by SE Jakes
Because you need it.
Sweet’s hold stopped his mind from running on its hamster wheel, gave him some physical sensation besides the pain and worry that had taken up permanent residence inside of him.
This was like a drug, the perfect hit to his system, and it reached farther than any pain medication ever had.
It was far more satisfying too. A much better addiction. Safer?
Not a chance. But he was letting Sweet take him to the edge anyway.
Held down on the floor, half-naked . . . this was the release and all the pain, anger, rage and worry of the past days and months and years would let itself out on this floor, would exorcize itself on the altar of Sweet’s dick and he would beg for the honor. “Fuck me, Sweet.”
The growl Sweet let out was low and dangerous as he unzipped his jeans and pulled them down, freeing his dick. He bent and bit Bram’s neck hard, then sucked the same spot, making the line between pain and pleasure blur. While Bram was distracted by that, Sweet had put on a condom and began to open Bram up with lubed fingers and Bram was spreading his legs wide, ready to take this man in as hard as he wanted it.
Sweet lifted his hips with a lazy strength and slid his cock in the cleft between Bram’s ass, back and forth and finally—finally—he slid his thick cock until he was pushed balls-deep inside of Bram.
Bram groaned as Sweet remained still for a long moment, and Bram felt the sense of restrained violence as Sweet began to thrust against him, a rutting bull, hitting his gland.
Pleasure speared him from belly to core. A nameless emotion overwhelmed him as Sweet took him forcefully, fucking the breath out of him. Bram couldn’t do anything but give in to it, let Sweet hold him down and take him for his own pleasure.
“Come back to Havoc with me,” Sweet murmured against his cheek. “Don’t fight it.”
It was too much . . . until it wasn’t. Until he nearly floated in a daze of contentment that threatened to wash all the hurt and pain away.
He struggled against it, because he couldn’t allow himself to have that kind of release.
No choice left—nowhere left to run. He just let himself go, gave himself to Sweet and “Yes, Sweet . . . yes . . . yesyesyesplease,” he heard himself beg as his hips rocked back against Sweet’s cock wildly, his nails digging into the rug. He couldn’t get enough, an insatiable beast rising up to meet Sweet’s own. Because Sweet’s beast equaled his now, like he’d been starved of this for years.
And maybe he had, because this? Wasn’t normal sex. Not at all. This was out-of-control, wild-as-fuck, a heartbeat-in-his-balls fucking. They’d crossed a line tonight. There was no going back.
Bram wondered if he even wanted to.
Sweet was rubbing his back, the scars, and instead of tensing up, Bram simply lay there, letting the touch run through him like tiny bolts of electricity. His skin was on fire, tight and hot, and everything ached in just the right places. He felt far away, like he was slightly floating, only coming back when Sweet said his name a couple of times.
“Bram . . . you okay?” Sweet asked again. He’d rolled off Bram and was lying next to him, and Bram was still on his belly.
“Yeah, sorry. I’m all right.” He turned his head toward Sweet, still seeing stars. “Feels like my bell’s been rung.”
And it had. He was shaky. Unsteady. Sore . . . and yet completely satisfied in that boneless, content way a good fucking gave him.
The same electricity that ran between them that first night had never really abated but after this? There was no denying it. It was want, need, attraction, all rolled into one giant MC presidential ball.
As if to put a fine point to Bram’s thoughts, Sweet leaned in and kissed him, tugging Bram’s bottom lip between his teeth, like he was telling Bram, Yes, you’re right . . . now what are you going to do about it?
He didn’t expect safety from Sweet—wasn’t looking for it, either. He wanted rough. Unsafe.
That’s exactly what an MC would give him in totality. Pain to override pain was seductive. Unbelievably so.
Bram leaned into the kiss like a drowning man seeking salvation. He didn’t have the strength to do anything more, even though his dick was apparently ready and able.
The fucker. “You don’t play fair.”
Sweet gave him a half smile. “I know.”
An hour later, Bram woke with a start, his face against Sweet’s shoulder, his body sore as fuck and not just in the good places.
