by Ivy Fox
She isn’t even grinding on me like most of the sheep are doing to the men on this artificial dance floor, yet I’m already hard as fuck and half in love with her already. By her half-mast lids, I see she’s just as affected by our intimate proximity of one another. I even feel my hard length poke at her soft stomach, making its presence known, and Hope doesn’t seem to mind one bit. I’m just relieved that all she feels is how my body reacts to hers, not showing how she truly affects me inside, which would scare us both off this dance floor. My mind goes a complete blank when she presses on my dick a little harder with her stomach, and I swear I see stars. The smoldering grin that reaches her chestnut eyes tells me that little move was all too intentional.
“What are you doing, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know, Michael. What am I doing?” she teases me.
“I think you’re trying to get yourself in trouble,” I say, feeling more like myself. Now, this type of craving, I know how to sedate.
“Is that what this is?” she asks, and I feel her palm grasp my dick through my jeans, making me ache to feel her hand cradle my bare cock and stroke it into oblivion. Thank God I tower over her somewhat, otherwise her brave grip wouldn’t go unnoticed by the other couples on the dance floor. I’m also relieved there are too many people around us right now impeding me from taking my cock out and thrusting it exactly where it needs to be—family night and all.
I lower my mouth to her ear and pull her closer so no one hears what I’m about to say or see her hand continuing to lightly pet my growing cock.
“You feeling needy, Hope? Is that what this is?” I growl in her ear, making it known she isn’t the only one with needs. She hums as I bite her earlobe and suck it into my mouth.
“Do you like making me hard? Feeling me grow in your hand, knowing how much I would rather be plowing into that sweet pussy of yours?” She lowers her forehead to my shoulder, and gives me a little nod with a strangled moan.
“Do you know how many times I’ve jacked off to the memory of your sweet taste on my tongue? So fucking delicious, I have to restrain myself every time I see you and not lay you down and open those gorgeous legs of yours and plow my tongue into your peachy center.” She moans again, and that sound makes my dick beg to be set free and give her everything I’m promising. She’s the one caressing my dick through my pants, making my blood boil, yet my words alone seem to be making her just as ravenous.
“Is that what you’re needy for, baby? My tongue inside you? Or do you want my cock instead? Fuck, how I’d love to fill you up so good right now. Make you scream out my name while I’m deep inside your tight pussy. Is that what you want, sweetheart?” I growl, biting her shoulder like a mad dog who needs his fix. My tongue sweeps over my teeth marks soothingly, yet my eyes love how my mark is finally on her. I hear a little whimper spilling from her lips, her shoulders shaking with need, and my own dick reacts by leaking pre-cum on my boxers, leaving me just as needy as this little vixen in my hands.
“Michael!” I hear Uri yell out behind me, and it’s like an ice bucket on my libido. I let out a frustrated groan, and place both hands on Hope’s face so I have all her attention. The look of lust and desire in those eyes—that kills me every time—makes me wish I could just ignore my uncle and take my girl away from here and give her all I had promised to her instead.
My lust-filled mind doesn’t even care that I’m starting to refer to Hope as ‘my girl.’ Logic will kick some sense in soon enough.
“Michael, a word!” Uri shouts out again.
And by the sound of it, logic and killjoy have a common name. Hope is still looking at me like I’ve hung the moon and stars for her, and her pink tongue peeks out from her pillowy lips, just begging me for one moment of weakness. But if I start this now, I will never stop. And before Uri loses his shit, this little rendezvous will need to continue some other time.
“Not tonight, sweetheart.” I rub her back softly, trying to take a bit of the sting away. I place a tender kiss on her forehead and hate the look of disappointment and embarrassment that replaces her wanton one. I turn my back on her and see Uri at the clubhouse’s main door, waiting on me with his usual pissed-off look of late. Suddenly I’m not feeling it, and family night can go to hell for all I care. I school my own aggravated thoughts at Uri’s moody-as-fuck attitude. If both of us are sulking like damned infants, then whatever he’s got on his mind will just take longer for him to say—which means the more time I’ll have to spend with him, and less with the person I really do want to be with.
