BAKER (Devil's Disciples Book 1)

by Scott Hildreth

  Through the course of it all, I never faltered. Not once. Solid as a rock was how my MC brethren described me. Regardless of what life tossed in front of me, I knew I would never stumble, take pause, or deviate from my normal manner of behavior.

  Being in Andy’s presence caused me to question my beliefs.

  I’d formulated and carried out plans to rob banks during their business hours, break into Federal Savings and Loan institutions that were considered burglar-proof, and even relieved a political dignitary of his jewels while he was traveling in an armed motorcade.

  But.

  I couldn’t seem to concoct a way to rid myself of Andy.

  For her safety – and for my well-being – I desperately needed to end what was developing between us. I was foolish for having fucked her in the first place. If I didn’t make a change quickly, Cash would eventually see us together.

  When he did all bets were off.

  I gazed through the glass of her office window, focused solely on ending the sexual relationship between us. Getting rid of her entirely could come later.

  Count to three, Bake.

  Then, turn around and tell her you’re married.

  I drew a shallow breath.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  I faced her. Like sheets of fine golden silk tinged with vermilion, her hair cascaded over her shoulders. Wearing an innocent smile, she looked at me and batted her eyes. Until that moment, I would have described them as simply being brown.

  They weren’t.

  They were the color of honey. Thin shards of broken brown glass were sprinkled throughout the iris, adding such depth and beauty that I couldn’t bring myself to speak.

  She broke my gaze and turned toward her desk. I needed one last look at her. An image I could hold onto long after she was gone. I reached for her shoulder.

  She spun around and looked me in the eyes.

  Eliminating her from my life wasn’t possible.

  Fueled by nothing more than carnal desire, I lifted her from her feet and stumbled toward the wall. As we came crashing to a stop against it, she searched my eyes for answers.

  I didn’t have an answer.

  It wasn’t love. Hell, it wouldn’t even qualify as lust. If I had to identify the driving force behind what was happening to me, I’d blame it on her voodoo pussy. Explaining that to her, however, would cause her to view me as an idiot.

  Her lips parted slightly. I feared she was going to speak. There wasn’t anything she could say that I was willing to hear. I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to fuck. The only thing that came to mind to keep her from speaking wasn’t at all what I expected.

  I kissed her.

  She returned the kiss with uninhibited passion. I pressed my body against hers and blindly reached for the hem of her dress. In response, her hands fumbled to unbuckle my belt. As wrong as I knew it was, at that moment it was perfect. At that moment, there was no risk. At that moment, my ability to reason was lost.

  I flipped her dress above her waist and reached for her panties. Frustrated, and aching to feel myself inside her, I yanked against the material until it broke free. After tearing the other side in two, I tossed the tattered material on the floor at our side.

  She spread her legs wide and raised her hips until her inner thighs brushed against me. As our tongues continued to dance together fervently, she guided my cock into her wetness.

  I thrust myself deep inside of her and closed my eyes. Nothing. Else. Mattered.

  Our lips parted.

  Our eyes met.

  I was mindless. Lost in the feeling that filled me when I was inside of her, I stared at her blankly while I caught my breath.

  She flipped her hair over her shoulder and sucked in a breath. “Fuck me…” she said through her teeth. “…like there’s no rules.”

  When my cock was buried deep inside her tight little pussy, I knew very little. At that instant, however, I knew one thing.

  Quitting her was going to be impossible.

  TWELVE - Andy

  He was either disappointed with me or trying to prove a point. I didn’t care which it was. I’d always wanted to be smashed up against a wall and shoved full of dick by a tattooed biker. He was simply satisfying a fantasy I’d harbored for years.

  “I. Love. Fucking. Your. Tight. Little. Pussy.” Each spoken word of his admission was complimented with a savage shove of his entire length.

  Suspended above the floor by nothing more than the force of him fucking me, my thank you came in the form of a grunt that shot from my lungs each time he thrust his hips.