He groaned.
“I won’t take it personally that you fell asleep,” Sweet told him.
“Your fault.”
“You needed it. Heard you didn’t sleep much last night.”
“Word travels fast,” Bram muttered, sitting up despite the pain, looking for his clothes. It was still light out—there were no curtains on the windows and he heard motorcycles outside. “Did we have an audience?”
“Do you care?”
Fuck it. He shook his head.
“Bram, I told them to watch out for us while we’re in here. Linc’s address isn’t a secret.”
Shit. Maybe his coming here was the stupidest idea ever. “All I wanted was time to get my shit together,” he said tiredly. “Thought I had it.”
“You will,” Sweet assured him. “And then what? Back to the job?”
Bram shrugged. “That decision was the getting my shit together part.” Soldiers got shot daily in the field, got patched up, and went back into the fire for more. He’d been a soldier and was applying that mentality to his current job, but for what? At what cost?
Sweet broke into his thoughts. “Is it worth it . . . what you do?”
“Stop people from doing illegal things?” Bram asked, the tinge of sarcasm clearly not lost on Sweet.
“People are always going to do illegal things.” Sweet stared at him. “You’re in no shape to save the world.”
“Can we cut the daddy shit and just find Linc?”
“You want the daddy shit, Bram?” Sweet raised a brow and Bram’s cheeks flushed. “I’ll tuck that away for later.”
“Bet you will,” he muttered as Sweet smiled and threw Bram his jeans.
They got dressed quickly, and with Linc’s mail and the cover of Sweet’s men, led by Tug and Ozzie, Bram followed Sweet into his truck. Before they drove off he gave it one last shot. He reached for his wallet and pulled out the money order for the full amount of the bond and held it out to Sweet.
“You already agreed to come back to Havoc,” Sweet reminded him.
“I know. I’m not reneging on that. But if you take this, then we’re even.”
“It’s not that simple.”
Bram laughed, stared up at the sky through the open sunroof. “Not that simple? It’s so fucking simple.”
“Even you don’t believe that anymore.” Sweet paused after he started the truck and repeated an earlier question. “Who hurt you, Bram?”
This time, Bram would have to answer.
It was like the game three truths and one lie. Bram was an expert at it, knew that if he put enough truth behind the story, the lie became inconsequential, nothing to worry about because it had the truth snugly wrapped around it for protection.
In this case, the lie was who he worked for. “My supervisor turned on me. Sold me out to my source I was meeting about a job. They moved the timeline up, probably so I didn’t get spooked. I should’ve seen it coming but . . .” He shook his head, swallowed hard. “But I didn’t. Thought I could handle everything.”
Sweet stared straight ahead. “Being betrayed cuts the deepest.”
As Sweet began to drive, Bram closed his eyes and let the irony wash over him like a cold rain.
“You didn’t get to see much of the place yet,” Sweet commented a half an hour later as he drove onto Havoc’s compound with a wave at the guards. Halfway up the first hill, Bram noted the bikes following them broke off, veering toward one of the side roads as Sweet continued along his path.
“Is this all Havoc?”
“We own the whole lot,” Sweet confirmed. “Have for generations.”
“It’s beautiful land.” And that was something he never thought he’d say about an MC compound.
“I think so too.” It was obvious Sweet was proud of the place, of his club, of its members. That was also something Bram never thought he’d see in such an outright display. As they drove though the busier part of town before they got onto the compound, Sweet pointed out some Havoc-run businesses like a tattoo shop and a liquor store. On the Havoc compound itself was a diner and a few shops, including the mechanics, and it appeared that everyone here—including Sweet—seemed happy. In a rough, biker way, of course. No one was skipping through the fields and singing, and he was sure there were rough times, but the mood of the place was generally a positive one.
And there was no way a place this big would—or could—put on an act for a stranger. There was no reason to. In fact, they should be doing what they could to avoid having more strangers come into their world.
