by K. L. Savage
I bite into my bicep when my cum-filled sack pulls tight to my body. My scars are numb, and when I imagine plunging inside her for the first time, I shout my release. Spurts of cum jet out and land on my belly. “Fuck yes, Jo. Oh fuck, that pussy feels perfect,” I moan to myself as I watch thick white streams drip down onto my stomach.
The buzz takes over, and I’m skating on post-orgasm high, languidly jacking my cock and letting the dribbles of cum leak out of the slit, and a knock on the door yanks me to reality, ruining my damn high.
What’s a guy got to do to get some damn peace?
“Fuck,” I sit up and trip over my jeans that are around my ankles. Cum drips off me and onto the wood right between the planks, settling in the crack.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
“Eric?” Jo’s sweet voice penetrates from the other side of the door. I freeze, looking around the room to hide or get rid of evidence of my… intimate session. Jesus, I sound like a fucking idiot. I’m a grown man. I’m allowed to jack my dick in the privacy of my room.
I don’t say anything as I think about what to do. I decide to pick up my dirty shirt and wipe up the cum. I toss the soiled tee in the hamper and tuck myself in my jeans. “Yeah—” I croak and clear my throat. “Yeah? What?” I snap a bit, unintentionally. I’m nervous because I almost got caught. I was thinking of her, when I doubt she ever thinks of me. “I’m about to get in the shower,” I lie because if I open that door and see her sweet face staring up at me, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back.
“Oh, okay. I’m wondering if it is normal for Moretti to make grunting noises? He’s been doing it for the last few minutes. I thought I’d come get you.”
I step into the puddle of cum on the floor and grimace but open the door anyway. “What did you just say?”
“Moretti…” She purses her lips, and my eyes fall to them and imagine how they would feel wrapped around the thick stalk of my cock. She licks her pink lips as she stares at my chest, and I puff it out, naturally, loving her eyes on me. “He’s making these weird grunting noises like he’s choking.”
Horrible time to have masturbated. Of course, Moretti needs me right now. I’m telling my feet to move, to hurry, but my brain isn’t connecting with my body because Jo is standing in front of me. She’s in new clothes. Plain black shorts and a Ruthless Kings MC shirt. She looks fucking hot. I want her to be wearing my clothes. Damn, imagining her in a t-shirt hanging to her knees is making blood flood south.
Focus, Eric. Focus.
I need to concentrate on medicine. I can’t. The more she’s around, the more trouble I’m in for forgetting my obligations to medicine and binding myself to her.
Without hesitation, I grab a folded shirt off my dresser and throw it over my head as I pass Jo. I forget about my scars, but the moment Jo gasps, I know she’s seen what I’ve hidden from everyone. They are memories I like to keep covered. I tug my shirt down until my back can’t be seen, and she reaches for my hand, giving it a squeeze.
She doesn’t ask.
She doesn’t judge.
She understands the need to hide secrets that only cause more destruction. She has her own scars, and the more that goes unspoken between us, the more we understand each other.
“Reaper! Tool, I need backup,” I shout as I take each step as fast as I can. I nearly fall down the steps. That’s just what I need—to break my damn neck, and all these people that need help will be screwed. I get to the bottom and look past all of the filled beds. The lights shine off all the metal walls and floors, but the coughing in the corner has me sprinting across the room.
When I get to Moretti’s bedside, he is coughing, eyes open and holding his throat. “You son-of-a-bitch. I’m glad to see you awake. You’ve been in a coma for a long fucking time. I’m going to take the tube out of your throat. Cough, okay?” I wrap my fingers around the plastic and pull the tube out as quickly as possible as he gasps, chokes, and coughs. His eyes are watering from the pressure, and when the tube is out, I listen to his heartrate with my stethoscope and hope the monitor isn’t lying to me. I laugh when his heart sounds normal. Holy hell, I can’t believe this. “I can’t believe this. This is amazing. Reaper is going to be so glad to see you’re awake, Moretti. We have to call your brother, Maximo. Unreal.” I’m more awake now than ever. Adrenaline courses through me, giving me a bolt of energy like a shot of espresso.
