“Do you think I’m weak for not getting there sooner and killing them myself?” he asks, staring numbly at the tile.
“I could never think you are weak.”
“I killed those guards…”
Owen said he would feel bad.
“And I bet if they would have seen you, they would have killed you in an instance.” I squeeze body wash on the loofah and glide it over his shoulders. “You are unlike anyone I’ve ever met. You still find a reason to cry for someone, even when they aren’t worth your tears, that’s a rare thing to see in a person.”
“It’s weakness.”
I move from behind him and stand in front of his body. “Not once are you weak. Do you know how strong it is to admit your feelings? To understand them? To not hide them away? You are so entuned with yourself and I’m jealous. It takes a special amount of strength to realize it’s okay to be sad about a life ending, especially when you know those people didn’t always lead a bad life.” I wash his chest, then his arms, then drop to my knees to get the lower half of his body.
Even through the turmoil, his cock manages to get hard. I know he doesn’t expect anything to happen, but I have this overwhelming urge to make him feel good. I want him to relax. I want him to feel a small amount of peace and I know I’m about to be bad at it but it’s the effort that counts, right?
I drag the loofah across his shaft and he hisses, then I drop down to his balls and clean those too. I reach up and grab the showerhead, unhooking it from the wall, and spray him off, letting the water pellet against his erection.
He tosses his head back, the tendons on the back of his neck pop out, and he rolls his hips. “That…that feels good. You don’t have to. I’m not expecting this kind of treatment. I was only kidding before, baby. I don’t deserve—”
“You deserve to feel good.” I lay my hand on his shoulder and run the showerhead over the sensitive shaft. He whimpers, lolling his head to the side when I hit a certain spot between his sack and the base of his cock.
“Oh, fuck,” he moans from the pressure plummeting his thick muscle and being to rock his hips back and forth, naturally seeking friction that air and water can’t give. He slips two fingers between my legs and finds my clit easily and begins to rub slow, agonizing circles over the most erotic part of me. “This is how it feels. It’s like the best fucking thing I’ve ever felt, but at the same time, it isn’t enough. I need more, but I don’t want the pressure to stop,” he admits.
I toss the showerhead to the side and fall to my knees which has his fingers out of reach from my center. I fist his cock and stroke, loving the weight of him in my hand. I lean forward and his eyes widen when he realizes what I’m doing and he grips the edge of the bench. His jaw drops open and my mouth isn’t even touching the tip yet.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispers under his breath as I get closer. “You don’t have to feel like you owe me this or anything. I…I…Oh, god,” his eyes roll back and he finally shuts up when I suck the helmet into my mouth. I take my time, trying to figure out the best way to go about doing this so it feels the best for him. I know teeth would hurt, because, logic.
I keep my lips wrapped around my teeth, suck in a breath and hollow my cheeks as I sink down. My mouth is stretched as wide as I can and when he hits the back of my throat, there is still a few inches of him to take, but I can’t do it. I slide off, licking the crown with my tongue like I would a lollipop, then sink back down.
My one hand slide between his legs and fondles his balls while my other dives between my own to find my clit.
I need to come. I need him to come. And I need to taste him.
“Pop off, baby. If you don’t want… you need to…like now… now!” he warns me, but I keep a tight grip around his cock as the large muscle jerks and tightens as four ropes of thick cream puddle on my tongue. I swallow him with him hungry, a cravings I had no idea that needed to be quenched. When the last of his tremors stop, I’m still playing with my clit to bring myself to orgasm, but he picks me up, lays me on the bench, and thrust his still rock-solid cock inside me.
He takes me his sanctuary, a safe haven, a place where all feelings are welcome. I’m high, I’m chasing him, my dreams, and it’s then I know that heaven isn’t place, it isn’t a sexual appearance.
It’s a person.
And it’s Asher.
Epilogue
The Underground Kings Ten Years Later
Heaven
Sebastian and Gabby are walking around with their three year old son on the beach. Jaxon and Quinn have their soccer team in a single file line because it’s the only way to get them to behave when it comes to launch time. Holt and Holland are the oldest, right up front and center, rolling their eyes at the behavior of their siblings. Grayson and Finley are with their two kids, a girl and a boy, who are around the same age as Owen and Jolie’ daughter.
Jolie and Owen were only able to have the one child because the labor was so rough on Jolie, that it was touch and go for a moment. It was horrible to witness Owen holding his daughter while the depression weighed on his shoulders that his wife might die.
Again.
But she pulled through and they are happy as ever.
As for me and Heather, we are sitting on the beach and five of our kids are swimming in the ocean. That’s right. Five. Because I’m me, when she got pregnant, I really got her pregnant. We had quintuplets. When the doctor told us the news, I’m not afraid to admit that I passed the fuck out. I expected one, maybe two if we were lucky, but five?
And the little brat took a picture of me, laid out on the hospital floor with her thumb sticking straight in the hair while he doctor had the wand on her stomach, laughing at my expense.
How else would a man react? Five kids, come on, between the two of us we only have four arms and two breasts that actually filled with milk. Do you know how many times those little spawns tried to gnaw on me?
