Spike: Satan's Disciples MC

by Zoey Parker

  He nipped at her with his teeth, and Georgia hissed, tightening her grip on his hair and pulling him away. Spike surged upwards, grabbing Georgia around the waist and pushing her against the counter. He wanted her to know he was in charge here, and that she was his whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, wherever he wanted.

  Forcibly ripping open the button on her pants, Spike roughly pulled them down, Georgia’s white thong almost coming down with them.

  Spike stayed down on his knees, looking at the virginal underwear. Never had he wanted to tear something off of a woman so badly. Squashing this impulse, Spike slowly stood up, and gently placed Georgia on the counter.

  Georgia was growing more and more confused with each passing second. Spike kept going back and forth between soft and hard, rushing and taking his time. It was like he was trying to make sure this lasted as long as possible.

  She’d had visions of Spike drunkenly panting on top of her while she prayed for him to hurry up, but never had she expected him to caress every square inch of her skin. Or for him to stare at the most inner part of her with such intense desire. His gaze was so deep it frightened Georgia a little.

  She self-consciously tried to close her legs, to block his view, but Spike put up his hands to stop her, tracing his fingers along the insides of her thighs. Georgia shivered with pleasure and Spike patiently eased her knees apart again, kissing them.

  He slid his hands up Georgia’s legs, smoothing them over her hips, his thumbs dipping down to lightly brush against the top of her pussy through the silk fabric of her thong. Spike hesitated for only a second before firmly pressing upwards, right where he knew her clit would be.

  Georgia’s body went rigid, then immediately limp as he pulled his fingers away. Georgia panted heavily in shock.

  As suddenly as Spike’s fingers had left her, they were back, pulling her underwear to the side so that his tongue might join them in plying Georgia’s hot, wet pussy with such heady sensations she thought she was going to pass out.

  He dragged his tongue the full length of her in long, slow strokes, building Georgia up higher and higher. Any confusion she had previously felt was now forgotten, along with almost everything she had ever known in life. Nothing existed for Georgia except Spike’s hands and mouth.

  Spike stepped back, and Georgia whimpered at the loss of sensations that threatened to overwhelm her. Holding out a hand, he helped Georgia off of the counter and followed her to the bedroom.

  Georgia climbed onto the bed, feeling awkward. Spike had just made her feel good, like, really good. Now was usually the time when Rocco would say it was her turn to go down on him, but Georgia wasn’t sure if that was what Spike wanted. Maybe he just wanted to have sex now.

  She hesitantly reached for his belt buckle, but Spike stayed her hand once again. “Don’t you want to…” Georgia trailed off, feeling horribly inexperienced and embarrassed.

  “What I want to do right now, more than anything, Georgia,” Spike said seriously, “is to get an up close and personal look at that ass of yours.”

  Georgia smiled uncertainly. “What do you want me to do?” she asked. Part of her was enjoying being bossed around.

  Spike, sensing that, dropped his voice to a menacing whisper. “Lie face down,” he ordered.

  Georgia did as she was told, adrenaline flooding her body with anticipation. She felt Spike moving around on the bed behind her and then his hands on her hips again.

  He slid his fingers under the silk, lace waistband and tugged gently, slipping the thong down her legs. Spike leaned forward, cupping Georgia’s ass with both hands, admiring its perfect bubble shape.

  Spike had always considered himself to be a breast man, but Georgia had him wondering if all these years he’d been missing out. Settling between her legs, Spike lay down to get an intimate look at Georgia.

  He reached out with his fingers, lightly flicking her clitoris with his middle finger. Georgia ground her hips into the bed in response. Spike decided he liked that very much. He did it again.

  Spike drew small circles around Georgia’s most sensitive part, noticing how her body mimicked the movement his hands made. He turned his face, licking the V where Georgia’s thigh and pussy met.

  Georgia groaned loudly. She was beginning to tremble, her body unable to handle the sensations Spike’s tongue was eliciting from her. A hot point in the pit of Georgia’s stomach pulsed, sending out little sparks to her every nerve ending.

  It wasn’t as though Georgia had never had an orgasm before, but certainly not one that seemed like it started at her fingertips and worked its way inward.

  Every stroke of Spike’s tongue, every finger he pressed inside her, every time he whispered her name, Georgia got closer and closer to that all-encompassing point. Her heart pounded, her blood surged, and Georgia thought she was going to explode, bigger and brighter than any Fourth of July fireworks.

  Spike sat up and wiped his face, smiling at Georgia’s limp, satisfied body. He guaranteed she’d never been eaten out like that before. Her reactions alone were enough to confirm that. Spike actually felt a little bad for her. She was obviously a good person; it was shitty she’d never been treated like it.

  Yeah, well, the world’s funny that way, isn’t it? Spike heard that same voice sarcastically say. He shook the thought clear as Georgia began to stir.

  She rolled over lazily, giving Spike the opportunity to leisurely gaze at her perfect body. He was still rock hard, and a large part of him ached to lay his body across hers, to plunge himself deep within her. Another part, however, was perfectly content just to look at her and know he gave her the easy smile that now crossed her face.

