Her orgasm hit her hard, starting from the tips of breasts and spreading to her pussy. Her body jerked and her thighs trembled, her cries of pleasure ringing in her head. She felt as if she floated in a haze of pleasure, and she rode the wave until her nerve endings overloaded and she collapsed at Digger’s side, panting.
“I’ve eaten a lot of pussy in my life, but I think caring about you make yours taste sweeter.”
His wondrous words stole some of her ardor. They were sweet in their own way, but she really didn’t need to hear about all the pussy-eating he’d done in his life. “Mr. Romantic,” she said hoarsely. “Thanks for the compliment. Such as it was.”
Licking his glistening lips, he grinned at her. His cheeks and chin were soaked from her orgasm and a hot blush spread over her at the evidence of her powerful orgasm.
“What got you turning so fucking red?”
“My cream is all over your face.”
“It shouldn’t be?”
“I was sitting on your face so it was unavoidable…” Her voice trailed off and she bolted upright. “Oh my goodness! I sat on your face. I didn’t stay hovering like you told me.”
“Do I look upset? It let me know you finally stopped thinking and just felt your pussy being licked.”
“Stop saying that, please.”
“Making your pussy hot again? Wanting more tongue from me? Or some dick?”
“Dick,” she said as if she hadn’t come a few minutes ago. “Both.”
“Baby, I’m in bad fucking pain from the way your thighs hugged by fucking battered face. Otherwise, I’d tell you to sink your cunt on my cock right fucking now.”
Her eyes slid to the rise in the sheet. Pushing the cover aside, his cock sprung free, thick and hard. She scooted down, knowing what she had to do. Before she changed her mind, she slurped him into her mouth, rewarded with his groan.
Fondling his balls, she sucked him in hard, fast draws, just wanting it over with. He was close, worked up by eating her. Wrapping her hands around his cock base, she pulled on him, even as she continued to blow him.
He fisted her hair and tugged, but she ignored him.
“Bunny, move, if you don’t want me to come in your mouth.”
The words surprised her and she relaxed her grip on him, allowing him to pull her mouth away from his cock just as cum shot from him and landed on her cheek. At the last minute, she took him in her hand again, and the final bit of cum bubbled from his dick tip.
“Lay next to me,” he puffed out.
She easily complied, sated and languid.
“Whatever mistakes you made,” he began, “not as bad as you think. You was a young bitch and we learn from what the fuck we do during that time in our lives. It’s our learning period. So forgive yourself. Stop punishing yourself, doing shit you don’t really want to do because you think you deserve whatever you’re getting.”
“I hurt my mom and dad so much, and if Trader hadn’t taken me away I might be dead now.”
“Why even wonder what you might be, girl, when you know what you are? Alive. Strong. Loyal.”
“I’m fine, Mark. I promise. I don’t know why we’re talking about this now?”
“Because I couldn’t say it before you attacked my cock. And considering you almost gnawed it the fuck off in your desperation to make me come, I wish the fuck I would’ve spoke up.”
“Gnawed?” she echoed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Your teeth hurt slightly but nothing I couldn’t take. But I couldn’t tell you. I had to fucking show you. My telling you I didn’t eat your pussy to have my dick sucked is one thing. I should’ve stopped you to show you that part. Since I didn’t, I wanted you to see I won’t come in your mouth if you suck my cock.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Forgive yourself. Your folks have forgiven you. It’s time for you to do the same.”
She smiled hesitantly.
His stomach growled.
“Are you hungry?”
“Starving,” he answered. “I haven’t eaten since way before I got my ass kicked. Your man need something more to eat than just pussy.”
She shook her head. “What did you do? Graduate from the School of Rude and Crude with top honors?”
“No. That distinction go to Outlaw.”
Bunny reached for her panties, where they lay at the edge of the bed.
Digger’s stomach growled again, so she hurried to redress.
“I won’t be long,” she promised, skipping to the door as she put one flat on and then the other.
“Wait, before you leave, can you hand me one of the pills Mort left on my nightstand?”