My nipples were raw too.
And Heather loved every minute of it and I did too. She never complained about how pregnant she was, not once, not even when her stomach was so far out there that she couldn’t walk because she was too heavy in the middle.
It’s why she was on bedrest for six months of her pregnancy.
Scariest fucking moment of my life when they said she was high risk at every fucking thing that could happen to a pregnant woman. Miscarriage, or miscarrying two or three, yet keeping two. Pre-eclampsia, eclampsia, birth defects, everything was heightened so they recommended that we abort two.
Heather slapped the doctor in the face and asked for a new doctor. At first, we had a fight because I didn’t want to lose her and I wanted her to listen to the doctors, but all she said was ‘I can do this. Trust me. I have a good feeling.’
She didn’t even make it eight months. She went into labor at seven months and fuck the kids were all so small. They were hooked up to all of these machines and in these incubators. Danielle, the smallest, she had to be on this machine that shook her little body. I forgot what it was called, but I balled like a baby every time I had to watch her grow through that. I couldn’t fix her.
Then there was Zeke, yes we named our child Zeke after the craziest Uncle they have, and his lungs were underdeveloped. Logan, our other son, he had a tumor in his heart.
Cassandra was the healthiest one. She was the one that needed less treatment, but then there was Nathan. The medical mystery. For no reason, he kept declining, even after weeks of treatment, but then the doctor put him in the same incubator with Cassandra, and he started to thrive.
It was the scariest two months of my life until we got to take them home.
And then the first thing I did was go and get my fertile self clipped because I was not about to get her pregnant with ten babies on the next round. She said I was being dramatic, but with our luck, she would have been knocked up in no time.
She got her tubes tied too.
Five kids is enough for us. We didn’t want to chance it. Plus, t
he high risks, the scares, it was enough to age me fifteen years.
“Hey! One through freaking four, stop throwing sand at number five!” I call out to them, catching them red freaking handed.
“They have names you know,” Heather giggles, laying back on the towel to catch some sun. She still looks fucking beautiful, by the way. She has stretch marks on her stomach that she was self-conscious about for a long time, but I loved them. She carried five children at once and what is more beautiful than that. They are scars, they are beauty marks.
“Yeah, but that’s too much to remember,” I wave my hand in the hair, dismissing what she has to say, jokingly.
“Hey, look who is here, Uh!” Uncle Zeke’s boisterous voice comes from behind us on the staircase. “I brought gift for all of my favorite spawns.” His thick New York accent gains the attention of the hoard and they all come running like wild animals.
Uncle Zeke holds out his arms and the kids tackle him to the ground. I would have never thought Zeke liked kids, but damn, he is a natural. “Okay, okay, let me up. I have to get you your gifts.”
Uncle Howard holds out a twenty-dollar bill to each of them and calls it a day, which the kids also love, but Zeke always brings the most inappropriate stuff.
“Hey, check it out. You know how your Uncle Zeke is always smoking a Cuban cigar? Well, I got one for each of ya little heathens. Pink for ladies, blue for men, purple if you’re into the kind of shit, you know?”
“Language, Zeke,” Quinn laughs, sipping on a glass of wine. The day is hot and everyone ,is sweating, but even through the heat, we make time for the family.
“And they are too young to smoke,” Jolie scolds.
“Hey, it’s just bumble-gum. It ain’t the real deal, beautiful. I promise,” Uncle Zeke says. “And whoever can blow the biggest bubble gets a hundred bucks!” he adds, and the kids go crazy, shoving the cigar’s in their mouths and chewing like little maniacs.
“I got you something too,” Heather says in my ear while the kids are busy. “Close your eyes,” she says.
Oh, I like where this is going.
“Open.”
It’s a muffin, drizzled in chocolate and has a Hershey kiss on top. “For me?” I gasp, snagging it from her and biting into it instantly, moaning when the fluffy goodness hits my mouth. “So good,” I mumble around the mouthful.
“If you’re good, there will be a certain muffin in store for you later…if you know what I mean.” She nips the shell of my ear.
I fucking love muffins. They are always so damn good to me.
And so is this life.
The End
Cruel Temptations
Sample
Jaxon
Here comes the bride, all dressed in white…
I hummed the catchy, cliché tune as I attempted to make the perfect Windsor knot in my black tie. Black because weddings were just fancy funerals; a ceremony of marrying the wrong person and letting that person constrain the rest of your godforsaken fucking life by only doing what they want, slowly smothering you until you pray to finally be alone in that casket.
“Fuck this damn tie,” I sneered at my reflection in the mirror and, with a jerky motion, loosened the knot until I yanked the tie off from around the collar of the white button-up shirt.
“Need a hand?” Sebastian, my best friend, who was more like a brother to me, leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets, smirking. I hated it when he smirked because it meant he could do something that I couldn’t. I didn’t like not being able to do something. I was the kind of man that made sure he knew how to do anything and everything.
But a tie? These damn things were my worst enemy, and that was saying something considering my profession and past. No matter how much I practiced, a tie always defeated me.
