He wanted to watch as she used his cock for her personal fucking lollipop, but seeing her sucking him off undid him every-fucking-time, especially when it happened after he’d fucked her. That meant she was licking her own pussy juice.
She swirled her tongue around his sensitive cock crown. His breath sawing in and out of him, he trembled. To stop her and take control, he held her head in place, propelling his cock along her tongue in fast motions, while she fondled his balls.
“Oo—oo—oo fuck, Megan.” Cum roared up his dick and Christopher lifted halfway. When she raised her sweet gaze to his, he tightened his hold on her, shuddering as his jizz fountained into her mouth. She sucked him one last time to make sure she swallowed every drop. “Fuck, baby. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he snarled through gritted teeth.
Releasing her, he relaxed his body, his heart about to fucking pound out of his chest. Fuck, yeah, because of the exertions but mainly because of Megan. She put her body and soul into fucking him—fuck, romantic motherfucker day—he backtracked. She put her body and soul into making love to him.
She nuzzled against him and he took her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. Rising up on his elbow, he smiled down at her, enjoying the sight of her red face and swollen mouth. As he began to run his hand over her hair, she returned his smile with one of her own. For a moment, they needed nothing more. Their silent communication spoke more than words ever could. Friends. Lovers. Parents. Spouses. Soulmates.
One motherfucking look said it fucking all.
Kissing her again, he slid his tongue into the warmth of her mouth and leaned into her fingers, caressing the hair at his nape.
Slowly, he moved down, sucking the tender skin at her neck, and farther, swirling his tongue around her pebble-hard nipple, licking his way down to her cunt. He tongued her slit, using his shoulders to widen her thighs.
Nosing her, he inhaled. Her pussy smelled divine, musky and fucked.
As he moved up again, he put his tongue into action and tasted her. Her thighs trembled against him. Pausing, he kissed each thigh, brushing his lips over the long-healed cuts she’d once inflicted upon herself.
He hated the thought of her in pain, but she’d had her fair share of heartbreak in her twenty-one years, some of it due to her association with him and his to the club. As long as Sharper roamed free, selling girls and planning the club’s downfall, Megan was in danger.
Brooding now, he rested his cheek on her mound.
“Christopher?” she whispered, sensing his change, her voice bringing him back.
Megan’s voice could bring him from the depths of hell. He’d die for her. He’d kill for her.
He lived for her.
Shoving away the fucking gloom and doom that had no place in a romantic motherfucker’s life, he licked her again, sniffing her as if her scent provided his oxygen.
Gentle tugs on his hair halted his tongue and he lifted his gaze.
“Yeah, baby?”
“I don’t want you to do that to me right now. I want you inside of me.”
He smirked at her. “That huh, baby?” he asked, snickering. If she withheld her pussy the way she fucking resisted using filthy language, he’d be one cunt-deprived assfuck.
Rising above her, he sank into her and stilled, resting his forehead on hers.
She thumbed his lips. “It’s okay, Christopher,” she said softly, knowing him so well. “Sharper will never get to me, our children, or you. He’ll get to no one in the club. We’re safe because you make us safe.”
“You fuckin’ know how to humble a motherfucker,” he said gruffly. She had an unshakable faith in him.
Instead of responding, she lifted her hips, twisting her pussy against his cock.
“Wicked little bitch.”
Just as they fell into rhythm, his phone rang, stilling Christopher’s dick stabs.
Based on the ringtone blasting, John Boy called him. Motherfucker knew this was Christopher and Megan’s anniversary. If not for that cunt he was married to, Christopher would think assfuck was inter-fucking-rupting on purpose.
Megan knew the call was important, too, because she halted her hooker moves and nodded, without him even telling her to stop her cock grinding.
With a growl, he leaned over and snatched his phone from the nightstand, his dick still buried in Megan. “What the fuck you want, motherfucker? Cuz, lemme tell you, John Boy, if this shit ain’t fuckin’ dire, I’m fuckin’ breakin’ your fuckin’ hands. Interruptin’ me and my girl—”
“Fuck, Christopher, would you just shut the fuck up?” Johnnie snapped. “We’re having issues.”
