His Poppy: Furious Daggers MC

by Brogan Riley

  “Poppy?” I say.

  “No, not Poppy,” she says and then whispers a beautiful name into my ear.

  I don’t understand. Everything is getting more blurry and denser. As black as the universe. I pass out. I come back to reality and her lips are on mine. I pass out again. I come back. Darkness. Flashes of light. An agonizing nausea.

  Tyler and Priest tumble me into a bathtub. I pass out. I wake up. Poppy’s face wavers above mine.

  “Everything’s fine,” she says.

  “Where are we?”

  “In a safe… place.” She kisses me on the mouth.

  My surroundings spin out of control, my body swaying like I’m lying on a garden swing. The smell of fish causes me to retch. I jerk my hands up, but one of my arms is immobilised.

  “Jackson,” Poppy says. “Be careful. Your arm is in a splint.”

  Priest leans over me, lifting my eyelids with his thumb. “Let’s hope it’s only a concussion.”

  I need to touch my wife. A growl leaves my mouth as I try to roll over.

  “Fucking hell, Prez,” Tyler says sharply. “Don’t move.”

  “Poppy,” I whisper.

  “I’m here,” she whispers into my ear. “I love you.” She guides my good hand with hers and puts it on her pregnant belly.

  “Don’t leave me,” I rasp.

  “I won’t, I promise,” she says. “I’ll make it up to you, Jackson, whatever that takes.”

  I stroke her belly. “Just love me and be with me.”

  She kisses my forehead. “Rest. I’m here with you. Always and forever.”

  Yep, I am in heaven.

  Greyness fills my head. Hours are like pieces of eternity or maybe they’re days. A throbbing pain in the back of my skull wakes me and I realise I’m being moved out of a kind of shed that smells of fish. No, it’s not a shed. It’s a fishing vessel.

  Four days later.

  I can stand. I can piss without Tyler’s support. I can watch my bruised gob in the mirror.

  Two ribs broken according to Priest. A dislocated shoulder. A concussion. Burns. Scratches.

  My beautiful loving wife.

  Freedom.

  Poppy’s standing beside me, her eyes locked on mine.

  We’re being hosted by Tank’s friend, Mike. It’s good to have friends all over the world. Mike is the president of the Devil’s Tears MC. The guy looks like a werewolf but is a very gentle beast. His wife, Daisy, is pretty and very young, so we have a lot in common.

  I sweep my eyes over my wife’s lush body. She’s wearing only her bra and panties. Her pregnant belly is beautiful. Mine. She’s all mine.

  “Poppy?”

  “Hush.” She puts a finger on my mouth. “You should address me by my new name, I told you.”

  I can call her like that when she’s on all fours. I don’t mind a bit of a kink in bed.

  I turn to face her, massaging her swollen stomach with my hand, and whisper her new name into her ear. I nibble on her earlobe and then run my tongue up her neck.

  She giggles with her hands cupping my face.

  We kiss.

  God, her lips are so plump, so sweet. So fucking mine.

  “I need you,” I rasp.

  “I know.”

  She holds my hand in hers and pulls me out of the bathroom and then across the narrow hall and into the bedroom. The caravan is cramped as fuck, but I don’t need more.

  My wife is everything to me. My baby is everything to me.

  She shoves me onto the bed and helps me remove my pants. I’m barely moving. Pain claws at me each time I try to raise my hand or foot.

  But my dick is fine. More than fine. He’s greedy for that sweet pussy of hers.

  Poppy shakes off her bra and lowers her panties. They wrap around her ankles and she steps out of them. A smile plays on her lips. She crawls on top of me, straddling my hips. We kiss as her hair falls onto my face and shoulders. It smells of jasmine and her own musk. She lifts her hips, holding my hard cock in her hand. I gasp as she impales herself onto my length.

  She knows what to do.

  She is my queen. I am her knight.

  Always and forever.

  Her walls massage my cock at a slow pace, but I lose control anyway. It’s so good with her, so intimate, and she’s having a lot of fun too.

  I cum with a moan.

