Lucky: Furious Skulls MC (A Bad Boy MC Biker Romance)

by Daniela Jackson

  “Good?” he rasps.

  “Good.” I scrape my nails down his back.

  Perfect. It’s everything I ever wanted in life—me, him, a nice meal. Love.

  Asher slides two of his fingers into me, stretching me. It stings, and I gasp at the painful fullness.

  “Relax, Michelle.” His voice is as dark as the abyss of hell.

  He likes me teeter between pain and pleasure. His lustful eyes say it all.

  I dig my heels into the tabletop as he pumps his fingers in and out, deeper and deeper. One of his fingers is enough to stretch me. With two of them inside me, it’s pure decadence. He adds his mouth to work my pussy. His tongue whips my clit furiously as his fingers wreck me.

  I start trembling. My moans crescendo and I shoot into silver forgetfulness with a scream. My orgasm rolls over me in liberating waves.

  It’s grey and blurry inside me and around me. My body falls down. Is shoved down.

  I realise I’m on my knees. My skull seizes with pain. The head of Asher’s cock forces its way into my mouth.

  “Michelle, open up.” His impatience sounds almost violently.

  I open my mouth wide for him and gag as his cock touches my throat.

  “Michelle, breathe.”

  He’s insane.

  But I want to obey. I want to feed that elemental insanity of his.

  I’m his wife. He’s my husband. I want to pleasure him.

  I dig my fingers into his thighs as he pumps his cock in and out. Tears prick my eyes. He’s too big.

  He holds my head in place and goes deeper. Faster. I gag again. A growl leaves his mouth like he’s contented.

  He drives his cock into my mouth so deep I can’t breathe. My body becomes taut as my cheeks hurt. I gag and feel his hot cum spurt down my throat. Asher pushes in two more times and pulls out. Saliva and his seed trickle down from the corner of my mouth. The musky taste of his come lingers on my tongue.

  Asher

  She scrambles to her feet and washes her face under the kitchen tap. I probably should feel guilty, but I don’t give a fuck. She’s my wife. She will suck me off and enjoy it as much as I do.

  I put my dick into my pants, wash my hands and check our lasagne. It’s almost ready. Michelle picks up her panties and disposes of them into the bin. I pull her into my arms.

  “We should do this more often,” I say.

  “If you enjoy my lack of skills.”

  “I enjoy you, Michelle.”

  “I’m not very experienced.”

  “You’re experienced enough. Perfect.”

  Her gleaming eyes lock on mine as a genuine smile raises the corners of her sweet mouth.

  I make a mental note—my wife needs compliments to be eager in bed.

  I shove her towards the table and she sits down. Five minutes later, my lasagne arrives on the table. I pull my wife into my lap and we start eating.

  “When are you going back to work?” she asks.

  “In a few weeks. I want to spend more time with you, make sure you’re alright.”

  “You could change your job. I have money…” Her voice cracks.

  This is going in the wrong direction. “We’ll talk about it later, okay? Now, eat. It’s cooling.”

  Michelle

  Asher goes to have a shower as I lie down on our bed. The satin duvet is cold against my skin. I’d prefer cotton to satin, but I can manage.

  Asher joins me, damp and naked. “Take your nightdress off.”

  “You mean?”

  “Yes, no barriers.” He tugs at my nightdress. “Always naked, Michelle.” He doesn’t ask. He orders, but I don’t mind.

  I remove my nightdress and then wiggle out of my panties.

  It’s like I’ve always imagined.

  Yes, I’ve always wanted to have a happy family. I can’t remember anything, but I know my dreams. Asher is my dream. His perfect muscular body sheltering mine is my dream.

  “We’re so happy together it’s almost impossible,” I say.

  “We’re happy together because we’re perfect for each other.”

  We kiss and grope and then fall asleep, clenched together like we’re one body. There’s no me. There’s the sensation of diffusing in the heat scented with male light sweat.

  Her voice wakes me up. Her words cause tears to flow from my eyes. Stupid cow. Stupid. Useless. I want you to die.

