He gripped her hip possessively with one hand while the other teased the head of his cock at her slippery opening. She moaned, low and throaty, as he slid his dick slowly inside her to the hilt; her body pulsed around him, clenching the length of his dick like a vice.
Trey thrust in and out of her, the muscles in his body tightening every time he sunk balls deep inside her warmth. The contrast between the cool room and the heat radiating off their bodies every time he plunged into her—flesh slapping against flesh—was a feeling he wouldn’t forget any time soon.
“Fuck me,” she panted followed by a moan and that almost sent him completely over the edge again.
“You want it rough, babe? Want me to pound that pussy of yours?” he breathed in her ear as he bent over her body.
“God, yes.”
“I’m not a god but I sure as hell can fuck like one,” he teased in reply.
Kyra laughed, the sound vibrating through her whole body as he slammed inside of her, driving his cock harder into her before he slowed down and made her beg him again.
Being with her was different from any other woman he’d ever fucked.
Except one.
The night was fuzzy—he’d had too much to drink—but he fucked a redhead that night, too, and she was unbelievable, hot, sexy, exciting.
Kyra threw her head back, her hair hanging like a curtain of fire with golden highlights and the whole night came back to him with a rush of blood to the head. How could he have forgotten the smell of her skin, the way her pussy worked his cock like no other? How did he go on with his life as if nothing ever happened between them until that particular night in November when they’d slept together again?
Easy, her father.
That was the first and last time Jonesy warned him to stay away from Kyra or he’d be a dead man.
The feeling of being pulled out of the moment psychologically while physically, his cock couldn’t get enough of her, left him disoriented. She quivered underneath him and held his length in a death-grip as her pussy flooded his cock with her juices and she came.
Trey backed away from her and she slowly turned around to face him, her face flushed and her blue eyes bright before she saw his face. Her expression changed from satisfied to worried within a blink, which made it impossible to hide how she ever felt about anything or anyone.
“Baby, what’s the matter? You didn’t come,” Kyra said in a shaky voice.
He shook his head though he refused to look at her as he sat down bare-assed on their leather sofa. “It’s not you, it’s me.”
She arched one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Oh? Really? I’m not buying that for a second, babe. You’re gonna come whether I die tryin’. I don’t accept that at all.”
Climbing on top of him, she clutched his cock in her hand and slid easily on top of him. He instantly felt himself slip back into the moment as she bucked her hips, grinding down on his length and working him like a well-oiled piston.
Any feelings he had of her not remembering that night or him just recalling it cleared from his mind as a sexual fog muddled through his brain. All he could feel was Kyra, around him, milking him, taking him inside and working his cock like a champ. His balls tightened again, almost painfully and then it came. Pleasure washed over him in waves as he felt himself empty his seed inside of her. His orgasm seemed never-ending, extremely pleasurable after the mental hell he’d just put himself through.
Trey couldn’t stop himself from rubbing his thumb over her hard clit and she came again as the apex of his orgasm slowly started to ebb away. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, their tongues meeting with the whisper of a lover’s promise until the intensity passed.
“How the hell did I get so lucky to find you?” she murmured as he adjusted their position and laid them both down on the sofa.
“I don’t know, babe. Don’t you think some shit in life is meant to go down? I don’t believe in fate but I do think some people are meant to be together…with work, effort, and hell of a lot of sacrifice. How would you explain you and me?” His hands caressed her scalp before he kissed her forehead. “We were always supposed to be, but life happened and delayed the inevitable a little bit. Not that it matters ’cause we’re together now, just like we shoulda been all along.”
Kyra pushed up from her position and stared into his eyes. “I like that…a lot. We both lucked out then because I definitely plan on keeping you.”
“As if you have a choice?”
“Always.”
Trey looked deep into her epic pools of sky blue and laughed. She chuckled too, kissed his lips quickly, and lay down on his chest.
Kyra was a keeper, plain and simple, and he had no intention of changing anything between them.
Ever.
