by Zoey Parker
He pushed his hips up, signaling me to accept more of him in my mouth, and I obliged. I took as much as I could, sucking and lathing, and he groaned his approval. There was no way I was going to be able to fit all of him in my mouth, so I kept my hands busy with the lower part of his shaft and played gently with his balls as well. He put a hand into my hair and pumped himself up and down with his hips while I worked him as best I could.
I could feel myself dripping down my thighs—he tasted amazing. I was in pure response mode. I hummed my own pleasure, and I could sense him re-adjusting a pillow behind his head. I peeked up, and sure enough, he was watching me work him over, his face fierce with desire, lips apart, lids lowered.
“Fuck, Ellie, yeah, baby.”
I smiled briefly and continued my attentions. By this time, I also had one hand down in my own panties. I don’t know when it got there, but he noticed.
He did a half sit-up, reached down to my side, and pulled my lower half until I had turned direction and he had my pussy over his face. “Fuck. I love your scent.”
Then he ripped my panties! Right off my body! And—praise God and all that exists—he suckled my clit. I threw my head back and gasped.
After a moment, he chuckled. “Focus, babe. Keep going.”
Oh, yeah. I had a toy, too.
We went at each other for…I had no idea for how long. It was amazing. It was the best thing outside of normal intercourse I had ever experienced. I had my mouth and senses filled with him, he had his with me. Our combined scents and groans and whimpers filled the air. My nerve center in his mouth was shooting off sparks that filled my whole body, and having his gorgeous cock to suck on only intensified the pleasure.
I could feel my body writhing on top of his. I clasped his legs with both hands over my head, bracing myself above him, rising and falling and sucking with my mouth, as his suckled and nipped and swathed my clit and my lower lips, his fingers busy exploring and pumping in and out of my pussy, and suddenly I was on the edge.
He intensified his actions even more, somehow, and that was it.
I released his cock and threw my head back. I couldn’t refrain from keening and bucking.
Then the whole cosmos exploded.
He flipped me over onto my back and was on top of me in seconds, allowing me to relax and drift back down in my time. He used it to reacquaint his mouth with my breasts and nipples again, his hands down at my ass and hips, massaging my softness.
Damn, that felt good. I drifted back to myself, and when I opened my eyes, I found Jack’s lasers on my face, watching, waiting. He hadn’t come yet, and his intensity was fierce, but he was showing extreme patience.
He licked his lips. “More, baby.”
“Yeah.” I breathed.
He reached over to his bedside table, slipped open the drawer, pulled out a foil square. He made quick work of putting on the glove, and came right back to where I lay. I hadn’t moved a muscle yet, so he resumed his place between my thighs.
He stayed on his knees, sat back on his heels, and urged me up. Once there, I propped my arms on top of his shoulders and he guided me down onto his big cock. My juices were running freely, and he eased in slowly, allowing us both fully to feel our joining. Our eyes were locked, our breaths shared, our skin slick with combined perspiration, our scents swirled together.
His length and thickness filled me more than any man I’d ever been with, and the initial penetration was a slow process. I loved the feel of him, and it took all my focus for long moments. By the time he finally got in as far as he could go, my head had fallen back again and I mewled. It just felt so incredible.
He gave me that moment, then growled, “Move, Ellie.” He wouldn’t let me back down.
I lifted my head again and got my legs and hips to work, sliding back up, feeling every inch as he came out slowly, then reversed direction just before we would have disengaged. I refused to go fast, just enjoying the sensation of his big cock losing and then taking up every bit of space inside of me. Our pelvises worked in tandem, and we both turned our eyes down to watch the progress—pumping, taking, merging—over and over again.
My breath began to hitch again as my nerves started to wind up. Sounds were escaping me, but I couldn’t control them. He started to go faster, his greater strength guiding my body up and down on his. By this time, my eyes were locked back onto his, my entire being focused on sensation.
The position eventually proved unsatisfactory to him, and once again he flipped us to a new one: this time, he was on his back and I was riding him, hard. I braced my hands on his chest, and my breasts were bouncing with every motion, but I couldn’t get enough. He brought a thumb to my clit and pressed it in circles, and I about lost my mind…but not quite enough, yet.
“More,” I nearly begged.
“Lean back, put your hands on my legs.”
Oh. This was new to me. I tried it.
Wow.
I had a harder time controlling the movement, but Jack must have known this would be the case. He did more of the work now, holding me steady, pumping hard. I could feel him in places I didn’t know were possible—was this that G spot everyone talked about?—and I just wanted it to go on and on and on…
I started to really need to come again.
“Ja—! Uhn—uhn—hn, Ja—” I couldn’t even say his name.
“Come on, baby, get there.”
