by B. B. Hamel
“You want me to come in this tight pussy?” he asked. “You want me to make you come?”
“Please, fuck me rough. Slap my ass.”
He grabbed my hips and thrust himself inside me, sliding in easily, filling me up. I gasped again as he pulled my hair and began to fuck me from behind, thrusting mercilessly.
I loved it, loved how strong he was, how amazing it felt as he worked inside me. I wanted him to punish my pussy, to fuck me rough, make me come. I wanted him to take my body and use me however he wanted, because in that moment I was Ford’s. I was his wife. I was his completely. He claimed me, fucked me, made me his.
He slapped my ass, thrusting deep inside me. “I love this little pussy,” he said. “You keep working back on this cock like that, girl, and I’m going to fill you up.”
I moved my hips, bucking back against him as he continued to savage me, fucking me harder, rougher. I couldn’t slow down, couldn’t ever slow down, not with my badass biker husband fucking my pussy.
He reached around and began to work my clit as he thrust deep inside my pussy. That was it. I could feel it right there. I was teetering on the edge again.
“Come for me, Caralee,” he said. “Go ahead, girl. Come for me again. Come on this fucking cock. I know you want it bad. I can fucking hear it, feel it.”
I grabbed on to the couch, holding tight as he fucked me rough, rubbing my clit.
The orgasm hit me again, harder than before. I pressed my self down as he ruthlessly fucked my pussy and I came hard, the orgasm rolling through my body in wave after wave. “Ford,” I said, over and over. “Oh god, Ford.”
I wanted to say his name, scream his name, as he fucked my pussy, my soaked pussy. I came hard on his thick cock, my whole body exhausted, sweating, and glowing from him.
And as my orgasm came to an end, he continued to thrust hard, grabbing my hips.
“Fuck,” he said. “The way you say my name, god damn, girl. I’m going to fill your pussy up with my fucking-hot cum,” he groaned.
I worked my hips, bucking back against him. He grabbed my breasts as he thrust harder, deeper, working me, working hard.
And then I felt him stiffen, his body tight, and he grunted his pleasure as he came inside me.
“Come for me, Ford,” I moaned. “Come on, fill me up.”
“Fuck,” he grunted, his thrusts getting slower, deeper, until finally he finished.
He pulled out, sitting back on the couch. I collapsed onto him, pressing my head against his chest, and he held me against him.
“Holy shit,” I said, buzzing from the orgasm.
“Yeah. Damn right,” he said.
I couldn’t believe I had just fucked my biker husband.
I couldn’t believe I’d had sex with Ford. The guy from my past, the man who broke my heart and left me.
It was strange sitting there with him, both of us covered in sweat, glowing from the post-sex high. It was almost surreal.
But there was nowhere else I would have rather been in that moment.
I looked at my hand, at the ring he’d put on my finger. I didn’t know what it really meant. I didn’t know if this was all just to keep me safe or if it meant something more.
But either way, I felt good.
He was right. It felt so damn good.
We sat there together, breathing in the warm cabin air, feeling each other’s hearts beating, silently buzzing with joy.
Chapter Twenty: Ford
Caralee’s pussy was like a fucking drug.
I got one taste, and I was absolutely fucking hooked.
We went from couch to bed and back again a few times through the night, fucking until our bodies couldn’t move anymore. It was passionate, raw, and intense. I’d fucking needed it from the first second I saw her, from the moment I knew I’d claim her as my own.
Eventually we passed out in my bed, naked as the day we were born.
That was how I woke up, probably around three in the morning. My phone was buzzing faintly from the nightstand. With a grunt, I reached out and grabbed it, flipping it open.
“What?” I said softly.
“It’s me,” Larkin said. “We got a job. Come in.”
“Now?”
“Now.” He hung up.
I sighed, sitting up. Caralee stirred, but she didn’t wake up as I grabbed some clothes and left the room.
