Jump: Book 7 in the Vengeance MC series

by Natasha Thomas

  To prove she’s not hurting anymore, Mia clenches her inner muscles around my cock, making me groan in ecstasy. She is by far the smallest woman I’ve ever had my dick inside, but somehow she fits me like a fucking glove.

  To look at her, you wouldn’t think there was any way a woman as petite as Mia is could accommodate a man of my size, but she does, even if it is only just. The snug fit of her pussy has me thinking about what it would be like to be buried in her ass while another man fucked her cunt. Would she scream for me to make her come? Could she handle all the things I want to do to her delectable little body?

  Would she be opposed to me watching her with another man as I jerked off all over her tits? Those are all questions I have yet to gather the courage to ask her, but you can bet after finding out how good she feels wrapped around my cock, I will be one day very soon.

  Wrapping my arms around her, I pull Mia up so that she’s straddling my thighs and push my cock back into her more gently this time. I experiment with depth and speed until I find a rhythm that works for both of us and has my eyes crossing every time she slides down my shaft.

  Her mouth meets mine just as her pussy begins to spasm around my shaft, and this time, there’s nothing tentative about the way Mia kisses me. She moans against my lips, snaking her tongue inside when I reciprocate with a moan of my own.

  I’ve never come while kissing a woman and holding her in my arms before. Until now, all of the women I’ve had sex with have been quick dirty fucks or part of a threesome where I’m the third wheel. Those women’s partners, boyfriends, and husbands get to kiss and hold them as they climax, while I more often than not, am left to watch jealously. Not because I want either of them, but because I want what they have. I want a man and woman of my own that I can cherish and show how much I love them when we make love, and every minute before and after.

  Only when Mia is chanting my name do I let go and pound into her as hard as I did in the beginning. My balls draw up close to my body

  and sweat is dripping down my chest with the force of my thrusts, but neither Mia or I notice. Her head is thrown back as her cunt spasms around my cock, and the sensation of her walls hugging my dick so tightly milks my own orgasm from my body.

  ***** That was five months ago. It may have taken me a month to get Mia to offer her body to me, but after the first time we came together, she was as ravenous for me as I am for her. The fact that I haven’t been able to touch her, kiss her, or make love to her in weeks is killing me. Especially since this very minute, she’s standing less than ten feet away.

  My study of the woman who owns half of my heart is interrupted when the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. A shiver of unease missed with desire travels the length of my spine as my body instantly recognizes who is standing behind me.

  I would know that smell anywhere. The dark musky scent he’s always favored is no different now as it was then, and just as potent. I didn’t get the chance to tell him this, but the way he smells has always turned me the fuck on.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” His deep voice sounds, so close to my ear that I can feel his breath skate across the back of my neck. Of its own volition, my body slowly turns to face him.

  The shock of how different Patrick is now resonates down to my soul. His body is larger, packed with muscle, and much more like my own than it was all those years ago. A long, yet trimmed beard covers his face, hiding the twin dimples in his cheeks, but strangely highlights the fullness of his lips. Lips, I used to fucking love as they made their way over every ridge and plane of my body.

  The tattoos are new too. As are the piercings. The hoop in the corner of his lower lip and the bar through his eyebrow don’t detract from the sheer masculinity of him, if anything, they add to it. And the tattoos. Fuck me! Patrick talked about getting ink done when he left high school and I always thought he’d look sexy as fuck, but my imagination had nothing on reality.

  Glaring at me with open hostility burning in the depths of his hazel eyes, he prompts,

  “You going to answer my question, or are we going to stand here staring at each other all day? Because straight up, I’d prefer you tell me what you want so that you can get the fuck out of here.” The harshness of his tone isn’t lost on me, neither is the hard length of his cock straining against the leg of his jeans.

  Out of all the times we’d fucked around when we were younger, Patrick and I hadn’t actually fucked. We were each other’s first foray into the bisexual desires we’d both secretly harbored for years, so taking it slow was something we’d agreed on in the beginning.