His eyes dart from me to Jo, then Poodle. His brows pinch, and for a second, I want to say he seems scared.
His heart rate increases on the monitor, and I realize that he is afraid. “Hey, you’re safe here. You’re okay.”
He wraps his hands around his throat and rubs the area.
Right. Of course. “Poodle, can you get him some water?”
“Yeah, absolutely. I’ll be right back.”
Moretti has lost some weight. His cheeks are sunken in a bit, and he has circles around his eyes. He might have been in a coma for the past year, but he hasn’t had a decent night’s rest since before the explosion at the hotel. His beard is only a few days old. Some of us have been taking turns shaving him so it doesn’t get too unruly.
“Wh—” He tries to speak, but his voice cuts out.
“Don’t try to speak. Don’t force yourself,” I advise him.
“Here.” Poodle comes back with a big water bottle. It has a straw in it so Moretti can easily drink. I take the bottle from his hands and hold it in front of Moretti’s lips. He eagerly wraps his mouth around the straw and gulps the water down so fast it drips from the corners of his mouth.
“Slow,” I warn, but he ignores me. A second later, a coughing fit takes over and from how deep it reverberates in his chest, I know he can’t breathe.
A thunder of boots sound like a herd of horses trampling over us.
“Who—” Moretti struggles to say again darting his gaze around the room “—Who are you people?” he asks between broken nerves and strangled breaths.
Jo gasps from beside me.
“Fuck,” Poodle curses, rubbing a hand down his face. “We do not need this shit right now.”
“Shut the hell up. Amnesia is normal when someone wakes up from being in a coma for so long. I’m glad he can form words. He’s a fucking miracle, Poodle. Show some respect.”
“I’m sorry. I have a lot on my mind.” Poodle runs his fingers through his long mane and then gathers the strands to put his hair in a bun.
“We all do,” Sunnie whispers from behind us, staring at an unconscious Patrick.
“Moretti, what is the last thing you remember?” I ask him, shining a light in each eye to make sure they are reacting the same.
“That’s my name?” He starts to become distressed, breathing so hard that I’m worried he might hyperventilate. “Where am I? What happened? Who are you people? Get away from me!” he yells.
My eyes flick to the heart monitor and notice how it’s climbing; he might go into cardiac arrest if he doesn’t settle down. I hold up my hands and take a step away. I don’t have to tell everyone around me to do the same, they just follow my lead, giving Moretti space. The more distance we put between us, the more his heartrate slows.
“I’m going to be honest, I don’t know your first name. You always went by Moretti. Even your brother calls you that. You’re in a safe place—” Reaper cuts me off when he enters the basement and cheers.
“Moretti, you asshole! You woke up.”
“Reaper, don’t!” I grab his arm and pull him back from getting closer. “He can’t remember anything,” I mutter from the side of my mouth.
His eyes widen, and then the one thing I hate to see most in friends and family passes across his face. All the hope he kept for so long fades. Reaper’s massive shoulders deflate. It seems like we can’t get a win. No matter the good we do, no matter what we sacrifice, we end up in the aftermath of the nightmare.
“We’re friends, Moretti. You have a brother. You’ve been here for the last year in a coma. You were in a hotel explos
ion. Is there anything you remember? Anything at all about yourself?” Reaper speaks in short, clipped sentences to make it easier for Moretti to understand. I’m impressed with how Reaper is handling the situation, but I’m not surprised. He is the Prez for a reason. The guy who fixes every problem by finding a solution.
Moretti’s brown eyes cast over everyone around him, and his throat bobs as he swallows. “Them? They were in the explosion too?” He stares at everyone in the beds to his left.
“No, that was a different incident,” Reaper states, casting a concerned glance on every member of the MC who is down for the count right now.
Moretti blinks, and suddenly his eyes swim with tears. I can only fathom how emotional this is. To not remember a damn thing? That’s hell.
