“Rivet. Fucking hell.” He sighs, frustrated at my constant corrections. “I wish you could see what I see—what I saw in you.” His eyes sparkle from a cool pool of unmoving water to something fiery. His arm moves around the back of my neck and shoulder, and his large hand rests on my bare arm. I move in closer to him, needing to inhale that smell of his again.
As I approach, I whisper, “That girl is long gone, Bishop. She’s not coming back. I’m not innocent anymore. I’ve done things I regret.”
“Like what?” he asks with both of his thick, bushy eyebrows raised this time.
My mind flashes back to Halloween night and how eager I was to try anything. Viper was gone, and I was free. Under that mask, I could be anyone I wanted to be. I could do whatever I wanted to do. I could run if I wanted, but instead, I picked that man… that man who has changed my life forever. How could I regret and love a moment so much? How could every part of my body want to relive that moment in time over and over again while the other part fears what it has done for me and my future?
I choose not to answer Bishop’s questions. Instead, I close my eyes, turn off my thoughts, and drift off to the strange feeling of finally being safe.
Chapter Eight Bishop
When she sleeps, I’m awake. Her warm, soft body draped over mine tries to call me back to my dreams. But the night is too dark and dangerous on my side of the bed. My enemies are lurking out there in the shadows—and they’re growing in both number and power with each passing second. I feel like closing my eyes is equal to swinging open the door to let them into the place where I feel safest.
God, I wish I could sleep the way she does. Her pink lips sit there slightly parted, a trace of her red-pink lipstick smeared just slightly around her mouth. She sighs heavily every few minutes and readjusts, allowing herself to feel at home, snuggled under the covers. She looks like some weird cross between a sweet virginal angel and a skanky sex demon, with her hair mussed up and jutting out at odd angles while her face exudes a kind of serene calm. It’s… unnerving, is what it is.
I brought her into the bedroom from the couch when her head drifted onto my shoulder. The smell of her perfume floated into my nose and invaded my mind. I couldn’t help but lie down next to her, and she found me soon after. Her arms stretched out, and then she slithered her small hips towards me until a smoothly shaven leg draped over my knee, and an arm cradled my opposite shoulder.
Now, she sleeps. Maybe she dreams of him . The relationship wasn’t perfect, so it seems, but she stayed with him for so long. Why wouldn’t she still think it was him that was next to her in bed? Maybe that’s what happens when you’re a couple for long enough—you get comfortable with how things are. I wouldn’t know. I never stick around long enough to feel any sort of connection with a girl. Fuck if I know how to be the guy the girl wants to lie in bed with each night.
I’m the type of guy to fuck and run. No one wants to be tied down to a guy like me—a guy that makes his living being everywhere and anywhere he needs to be. Now that I’m the club’s president, I’m going to be even more dangerous to hold down. Rivet knows this. She probably felt it every day she was with her man. She wouldn’t want a guy like me—a guy who could never stay hers.
Still, she murmurs in her sleep, and there’s a point where she rolls over with her eyes closed tightly. Under her breath, her lips purse and then spit out my name. It’s not Viper or some dream guy. It’s me.
I lean down closer to her, squirming under the light weight of a thin sheet to meet her face-to-face. She doesn’t move a muscle as I lean in to listen. I watch those juicy lips repeat my name again, and I dare myself to touch her. Just a second of touching that impossibly perfect skin, given the beating she took from flying off of the bike earlier.
“Bishop…” she mutters again, and I can’t hold back the fluttering feeling in my stomach. I sigh as I place a finger on her bottom lip. In an instant, she puckers them around the tip and kisses it gently. Her mouth curls up into a smile, her whole face transforming.
A shiver races up my spine as I get bolder. I move even closer to her so that I can taste the smell of her breath and feel the air pushing back and forth. My arm cups around the back of her head while the other arm rests on the curve of her hip, unafraid of taking a big scoop of that ass in my palm.