I got dressed in the living room, still half asleep. What the fuck could Larkin need at three in the morning on my fucking wedding night? Must have been important, or else he wouldn’t have bothered me.
Dressed, I left the cabin and hopped onto my bike. I kicked it started and pulled out, heaving toward the clubhouse.
Caralee was on my mind the whole way there. I couldn’t stop thinking about her body, about the way she bit her lip when I pressed my cock deep inside her, the way she sucked me like she was desperate for a taste, and the way she said my name over and over as she came.
It all drove me fucking wild for her.
I pulled up outside the clubhouse not long later. The place looked pretty empty, which wasn’t surprising.
Inside, I smelled coffee. Clutch, Spoil, Thade, and Wrench were sitting at the bar.
“Morning,” Clutch said. “You have fun last night?”
“Still last night for me,” Thade muttered.
“Buck up, pussy,” Wrench said, punching his arm. “We got a fuckin’ job to do.”
“Which is what?” I asked him as I sat down and poured myself some coffee.
“Not sure yet,” he said. Wrench was a young guy, joined toward the end of our war. He was smart and a little malicious, my kind of guy.
“Waiting on orders from the council,” Clutch said.
“Where’s Larkin?”
“With the others.”
I looked toward the back room. The council was a group of senior leadership that basically made strategy choices and other decisions. Larkin had the most power, but the council could override him if they ever chose to.
That basically never happened, though. Larkin ran a tight ship and everyone appreciated it.
I hated sitting around, especially when I had a hot piece of ass back in my bed. But I knew club business trumped all other shit, and so I sat there with the boys, drinking coffee and bullshitting for the next twenty minutes.
Eventually, though, the council filtered out. There was Jesse, Stonewall, Reggie, Link, Trace, and Nash. They were all old-timers, guys that had been around back when the Demons MC was just a tiny group of dudes who liked to crack skulls and drink beer. Stonewall and Nash were the last two founding members left, though the others were practically founders too.
“Boys,” Stonewall said as they passed.
“What’re the orders, Stonewall?” Spoil called out.
“Fuckin’ wait for Larkin,” he said. The council members all filtered out back into the night.
“Shit,” Spoil muttered. “Must be serious.”
Larkin came out toward us a minute later, frowning. “Listen up.” We all looked over at him. “I got word earlier that there’s going to be a deal going down between the Snakes and some small-time arms dealer just up north of the city, right on our fuckin’ border.”
I frowned. “Where’d you hear this?”
“Dealer’s assistant is on our payroll,” Larkin said. “Your orders are simple, boys. Go break up their deal and cause some fucking mayhem.”
“Fuck yeah,” Thade said, grinning.
“Capture one alive, if you can,” Larkin added.
I felt a thrill rise up in my stomach. We were riding out into battle again, and this time we were going to get some fucking revenge.
“Got it?” Larkin asked.
“Roger that, prez,” Wrench said.
“Then go gear up.” Larkin headed back into his office.
I stood up and nodded at the others. They followed me through the back kitchen. I opened a small hatch in the floor and descended down some steps. I hit a switch on the
wall and the light flickered on.
Lined up along the walls were rifles, grenades, and Kevlar vests. It was our fucking armory.
“Gear up,” I grunted. “Let’s go kill some Snakes.”
We were lying on our stomachs at the top of a hill. Wrench was looking through a pair of binoculars at the small shack down in the valley below us, less than a football field away.
Five minutes ago, we watched the arms dealer, Jimmy Jay, plus his assistant pull up in a truck and carry in a few crates. We waited and watched, tension mounting in the group.
“Fucking Snakes,” Thade said. “Late as always.”
“They’ll be here,” I said. “They need those guns.”
“Yeah,” Spoil grunted, “to make a damn move on us.”
I nodded. “Exactly.”
Almost as if on cue, we heard the distant roar of motorcycle engines. We watched five Snakes pull down the dirt road, heading toward the truck and the shack.