Even if it meant keeping the first drunken encounter they had together a secret. She wasn’t a whore then and she wasn’t one now. It only took his stupid brain a bit longer to catch up with his body.
That was his story and he was damn well sticking to it.
Moments before another coherent thought formed into his head, he fell asleep. His arms wrapped safely around the only woman he wanted to exchange bodily fluids with, no matter how sticky it made them both.
Chapter Sixteen
Kyra
It was the best of times and the worst of times.
The day my life underwent a systemic change of epic proportions happened on the Wednesday we said goodbye to Miranda.
Biker funerals were completely different from civilian funerals because men who belonged to Saints’ charters all over the country showed up to represent their chapter. The procession to Birch Tree National Cemetery rivaled that of a public official. The Sheriff’s Department provided men to stop traffic so the long trail of Harleys wouldn’t be interrupted by passers-by.
There were three limousines in front of the procession.
Trey and I sat in the first one, occupied by Kink, his two sons, Miranda’s parents, her two siblings, Chantal, Dizzy, Bronaugh, Sean, Cricket, Brendan, Cillian, and Gisela.
All the remaining key club members from the Birch Tree charter along with Hardy, Ronan, and Naomi occupied the second limousine.
The third limousine seated key members of the community who’d decided to pay their respects, including my mother, Evan, Keren, Raymond Jackson and his wife, and Angelo Abandonato with his spouse.
It was a somber affair that started at the clubhouse, where her body had been on display for a day before the coffin was closed.
Many items were placed in her coffin, intended for burial with her. Kink placed the cut he’d given to her when he proposed to her that signified she’d become his old lady. Her sons placed their first Kindle Fires, which their mother had bought for them several years ago before she’d upgraded them to iPads. Chantal included a gorgeous turquoise bracelet, necklace, and earring set she’d planned to give her sister-in-law for her birthday.
Gisela included her favorite perfume, Beyoncé’s Heat, she’d bought as a joke for her several years before and Miranda had fallen in love with the scent. After her parents placed her favorite blanket as a child; Maria, her younger sister, placed a miniature mint and eucalyptus Bath & Body Works candle. Mario, her oldest brother, included a copy of her favorite book, an autographed hardback of Stephen King’s Under The Dome.
I walked up to the coffin and slid a bottle of Grey Goose vodka into the casket. The evening my father turned his back on me and kicked me out of the club, Miranda surprised me with a pitcher of her favorite drink: vodka and pineapple juice. I’d had one too many and woke up with a hangover from hell, but it was still one of my fondest memories.
The maudlin atmosphere continued all the way to her final resting place.
I couldn’t even pretend the occasion didn’t affect me. I’d grown very close to Miranda and, although she would have never replaced Gisela, I considered her a very good friend who helped acclimate me to Saints’ club life. I would always be eternally gr
ateful to her because, without her help, I knew I would have struggled more than I had with the harsh rejection from my father.
The Saints were my family now and we stuck together through the good and the bad, thick and thin. The feeling of family could never be underestimated and although Lacey didn’t show up, we all missed her presence.
I knew she wasn’t dead; Carlito had taken off and was on the run from the Feds, and, for collateral, he had his fiancée and infant son. They had options but when push came to shove, they wouldn’t put Lacey or Christian in harm’s way to get to Carlito. He knew this, hence the reason he’d taken both of them in the first place.
My father, on the other hand, was still in custody. I only knew from secondhand information Gisela had given me that he was cooperating with the authorities. He admitted there was a connection between Aztecas Infierno and the Demon’s Bastards, which was surprising to me. Had I known he’d taken avenging his brother’s death to such an extreme, I would’ve tried to talk him out of it myself.
Unfortunately, I knew I would have failed, but at least I could’ve said I’d tried. I didn’t even have that as a small consolation and now a member of our family was dead, Miranda’s death hung on my shoulders that much heavier. Was it really that important to avenge Llywelyn’s death? Or did it have to do with my father kicking me out, which led to the final and desperate straw he used in vain to pursue his bloodlust?