  With his jeans around his ankles and my dress draped over his forearms, he continued like a man possessed by sexual demons. Caught up in the moment and enjoying every inch of what he offered me, I gave no objection.

  The air between grew thick with the scent of his cologne. He smelled like heaven. I closed my eyes and allowed the aroma to carry me away.

  His ability to transform me to a place void of outside influence fascinated me.

  But. He was still a man. And, men were evil creatures. They lied, cheated, and ruined the lives of everyone in their wake. Baker’s surprise kiss somehow allowed me to forget that fact. For that moment, while we were embraced in the kiss, my past – and all the memories associated with it – vanished.

  Unlike most women, I’d never really enjoyed kissing or being kissed. It was far too intimate of an act. Baker’s kiss was different. It brought with it a wave of complexity that cast me into an unfamiliar place. Despite the magic of the kiss, he a man.

  And, men were evil.

  If I allowed myself to become attached to him, he’d eventually hurt me. Having that knowledge allowed me to fuck him without fear of what the future held.

  Because we were just fucking.

  “Your cock feels like velvet,” I breathed.

  He withdrew himself until the tip of his swollen dick cleared my pussy lips. His chin raised slightly. “Velvet?”

  I drew a breath and then nodded eagerly. “Uh…huh.”

  “Velvet’s soft and smooth.” His brows knitted together. “My cock’s like steel.”

  It was like steel. But it was so very smooth, like velvet. I raised my eyebrows. “Velvet steel.”

  He gave me a mild-mannered glare, gripped my ass firmly, and then slammed his entire length balls-deep. “Does that feel like fucking velvet?”

  The tip of his dick felt like it was in my chest.

  “Asshole,” I seethed. “You’re going to rip me apart.”

  He pulled his hips back ever so gently. Then, without warning, he shoved every inch of his thick shaft into me, again.

  He grinned a sly grin. “Velvet steel.”

  I winced in pain. Being skewered by dick wasn’t a great feeling. “I mean it,” I said. “If you make me bleed...”

  “Novices bleed.”

  “Well, I’m definitely not a professional.”

  His jaw tightened. “I’ll turn you into one.”

  I gave him a look. “You’re going to make me a whore?”

  He nodded. “My little whore.”

  I wasn’t anyone’s property, nor would I ever be. I’d let him fantasize about me being a whore if it made him happy for the next ten minutes, so I offered no opposition to his claim.

  “Shut up and fuck me,” I said dryly. “I was almost there.”

  Holding me where my butt cheeks met my thighs, he spread me open wide in preparation for what was to come. In anticipation, I arched my back and closed my eyes. Then, slowly and predictably, he rowed his hips back and forth.

  With each stroke I was stretched open one slow inch at a time, and I savored each one of them. Methodically, his massive girth slid in and out, bringing with it a sensation unlike anything I’d ever had the pleasure of feeling.

  His cock was huge, but somehow it fit me perfectly. When we stopped fucking, and that day would eventually come, I feared I’d be ruined from ever finding anyone that could
provide the level of sexual satisfaction Baker offered me.

  At that moment, however, I didn’t want to think about not fucking him.

  My back pounded against the wall as he fucked me, and fucked me, and fucked me. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to become immersed in the pleasure his thick cock gave me. Being fucked by Baker made me mindless, and I loved it. My surroundings seemed to diminish to nothing, leaving me hypersensitive to his every touch.

  I opened my eyes. Eventually, his gaze met mine. I studied his face as his breathing changed from predictable to becoming choppy and unexpected. From my aching nipples to my swollen clit, a tingling began, increasing in intensity as it ran through me.

  I felt his cock swell. The tell-tale sign of a man reaching orgasm, the feeling brought me to the brink of climax. The sounds of the traffic, his breathing, and our skin slapping together diminished to nothing. All that remained was the magical feeling of being filled with his dick.

  As he reached peak of sexual satisfaction, the sounds of his pleasure pierced the silence. Almost immediately they were overshadowed by my own moaning. Certain the impending orgasm was going to be the one that ended my life, I took a tremendous chance. It was a risk, no doubt, but one that made perfect sense in my mindless state.