“Ready?” Clutch asked.
“Fuck yeah,” Thade said, eager from his last taste of action.
“Wait,” I said. “Wait until they’re inside.”
We watched the Snakes pull up and park. They dismounted and knocked on the shack door. After a brief exchange we couldn’t hear, the five men walked inside.
“Come on,” I said.
We stood and moved quickly, quietly, down the slope. The sun was rising slowly up over the horizon, and I hoped that the glare would help mask our approach.
Luckily, we made it down without issues. The boys spread out around the shack, high-powered assault rifles held at the ready.
I nodded at Clutch. “Light ’em up, boys,” I yelled.
And then we unleashed fucking hell.
The sound of guns blasting filled the air, a screaming cacophony of death and destruction. We filled that little shack with bullets.
The door burst open, and a Snake stumbled out. He tried to get off a few shots, but I filled him up with bullets. He stumbled over, falling to the ground.
We continued firing for another minute, and finally I held up a hand and signaled for the cease-fire.
There was a deathly quiet, and then groaning.
I motioned for Clutch and Spoil to follow me. We kicked aside the Snake’s body and stepped into the shack.
Inside, the place was torn to shreds from our bullets. The arms dealer was dead, and so was his assistant. Three of the Snakes were lying facedown at a table, clearly unable to get up in time.
The last Snake was lying in the middle of the room, obviously having tried to get outside. He had a bullet in the leg and shoulder, but he was alive by some damn miracle.
“Fucking bastards,” he groaned as we approached.
“Fucking Demons,” I said, kicking his gun away. I put my boot on his leg wound and pressed.
He groaned loudly. “Fuck, please, stop.”
I eased off. “What’s in the crates, Clutch?”
He peered inside. “Guns. Lots of guns.”
“Hell yeah!” Spoil said, laughing. “This is a damn good haul. Dead Snakes and free guns.”
“You’re starting a war, you dumb bastards,” the Snake said.
“War already started, idiot,” I said. “Spoil, get the boys in here. We need to clear out.”
I helped drag the injured Snake out toward the truck, packing him into the back. We tied him up nice and good, so he wouldn’t be going anywhere.
Meanwhile, the boys packed the crates back into the truck. We cleaned up as fast as possible before someone came looking for anything.
“That went well,” Clutch said to me as we were finishing.
“Yeah, it did” I said. “Got that assistant killed, though.”
He shrugged. “Shit happens in war.”
“Yeah,” I said, “it does.”
We got on our bikes and headed back, Thade and Wrench driving the truck. Someone would bring them back later for their bikes.
We got lucky. The boys might not realize it, but those Snakes weren’t ready for us. They were expecting an easy business deal, not a deadly ambush.
From here on out, things weren’t going to be easy. No, shit was about to get much, much harder. Maybe we had a prisoner, and a nice little infusions of hardware, but the Snakes weren’t going to just let us murder their guys.
No, they were going to hit back harder. We’d have to be prepared, or else.
The wind in my hair, the road beneath my bike. We were at fucking war again.
A thrill ran through my chest, adrenaline spiking.
Chapter Twenty-One: Caralee
I woke up, tired and sore from the night before. Light was streaming in through the bedroom window. I rolled over, but Ford’s side of the bed was empty.
Sighing, I sat up. Memories of the night before came wafting back into my mind. I felt all over again his strong hands, his cock thrusting deep inside me, the sweat that dripped down my body, the intense way he stared at me.
I’d finally given myself to him, and it was so much more than I could have imagined.
Smiling to myself, I climbed out of bed. I couldn’t wait to see him again for some crazy reason. I looked down at the ring on my finger and felt something flutter in my stomach.
I knew we weren’t really married. I knew it wasn’t real, just a convenient political move to help keep me safe.
But I couldn’t help but smile. After last night, maybe it meant something.
I pushed out into the main room. “Ford?” I called out.
Silence greeted me.
“Ford?”
