BRICK (Lords of Carnage MC)

by Daphne Loveling

  My bedroom isn’t much better. The queen sized bed has practically never been made, the gray and white comforter twisted into a ball with the sheets in the middle of the mattress.

  It’s not exactly like Gavin is an interior designer or anything. But knowing that he’ll be here soon and will see all this makes me feel self-conscious, all the same. I do a hurried vacuum of the place, make the bed, and manage to dig up a couple pictures I’ve been meaning to hang since I moved in. A couple of hours later, and at least the place doesn’t look quite so sad and pathetic. Satisfied there’s not much more I can do, I take a quick shower, dry my hair, and put on a little bit of makeup. I pull on a clean pair of jeans and my favorite fitted top, and try to ignore the heat that pools between my legs when I remember what he said about not wearing my clothes for very long. Finally, when I can’t think of anything else to do, I pour myself a glass of wine and sit down on the couch with a book and some music, and try not to lose my mind until he gets here.

  Eventually, around a quarter to seven, I hear the far-off but familiar rumble of a Harley. I stand up quickly, almost spilling my wine all over my shirt, and take a few deep breaths. I don’t know why I’m so nervous, but I feel like my heart’s going to beat out of my chest. Through the front window, I see Gavin pull up in front of my house. I open the front door and go out to meet him as he cuts the engine and slides off the bike.

  “Babe,” he rumbles, crossing the distance between us in just a couple of steps. “You look good enough to eat.”

  He’s wearing his leather, of course, and his face is even more tanned than usual, as though he’s been out in the sun today. “You look pretty good, too,” I risk. My bottom lip slides nervously between my teeth.

  “You bite that lip like that, I’m gonna have to take you inside and bite it for you,” he murmurs, pulling me close.

  “Is that what you had in mind?” I half-gasp as his lips heat up my skin. I feel kind of melty — like he’s turning me boneless.

  “I had in mind to take you out on my bike.” He growls against my ear. “But I think that’s gonna have to wait. I’m not gonna be able to ride like this.” His thick, hard heat presses against me, making me shiver. I’m instantly wet, embarrassingly so. A low throb begins between my legs that makes it suddenly hard to think.

  “We… we could go inside,” I say, my voice trembling.

  Almost before the words are out of my mouth he’s picked me up and is carrying me toward the house. I half-think to be embarrassed, in case one of my neighbors is outside and can see us, but being in his arms is making me feel sort of dizzy. I wrap my arms around his neck as he yanks open my front door and carries me through it. Inside, he doesn’t even slow down. “Bedroom,” he orders.

  “Down the hall, on the right,” I breathe. Already my pulse is racing. It’s amazing how quickly I just abandon myself to him. I don’t think I could resist him no matter what the price. I wouldn’t know how.

  In the bedroom, he slides me from his arms and puts me on the bed. For a second, I silently curse myself for not changing the sheets this afternoon. He steps back and unzips his pants, pushing his jeans down until they hang to his thighs. He takes out his cock and wraps his hand around the base. It’s the first time I’ve really gotten a good look at it, and oh, my God, it’s massive. No wonder he felt so good inside me last time. I suppress a moan as I feel the throbbing between my legs grow.

  “You know what I want,” he says huskily as he strokes. “Take off your jeans.”

  I do as I’m told, sliding my jeans off and kicking them to the floor.

  “Take off your shirt and bra.”

  My eyes locked on his, I pull the shirt over my head and unclasp the bra. When I’m naked except for my panties, his eyes slide slowly down my body with unconcealed lust. His gaze lingers on my breasts; my nipples grow taut.

  “Touch yourself.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but I know he won’t take no for an answer. I’ve never done this in front of anyone. My cheeks flame red as my fingers slide under the fabric of my panties.

  “Push the panties aside,” he commands. I slide one finger into my wet opening, and slide the juices against my throbbing clit. It feels so good that I gasp and half-close my eyes.