Fuck. “What kinda issues?” he asked slowly. It could be anything.
Their hydro-grow operation had expanded. With the legalization of recreational marijuana use in the state, demand had increased, although they’d still get thrown the fuck in jail with the volume they were doing. They supplied far and wide, however, with their support clubs doing most of the distribution.
Street value alone was way up in the tens of millions. In the event of his death, Megan and their children and their children’s children would be set the fuck up for fucking life.
“Christopher?”
“What fuckin’ issues?” he repeated, growling again because he had to pull out of Megan. He got to his feet, his swollen cock looking as angry as Christopher felt at the interruption.
Johnnie sighed.
Christopher tensed, not liking that fucking sigh. It meant some fucked-up shit he would fucking hate. “Fucking spill, John Boy.”
“Digger is no longer abroad. Riley believes he’s joined up with Sharper.”
“Find the fuck out where,” he barked. “Cuz if that motherfucker know that then he should fuckin’ know where the fuck them motherfuckers at. I ain’t fuckin’ payin’ Riley to only know half the fuckin’ shit. Tell him…no, you ain’t gotta tell him a fuckin’ thing. My ass comin’ and gettin’ that motherfucker straight. Round the brothers the fuck up. Church goin’ on in sixty.”
“Minutes, right?”
“No, fuckhead. Hours. What the fuck you think? Yeah, minutes, motherfucker. One hour. That fuckin’ clearer to your ass?”
“Yes.”
“Lemme talk to Megan,” he said and then hung up. Before he faced her again, he pulled on his jeans and carefully tucked away his disappointed cock, still with a raging hard-on. Motherfucker couldn’t be more disappointed than Christopher.
When he turned, he found her sitting up with her knees drawn against her and the covers hiding her pretty tits from his eyes, her golden hair tangled about her head.
“Baby—”
“I heard, Christopher,” she said gently. “Go. I’ll be here. The kids are with Roxy and Bunny at Trader’s place, and will be until tomorrow, so we have time to finish without interruption.”
If she was disappointed, she hid it well, which made him feel fucking lower. This fucking day was so fucking important to her. This was the day they’d had their marriage blessed. If he thought about it, that made it more special to him too. She’d thought him worthy to stand before God and pledge herself to him.
“Maybe, I’ll call Zoann and tell her I’m on the clock today,” she continued. “I’ll have something to do. Don’t worry that I’ll be bored or alone.”
Although Megan and Zoann both owned the home-healthcare business, they were fucking respectful of each other’s opinions and times, and they each had admirable work ethics. Johnnie’s cunt, Kendall, was a very small partner, too, on the insistence of both Megan and Zoann. Kendall was also the company’s attorney.
What-the-fuck ever. As long as Kendall acted like she was John Boy wife and Megan’s friend—though Christopher would never fucking believe that shit—whatever the girls did was bitch shit. As long as Megan wasn’t fucked with, he was the fuck out of it.
“Wait here. I ain’t gonna be long. Go wash my cum outta you so it can be nice and fuckin’ fresh when I put some fuckin’ more in you.”
She frowned and he w
inked at her, enjoying the fuck out of her blush.
Just to fuck with her a little more, he added, “The condition of your cunt don’t fuckin’ matter to me. I’ll lick it and fuck it any shape it in.”
Wrinkling her nose deepened her frown. “You’re soooo bad, Christopher.”
“Yeah, baby, I am,” he agreed with pride, crossing their bedroom to one of the chairs where his shirt and cut lay.
The house was big, with more space than they’d ever need. Their bedroom and separate sitting room alone was huge, with walk-in closets and a huge ass bathroom. Megan hadn’t even wanted this giant motherfucker. But this place was fit for a fucking queen. Fit for his girl. Because she was his queen.
He stopped fucking short at that thought. “Megan, baby,” he started, straightening his clothes and shoving his nine in his waistband, hidden by his cut. Before he headed to the club, he’d stop in his man cave that Megan designed for him and grab his hollows. He needed bullets to wreck motherfuckers on the simple principle of interrupting his day with his wife. “You the best fuckin’ thing that ever happened to me. You my every-fuckin-thing,” he told her. This mushy romance was what the fuck she preferred. If he had to leave her for a little while, the least he could fucking do was o-fucking-blige her. “I love the fuck outta you. Ain’t nothin’ more important than you, baby.”