I think I cried out helplessly, needfully. The position was amazing, but my arms were not wanting to support me any longer and I was struggling.
“I got you, baby. Hold on.”
And he flipped us again. This time, doggie style. I just about cried with relief, collapsing my upper body onto the bed and raising my ass to welcome him in from behind.
“Oh, yeah, Ellie. Gorgeous.”
He found his way inside again easily, holding my hips in his big hands, and with a more firm sense of control over our motions and the pumping action, he quickly brought me back to the edge of oblivion. He was driving fast and hard, grunting. I was gasping and mewling and desperate for release. Then he gave my clit his fingers again, and that was it.
I was gone into the sea of stars and nirvana.
As if from far away, I felt him drive only a few times more, and heard his final roar of release. Then he, too, collapsed, his arms on either side of me, his body stretched on top of my back.
It took us both several long moments to come back, and when we did, he rolled us both together onto our sides, so that he didn’t have to disengage immediately, but he was no longer putting all his weight on me.
After some time had passed, and we were both breathing evenly again, he whispered, “Don’t move” in my ear, disengaged from me, and got up briefly to get rid of the condom.
When he came back, he had brought a damp washcloth to clean me up. I don’t know where he picked up that idea, because in my experience, men only did that in romance novels. But he really did that. Could he get any better?
Apparently, yes. He climbed back into bed and re-spooned me. We just breathed, for several beautiful, long minutes.
And as I drifted off to sleep, I thought, in the back of my mind, that maybe this could be a real marriage. Maybe we were meant to be. Maybe he was my One.
When I woke up the next morning, he wasn’t there. But he had left a note on the pillow, and I smiled as I unfolded it, thinking it sweet of him not to wake me when he had to get up early.
Then I read the note.
Sorry. It won’t happen again. Promise. – J.
Chapter 19
Jack
I was living in hell. The past few days, I was spending most of my time at the shop or at the MC compound. I’d been drinking at night, trying not to think, and my days were spent suffering from the constant hangover.
It had only been two weeks, and I wasn’t sure if I could survive another five and a half months doing the same thing. But I couldn’t think of a better way to deal.
Obviously, I was avoidin
g going home, doing my best to steer clear of Ellie.
That night of our wedding was probably the single best night of my life.
Knowing that it was a one-off, that it would never be repeated—not any single part of it—that sucked balls.
What made it even worse was that thinking about her, looking at her, and knowing she was near had me in a constant state of semi- to full-on arousal. I had quickly realized that it was far healthier for me to avoid her and stay away from the house. I figured it was only for six months; I could do it.
There were several issues at stake, from my perspective. First and foremost, as my hard dick was an undeniably insistent motherfucker, was the sex issue. If I wasn’t going to have sex with Ellie, should I try to ease my constant hard-on with some other chick?
I considered looking to any of the variety of club bunnies to scratch my itch and unload my cock and blue balls. The bunnies were easy, readily available, and usually drama-free options.
But the thought of being with anyone not Ellie was strangely unappealing. It wasn’t about any traditional don’t-cheat-on-your-wife thing—though cheating had never been a part of who I was.
I never attached, so I could never be accused of cheating. I didn’t lie about it. Lying is work. I just preferred my freedom, lived moment-to-moment how I wanted, and made no promises to any woman. Life was easier that way.
But I had made promises to Ellie. And I’d broken the most important one once already. I swore—to her in the note, and to myself in my mind, on a daily basis—that I wouldn’t break it again.
The promise I had made to her in the wedding vows—I couldn’t make up my mind about how serious I was going to be about that. There was a case to be made that, since we both agreed not to sleep with each other, we should both be free to sleep with other people, if we so chose.
And that thought pissed me right, the fuck, off. The idea of her being with another man—that was unacceptable. My blood boiled just at the thought.
In fairness, I figured I ought not to consider being with another woman, and that I should make my thoughts on this issue explicitly understood by Ellie, ASAP. My MC brothers would have laughed at me if they knew I was seriously considering six months of celibacy—which is not something I had ever practiced or experienced before.
But fuck that. This was not about my rep or about what happened in MC culture. What it boiled down to was that I didn’t want Ellie to be with another man, and I myself didn’t want another woman—not any other woman.
Truth.
So, it looked like it would be celibacy for the next five and a half months.
I could do it. I could. But it sure as hell was not going to be fun.
Considering my acute reaction to Ellie every time I got near her, the obvious conclusion was that it was best I steer clear of her until the six months were over, and she got her money and we could both move on.
That was the mission.
Whenever I did happen to cross paths with her, going back to the house for clothes or something, it was awkward as hell. It was exactly what we were aiming not to deal with, thus the agreement not to complicate things with sex. Before I had gone and fucked it all up on our wedding night.