  That didn’t mean we didn’t do everything else; I’d jerked him off, sucked his cock until he came in my mouth, we’d experimented with anal play, and he’d returned the favor, but we never got as far as taking that last step.

  By the time either of us was ready, our relationship was already showing signs of falling apart. I can’t tell you which one of us ultimately made the decision to break it off or that it was mutual. I certainly hadn’t wanted to let Patrick go. He was everything to me, and I loved him fiercely. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about him, what he’s doing or where he is, but that doesn’t change facts.

  As soon as we graduated, Patrick was jumping head first into a world I simply couldn’t get involved with. For him, I would have done almost anything, just not that. His choice to join Vengeance MC jeopardized everything I’d worked for. The countless hours of studying to make sure my grades were good enough to get into the police academy would have been all for nothing if Patrick and I stayed together. And he knew that too.

  We didn’t fight about it, there was no point. We both knew it wouldn’t be long before our paths would come to a fork in the road that would take us on very different journeys. Patrick’s life was going to be all about skirting the bounds of the law and the times when he’d have to cross it all together. While I was set to live and breathe upholding the law.

  There was and still is no middle ground.

  I knew I couldn’t just take off my badge at the end of the day to go home to Patrick, pretending that I didn’t know he and his MC are committing criminal acts in my jurisdiction. That was an impossible ask, which meant there was only one outcome for us; we ended.

  Trailing my eyes up the length of his torso, my lips twitch at how angry he is that I’m here. This may be the first time Patrick’s seen me in years, but it isn’t the first time I’ve seen him.

  I was assigned to Waterfield PD as soon as I graduated the police academy. My choice to stay close to home wasn’t purely based on my aging parents or needing to keep an eye on my little sister who had just started her senior year of high school. Truthfully, a big part of my decision was not being able to stomach being too far away from Patrick. We might have been over, but I’ve never stopped loving him, which led to me misusing police department resources to keep track of him.

  “Good to see you too, man. How have you been?” I say with my smirk firmly in place. “Wish I could say the same, and none of your fucking business. Now, answer the motherfucking question,” he snarls, taking a step closer to me.

  Fuck, I love his hair-trigger temper. One of the things that had always turned me on about Patrick is when he lost the iron grip on his self-control. Patrick angry is a fucking beast, and that equaled some of the most intense sexual experiences of my life.

  Refusing to back down, I mirror his movements and close the distance between us. His nostrils flare and his pupils dilate as I invade his personal space, but he doesn’t make a move to retreat. Being this close to Patrick has me wanting to reach out and touch him – see if he feels and reacts the same way to my touch as he did in the past. But I don’t. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from grabbing him and crushing my mouth to his if I did.

  Cocking my head, I motion to the corridor Mia disappeared down and state, “I’m here to check on my woman. She was in an accident earlier, and I haven’t been able to get a hold of her to make sure
she’s okay.”

  “Who’s your woman?” Patrick demands, never taking his eyes off me. “Mia Reynolds.” Watching his face blanches of all traces of color before a livid expression hardens his features, I ask, “You know her?”

  Patrick’s mouth tightens into a thin line, the muscle in his jaw ticking with how hard he’s clenching his teeth.

  “Yeah, I fucking know her alright,” he seethes. “But as far as I’m concerned, she’s about the furthest fucking thing from your woman there is.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and lean my shoulder against the wall, trying to restrain myself from snapping at him.

  Regardless of what Patrick says, Mia is most definitely mine, even if she is avoiding me right now.

  “And why is that?” I enquire, quirking an eyebrow at him.

  “Because she’s fucking mine, that’s why,” he barks. My body goes on instant alert at the sound of possession in his voice, I straighten to my full height. Staring directly into Patrick’s eyes I try to gauge how genuine his words are, but he’s locked his emotions down tight. With no idea what I’m walking into, how serious he is, or whether he’s even telling the truth, I’m left to ask; what are the fucking odds?

