Wild Fire: A Chaos Novella

by Kristen Ashley

  Open shoulders, gorgeous clavicle, ample tits, nipples aimed high, rounded belly, wide hips, shapely thighs, pretty ankles now with thin gold straps around them.

  And little, black lace panties.

  “Lose the panties,” he instructed.

  She didn’t waste time shimmying those off too.

  Trimmed, dark bush he’d already seen, and knew he loved, she’d left enough there it was all woman.

  So he went there first, diving in, fingers slipping through her wet.

  “You weren’t the only one ready for it all through dinner,” she whispered.

  He stared into her eyes.

  His Georgiana.

  He slid his hand away, caught her by the waist, threw her on the bed…

  And joined her there.

  Dutch knew it’d go like it went. It was what he wanted for the both of them.

  This being wild.

  This bringing fire.

  She almost tore his shirt getting it off him. He knew he lost a button or two.

  In fact, she was so lost in it, one of his boots didn’t hit the floor, it hit the wall, she threw it so hard.

  It was a tussle, who could get the most the fastest in every way imaginable. Lips and tongues and teeth and hands and fingers and arms and legs, even toes.

  And he knew when she was done, ready for it, also she wanted up top so she could see him as she took him.

  But that shit was not happening.

  And Dutch had no issue with using his superior strength to roll her to her back and power-twisting his hips until they fell between her legs.

  “Dutch,” she protested.

  “Shut it,” he replied.

  “Dutch!” she snapped.

  He caught her under her jaw, gentle but firm, and she stilled under him.

  Then she started panting, the pink in her cheeks rising, as he shifted his hips to find her, both of them staring in each other’s eyes.

  “Dutch,” she breathed, the word heavy with want, need, hope, yeah, Christ yeah, it was there.

  Right there.

  Love.

  He didn’t respond verbally, because he found her, pressed in with the tip, and she lifted her knees, pulling in the whole head.

  “Baby,” he murmured, because just that was beautiful.

  She ran her hands up either side of his spine, then drifted her nails, feather light, down the length of it.

  When she curled her arms around his back, pressed her thighs against his hips, slowly, he slid in to the root.

  She released a huh of sweet breath, clutched his sides in two ways, and Dutch closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to hers.

  He’d been right.

  Heaven.

  He opened his eyes and hers were right there, warm and tender and hot and sexy and open and giving and Georgie.

  “It’s done, you know that, yeah?” he asked quietly.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s done, Georgie,” he repeated.

  “Yeah, honey,” she replied.

  He got that from her, so he kissed her and only then did he start moving.

  The road to that point was a tussle.

  The act was slow and deliberate, every stroke feeling like a minor miracle, but that wasn’t who they were and that wasn’t how it ended.

  The same time Dutch needed more was the time Georgie caught his ass in her hands and they had to stop kissing because Georgie was gasping, Dutch was grunting, he went in hard, and she rocked with him, encouraging him to go at her harder.

  He caught a fist full of her hair against the bed and she scraped her nails up his ass, his back, and then curled her arms so she could hold on to his shoulders, the better to take his fucking.

  Phenomenally her pussy squeezed and released with each thrust, and he knew when she lost control of that, and the tips of the gold heels she still had on dug deep into the backs of his thighs, that she was gone before she cried out his name, then whimpered, arching her body, her neck…

  And he held on long enough to watch that, file it away, then he let go and shoved his face in her neck, her perfume filling his nose, the rest of her controlling his senses.

  He shut his eyes tight, his body tautened, he drove deep and shot hard.

  His frame shuddered as he kept coming, and she finished hers and held on tight as he kept coming more.

  He felt fluid when it was done and he settled into her, like he’d ooze all over her, when his orgasm let go of him.

  And he nuzzled her neck with his nose, drifted a hand over the skin of her side, hip and thigh and held his weight in his other forearm for a long time after.

  Finally, he lifted his head and knew by the soft, dazed, affectionate look on her face the answer before he asked, “Worth the wait?”

  And Dutch started laughing, still buried to the hilt inside her when she answered…

  “Totes.”

  * * * *

  Dutch switched off the light to the bathroom as he entered the bedroom after he’d cleaned Georgiana up after their third go, and he saw her there, in his bed, on her belly, her hair everywhere, the sheet up, barely covering her ass where he’d tossed it after he’d taken care of her, and she looked asleep even though she was awake.

  Hottest thing he’d ever seen, Georgie worn out after Dutch put a fair amount of effort into making her that way.

  Murtagh was curled in at her waist.

  Dutch turned his head and looked to the bottom of the wall under which his boot rested.

  This meant he walked to the bed, knowing he was smirking,

  He arranged her how he wanted her, their cat arranged himself how he wanted to be (tucked in at the bend of her body, since they were spooning) before he twisted and turned off the light.

  He went back to Georgie, tugging her closer.

  “Babe, you put a dent in the wall, throwing my boot,” he said into her hair.

  “Shut up, Dutch,” she mumbled in reply.

  He grinned in her hair.

  She settled her ass further into his groin.

  “Best quit doin’ that, darlin’, or you’re gonna take my cock again,” he warned.

