Cutter's Claim: A Bad Boy Biker Romance (The Demon Squad MC Book 2)

by Monique Moreau

  “I’m losin’ my mind over this woman,” Cutter confessed. “It’s been two weeks and I want her for permanent, tho I’ll be damned if her pussy isn’t as sweet as the day she got her cherry popped.”

  Kingdom put up his hand. “Stop right there. I can’t listen to your personal shit no more.”

  “I want to be her past, her present, and her future. It makes no sense.”

  “You’re a biker, of course you wanna guard what’s yours, but you gotta accept her past and recognize that it’s done with.”

  “See, that’s where you’re wrong. It’s not over. It’s in her, and it’s going to be a wedge between us. She’s not free. Scorpion will come for her at some point, and she’ll be helpless. Yeah, yeah, you and Sage will watch out for her, but it ain’t the same. If she’s not my property, she’ll be screwed.”

  Kingdom stiffened. “Tell me what you’ve seen.”

  “Nothing yet. But I’ve got an ugly feelin’ in my gut, and my gut don’t lie.”

  Kingdom drummed his fingers on the desk. Tap, tap, tap. “You stay on her like a fly on shit. Anything you see, you report to me. No way will that motherfucker get close to something that’s mine.”

  “Yours?”

  Exasperated, he slammed his fist down on the wooden desk. “You know what I mean.”

  He did. Official or not, Greta was under the protection of the Squad. “She’s not gonna like it.”

  “Whose gonna tell her? Not me. Not you. Raised in an MC, she’s aware of her surroundings, so make sure she stays distracted. That should be easy for you. It’s your specialty, after all.”

  Cutter rubbed his hands on his knees. His biggest leverage was his dick and he had zero issues using it to his advantage. The pressure in his chest eased a fraction and he took a deep, bracing breath. Yeah, he had this. He had no other choice.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was no hardship distracting Greta.

  Cutter took her to the dive bar the Squad was in the process of negotiating to purchase. Kingdom hadn’t committed to becoming president, but his determination to push the Squad into going legal was a good sign. The brothers stopped by on the regular to check the place out. Different days, different hours.

  The bar was packed on Saturday nights. The music was pumping through speakers that had seen better days, as they made their way through the entrance with another surge of people. Tucked into his side, he pushed Greta through and joined the brothers at the far corner of the bar. He elbowed one asshole out of the way who’d toppled off a barstool and had almost bumped into Greta. Hoisting her onto a stool, he caged her in between his legs. Scanning a hipster to his left, Cutter caught him checking out her tits. He didn’t blame the fucker, but still. Leaning over, he growled in his ear, “Do you want to fuckin’ die, man? Stop looking at my woman and move the fuck over.”

  The guy eyed the patches on his cut, and then the brothers by his side. Fucking finally the fucker slid off the stool. Scooting it close to Greta’s, he sat down and grabbed the bartender’s hand as she dropped two shot glasses in front of the brothers. “Get me a tequila shot and a Coors.”

  She beamed him a big smile and leaned over the bar with a saucy wink, “Why don’t you take a body shot off me?”

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  She gave him a practiced moue and flittered away, down the bar to get their drinks.

  “I want a shot,” Greta grumbled. “And what the hell. She just propositioned you in front of me.”

  “Jealous? You’re getting a beer. After last time, you don’t get to order for yourself. I’m irresistible but you damn well know better than to think I’d touch that hoe.”

  “Do not call women hoes. It’s disrespectful,” she said loudly over the ruckus of the bar.

  “She just hit on me in your face,” he said incredulously.

  “Yes, and if she does it again, I’m going to mutilate her, but you can’t call her that.”

  “Babe, I like your savageness but there’s no difference between hoe and bitch.”

  Greta’s features took on a pinched expression. “We’ll talk about it another time. Don’t fight me on this one, Cutter. Please.”

  The word please was what saved her. Clamping down on her hip, he slid his hand down to her ass and said, “Yeah, alright. I’m gonna fuck you in my bed instead. Happy now?”

  “Much,” she replied dryly.

  Puck sidled up to them, his platinum blond fauxhawk gleaming under the lights. Squeezing in between them, he asked, “Who do we have here? What’s your name, beautiful?”