  Asher pulls me into his embrace. “A nightmare?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re safe with me.”

  “I know.”

  He tumbles us over so I’m on my side and his chest is pressed to my back. I yelp as he drives his cock into me from behind. My pussy clenches around his shaft that’s buried inside me to the root. I’m sure the head is touching my womb. It’s painful and arousing at the same time.

  “Better, isn’t it?” Asher says into my ear.

  “Much better.”

  Yes, I need him like this.

  He moves his hips against my ass. I’m so perfectly impaled on his cock, so full. Asher slides his hand under my knee and pulls it up. He pushes his cock deeper into me. Harder. I shudder and come violently with a moan. I feel myself spasm around him.

  “Oh God,” I gasp.

  “Our present and future.”

  He shoves me on my stomach and thrusts into me hard. His moans settle in my ears like a primal song of love.

  We have a nap.

  In the late morning, we get up and have breakfast. Asher takes me out to town. We have lunch in a nice café and then we do some shopping. I realise I have no wallet, but he tells me not to worry. He buys a phone for me and we step into a modern art gallery. Three hours later, we have dinner at our house. We fuck on the sofa and then on our bed. I’m so exhausted I fall asleep at once.

  When I wake up the next morning, my bottom is so sore I barely move. My muscles ache. Asher notices the wince on my face, but doesn’t seem to feel guilty at all. He flashes me a wide grin.

  “I can’t move,” I say.

  “That’s a good sign. That means I can take care of my wife.”

  I go to the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth. As I walk out, I hear Asher walking down the stairs. I rummage around the bedroom to find some comfortable clothes as the smell of fried food drifts up to my nostrils.

  My own piece of paradise.

  I could buy a bookshop and run it.

  I shake my head. What a strange thought.

  Pulling a t-shirt and a pair of shorts on, I go downstairs. Asher puts two plates on the table and piles them with the food that smells so delicious my mouth waters.

  “I’m putting on weight,” I say.

  Asher kisses me on the top of my head. “It won’t kill you.”

  “No, it’s a very good symptom. I don’t want to be skinny. I want to have breasts at last.”

  “You have really nice tits.”

  “And you’re such a prince charming.”

  “No, I’m not.” His face sharpens for an instant.

  I take his hand and place a kiss on his thumb. “We could go for a walk or something.”

  “Sure.”

  “We could talk about us. I want to know more about you.”

  “I’m a simple guy who wants a simple life.”

  “Come on. Women must throw themselves at you.” Something pricks my heart like a thorn. “Were you my first man?”

  “I was.”

  “But I wasn’t your first.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He plants a kiss on the nape of my neck.

  “Were you in any serious relationships before us—“

  “No, never. You’re my only relationship.”

  The tone of his voice tells me not to drill deeper so I focus on my food. Two hours later, we go for a walk. The area is very nice—white houses with perfect gardens, a hill topped with a two-century-old mansion, stables, and a shallow river with wooden bridges thrown over it in places.

  “So, tell me something about you?” I reach ou
t for Asher’s hand as we walk along a high stone wall. The path opens into a playground. “Your occupation?”

  “Computer scientist.”

  “Really?”

  “I am a nerd, but I prefer to be a bad boy. The bar brings a really decent income.”

  “But you’re good at computers so—“

  “So I deal with the accounting stuff.”

  “And that bouncer’s job?”

  “My hobby.”

  I exhale with relief. “I don’t want you to get beaten up.”

  “I always win.”

  “I’m sure, but—“

  “Don’t think about it.”

  I feel angry at the way he’s cut me off again.

  “Tell me about your dreams, Michelle.”

  “I want to have my own bookshop.”

  “That’s great. We could be business partners.”

  “I could buy something—“

  “But, we agreed to have kids first.”

  I look up in the sky as the sun’s rays filtering past the tree crowns blind me. “I want to have three kids. I like kids.”

  We pass the stables and walk along the river. A bridge leads us over to a skate park.

  Asher pulls me closer to him and kisses me on the top of my head. “I’m happy you said that,” he murmurs.