  “I cannot believe I’m going to say this, but you’re a machine. I cannot take anymore. I need at least…” she gave it a beat, two, then decided, “half an hour to recover.”

  Dutch started chuckling.

  “How many positions did you do me in that last time?” she asked.

  “Just so you know, you wearin’ that dress and dinner lasting two fucking hours because you were eating so goddamned slow, I had plenty of time to think about all the ways I wanted to fuck you.”

  “Did you have to do them all in one night?”

  “Yeah. You complaining?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so,” he murmured.

  “Do you want a rundown of my favorites?”

  “Favorite what?”

  “Positions?”

  He was surprised she had favorites.

  And intrigued.

  “You got favorites?”

  “Right now, at the top is you fucking me into the bed on my stomach, which, as you know, was the end of the last session. I will note, however, and importantly, that I reserve the right to change that opinion considering the list rearranges itself depending on how you’re doing me.”

  He was chuckling again when he said, “So noted.”

  “Do you have favorites?”

  “Drillin’ into you leapfrog while I got two handfuls of your ass when you’re down up front, but on your knees. Sittin’ up with you bouncin’ on my lap, your tits in my face. Watchin’ you take it with your ankles on my shoulders. You on your side with your leg wrapped around my hip so I can get serious leverage and still look you in the eye. When—”

  She cut him off to remark, “So essentially every way you fucked me is your favorite.”

  “Yup.”

  “Leapfrog?”

  “Yup.”

  “There’s an actual name fo
r that position, or did you just make that up?”

  “You told me today you like to do research, but now I see you clearly haven’t been doing the right kind.”

  She started laughing softly, drowsily.

  Dutch could stay up all night and banter with her about anything, especially fucking her, until she’d recovered enough for them to do it again.

  But his girl was sleepy.

  “Go to sleep, baby,” he murmured, tucking her closer.

  “Okay,” she replied.

  He felt her relax against him, her breath evening out, and that content sensation had started invading his chest, when she called, “Dutch?”

  “Not goin’ anywhere, Georgie.”

  “Thank you for picking me up at the airport.”

  He shoved his face in her curls.

  So it was there he said, “You’re welcome, gorgeous.”

  On that, she fell asleep.

  Which tripped the switch that sat deep inside the man who was Dutch Black that he could do the same.

  So he did.

  Epilogue

  Camellia

  Dutch

  “So what’d you decide?”

  Dutch asked this question sitting on his ass on a folded-over throw, one of two Georgie had put in his truck for this purpose. A throw that was covering a layer of snow.

  And he asked it with his eyes aimed at the weathered bottle of tequila that lay at the base of his father’s gravestone.

  That bottle was mostly full, and it had been there for years.

  Dutch had no idea how it lasted that long without being nabbed by some vagrant or asshole kid.

  Maybe it was the ghost of his dad that protected it, seeing as his mom put it there.

  Maybe it was just obvious this was a biker’s grave, it had the Chaos insignia etched into it, and the specter of their Club protected it.

  Whatever reason, it hadn’t moved for six years.

  “Stanford,” Carlyle said, sitting on a throw at his side. “It’s closer to home than Massachusetts.”

  Dutch got that.

  And Stanford was far from a bad choice.

  “You come here a lot?” Carlyle asked.

  “No. But often enough he knows I haven’t forgotten him,” Dutch answered.

  Carlyle didn’t say anything.

  Dutch didn’t fill the silence.

  They both stared at the black marble tombstone.

  Carlyle broke the silence and he did it using a voice so quiet, Dutch barely heard him.

  Since Dutch was listening hard, though, he heard.

  “Do you think he’s around somehow to know?”

  “Yeah,” Dutch said.

  Carlyle had nothing to say to that.

  “Though, doesn’t matter,” Dutch went on. “I don’t forget him. And I make a point to make sure he knows I don’t forget him, if he’s out there somewhere to see, or not. But the bottom line is, his son is a man who makes that effort. And he does because his father was a man who deserves it. And that’s all that matters.”

  It took a few beats, then Carlyle muttered, “Yeah.” He cleared his throat and said, “I haven’t been back. To Dad’s grave. Since the funeral. Mom and Christian go. I don’t.”

  It was Dutch’s turn to say nothing.

  Carlyle was back to muttering when he said, “I should go.”

  “You should do what you feel is right for you. What I do is what I do. You’ll figure out what you gotta do and it’ll be right for you.”

  “I see it in my dreams,” he blurted. “The hit. The blood. Him going down. The look on his face when I was pressin’ on the wound, thinking I could stop the bleeding. Him sayin’ in that raspy voice that wasn’t how he normally talked, ‘Get outta here, son.’”

  Dutch said nothing. Didn’t move.

  His heart hurt, but he didn’t move.

  He stared at a grave and listened.

  “But his last words were, ‘Your momma…’ then he was just gone.” Carlyle whispered. “And it’s whacked because I think there’s something right about that. How I was there with him, but his last thoughts were of my mom. And I think what he was going to say was that he wanted me to take care of my mom.”

  With that, Dutch clapped him on the back, but that was all he did before he returned his wrist to his bent knee, murmured, “That is far from whacked,” and went on listening.

