose. Her breath picked up, and beads of sweat peppered her skin, but her eyes never left mine until she found the strength to drag the gun from my head and my hand, and she pushed it over the side of the bed, her body blanketing mine, my name coming as a lament from her lips.

  I grabbed her hips with all the strength I had, every ounce of love I had for this woman bleeding out of my fingertips into her skin—into a desperate need to bring her closer and fuck her harder.

  I’d been wrong to think I needed anything but her. The blood, the death, the dirt… the fire… none of it mattered when she was riding my dick, whispering my name, covering me with that safety she always provided so freely, and as I brought her against me almost brutally, making her bounce harder, our sex becoming louder as I felt those fucking traitor tears coat my eyes.

  The wall I’d tried to build, to use as protection, began to crumble. It took nothing for her to push it down.

  With my jaw tight, I brought a hand up to her chin and drew her to me. “Marry me,” I whispered roughly. “Soon.”

  Her rhythm faltered, her legs buckling as her hand slipped over my chest. Between heavy pants, she met my eyes. “Yesterday.”

  “Last week.”

  “The moment we open our eyes?” She rocked her hips to reiterate her point, her eyes flashing with need as she tightened around me, her teeth impaling her bottom lip.

  My eyes closed, and my neck stretched out, my head pushing against the pillow as a low groan escaped my throat. “I should have fucking married you the first day I met you.”

  Ayda’s hands pressed against my abs, her nails curling into my flesh. “Slacker.”

  I flipped her immediately, growling and hitching her leg up before I placed a hand on the lowest part of her stomach and started to drive into her. My thumb found her clit, brushing over it and teasing in slow, soft circles until I saw her body ache for it, and I pressed down harder to give her the pressure she needed.

  “I love you,” I panted almost violently.

  She smirked, pushing her curling toes into the bed to rise and meet my thrusts. “Fuck…”

  I did. I fucked her like I’d never fucked her before. I drove into her with my body, and I pushed every sorry, every word I’d refused to speak since Harry’s death, and every moment I’d been away from her back into her. I had a lot to make up for. I owed her more than I was worth. I owed her everything.

  “Don’t leave me,” I ground out as I felt myself about to come. “Don’t you fucking leave me, Ayda. I’m back now. I’ll never leave again. I promise you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  AYDA

  Those words, his words, bounced off the surface of my skull as Drew drove deeply into me and came. Even as I collapsed against the bed and accepted his weight over mine, they played over and over again in my mind. They became louder and louder until I couldn’t bite my tongue for a second longer.

  “I would wait a dozen lifetimes for you, Drew.” I shifted enough to pull my arms free, my hand cupping his cheek, as the other lay pressed against my shoulder.

  He looked sad. So damn sad and weighted. The ecstasy and the fog of excitement were lifting as he pulled in several breaths and studied me.

  “I’m so fucking sorry,” he eventually whispered, shaking his head. “I am so fucking sorry.”

  I held his gaze, not allowing him to abandon me now. Not after what we’d just done together. “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you.”

  “I get lost easily.”

  Shifting under him, I inhaled as deeply as I could, unwilling to lose the connection between our bodies yet. Tangling my legs in his, I took the time to get my words in order.

  The weeks since we’d lost Harry had been hard, but watching Drew dig a hole to bury himself in had been harder. That didn’t mean that every pain I’d been through hadn’t been worth it to have this moment with him.

  To have him back.

  “Are you serious about getting married, Drew?”

  He scowled, but only for a second. “Deadly.”

  “Are you serious about it being soon?”

  “We should be married already. It’s my fault you’ve had to wait.”

  I stroked his cheek again and smiled as my lips brushed against his. “You did what you had to do. But… do you think we could get one of the boys ordained online?”

  Drew’s smirk broke free. “You have low standards for a high-quality piece of ass, you know that, darlin’?”

  My giggle came easier than it had in weeks. “What does that even mean?”

  “It means,” he said through a groan as he slowly pulled out of me and repositioned himself, breathing a heavy sigh over my chest. His arms trapped me in on either side, and he pressed his body down on mine. “It means aim higher, Ayda. Do the bridal magazine shit you’ve been dreaming of. Big dress. Too many flowers. Make me step up and deliver what you deserve. Don’t do what you’re planning to do just to get me down the aisle quicker. You deserve more than grease-soaked boots and Deeks stumbling over our vows, and it’s about time you realized it.” Drew’s thumbs brushed the apples of both my cheeks. “It’s about time I reminded you, too. Harry would fucking kill me if I rushed this through, even if I’d marry you right now with a priest hanging over my naked ass.” His face twisted in pain as Harry’s name passed through his lips. “We can do it quickly, but let’s do it right.”

  “Jesus, every single one of the whores out there is jealous of me already. If only they knew how thoughtful you are when there’s no one else watching.” I ran my hands through his hair and scratched his scalp with my nails. “I love that you want a big wedding with all the bells and whistles for me, but all I care about is that you’re my husband.” I dropped my eyes from his and smiled. “And that I’m your wife. Mrs. Ayda Tucker.” I snorted, my cheeks heating as a wave of absurd shyness rolled over me.

  “Mrs. Ayda Tucker.” His smile grew slowly. “You sure you can handle that?”

  I hummed. “What, do you want to be Mr. Drew Hanagan? Mix up convention and take on my name instead? That’s very progressive of you.”

  “That depends. Would you rather me fuck you like I’m big, bad Tucker, or fuck you like I’m Mr. Hanagan?”

  I threw a leg over his hip, my toes pushing his ass closer against me. “Point taken. Mrs. Tucker it is.”

  I pushed up on my elbows and looked down on our bodies twisted together. I wasn’t looking for anything aside from the blankets now. The room was beginning to cool down, and the sweat on my body was speeding it along, even with my Drew blanket on.

  “Although, I should remind you that I was just as much a part of the fucking today as you were.”

  “You’re always the bullet, darlin’. I’m just the gun that needs pointing in the right direction.” Drew winked at me. Something he hadn’t done in so long, and the action was so simple, he hadn’t even realized its significance, but the small smile that followed that wink said enough for me.

  I brushed my sweaty hair from my face, my a
ching body starting to complain at the exertion of the old war wounds that I actually found myself coveting now. I looked over at him again and met his eyes. “What now?”

  “Get this blood off me,” he said, his smile fading quickly. “I need to do something gentle with you. I need to wash you, and have you wash me.”

  “We can do that. Then would you sleep with me tonight?” Hold me like you’re never going to let go, I added silently.

  “And every night after that.” He pinched my chin between his finger and thumb. “I meant what I said, Ayda. I’m sorry.”

  I knew he meant it because I could see it. I may not have been able to clarify that to anyone else. How could I possibly explain the depth of the man behind those blue-green eyes when he was present? Or the absence of him when he was in the deepest depths of his grief? That knowledge was just something that was there within me, and it was something that I would never take for granted again.

  Drew took charge, rolling from the bed and pulling me with him across the room. He sat me on the sink as he started the water, kissing my neck and shoulders with reverence as he waited for the water to heat up before he helped me inside the shower.

  We took our time washing one another, our hands wandering over wet, soapy flesh. It was less frenetic than the last time we'd been in there together but no less needy. Drew spent a while exploring my bruises, his touch gentle as he placed his hands over his own fingerprints, his lips even softer as they brushed over them in silent apology. I did the same. I wasn't sure which bruises on his body had been issued by me, but I explored them all and left the same silent apologies he had.

  Hands inevitably wandered into sensitive areas after that, stroking, seeking, petting and probing until our breaths grew rapid, my legs became weak, and the water began to run cold.