As soon as we reached the cemetery, I stepped out with Trey, last, after everyone else had filed out. We walked next to Cillian and Gisela, a long train of brotherhood and family in black and leather as far as the eye could see. All the brothers wore their cuts, including Kink. I admired his courage; as hard as it must have been for him to stay strong for his sons, Braedan and Killian. He somehow managed to keep it together while Miranda’s parents, siblings, and Chantal sobbed the whole walk to her plot.
I clasped Trey’s hand closest to mine and squeezed tightly as we arrived at the spot Miranda’s body would be buried. Kink purchased plots for his old lady and him shortly after they had their first child. He wrongly presumed she would easily outlive him and he didn’t want her to have to worry about his burial in addition to losing her husband.
The congregation stood before the priest and he began his final words before her body would be lowered into the ground and laid to rest.
“Miranda Selina Chiappone-Gillespie was more than just a wife, a mother, a sister, a daughter, or a friend. She was a gifted and talented human being who always tried to see the best in people and never judged anyone as harshly as she judged herself. A talented student, she could have gone to Princeton University but instead, she turned down the offer when her mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and given six months to live.
“We all know God works in mysterious ways,” Priest O’Hanlon continued. “Miranda’s mother’s cancer went into remission. In the end, her mother—who’d been given a death sentence—outlived a daughter so young, vibrant, and full of life. No one knows why the Lord chooses when to send His children home but we do know the greatest loss to a parent is that of a child. Hold firm to your faith in Jesus, our Lord and savior. Mary, Mother of God, take the sins away from thee. God, please grant this family the peace and acceptance they deserve for having their beloved Miranda snatched from them in the prime of her youth. In this we pray, oh Lord.”
“Lord have mercy,” I said along with the rest of the congregation.
“We now say goodbye and wish for the eternal rest and safekeeping of your precious child, oh Lord. Please grant Miranda Chiappone-Gillespie a place at your table and allow her to blossom in your Kingdom. Have mercy on her soul, and bless her family with peace, redemption, and the power of forgiveness. In God’s name, Amen. Say your final goodbyes to our dearly departed Miranda and I beg you to leave this place filled with the Holy Spirit and at peace with our angel’s passing.”
It was deathly quiet as Kink and his two sons approached the casket. Chantal flanked his side their father stood beside her. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks as Kink broke down and finally sobbed out loud. Tears poured from his eyes and his body shook from the sheer emotion. Chantal comforted him, embracing him, and he held on to his sister for dear life.
This was the part of funerals I would never get used to, no matter how many I attended. What could one say when emotions seemed so despondent, translucent, and raw? “I’m sorry for your loss,” and “My condolences,” didn’t quite seem to measure up.
Tears streamed down my makeup free eyes now and I cried because a brother I knew personally had lost his old lady. Their two sons would grow up to never know what a wonderful mother they had; the club had lost a valuable and priceless addition; I’d lost my friend.
By the time we made it back to the clubhouse, every person in the club possessed red-rimmed eyes and solemn expressions no amount of booze would ever be able to drown. That didn’t stop most people from getting drunk and quite a few numbing their pain with drugs—both the pharmaceutical and illegal kind—but everyone coped with death, loss, and depression differently. I couldn’t bring myself to condemn them when I’d chased two milligrams of Xanax with a vodka and pineapple juice cocktail.
“I fucking hate funerals,” Gisela remarked as she sipped from a vintage glass of Pinot Gris. “Let’s be honest, they are never pleasant, but is there anything more depressing than a club funeral? So many people come from all over the country to celebrate the life—and death—of your loved one. Still, even with all the support, they still have to go home to an empty bed. They have to face the fact that the person they loved won’t ever be there again. I don’t know...I’ve told Cillian if I go before him, burn my fuckin’ body and throw the ashes off the coast of Ireland with Daire, Rori, Declan, and Caitlin by his side. I refuse to have a club funeral.”