Even though he knew Havoc rarely recruited from the outside, Bram also knew through the grapevine (aka Linc) that his friend, Sean Rush, had recently been made an honorary, on the way to being official, MC member. He’d been the last guy let in within the past ten years who wasn’t born into the MC.
It was also obvious, just from the short drive, how self-sufficient the place was. But that was probably the goal from the start. A way to give a military man a place where he could feel like he was still among his brothers.
Havoc’s founders realized that it was impossible to come from a combat situation and be expected to land into a normal life seamlessly or unscathed. It didn’t work. MCs recognized that, and thrived off it, but Havoc took it a step further. It helped the town, but it made sure its compound was self-sustaining.
Although Bram wondered why Sweet felt comfortable enough to show him Havoc’s inner workings, he was also eager to see the world Linc talked about, albeit briefly.
“They accepted Rush. They were cool to me . . .”
Bram recalled treading lightly during that conversation, and worrying. “They’re not trying to recruit you, are they?”
Linc laughed. “I’m done with joining any kind of organized group. The military cured me of that urge. But hanging out with Havoc’s pretty cool.”
Linc hadn’t mentioned Gypsy specifically at that point. Maybe he would’ve, if Bram hadn’t gotten beaten into an unconscious pulp and fallen off the face of the earth.
Now, as they drove farther along, the sense of calm that pervaded the land settled over both of them. “That’s my cabin, behind the clubhouse.”
“It’s great.”
“Yeah,” Sweet agreed. “My sanctuary. The whole compound is that for me—for all of us.”
“Linc mentioned that.” So different from the Heathens, where the compound made Bram feel like he was constantly in the throes of a panic attack. It was a dark and vicious place, meant to intimidate all its members, keep them in line and make them not only suspicious of each other, but of all outsiders as well. Everything was a competition—a constant game of Russian roulette, life and death.
He had a brief flashback of one such game, when Bones killed another Heathen in front of Bram for no real reason except Bones was in a shitty mood. So in Bram’s experience, all MCs were dark, lonely places. Cultlike, with egomaniacs for leaders and women beaten down by the lifestyle.
By comparison, Havoc seemed great, but Bram wasn’t a member. Once patched in, it had to be dark and shitty, just like the rest of them. Speaking of, he noticed that his truck had been parked here at Sweet’s, and he reminded himself to check for bugs and bombs later.
But he still got out of Sweet’s truck and took a look around before going to the cabin. The main clubhouse was surrounded by a variety of structures, both traditional houses and cabins. Sweet’s cabin was on the eastern side. Plenty of land and privacy and lots of windows, ensuring that he could see everyone and everything coming his way from his vantage point on the hill.
Sweet let him take it all in and then continued talking, part explanation and, Bram couldn’t help but feel, part warning. “This place, this MC . . . it’s more than just a club. It’s my family. I know you understand family.”
Bram did. What he didn’t ever have a good grasp of—or trust for—was authority. “Linc and I, we have loyalty. My sister too. I’ve got a good friend who works the same types of jobs and I trust him with my life. But the people who were supposed to take care of me? My boss . . . my father . . .” He shook his head, wondering why the hell he was telling Sweet this shit, like the guy was his goddamned therapist.
“My dad went off the rails,” Sweet offered as they walked up onto the porch of the cabin and inside. “Not hard to do with the lifestyle Havoc offers. But we’re supposed to be stronger. Able to resist all the temptation that could ruin a man.”
Bram glanced around the open space, noticing the framed pictures on the back wall. He saw a picture of Sweet with two men in MC jackets that resembled Sweet himself. “Was he good to you?”
It was an odd question, but Sweet seemed to understand why Bram had asked it. “He was an addict. I had my grandfather and my club. My dad didn’t hit me. He was more depressed because of the loss of my mom. Hell, he loved her. Never got over her death. How can I blame him? I mean, I used to, until—” He stopped short, shook his head. “I’m older and wiser. I know nothing’s black-and-white.”
