by Zoey Parker
“Yes, indeed,” I conceded gravely, “just as I outrank you.”
“But it's Christmas!” he practically bawled.
“Ah-ah-ah, remember: 'No Christmas crap in the Nest. Not now, not ever.' I can't recall who said those words, but I was struck mightily by their profundity, and I intend to embrace the sentiment wholeheartedly. So, unless you have any further objections...”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Growler growled, stomping away and grabbing his heavy coat from a hook behind the bar. He socked another Reaper named Ditch in the shoulder. “Hey, Ditch, take over the bar for me. I gotta go freeze my cock off in the frozen goddamn tundra 'cause Nic needs some strange, apparently. Hooray for fuckin' me.” And with that, he disappeared into the cold night air.
I wish I'd known then that it was the last time we'd see Growler in one piece. But I hadn't.
None of us had.
Chapter Six
Lauren
Nic led me out front to the motorcycles standing in a row, singling out a beautiful-looking red bike. I didn't know anything about these machines, but I instantly knew that this one was my favorite, and not just because it was clearly his.
“Lauren, this is Lola,” he said. “Lola, this is Lauren.”
“Well, hello Lola,” I said, running my fingertips over the handlebars sensually. “Such a pretty name for such a pretty bike. You know, I'm not usually into threesomes, but...”
Nic laughed. “By the way, my name's Nic.”
“I know, 'Sergeant Nic,'” I smiled, pointing to his patch.
He nodded. “Yeah. I sometimes wonder why we wear our names on our cuts. I mean, it's not like we're working at Wal-Mart. Fuck whether people know our names. They just need to know we're Reapers. I said that to Bard a few times...”
“Was he the one you were talking to? With the glasses?”
“Yeah,” Nic answered. “He's our club president.”
“So, what does the Sergeant-at-Arms do?” I asked, shivering slightly against the chilly air. “Like, 'Arms,' does that mean you control the gang's, um...guns, or something...?”
Nic's smile tightened for a brief moment, and I felt like I'd committed some rudeness without realizing it.
“Well, first of all, we're not a gang, we're a club,” Nic explained. “That probably seems like a weird distinction to people who aren't members, but...”
“No, I totally get it,” I assured him, remembering how understanding he was about the whole actor/actress thing. “Gangs are for criminals and thugs, right? And it's obvious that you guys are about more than that. Like, clearly you have a code and traditions—like the patches and the ranks—that mean a lot to you. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you.”
Nic's eyes narrowed for a moment, as though he were trying to ascertain whether I was being sarcastic. My eyes must have demonstrated my sincerity, though, because he nodded. “Yeah, see, you get it. Most people wouldn't. Anyway, as Sergeant-at-Arms, I'm the guy whose job it is to keep the other guys in line, on behalf of the president. Like if a Reaper violates any of the club's bylaws, he gets a visit from me. Or if someone retires or does something that would forfeit his patches, I'm the one who's sent to collect them.”
Again, I thought about the room full of bikers—most of them twice Nic's size—and considered what it said about him, that his job was to keep them in line. I tried to picture Nic disciplining a mountain of a man like Growler, and shuddered.
Nic straddled the bike, handing me his helmet and gesturing for me to get on behind him. I hiked up my dress so high that my black lace panties were briefly exposed, eliciting a nod of appreciation from him. The machine roared to life between my legs and I instantly felt myself become wet from the raw power I felt throbbing through it. Nic revved the engine once, twice, and then roared away from the bar, down the street.
# # #
After a few minutes, Nic pulled the bike over to the side of the street in front of a condemned-looking grey stone apartment building. It would have been easy enough to walk there from the Devil's Nest, and I briefly wondered why we hadn't. Then I realized that he'd meant the ride as foreplay, and I got so turned on that I felt dizzy.
“This way, darlin',” Nic said, leading me to the door of the building. We stepped into the darkened hallway together. The round white light fixtures above us were dead, with ragged-looking cords hanging down from them like jellyfish tendrils. There were several holes in the cheap plaster walls, and the floorboards were full of scuffs and splinters. I knew that I should have been appalled by such squalor, but instead, it excited me even more. I'd walked past plenty of condemned buildings like this, but it had never occurred to me to actually enter one. Just being there felt dangerous and exhilarating.
Nic pushed open a door at the end of the hall, beckoning me to walk in. I stepped in carefully, my high heels clicking and echoing in the nearly-empty space. There were a couple of well-worn cardboard boxes bulging with books and clothes. A small TV sat in the middle of the floor, and a mattress and box spring had been shoved into a corner, but that was it in terms of furniture.
The television was connected to a power strip, which was plugged into a series of mismatched extension cords that snaked out through the door, but the only source of illumination came from the street lights outside the window. As my eyes naturally drifted toward the light, I saw that it had started to snow outside. Fat, white flakes seemed to create a strobe effect as they fell into the glare of the yellow glow of the sodium lamps on the street.
