A charged silence fell between them and she wondered if she’d done this right. A moment passed and her nerves almost consumed her. He crooked his finger at her and her pulse picked up. Her breath suspending in anticipation, she stepped closer to him and he pulled her into the ‘v’ of his legs. He settled his hands at her waist and stared into her eyes.
“You’ve been kissed before, Zoann?”
Laughing, she rolled her eyes. “Of course! I’m seventeen years old.”
His hands tightened on her, his touch burning through her clothes. She wiggled closer and he groaned. “You’ve been fucked then?”
Well, now. “Just because I’ve kissed doesn’t mean I’ve had sex,” she pointed out, wondering why he wasted their time talking.
He kept staring at her mouth. Toby always did that right before he kissed her. It thrilled her that Matthew wouldn’t be boring and slow and take his time about trying to kiss her. His odd presence and mysterious task aside, she liked him. He made her feel as if she’d known him forever.
“Ever had your pussy licked?” he asked after a moment.
“No,” she breathed, her panties growing wet. She’d read enough books to know she wanted to try it and soon. Toby had wanted to do it if she would allow him to stick the tip of his penis in her. He’d sworn up and down that’s the only part he’d put inside of her. As enticing as his offer was, what came out of the frigging tip of a penis caused babies. Big dummy.
“Ever sucked dick?”
She shook her head, inhaling his scent. Musk, citrus, him, and sunshine, the way the skin smelled after a swim in the stream and partial dry off from the sun.
He searched her face, his turquoise gaze unreadable. “You’ve never had your pussy licked. You’ve never sucked dick. You’ve never had a dick in your pussy.” He paused and stared at her mouth again. Her belly clenched tight and her legs almost buckled. If he hadn’t been holding her up, she would’ve dissolved into a pool of lust. “But you want dick from me?”
Did she? Yes and no, although he wouldn’t understand that with her weirdness. Her signals might make him think she’d drop her panties then and there and do it with him. She searched her mind for the best way to explain herself and still keep his interest. Then, he stood, not allowing an inch to separate them, his erection pressing against her belly, interrupting her thoughts and disintegrating any words. Settling his hands on her butt, he bent and nipped her neck before tugging on her ear lobe.
“You’re just learning the power of your pussy,” he whispered harshly. “But you still not sure of it yet, are you?” Not awaiting—or seeming to want—an answer, he grinded his hips against her.
Zoann gasped at the sensation of his thrusting penis.
“Feel that, babe? You did that.”
“I didn’t do anything,” she responded in the same low tone he used, standing on tippy toes to brush her lips against his. Instead of turning away from her, he leaned further down and returned her kiss, suckling her tongue and teasing the roof of her mouth. Twisting his fingers in her hair, he tilted her head back and licked her throat.
She moaned, her core swelling with wet heat. Burying her fingers in his thick hair, Zoann found the strands soft, enticing her to touch him everywhere. She roamed her hands down his jaw and settled her palms on his hard chest, his skin hot, his muscles jumping beneath her fingertips.
He tore his mouth from hers, his ragged breath proof of how much their kiss had affected him, too. “I want you, but I’m not taking you. Your brother’s my best fucking friend. He wants more for his little sister than a fucking biker.”
“H-he’s a biker.” He bit her neck again and she shivered. “And any girl who got him would be so lucky.”
He stilled and rested his chin on the crown of her head. “This is too fucking much,” he growled, shoving away from her. “I have to go.”
No, not yet.
Seeing his determination, she bit the words back. She pressed a hand against her belly, her panties soaked with her desire for him, his erection proof of his desire for her. His decision to leave endeared him to her. “Thank you.”
His brows snapped together. “For?”
“For being so loyal to my big brother and respecting him enough to respect me.”
A smile touched his lips and an unreadable gleam lit his eyes. He brushed a thumb over her bottom lip. “You tempt the fuck out of me.”
The opening and shutting of the screen door made Zoann stumble away from Matthew, just as her cousin stepped into the charged atmosphere and spoke.
“What—?”
Clearing his throat, Matthew turned to Johnnie, allowing Zoann a chance to compose herself. Johnnie was almost like Christopher, able to detect anything.