  The stress of the day combined with the absolute release Georgia had just experienced was a powerful sedative. Georgia was determined to follow through with her end of the bargain—partially for her brother, and partially to see what other wonders Spike would be able to perform on her body—but she was fading fast.

  Her eyelids were fluttering once more, but this time from exhaustion, Spike noted. Impulsively, he kicked off his boots and lay in the bed next to her. Georgia immediately rolled over, throwing an arm over his chest and a leg over his hip.

  He froze with his hands in the air, with no clue of where to put them or what to do next. Georgia took one of his palms and placed it so that Spike was firmly cupping one buttock. The other she moved so that it was resting in her thick, wild hair.

  Sighing happily, Georgia settled against Spike, and within minutes, was gently snoring.

  Spike, for his part, still had no idea what he was doing. Was he really going to spend the night here? In a house his mortal enemy had already shot up once before, with a woman he had just spent the last half hour eating out, only to end up with blue balls in return.

  He looked at Georgia. After listening to her snap at him all night long, she was so peaceful now as she slept in his arms, but Spike needed to return to the gang and give them instructions to set up surveillance on Ivan.

  He moved slightly, trying to pull his arm out from under her, but she only held onto him tighter.

  “Spike…” Georgia sleepily whispered. “Stay, please.”

  Spike doubted Georgia even knew she was talking, let alone what she was saying, but for once in his life, Spike did as he was told. He carefully sat up, making sure not to wake Georgia as he stripped off his shirt.

  Lying back down, Spike gathered Georgia in his arms once more, smiling as he drifted off to join her in dreamland.

  Chapter Five

  Spike awoke suddenly. He looked around wildly, searching for whatever had woken him so abruptly. He didn’t recognize where he was, but then that wasn’t uncommon for him. The beginnings of morning light filtered through the curtains, softly illuminating the room. Spike looked down next to him and saw a mass of brown hair that seemed to have exploded during the night.

  Last night! Spike remembered frantically.

  Memories came flooding back to him. Georgia and her fri
end walking into Joe’s; realizing Georgia was about as far from a biker babe as you could get; kissing her in the back office, feeling her kiss him back; feeling her wrap her arms tight around him as she rode on the back of his Harley; lapping at her sweet pussy from behind as he gripped her perfect ass.

  Spike felt his cock begin to stir once again as he remembered eating Georgia out. Never had he known a woman could taste so good. He thought he could have her breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and still be hungry for dessert.

  He started to slowly inch his way down the bed, thinking he could wake Georgia up by having some breakfast in bed. Spike gently slid the sheet down her naked body, growing harder by the second.

  Georgia shifted, murmuring in her sleep. Spike froze; after an entire night of eating the girl out, that was how he wanted to start his day?

  Spike was not what Cleo, or any of the other women he’d been with, would call a generous lover. Of course he was always willing to help get a lady going, but even Spike would agree: he was never overly concerned with who finished first, as long as he got to finish.

  So, spending that much time face-first in a vagina was more than a little odd for him.

  Why did I do that last night? Spike wondered, staring at the beige carpet on Georgia’s floor. She’s supposed to fuck me for help with Ivan, not use me as her personal vibrator! She manipulated me! Deep down, he knew that wasn’t true. He had been the one to initiate things with her. He had been the one to set her up on the counter, hell, he had practically thrown himself to his knees to get to her. If the gang had seen him, they would have said he was whipped, which he was most certainly not.

  Spike stood up angrily, not caring if he woke Georgia. He hurriedly put on his pants, quickly followed by his socks and shoes. He grabbed his shirt, throwing it on as he walked into the living room.

  Spike refused to look at the kitchen, secretly afraid that if he saw the countertop it would cause him to run back into Georgia’s bedroom and dive beneath the covers head first. He stormed to the door and ripped it open, slamming it behind him. A moment later, he had started his bike and was roaring down the street, headed for downtown, letting the wind blow his thoughts away.

  He killed the engine as he pulled up; everyone in Satan’s Disciple was a heavy sleeper, usually passing out versus actually going to sleep, but Spike wanted to be especially careful of waking a certain someone.

  Satan’s Disciples—most of them, anyway—lived in a large, decrepit house that had about a million things on its to do list. Cleo slept in Spike’s bed more nights than not, but he doubted he would find her there now. Worse, he was surprised to find he wasn’t all that upset about it.

  He had been rocking at least a quarter-staff for the last twelve hours, yet he had zero desire to go upstairs and find Cleo and convince her to help him take care of it. He considered jerking off, but that felt incredibly juvenile. Plus, Spike had a strong suspicion that even if he did handle it himself, it was the sort of hard-on that could only be solved by burying it into the hot, sweet pussy of a fiery woman.