  Chapter 12

  Asher

  I take her back to our house and then I start cooking dinner. Somehow, she manages to help me, and I don’t even realise this. It’s like we can complement each other. We’re in sync and it’s a damn very good feeling. I want it to last forever but what if she realises she doesn’t need me?

  No fucking way.

  I leave her in the kitchen and sneak out of the house. I call a flower shop and order three bouquets.

  We eat and then we kiss. Kissing is good. Kissing is distracting. Finally, Michelle stops asking me questions and turns into a kitten that wants to be groomed.

  I have to put in a lot of effort in order not to drown in my lies. That’s really stressful so I need to fuck it off.

  Fucking is good. It makes my wife exhausted and limp.

  I bend my wife over the kitchen table and drive my cock into her from behind. I hit her cervix, forcing a whimper form her mouth and then fuck her fast and hard.

  Two hours later, the flowers are delivered and my wife is preoccupied with admiring them.

  Two weeks pass. We’re preoccupied with kissing, groping and cooking. Michelle asks me about my childhood and the life in the clubhouse. I tell her only the good stuff. She shouldn’t know about the bad stuff. Club business is none of her concerns.

  I kept Sabrina away from the shit, but she was too nosey. Always so nosey. Always so unhappy.

  Michelle doesn’t ask questions when she can see they shouldn’t be asked. I am the man here.

  She will be happy with me. That’s my main goal in life.

  I keep making my wife feel happy until I catch a cold. A fucking cold. With a high fever and shivers. Me? I’ve never had a cold.

  Lying on my bed, I order the food for us from the local pub, making my wife scrunch up her nose.

  “I could cook something,” she says with sarcasm.

  “You’d better spread your legs for me.”

  It’s 2.38 pm. Michelle has changed the bedding twice since I woke up. She perches on the bed, looking so cute in her tank top and tracksuit bottoms I want to eat her. She hands me a glass of water.

  “Drink it,” she orders.

  I empty it in a few gulps and put it on the bedside cabinet. “Now, you strip,” I say as a coughing fit strangles me.

  She watches me with concern until I stop coughing and then she removes her clothes and underwear and slips under the comforter. I crawl on top of her and push my hard dick into her heat. Dizziness pins me down and I feel breathless. Fuck. I can’t. I pull out of her and my dick refuses to cooperate.

  Fucking hell.

  I sweep my hand furiously as it nudges the glass. The sound of it shattering against the floor makes Michelle shudder.

  “Asher.”

  I feel fucking embarrassed by my performance or the lack of it.

  “Asher, that’s no big deal.”

  “I can fuck my wife.” Anger creeps into my voice as I roll over on my side.

  “Yes, you can.” She clings to my back, “but today you’re unwell, and you need to rest.” She kisses my shoulder. “I’d stay with you even if you were in the wheelchair without your dick.”

  I turn to face her. “Why would you do that?”

  “I love you. You, Asher, not your appearance, not your skills. You. The goodness in you.”

  I feel like something has struck against my skull. “You sure?”

  No woman has ever told me I was a good person. I feel kind of stunned and then proud of myself.

  She bursts into laughter. “Sleep. I’ll clean up the broken glass.”

  The real meaning of her words tears its way to my boiling brain. “I don’t have to be a perfect husband? That’s what you wanted to say?”

  She looks at me like I’m a lunatic. “Nobody’s perfect. I’m not perfect and you love me so you don’t have to be perfect to earn my love.” She slips away from the bed and picks up her bra and panties.

  I watch her dress up as something strong and unbreakable is born inside of my chest.

  So, this is what in sickness and in health, for better and for worse feels like. Michelle and I have it in life. It’s a rare and fragile thing, so I’m gonna protect it at all costs.

  I allow myself to fall asleep. I allow myself to be lazy until the next morning when I open my eyes and feel much better.

  Blaze calls me and demands that I attend church. His voice is serious so I kiss my wife’s forehead, shove a phone into her hand and tell her to go to bed as early as she can.

  “I’ll be back after midnight,” I say.