  Of all the women in all the world, Patrick and I had to fall for the same one. Because there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s fallen for Mia. The tension in his frame when I spoke her name and the way his eyes flit toward where I last saw her confirm it. And fuck me if that isn’t devastatingly poetic.

  There was a time I would have given anything to share a woman with Patrick. It was my biggest fantasy to be in a forever relationship with him and a woman that loved us both equally, and who was willing to share not only her body with us but her heart and soul too. But now, instead of making me the happiest man alive, the reality of my dream playing out in front of me makes me flinch.

  I know I said I wasn’t backing down, but I need time. Time to think. Time to work out what my next move is. I also need time to figure out if I’m strong enough to fight Patrick for Mia if that’s what it comes to. Which means, I need to walk away.

  “I’ll see you soon, Patrick,” I promise before striding toward the exit. Because I will. Soon.

  CHAPTERSEVEN ~ Jump ~

  “Dearlife;WhenIaskedif my day couldget worse,itwasarhetoricalquestion,nota challenge.Game onmotherfucker.”

  –Jump’sdailystruggles

  Note to self; never, ever say shit can’t get worse because it abso-fucking-lutely can! Sitting in the chair beside Sarge’s hospital bed, for the first time since my mom died, I prayed. Emily joined me not long after everyone else finally left, which could have been hours ago for all I know. I wasn’t looking at the clock. In fact, I wasn’t looking at anything, so when Emily laid her hand gently on my shoulder, I all but jumped out of my skin.

  “Sorry, Jump. I thought you heard me come in,” Emily murmurs, pulling the spare seat in the corner of the room up next to mine.

  Taking Sarge’s hand in hers, she skims her thumb over the cuts made by the windshield when it shattered. No one knows exactly how the accident happened, everything so far is conjecture and speculation. But from the little the police told us, and also what Mia shared with Zara, Sarge swerved to miss a car that was drifting into their lane on the wrong side of the road.

  According to Zara, one minute Mia and Sarge were laughing about one of the little girls in her dance class accidentally calling Mia mommy, and the next, Sarge’s truck had left the road and flipped twice before coming to rest on its side.

  “He’ll be okay,” Emily whispers. I’m not sure who she’s trying to convince more, me or herself. After Cash, Sarge has been the closest thing I’ve had to a father figure. He taught me how to tear down a bike engine and rebuild it before he agreed to teach me to ride. Sarge insisted that any good rider knew how to repair and maintain their machine, and anyone who couldn’t don't deserve the paper their license was printed on.

  “Have they found the driver of the other car yet?” I ask, running my hands through my hair. I’m fucking exhausted. The interview with Shauna – who mind you is waiting for me to call her to arrange a time to finish up – getting the call that Mia and Sarge had been in an accident, and then running into Austin has me running on fumes, but the day isn’t over yet. It won’t be until Sarge opens his eyes and his mouth and tells me to go the fuck home.

  The doctors are optimistic that he’ll wake up sometime during the night, and I intend to be here when he does. All of the tests they ran came back clear, so apparently, it’s just a case of wait and see. There’s no swelling on his brain from where his head hit the dash, his vitals are stable, and aside from a broken leg which will keep him off his bike for six to eight weeks, Sarge is in great shape for a man his age. But see, that’s what’s bothering me. If he’s in such great shape, then why the fuck isn’t he waking up?

  Emily shifts in her seat so that she’s facing me, not letting go of Sarge’s hand for a moment.

  “No, not yet. The police said it shouldn’t take long to find it, though, since the damage to the front end would have to be severe, considering the speed of impact.”

  Emily’s voice is strained when she says ‘impact’ so I reach over and take hold of her free hand in order to offer what little comfort I’m capable of giving her at a time like this. Which for all intents and purposes isn’t much, but hopefully me just being here counts for something.

  There’s a long silence between us before Emily speaks again.