  “Fuck, yes,” he growls. He’s stroking himself slowly, from root to tip. I reach out for him, my fingers circling him near the top, loving the heat and hardness of him. He groans at my touch, a bead of pre-cum appearing at the tip. My mouth actually waters at the thought of tasting him, feeling the velvet of his skin against my tongue.

  “I want to taste you,” I say. I didn’t know I was going to say the words, I couldn’t stop them before they came out of my mouth.

  “Not yet. Not tonight.”

  He moves his hand and cups my face as I begin to stroke, in the same rhythm that I’m teasing myself. I turn and wrap my lips around the tip of his finger, sucking it into my mouth and moaning as I imagine it’s his cock. “Fuck, Sydney,” he groans as my tongue swirls around, showing him what I want to do to him. In my hand, I feel his cock pulse and jump. He pulls away from me and takes a step back.

  By now, my whole body is crying out for his touch. I whimper and stroke my clit, faster, faster, my whole body aching with need. He knows it, too, I can tell by the feral half-smile on his face as he slows down his own rhythm as mine speeds up.

  “Tell me what you want me to do to you,” he rasps. I can see it in his eyes, he won’t give me what I need until I ask for it.

  “I want you to fuck me,” I whisper. “I need to come.”

  “Take off your panties,” he says. “Spread your legs for me.”

  I slide them down my legs and pull them off. Hesitating just a moment, I open my thighs slowly. He waits. I open them wider, until I’m completely exposed.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, that’s gorgeous,” he says, his voice thick. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a condom. Stepping out of his jeans, he slides it over his shaft and lowers himself onto the bed between my legs. “You’re so fucking wet for me, Sydney. God damn, you’re so wet.” He slicks the head of his cock through my wetness. I half-cry out, my head falling back as I arch my hips toward him. Just seconds more like that and I’m going to come, and I want it, I need it so badly.

  “Please make me come,” I beg him.

  “What do you want, Sydney? Tell me what you want.”

  “I want… your cock,” I pant. “I want your cock inside me.”

  His hands are on my hips then, lifting me upright and off the bed so that I’m straddling him. He guides me down onto his shaft, the top of his cock sliding deliciously against my clit as my pussy opens and stretches to take him all in. The heat of him alone almost sends me over the edge.

  “Sydney, Jesus fuck, do you feel what you do to me?” he mutters against my throat, his voice thick. I can feel the pulse of my heartbeat thrumming against his lips. “All I can think about for weeks is how badly I want to be inside you. I’m going to fuck you within an inch of your life, and you’re going to come around my cock. I want to watch you lose control, because it’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

  I wrap my arms around his neck and cling to him as he begins to thrust deep inside me, his cock wet and slick with my juices. It’s better than anything I could imagine as my hips move with his, sending me higher and higher.

  “This is what you wanted,” he urges me.

  “Yes, Gavin,” I whimper, digging my nails into his back as my thighs tighten around him. My eyes begin to flutter closed.

  “Look at me, Sydney,” he commands. My eyes snap open to lock on his. It’s impossibly intimate, like he’s looking into my soul. I do as he tells me, as my breathing grows shallow and ragged. I’m so close, so close, and then it’s here, he’s here with me fucking me and it’s so good and any second I’m…

  “Oh, God, I’m going to…” I gasp, and then my body convulses as my orgasm rips through me. He covers my mouth with his, swallowing my cries as
the waves hit me, and then all his muscles clench at once and he groans and lets go, coming inside me in one explosive thrust.

  We stay like that, him buried inside me, kissing deep and desperate, gasping for air but unable to stop. Eventually, the racing of my heart begins to slow, and the sheen of sweat that covers me starts to cool. Gavin’s hand leaves my back and travels upward to my face. Gently, he brushes my tangled hair away from my face, then grazes a callused thumb along my cheek.

  He doesn’t say anything.

  Neither do I.