  Cutter wanted to shove the bastard into the crowd and pray that he got caught in a stampede.

  Greta squinted up at him. “Aren’t you the guy who…” she trailed off.

  “Timed you when Cutter got you off.” Puffing out his chest, he grabbed the sides of his cut proudly. “Yep, that’s me.”

  “I know it’s too much to ask but, fuck man, can you leave us the hell alone?” Cutter groaned.

  “No can do, brother. A chance like this comes once in a lifetime and I ain’t passing it up.”

  Glancing at his cut, she squinted up at him with a wrinkled nose. “Your road name is Puck?”

  Slapping one hand over his chest, he bowed slightly. “At your service, my lady.”

  Puck’s gaze dipped to Greta’s bodice. Normally, Cutter was all about showing off her assets, but this was starting to piss him off. “Eyes off her tits, Puck.”

  Greta threw Puck a scowl that could hobble a brother. Unfortunately, the bastard had more lives than a fucking cat on steroids.

  “What can I say, I’m a scoundrel,” he confided with an outrageous pout. He took hold of one of Greta’s tresses. “Can I touch?” he inquired politely with a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

  Cutter snatched it out of his fingers and replied, “Fuck no, you can’t. Don’t you have somewhere to be or someone to fuck with?”

  “Nothing is better than fucking with you,” Puck countered with a wink. Greta’s eyes were swinging from one to the other.

  Scowling at Puck, Cutter snapped, “If you don’t fuck off, we’re going to leave.”

  Puck’s gaze dropped to his crotch. “In a hurry? You wanna take Greta to the bathroom?” He whipped out his cell phone with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. “I’m on duty when it comes to timing. Anytime, anyplace. Just gimme the signal.”

  Greta turned toward Cutter, and said, “I don’t think I like him much.”

  “No one does but me,” he grumbled, “and that’s not gonna last much longer.”

  “Move over,” Puck said. Greta puffed out a breath of surprise. “Yeah, get on his lap. I gotta sit down.” Cutter swept Greta onto his lap. Her ass squirmed, making his cock stiff as a steel pipe. Looping her arms around his neck, she nestled into him. Turns out Puck was his bestie after all. He ran his hand up and down her arm, and she continued to rub her delectable ass on him.

  The little vixen knew what she was doing. Puck was asking Greta about herself, but Cutter couldn’t pay attention much, with her side plastered to his front. She flung her head back, laughing at something his brother said, which had the added benefit of pressing her tits against his chest. Perfect fucking bird’s-eye view of them, down to her dusky nipples. Which were as hard as diamonds. That’s it. Gotta get her underneath me. He set her on her feet and interrupted their convo. “Babe, we gotta go.”

  Giving Puck a fist bump, he guided her through the horde of writhing bodies and out the door. Cutter planned to take a long ride to cool off in the bracing wind, but when they got on the bike and Greta wrapped herself around his back, his cock was back in a choke hold. His plan had been seduction, not subjugation, but fuck it. Good intentions firmly tossed away, he swerved his bike in the middle of the road and turned in the direction of her house.

  In front of her house, he paused long enough for her to hop off and then parked while she opened her door. By the time he waltzed in, her jacket was gone, and she was pulling bracelets off h
er slim wrists. One by one, they were plonked in a bowl sitting on a low bookcase by the entrance. She loosened one earring. It hit the glass of the bowl. Ding. The other followed. Ding.

  Cutter moved past her and settled into the couch, watching avidly as she made her way toward him, her hips swaying from side to side. He was certifiably panting by the time she was within arm’s distance. Yanking her against him, he’d knocked a breath out of her, and her honeyed scent brushed over him.

  His mouth was on hers. Tongue pushing in, he explored her heat. The combination of her scent and taste made him feral. His hands gripped and grasped every part he could reach. Her tits, her hips, her ass. One hand on her nape to hold her still, he ran his other hand over her mound, palming it roughly. Plunging into her panties, he growled when he felt her wet heat. Greta’s mouth moved from his mouth and paused to nuzzle the rough prickle under his jawline. Angling to get a better view of her expression, he frowned. A haunted look snaked around the edges of her eyes. He tugged her off him and asked, “What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me.”