“You rang, Prez?” I goad, trying to get a rise out of him.
“Funny, asshole. We got business to take care of,” he says, turning his back to me, heading to church.
“Business?” I ask behind him. “What type of business couldn’t wait till morning?” I ask, sensing bullshit in the air. Uri’s proclamation of ‘we need to talk business’ during our annual Fourth of July picnic, reeks of it. The air is heavy and thick with the stench, especially since he hadn’t said a thing to me all day, and only now, by nights’ end, he calls me aside to talk shop. I let him take his seat on his throne, while I take my own at his right, like the good trained VP he’s educated me to be. I don’t say a word and let him have the floor, reading his carefully-placed mask and knowing that I’m not going to like whatever he’s going to lay on our winged table.
“I’m giving you the Florida job. You leave at first light,” he says like he’s talking about the weather and not on a security high-stakes run out of left field.
“What are you talking about, Uri? I thought you were giving that job to the nomads as their initiation?” I grunt, holding my hands together in one large fist on the table before me.
“I changed my mind,” he counters.
“You changed your mind?”
“Yes,” he deadpans, no emotion whatsoever.
“Just like that, huh?” I continue to pester, but my uncle is giving me nothing. “Can I ask why?”
“I thought that maybe Cam would appreciate it. Maybe take some time off and see his folks while you’re down there.”
“I call bullshit, Uri. Cam can go down to the Keys and see his parents anytime he feels like. What’s this really about?” I grunt, losing my patience with the man before me.
“Alright, I think you three need a bit of distance from here to get your heads in check.. This isn’t too much of a long run, but it’ll serve its purpose,” he deflates, and finally I’m seeing a crack in his armor.
“That being? I don’t follow,” I add. I need him to spell it out for me, make it clear exactly whom and not what he wants us to have distance from.
“Yes, you do,” he smirks at me.
“You’re talking about Hope?”
“The whole club is talking about her. I’m just listening,” he exhales, running his fingers through his dark curls.
“Stop talking in riddles, Uri. Why this sudden need to distance us from Hope?”
“Because if my VP can’t get his shit together, then his president will have to do it for him,” he replies, the authority in his voice clear as day.
“I see.”
“Do you, Michael? Because from where I’m sitting, you seem to be walking blind,” Uri chastises, tapping his fingers on the table, a nervous tic I know him to have when he’s close to losing his own shit.
“I’m not blind, Uri,” I tell him, controlling my own emotions, hoping to keep this conversation as civil as it can possibly be. If we both lose our cool, no good will come out of it, and the club should always be our main concern. A beef between its president and vice president is never a good sign.
“Oh no? Then explain to me what the fuck was that outside? Brothers talk, Michael. Hell, they’ve been talking non-stop since she arrived at Warren. But her coming here? Today? That was all the proof anyone needed to add fuel to the fire. Everyone can see Cam is fucking infatuated with the girl. Gabriel, too, even if he is more discreet than his cocky counterpart. Like hell will I let the
m think you’re fucking her.”
“I’m not fucking her,” I say, the words leaving a bad taste in my mouth.
“For your sake, you better not be.” He points at me and lets out an exaggerated huff. He leans back in his chair, placing both arms on each armrest, looking at me like he’s dissecting me from within, trying to discover every secret I’m withholding from him. When he’s satisfied that there are none, he leans back into the table and clasps his hands, mimicking my own.
“I think you three have to come to some sort of agreement where she is concerned. You, especially, need to be cautious as to what your game plan is with her. If she’s just another pass-around, that’s fine. But by the way you three have been acting lately, she ain’t no sheep,” he says, with less heat in his words and more genuine care behind each one.
“No, she’s not,” I confess. Hope could never be one of the club whores or skanks that parade around the clubhouse looking for a warm lap to sit on. She has more class and strong will in her tiny finger than most of the sheep of the house combined.