It was the best worst mistake I’d ever made.
But I was paying for it ever since—and would be, for who knew how long. That cost might go on for years: a forever-awkward tension between myself and little Peter’s mama.
Jeezus, is this what it was like to be a baby-daddy who split with his baby-mama? How many families went through this shit? Fuck. Avoiding this mess had been the whole purpose of the agreement.
Now that I had already gone and fucked it up, there was a part of me that tried to argue that continuing to fuck it up—and thereby, continuing to get to fuck the delectable, beautiful, insanely hot woman I wanted—would be no worse than what I had already done, so why not continue the course, at least for the six months we were going to remain married?
There was actually a line of sense in there. It was buried, but it was in there.
But I knew that wasn’t what Ellie wanted. She wanted nothing more to do with me. She’d made that much very clear, with her silent censure. Crystal.
I had no idea what had been going through Ellie’s mind in the couple of weeks since the explosion. —And yeah, that was what I was calling it. It seemed apt.
Now, she barely spoke to me. She walked around me as if she were on eggshells. She rarely looked me in the eye. She wasn’t rude, but she was short with the small talk, which suited me just as well, too. And she had stopped smiling at me altogether.
When she blushed—which still happened—I knew it wasn’t something she could control. Then she’d avoid eye contact that much more, and she got a fierce look on her face, like she was angry with herself. I could hardly blame her. I had a similar problem, but mine was only slightly easier to hide under cover of untucked shirts.
All in all, it was a fucking miserable situation.
# # #
“Jack-o, man, you got a call! Line two, it’s Ellie!” Trini’s voice was like a drill in my skull. —But wait, Ellie was calling me? Shit, something had to be wrong. She wouldn’t be calling me otherwise. I knew that in my gut.
I picked up, fast as. “Ellie? What’s wrong?”
“He’s gone. Peter’s gone! I don’t know wher—“
“What the fuck do you mean, Peter’s gone? How can—“
“I don’t know! He’s not here! I put him down an hour ago, then was doing laundry and cleaning up, and I came back in here, and—“
“Is he crawling yet? Did he start? Did you look in the closet, in the hall—“
“Jack! No! He’s gone! As in, he’s not in his basket, he’s not in the bed, he’s not in the hou—“
“Well where the fuck could he—“
“Stop yelling at me! Jack, please. Help me find my baby. Just, help me—“
“Stay there. I’m coming. Be there in five.”
As I grabbed my keys and wallet from my desk, I yelled out to Grath, who had obviously overheard and was already at my office door, looking like he was about to bust some balls, “I’m going back to the house. Ellie’s totally freaked. Peter’s missing. Call the boys, get ’em over there. If Peter’s been taken, we ride. Can’t think but it must be McAfee. We gotta canvas, or something.”
“On it.” And he was gone.
I ran out the door to my bike, and I made it home in four.
Chapter 20
Ellie
I’d never in my life been so scared. Twenty-six hours, and nothing. Not a peep. No baby sounds, no cries, no gurgles, no groans. No Peter. I was about to rip my hair out and absolutely lose my fucking mind.
The whole MC was out in force—and had been, ever since yesterday, when they all came pouring into the front yard, about ten to fifteen minutes after I had first called Jack at the shop. They all came running, like Peter was their own. That still amazed me. But I didn’t get lost in that thought—the crushing reality of my baby missing from the house, from my life, took priority over anything else that was going on.
I was a mess—all anxiety mixed with zombie, going through the motions because there was nothing else I could do. I wasn’t mindfully present. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, could barely answer questions.
Every time the phone rang, I jumped. Every time I heard a bike or a car pull up, I ran to the door, throwing it open, hoping against hope that it would be someone—anyone—with news of my baby, of where he was, how he was, when I would have him back.
Nothing. Not a goddamned peep.
We all figured it had to have been psycho Brian who had taken my baby, when I was in the laundry area inside the garage. It was the only rationale that made sense of Peter’s absence.
We told the cops, when they came yesterday, the whole sordid story. It took freaking forever to tell, and they were here about five hours making sure they were getting all the details, and dusting my room and the doors to the house
and all over the place for any fingerprints that Brian might have left, just to confirm it was him.
All that time, and I was about crawling out of my skin. Brian—presuming it was him—had my baby. Peter was not well, he needed me. He needed me to eat. He needed me to watch over him, he needed me to love him, to always be there for him, and he didn’t have me now. He had crazy-as-fuck Brian McAfee, who didn’t know about Peter’s special needs as a preemie with a heart condition. He didn’t know what signs or symptoms to look for should Peter grow ill. He didn’t know my baby, he didn’t love my baby. What kind of care could he possibly be giving to Peter? Oh, God—was Peter still even…