My lips replace where my finger is. The skin grazes hers and rests so that our body fits together like a jigsaw puzzle. And just like with the tip of my finger, she kisses me. There’s no hesitation at all; she’s brave as hell as she goes for it. Our lips melt into one another as I take over. We push and pull at one another, and I become half-aware that she’s awake. How could she not be?
I pull her closer towards me, and her body lifts up and over so that it rests halfway on mine. The leg that was wrapped on top rests between my thighs. Her knees are so dangerously close to my package that I will myself not to press down on her.
Cascades of her wavy hair fall down the side of her face as she lifts her head and chest up slightly to let out a long, guttural moan that fills my own mouth and lungs. Her hips, on the other hand, push downward on me so that I can feel her weight give into me.
She wants this. By fucking God, she wants this.
Rivet’s small hands wrap around my wrist and press against the skin, and I happily give up. She’s got me, and fuck if I don’t enjoy being dominated. I’m always on the other end, but with her, I submit to whatever she wants. This girl can take me wherever she wants. I’ll ride with her.
Who the hell knows how long we stay in this position with our lips locked and loaded. Time feels like it’s going so slow and at full-power all at once. Even the sun threatens to peek out from behind the barred up window of the bedroom. But we don’t stop until she’s ready.
Rivet pulls away, her eyes still closed in a dream-like haze. She grins, her red puckered lips that are nearly swollen to double their size moving back toward me. But she moves past my head to my neck, nibbling at my collarbone and along the shoulder blade. The bumps on my skin spike as I feel the tiny edges of her teeth press down. She travels to my chest and follows the line of my naked chest bone to my stomach. Every bit of breath I had before sticks in my lungs when she finally lets go of my arms and uses her fingers to wrap around the waistband of my black boxer briefs.
I don’t help her slip them off to my mid-thighs. Somehow, that feels too wrong, too pushy even for an asshole like me. I want her to do this on her own; to take ownership of it.
Rivet, for her part, moves straight down the line of my leg to where my cock is already pulsating with want. She hovers over it, her hair tickling the skin. I prop myself up onto my arms just in time to see her eyes flutter open. She pauses for a second to gaze down at my naked body, her hands plastered to my hip bone, before moving her gentle, wet kisses to my package.
The warm touch of her mouth sets me on fire. I grab hold of the pillow next to my head and wring the fabric as tightly as I can. Each kiss becomes longer, and her mouth begins to widen until I can feel the hollow opening and the tip of her wet tongue on the top of my cock. My body goes numb, and I rock my head back into the metal headboard. I dare myself to not make a damn sound lest I wake her up from whatever dream she’s having, but as her mouth takes my member deep within, I groan one long note as deep as my stomach allows.
Her tongue dances over me like flames of a fire. It flickers back and forth, up and down in some kind of rhythm I can’t figure out. Just when I think she’s picked up speed, she slows down to an almost unbearable tease. It forces me to reach down to her with my fingers finding the curls of her hair. I grab hold of her reins, and this time I don’t let go. She fights against me as I pressure her to take me deeper. She wants to do this her way, and I’m powerless to her wants—not that I would care to change a damn thing. That chaotic, unpredictable movement has made my manhood come alive again.
I haven’t felt this way since… since Halloween. Every part of me feels alive and out of control all at the same time, and I don’t
want her to stop. I need to finish, but with each lick and suck, I worry that she won’t be able to complete the job.
I ease up slightly on my grip of her head and let the wild thing loose. She uses the palm of her hand to massage the bottom of my shaft while the other cups the bottom of my sack. My spine lifts up uncontrollably at the mix of sensations, and I close my eyes till I’m taken over by that warm, urgent feeling of want.
“Dammit… Rivet…” I plead, knowing I’m risking it all by opening my mouth. “Goddamn… I’m going to...” I pound an open hand on the wall behind me and wait for her to stop. She peels her lips off of me with a pop before sliding to my side. I take my cock into my hands and grip tight to the spot where her lips have burnt memories of herself into my flesh. My juices explode out of me seconds later, and I finally breathe again.