“There are worse ways to go; I would rather have a funeral surrounded by all the people who loved and cared for me than one where a soul wasn’t present. How pathetic would that be?” I sipped from my drink before staring at my best friend.
“To be honest, as long as Cillian, our families, my children, and you are there with Trey, I don’t really care. I can’t imagine how…exposed Edward felt today. His grief was a private and personal matter but low and behold, every time a brother loses his old lady in this club, he breaks down at the cemetery. I understand why and I’m not trying to sound cold or callous…how many more of these can we endure? If it takes me the rest of my life, I would love to ruin Aztecas Infierno. They have caused us more pain than any other deal with the Devil we’ve ever taken. Enough is enough. That whole family needs to go to ground,” she said in an icy and calculating voice.
“Believe me, I feel your anger. My father might be spending a good chunk of his golden years as a resident of the federal prison system because of his involvement with them. He was too stupid to say no and ended up getting in bed with monsters. The club’s assets have been frozen, and if my mother and Evan hadn’t been smart, there wouldn’t be a club once the government finishes with their investigation.”
Gisela and I walked outside. The clubhouse, though large, was filled to capacity. There really wasn’t an area to talk where people weren’t congregated in large numbers. We chose to stay close to the core club members—Kink, Cillian, Ronan, Hardy, Quinn, Cricket, Bookie, and Trey. Naomi joined us shortly, a bloody Mary in her hand and we sat together, all dressed in black, sipping our drinks quietly.
“I hope I don’t die before Ronan,” Naomi said after she swigged from her drink. “I mean…don’t get me wrong. Losing him would be more than I could ever imagine, but I think I could handle his death better than he’d be able to handle mine.”
I finished my drink before I lit a cigarette. “I know I would handle Trey’s death better than he’d be with me. He’s too sensitive and I wouldn’t want him to go through that. Hell, he damn near fell apart when Keri died. It isn’t fair for him to have to experience that all over again.”
“I can hone
stly say I don’t know if I’d handle Cillian’s death better than he’d handle mine. I’m not trying to be coy or proclaim I love him so much more than you two love the men in your life because I don’t think that is true at all.” Gisela paused and drank the rest of her wine. “I only know what it was like when we were apart and it wasn’t easy…for either of us. Life isn’t promised to anyone—we all know that. This life isn’t for everyone. But we live like we die—hard—and who’s to say it was our time to go? All we know is our luck ran out.”
“So you don’t believe in God or a higher power?” Naomi questioned incredulously.
My best friend shrugged apathetic shoulders. “I do and I don’t. I’m a functioning agnostic.”
All three of us laughed wryly although the occasion might not have been ideal.
I looked past Gisela and Naomi, noticing Trey speaking to Cillian and Kink. Although it was none of my concern since they could’ve been talking about anything, including club business, my curiosity was piqued; I couldn’t concentrate on my own conversation.
“Earth to Kyra,” Naomi said, shattering me out of my own thoughts. “What’s going on with you?”
“What do you mean?”
Gisela smirked as she looked at Naomi before she turned back to me again. “She asked how you were doing?”
I arched perfect eyebrows, slightly confused by the question. “Fine…I guess?”
“I meant how have you been coping with your father’s arrest?” Naomi elucidated further. “I understand the Feds aren’t sure whether or not they are going to charge him to the full extent RICO would allow.”
“Oh, that.” I noticed my drink was empty. “Well, let me get a refill on my very strong cocktail and we can talk more about something, which is such a depressing subject.”
I couldn’t get away from them fast enough.
God knows I didn’t want to think about that right now. It was hard enough trying not to obsess over it with Miranda’s funeral taking place. No matter how many people told me what happened wasn’t my fault, part of me would always believe Miranda’s blood was on my hands too. If I hadn’t pushed my father with the “Trey” issue, he wouldn’t have made a deal with Aztecas Infierno in the first place. I also wouldn’t have to face her husband everyday and know I was the catalyst, partly responsible for the reason why his old lady was six feet under at Birch Tree Cemetery.
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