  I raked my fingers through his hair, gripped the back of his head in my hands, and planted a kiss on him that made his kiss look like child play.

  With our lips locked in a kiss and our tongues intertwined, we reached climax together. He erupted inside of me at the same time I began to shake from head to toe from the orgasm that took control of me.

  When the convulsions ended, and the sound of our heavy breathing returned, I looked at him. It was easy to wish that something else was happening. That there was something between us that only we could share.

  But there wasn’t.

  We were just fucking.

  I was simply enjoying it more than I ever had before.

  FOURTEEN - Baker

  I lifted my goggles and inspected the weld. Beside it, along the length of the motorcycle’s fender, the paint was burned off from the many times I’d made the same repair.

  “It’s a good-looking weld.” I looked at Cash. “Might hold this time.”

  Sitting backward on his Harley Wide-Glide wearing a doubtful look, he glanced at the repaired fender and shook his head. “You said that the last four times you welded it. Needs a buffer between the fender mounts and the fender, if you ask me. Gonna keep breaking over and over. It’s old technology. Come on over to the twenty-first century. Bikes have shocks now.”

  I set the goggles aside. “I’ll just keep welding it back together.”

  He waved a dismissive hand toward me. “Time to get rid of that piece of shit. MC President with a shitty old bike makes you fit a stereotype. Every MC President has a dilapidated hardtail. It’s not like you to conform to society’s expectation. Get rid of the motherfucker.”

  I’d never conform to society’s expectations. The Sportster was different. It was sentimental. I looked it over. It was ugly, but I couldn’t ever see getting rid of it.

  I raked my fingertips along the worn gas tank. “I’ve had it forever.”

  “Time for a change. Fucker looks like shit. Fucker runs like shit. Fucker sounds like shit. It’s a pile of shit, Baker.” He gestured toward the dozens of motorcycles that the six of us owned collectively. “See anything else that resembles that junkety fucker?”

  I didn’t need to look. My Sportster hardtail was one of a kind in all respects, including ugliness. It was the first Harley I’d ever purchased, and the one that ignited my love of riding. I grinned. “Nope.”

  “Maybe it’s what’s giving you the headaches. Probably got your spinal cord pinched between a couple of slipped disks. I’m tellin’ ya, get a Dyna or a bagger.” He snapped his fingers. “Headaches will disappear just like that.”

  I hadn’t had a headache since I started fucking Andy. I didn’t want to admit it, but it appeared Cash’s belief in whacking off was spot-on. I lifted my leg over my seat and sat down on the vintage bike. “Have you ever fucked a chick that had a pussy that drove you mad?”

  “All pussy drives me crazy. What do you mean?”

  “Pussy that’s just, I don’t know, better.”

  He leaned against his handlebars and swept his hair out of his face. “Thought we were talking about you gettin’ a new bike. What, now we’re on to twat talk?”

  “Just asking a question.”

  He rubbed his jaw and gave me a serious look. “You know what they say about pussy, don’t you?”

  “What’s that?”

  “All puss is good puss, some’s just better than others.”

  “I was trying to ask you a serious question. Never mind.”

  A confused look washed over him. “What was the question?”

  Cash was an integral part of the club, and my best friend. On the job, he was all business. A true professional. During the day-to-day course of living life, however, he had the attention span of a gnat.

  “Focus, Cash.” I snapped my fingers twice in hope of gathering his attention. “Have you ever fucked a chick that had voodoo pussy?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Voodoo pussy?”

  “It’s the only way I know how to describe it. Little bitch has got the tightest little puss I’ve ever fucked. And, it’s not just tight, it’s…I don’t know. It’s like it casts a spell on my cock. I stay hard forever when I’m fucking her, and when I come it feels like I’m losing my fucking mind.”

  “She got a narrow little waist and wide hips?”

  Andy had a small waist and very wide hips. So far, he was batting a thousand. “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “Got an ass like an apple?”