While I looked at the snow, I felt Nic's hands slide over my body from behind me. He cupped my left breast with one hand and wrapped his other around my waist, his breath hot against the back of my neck. I felt a soft moan escape my throat, and he held me even more tightly, kissing my shoulder hungrily. I slipped out of my stilettos, sighing happily as I settled back against his firm body. I pressed my buttocks against his crotch and wiggled suggestively, feeling him stiffen. His hands continued to move restlessly over my body, pressing hard, exploring every inch of my torso.
Suddenly, he spun me around to face him and grabbed the back of my neck roughly, pulling me in for a kiss. I succumbed immediately, gratefully, parting my lips to welcome his tongue as it boldly quested for my own. Our breath mingled, and his grip on my neck tightened, kneading it with iron-hard fingertips that seemed to release years' worth of tension.
As we continued to kiss, Nic's other hand reached out to massage my breast, his thumb sliding inside my dress to tease my nipple. His touch wasn't gentle, and I didn't want it to be. He rubbed my areola with surprising pressure, causing it to instantly harden. I moaned again, louder, and he pulled his mouth away from mine long enough to bite the side of my neck hard enough for me to gasp. As he did, he reached behind me, his fingers finding the zipper of my dress and pulling it down with aching slowness. He ran his smooth palm over my naked back, then lowered it to stroke the dimpled cleft just above my buttocks.
As he cradled my lower back with one hand, he placed his other flat against my chest. I felt him pushing me gently, and realized that he'd maneuvered us over to the mattress in the corner. I relaxed my entire body and gave in, allowing him to lower me to the bed until I dropped the final few inches, wriggling out of my dress to reveal my breasts and my soaked panties.
Nic lowered himself over me, cradling my face almost tenderly now with one hand as he kissed my lips again. With the fingertips of his other hand, he traced gentle lines across my breasts and my belly, and my entire body vibrated with delight. I felt my back arch reflexively beneath me. I could smell my own gentle musk, and wondered if he could too.
As if in reply, Nic took his mouth away from mine and moved it down my neck, planting deep and sultry kisses on my neck, my breasts, my stomach. I raised my hands to his head, stroking his hair and running my fingers through it. I felt his fingers hook the sides of my panties and slide them down my legs, leaving my willing pussy exposed and eager for him.
He tossed the panties to the side of the
bed and leaned in, tenderly kissing and tonguing my labia. I bit my lip to hold down the cry at the back of my throat waiting to be released. He licked me from back to front, over and over, slowly, methodically, my juices coating his soft lips. Suddenly, he moved forward and gently took my clit between his teeth, flicking it with his talented tongue. I opened my mouth wide, allowing the cry of delight to finally escape as his fingers plunged inside of me. I came immediately.
Unable to control myself any longer, I lifted his head and lunged forward, locking lips with him again. He seemed surprised for a moment, then gave in, allowing me to taste my own salty sweetness clinging to his lips. I kept kissing him as my hands groped for his large belt buckle—an etched-metal War Reaper symbol—and undid the clasp. I took the tongue of the thick metal zipper between my fingers and slid it down slowly, letting him feel each clasp part, one by one, until it was completely undone. He reached up to pull his jeans down, but I gently waved his hands away, eager to undress him, to serve him, to demonstrate that I was his.
I climbed on top of him and slid his jeans and underwear down his legs, revealing his erect cock. I reached up to wrap my hand around the shaft, stroking it for a moment before sliding my body up between his parted legs. I opened my mouth and lowered it over him, feeling every inch of his pulsing warmth slide up my tongue until it touched the back of my throat. It was his turn to issue a low moan, and I could feel the happiness bloom inside my chest, the satisfaction of being able to please him. I moved my head up and down, my jaw opening as wide as it possibly could in order to accommodate his impressive length. As I sucked on him, my fingertips stroked his scrotum tenderly, and I could feel the skin draw tight and harden with goosebumps.
Before he could finish, I withdrew my mouth and raised myself to my knees, straddling him. He raised his hands, and I took them in my own quickly, lowering them to the bed again and holding them there. I knew that he could easily overpower me, but instead, he let me pin him down.
I removed my hands from his, quickly reaching into my purse and fumbling for the string of condoms I'd always carried with me since college in case of an unexpected night at Jared's place. For a terrible moment, I was sure that I wouldn't find them—that somehow, they had fallen out while I'd been transferring my things from one purse to another. However, my fingers felt the creased square wrappers a moment later, and I pulled one out, deftly tearing open the corner and pulling the latex disc from within.
For a moment, I thought he'd protest—No need for that, darlin', I don't use 'em—but instead, he nodded again encouragingly. I slid the condom over the tip of his cock, still slick with my saliva, and gingerly rolled it down to the bottom of his shaft.
I put my hands on his shoulders and lowered my hips, mounting him, allowing him to slide past my moist and trembling lips and penetrate me to my core. I could feel him fill every part of me, and I arched my neck, releasing a high and wavering growl like an animal in heat. He moaned in response, his hips thrusting up beneath mine with a steady and practiced rhythm, as though he'd been waiting for me his whole life.
I knew I'd been waiting for him. I'd been waiting to feel so filled up and blissful. I felt like I'd spent my entire life in the shade and had finally been allowed to feel the sun.
