HOGTIED: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Satan's Chaos MC)

by Nicole Fox

  “I just did. Marry me. Be my wife forever.”

  “You’re serious?” Her face lost all humor. “You’re really serious?” A grin broke out across her face.

  “Of course I’m serious.”

  “Yes! Yes!” She covered his face in kisses and he thought that in that moment, life could not get any better.

  As she kept kissing him, he started to get hard again. He wanted her so badly, he could lie here all night taking her again and again.

  She moved her hips back and forth, feeling that he was getting hard again. “Mmm. Round two?”

  “Of at least five or six.” He took her hips and ground them back and forth on his dick.

  “Perfect.”

  She moved in a circular motion, speeding up as he became fully hard again. Every time she moaned, he thought he would explode.

  Then she stopped and gave him a mischievous look. “What if we… do something different?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

  She climbed slowly off him and turned herself carefully so that she was facing away from him. Then, as she lowered herself, she guided him into her ass instead. Her tight ass felt so good and squeezed him so hard, he had to stop her from moving for a moment to keep from coming too soon.

  “God, yes,” he said.

  He reached around to circle her clit and her groans of pleasure increased. She started moving again and he couldn’t help it. Hearing her like that and feeling her, he came.

  She didn’t need long, though. He circled her clit faster, until she cried out louder than she ever had and dug her fingers into his thigh hard enough to leave marks.

  “Oh God,” she said. “Now, that was the best sex of my life.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. “And now we can do that for the rest of our lives.”

  Epilogue

  Vanessa watched out the window. Opal rolled around the yard, back and forth with her new friends. They each had water guns and took turns squirting each other.

  Once Opal had returned to school and Vanessa to her job, things had finally settled some. Opal told everyone that she decided to go by her other name, Opal, instead of Katrin. They were both glad to leave the fake names behind for good. But then, something else started to happen. Opal became a normal kid. She started talking about friends and asking if they could come over. She got invites to their houses and to parties. All the things Jeremy had never wanted her to do.

  Now Opal had a flourishing social life. Vanessa had to download a new calendar app just to keep up with it all. Today, three of her best friends were here. Her and her besties, as they called each other, were playing cops with the water guns. Opal, always the dauntless hero who runs around saving the day and taking out bad guys. Today, the “bad guy” was their family dog, Archer. Poor Archer, the good-natured terrier, was often subjected to these games. Luckily, he didn’t mind being squirted in the face and saw it as just a way to get a little drink and chase the kids.

  As she watched, the group turned and ran toward the house. They stormed into the kitchen.

  “Mom!” Opal said, breathless. “Can we have Popsicles?”

  Her red cheeks were round and bright against the sweaty hair that clung to her forehead. She loved to see her daughter playing so hard.

  Vanessa reached into the freezer for the box. “Looked like you guys were having fun out there.”

  “We were,” her friends agreed.

  “Archer loves to be the bad guy,” Opal said. She slid into a stool at the breakfast bar and patted the dog on his head.

  Archer sat by her side, watching carefully, licking his chops in hopes that something tasty would drip from the stick in her hand. Opal sucked at the red Popsicle, making her whole mouth red.

  “So, who won?” Vanessa asked as she put the box back in the freezer.

  “I caught the criminal!” Opal announced.

  “And I helped!” Samantha said.

  The others chimed in. “Me too.” And then, “I was a spy. I was really helping, even if you didn’t know it.”

  They all wanted to be the good guys, putting away the criminals. That was all Hunter’s influence. Opal told everyone she could that her step dad saved lives for a living. She wanted to do the same when she grew up.

  Of course, people usually assumed she meant he was a cop or doctor or even a firefighter. But she always corrected them, and said proudly with a glint in her eyes, “He’s a bodyguard.”

  It had been the perfect line of duty for him to move into. Once the trial was ended and everything was settled with the plea deals he’d made for the other hits he’d done, he had to find a new job. The police would be watching him too carefully. Nicholas had suggested it, actually. He said since he was so good at protection, and didn’t have a problem shooting if he needed to, or to risk himself to save someone else, that he was made for the job.

  It still let Hunter take out bad people while protecting the good, but it gave him a legal way to do it. He knew all the cops around town, anyway, and had gotten a good reputation with them, and often had their help.

  Mostly importantly, it was safer, though still dangerous enough, and it meant he could come home at the end of the day. She didn’t have to worry as much about him. It had turned out perfect, just like everything else had.

  She glanced over at him. He was already looking at her. Behind him, on the wall, was one of their wedding photos. He’d made her happy every before then, and every day since, and she knew that with him, she was always safe. Most of all, her heart was safe with him.

