If I hadn’t been in the process of fucking my woman raw, I’d have ridden down and kicked the shit out of him then and there. As it was that’d have to wait. Looking back I should’ve known she was up to something the way she all but pushed me out the door. She did it under the ruse it was to get Cage off my back, and so she could get me back into bed uninterrupted, however I know now that they weren’t the only reasons.
I sped home faster than I should have. It was stupid, but like I said earlier I fucking hate leaving Priss for any reason, and this time was no different. Walking through the door she launched herself at me, I was able to catch her, but only just. At her request I took her into our bathroom where she thrust a white plastic stick at me telling me to look at it. At first I thought she’d lost her mind, what the fuck did I want with a piece of plastic? On closer inspection that piece of plastic turned into the best gift I’ve ever been given.
That afternoon I took my time worshipping the woman that holds my heart, and healed my soul. I kissed every inch of her skin lingering over her abdomen that was now carrying my baby, and I finished by burying my face, then my fingers, followed by my cock deep inside her tight, wet pussy. As much as I wanted to roar with satisfaction, beat my chest and claim my woman I held back, fucking her slowly, gentler than I ever have.
Every touch. Every whimper. Every time she cried out my name. Every orgasm she had that day I catalogued. I wanted to remember that day, memorise everything we did. The next thing I did was call every member of my family, both blood and club that would answer their fucking phones. Originally Priss said she wanted to wait, make sure everything was okay and went to plan before sharing our news. I wasn’t having that. I’ve waited thirty-six years to become a dad, so I was damn sure telling anyone that’d listen.
My mom and dad were ecstatic, promising to come out and visit A-SAP. My brothers were much the same, except Reid, and we all know why that is. He still isn’t over losing Priss to me, not that it was ever a competition and if it was he didn’t stand a chance, but he was slowly coming around to the idea that we’re together, and that isn’t going to changed, ever. The brothers decided to celebrate biker style, going all out to throw the party to end at parties in way of a celebration. I could barely walk or talk the next day, and I think I’m still suffering from alcohol poisoning more than five months later, but it was worth it because that was the day everything changed for Priss and I, and we haven’t looked back since.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Hunter
In The End – Linkin Park
I set Glock a task prior to the party, I may have threatened his life if he didn’t get it organised within the two week timeframe I set him, but he’s alive so he obviously managed to accomplish it.
I promised myself when I had a baby with someone I’d be married to its momma. The fact that I wanted to marry Priss before finding out she was carrying our baby is the most important part to remember, her being pregnant only sped the process up. I had every intention of proposing to Priss the week after she’d taken that pregnancy test. The ring was bought and paid for, sitting in the back of my wardrobe, but she beat me to the punch with her announcement, and I didn’t want her thinking I was only doing it because of the baby. This is where Glock comes in…
Glock’s job was to find someone, anyone, to marry us, get everyone we know to the clubhouse by three in the afternoon, and make sure my brothers remembered to pick up my parents from the airport by midday. You’d think they could manage a few simple instructions, but fuck no. I got six calls by eleven AM, and then one frantic one from my parents when they realised there was no one there to pick them up. Jesus Christ, they’re worse than trying to corralling ADHD toddlers after feeding them cotton candy, and locking them in a bare room for hours on end. All of them had gotten distracted by something else, leaving me to drive the hour there and back to collect my parents with an hour left to spare to get myself ready. Not that I needed a lot of time, I just didn’t want to have to run around all over the countryside the day I was due to get married.
The whole set up was simple, nothing like the detail that was put into Cage and Kendall’s wedding. Even Arrow and V’s reception at the clubhouse had taken a month and a half to plan. I didn’t want it to look like I’d rushed things, was only making it official because of some fucked up sense of morals, but I feared that would be how she saw it.
A small card table was set not far from where we’d tie the knot for signing the relevant documents. Priest got his hands on a marriage license for me at short notice, and Brenna had tried to put together an after celebration with the few pieces of information I’d given her. Things like; Priss’ favourite colour is aquamarine, her dress has to be ivory, Priss mentioned once a long time ago that she’d hate to get married in white, it’s too pretentious, and I wanted a short service. That’s all I gave her, everything else was up to Brenna. Food, decorations, drinks, I didn’t care, all I wanted was Priss as my wife and in a few short months a healthy child.
Watching her walk toward me that day took my breath away. The ivory gown Brenna chose fit Priss like a glove, showing off her gorgeous tits, rounding them, pushing them up for my viewing pleasure. Brenna mentioned something about the dress being mermaid style. I had no fucking clue what that meant, but she was stunning in it. With her silky long blonde hair loose, lightly curled and a few pieces gathered away from her face, Priss made the perfect picture of a bride. And she was, my bride. Soon to be my wife. And I couldn’t fucking wait.
I’d opted to wear a suit, but instead of the jacket I replaced it with my cut. The MC is a part of me, a part Priss readily accepted, and it felt right. After everything we’d been through with the club of late to include them in the service somehow felt important.