She inched around Matthew and shifted from foot to foot at Johnnie’s questioning gaze. It wasn’t really fair that she had to be related to two of the handsomest and sexiest guys on earth. Johnnie wore his cut, but went shirtless, too. He was taller than Matthew, blond, and silver-eyed, always ready with a smile and a joke, although at the moment he didn’t look amused enough to smile or to joke.
Sauntering to her, Johnnie kissed her cheek, staring at her lips and lifting a brow. “Anything I need to know?”
He glanced at her. The sudden guilt heating her insides added to her burning desire. “Nope,” she blurted, fearing her skin resembled a red beet. “Nothing.”
“You look like you’ve been thoroughly kissed.”
Zoann folded her arms. No way! Johnnie was attempting to trick her into a confession. She sniffed. “It isn’t my fault you always have kissing on the brain.”
A slow smile curved his lips. “Amongst other things, sweetheart.”
She giggled, unable to stop it after her rogue of a cousin’s words. “You’re really bad, Johnnie,” she chastised.
He winked at her. “And that makes me really good.”
Oh my God. She’d never win a war of words with him. He was just too quick with his thoughts and too experienced.
“How long have you been here and why are you here?” he asked her, leaning against the counter and folding his arms as if he owned the world.
“Granddaddy needed his bathrooms cleaned and the house dusted and mopped before he gets home tomorrow. What are you two doing here?”
A strange look passed over Johnnie’s face. “Business. We had a job to do for Grandda,” he added hastily when Zoann opened her mouth to question him. “He must’ve forgotten we’d be here.”
“I was heading out when she arrived.”
If only Zoann understood their unspoken message, perhaps, she’d know what to do next. Since she didn’t, she remained silent and watched them leave a few minutes later, hoping she’d get to see Matthew again real soon.
Matthew “Val” Taylor slammed the lid on the final wooden crate, inspection completed to his satisfaction. He enjoyed bringing good news to Boss and having a shipment of guns ready for transport, with no bullshit, was wonderful fucking news.
In the far corner, the sound of another lid being pried open grabbed Val’s attention. On instinct, he pulled his side piece, then aimed and cocked it.
“Wait! It’s just me.”
Val relaxed his fingers and returned his weapon to his side. “Stupid motherfucker,” he growled to Spoon, the recently elected president of the Torpedoes’ MC, one of their newest support clubs.
“Sorry, brother,” Spoon said in his gravelly voice that sent bitches wild. “Thought you heard me come in.”
He grunted a response, squeezing his nose to ward off a sneeze from the polluted air. The scent of gun oil and untreated wood, along with particles of sawdust hanging in the air, tickled his nostrils.
The warehouse door opened and Outlaw, John Boy, and Mortician trooped in. Val quickly averted his eyes from Outlaw, afraid his uncommon guilt would be detected.
Fuck.
Zoann Donovan was not a bitch Val needed to get pussy from. His association with her brother made her off-limits. A bitch closi
ng their pussy off to him if he wanted in was a new fucking experience for Val, although, in this case, he was barricading his dick.
Outlaw lit up a roll and inhaled a couple times before handing it to Mortician. Admiring the guns, Mort passed the joint to John Boy and tensed when his cell phone started ringing the special ringtone Mort had for Char.
“Tell that bitch to fuck off,” Val growled to his friend.
“Cunt fuckin’ here,” Outlaw snorted with disgust. “He can’t tell her to fuck off since she in his fuckin’ room.”
“Shut up about Char. She’s carrying my baby. She just have to realize money not as important as what we have.”
“What the fuck do you got, brother?” Outlaw asked, snatching the bud from Spoon.
“The woman I love,” Mort snarled back, the desperation in his voice painful to hear. “She’s here so I can talk some sense into her without my fucking father around flaunting his shit. I can get her to listen.”
“Jesus. God. If I ever get that fuckin’ pussified over some fuckin’ bitch, just fuckin’ shoot me. Ain’t no bitch in this world gonna bring me to my fuckin’ knees the way Char do to you and been doin’ it for all the fuckin’ years I know your dumb ass.”
“She got my baby, Outlaw,” Mortician yelled. “My. Baby.”