  Epilogue

  Jackson

  I pull my dick out of Poppy’s mouth and watch her swallow my cum. Every drop of it. She wipes her lips with the back of her hand and flashes me a naughty smile. A light knocking on the front door tears me out of my hazy bubble. Poppy stands up with her hand clutching my forearm. I button my jeans up and go to open the door. My eyes fall upon a female figure. The woman smirks at me.

  “Sheriff Fiona Michaels,” I say. “What a surprise.”

  She pats the gun attached to her waist with her fingers. “You’re in big trouble. I mean big trouble, Jackson.”

  I raise my hands in a gesture of surrender as giggles drift to my ears. My kids jump out of the bush and giggle like crazy monkeys. They roll over on the grassy ground and giggle even louder.

  Fiona’s concerned eyes slide over my face. “Everything according to plan?”

  I nod. “As always.”

  I never share the details of my jobs with Poppy or her. They know someone died at the hands of mine last night and that’s all they should know. Not to mention that they never ask many questions as the good old ladies they are. We bite the Arachnid Conclave like ants, but regularly. Poppy and Fiona don’t even know the name of that cult. They shouldn’t. It’s too dangerous to know its name.

  Tyler emerges from behind the corner of my house and grabs my son. He throws him over his shoulder. Fiona grabs my daughter’s hand and I wave my hand, inviting them in.

  We sit in the living room. Raw wood adorns the ceiling and walls, and two bookcases layer the one opposite the metal fireplace.

  Poppy delivers food and drinks to the Japanese coffee table as my kids jump around me, bubble with excitement, and giggle into my ears. It feels good. I’m home. My whole family is around me.

  This little town at the bottom of the mountain has been our home for three years. The documents Tank provided us with have made our life easy here—Fiona got a job as a sheriff when the previous one died at the noble age of ninety-three. Tyler’s been running a garage for six months. I’ve been running a bar for four months. We’re poor as church mice but happy. My allies provide me with the resources needed to carry on my mission.

  I will clean up as much of scum as possible but that’s only about two percent of my life. The rest belongs to Poppy and my kids, and of course to Fiona and Tyler.

  Santi lives with his boy forty miles away from my house. He’s still single but hoping to find a nice woman. Declan decided to propose to Alexandra and is Tank’s vice. Priest lives in the mountains, probably in a cavern but nobody knows for sure. Nate and Cade live in a stone cottage fifty miles away from my house. A blonde petite chick moved in with them a year ago. I don’t know. The three of them seem to be happy.

  I hold church three times a year and all the boys attend. We talk about club business and then get drunk and talk about our lives.

  Fiona and Poppy chat as Tyler takes the kids to his place to put them to bed. They love having sleepovers in their wooden little house. When his kids are born, there’ll be payback time. I drift off into grey weightlessness as my wife’s sweet voice seeps into me like an echo.

  Fiona rises to her feet, her hand on her round tummy. She’s five months pregnant and happy with Tyler. I’m very proud of him. He can take care of his family.

  Poppy walks Fiona to the door as I rise to my feet and rub my face. I climb the stairs and enter the bathroom. My wife sneaks in a few seconds later. She prepares a bath for me and helps me remove my jeans.

  She strips and we immerse ourselves into the heat of water. I encircle her form sprawled on my chest with my arms.

  “Yo
ur therapy fine?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “When can I go with you?”

  “Soon.”

  She attends a support group once every two months and a one to one session once a month. Her choice. I don’t think she even needs this, but she wanted to do this so I agreed.

  She knows she can be honest neither with her therapist nor with the people attending the support group. I know she’s good at telling stories, so I’m not concerned.

  “Poppy?”

  She raises her head and plants a kiss on the tip of my nose. I feel her fingers close around my hard cock.

  Okay. No talking, only fucking.

  She’s a good wife and always knows what to do. We wash ourselves and step out of the bathtub. Wrapped up in the towels, we walk over to our bedroom.

  Poppy slips into a black nightdress with the open back and a pair of panties, throws a woollen scarf over her shoulders and goes to check the lock in the front door.