  “Like an apple?”

  He formed his hand into the shape of a ‘C’. “Is it shaped like this if you look at it from the side?”

  “It is.”

  “Short?”

  I squinted. “Her ass?”

  “No, motherfucker. The chick with the magic twat. Is she short?”

  “I don’t know. Kind of. Maybe five foot three or something.”

  He sat up straight and widened his eyes. “Twat the size of a dime, and deeper’n fuck? Clenches your cock no matter how hard you pound or how long you hit it?”

  So far, he’d described Andy. I nodded, eager to hear what else he had to say. “Sounds like her, yeah.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Got golden-colored eyes?”

  My heart stuttered. The taste of bile tickled the back of my tongue. I hopped off my bike and crossed my arms. “What the fuck, Cash.” I looked him up and down. “You been following me?”

  He glared. “You skittish prick. What are you talking about? Why the fuck would I want to follow your dumb ass?”

  “If you haven’t been following me, how the fuck do you know so much about her?”

  Mimicking me, he got off his bike, puffed his chest, and crossed his arms. “Who’s her?”

  “The girl with the voodoo pussy.”

  “It ain’t voodoo pussy, dip shit. She’s Brazilian.”

  I looked at him as if he were crazy. “What?”

  “Brazilian. You know, from Brazil. They’ve all got wolf eyes, small waists, big asses, curly brown hair, tiny pussies, and big tempers. Best sex on the planet is a Brazilian bitch. Looks like you ran into one. What’s her name?”

  I was relieved that he had no idea who she was, but I wasn’t about to tell him her name. “Fuck I don’t know,” I snapped back. “I fucked her a few times. That’s it.”

  “I fucked a Brazilian bitch once. She lived next door to One-eyed Pete. Stayed with her cousin for the summer in that little white house. Year before last.” He exhaled heavily. “Name was Natalia Silva.”

  I remembered her. Other than having a fantastic ass, she looked nothing like Andy. I rolled my eyes. “I remember her. Dark skin. Curly brown hair. Big ass.”

  His mouth slowly twisted into a smile a
s memories of her came to mind. In a moment, his eyes widened as if telling the tale of a battle he’d fought in and narrowly escaped death. “Bitch had a twat so tight it felt like I was trying to butt fuck a bird when I screwed her. When I came, it was like a fuckin’ geyser. Made me dizzy for about ten minutes after, too.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder why Cash stopped fucking her if her pussy even came close to resembling Andy’s. “Why’d you quit fucking her?”

  “Didn’t want to. She found out I was fucking that stripper, and she clocked me in the head with a skillet while I was sleeping.” He chuckled as he touched a z-shaped scar on the side of his forehead. “Then, the crazy motherfucker pulled out a knife and tried to cut me. Left my best pair of jeans and my favorite boots on the floor at the foot of her bed. Ended up leaving in my wife beater and boxers. Rode the ‘Glide home half naked. Brazilian bitches are good pussy, but they’re crazy.”

  “I thought you got that scar in a fight?”

  “I did,” he said. “A fight with Natalia about that stripper.”

  I laughed. “Getting the truth out of you is damned near impossible.”

  “You want the truth? All you gotta do is ask.”

  Having a woman in my life would put the club at risk. It was my duty to protect the men, not put them in harm’s way. Therefore, I didn’t do relationships. I never had, and I never would. Not having Andy’s pussy to fuck wasn’t something I wanted to think about, though. Nevertheless, ridding myself of her was a requirement, not a recommendation.

  “Ever miss fucking her?” I asked. “Now that she’s gone?”

  “All the time. Fucking her was like riding one of those Panigales.” He sat down on his motorcycle and gazed blankly at the sea of motorcycles parked beside us. “If I took yours and sold it, do you think you’d ever find another bike that’d perform like it?”

  I didn’t even have to think about it. There was nothing on earth that could perform like the Panigale. “Nope.”

  “Panigale pussy. That’s what you ought to call it.” He gestured toward the six Italian race bikes. “Nothing compares.”