“And she sayin’ it belong to fuckin’ Sharper, motherfucker. He payin’ her to do it, so shut the fuck up and deal with it. You wanna fuckin’ kid that fuckin’ bad? Stick your dick in one of the bitches around here. One of the new chicks. Ellen. Kiera. April. Gypsy.”
“Don’t a bitch know who baby in her?” Spoon asked as the joint came to him again. “If she don’t, just beat it out of her and start over.”
“You one sick fuck.” Outlaw glared at the lanky man. “You better never lemme see you puttin’ your hands on a fuckin’ girl. I’ll stomp the fuck outta you.”
Unperturbed by Outlaw’s threat, Spoon shrugged. “Bitches need to know their places. Sometimes, beating the fuck out of them is the only fucking way.”
Outlaw and John Boy exchanged glances.
“I think we need to play a little later, Christopher.” John Boy’s eyes turned to the color of slate, offsetting the wildness in his cousin’s green eyes. “What do you think?”
Outlaw smirked at Spoon.
“All right, you two sick fucks,” Spoon spat. “I’m not playing fucking Russian roulette with you again.”
“We fuckin’ survived, ain’t we?”
“Who the fuck said anything about Russian roulette?” John Boy asked. “I was thinking more along the lines of me and Christopher beating the fuck out of you.”
“And finishin’ it off by stickin’ your fuckin’ fingers in some acid. Let them motherfuckers melt away so you ain’t ever raisin’ them to no girls again.”
Val chuckled at Spoon’s panic just as his phone started ringing. Wondering who the fuck called him, he pulled it off his belt clip and glanced at the screen. Fuck him upside down. Char. Fucking Char was fucking calling him.
Cunt slut. Slut cunt. Fuck.
He’d gotten the ass beating of his life because he’d fucked her. He didn’t want to start that bullshit all over again. Especially now, four years later, when Outlaw, Mort, and John Boy had well and truly accepted him. They were friends. Pussy couldn’t interfere.
Not even Zoann’s. Innocent, gorgeous, sassy Zoann.
Groaning, Val pushed the time he’d spent with her this afternoon out of his head. If she would’ve arrived ten minutes earlier, she would’ve seen some of the blood left over from his gory work. But, fuck, assfuck had been dead and he’d needed to fucking disappear.
All on Logan’s orders.
Thank fuck Zoann hadn’t arrived earlier and been subjected to Val’s gruesome tasks. She looked at him, ignorant of the knowledge of the real him. If he wasn’t careful, he could go stupid over her. Have his own personal Char to torture the fuck out of him, the way Char tortured Mort.
Speaking of which….Mort’s phone started ringing the moment Val’s stopped and, at the same time, the sound of the warehouse door opening pulled Outlaw’s attention in that direction.
“Fuck. Copper-fuckin’-head in the house.”
Fuck. That meant one thing. Big Joe’s son, Snake. Val detested the asshat and hated he’d been allowed to patch in. The mean motherfucker had fucked up K-P’s eye. The older biker was delivering an ass-whipping on him during a friendly wrestling match.
Val blamed K-P for the loss of his eye, only weeks before that fateful night in the diner. He was the stupid motherfucker who’d challenged a crazy motherfucker.
“Everybody here?” Big Joe asked. He must’ve entered with his fucked-up son.
Mortician’s phone started peeling through the air again and Big Joe glowered at him. He’d already warned about the importance of this meeting. Of course, it could’ve been anyone, but they all knew Char’s ringtone. They’d heard it, on and off, for four fucking years. Mort had one year of college left, then he’d do what any good graduate would. Ignore his fucking music and math degrees and become a full-time, outlaw biker.
Nice.
Mort could have bitches for miles. Motherfucker kicked ass on lead guitar and drums and he was a biker? Groupie fucking heaven. But, because Sharper paid Char to marry him and pretend she carried his baby, Mort turned his fucking back on all the blood and sweat he’d put into graduating.
Someone would do him a big ass favor if they took Char out.
“Hey, Val?” Snake called when Mort’s phone started ringing again.
“What, motherfucker?” Val growled.
“”You want to get in Char again so she’d leave Mortician alone?” Snake laughed at his own shitty joke.
Why the fuck Big Joe told that dickhead everything?
“Shut the fuck up, Joey,” Big Joe snapped, inserting himself in the firing line between Val and Mort.