That’s why he hadn’t gone after Digger as hard as he should have. Well, because of her and Mortician, but it was mainly due to Megan. Without her, he never would’ve fucking considered how Mort fucking felt about having to fuck up his kid brother. Even though the motherfucker had left his girl to die at the hands of his father’s fuckheads, Christopher had backed off an active search because of Megan. That wasn’t to fucking say if the motherfucker happened to run across Christopher, he wouldn’t make him suffer a slow and fucking gruesome death. It just meant, finding him wasn’t a fucking priority. At the time, it helped that he’d also parted ways with Sharper.
Then, too, Digger had fucking saved Bailey’s life. He’d never fucking know what the fuck led to his former SAA’s desertion. But Christopher believed part of the fucking reason was because Digger was just a stupid motherfucker and had gotten mixed up in Sharper’s fucking games. Maybe, the motherfucker had felt left the fuck out with all of them falling in fucking love, especially Mort, who Digger fucking idolized.
“I love you, too, Christopher.” Megan’s sweet voice interrupted his thoughts. Her eyes twinkled and she smirked. “Outlaw.”
He hated when she called him Outlaw. Although that side of him was a big part of who he was, he never fucking wanted her to see him like that. For her, he was Christopher, her husband, and the father of her children.
“Yeah, baby, that’s me. Rude and crude.”
“And brilliant,” she added.
Megan always saw the best in him.
He shrugged. What the fuck ever he was, was…“Ain’t nothin’ but a thing.”
Right before he departed to make the walk through the woods to the club, he kissed her again. He wouldn’t ruin their day any further by telling her Outlaw’s intentions.
If Digger was back with his old man, then Outlaw intended to not only kill Sharper but Digger too.
And, this time, nothing she’d fucking say would stop him.
They were weak because she made them weak. Although he hated the fact Ellen lied on Meggie, her betrayal exposed the club’s weakness clearly.
Ever since Outlaw had met Megan, he hadn’t been the same. The Death Dwellers had suffered as a result. The trip part? From the beginning, Digger really liked Meggie. More than he could say for any of the rest of them, who’d all wanted to put her to ground, being Big Joe’s girl.
Unfortunately, their world didn’t have room for a romance-softened heart. After Outlaw fell for Meggie, the unthinkable happened. John Boy found love. Then Val. And, even fucking worse, Mortician followed suit and got a woman of his own.
From this point on, shit got realer than real.
Once Mort met Bailey, Digger felt left the fuck out. After Char and her bullshit, he never thought his big brother would fall for another bitch again.
But Mort had. And not just any random bitch, either, but the chick who happened to be the daughter of their father’s mortal enemy.
Fate was just a motherfucker like that and threw more what-the-fuckery at motherfuckers than even the most twisted mind conjured.
Digger had nothing against love. He didn’t believe or disbelieve in it. Mortician, on the other hand, had always craved a woman to fill up the missing piece of his heart. He’d gone on the fucking Yellow Brick Road and instead of little people, witches, flying fucking monkeys, and crazy motherfuckers behind a curtain pretending to be some dream-weaving fuckhead, Mort had found Bailey.
Bailey.
Mort falling for Bailey served as much of a bad omen as Outlaw falling for Meggie. Digger hadn’t seen it at the time. If he’d had known the fallout, he would’ve killed both those chicks and gotten it over with. Outlaw with Meggie had pissed off Sharper, but Mort with Bailey just fucked everything right up the dickhole.
Now, Digger had the impossible task of protecting Mort and Outlaw, when Outlaw wanted Digger’s body chopped up into little pieces for leaving Meggie to die. Digger didn’t believe he could save all of them like some magician motherfucker. Loving his brother and admiring Outlaw, he’d made the choice.
What didn’t they understand about that? When had pussy become more important than brotherhood?
When Meggie showed up.