For a long while, we lay like this. My tired cock is hidden in my hand. Her head rests against my side, just out of view from me. I can tell from the impression against my skin that she isn’t smiling. Her face buries deeper into my skin, and I can’t bring myself to move just yet in case she needs me for protection.
Finally, with a stifled cry, she exclaims, “You probably think I’m a fucking whore, right?”
“What? Why the hell would you think that, Jane?” I purposefully say her real name, her original name.
“Rivet, Bishop. It’s Rivet. And I am one. Who in their right damn mind sucks off a guy after their boyfriend just dies? I mean, that’s fucked up—psychotic shit right there, right?” She lifts up onto her elbows with her stomach resting on the bed. Her dark eyes well up with thick, glossy tears that threaten to slide right out of her eyes, but they manage to hang along her eyelids as she scans me for some answer.
“No,” I say, my voice low. “If what you said is true—that you and he weren’t exactly in love and that he was treating you like shit—I don’t see why you need to be faithful to him or his memory. Viper was a … Well, he was a fucking jerk.”
I’m tiptoeing carefully here. I’ve got choice words about the guy that won’t necessarily make her feel any better. It was her choice to stay with him all this time.
“It’s not like he was ever faithful to me,” she admits. “He was always out with the other girls, non-club girls and the walkers on payroll. I was constantly worried that I was going to catch something from him running around on me. But I’ll give him this—I was always the girl he came home to. I guess, in club world, that’s something.”
“That’s not fucking anything. If he claimed you, he claimed you. You don’t take protection of a girl, move her into your pad, and then screw around with fucking prostitutes. That’s not how it goes.” I sit up a bit straighter at the thought of defending her honor. Someone doing her like that enrages me. She deserved better. She needs better.
“I wasn’t exactly perfect either.” Her eyes flutter down to the bed as she focuses on a piece of lint still stuck to the comforter. “I only did it once, but I cheated on him. It was Halloween night.” Rivet suddenly looks up at me, studying my face. Something feels off with her, but I can’t quite place it. Maybe she’s looking for me to condemn her. Maybe she’s looking for me to celebrate it.
Either way, I stay silent until she continues with a voice that is hoarse and low, “I made a damn mistake that night. I didn’t get to tell him, and now I never will.”
“Do you think he’d fess up to all the girls? Viper wouldn’t have told you if he had taken vows with you. You would have been just another knocked up, abused chick that hung on for nothing. You should’ve gotten out of it.”
Her lips press together tightly, and her cheeks curl up. I hear her push back a sound, maybe a whimper or a moan, but she composes herself within seconds.
“You’re right,” Rivet replies shakily. “You’re so right. Either way, he’s gone. And now I have to start over again.”
“Don’t think about that for now,” I try to reassure her. “It’s late… Or early, and we’ve got a lot to do tomorrow and the next day. Right now, all you need to concern yourself about is getting some sleep. We won’t talk about what happened here. It’s between you and me.”
I slide myself out of bed and head towards the bathroom. I flick on the light as I clean myself off, brushing the remains of what was leftover from her work on my cock. My head pounds thick beats against my temple as I try to replay the last hour. Her body on mine, her lips against mine, her hands around my cock… It all runs together in a thick smog of memories.
As they become a thing of the past, something to tuck back in the latter parts of my brain, I try to push down the feeling of wanting more of what I got. If that was a taste of what Rivet has to offer a guy like me, I want more.
Chapter Nine Rivet
I haven’t stayed in a single spot for more than a handful of nights in… Christ, it’s been weeks now. We only stay a few days at a given place, and then we’re on to the next one. Wherever we go, things feel completely off, but so many of the places look exactly the same—the same stainless steel refrigerator stocked with cans of cheap beer, bookshelves and tables piled high with ashtrays that haven’t been emptied in months, rugs with cigarette-burn holes in them, frayed and stale-smelling brown sofas. Occasionally, we even get a bed (though not very often), but even when we get that kind of luxury, I end up being forced to snuggle into Bishop’s arm. It’s the only thing I can get that even remotely resembles a pillow while clutching the comforter the boys brought off of my old bedroom set.