  I move towards the wardrobe and reach up to the highest shelf with my hand. My fingers search for my joints and lighter. I pick up one and light it up. Poppy walks into the bedroom as I crawl onto the bed and sit with my back pressed to the headboard. Poppy flashes me a smile and shakes off her scarf. She crawls onto the bed and settles herself within my body. I inhale the weed and wind her hair around my fist. Our lips meet and I blow the smoke into her mouth.

  We kiss slowly. I put the joint into the ashtray and slide my fingers under the strap of her nightdress, pulling it down. Her breasts wave in a seductive invitation as she pulls herself up and sits on her heels. Her arm wraps around my neck as I stroke her nipple with my fingers and twist it.

  “I need you,” I say.

  “I know.”

  She presses her lips against mine, her naughty little tongue searching for mine. I slap her ass cheek with my hand and squeeze it roughly.

  She flops from the bed and crouches on the floor. A screeching sound accompanies her as she pulls the drawer and plunges her hand under the blankets and sheets stored inside it. With a wicked smile, she takes out the dildo and the bottle of lube I bought three months ago.

  She crawls back onto the bed and clings to me.

  I need her and she knows what to do.

  We lie down on our sides, facing the same direction and she wiggles out of her black lacy panties. I remove the towel and toss it to the floor.

  Our mouths connected, I probe her entrance with my finger. She’s drenched. Good girl. I need it very dirty tonight. Very rough.

  She folds her legs and opens herself for me. I hold the dildo and guide it into her entrance. It’s long and thick. Maybe even too big, but I know she can take it. I’ve driven it into her twice and she enjoyed it.

  She’ll be sore for two, three days, but that’s what we both want.

  I slide the dildo slowly into her greedy pussy and she shivers against me. Her muscles tense as her face sharpens. A small whimper escapes her mouth. I stop and kiss her lips. She starts stroking herself, so I push the dildo a bit deeper into her. Her whimper causes me to pause. I watch her unearthly face until her body softens. I keep sliding the dildo and she starts panting.

  “Poppy?”

  She pulls my neck, bringing my lips down to hers. Everything’s okay. Our tongues tangle together as I bury the dildo inside of her. I kiss her until her body accommodates the size of it. She squirms as her fingers close around the hilt of it and she starts fucking herself.

  I almost cum just imagining how stretched and full she is now.

  I ease my weight onto my elbow and reach out for the bottle of lube. My eyes travel to her pussy so beautifully clenched around the dildo. Hell yeah, I could come just watching her like this. I open the bottle, spread a generous amount of the lube along her ass crack and pour the rest over my hard cock.

  I circle her tight hole with my thumb and slide the tip in. Poppy mewls, her cheeks pink, her lips so seductively parted.

  “Wait for me, baby,” I say.

  I fuck her asshole with my thumb, stretching her for my cock. She’s in her own reality, so greedy for the pain and pleasure I’m going to give her.

  I line my cock up with her other opening and push in. She hisses as I bury the head into her heat.

  Her ass is so tight.

  I don’t move.

  I wait until her body softens. Poppy starts moaning, making a feral beast out of me. I need to wreck her. I move my hips and bury my whole length inside of her. Her heat squeezes my cock, bringing me to the brink. The dildo moving inside of her pussy enhances my pleasure.

  I start thrusting. Every stroke is like a promise of bliss. Her ass engulfs me, sheaths me, and pulls me in deeper and deeper. Her moans crescendo and she comes. She ass squeezes the orgasm out of me. I come with a long moan.

  “Fuck,” I growl.

  I love it when my woman comes undone.

  I’d kill whoever dared look at her, man or woman, doesn’t matter. She’s mine. Only mine. I’m hers. Only hers. Always and forever.

  ***

  I walk into the kitchen and see Poppy standing by the window. She’s wrapped up in the sun’s rays. Her hair shines amber, her skin glowing like marble. I move closer to her, enclosing her in my arms. We look in the same direction. Our kids are playing in the garden. It must be around noon then.

  “Hey princess,” I say.

  The memory of the last night courses through my head, causing heat to shoot to my dick. I rub him up her ass.

  “Jackson, behave.”