“She ol’ lady material?” he asks, and I just nod and fix my eyes on my entwined hands, knowing I’ve just confessed too much.
“Question is whose ol’ lady will she be. I sat here, not so long ago, telling you how envy and jealousy poison any institution—same goes for friendship, Michael. If she hasn’t decided who she wants next to her, maybe you three should make the decision for her,” Uri asserts.
“What if we can’t choose?” I hear myself ask, hoping Uri delves deep into the side of him that looks onto me as his kin, his family, and to give me his answer as my uncle, not my prez. His brow furrows further and I see he shares my confusion and wishes he could fix it for me, like he used to do when I was a kid and came home heartbroken over mundane things. But the veil is only lowered for a speck of time, and too soon do I see the black pools of my president staring back at me with determination in them.
“Well, she can’t have the three of you, and you’re setting yourself up for a fall if you even think that’s where this is heading. Brothers won’t respect a president that shares his ol’ lady with two other brothers. They need to see order and strength. That shit just won’t fly.”
“Ha, but you seem to forget Uri, you’re the one who is Prez of this club. I’m only VP. I can do whatever the fuck I want,” I smugly counter, hating that I went there like an insolent child who was told he couldn’t keep his toy.
“No, you can’t. Michael, you’ve been in denial for a long time, and I bear a small part of the blame for that. I am not going to be Prez for long. I can hold the gavel for as long as you need me to, but it’s yours. It has always been, and if my brother was here, your father, he would tell you the same. No pussy is worth risking your place in this chair.”
“Don’t talk about her like that, Uri. Now I respect you as my Prez and my family, but if you insult Hope in any way again, I won’t think twice before putting you in your place,” I tell him, and my eyes must look as wild as my burning rage, with Uri’s poor choice in vocabulary when discussing Hope. His eyes soften, but his stance maintains the same authoritarian nature I’ve grown to respect and admire growing up.
“See, this is what I’m concerned about. How are the men going to follow you if you go apeshit with the first person who talks shit about Hope? Because brothers and other clubs will talk, Michael. They’ll hear about how your ol’ lady is nothing but a pass-around between the three of you. They’ll insult her and they’ll taunt you.”
I grind my teeth, not wanting to hear his reasoning any longer, but Uri, sensing that his words are getting through my thick skull, continues with his torment.
“You might not care what they say behind your back. Might not even care about people talking smack about Cam or Gabe. But what about her, huh? What about Hope, Michael? She came to you broken, and you mended her to feel strong—to look the part fit for an ol’ lady. But will you rob her of that and tarnish her reputation? Bring all her hard work to the ground without a second thought to what she deserves? Michael, if you won’t listen to reason, at least listen to that damn ticker inside you that has taken control of your senses. Does Hope deserve this life?” Uri asks, and if I hated my prez talking down at me, then the love in my uncle’s voice showing actual concern for Hope’s well-being as well as my own, doesn’t take the sting away any less. No. He knows exactly where he’s driving his blade into, shredding my insides and making me bleed to get what he wanted all along—my submission.
“She deserves better,” I choke, standing from my seat and making my way out the door. I stop at its arch and turn my head to the side so he can hear me loud and clear.
“We’ll go on your run. Get the nomads to meet me in five to give me the rundown of things,” I say.
“And where are you going now?” he asks behind me.
“To say goodbye. Isn’t that what you wanted?” I don’t stay to listen to his answer, and walk downstairs to the main room. Some brothers have decided to bring the party indoors, but none of them are the ones I need to talk to now.
I go over to the main door and see Hope exactly where I left her, only this time she’s dancing away with Cam while under Gabriel’s watchful eye on a nearby bench.
I put two fingers in my mouth and let out a loud whistle, our usual warning for each other to keep our eyes peeled to any danger, aware of the irony that I’m using it now to grab the attention of my silent friend, fearing danger has already gripped its claws into all three of us. He walks over to me, his back stiffening, already sensing my raging mood.