“Um…can’t you get addicted?”
“I’m not going to,” he promised. “I just need something for the pain. Mort only gave me three. My broke ass couldn’t afford one.”
Reluctantly, she did as he asked, and watched as he washed the pill down with tap water she’d gotten from the bathroom faucet.
“I’ll be right back.”
“I’m not going nowhere, baby.”
Bunny wasn’t gone any longer than ten minutes, the amount of time it took her to scrounge up chips, sandwiches, and sodas. Yet, by the time she returned to the room, Digger was asleep.
Kissing the air since her hands were occupied with the tray and she couldn’t blow the kiss to him, she backed out of the room, bumping into a hard body.
“He sleeping?” Mort asked, gripping her arms to steady her.
Once she wasn’t in danger of falling, she turned, holding the tray up when his gaze dropped to the sandwiches. “Want one?”
“Thought you’d never ask,” he chortled, grabbing one. “You his old lady now or what?” he asked casually, as he chomped away.
She hadn’t acknowledged her relationship with Digger, even when Outlaw had suggested what was happening between them. But she was involved with him and she didn’t want to pretend otherwise. She nodded.
“Welcome to the family, girl. If he get out of line with you, tell me so I can kick his ass. He better not fuck up a good thing.”
“O-okay.” An idea occurred to her at Mort’s easy acceptance. “You don’t use your room here anymore. Do you?” She didn’t think he did, but she wasn’t one hundred percent certain.
“No.”
“Can…can Digger have it? It’s bigger.” A little brighter, as well.
“Without all the naked bitch photos hanging on his walls, I bet?” he asked with a knowing grin, taking the tray from her.
“Yes,” she said, unable to stop her smile.
“He can have it.”
“Don’t let him know yet. I want to surprise him.” Her head was already running through what she needed to turn the room into a cozy little nest for the day she rode him into oblivion.
“Thank you for coming, Georgie. You don’t know what it means to have you here right now.”
“You’re my friend, Meggie. I couldn’t…I wanted to be here. I know what it’s like to lose your mother unexpectedly.”
Georgie Mason embraced Megan and whispered words Christopher couldn’t hear. They’d just arrived at the church and as they passed a black limousine parked near the entrance, the door to the vehicle had opened and the pregnant, dark-haired girl had emerged, her husband, superstar, Sloane Mason, following behind her. Their eight and a half-month-old daughter and the other kids were at the house, with Bunny and Roxy watching over them while some of the old ladies of the club members took care of the food.
Christopher stood next to Sloane, watching Megan and Georgie’s exchange. He had to say Georgie almost came close to being as gorgeous as Megan. Almost. With her purple eyes and black hair, she looked exotic. Her and Megan were roughly the same size, except, for Georgie’s full belly. She was also only eighteen and had almost been responsible for sending her husband to jail for a very long time.
Christopher understood. It had been his luck that Megan turned eighteen the day they fucking met or else he might’ve b
een in the same situation.
Megan started toward the door again, tears slipping from her eyes. Instead of going to her, he allowed Georgie to put her arm around Megan’s shoulder and guide her into the sanctuary, where she crashed to a halt.
It was already crowded, but he couldn’t miss the front of the church, where seven caskets stood. He knew Dinah’s was in the middle, right in front of the altar.
Watching his wife closely, Sloane moved when she did, protective of her, a man after Christopher’s own heart.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Outlaw,” Sloane told him.
“Yeah,” he responded with a sigh, as Megan headed toward the first casket. “It is what the fuck it is.”
Down the line she went, placing her hand on each of his sisters’ caskets. She skipped her mother’s and repeated the process with his nieces. Christopher placed a hand on her shoulder, her body tense beneath his fingertips. Megan was hurting. He was, too. He thought, maybe, his pain went as deep as hers. But he didn’t fucking know. All he did know was they’d been his family. He hadn’t had a relationship with them as he did with Zoann and Ophelia. Yet, he felt their losses keenly.