The thing is, no matter how far we travel, being “forced” is never quite how it feels. No one is forcing me to fall asleep listening to his heartbeats or to go slightly weak at the sight of him walking through the door after a long day of club work. No one is holding a gun to my head so that I’ll make him dinner or kiss him goodnight. They certainly don’t pressure me to go down on him like I did the first night… Or the next one after that… And all the other nights beyond.
I doubt the club even suspects. Bishop’s got a way about him that’s unreadable as a blank book. When we’re at club functions together, he keeps his distance and his face as muted as possible. No one dares crack a comment about it except to call him the Stone Giant—the wall between the club and the outside dangers that seem to present a new threat every single day.
He must be a mystery to the rest of the club as he is to me because the women ask about him almost non-stop. They peck at me like chickens to the roost as they ask about everything from the way he does his hair to if I’ve managed to get a peek at his junk. So far, no rumors about us—at least for now. They’ll come soon enough. Someone is bound to find out, no matter how stoic my Stone Giant is. They’ll talk.
He doesn’t though. We have talked a lot about life and our worlds after we last saw one another at the trailer parks. It’s funny how two people can be so different and yet still be led on nearly the same path. He had no plans like me after high school. The guy barely got through. This was his calling—just as living and breathing MC world called to me when I couldn’t keep up with college. It is in his blood, the life force of everything he is, and I can see how much it gives him life when he storms through the door at the end of the day with a grin the size of Texas on his face. Even with all the drama within the club, the boys testing if he really should be their president, this is what he is meant to do.
I know all of this, but I don’t know how he feels about me. I couldn’t even guess at this point. I could be just a convenient fuck for all I know. A lot of the boys keep them around. They’re steady girls who spread their legs at will. They aren’t claimed, and they know that the chances of them being linked to a guy permanently are slim to none. But this is what they like. They get all the perks of sleeping around with someone with power and privilege and none of the mess and heartbreak.
I was Viper’s girl for a long time, and in all that time, I put up with the same kind of shit—uncertainty, fear, abject terror—but I never felt as secure as I do now. I used to let Viper show up whenever he
wanted or call me over to his place at one or two in the morning with little expectations other than he wanted me on my knees. I look back at that now, and my stomach turns. Luckily, I don’t get that same feeling with Bishop. He’s different.
He hasn’t asked or told me to do anything. Most nights, we end up with our hands wrapped around the other’s body, and our lips somehow find one another between the pillows, sheets, and pieces of dirty shag carpeting. His fingers travel down the soft parts of my stomach and towards the elastic band of my tight pajama shorts. My breath hitches as he dives in, feeling his way around the darkest of my eager body parts. I become clay for him. He’s an expert at the act, forcing me to close my eyes and grab hold of whatever I can. I try to savor these moments for as long as they’ll last or until the sun comes up when we lie awake, staring at the plain white walls in silence.
After the start of the day, we go on like nothing had happened and that the weight between us is the background noise from the Carnivores. He updates me on the meetings, the fights with the boys, the challenges for my protection. I largely ignore it and listen to what he doesn’t say.
Today, I’m focused on how he stares at me as I make dinner. It’s been a few weeks now since the doctor confirmed I was knocked up. I charged out of his office like a banshee, unable to hear anything he said about prenatal vitamins and regular exercise. I didn’t even make a follow-up appointment at the nurse’s station. Seeing that little heartbeat rapidly flick across the screen of the ultrasound was more than I can take. The drumbeat drilled into my head and replays itself whenever I get a quiet moment like this, with Bishop sitting across from me at the counter watching me wordlessly.
HITMAN’S SURPRISE BABY: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Page 41