  “You know, you don’t have the right to every thought that passes through my head,” she snapped.

  “Yeah, right. I’m a determined man so you might as well give up and tell me now.”

  “Not all women tolerate being bullied. You want a fight, then let the games begin.”

  Cutter seized a thick handful of hair and breathed into the curve of her ear. “In the end, your submission will be enforced. Better retract your nails, my pussycat.”

  She glared at him sideways and snarled, “You’re the one being coy. Playing serious doesn’t work for you, Cutter.”

  There she went again. Challenging him. The drive to dominate cinched him by the balls. He twisted her hair around his fist. “Feel that sting?”

  “Yes,” she muttered tightly, although her eyes rebelled boldly.

  “You don’t know the half of what I’m capable of.”

  She stretched up and took a slow lick up the side of his neck, ending in a nip of his earlobe. “I’m not one of your gazy-eyed bitches panting to get in your bed, and you don’t have enough of the bully to scare me. Believe me, I’ve seen far worse.”

  She didn’t know jack shit about him. Loosening her hair, his spine hit the back of the couch and he spread his arms out wide. Donning one of his iconic panty-dropping smiles, he promised her, “Don’t change the facts. I won’t stop until I’ve got my cock pounding you.”

  She jumped off him and exploded, “Grrr, you’re impossible!”

  She thrust her face in his, trying to loom over him as if she had the right. Unacceptable. This meant a punishment to dole out. Lacing his tone with gravel, he commanded, “On your knees.”

  “Hell. No.”

  “Fuck. Yes.”

  Snatching her hair, he effortlessly brought her to the floor in a crouched position. She clawed to get away, but he maneuvered her until she was braced between his thighs. She reared back and twisted this way and that to escape, but he held on until she wore herself out. A defiant growl rattled between her clenched teeth.

  “You threw down the challenge, little girl.”

  The endearment he’d casually used did not go down well. Her bronzed skin didn’t go bright red like pale girls’, but a telltale flush of fury brightened her skin.

  “I’m a grown woman and I’ve been doing a damn good job of taking care of myself,” she choked out. “I put myself through college. I could’ve gotten help from Scorpion, but I refused to turn to that rat bastard for anything.”

  “Babe, you’re a fierce bitch and a witch rolled up into one.”

  She shoved him in the chest and then pointed to the door. “I didn’t get away from Scorpion and rebuild my life from scratch to hand it over to a man. Get the hell out of here.”

  A rumble started deep in his chest and a growl rolled off his tongue. He released her suddenly, and her butt slammed down on the floor. Hands fisted by her sides, she glowered at him. He returned it with a steady stare of his own. Flinging her arm out, she motioned to the door again. “Out!”

  Cutter’s jaw slammed together. He wanted to pound out his aggravations about the club, Puck’s taunts, and her issues into her sweet pink pussy. He couldn’t though. Although his job was to protect her, he couldn’t if she fought him every minute of every day.

  Time for a tactical retreat.

  She wanted his cock, that much was evident. All she needed was a little shove in the right direction. How did he know she’d make the right decision? He didn’t exactly, but he trusted the little sub in her. That part of her was dying to curl up on him. Rub her pussy over him and roll over on her back. She’d been starved, and no way was she letting feminist Greta get the drop on her.

  For that to happen, tho, he had to bounce. Throwing his jacket over a shoulder, Cutter strolled to the entrance. Still on her knees, she sputtered out, “You’re leaving me?”

  Catching the doorknob, he flaunted another signature smirk. “Highness, I enjoy swatting that tight ass of yours as much as the next man, but you gotta come clean with yourself. Give me a holler when you’re ready for me.”

  Greta scrambled up and followed him out onto the steps. A hand gripping the doorframe, she hurled out insults as he straddled his Harley. He counted them off…twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two. His little subbie was spitting mad, but he planned to make her pay for every insult with the switch of a crop to her ass.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Greta was in a foul, foul mood. Not that she hadn’t deserved it when Cutter walked out on her. She had turned into a volatile shrew. Gah! Grouchy and teary-eyed, she dragged herself out of bed, stumbled her way through her morning routine, and managed to get to the office on time. Which was a near miracle since she drove like a tweaking meth addict. After refilling her coffee twice, her brain chose to cooperate, and she made it through the workday somewhat productively.

