Not only that but she’d been so used to Christmas gifts until he put a stop to that, too. Now, she barely had a roof over her head, not sleeping on the streets because of Christopher. While she might’ve worried about her place in his life at the clubhouse, at his mother’s house, he was a different person. Gentler and kinder. He seemed more worried about family, his real, true family, not the men he called brothers.
Meggie had learned bikers lived by a strict code, one that demanded loyalty and respect. They were as much a family as the people related by blood. Yet, it was still a violent, dangerous world, and Meggie wasn’t sure if she could ever get used to it.
Tomorrow was Christmas Eve and, despite everything that stood between them, Meggie couldn’t wait. She’d begged and pleaded for Christopher to have Val, Digger, and Mortician join them, until he’d relented. She needed the presents she’d purchased Black Friday, anyway. When she suggested she also call and invite Kiera and Ellen, he drew the line.
“Ain’t havin’ them two club whores in this house, Megan. You can bat your pussy at me all the fuck you wanna, I don’t want them here.”
“How do you bat a pussy, Christopher?” Megan had asked, laughing.
He’d chuckled. “You know what the fuck I mean.” They’d been in the bedroom, enjoying the late afternoon after they’d stayed out until the early morning hours, visiting the boardwalk before returning home and starting a bonfire on the dunes while the ocean roared and the wind blew.
Meggie had started to rise, but Christopher pulled her back.
“Listen, Megan, and I ain’t bullshittin’. As long as you here with me, all these other motherfuckers can go fuck themselves.” A sheepish expression came over his face. “Except Ma.”
Meggie had thumped his shoulder. “Christopher Caldwell, you’re soooo bad.”
He’d tensed and bleakness stole their light moment. “I wish I coulda had Donovan as my last name. I hate my fuckin’ name cuz I hate the prick it belonged to.”
“Christopher–”
“No, Megan. My grandfather insisted Ma put that name on my birth certificate. Worse thing is the fucker who raped her was there to sign it. She ain’t had a choice and I ain’t had a choice.”
“Your name doesn’t make you. You’re loyal and protective and funny. You rose above –”
“Have I?” he scoffed. “I fuckin’ dropped outta school in the 9th grade. If risin’ above is livin’ in the dirty fuckin’ world I live in, then I hate to see what I woulda done if I woulda stayed mired in shit.”
“You chose to live in this world,” she pointed out, surprised at the derision in his voice. “No one forced you to stay in.”
“Once you in, you in for life.”
“Johnnie isn’t.”
He glowered at her, a distinct chill added to the austerity. “Yeah, what the fuckever. Johnnie a fuckin’ saint. I get that. He has everythin’ a girl could ever want,” he said with bitterness. “A college education. A good job. A pretty face. A big dick even if his shit ain’t bigger than mine.”
Meggie squeaked and, try as she might, she couldn’t stop the heat of embarrassment spreading through her entire body. She bit her lip, not knowing what to say, and Christopher blew out a noisy breath, more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him. He was opening up to her, showing her a side few, if any, knew about.
“You fucked him, huh, Megan?”
She couldn’t look at him because he’d know for sure something had happened between them, so she just shook her head.
“I think you did, but you afraid to tell me cuz you know I’ll cut his fuckin’ dick off.”
Then why ask? She wouldn’t say that aloud, though. It would only alert him to the fact that something had gone on. As long as he wondered about it, he couldn’t castrate Johnnie. And, from his tone, she believed he would do it without hesitating.
“You are who you are,” she said instead. “The choices you made might not be the perfect ones, but they were the ones you needed for the place you were at in your life.”
She peeked at him through the fringes of her lashes, hoping she’d diverted the conversation back to a safer topic.
He remained quiet for a long while, then he sighed and nodded. “I left you here, Megan. I know I hurt you. I know I said you needed to test different dicks. Whatever happened between you and John Boy–” He inhaled a deep breath and relaxed for the first time since they’d began talking. He pulled her into his arms and tangled her hair around his hand. Then he spoke again. “It happened. That’s between you and him.”