“What’s wrong?”
“I need you and Cam to take Hope home,” I tell him, still looking at the woman who, a few hours ago, I was tempted to call my own.
“You not coming?”
“No, brother, I’m not. Get your rest. Tell Cam to get his, too. Tomorrow we got a long drive ahead of us. I need to stay here and go over everything that our little unplanned trip involves, so there are no more surprises.”
“Uri sending us far?” he asks, not even questioning Uri’s order.
“Florida,” I answer bitterly. His brow furrows, not pleased with the destination either, then gives me a shrug and squeezes my shoulder.
“Cam will see his folks. Doesn’t have to be a bad thing, brother,” he says, but he doesn’t sound any more thrilled than I am.
“No, it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Go. Get your asses home and ready for the morning,” I order, and he gives me another reassuring squeeze and leaves me alone to watch him walk back to the couple laughing on the dance floor. I can’t make out what Gabe says to the pair, but it’s enough for Cam to grab onto Hope’s hand, entwining their fingers together and leading her back to where our choppers are parked. The sight of their locked hands makes me want to growl in frustration, especially when I see her turn her head my way, looking at me with such disappointment in her eyes. She wanted me to come home tonight. Wanted me to make good on what I started when I was dancing with her. Yet duty demanded I stay here, handling my shit instead of being neck deep inside her warmth.
Fucking Uri and his opinionated, self-righteous ass.
“You coming?” I hear one of the nomads ask behind me, demanding my attention to be swayed from the girl straddling my best friend’s chopper instead of my own, to the business at hand, so he can try to salvage his night, at least.
“Yeah, I’m coming,” I reply sullenly, thinking how much I wish those words were uttered into Hope’s ear in rapture instead of walking into a night filled with reconnaissance. The smug grin on Uri’s face at the top of the stairs, as he watches me follow the brother, only deepens my hatred of the following days to come. Yes, duty demands a lot of me.
But honor demands more.
Chapter 19
Cam
Fuck!
Sleep wants nothing to do with my ass tonight. As much as I toss and turn, my head is a storm of rumbled thoughts, making it impossible to have any shut-eye. And lord knows I’m going t
o need it to make the long-ass trip tomorrow.
Florida.
What the hell was Uri thinking?
First, he’s hell-bent at making us do only local jobs, and then out of nowhere, he tells us to pack up our shit and go south by daybreak. Prez has been in a foul mood lately, but he’s never been one to make rash decisions. Michael looked all sorts of pissed, too, by Uri’s ruling, and Gabriel was even less conversational coming home. But delivering the news to Hope that we were going to be away from home, for God knows how long, was the hardest pill to swallow.
Tonight’s picnic party had been incredible. She was vibrant, carefree, and so fucking relaxed, I thought the heavens themselves came down and placed one of its angels just for us to witness her divine beauty. I saw a glimpse of the girl inside her coming to life in all her glory and reveled in it. But the moment I put her fine ass on the back of my bike and told her we had to pack because we were leaving in the morning for club business, that same translucent glimmer in her eyes dimmed right before my very eyes—as if one of Michael’s beloved daggers pierced my heart with one look alone.
Maybe that’s why I can’t sleep. Guilt for leaving her here on her own, knowing how she was finally getting used to us, getting used to this new life, only to abandon her once more, was making me sleep-deprived. This ill thought plagues my mind too much for it to be overturned by any pleasant dreams that sleeping could provide. I hate this shit. I’m not a thinker, and dwelling on shit isn’t my style, but her crestfallen expression haunts me hours after our return from the party.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I should feel excited instead. I mean, we are going to Florida, which means this run is bound to be a two-week thing, if not more. I’ll be able to see my folks, eat some real southern cooking, and chat up potential recruits for the club. I should be stoked, so why the hell am I lying here wishing that Michael could change Uri’s mind and let anyone else do this run instead?