  “I can manage.”

  “Don’t you dare touch yourself, Michelle.”

  Her cheeks tint with a bright red.

  “I want you to be very greedy for me,” I say.

  I grow hard just thinking of her tight cunt.

  I walk out of the house and close the door behind me. A sense of doom brushes against the back of my neck.

  Michelle

  His bike roars off. I wait until the cloud of steel fumes dissipates and I step back into the house. I tidy up the kitchen and dust the hall downstairs. Music is playing in the kitchen and I start singing with the vocalist. I realise I like being a housewife.

  I love being Asher’s wife.

  My nipples harden as my pussy pulses at the memory of his fierce touch and wild kisses.

  It’s 5 p.m.

  The front door creaks open and I shudder at the sound. I spin as my eyes travel to the figure sneaking in. It’s a woman. She’s as tall as a model and has long blonde hair with almond highlights.

  “Who the fuck are you?” she hisses as her electric blue eyes shoot lightning towards me.

  We both freeze. Our glances clash again. The woman looks me up and down like I’m a lower being to her.

  “This is my house,” I say, feeling guilty for some mysterious reason.

  “This is my house, you slut.” The woman passes me like I’m invisible. The smell of her oriental perfume envelops me. She peers into the living room. “Asher?”

  “Hey,” I growl as I follow her. My heart pounds in my chest, and I feel my throat tighten.

  The woman stops and turns to face me. “Get out.”

  “I’m going to call the police.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “This is my house.” My hands rise dramatically as tears prick my eyes.

  “This is my house, bitch. And Asher is my husband. Get out.”

  I feel like I’m falling into a cold chasm. “Asher is my husband.”

  “Really?” She picks up our wedding photo from the side table as her jaw muscles twitch and her jaw drops open. “Son of a bitch.” She looks at me with da
rk eyes. “What the fuck is going on here? This is Franco’s job.” She waves the photo up and down furiously, almost throwing it at my face. “What a fucking dick. I can’t believe it. And you… you’re just…”

  “I don’t understand.” It comes out in a screech. “He said—“

  “He’s a fucking liar. Who are you?”

  “I’m Michelle Connon.”

  “Like hell. Asher and I are not divorced yet.”

  “Who… are you?”

  “Sabrina Connon. Asher’s wife. His only wife.”

  I start trembling. Nausea courses through my stomach. I walk over to the kitchen and throw up into the kitchen sink. Acid burns my throat. Tears blind me. I throw up again with a groan leaving my mouth. I retch, throw up, retch. Shake like the temperature has dropped massively.

  I rinse my mouth with water and turn to face Sabrina. “Can we talk for a moment?”

  Her face softens. “Sure. I’m very intrigued to be honest.”

  Asher

  I enter the bar and see Abramo. He’s seated on the couch. A blonde chick is sitting in the wheelchair next to him. Her hair is dyed—a platinum-blonde shade, but her bob frames her olive face perfectly, giving her brown eyes a mysterious gleam. The hairs on my back rise as my eyes travel back to Abramo. The dick never visits us. His men have been here a few times.

  “Shall we?” Blaze gestures for us to go to the office.

  Tasha offers the blonde girl a drink as I pass them.

  We walk out of the bar and then move across the garden towards the building that accommodates our office. It was the servants’ place until the beginning of the twentieth century. The office is situated downstairs while our armoury room is upstairs.

  Hale and Brass join us.

  We enter the office and I see Monk seated in his chair. Everyone takes a seat. Blaze starts our church.

  “So, what’s the problem?” Blaze asks as his eyes fix on Abramo.

  Abramo grins. “It depends.” He puts his hands on the table and clenches them together. His prosthetic hand scrapes against the table. “I was thinking, Blaze. I was thinking a lot. You’re a good trustworthy business partner, but maybe you want to be clean in the future?”

  “We respect our deal,” Blaze says.

  “But, you’d prefer to be clean,” Abramo finishes for my president. A fox-like grin crosses his face. “I understand that and I have a great deal of respect for you.” He nods several times. “I need a man.”