Bram didn’t know what made him point to the picture he’d just come across, a young soldier in BDUs with his arms around Sweet and a wry smile on his face and ask, “That soldier—he show you gray?” All Sweet did was nod, but he didn’t meet Bram’s eyes, and then Bram didn’t want to talk about the man who made Sweet try to pull away. “Linc’s dad, my stepdad, was a fucking bastard. Came into my life when I was four. By the time I was ten, Linc was five and both of us caught the belt regularly. I was getting punched too. Mainly to keep Linc out of the line of fire. Kid had a mouth on him . . .”
“Still does,” Sweet confirmed.
“And it doesn’t mean he deserved the beatings he got,” Bram said fiercely.
“I agree with you.” Sweet put heavy hands on Bram’s shoulders and began to massage the tension out of them. Or at least he attempted to—Bram was so tense he felt like he could easily break in two without much of a push.
“Guy was a fuck,” Bram continued. “Linc’s just . . . spirited.”
“He’s a criminal,” Sweet pointed out. “But Gypsy doesn’t just fall for random skips. He’d never done that in his entire career. And I know there’s no love lost between you two . . . but you’re on the same side.”
Bram didn’t believe that, not at fucking all. But he didn’t say that, just kept looking around Sweet’s place. It was big. Masculine. Clean. Bram counted four bedrooms on the first floor and several baths, a great room plus a large connected kitchen with a table in the middle to balance it all.
Sweet’s bedroom was a loft that was almost the entire second floor, built so he could take advantage of the view. There was a giant bed on one end, and a big couch on the other, both angled to highlight the scenery. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Yeah, thinking the same thing.” Sweet came up from behind him and kissed him on the side of his neck.
The big biker was fucking courting him. It made Bram suddenly feel shy. Nervous. Why did this matter? They’d already fucked. Why was this so much more intimate?
When was the last time you were in a guy’s bedroom?
A hell of a long time ago. Bram had typically moved from one guy to the next, and happily so. He’d had no time or desire for anything more. He’d wanted sex and action and he got the latter from his job and the occasional BDSM club.
But there was something about Sweet . . . he was big and rough and handsome, and he made Bram feel vulnerable, he realized. Not physically, because Bram could take down a goddamned bull . . . but the way Sweet looked at him . . .
; Dammit, you’re not a blushing virgin.
He turned into Sweet and kissed him hard, trying to wrest back some control—any control. Sweet let him for a few moments, then motioned toward the bathroom. “Let’s try out the shower. Work out the kinks.”
Bram snorted but he followed, because a hot shower sounded good. Distracting. He hadn’t taken a pill in a while and he didn’t want to, so he hoped this was a good alternative.
He’d also been semihard since leaving Linc’s. Sweet definitely kept him on edge, sexually and otherwise, and Bram wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not.
Sweet led Bram into the shower, turned on the hot water and let it get steamed up while he stripped Bram and himself. Bram looked tired—half stress and true exhaustion, Sweet supposed, and he ushered the man under the water and began to soap him up.
Bram groaned as Sweet massaged his shoulders with soapy fingers, letting his head drop forward. Bram had his arm out, palm against the tile to brace himself as the water jetted out from all sides of the shower. Sweet washed both of them down, and Bram let him wash his hair, his dick, his ass, like he was docile.
Sweet knew what a crock of shit that was, but he’d take advantage of it while he could. Didn’t plan on letting Bram out of bed for more than a piss and shower because he was wound way too tight.
For now, Sweet contented himself with rubbing his finger along the crack of Bram’s ass. “Feels good, baby?”
Bram nodded, head still down, body becoming more pliable the longer he stayed under the hot spray.
Sweet leaned in to murmur, “I’m going to dry you off. Put you on my bed. Spread your ass and fuck it with my fingers and tongue. Want to hear the sound you make when I press deeper—open you wider. Want to see that damned blush I know will be on your cheeks.”
“Fuck. Sweet . . .” Bram half turned his face to glance at Sweet and yeah, Bram wanted that.
“I warned you about the foreplay.”
“Trying to kill me,” Bram half groaned.
Trying to save you, Sweet thought automatically as he turned the shower off and grabbed a towel to dry them both off.