  “He loves you as if you were his own,” she murmurs, pushing back a stray strand of gray hair that’s fallen into Sarge’s closed eyes. “It nearly broke his heart when he found out you were using and didn’t come to him for help. After all the hours he spent with you, teaching you everything he knows, talking you out of doing things he knew you’d live to regret, he thought you trusted him.”

  “I do,” I rasp. “Fuck, I trust him more than I do myself most days.” “And therein lies the problem,” Emily scoffs. “You have so little faith in yourself that you rely on others to validate what you should already know, Jump.”

  “I don’t think I’m following.” “No, you’re probably not,” she agrees on a sigh. “Have you ever given much thought to why you haven’t left Vengeance and Furnace before now? Why you kept taking the easy way out by turning to substance abuse? And don’t give me the same bullshit you’ve been feeding everyone else, Patrick Collins. I see through that and you, and I have to admit, I’m surprised they haven’t yet.”

  My first response is to defend myself, but for once, I don’t. Emily is a force to be reckoned with. After raising her son, Diesel, Vengeance’s VP until he died at the hands of a rival MC two years ago, and Boss because his dad was a piece of shit excuse for a father, Emily has earned her place as the clubs’ matriarch.

  “Let me tell you a story that I think will help you to see that you and I are not all that different.”

  I highly doubt that, but I’ll listen to what she has to say anyway. I’m here for the long haul or until Sarge wakes up, so what can it hurt? “I planned on leaving too, you know. After high school, I wanted to go to college in New York. My mind was made up, I was going to become a fashion designer and travel the world. My clothes would be on display on runways and in boutiques across the globe. And I would have too, if I had followed my instincts and stayed home for spring break, instead of joining my friends on a trip to Tampa Bay.”

  Emily closes her eyes briefly and tips her head up to the ceiling, then goes on to say,

  “This isn’t common knowledge, but Diesel’s father and I weren’t together at the time. Scott was a good man, sweet, charming, and adept at getting what he wanted. When I told him I was leaving for New York after graduation the week before spring break, he forbade it. He said we were destined to be together, and since he planned on staying in Furnace and joining the MC, that meant I would be staying too. Obviously, we argued,” she says with a wink, “but this time it didn’t end with me relenting as was us
ual with our disagreements.”

  Unfortunately, Emily was right. This does sound really fucking familiar. “Needless to say, Scott didn’t like my newly developed backbone. He called me some awful names and threatened to break up with me, but it was when he raised his hand as if he was going to slap me that I saved him the hassle and told him we were done.”

  I swear to God, I see Sarge flinch at the mention of Emily’s late husband threatening to hit her, but when I inspect his monitor's nothing’s change. His heart rate is still slow and steady, and his BP’s good. I surmise it must have just been an involuntary muscle twitch or something.

  “He didn’t hurt you, did he? I mean, after that, when you got back together?” I ask after I’m satisfied Sarge is condition is unchanged.

  Chuckling as if I’m crazy, Emily scoffs,

  “Never. That was a once off that never actually happened. I can assure you, Jump, if Scott had every laid a hand on me there would have been, at least, fifty pissed off bikers willing to step in and teach him a lesson.”

  “True,” I grin. “I can’t imagine your dad would have let him walk away without a broken arm or two.” Emily’s dad, Skull, was a founding member of one of Vengeance MC’s ally clubs, Demons Seed. He’s eighty-two now, and handed over his presidency to Emily’s brother, Joker nearly two decades ago, but even now that man scares the living shit out of me.

  Skull isn’t the kind of man you cross. He has eyes and ears everywhere, and due to the length of time he spent at the head of his MC’s table, his reach is far and brutal. I’ve only met the guy a few times, but from what I’ve heard, the last man to fuck him over ended up singing soprano while watching his balls strung up on Skull’s Christmas tree as decorations. Not my idea of getting into the festive spirit, but whatever gets his motor running I suppose.

  “Oh, dad knew all but my argument with, Scott. As you know, news travels fast in small towns, and Torment, Arkansas is no different.”