She thought about the fact that, in all likelihood, she was pregnant. If he believed she’d slept with his cousin, he might not believe the baby was his. “Christopher, I didn’t have sex with him.” She skated her fingers across his chest. She loved touching him, feeling the ripple of his muscles beneath her fingertips, learning where each scar was, the most recent the ones to his shoulder and thigh. “I didn’t.”
“So you ain’t knowin’ what his cock look like?”
“No.” Honest answer. She hadn’t seen Johnnie’s penis. She’d just felt it and caressed it.
Silence. “And you ain’t knowin’ how it feels.”
Omigod. If she didn’t answer, he’d know but he’d get the wrong idea, too. If she did answer, she’d have to lie to him and, really, the last thing she wanted to do was lie to him. He might’ve hurt her for a bunch of reasons, but never because he’d lied to her.
“Motherfucker,” he growled, rolling onto her to pin her arms above her head.
“It isn’t what you think,” she whispered, desperation creeping into her.
“It’s a fuckin’ yes or no answer, bitch. You felt his dick in you or what?”
“I already told you no. I never felt him inside me!” she flared, squirming beneath him and glaring at him. “Why are you giving me the third degree? Would it matter so much if I had?”
He clenched his jaw, a muscle ticking, hurt and hopelessness in his green eyes.
“Johnnie and I are friends,” she said quietly. “He kept me company while you were gone. Took me places.” She wouldn’t point out he’d taken her places Christopher had promised to bring her. He didn’t need her censure right now. He needed her understanding and reassurance. “But I missed you. I wanted you.” She swallowed, hoping he understood her next words. “I thought about making love to him. We kissed, Christopher,” she admitted, opening her legs to cradle him between her thighs. She caressed his jawline. “He wasn’t you, though. I couldn’t imagine doing all the things with him, I do with you.”
He nuzzled her neck and she threw her head back to give him better access. He sank into her and all thoughts of Johnnie had been set aside.
Now, after ten at night, Christopher sauntered into the room, a towel wrapped around his waist, the tats on his arms and chest glistening with water, his swagger unlike any man’s she’d ever seen. His earlier vulnerability had vanished as if she’d imagined it. He saw her standing there and smiled, the light in his eyes one she was becoming quite familiar with. He crooked his finger at her and her heart rate increased. With just a flick of his hand, her body responded to his and obeyed him without thought.
When she reached him, she rubbed her palms over the hard expanse of his chest, the rigid pole of his penis raising the towel. He settled his hand on her neck and pulled her to him, kissing her hard and rough, leaving her breathless.
She stood on her tiptoes and circled his neck with her arms, giggling when he swept her off her feet. He took a few steps and they reached the bed, falling together onto it. He landed on top of her and shoved her nightgown above her waist, entering her with a deep thrust. She closed her eyes, the sheer bliss of him driving into her making her sigh and groan. His fingers tightened on her chin and she opened her eyes, knowing his signal.
He held her gaze and slammed into her, over and over again. She whimpered and he threw his head back, the muscles in his strong neck straining, his shoulders flexing. He worked his body inside
of her. Meggie dug her nails into his back, nosing his throat and smelling the spice of his aftershave.
“Megan.”
Wet heat surged through her, tightening her core, at his harsh groan of her name.
“Christopher,” she breathed, sucking the skin on his neck.
He kissed her again, his wild, rough lovemaking throwing her into a tumult and stoking the flames of her growing hunger. He sucked her lower lip and pinned her arms above her head.
“What am I doin’ to you?”
Her body was on sensory overload, nearing orgasm, soaking her center and making the tips of her nipples ache. Tiny explosions were bursting through her, starting in her womb and spreading out over her entire being.
He opened her legs wider and pounded into her, deeper than he’d ever gone. Meggie gasped, his rough movements bordering on pain. She fisted her hands, still above her head, and he tightened his grip on her wrists.
“What I’m doin’ to you, huh? Fuckin’ you, yeah?”