  # # #

  Hunter couldn’t help staring at his wife. His wife. He loved to think that, to call her that, to tell others that. He’d given up using her name in conversation just so he could say “my wife” as much as possible.

  The kids ran past him, back outside. The door slammed and Vanessa blinked at the sound.

  “Oh,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I wanted them to have these, too. Something a little healthy at least.” She held up a baggie of baby carrots.

  “I’ll take them out.”

  Hunter kissed her before taking the bag from her hand. He walked out to the kids and heard their game.

  “Now, wait here a minute,” he said to them. “Let me teach you a thing or two.”

  He put on his silly southern accent and stuck a carrot stick in his mouth like it was a toothpick. He pointed another carrot at Archer, who stood in front of him, ropes hung loosely around his neck.

  “You see here, now,” he said. “You go trying to tie up yer perp too soon, he might get away. You got to attempt to de-escalate the situation first.”

  He got down on his knees and addressed Archer. “Now Archer, what exactly were you doing out at this time of day, barking around these kids?”

  The kids stood by, watching, eyes glued to the scene.

  Archer licked his chops and stared at the carrot. That dog would eat anything.

  “Don’t you have anything to say for yerself?” Hunter asked. “Can you tell me how you know these kids?”

  Hunter pointed to them and Archer looked at each kid in turn. They started laughing.

  “I see. So you don’t want to tell me anything?”

  Archer blinked in response.

  “You do understand this makes you look guilty?” Archer again looked to the carrot and whined, but the timing was perfect. The kids burst into laughter.

  “Well, there’s nothing else we can do if he won’t talk,” Hunter said. “We’ll have to take him down to the station.”

  The kids swarmed the dog, trying to pull him over to the tree that was their “police station.”

  Hunter pictured the plastic playhouse that looked much more like a real police station, sitting at Mari’s farm house, waiting for Opal’s birthday next week. She would love it, and her and her friends would get a lot of use out of it.

  When they started up their game again and paid the dog less attention
, Hunter slipped him a carrot, which he gratefully chewed.

  “Your mom wants you to eat these, too, okay?” Hunter gave the baggie to Opal, and they each stuck in their hand to get a carrot stick.

  Hunter went back inside and put his arms around his wife, who was still watching the kids.

  “They adore you,” she said. “And so do I.”

  She turned in his arms to kiss him.

  “And I adore them back. And you, too.”

  She rested her head against his shoulder, and he felt fully content and joyful. His heart was so full, he didn’t think life could be any better.

  His new job let him protect people for a living, something he was clearly good at. He never had to worry anymore about the police coming after him—he worked with them most of the time. He liked his current client, a businessman with high-powered clients, but his favorite object of protection would always be Vanessa.

  He ran his hands up and down her back. Keeping her safe was the most important thing he ever did, and he continued to take his job very seriously. Opal, too, was at the top of his list. And soon there would be one more to look after, care for, and keep safe.

  He ran his hands down and over Vanessa’s round belly. His baby, growing stronger each day, moved under his touch.

  “Ohh,” Vanessa said. “He’s getting so big.”

  “He’s already strong.”

  “You’re telling me. He thinks he has to kick his way out.”

  Hunter held his hand in place, waiting to feel him move again. He loved that feeling of his little son inside his wife.

  Opal was overjoyed when she’d found out she was going to have a brother, but he didn’t think anything could compare to his own excitement. This unexpected life had turned out so perfect. Knowing he almost lost it all made each day that much more precious to him. He never took it for granted that he could walk outside anytime he liked to play with his daughter and her friends. Or that he could hug and kiss his wife without restriction. Or that he was free to do as he liked, when he liked, every day.

  Life was sweet. And in just another month or so, it would get even sweeter. He’d done nothing to deserve this life, but he’d spend every day for the rest of his years making sure he was worthy of it.

  THE END

  ***

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  DOM’S BABY: Broken Spires MC

  By Nicole Fox

  I HAD A TASTE OF HER. NOW, I’M COMING FOR THE REST.

  One more heist, and then I’ll be done with this life for good.

  In and out. I’d done it a million times. This will be no different.

  At least, that’s what I thought…

  Then Erica showed up.

  She was too delicious to pass up.

  A pretty city girl in a world far removed from the one she knows.

  In other words, easy prey.

  Down here, we do things different.

  When a man like me wants a woman like her, he doesn’t stop to ask questions.

  He just takes.

  And takes.

  And takes.

  Until his hunger is sated.

  And that’s exactly what I did.

  The stupid girl was about to get stabbed, but I had a different kind of penetration in mind.

  I scooped her up, threw her across my bike, and took her home.

  The rest was bare flesh and broken moans.