“No, I decided not to wear one. For your information.” It was a lie, and he knew it, but I didn’t like to admit weakness. He also knew that, so he never made me feel bad about that less than amazing quality about myself.
“Right.” He ran his fingers through his thick head of black hair and lifted his hand from his pocket to look at his Rolex. “We need to leave in five minutes.”
“I’m nearly ready,” I said, not admitting that out of all the jobs we have done together, this was the one I was nervous about.
We weren’t stealing art. We weren’t stealing diamonds, drugs, or money.
We were stealing a woman.
Someone who I have considered mine for an awfully long time.
Quinn Taylor. The only woman who has ever had my heart.
She was going to walk down the aisle today and marry the wrong man, the man who set me up and was the reason why I had to spend ten years of my life in prison for committing third-degree murder— something I did not do.
I got pinned for killing my pregnant sister. Tracy was my best friend. She was good. One of those people you could always count on. She was a much better person than I was. She didn’t deserve to die.
Ten years ago, I still got into shit I wasn’t supposed to, but I never killed anybody. I met Brian Marks, a guy around my age who wanted to get in the drug industry together and make a fortune. I didn’t do drugs, but selling them? A man could make millions. We decided if we went into business together, we would split profits fifty-fifty.
Everything changed when he met my sister. Brian got her pregnant, and when Tracy told him, he was high on cocaine and flipped out. She called me crying, and I got in my car and hurried over to calm her down, but when I got there, it was too late. She was dead.
I had run, what possibly could have happened, in my head a thousand times. It was simple. Brian was fucked up, then he freaked about being a father, and killed her, thinking it took care of a problem. It devastated me to lose Tracy. It was just us since I was eighteen and she was twenty when our parents died in a car accident.
Then Brian did the one thing I never thought he would do.
He sold me out to the cops. Saying he came home and found me strangling Tracy. His word held over mine because he didn’t have a record, and his daddy was in politics. So I did my time, held my tongue, and planned the day I saw him again.
Which would be today, and I couldn’t wait to see his face.
I have been out of prison now for about a year, staying underground with a few buddies and building up our reputation, our money, and waiting until we had the power to go after any personal issues we had.
Me and my friends, we weren’t like other felons. All of us are innocent. So we devised a plan. We couldn’t get a good job because of our records, and I wasn’t the kind of guy who didn’t enjoy the nicer things in life, so we stole.
But we only steal from other criminals.
Drugs, art, money, or whatever the hell was valuable, we planned a heist, and once we had it in our grasp, we sold it, whether it was illegally or at an auction, then we always donated a portion of the money because we were good people. We had hearts of black with flecks of gold.
A portion of the money. Keywords were important. Kindness didn’t pay the bills, so we kept a cut. Sebastian was an internet guru, and people thought we made our money because we got lucky in investing.
I guess, in a way, we did.
Now that we had our feet under us, we all had a bone to pick, and since I formed our little family, I got to go first. With all the heists we did, our revenge should be easy to accomplish.
We succeeded.
We conquered.
We lived like kings.
The Underground Kings. That was what the criminal world knew us as. No one knew our faces, no one knew where we lived, no one knew our reasons, so they bestowed us with the title of royalty, and we ran with it.
Life was fucking good, and for me, it was about to get better.
Not only did Brian Marks set me up, but he stole my girl, and today I was going to get her back. Not because I loved her anymore. This was about revenge. Brian took ten years of my life, and I was going to take ten years from the
irs, stopping them from living happily ever after. And then, I was going to torture him until he confessed and cleared my name.
Maybe Quinn would see I wasn’t the monster she was made to believe me to be. We were each other’s first, everything. And when I was charged with murdering my sister, she broke up with me. Her lack of faith in me hurt, the fact that she didn’t know me better than that, so I let her think I did kill Tracy.
Quinn went and fell in love with the actual murderer, the traitor, and I didn’t fucking care about her happiness anymore. I wanted my ten years back.
Lie.
I knew deep down it was more than revenge, but love was a weakness in my world. It wasn’t what made the damn thing go round, money was.
“You ready yet? Jesus. We aren’t going to make it if you keep grooming yourself. You look pretty. Let’s go,” Sebastian said, snapping his fingers at me.
I hated it when he called me pretty. Men like me weren’t pretty.
“Everyone armed?” I asked, buttoning my cuff link as I strolled out of the hotel room.
“Is everyone armed?” Asher scoffed and opened the blazer of his suit to show he had a double holster strapped to his chest with a gun filling each. Asher Haven, also known as Heaven since is he was the pretty boy of the group and had a way with the ladies any time of the day, no matter where we were. Heaven was set up for assault and battery by an old ex. He only spent a few years in prison, so he still had an innocence about him I didn’t understand.
“What kind of question is that?” Owen, the oldest of the group at forty, shook his head. He was set up for murder too, only it was first-degree, and he spent twenty-two years in prison. And time really hardened him up.
Cruel Captivation: A Dark Romance (Underground Kings Book 5) Page 18