I looked around his cabin, but he wasn’t there. I looked out the front window and saw two bikes I didn’t recognize parked there instead of Ford’s.
Quickly I walked into his bedroom and threw some more clothes on and then opened the front door.
Sitting there were Ryan and Slip.
“Morning,” Ryan said.
“Where’s Ford?” I asked him.
“Club business,” he said.
I frowned. “When did he leave?”
“Early this morning.”
“When’s he getting back?”
“Don’t know.”
I sighed. “Okay. Thanks.” I went back inside, shutting the door.
Of course he was gone. What more did I expect? Did I really think Ford would be standing in the kitchen cooking me breakfast with a smile?
That wasn’t him. Ford was an asshole, a selfish biker. He didn’t care how I’d feel waking up and finding him gone. Why would he?
He had club business.
And in that moment, I realized something.
I realized that the club would always come first. No matter what I did, it would be the club. Even if he wanted me that way, which I wasn’t really sure of, club business always trumped me.
I couldn’t live with that. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure I wanted any more to do with Ford. Last night kept running through my mind, though, making me second-guess everything.
We weren’t really together. We weren’t really married. But last night it felt like it was real. When his body pressed against mine, it felt more real than anything else I’d experienced. Even in between the sex, we were constantly touching, talking, laughing. It just felt good.
And yet he would leave. He did leave. I understood that he had to do things for his club, but he didn’t even bother to say goodbye to me.
Maybe I was overreacting, but I couldn’t help but think about our past, about him disappearing on me.
I went into the kitchen and cooked some breakfast and made some coffee. I figured the guys outside would appreciate some food, so I made extra pancakes for them.
When I finished, I carried out two mugs.
“Oh shit. Thanks so much,” Spill said.
“Yeah, thanks,” Ryan added.
They sipped their drinks gratefully. “Want some pancakes?”
“Holy shit yes,” Ryan said.
“Please,” Spill added.
I
laughed and went inside, returning with two big plates of pancakes. “Here. Enjoy.”
They dug in like they’d never eaten before. I sat down on the steps, sipping my drink, and watched them chow down.
“How is it?” I asked.
“Delicious,” Ryan said.
“Yeah, great,” Spill added.
I smiled. “Good. I’m happy you guys are talking to me today.”
Spill’s face fell and he looked at Ryan, who just shrugged.
“Are we talking to her?” Spill asked.
“We weren’t told not to,” Ryan said.
“Guess we’re talking.” Spill grinned at me.
“So what can you guys tell me about what’s going on?”
“Not much,” Ryan said. “We’re not told much. We just do what we’re told.”
“Do you know where Ford is?”
He shook his head no, chewing a big mouthful of pancakes.
“What about you?” I asked Spill.
“I know less than he does,” Spill said.
“Believe me, we’re just pledges. We’re not told shit.”
I sighed, sipping my coffee. The idea of spending another day locked away in that cabin suddenly drove me crazy. I couldn’t stay cooped up anymore, not with Ford out there doing who knew what. Maybe he was in danger, or maybe I was in danger. Nobody was telling me anything, and so I was constantly guessing and on edge.
I stood up. “I’m going for a walk,” I announced, and I turned to leave.
“Wait,” Ryan said, standing up. His pancakes dropped to the ground, and Spill held back a laugh. “We can’t let you leave.”
I looked at him. Ryan was tall and lanky, and I was sure he could stop me if he wanted to. “Am I in prison?” I asked him.
“No,” he said, “but I can’t let you leave.”
“I’m leaving then.” I turned and started moving.
“Wait.” Ryan ran down the steps and got in front of me. “I’m really sorry, Caralee, but you have to stay here.”
“Move,” I said, and went to walk around him.
Ryan suddenly got serious. He transformed from the goofy pledge on the porch to an intense man in half a second. He grabbed my wrist and nodded at Spill, who came down the steps.
“Get off me,” I said, wrenching my arm.