  He had complicated things for himself by leaving so abruptly, he realized. Georgia was most likely going to be more than a little upset that he had bailed on her. She had worried that he was going to fuck her and leave, and that was pretty much exactly what he had done. He cursed at himself. Fucking idiot! The whole point was to get Georgia to give herself up willingly to him; that was the only way this thing with Ivan was worth it. He seriously doubted she would be so willing when she woke up alone this morning.

  Spike adjusted the front of his pants and walked into the house. He went up the stairs, cringing at every squeak the wooden floorboards made. Taking a peek through the door crack, Spike saw his bed was empty. Good. He hurriedly kicked off his shoes and climbed into bed, sighing with relief. He needed sleep. Sleep would make things clearer. Spike was just a little confused right now, but a good night’s rest would put him right back on top, where he belonged. He was sure of it.

  Spike rolled onto his side, punching his pillow to flatten it out. This made his elbow uncomfortably dig into the bed, so he flipped onto his stomach. This wasn’t good either—now he felt like his airflow was restricted. He lay on his back again; it was how he usually slept. But no matter what he tried, he could not remember how he positioned his hands. Everything seemed awkward and wrong. Spike tiredly wondered if someone had stuck a green bean under his pillow, or whatever that old fairy tale was.

  He lay there, tossing and turning, waiting for the sleep that never came. He listened as the house began to slowly wake and move around him.

  Spike heard Tiny in the room next door get up, heading to spend his habitual twenty minutes in the bathroom before going downstairs to make a giant pan of hash browns and sausage. It was first come, first served, and Spike was always served first, but this morning he had no appetite.

  There was a loud knock on the door.

  “Go away!” Spike called as he stared at the ceiling, his hands behind his head.

  The door opened anyway, and Spike mentally cursed never having gotten around to putting a lock on it.

  “Where the fuck have you been all night?” Cleo stood at the foot of his bed, one hand on her hip.

  Spike audibly groaned. “Can we not do this?” he begged her. “I got no sleep.”

  “Gee, I wonder fuckin’ why,” she said with a mocking innocence. “Could it be because you spent the whole night dick-deep in some cager?” Cager was a biker term for a person who drove a car.

  “You know, you sound like a real bitch when you’re jealous, Cleo,” Spike said, not bothering to ask Cleo how she knew Georgia and Stacy had been lying.

  He sat up on his elbows to glare at her. This was an old fight of theirs, and an exhausting one, in Spike’s opinion. It was getting worse and worse every time, and Spike was starting to have trouble justifying them.

  Is what I have with Cleo worth tiring myself out over and over again over a situation that will never be resolved? It obviously wasn’t worth enough to him that he was willing to give up other women, or he would have by now. Think of the gang, he reminded himself.

  Whatever he decided about Cleo, today wasn’t a good day for fighting. Today, he had to tell Satan’s Disciples that they would be going after Ivan. It wasn’t something he was looking forward to.

  Figuring he might as well get the worst of it over with, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up to face Cleo. “I’ve decided we’re going after Ivan,” he told her as he pulled on his jeans.

  She went still, her beautiful face rigid with shock. Spike knew the shock would soon wear off and become anger.

  “You’re doing what?” she cried disbelievingly.

  There it is, Spike thought, amused. He carefully constructed a confused look on his face. “What?” he asked innocently. “I’m just doing what you suggested. Last night at Joe’s you said we needed to do something about Ivan. I decided you’re right.”

  Cleo stared at him. “I said we needed a plan! I didn’t say we get ourselves killed!” she hissed.

  “I got a plan,” Spike said distractedly, searching for a semi-clean shirt in the various piles of clothing on the floor. Finding one, he pulled it over his head. “We go after Ivan.”

  “That’s not a plan, Spike! What’s going on?” she accused, suddenly suspicious. “Last night you were preaching safety and precaution, and now you’re talking about…” Cleo stopped abruptly. “Does this have something to do with that girl? What were you two talking about the back office? If you were talking, that is,” she added derisively.

  Spike gave Cleo a hard look. “Did you forget what fucking patch you were wearing?” he asked viciously.

  Striding over to her, Spike grabbed Cleo by the elbows, pushing her back until she was pressed up against the wall. He turned her around roughly, ripping her leather vest off one arm at a time. Ignoring her protests, he spun her back to face him, shoving the vest in her face.

  Cleo shoved her hair out of h
er eyes to see the Satan’s Disciples patch staring right at her. Spike’s finger was meaningfully pointed at the empty space near the top. Wrenching his own vest from the back of the door, Spike showed Cleo his patch.

  “Right fucking there, Cleo,” Spike said, pointing at the word Leader stamped across it. “I’m the leader, not you. That means I make the decisions, and I don’t have to tell you jack shit why, got it?” Spike crept close, his thrice broken nose inches away from Cleo’s proud, straight one. “You let me know next time you need a reminder,” he threatened.

  Thinking that was that, Spike stormed his way down the stairs, hoping he would be able to still get some sausage. He realized he was starving. So focused on the food was he, that he never noticed Jinx stealthily creeping out of Vince’s room.