by Violet Blaze
Scooting back, I reach between my thighs and find the sticky wetness of his shaft, guiding the head between my folds and staring Glacier straight in the face. I rock back and draw him into me as deep as I can, sitting up and gasping at the sudden invasion of his body inside of mine.
It's too much and it hurts for a second, causing me to lean forward and unsheathe several inches as I pant against his chest. Once again the headboard creaks and when I look up, I can actually see the metal post bending forward.
“Saint,” I whisper, but I don't think Saint's in there at the moment. In his face, all I can see is cold, needy, violent Glacier.
I sit back again, suddenly and fiercely, crying out at the intensity of his width and length, pushing back until my body's resting fully against his. I can feel his cock inside of me with every micro-movement. Hell, I can feel it with every beat of my heart.
My palms slide up Glacier's sweaty midsection, smiling at the bunched up blue of the wifebeater around his chest.
“You're so deep,” I tell him and the sound he makes is nothing short of wild. If he were free right now … but he's not. My eyes slide closed and I breathe through the discomfort, until it feels like my muscles are rippling around him, taking hold, adjusting and relaxing.
And then I start to move.
My hands rest on his lower belly, enjoying the tight contractions of his perfect abs, the art of painted flesh beneath my fingers. My hips rock slowly, a forward-up-back-down motion that makes the mattress creak gently, that steals my breath from my throat on each rotation. I stare into Glacier's eyes as I do it, at the trembling of his lips, the tightness in his jaw and neck.
“Fuck,” he growls, giving one, last good thrash against his restraints, his knees lifting him off the bed, the movement rocking me forward with a sharp whimper as I brace myself and grind harder, faster. I can feel my body milking his cock, tightening, clasping, squeezing. Glacier makes another sharp-edged sound and jerks his arms forward, bending that metal bar completely out of place—but not breaking it. He can't stop me as I moan and rock, moan and rock.
I bite my lower lip to still the strange sensations running through me, realizing with surprise that if I lean forward just a bit more, my clit rubs against his body, double—no, tripling—the sensations.
“I don't think … I can keep going … anymore,” I whisper as I come to a halt, sweat dripping between my breasts, soaking into my bra as my hair sticks to my upper back and neck.
Glacier's arms tighten and thrust forward, literally snapping the metal bar where it's welded into the rest of the headboard. He doesn't bother to untie his hands, using his body to shove us both over, pressing me into the mattress as I gasp with surprise.
His forearms rest on either side of me, those silk tied hands just above the crown of my head. When he starts to move, it's neither gentle nor rhythmic, just a frantic, wildness that makes me scream with pleasure, pushes my body straight over the edge and into an orgasm.
It almost feels like it's happening to somebody else, ricocheting through me as Glacier grunts and groans, going faster, moving harder, showing me no mercy with his hips. My body becomes too sensitive, almost painful, and I push at his chest with my palms, wishing he'd stop, desperate for him not to.
I don't know how long he moves like that, his crazed frenzy relaxing into these long, even strokes, each one matched up to a low, guttural groan. It all ends just after I peak for the second time, my cunt crushing his cock in a greedy grip, his lips pressing into my forehead as he climaxes with a harsh, ragged sound of relief.
Glacier doesn't bother to move off of me, not for a long, long time. I think I even fall asleep for a brief few moments with him still inside of me. I like the weight and warmth of his body on top of mine, the feeling of his hard muscles between my thighs. It's comforting, reassuring. I feel safe as hell here with him, safer than I've ever felt in my whole life. And guess what? Growing up with a dad in an MC, you really do feel safe because you know there's this big old group of guys that would fight to the death to defend what's theirs. It's just … as you get older, when you become a woman instead of a kid, it doesn't feel quite so magical anymore.
This does; Glacier does.
He's goddamn big, and strong, and fucking skilled at what he does. I know if there was any person—man or woman—on this planet that I'd want by my side in an emergency, it'd be him. It would so be him.