“Give us a minute, will you?” I step forward and grab the curtain to give us privacy by blocking the world around us. I readjust his meds and give him a relaxant in his IV. It doesn’t take long before he exhales, and his heart rate declines and finally holds at a healthy, steady rate. “Moretti, I know how confusing this must be for you—”
“You don’t know shit,” he seethes, struggling to swallow from how dry his throat his. He searches for the water bottle, and I grab it from the food tray for him. He snatches it from my hand and daggers me with hatred from the abyss of his tired eyes. “Don’t sit there and act like you know anything about how I feel. I can’t remember anything. It’s a cloud, blurry and dark. I can’t remember my own fucking name. I didn’t know I had a brother. I don’t know you fucking assholes. Do me a favor and get the fuck away from me!” he hollers. He unscrews the cap of the bottle and throws the water in my face.
“I’ll come back later.” I wipe my hand through the cold liquid on my face.
“Don’t fucking bother.” Moretti launches the bottle over my head, and it smacks on the ground somewhere behind me.
I’m glad it didn’t hit anyone. That’s all I care about.
I swear to God, I’m going on vacation after the kind of week I’ve had.
My phone rings, and I step out of Moretti’s space and close the curtain behind me. It’s my mom.
“Are you coming?” she texts.
Fuck.
How is it seven already?
I didn’t even get to nap.
“Are you okay?” I ask as Doc stares at his phone. He tucks it in his pocket and sighs when Moretti starts to scream behind the curtain. Doc seems defeated, tired. He has stubble on his face from not shaving in a few days.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, reaches into the drawer and pulls out a syringe. Doc disappears behind the curtain, and a second later the screams come to a halt. The curtain opens again, the metal hooks grinding against the rod.
“I’m going to be gone tonight, and I won’t be back until late,” he tells Reaper as he tosses the used needle in the biohazard bag. “Juliette is in charge until tomorrow night. I’m not going to be available. Jo, you’re coming with me.”
I open my mouth, then close it, open it, and close it again. “Where am I going?”
“With me,” he grunts and takes my hand, dragging me toward the steps. He doesn’t leave any room for argument as he gently applies pressure to my fingers to hurry up the stairs. It has my heart stuttering, wondering if it means more than it is. He’s being gentle, remembering the wounds on my arms.
When we get to the top of the stairs and shut the door, he doesn’t say anything to me. He grabs keys off the hook and instead of going straight toward the front entrance, we go out the back, passing Reaper’s office. He opens the door for me, and the night is cool, immediately hitting me in the face. The reminisce of smoke still lingers in the air from Skirt’s house burning down. My heart aches for him, Dawn, and their new baby. I hope he wakes up soon to meet his beautiful daughter.
The sun is setting below the desert, dark oranges and reds saturate the blue and black sky. Stars are peeking out, and the moon can’t be seen. Looking at the sunset, it’s hard to believe that three days ago catastrophe struck here.
Pieces of glass, bullets, blood, and fear have created a veil around this house. It’s hard to breathe. No one feels safe anymore, and I know Reaper is on a rampage to figure out who would destroy their safe haven. That’s what this is. It’s a sanctuary. The Ruthless Kings are a zone where people come for safety and protection. They always get it with loyalty, strength, and perseverance.
Eric still hasn’t spoken a word. He opens the passenger side door for me, and his boots crunch against a piece of glass that is hidden in the sand.
“Why aren’t we taking your bike?”
“You can’t hold onto me tight on the bike. In the truck, you’ll be safe.”
There goes my heart again, flying high to the clouds like a balloon. I just hope it doesn’t pop. I eye the leather seat, wondering how I’m going to get into this behemoth of a truck when suddenly I feel Eric’s arms around my waist, lifting me up as if I’m a feather.
I’m not.
I have junk in the trunk, and no matter how hard I exercise, with the food I eat, that ass isn’t going anywhere.
Eric growls behind me, as he pushes me in the seat, then spins me around, laying his hands on my thighs. I hold my breath, staring into his tired, yet beautiful blue eyes, and wait to see what he wants.