Heaving in a breath, Digger pulled on his joint, wishing his head didn’t run rampant with these thoughts whenever he smoked.
Maybe, if he didn’t inhale?
Snickering, he took another draw and held the smoke in, letting it curl into his brain, only exhaling when a burn sizzled through his lungs and along the back of his throat.
This was some grade-A ass shit, too fucking good to allow even a smidgeon of smoke to evaporate.
At the opening and closing of the door, Digger tensed, not in the mood to see Osti or his father. Not even Peyton. Or Tyler. When he wanted to be alone, the cabin shrank and became small enough to hear an ant piss, so the whispers carrying to him from the room just beyond his door didn’t surprise him. His ears perked.
“Pants down,” Peyton demanded.
“Marcus might come in,” Tyler whispered back, apparently unaware of his presence.
Frowning, Digger inhaled, held the smoke, and released, listening as Peyton, the fucking cunt, came on to his nephew. He needed to stop that conscienceless woman from fucking a child, even though the child in question had lost his virginity months ago.
“Peyton!” Tyler’s voice cracked around her name and he groaned.
Digger staggered to his feet, stumbling toward the door, more fucked up than he’d thought.
“Get his dick out of your mouth,” Sharper snarled before Digger opened his mouth.
Flesh connected with flesh and Peyton cried out. Digger stepped back into the shadows. The past few days he had been avoiding his father again. If the man looked into his eyes, he’d see Digger’s dislike and regret. If only he’d listened to Mort, but what began as a jealous quest to defy his big brother had turned into…this.
“Father!” Tyler cried. “No, don’t hurt Peyton.”
“Cover your dick and go outside,” Sharper instructed. “Find Osti. It’s time for your bible study.”
Tyler blinked in confusion. Sharper, the dirty, violent motherfucker, happened to be a religious zealot. At almost thirty-one years old, the two sides of his father baffled Digger. How could he expect a thirteen-year-old boy to comprehend it?
“Go, son.”
“Yes, sir,” Tyler mumbled, loping his tall, lanky frame toward the door, his eyes still slightly glazed with sexual frustration.
The moment the door closed, Sharper turned to Peyton. Her nose already bled from the hit he’d given her a moment ago. Remaining on her knees left her vulnerable to
Sharper, but Digger barely cared.
“Mark doesn’t work your cunt enough, slut?”
Never one to back down, Peyton glared at Sharper. “I’m sorry I ever met Digger,” she spat. “He stands in the way all the time.”
Peyton’s statement concerned Digger. If she felt as if he blocked her from achieving her goal, one day she might fuck him up.
“What bothers you is he’s lost his freedom being here with me, so you’ve lost yours.”
“It’s all because of her. Megan Foy. My sister’s dead because of her and Digger got out bad because of her.”
“Ellen’s dead because she was a stupid cunt. Snake intended to strike back at Outlaw whether Megan had arrived or not. Retaliation for Big Joe.”
“He would’ve left Ellen alone! Outlaw sent Ellen and Kiera with that girl—”
“Then you should blame Outlaw—”
“I’ll re-evaluate who I blame once Goldilocks is dead.” She huffed in agitation. “When I met Johnnie, I never thought it would take so long to get to her.”
Once upon a time, Digger had liked her cold-streak, but he hadn’t expected it to be used against his club brothers and their old ladies. By the time he’d gotten the real story, he cared about Peyton and owed his father a mountain of fucking money.
Too late, he’d realized only Mort bailed him out each and every time without any expectations of repayment.
“Where’s Marcus?” Sharper continued, drawing Digger’s attention again.
Peyton sniffled. “Asleep. Or gone. I haven’t heard any movement from our room.”
“Good. Good. What do you need to discuss with me?”
“You took long enough to respond.”
“And?”
“Nothing, of course. But I heard through the grapevine, Outlaw’s closing in,” Peyton announced casually, deftly changing the subject.
“How soon?”
“Bailey’s baby shower will take place in nine days.”
Sharper scrubbed a shaking hand over his face. “We already know the contact’s reliable, so we’ll have to change our plans. Move in the next twenty-four hours.”
“We’re leaving tomorrow?” Peyton breathed.
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 230