He rolls off of me with a groan and immediately, I'm on my side, reaching up and unwrapping the red silk, letting it flutter off the edge of the bed and onto the floor. As soon as that happens, his right arm is curling underneath me, pulling me close as he turns onto his side to face me.
With our blue eyes locked, Glacier reaches between us with his right hand and finds my opening, teasing the slick, swollen folds with tattooed fingers, the letters B and U disappearing into my cunt. My eyes water a little, but I submit to the overwhelming pleasure, letting him fuck his own come into me with his hand, yanking our sweaty bodies close, holding me as another orgasm tears through me and leaves me panting, crying a little bit.
But then he leans down and kisses a tear from either cheek, and I know that Glacier … has just stepped aside and made room for Saint.
“I won't let anyone take you away from me,” he says as I relax into his arms and feel sleep unfolding her velvety wings across my soul, dragging me under into the dark, gentle nightmare of a lullaby. “Not anyone. Ever.”
And I believe him—with every ounce of my heart.
Serenity is … fuck. She's everything. Literally, everything. What I've been looking for my entire fucking life. She's my future friend, confidante, the mistress to my monster.
I sit naked on the edge of my bed and wish I smoked cigarettes for once, so I could have something to do other than simply stare at her beautiful back, at the smooth white lines of her shoulders, the easy rise and fall of her breath. Here I am, a monster, a beast, a murderer, a torturer of men, and this … girl is just laying in my bed, completely asleep, wholly relaxed. There's not a tense muscle in her body.
I reach over with my right hand, trace an inked finger down her spine. She moans a little, turns her head in my direction, eyes still closed, pink lips parted. She doesn't wake.
I stare at her and I wonder about all of these feelings in me, the harsh roiling in my chest, the violent surging storm inside of me every time we have to separate. I hate that, separating from her. I think if I could, I'd take every second of my life and dedicate it all to being with this woman. The thought is confusing as hell, and I have to run a hand down my face to catch my breath. Wasn't I just remarking about how much I like being alone? How much effort it takes to pretend around others?
Only, I don't pretend with Serenity. I don't try to. She doesn't ask me to. And she doesn't seem to mind what I am when I don't.
I grab my phone off the nightstand and check for messages. There're a couple, of course, because there always are when the club's in uneasy unrest like this. Earlier, when I left Serenity at that party, I met Smoky, Mug, and a couple of the other boys at some shitbag motel, helped them drag some asshole out of his room and give him what I like to call the quick and easy. It's like a paint-by-numbers instead of a fresco, but it works. He wasn't our guy; I didn't have to kill him. Oh, but we did learn about a whole new fresh batch of pimps—motel man included. At least we know he won't be coming back to Trinidad anytime soon.
“What is it this time?” I ask when I call Royal and he picks up with an angry growl.
“Don't you listen to your bloody messages, you fucking shagging wanker?” he snaps, sounding so ridiculously British that I can't help but pick at him.
“Take off your red coat for a minute and listen to me when I tell you I was busy earlier.” There's a really long pause, a soft feminine voice in the background—Lyric, of course. “If you call me, I'll assume it's important. I don't like voicemail.”
I can practically see him rolling his eyes.
“One of the o
ld-timers was at the bar, saw a man in a three-piece and fuckin' knifed his poser ass. He got picked up by the cops before we could do anything about it, and now his old arse is sitting in the county jail.”
Fuck, I hate the old men in our club. Sorry, but it's true. Their insistence on dealing bullshit makes me want to kill them all, just so a fresh generation can take over.
“What do you want me to do about it?”
“Well, bloody nothing is all. There's naught to be fucking done about it now, is there? I told him to stop by your place to clean up, burn his clothes. But the tosser lost his chance by dicking around and getting into another fight on his way out.”
I go completely cold there, my entire body freezing up.
“Don't send anyone to my house without warning me,” I growl and Royal goes silent on the other end of the line for a moment. Behind me, Serenity stirs softly in her sleep, and I feel these wildly possessive urges take over me, this need to protect and defend this woman at all costs. I'd slay angels and tear their wings from their backs, just to keep a frown off her face. And I mean that wholeheartedly.