  21

  Brick

  “So, have I earned the real story of what brought you here to Tanner Springs?” I ask her.

  We’re lying in bed, covers pulled over us. Sydney is nestled in the crook of my arm.

  I’m fighting a wave of something I don’t quite understand. What just happened between the two of us, just now… it wasn’t like anything I’ve ever experienced with any woman.

  I’ve had plenty of sex. I’ve had more women than I could ever count. Half of them, I didn’t even know their names at the time, or if I did I forgot them as soon as I pulled out.

  When I felt Sydney clench around me, her orgasm felt almost like it became a part of mine. We came together, with her shuddering in my arms. It made me feel like a million goddamn bucks.

  Even worse, it made me want to shut out the rest of the world and just stay here with her. Doing nothing but this. And maybe occasionally ordering a pizza so we don’t starve to death.

  For the first time, I think I understand how a man could fall down a rabbit hole for a woman. The soft cascade of her hair against my chest, the sounds she makes when I move inside her, the way she holds onto me for dear life as she starts to come… all of it is making its way into the pathways of my mind. Threatening to stick there. To make her something — someone — I don’t want to be without.

  I want to know more about Sydney Banner. I want to know things no one else knows about her.

  And as good as it feels to be with her, alarm bells are starting to sound in my brain.

  As a Marine, I got used to deprivation. To testing the limits of my physical and emotional endurance. I got used to doing without, to living a life stripped bare of anything but training, readiness, and being constantly alert to danger. That was the part I ended up liking best about it, strangely enough. There was no time or energy to waste thinking about shit that didn’t matter. The past was over and done with. The future was something that might never even happen.

  When I got out of the Corps, patching into the Lords of Carnage gave me something similar. There was a lot more partying, and a lot more pussy. But the basic premise was the same, at least for me. My role as a member, and eventually as the Enforcer, was clear. Unlike some of the brothers, I didn’t have any family to speak of. No old lady, no kids, nothing to be except a Lord. When I see Ghost with Jenna and their kids, or Hawk with Samantha, I tell myself I’m happy for them, but that kind of life is not for me. I’m not a man who’s interested in constructing a future, with a family and all that shit. All I want is my club, and my lake house, and to be left alone.

  That’s what I tell myself.

  Which is why, instead of lying here asking Sydney about her childhood, I should be pulling on my pants and getting the hell out of here.

  “What do you mean, the ‘real story’?” she asks with a yawn, and throws an arm across my chest.

  “You said you grew up in Atlantic City, and that your dad is in the ‘resort and casino business’,” I remind her.

  “Was in the business,” she corrects me. “He’s dead.”

  “Oh.” I don’t say anything for a moment. The way she says this — He’s dead — is so matter of fact. She’s sure as hell not asking for sympathy from me. But there’s a tightness in her voice, just barely perceptible, that tells me she’s working hard to hide the pain from me. And maybe from herself.

  After a beat, I decide to push a little, “Do you miss him?”

  I can feel her stop breathing for just a moment. “Yeah.”

  And then I decide.

  “Tell me about him.”

  Sydney pauses, making me think she’s about to change the subject. But then she doesn’t. “He wasn’t the most conventional dad in the world, but he loved me,” she begins. “And my mom wasn’t in the picture. She left my dad when I was four. And I have no idea where she is today, or if she’s even alive. My dad told me she never really wanted to be a mom. So, he was kind of all I had.”

  “Shit.” I pull her closer. “So, he was a gambler, huh?”

  She chuckles softly. “You figured that out, did you?”

  “Yeah. I have uncanny powers of perception.”

  “He was born in North Carolina,” she murmurs. “I think he was a high school dropout. Came to New Jersey when he was eighteen or so. Met my mom, dazzled her with his charm and good looks, and got her pregnant before either one of them really knew what was happening. Hence, me.”

  “Lucky me,” I murmur against her hair, before I can stop myself.