She nodded, pleasure exploding through her, a soft cry falling from her lips. She arched against him and canted her hips. “Yeah,” she said. “You’re”—She swallowed– “fucking me.”
He growled at her confession, the intensity of his stare and his grinding hips bringing another orgasm on. She screamed.
“I’m gonna put my baby inside you, Megan, yeah?”
“Yes,” she gasped, wanting to confirm he’d already done just that before she mentioned anything. Hearing his demands, though, turned her on, and she doubted she would’ve told him right then even if she was already one hundred percent sure she carried his child.
“You want my baby?”
Her breath came in short pants and her brain could barely process his words. She’d agree to anything, do anything he wanted, as long as he stayed inside of her. “Yes.”
“Say it, Megan. Tell me you want my baby.”
His baby. He wanted to give her his baby.
“Tell me,” he demanded, leaning over and licking the shell of her ear.
She arched against him, shivering when he sucked her neck. She gripped his firm butt cheeks and dug her heels into the mattress. “I want your baby, Christopher.”
“Fuck,” he growled, his big body stiffening and pouring his warmth into her, then collapsing on top of her.
He rested his weight on her, drawing in deep drafts of air. After a moment, he lifted himself up on his elbows and stared down into her face. He passed a thumb over her lips and smiled down at her, his look so tender Meggie’s heart turned over. She blinked, another world opening up to her, the moment one of blinding clarity. It was as if she was seeing him for the first time, his powerful beauty, his Olympian-like build. Those brilliant green eyes that missed nothing and spoke volumes.
Christopher withdrew from her and turned over on his side. “Face me.”
She mirrored his position and faced him. They remained like that, not saying a word, only staring into one another’s eyes. Once in a while, they smiled at one another or kissed. But they were drinking in each other’s nearness, lost to the outside world, only seeing, knowing, feeling, each other.
Meggie’s eyes drooped closed, popping open when Christopher pulled her closer.
“Sleep, Meggie,” he whispered.
That was the first time Christopher had ever called her Meggie. She smiled and closed her eyes, contented.
SITTING IN THE GREAT ROOM on Christmas day, Christopher sighed with contentment, a foreign feeling to him. Even his five sisters couldn’t kill the mood, although Zoann continued with her self-righteous bitchiness and still harassed him for not keeping in contact with Patricia. As far as Christopher was concerned that was old news. Zoann didn’t understand, so that was her fucking problem. They didn’t understand staying away from them had kept them safe, which was also how he wanted to keep Megan. He refused to own up to his true feelings about her. If she found out how much she meant to him, that she’d become his heart and soul, she’d somehow get him to agree to put a ring on her finger.
Then, she’d have that hated fucking name, Caldwell, attached to her for the rest of her life. He wanted to give her her own cut, proclaiming her the Property of Christopher “Outlaw” Caldwell. Even that would give her too much leverage. Megan had a fucking way about her and the next thing he knew he was agreeing to shit.
Inviting his three brothers to spend Christmas with them, for instance. Buying gifts for those same motherfuckers. Convincing them to bring those same gifts, wrapped with stupid fucking shiny paper and stupider fucking twirly bows. Making Digger and Mortician—and him—shift their weight restlessly when she’d asked why Val hadn’t come.
No one had answered, but Christopher didn’t think she noticed because Johnnie had walked in and swept her in a hug. Since Johnnie had saved him from coming up with an excuse for Val’s absence, he’d let the greeting pass. Besides, Megan’s Christmas Eve present had him nice and mellow. While he’d been in the shower, she’d been hookering herself up and greeted him in a tiny red thong lined with white fur, a Santa cap, and six-inch shiny red heels. Her hair had been wild, her lips stained red. He’d gotten a dick stand the moment he’d seen her, posed on the bed. Instead of allowing him to touch her, she’d given him a lap dance to Love In An Elevator and a blowjob that curled his toes just thinking about it.
When they’d finally fucked, his dick had been as raw from her sucking him as her pussy had been from him eating her.
Just as the thought crossed his mind, Megan scampered from the kitchen, the gingerbread apron she wore longer than the fucking dress it covered. The black dress had a plunging neckline that ended with a rhinestone. On her feet, she wore some kind of booties with metal ankle cuffs.