“How the … does Jack know where Serenity is right now?”
“No, and you're not going to tell him. He thinks she's at a friend's house.”
There's a long, tired sigh from the other end of the line.
“I gave her my bike and taught her to ride it.”
More silence.
“Fuuuuuuck.” My president lets out this low, ragged sound. I think I interrupted him in the middle of sex. Maybe he should get back to it? “Why would you even bother to bloody tell me that?”
“I'm testing you,” I admit and Royal just sighs, like I thought he might.
“You're going to get us all shanked and shagged up the arse.”
“You married the mayor.”
“I just want to fuck my fucking old lady. I'll see you tomorrow and we'll talk. Don't fuck anything else up until then.”
He hangs up on me and I almost smile. Good. That went better than I expected. I know Royal's the only ally I've got, so I'd rather just keep him informed about what's going on. The more he knows now, the better it'll be later—in case anyone else finds out.
I toss the phone onto the nightstand and look back at Serenity, feeling my cock thicken and swell at the sight of her.
“Mmm,” I murmur, pushing the sheet aside and kneeling between her spread thighs. I sweep hair past her shoulder and lean over her, pressing my lips to her ear. “Serenity,” I say and the quiet demand in my voice is enough to get her to stir a little, “I need you.”
She turns her head forward and gently pushes back, lifting her ass in the air instinctually, offering the warm swollen heat of her body up to me. I reach down, grab hold of my cock and find her opening, pushing in with long, languid strokes. I claim her as I fuck her, just as she claimed me with the chase, the persistence, the declaration of her words. I could resist her no more than a fucking flower can resist turning towards the sun.
It's done.
It's over.
I submit to this relationship and whatever it takes to keep it at the same time I dominate Serenity's body, make her mine, fuck her until she's crying and curling her fingers into my sheets, until I'm coming and filling her up with my seed, seed that I've never shared with any other woman. I give that to her, and then I pull out, curling up with her in my arms, my body draped protectively across hers.
We stay like that for hours.
The next morning, I have to leave Serenity to get to the fucking clubhouse which I hate having to do.
I leave a 9mm on the nightstand next to her and make sure all the doors are locked, the alarm set. I know she knows how to shoot; I've seen her dad take her for lessons in the woods. And besides, only a complete fucking moron would even think of touching a monster's house.
About an hour later, when I'm strolling into church with my brothers, I get a text.
I love you.
That's it. That's all it says. Those three words make my entire body ripple with … something I can't quite identify, that I'm still getting used to.
“Jesus Christ, you about to fucking come all over the damn table?” Jack snorts from the opposite side, shaking his head and sneering at me. I stare at him and flick my tongue over my lip rings. I could walk around this table and snap his neck in less time than it would take me to fire off a response to that insult.
I smile.
“Sorry. Spent all night fucking a beautiful girl, so I'm a little off my game.”
There's silence. Literal and complete silence.
“You?” Smoky asks, running his fingers through his red hair as Royal shoots me a death glare I'm almost envious of. “You had a girl last night? At your place?”
“What?” I ask, taunting them with an even bigger smile, loving that even as Jack's sneering at me, I'm standing over here knowing I made his daughter come four times last night. “Did you think I was celibate or something?” Which is also funny because I was until last month.
“Alright, enough of that shit,” Royal snaps, his dark eyes narrowed on me as I take my seat at his left side. “We've got a member sitting in the county jail for knifing—and subsequently killing—a man in a bar for wearing a Sons of fucking Anarchy three-piece costume set.” Royal puts his hand to his face, and I can't decide if that's a joke or not. I hope so. “There's nothing we can do for him; he has three prior arrests. We'll arrange for protection with our guys on the inside, but Gamut, he's just bloody fucked himself.” Royal finally sits down in his chair, his cut rustling with the movement. He keeps giving me the side-eye, but I'm … in a good mood today. I don't care.