  It feels like something in the air shifts. My heart pounds in my chest. If she notices it, she doesn’t say anything.

  “Like I said, my mom left when I was young,” she continues, as if I haven’t spoken. “I don’t have any memory of her. So, it was just the two of us. My dad moved us around a lot. I’d go to school sometimes, sometimes not. Every once in a while, he’d come into some good money and we’d put down some roots for a while. But it seemed like just when I’d start really get attached to one place, make some real friends, he’d say it was time to go. So after a while, I didn’t bother making friends so much.

  “My dad loved me, though,” she says in a small, sad voice. “I mean, in his own way. He wasn’t really equipped to be a normal father, but he did the best he could by me. He felt bad, I think, about hauling me all over the place, so he’d buy me books and stuff and try to make sure I was reading them instead of rotting my brain watching TV or playing video games all the time. He’d talk to me about gambling, too. It was what he knew, you know? Something he could teach me himself. I don’t think he really intended to make a gambler out of me, exactly. It seemed more like he thought he was teaching me about the world through the lessons he gave me. About human weaknesses, and how to read people, and how to understand whether the odds are against you or not.”

  Listening to Sydney talk about her father, I can’t help but picture her as a young girl. Red hair in a tangle, always the new girl in a new school. Raised to fend for herself. My throat constricts a little. I resist the urge to hold her tighter, not wanting to distract her from telling her story.

  “When I was old enough, Dad started teaching me the tricks of his trade,” she tells me. “I was most interested in blackjack, so he taught me how to count cards. At first, it was mostly just a math exercise. But it turned out I was good at it. I wasn’t doing it at the casinos, of course, since I wasn’t old enough. And my dad absolutely forbid me to gamble for money before I turned eighteen. But when I did turn eighteen, I started testing out what I’d learned by reading and doing simulations online. Eventually, he got me into the gambling circuit by getting me fake identification saying I was twenty-one, so I could get into the casinos.” She laughs softly. “Turns out that my irregular schooling helped on that front. I didn’t have a high school diploma, so it was harder to prove I wasn’t as old as I said I was.

  “At first, I just watched the other people, and made sure I broke even so I didn’t arouse suspicion. Then, eventually, I started letting myself win a little more often. I’d set limits to how much I’d allow myself to make, to discipline myself.”

  I think back to when I first started coming into the Golden Cup. How it always seemed to me that Sydney had the look of someone who had learned how to fend for herself early. I’m starting to get why she chafes so much when she thinks I’m treating her like she’s helpless.

  I also know, instinctively, that if she thinks I’m feeling sorry for her now,
she’ll shut down and stop talking.

  “This isn’t exactly the life story I’d expect from a small town coffee shop owner,” I tease, keeping my voice light.

  “No, I suppose not.” She raises her head and gives me a playful grin. “Imagine how scandalized kolache guy would be if he knew.”

  “So, you were good at it,” I prompt. “Gambling.”

  “I was,” she nods.

  “That how you made enough money to start up the coffee shop?”

  “Eventually, yeah. It’s a little more complicated than that, though.”

  Sydney pauses for a moment, like she’s considering how much further to go with her story.

  “I wasn’t planning on making a living out of it. And even though my dad taught me as much as he could about the tricks of his trade, he didn’t want me to be a professional gambler, either. He always told me it was a dangerous life, an uncertain and unstable one. And of course I knew that, just from the way I was raised. I wanted to go to college, actually.” She sighs. “I dreamed of having a normal life, of living in a dorm and eating pizza and ramen, and study sessions, and having a roommate, and girlfriends…” Sydney trails off and gives a dry little laugh. “Well. That didn’t happen. A couple months after my eighteenth birthday, my dad started coughing a ton. We thought it was bronchitis, but the meds the doc gave him didn’t work. Finally, he went in for some more tests to see what was up. Turned out he had lung cancer. By the time they caught it, he was almost at stage four. He was dead six weeks later.”