  I bury my face in her neck and breathe her in. “How can I behave while I’m around such a cute thing as you, Poppy.”

  She takes in a sharp breath. “Don’t call me Poppy when our kids are with us.”

  “They’ll think it’s your nickname.”

  “I don’t want, Jackson. Ever.”

  “I love this name.”

  “Why are you so stubborn?”

  I tighten my embrace around her. “Why are you so stubborn?”

  “I’ve changed. I want to be Selene Auborge, not Poppy.”

  I feel her body stiffen against mine. Her eyes slide over the canvas representing red poppies in a wheat field and she winces.

  She has changed indeed. She’s more distant, more mature.

  “You will always be my Poppy,” I say with anger.

  She growls like a wolf cub. “They told me to move on, you know.”

  “You don’t want to change the husband or something?”

  “Why would I?”

  I turn her round. “Maybe you want a pretty boy in a nice suit?” My voice stirs a bit.

  Years pass and the gap between us is more and more visible. Poppy’s turning into an even more beautiful woman. I’m getting first grey hairs.

  She rises on her tiptoes. “Pretty boys don’t know how to make their wives feel good.”

  I chuckle. “You’re absolutely right.”

  She wiggles out of my embrace. A sigh leaves her mouth.

  “I don’t want our kids to know about me and my mom, Jackson.”

  “They’ll never know.” I shoot my arm towards her and seize her around the waist. “Is this why you’re so distant? You’re worried about the kids?”

  “I was thinking. I want them to have genetic tests, just to make sure there’s no risk or something…”

  “Okay. If that makes you feel better then we should do this.”

  “Thank you.”

  I kiss her on the top of her head. “Can you be my girl back again? I miss you, Poppy.”

  “I am your girl.”

  “So talk to me when something worries you, okay?”

  “Okay.” She huffs out. “I don’t want more therapy, but I’d need more books. I want to write poems for a living.”

  I sink my fingers into her hair and tip her face up to mine. “I’m sure we can reach an agreement.”

  “I can be very grateful, you know.” She purrs and winks at me.

  Poppy

  Jackson loves Popp
y as much as he loves Selene. There’s no difference for him. Maybe I could be both. Maybe I need to be both to find my peace?

  I can draw love from Poppy. I can draw wisdom and purity from Selene. I have the right to be flawed and damaged. Imperfect. I have the right to be shy and silly, to be strong and bright. To be weird. Eccentric and lost. Immature and grown. I have the right to be me.

  I love Jackson. I love Liberator. His darkness is part of him. Part of me. Why would I despise it, reject it?

  I call out to my kids and feed them as Jackson wolfs down his late breakfast. We do the normal Sunday stuff—I cook; Jackson plays with the kids. We eat lunch, go out for a walk, and watch a family movie.

  Later in the evening, we put our kids to bed and have a shower together. Jackson caresses my body like he’s scared to lose me.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  We lie down on the bed and he pulls me into his arms.

  “I want to have another baby with you,” he says.

  “I think that’s doable.” I run my knuckles up and down his unshaven cheek. “I love you.”

  His face lights up. “You should say it to me more often.”

  “Okay, that’s also doable.”

  I know he feels very conflicted sometimes. He wants us to be safe. He wants people like me to be safe. He kills to save innocent lives.

  “I will walk with you, Jackson, until the end of my life.”

  “Thank you, Poppy. Thank you for being my wife. I love you more than anything.”

  I feel at peace.

  My mom and her family are safe—the five of them.

  Fiona is expecting a baby, and soon she’ll marry Tyler in church.

  Sabine is dead. The newspapers say pills have killed her. I think loneliness and fear have killed her.

  Ricky?

  Jackson never expected that the gangster could be such a decent guy. But he is. He married Shirley, and now, he has three kids and is waiting for the Furious Daggers MC to come back. Maybe we will one day.

  My dark secret? My father’s death?

  Jackson knows me better than I do.

  He once asked me about the black spider tattoo on my mom’s shoulder blade.

  I don’t know anything. I don’t have such a tattoo. I don’t know anything.

  It’s better this way.