They’d moved past it, but Char had Mortician so strung out over her latest bullshit. Val wondered if the man had ever considered not only might the baby not be Sharper’s, it might not be fucking Mortician’s either.
“This internal bullshit gotta fuckin’ stop,” Outlaw said with his usual impatience as Big Joe’s phone rang and he walked to the corner. Outlaw nodded to Spoon. “We gotta fuckin’ outsider here that ain’t fuckin’ needin’ to know our business.”
“Outsider?” Spoon asked with a frown. “The Torps and Dwellers support each other, so—“
“So it aintcha fuckin’ business what the fuck personal bullshit goin’ on between our brothers. We here to discuss fuckin’ shippin’ fuckin’ guns. Any other bullshit discussed in the main room at the fuckin’ club.”
“That’s Boss’s call,” Rack reminded him, sucking on the straw hanging from his mouth.
“This my fuckin’ call,” Outlaw growled. “These motherfuckers?” He pointed to Val, John Boy, and Mortician. “These my boys. I fuckin’ sponsored them. I keep them the fuck in line.”
“You try to keep the whole fucking club in line,” Snake said with loathing and dislike.
Outlaw shrugged. “Somebody gotta fuckin’ watch Big Joe’s back. As sergeant-at-arms and club enforcer, that job fall to me.”
Big Joe rejoined the group, his own cigarette in hand, smoke pouring through his nose. “Listen up, fuckers. We need to fucking roll. Spoon, Val and Mortician on the run with you.”
“Char’s here,” Mort said, panicked.
“Don’t give a fuck,” Big Joe snapped.
“Can’t Outlaw, Snake or John Boy go?”
“No,” Big Joe said adamantly. “They’re coming on a run with me.”
“Don’t worry, fuckheads,” Spoon chortled. “We’re friends, so you’ll wake up intact.”
Val hated subtle threats. He’d finally gotten his life to a happy place. He didn’t pop fucking pills anymore—the ass beating had more than cured him of that. If he hadn’t needed the pills, Char would’ve been a non-issue and his beating wouldn’t have been necessary
. He’d been able to walk upright, after three days, so he’d gotten off lucky.
Nowadays, he did more than survive. He actually belonged and would prefer not to fucking die. He wanted to see what the rest of life had in store for him. So far, the twists and turns had kept him on his fucking toes.
Zoann’s face popped into his head again and his dick jumped. She had the most gorgeous head of hair he’d ever seen, a gleaming chestnut color that complemented her gold-brown eyes.
It didn’t take a fuckhead to know she wanted a motherfucker like her big brother. Nor did it take an assfuck to know she’d get attached.
Should he give her a shot? Be a man about it, go to Outlaw, and take another ass-beating for another girl in hopes of getting the man’s approval? Would he throw it in his face that Val had fucked everything and their grandma? Outlaw had too, but, he wasn’t trying to fuck some sweet, sexy, willing girl, too fucking innocent to know better than to give her pussy to motherfuckers like them.
Suppose Outlaw agreed and Val started something with Zoann, only to discover he couldn’t do relationships? Or she didn’t fuck right. Or didn’t suck dick right. What then?
She’d already be dick-whipped and then he’d be fucked. Give a bitch one orgasm and they got fucking attached. Break a fucking virgin in, who wanted to know about birth control and who had the softest mouth ever, and a crowbar wouldn’t be able to pry her the fuck away from him.
Did he really want that shit?
“What the fuck is it with these fucking phones tonight?” Rack snarled when Outlaw’s phone went off.
“That’s Bitsy, so shut the fuck up.”
“Think Bitsy would let me fuck her?” Snake asked, snickering. “Although that bitch a little too prissy for me. Bet her pussy so tight my fucking pinky can’t fit in it. That’s how stuck-up she is. More than this snob over here,” he finished, pointing to Johnnie.
Outlaw answered his phone. “Hold on, Zoann.” Without another word, he took his nine out, walked up to Snake, and slammed the butt of the gun against the man’s head. He dropped like a log. “I ain’t warnin’ you motherfuckers again. Bitsy off-fuckin-limits. Boss, talk to your boy. Cuz next time I’m shootin’ his fuckin’ dick off.” He shoved the phone against his ear. “I’m back,” he said and turned away.
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 121