While he shot the shit with Johnnie, Digger, and Mortician, Megan was everywhere, helping in the kitchen, checking on his nieces, and keeping their glasses filled. This time, though, she didn’t stop but headed for the door.
“Hey! Where the fuck you goin’?” he growled, not missing the way Johnnie was fucking her with his eyes. The other two were doing their best not to look at her, but she was fucking hard to ignore. She was one hot little bitch.
“With me, Christopher,” Ophelia said, appearing around the column to head toward Megan. “We’re going to get some fresh air.”
At twenty-two, Ophelia was the youngest of the family. Her hair was about two inches long and spiked. She was in some school for film production and sang in a band on the weekends. He knew she had a boyfriend, but she’d never introduced him.
“Girl talk,” Megan announced, opening the door, and stepping out into the overcast day. Every now and then, sunshine gleamed through, but, for the most part, it was dull and cool.
Ophelia paused and threw her arms around him. “She’s great, Christopher. I love her. Bev, Nia, and Avery are busy with their girls and Zoann offers advice when I don’t even ask her. Meggie is the best gift you could’ve given me.” She kissed his cheek and hurried after Megan.
Through the window, he saw Meggie climbing onto the banister and sitting on the edge. Fuck, but he had to grit his teeth to keep from yelling at her to get the fuck down. She laughed, looking young and carefree and at ease. Without warning, she slid to her feet again and started hopping before stopping and talking, her hands moving with each word. She was telling his sister a story, he realized.
“Uh, Prez, we over here,” Digger called.
Christopher dragged his gaze away from Meggie. Before he could answer, Zoann came in, carrying a bottle of red wine. She held it up.
“Anybody want a refill?”
“Yeah, but not that shit,” Mortician grumbled.
“Call Megs. She knows what we’re drinking,” Johnnie said, tipping his glass back and emptying it.
Zoann rolled her eyes and sat the bottle on the table. She sat near Christopher. Patricia and his other three sisters, along with his three nieces, trooped out of the kitchen.
“Where’s Meggie?” Sasha, his youngest niece, as
ked, craning her neck.
“On the porch with Aunt Ophelia,” Christopher answered, looking at the other two little girls, who seemed like they weren’t sure if they wanted to stare at him or run away from him. Shit, he knew they were young, but it’d only been a year since he’d seen them.
Sasha didn’t wait for any more conversation. She barreled to the door with all the determination of a four-year-old and struggled to open the heavy wood. Once she succeeded, she hurried out and headed right to Megan. Megan ruffled her hair and lifted her into her arms. She was born to have a family, he thought, barely aware of his other sisters and their mother filling wine glasses and joining him. The other little girls stuck to their mother’s sides. Fuck him, he’d have to remember their names. Or ask Megan. He had enough names to remember with his sisters.
Wine in hand, Patricia announced, “The turkey still has a few minutes to go.”
“Sound good to me, Ma,” Christopher said. He swept his sisters with a warning. “But I ain’t answerin’ no questions about nothin’.”
Nia, the oldest girl, sniffed. “Why? You got something to hide?” she challenged.
“I ain’t in your shit, stay the fuck outta mine.”
“Today is Christmas, so watch your language,” Patricia warned. “Besides, we have guests.” She smiled at Digger and Mortician just as Megan walked in, still carrying Sasha, with Ophelia trailing behind her.
“They ain’t guests, Ma,” Christopher growled. “They my brothers.”
“We don’t want to show Megan a bad side of us,” Patricia tried again, gulping her wine.
“Don’t mind me,” Megan said, setting Sasha on her feet and walking to him, her hips swinging. She went to sit next to him but he pulled her on his lap. She scowled at him and sat ramrod straight.
“But, Megan–”
“No, Patricia, really. I know how siblings are. My two best friends were always fighting with theirs. I only wish I had a sister or brother–” She snapped her mouth shut and frowned, probably remembering she did have a brother.
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 26