  I wish it had ended there.

  But you can’t always get what you want.

  And this little angel is trying her damndest to drag me back into the underworld I’m desperately trying to escape.

  Cut it out, princess.

  You don’t give the orders around here – I do.

  Now get on your knees.

  I’m not going to ask twice.

  Chapter One

  Dominic

  “The beaches, man, the beaches!” I insisted for the thousandth time. “That’s where I should be heading.”

  “I know, Dom. I know,” my oldest friend and partner in crime, Dorian, sighed. “But you gotta do it. It’s in the rules. Then, after that, you’ll be done.”

  “Done…” I murmured, letting the word slip out of me with a long line of cigarette smoke. I closed my eyes and let the cool mountain air touch my skin. Let the feel of the earth beneath me, and the knowledge of the view before me, lull me into a state of comfort.

  It did not work.

  It used to. This spot, with Dorian at my side, my bike idling between my thighs, used to make me feel at peace. Well, as “at peace” as one can feel in the sad, sorry state of the world.

  But now, I longed for tropics. The only vistas I wanted before me should be oceans. The only smell of chemicals from a drink in my hand. The only blaze from the campfire by my feet.

  “I’m too recognizable,” I continued complaining. “Someone in the bar will recognize me.”

  Dorian did not bother to ask if I was afraid. He knew better than anyone that nothing––certainly not death––frightened Dominic Molina. I was worried for my gang, the Broken Spires. It was my duty as their president to protect them.

  “So what if you’re recognized?” countered Dorian, flicking his own cigarette into the wind. “You can handle any of those scumbags.”

  I frowned sourly, much too experienced to let paltry praise flatter me. I gazed down at my hands: killer’s hands they were, as riddled with scars as a fisherman’s, with tattoos from the knuckles up the wrists. Though no one could see it, I also had a line of skulls towering up my spine. Thirty-two of them. One for every man I have killed in this biker’s war.

  “Dorian, I don’t want to make it thirty-three.”

  He did not have to ask what I meant.

  I closed my eyes again, envisioning myself not on a roadside mountaintop, but on white sands. Aruba. The Caribbean. Somewhere like that. A place where my tattoos could be art, and not a sign of violent status. Maybe grab a woman or four. Spend some time fucking. Drinking. Relaxing.

  I was sure some of my biking peers believed this dream of mine meant I’d gone soft, but that wasn’t it at all. My job as president was just that––a job. I reveled in the strategy, and the planning, but never the outright violence. Now, it was time for me––at the lofty age of thirty-two––to retire.

  “It’ll be fine, Dom,” said Dorian, patting me on the shoulder. “Just go in, do a little recon, and out. I’ll be nearby if things get hairy. Alright?”

  I sighed. I really didn’t have a choice. The Broken Spires depended on me. I would never let them down.

  In silence, we finished the remainder of our cigarettes. Then we ignited the engines of our bikes.

  The roar of them echoed through the mountains like the cry of a savage animal, and suddenly, I felt it all come back to me: the thrill of violence, of bloodlust, of outsmarting the opponent. I might have been ready to leave it, but that did not mean I had entirely forgotten why I had once loved it.

  Together, we plowed our way down the mountain, into town.

  # # #

  From the outside, the goal of my mission––a biker’s bar called the Bear’s Cave––seemed like any other local bar: full of floozies, and overweight, middle-aged men trying to relive the glory days.

  That is what the ignorant would perceive.

  Those accustomed to motorcycle culture, however, would see much more: the badges, sewn into the leather jackets of the customers, whose hidden meaning indicated rank and violence. The secret compartments on the flanks of motorcycles shaped quite conveniently for a handgun or a pistol. Similar bulges in men’s blue jeans, hidden from the naïve but clear as day to those accustomed to concealed weaponry. There was also a certain silence, a watchfulness, in the bartender as I entered. He gave me a look that linge
red a little too long, but did not say anything. I was permitted to sit down and order a drink.

  Some bikers refused to drink on the job. They thought it would soften their reflexes. Others preferred to get uproariously drunk, thinking it made them braver. I, however, preferred the middle ground: not ordering a drink aroused suspicion, ordering too many aroused stupidity.

  I settled for a whiskey, alone in the glass. As I sipped it, I took a look around.

  This bar, the Bear’s Cave, was enemy territory. In preparation for this mission, I had let the stubble on my cheeks and jaw grow out. Hide my strong chin, which I’d once used to break the nose of the ex-president of the Crooked Jaws, the bike club that laid claim to this bar. Hide the long scar that ran from my temple to my jawline; the one that the current Jaws president, Marco “La Gancho” Herrera, gave me in a knife fight long ago.