Finally, Megan moved again, this time to Dinah. Her shoulders shook and he knew she wept. Resting her head on the lid for a moment, she slid her hand over the top.
“I love you, Momma,” she whispered. “I always will. I promise I’ll tell your grandchildren about the love you had in you. You were just too sick to give it.” She swiped at her cheeks.
Christopher wanted to pull her away and into his arms, as Sloane had with Georgie, but he’d learned the hard way not to interfere with her grieving after their son’s death.
“I hope you’re at peace.” She planted a kiss on the coffin before lifting her head and facing him.
“I’m so fuckin’ sorry, baby,” he told her, not knowing what else to say. He wrapped her in his arms and held her tight, threading his fingers through her hair and closing his eyes when she returned his hug and clung to him.
A throat cleared behind him and Christopher turned, to find Father Wilcunt frowning in Sloane’s direction. The little fuckhead was an honorary member of the club, but he was still a self-righteous motherfucker.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the cradle robber,” he said dryly. “In my very own sanctuary.”
Georgie gasped. Sloane lifted a brow.
“Father Wilkins, please,” Megan implored. “Not today.”
“Madame…”
“Wilcunt, you kinda a member of my fuckin’ club, which mean I kinda get to fuck you up quicker if you fuck up, so before you fuckin’ continue, I’d fuckin’ think about that shit,” Christopher warned.
Amusement danced across Sloane’s face, but his girl rounded her eyes.
“Shocking, isn’t he, Mrs. Mason?” Father Wilcunt said, indicating the church. “With absolutely no respect for his holy surroundings.”
“You ain’t gonna feel like a real fuckin’ member ‘til I fuck you up, yeah? Other-fuckin-wise, I can’t fuckin’ understand why the fuck you insist on jerkin’ my cock the way you do.”
Sloane laughed while Wilcunt scowled and stomped off.
Kendall inserted herself between Georgie and Megan, ruining Christopher’s day a little more. “Meggie, how are you?”
“I-m—”
“How the fuck you think she is?” Christopher snapped.
Kendall had already pitched a fucking fit when she was told to leave Rory with the rest of the kids. Roxy convinced her it would be easier at the church and the graveyard if young children weren’t there.
Fuck, if the thought of her psycho ass in one of those coffins didn’t bring a small smile to his face.
Sloane and Georgie stepped back to allow Johnnie to greet Megan.
“Protocol is for the family to stand at the back of the church to receive condolences,” Kendall said crisply.
“I don’t feel up to it,” Megan answered. “But why don’t you do it, Christopher? You, Johnnie, Kendall, Zoann, Val, and Ophelia.”
“No, baby. If you ain’t standin’ up, I ain’t,” Christopher said, noticing Wilcunt taking his place and guiding Megan to her seat without another word.
Several hours later, Christopher observed the people who’d been invited to their home, still keeping a close watch on his wife as she guided CJ to Sloane and Georgie’s daughter, Bryn, her dark hair falling all around her.
“Do you remember Bryn, buddy?” Megan’s voice floated to him, from where she sat on a sofa, close to where he stood.
“Yes, MegAnn! Bwyn!” CJ squealed, his trademark wide grin in place. He studied the little girl, much closer than he ever did with his own little sister, then looked at Megan. “Mommie?”
“What is it, son?” She sounded calm, happy even, in spite of what she’d been through.
Christopher suspected she willed happiness into her for the sake of him and their children and he vowed he’d make things right for her even if he had to fuck-up every crooked motherfucker who ever knew fucking Sharper, to get to that motherfucker. The last minute plane tickets had been fucking expensive, but this shit would end tomorrow, at Sharper’s farce of a funeral.
“Who Bwyn, Mommie?”
Georgie laughed. “Your brand new cousin.”
“And the one you said you knew,” Megan added with a smile.
“John-John,” CJ called, when Johnnie walked in from the kitchen, going to where Kendall sat with the rest of the women and kissing her.
“Outlaw!” Val called from across the room, holding up a glass in salute and downing it.