  At home, she beached herself on the couch where they’d argued and grabbed the closest book. Gender Disparity in the Workplace. That’ll work. Until it didn’t. Twitching her lips, she flipped the pages of the hardcover book, then flung it away. She cringed at the crunching sound when it dented the wall. Digging around in the couch, she pulled out a Zippo lighter. A dark figure on a rearing horse was engraved on the metal.

  God knows why she kept it after so much time, but the day she’d found it was ingrained in her mind. A scowl pulled the corners of her lips taut. It had been after a raging party at the Dark Horsemen’s clubhouse. Trash and used condoms littered the couches and floor like flotsam as she waltzed through the clubhouse in the early morning light. Her thumb stroked the lighter like a meditation stone. It wasn’t long after Shadow had enlisted as a prospect that she’d found his favorite possession on the kitchen counter. Her hand grasped the smooth surface and froze. She listened, but there was nothing. No one was around.

  Slipping it in the front pocket of her jeans, she hurried through the clubhouse and out the door. Zipping across the dirt yard toward her house, she jumped a low picket fence and hoisted herself up to her bedroom window. Greta shimmied over the windowsill and tumbled onto the mattress. Escaping her room was a piece of cake, but she wasn’t tall enough to get back in without crashing to the floor, so she always shoved her bed against the window to catch her fall. Next year she’d be a sophomore, old enough to scramble in without rearranging furniture before she slipped out. Old enough to get close to Shadow. Soon, the difference between a fifteen- and twenty-year-old wouldn’t matter anymore.

  Plunking down on a rickety, thrift-store chair, she caressed Shadow’s lighter. He’d be livid, searching for it everywhere. Another biker or a hanger-on would get the blame for her theft, but hey, life was a bitch. It was hers now. Like he would be, one day.

  Shuddering, she shrugged off the past. Her first love might have been a farce, but there was a huge contrast between Shadow and Cutter, and she couldn’t keep holding herself back because of her history.
Springing to her feet, Greta stomped over to her trash can and pressed down on the pedal. The top popped open and she chucked the Zippo inside.

  Greta lifted her cell phone up to initiate facial recognition. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She swallowed a lump, namely her wounded ego, and took the plunge.

  GRETA: Hey.

  It was the best she could do. No way would she grovel. Jiggling her foot, she glared at the screen as she braced herself for his response. Ping.

  CUTTER: Where are you?

  She almost swooned on her feet, imagining his husky baritone.

  GRETA: Home.

  CUTTER: Be there in twenty.

  She stumbled to the couch and crumbled against the arm. Pent-up stress whooshed out of her and she pulled a deep breath of relief into her lungs.

  ※※※

  Cutter strode through her door with arms wide open. A whimper escaped and Greta cannon-balled into him. Scooping her up, he rained kisses down on her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and slanted her mouth over his, a greedy moan vibrating around his tongue. Fuck, that felt good. Winding his hair between her fingers, she yanked hard.

  Nuh-uh. He wasn’t going straight to fucking. This time around, he’d play his cards differently.

  The fact that he could send her from spitting mad to lolling against him gave true meaning to his life. Prying her fingers from his hair, he unceremoniously dropped her on her feet but caught her before she tumbled to the ground. His fingers flexed around her delectable ass and lifted her until her toes skimmed the floorboards. “Easy, babe.”

  Mutiny glinted in her eyes, but she stepped away. Last time, he hadn’t paid attention to a thing in her house. Standing in the middle of her living room, he pivoted around on his heels, taking in every detail. Typical Greta. The place fit her like a glove. Wandering over to the couch, he laid a hand on the American Indian blanket draped over the back. Beside it stood a dark-blue velvet armchair, the velvet of the arms was mostly rubbed off, showing how well-loved it was. Between them was a low rectangular coffee table with chipped veneer. That was the extent of the actual furniture, but there were throw pillows everywhere, as if she spent much of her time reading on the floor, propped up on an elbow.