  “Mom knows I’m having bad dreams but I’m lying to her and tellin’ her I’m not because I don’t want her to worry,” Carlyle shared.

  “Stop doing that, Car,” Dutch advised. “She needs you and you need her, and you all need to share this shit. Only balm she’s got right now is you and your sister. She’s got a piece of him right there through both of you. Trust me, that means everything. You gotta let her take care of you. It’ll help her. Like it helps you to take care of her. I didn’t know him, but ’spect your dad would want that. You all lookin’ out for each other.”

  It took a beat, but then he said, “You’re right. He’d want that.”

  “You tell her your dad’s last words?”

  It was forced when Carlyle said, “No.”

  “You need to find a time to do that, man. She should know.”

  “Yeah,” Carlyle said low.

  They were silent another while before Carlyle again cleared his throat and stated, “You know, we got friends. Family. But when I go off to college—”

  Dutch didn’t make him finish.

  “I’ll look after them.”

  He wasn’t looking at the guy, but he still felt him relax.

  “I think, uh…the first time I go, you know, if I, um, lose it or something, I should, uh…without them…”

  He felt Carlyle’s eyes, so he turned his head to look at him.

  “Will you take me to his grave?” he asked.

  “You wanna go now?” Dutch asked in return.

  “Yeah, if you—”

  Dutch pushed up to his feet, saying, “Let’s go.”

  Carlyle pushed up too, but he did it with his eyes to Graham Black’s grave. “Do you want a minute to say goodbye?”

  Dutch looked down at the tombstone and said, “Later, Dad.”

  A burst of quick, deep laughter came from Carlyle and Dutch returned his attention to the kid.

  “Just like that?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Dutch said. “My dad was a seriously laidback guy.”

  Carlyle was grinning as he bent to grab his throw.

  Dutch nabbed his.

  They were walking to Dutch’s truck when Carlyle queried, “You think your dad would like me?”

  He told him the truth.

  “My dad liked everybody.” Dutch lifted his hand and squeezed the back of Carlyle’s neck and left it there before he finished, “But he’d really fuckin’ like you.”

  Carlyle did the same to Dutch’s neck and replied, “My dad would dig you too.”

  They held on that way for a bit, until they both felt it was weird, then they let go and finished walking to the truck.

  They got in.

  And Dutch drove Carlyle to go visit his dad.

  * * * *

  “Babe,” he growled into the phone.

  And he’d become accustomed to the growling gig considering Georgiana was now a fixture in his life, and proof was that night they were celebrating their one-month anniversary, or what Georgiana had declared was their one-month anniversary. That being one month from when he picked her up from the airport.

  She’d made them a reservation at the Palace Arms.

  He’d set Tyra and Elvira on a mission.

  Which was where he was heading to discover the results, with his phone to his ear, listening to his woman say shit that did not make him happy.

  “Dutch,” was her only response.

  “I thought this decision was made,” he said, and pointed out, “by you.”

  “She’s sold so much stuff, it’s insane. I’ve seen the receipts. And she’s working so many shifts, she’s blear
y-eyed. The only good part about that is she’s not at Dad’s much, because if she hears another football game droning in the background, she might bomb NFL headquarters. And if she wakes up to Michelle making her breakfast to order again, she might throw herself off a cliff.”

  “Dutch!”

  He stopped on his way from the shop, across the forecourt, heading to Tyra’s office at the garage, when he heard Rush’s call.

  He looked toward the Compound, saw Rush jogging his way, and jerked up his chin to the brother.

  “And she’s going to pay rent,” Georgie finished in his ear.

  “How ’bout you give her more time to prove herself,” he suggested.

  “Is this another conversation?” she asked.

  And her tone was one he didn’t like.

  “What kind of conversation?” he asked back.

  Rush stopped in front of him and Dutch gave him a one-minute finger.

  “Maybe I made an assumption,” she muttered.

  “What assumption?” he pushed.

  “I haven’t left your house since I entered it, I mean, in that way. Half my clothes are at your place, you gave me three drawers, and you only have six. All my toiletries…”

  Yup.

  They were That Couple.

  Met. Didn’t hit it off with a bang. Hit it off with a bigger bang. Now inseparable.

  He sensed his mother was moderately worried, though only moderately.

  For his part, Dutch would probably tie Georgie to his bed if she tried to spend the night alone at her place.

  “…I thought since I wasn’t using it, and Carolyn’s going to pay rent, since I was—”

  “You’re moved in, Georgie, maybe not officially, but only because we’ve been busy. Let Carolyn crash at your pad. We’ll discuss how and when we’ll make our sitch official when we have time.”

  She sounded dubious, and a little freaked, when she asked, “You sure?”

  He gave Rush a look, and Rush turned his attention elsewhere as Dutch gave the man his shoulder and said, “This isn’t about us. We’re solid. You slept anywhere but beside me, even if we’re fightin’, I’d lose my mind. It’s about her. She did my brother dirty. Fucked with your head. You might be there with her, but I’m not. Not yet. But it’s not my pad. You’re okay with it, then I’m okay with it. But the minute she jacks you over for rent, we’ll have another discussion. Deal?”