I saw the tears in her eyes as she got close enough, so I pulled her in close reassuring myself they were happy, that I hadn’t upset her. Telling me that I’d made her the happiest woman alive set my heart soaring. I didn’t believe I could love her more than I did in that moment, but I was wrong. I’ve fallen more in love with my wife every day since.
Our marriage is nothing like mine and Charlee’s. The difference wasn’t that I was no longer in the Navy, or that I was home almost always. The difference between the two is Priss accepts me for who I am, faults and all. She loves me for what we give each other, not what she can take. She gives me solace, peace at the end of a hard day. She’s my saviour when the nightmares creep in on my otherwise restful sleep, which is only possible because she’s lying next to me. They aren’t as frequent these days, and I’m quicker to let the disturbing images go having her in my arms, in our bed every night.
We haven’t spent a night apart since the day her parents showed up, bar one. I had an overnight run, one I couldn’t get out of, and I tried to desperately trust me. I took my name off rotation when it came to runs that would have me gone for a night or more. It isn’t just that I have trouble controlling my baser protective and possessive traits when it comes to her, it’s that I suffer what’s akin to long-term drug use withdrawals if I don’t start, and end my day with her. She knows this and has supported me, but she’s also encouraged me to take the runs if I felt like I needed to ride with the guys. To me unless it was absolutely fucking essential to the other brothers safety that wouldn’t be happening. It didn’t feel right. I couldn’t sleep well without her. I fucking hated it. All good enough reasons in my book not to do it.
Leaning against the dividing wall that separates our kitchen and dining room, I watch her intently as she sways her hips to the beat of whatever song she has on today. Every night my woman cooks dinner, and while she’s doing it she plays her shitty playlist, and dances around the kitchen while making a mess the likes I’ve never seen. I swear, she can use every pot and pan in the house to make a simple pasta dish. But as long as she’s happy, greeting me like she always does, with a kiss that has me hard in seconds, leaving me that way until I can take care of it using her gorgeous body later, I do
n’t care what she fucking has blaring out of the iPod dock.
Priss lets out an adorable shriek when she turns noticing I’m home.
“Holy shit Hunter, you scared the crap out of me.” One hand is clutching at her chest, the other resting protectively over our son. Yes, we’re having a boy. There was no convincing me to wait so that it could be a surprise like Priss wanted. I needed to know. I wanted warning, time for preparation if we were having a girl. It’s bad enough that even six months pregnant my wife is checked out by every man whose path she crosses.
They stare at her tits, her ass, her sexy as fuck legs, regardless of if I’m on her arm or not. It doesn’t matters to them that she’s sporting a perfectly rounded beach ball for a stomach. My wife is stunning, and during her pregnancy she’s only gotten more fucking beautiful.
Her skin glows. Her hair’s shinier, I didn’t know that was possible, but there you have it. And her curves are even more delectable, it’s a daily struggle to keep my hands off her. Restraining myself from bending her over every surface we pass is getting harder and harder as the days go on.
Speaking of hard.
“You got something for me?” We’ve had the same routine for months now. If she doesn’t jump into my arms immediately after I walk in the door I make damn sure she isn’t out of them longer than absolutely necessary.
Closing the distance between us Priss wraps herself around me as I take in her sweet subtle scent. The way she feels nestled into me. The feeling of my son kicking against my abs. Pressing her lips to the base of my throat she asks,
“Did everything go okay today? You look stressed Baby.”
“Yeah, Beautiful everything’s good. Didn’t go as planned, but we worked it out.” Placing my hand over her swollen belly I enquire, “How’s my boy doing today? Not giving you too much trouble?”
Lately, Axton Hunter Adams, (I got to choose his given name and what better than to have one he can shorten to use as a road name later?), has been giving my wife hell. If it’s not heartburn bad enough to bring tears to her eyes, it’s him kicking her so hard her ribs ache even hours later. Kissing my lips softly she nuzzles back into my chest.
“Nope, he’s been good all day. Maybe he’s getting used to being squashed in there.”
Running her hands up and down my back under my tee I feel the resurgence of my ever present, when she’s within ten feet of me, erection. My decision’s made for me, and in less than two minutes I have her sitting naked on the kitchen counter spread out for me like a feast. And I intend to do just that, feast on her. Devour her until she’s begging me to put her out of her misery, if I make it that far. I’ll be the first to admit that I have serious issues when it comes to delayed gratification.
Ripping my tee over my head I unbuckle my belt, and unbutton the first button of my jeans. My boots and socks I toed off earlier while I was ravaging her mouth. She’s kissing my chest, using her fingers to caress over the date inked into the centre of my tribal sun.
A few months ago she finally asked me what it stood for, what it represented. I’m genuinely surprised it took her that long. Priss is naturally curious, and has difficulty waiting a minute to ask a question, let alone years. Eight years ago I fell in love with the woman I’d spent my life waiting for, two weeks later I had the date I met her inked permanently in my skin. When I told my woman what it meant to me, how much it means to me now she’s mine, Priss spent the next hour paying extra special attention to my chest, and has done ever since.
Bending down I draw a line from the bottom of her ear all the way down to her belly button feeling her entire body shudder with need. I don’t keep her waiting long before I trace the pink folds of her pussy, drawing, feeding, lavishing attention on every inch of perfect hot flesh.