We rocked together steadily, our soft sounds of passion rising into a deafening crescendo as we climaxed together. God, we fit together so perfectly. It was like we were made for each other. How had I ever been satisfied with someone like Jared? How much time had I wasted with him, without knowing that someone like this was waiting for me and could show me such passion?
Reluctantly, I slid myself off of him, tugging the now-filled condom from his cock and tossing it aside. I was completely unprepared for him when he rose up to embrace me, both of us sitting cross-legged and facing each other, leaning forward to kiss. His hands settled over my shoulders, pushing them, forcing me down onto my back. Could he possibly be ready again so soon?
As if in answer, Nic slid one hand over my chest to keep me in place, using the other to reach into my purse for another condom. He tore it open and slid it on himself this time, all with one hand like some kind of sleight-of-hand magician.
Once it was in place, he took his hand away from my chest and wrapped it around my ankle, pulling my legs apart roughly. He plunged inside of me with shocking ferocity, and I let out a tight scream of pleasure. He pushed harder, deeper, unrelenting, insistent. I felt myself stretch tightly over his shaft, a single note of pain intertwined with a melody of pleasure I had never felt before. It seemed like he wanted to tear me in half, and I wanted him to. I wanted him to rip me apart with his unbridled lust like no one ever had before.
He was leaning forward, bending me at an acute angle with my ankles on his shoulders so that he could delve even further inside of me. Even with the condom on, I could feel the surge of his orgasm, and met it with my own, drenching him, leaving my passion glistening all over his skin like an exquisite oil.
Nic took me again that night, and again, and again, until the condoms had all been spent and so had our strength. We wrapped ourselves around each other and drifted off as the first rays of cold gray winter sunlight peeked through the window.
Chapter Seven
Growler
When I got to the corner where Nic lived, I was already shivering, my boots and socks soaked through from the half-dozen icy puddles I'd had to step in on the way. God forbid I'd been allowed to ride my bike over there, oh no. God forbid I did anything to let the kid and his hot new squeeze know I was following them. We couldn't have that, could we? No, we didn't want to ruin the moment, now did we?
Jesus Christ in a fuckin' canoe, it's not like I tagged along to peep at them or join in. I'm just here to watch the little dude's back—that's all. So what's the goddamn problem? Why the need for all this cloak-and-dagger bullshit?!
Well, the problem was Bard, for starters. I loved the guy, and what's more, I respected him. He'd long since earned it. Hell, he'd pulled my ass out of more fires than I'd cared to remember. He wasn't perfect, but he'd always done his best by the Reapers as their leader, and he'd proven himself worthy of the role without question. He'd never backed down from a fight, but he'd never started one without a good reason, either.
I'd been on the road for going on three decades, and I'd known about a zillion bikers from a billion different MCs. But no matter what their patches said or what symbols they had on their cuts, they were mostly a simple and predictable bunch. Guys with hard words, hard hands, and hard heads. Like me, when you came right down to it. What you saw was what you got, so when you were running with these dudes, what they saw from you had better be one badass motherfucker, or you were just begging to be stomped and left in a ditch next to the highway.
But Bard was different, and once you'd seen him in action, it was hard not to be in awe of him. One minute, all you saw was the kind of prissy dickhead who worked in an insurance office or something, and would probably fire you for coming in five minutes late. The next minute, you saw a lethal fucking whirlwind of kicks and punches, the kind of shit that would drop a professional fighter in the first round. There was no fear in that man, no quit—but no macho crap, either, no posturing. I'd never known anyone like him before, and somewhere inside of me, I knew I probably never would again.
And Bard had a soft spot for Nic. It was easy to see why. For all the shit I gave the kid, he was a battle-tested Reaper through and through. Not only that, but there was a little glimmer in his eyes that showed the kind of intelligence Bard had, even though he didn't use the same fancy-pants words Bard did or go around quoting shit you'd never even heard of.
Sure, I was the club's veep, and I knew I was good at it. A veep needed balls to back up his leader, after all, and I had plenty. But a president needed smarts. He needed to know how to avoid certain fights, instead of just finishing them. I knew I didn't have those kinds of smarts, and never would, which was fine with me. My fists and my bike had always been enough for me an
d always would be. I knew exactly where I stood in life, and really, how many guys could say that?
But I also knew that, while Bard saw me as a trusted and lifelong friend, he saw Nic as a son. Hell, anyone could see that. He felt protective toward the kid, and he was clearly grooming him for the big chair. We could all see that it was a good fit, and the way it had to be. He'd never asked for my approval, he'd never asked whether it would hurt me to be passed over in favor of Nic when the time comes. He'd never needed to. Through my loyalty and trust, my unquestioning obedience, I showed him that on that day, I'd step aside happily if that was what he needed from me.
So obviously, since Nic was the heir apparent, Bard was being careful. He saw potential in him, and didn't want him getting hurt.
All right, fine. But still, asking me to stand around on a fucking sidewalk in the goddamn dead of winter in soggy socks, getting fucking frostbite out here with the winos and bums? Because Prince Nic needs his royal knob gobbled by some bitch who looked like she wandered in from a bachelorette party? Well, that sucks, man. That sucks really hard. I'd rather be sent into a rival club's turf, alone, armed with only a sharpened screwdriver.