“Yo, assfuck,” Christopher responded, folding his arms and leaning against the wall, aware that CJ had paused to listen to the interaction. He had to fucking remember his boy picked up on this shit. When he least expected it, CJ would call someone an assfuck and then Megan would be pissed.
Sloane approached Christopher and held out at plastic cup to him. “This has to be hard on you.”
Nodding, Christopher accepted the drink and glanced at it, before sniffing and discovering he held rum. “It is.”
“Georgie has been really concerned about Meggie.”
“This can’t be fuckin’ easy for her, considerin’ she ain’t long lost her own ma.”
“No. She still grieves for Cassandra. Though I think she got what she deserved. She’d never win Mother of the Year.”
“Neither did fuckin’ whiny-ass Dinah.”
Tasting his own drink, Sloane nodded. “Cash called me,” he said finally. “Told me what went down. Dinah’s betrayal and to whom.”
“Motherfucker ain’t supposed to share fuckin’ club business. Megan don’t even fuckin’ know everything.”
“Understood. But since he did and you offered me help with my father, I’d like to return the favor.”
“Club fuckin’ business, Sloane. I ain’t discussin’ this shit with you.” Too many lives had already been lost. He had civilians on the payroll. Sloane wasn’t one of those people.
“You’re flying to LA later,” he persisted.
Christopher would pull Cash aside and remind that motherfucker to keep his fucking mouth shut. What the fuck was wrong with him?
“I’m offering the use of my plane. Manifest will be easier to alter than if you took commercial flights. If you’re identified as a passenger on a regular flight, your steps will be traced and lead back to you if something happens that isn’t supposed to. ”
The words whirled through Christopher’s head. Going commercial was risky and expensive as a motherfucker, but they’d had no other option. If not for the funerals, they would’ve rode to LA. They couldn’t do that now, with time so limited. Christopher liked Sloane’s alternative.
“Lemme round up my boys, so we can talk in private in my office.”
Megan’s image firmly in his head, Christopher stepped off Sloane’s plane and onto a private tarmac, not moving until Johnnie, Mortician, Val, and Cash had deplaned, too. Everybody except Cash carried small b
ags, containing black clothing and earpieces. Cash’s big duffel bag had wires, explosive, and weapons.
Their plane ride had been subdued and relatively quiet. No one had shit to say because this was it.
One motherfucker would win while the other motherfucker lost, and the loser and his crew would be fucked up. Christopher not only had his own life in his hands but those of his brothers, too. Fucking ironic the shit hadn’t crossed his mind until Megan was shot, then every-fucking-body, in Christopher’s eyes became more than bikers and brothers, his officers, and members.
They became human. Husbands. Fathers.
Family.
“What the fuck ever you motherfuckers thinkin’ leave on the goddamn plane,” he ordered as he started walking toward the black SUV Sloane had promised to have for them. “Fuckin’ focus on the hours ahead.” Words as much for his benefit as theirs.
“We focused, Prez,” Mortician reassured him. “We ready for any motherfucker thinking they ready for us.
“You assfucks know what the fuck we doin’?”
“Besides you being in a casket to get into the church and Cash blowing it up, not really,” Johnnie admitted.
“That’s because you missing the fucking planning again,” Val complained.
“Kendall needed me.”
“Yeah, well, Zoann needs me, but I sure the fuck get my ass to the club when Outlaw calls.”
“Enough!” Christopher bellowed. “Shut the fuck up. The two of you motherfuckers sound like arguin’ bitches.”
Nobody spoke again until they were on the road in the SUV, heading toward the mortuary in charge of Sharper’s funeral after dropping Cash and Val off at the church to begin wiring it to blow it the fuck up.
Christopher really couldn’t wait for that to happen. After all the misery Sharper had caused, all the girls he’d hurt, and the sons he’d abused, he needed more than a big pow to take him out. Christopher intended to try his absolute fucking best to keep Sharper alive until they got him in the meatshack, which would be a challenge with two states between it and them.
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 267