“We’re going to stop pretending about this thing between us, and we’re going to acknowledge it.” His hands drift up to my hips, and he sighs, like he’s less stressed or something. “We’ve been tiptoeing, and I’m too damn tired to walk on my toes, Jo-love. I’m a tired fucking man, but I’m not too tired for you.” His hand brushes over the tops of my arms, but it’s a light touch, not painful. “We both have our own cuts.”
I don’t say anything; too afraid that I’ll pick the wrong words to say. I’m terrified.
“You’re mine, Jo. No more space. No more denying.” He takes a step back, leaving me feeling cold from the lack of his warmth.
His hand is on the door as he turns around and steps away from me. The warm desert air takes the time to blow, and I’m masked in the scent of hard work of the past three days, sweat, exhaustion, and blood.
And it smells just as good as his cologne.
I try to move my legs forward to sit in the correct position, but Eric’s hand grips my thigh suddenly. I get a quick flash of his eyes as he moves in and slams his lips against mine. My lips are paralyzed, and I whimper in shock. I blink, wondering if I’m dreaming, but then his tongue takes the opportunity to slip through my lips, and it’s like a pinch to the arm—it makes me realize this is reality. Doc is kissing me, and he is giving it all he’s got. I don’t kiss him in return. His lips pull away from mine, and it yanks me out of my stupor. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him close, eager and enthused to know what it’s like to feel his lips against mine. They are soft, plump, and feel just as good as they look. He is firm and talented, slanting his lips over mine in an expertise that I can’t match.
He groans as I awaken for him. I meet his tongue thrust for tongue thrust. For the first time in years, I’m not thinking of a razor, I’m not thinking about ending my life—I’m enjoying the moment. I’m savoring the moment, hoping like hell I can feel his lips again. His fingers are individual torches searing my body as they wrap around me to pull me closer. His mouth is an endless pit of addiction.
Eric groans down my throat and somehow pulls me closer. My legs spread, and I welcome the closeness, our pelvises adjoined, and his heartbeat strumming against mine. The breeze slows, and for a moment the world stops spinning. It’s me and him. I’m giving into the feeling I’ve had for way too long. I’m giving into an emotion that’s been eating at my soul.
He’s here. He wants me. He feels this too. I hope he doesn’t regret this because I’m in this. I’m in this with my heart, mind, and soul.
My soul.
I thought my soul was too far gone. I couldn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel it when I cried or when I cut myself. I’ve been numb for
far too long. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be alive. He’s a defibrillator, shocking me back to life, one electrical pulse at a time.
I’m living again.
I can feel his cock between my legs, hard, long, and thick. I groan in want, my clit throbs for the first time in a two years, and I gasp in shock, breaking the kiss. He puffs air down my throat as he takes the time to enjoy how his erection feels against my hot cunt. The air in the cab of the truck has thickened. I’m ready to strip him of his shirt and feel the abs ripple between my fingers.
“We need to stop.” He has difficulty catching his breath as he huffs against my face with lust. “I’m already running late to see my mom,” he says, placing one last kiss on my lips before pulling away and closing the door. I’m stunned for a moment, thinking about how badly I want his kiss and to feel his erection between the folds of my sex when the last of what he said resounds with me.
I’m watching him run around the front of the truck with my jaw to the floor. Did he just say his mom? His mother? The person who gave birth to him?
No.
He can’t be serious.
I’m not even dressed.
I have bandages on my arms from self-inflicted wounds. I’m wearing a t-shirt and shorts I borrowed. My hair is filthy and still smells like a bonfire because Skirt’s house was on fire. Eric is kidding. He should know that right now is not a good time to meet his mom.
Why would I meet her now? I can barely breathe. I’m barely out of the hospital bed. I’m somehow supposed to be ready to have a mother fall in love with me?
I don’t even love me.
Oh my god, I need out of this truck.
I don’t do parents. I don’t do family. I barely got along with my dad. He only said he liked me when I got him booze.
I’m sweating.
My stomach turns. The baby isn’t okay with this decision either. I’ll blame it on the baby! I can’t breathe. Oh god, I need air. I try to unlock the door, but it won’t open. I jiggle the handle to see if I’m witnessing real life. When I try to unlock it, it won’t move.