I curl my fingers together behind my neck and close my eyes.
“The shit part of this is that Special Agent Heather Shelley has asked to stop by the compound today with a couple of detectives to ask some bullshit questions about the old fart. Clearly, there's not fuck-all she can do, but I'm tired of seeing her sniff around. Let's find these bastards, wrap one up in a goddamn bow and deliver him to her.”
“Well, believe it or not, there are a lot of goddamn foreclosures around here. Wealthy fucks come here and build up a storm, run out of money and the leave their half-finished bullshit all over our coast.” Smoky lights up a cigarette as I crack my lids, lean back in my chair, and put my boots on the table. “I ended up with half of Mug's list and a good dozen guys out there looking into these dilapidated McMansions, but it was all for shit. There's nothing and nobody out there. We cleaned up this town last month. I think we're chasin' ghosts.”
“Yeah, well,” Royal starts with a snort, lighting up yet another cigarette, “Agent Shelley won't stop sniffing around our collective asses until she gets information about the cartel's sex trafficking operations. Like I said before, she confided to Lyric that her sister was taken by these Saldaña fucks. This isn't just business for her; it's personal. And we all know how much worse shit gets when it's personal.”
He looks right at me when he says that.
“So finish up whatever's left of the foreclosures, finish checking out the rest of the hotels in the area, and then move onto the hotels in Arcata and Eureka. These are small towns, shouldn't be that difficult to do a full sweep.”
Royal stands up, parks his cigarette between his lips and motions for me to follow him out of the chapel with a hand inked in roses, vines and a pair of crossed pistols. Nobody much cares because Royal and I often have quiet, private business to discuss. He's really the only one who ever sees or knows the full extent about what I do in the cemetery house.
“You are walking a dangerous goddamn line, Saint,” he says as we bypass the clubhouse and head around the side yard, curving through a sea of hedges towards a gate that leads out to the parking lot. We walk side by side, but Royal doesn't look at me, smoking his cigarette and reaching up to run his colored fingers through his dark hair. “You know I don't give a fuck about women riding bikes. Hell, I told Lyric that if she wanted to patch in for Christ's sake
, that I would kill for her. But we're already dealing with a brother's underage daughter, Saint. And it's not like Jack ever even liked you in the first place.”
I lean back against the fence just inside the gate as Royal smokes and shakes his head at me.
“She's not going to ride it over here, is she?” he asks, like he's asking if Serenity is dumb enough to sign her own death warrant.
“She's not bloody stupid,” I say, my voice cold and dark, even in the midst of a joke. “She'll be careful with it.”
“And not just with the bike,” Royal says, looking straight at me. “How many of these sleepovers do you intend on having?”
“As many as I can get,” I say and he sighs, shaking his head again, looking like he'd rather not be president at this moment in time.
“Get out there and see what you can find. Don't worry about what the others are doing. I trust your instincts tenfold over all of theirs put together.” Royal eyes me carefully and then pushes his way out of the gate, shouting at some idiot hang-around as he goes.
Me, I stand there and look up at the sun, burning its way across a crystalline sky, already counting the minutes—the seconds—until I can find my way back to Serenity again.
But first, I've got work to do.
I don't enjoy killing, but my work is more effective if people think I do. It's not that I particularly dislike it either. It just is. My club, my president, they haul in some asshole and I deal with him—just like that piece of shit scumbag from the forest the other day, the one with all the priors.
There's nobody in my little house of horrors today, but there will be soon. That is, if I have anything to do with it.
I'm sitting on my bike outside a dilapidated apartment complex, one that shouldn't rightfully have any inhabitants in it—not even rats.
“What a shithole,” I murmur to myself, sliding a stick of gum from the front pocket of my cut, unwrapping the silver foil, and popping a bright burst of peppermint between my lips. I'd much rather be with Serenity right now, sexually or otherwise. I like touching her, feeling her touch me, but I also like the vibrant explosion of joy on her face when she climbs onto the bike. When she smiles. When I walk into a room.