Her moans, the way she’s pulling, clutching, tearing at my hair has me sucking her clit into my mouth, and shoving two fingers deep inside her. We learned early on that I have to prep her before the main event, I can’t drive into her spontaneously, Priss is too tight for that. I need to stretch her, make room for me to plunge into her. She’s rotating her hips against my hand writhing on the counter, desperate to cum.
Scooping her up I’m glad I had the forethought to leave my pants mostly done up. Striding the length of the hallway I deposit her on the centre of our bed, and watch as her hand immediately takes up where I left off. Watching my wife finger fuck herself has me undressing in record time, ditching my clothes in a pile on the floor, where I’m sure they’ll stay until the morning. I have no intention of letting Priss out of our bed until it’s unavoidable.
Snatching her hand away from her cunt I lick her fingers clean, savouring the taste that’s so uniquely her. The taste I crave on my tongue every hour of every day. The taste I can’t get enough of. Sucking the last of her cream off her fingers I brace myself above her. I’m more aware of my size now than I ever have been. Not my cock, although that has caused me more than my fair share of concerns about whether I could hurt her, or the baby.
My build isn’t small or average, I’m a big guy, and the last thing I want is to cause her pain. I’m forever making sure I don’t make her take too much of my weight, afraid I’ll put too much pressure on something I shouldn’t.
Staring into her eyes I take both of her hands in one of mine bracing them over her head. With her hands captured I line my cock up with the entrance of her dripping wet pussy, and with my free hand spread her juices down my shaft to ease my entry. Rubbing my cockhead over her clit, up and down, I push my way in slowly giving her pussy time to accommodate me, get wetter for me, show me she’s ready for me.
“Now Hunter, please now,” she begs sweetly. Far be it for me to deny her.
Thrusting inside her halfway feels like heaven. She’s everything I dreamed she would be. Perfection. Working the full length of my cock inside her takes too long in his opinion, but not long enough in mine. I always want more time with her. More time on, in, around her. More everything. Finally all the way inside, caressing her cervix from the outside, I grind my hips into hers making sure not a fraction of my cock misses out on the experience.
Eyes meeting, staying locked on each other, our hands now intertwined, our breathing in sync, and our hearts beating in time, with our bodies so perfectly connected I say,
“I love you Beautiful. More than I’ll ever be able to show you. You’re it for me. My forever.”
Her body stills, with wide aqua eyes, blonde hair spread out over our pillows framing her beautiful face, body moving again in time with mine she replies saving me all over again.
“You’ve always been my only forever.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Max
“Some need therapy, I have my bike.” – Anonymous
Jesus fucking Christ save me from assholes…There are some days I wished I hadn’t got out of bed, and others that I really wished I hadn’t got out of bed. Today was the latter.
As a tattoo artist you get some of the most ridiculous fucking questions known to mankind. Will this hurt? Uh…Abso-fucking-lutely. It’s thousands of needles piercing your skin over and over again, what do you fucking think? How long will this take? However fucking long it takes. Do you want me to do it well, or scratch it on with a stone, and rub some pen ink in it? Do you like your job? Well I fucking did until some asshole came in asking me a million stupid ass questions.
I figured with the scowl I permanently wear, unless I’m holding my grandbabies, and the cut I wear on my back the people coming in to get tattooed by me would’ve clued on to the fact that I don’t like making idle conversation, I don’t put up with complaining, or bitching and moaning while you’re sitting in my chair, and I definitely don’t take payment in the form of sexual favours from eighteen-nineteen year old girls wanting to score a biker, and a free tattoo. But no, sadly these people do not know any of that if today was anything to go by, and tonight wasn’t shaping up to be much better.
With two artists on full-time, and my niece Kend
all working at the shop part-time we’re turning over a good number of clients, and I’m not having to spend as much time slinging ink as I did only two years ago. It’s not a bad thing, but it isn’t ideal either.
I love my job, shit, I wouldn’t have opened the place if I didn’t, but things just aren’t as uncomplicated as they used to be, and that’s becoming a problem. A big problem. I've been sketching, drawing, and spray painting abandoned buildings, finally graduating to laying ink down on skin for the last thirty-two years.
When I turned fourteen I needed an outlet, something to keep my mind occupied, my hands busy, and the ability to create something beautiful from something plain and ordinary. Creative inspiration used to come to me at the most inopportune times, and whatever was close by, it didn’t much matter the surface, I’d use to assuage the inspiration until it was literally drained from my body, leaving me exhausted and free. I’d like to say I was an average middle-American teenager that didn’t leave home with a childhood any worse than every other normal high school graduate, but that would be bullshit. And also a story for another time.
My brother Sampson and I grew up in Blackwater with our parents, and the MC. We’d both been groomed to join Devil’s Spawn when we were old enough to prospect at eighteen, but while I wanted to follow in my dads’ footsteps, my brother had a different path planned out. To say dad was unhappy Sam wasn’t going to prospect is the understatement of the year, the two of them didn’t speak for three years after Sam told him his plans.
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