Jack (The Kings of Mayhem MC TENNESSEE series, book 1)

by Penny Dee

  Dropping to his knees, he trails his tongue down my naked torso and pulls my skirt down as he goes. Left in nothing but my panties, he rips them off too and quickly buries his face between my thighs.

  Without warning, he pushes me back onto the bed.

  Exhilaration spins through me.

  Everything about us is about to change.

  Jack pulls his belt through the loops of his jeans, releases his zipper, and lifts his shirt over his head. His torso is thick with muscle, the deep gutters of his abs flexing as he moves, his big body looming over me.

  My gaze shifts to the gauze dressing on his chest. It’s a reminder of how injured he is. But the look on his face tells me he is feeling nothing but the primal lust burning in his blue eyes.

  Next to go are his jeans. He’s wearing tight trunks, and the rigid outline of his erection is thick and long, and the beat between my legs becomes almost unbearable.

  Our eyes lock as he loses his briefs.

  I swallow thickly, my gaze drifting down his muscular stomach to look at his cock for the very first time. Just as I’ve fantasized, it’s deliciously big and wide, a thick column of flesh with a plush shiny head. He wraps a big hand around the base and gives it a slow, leisurely tug.

  Hungrily, I watch him from amongst the pillows, greedily absorbing the image, and a secret thrill quickens inside me.

  Still stroking himself, he climbs onto the bed and comes toward me. “There’s only one woman I’ve been inside unprotected, and that is the mother of my children.” His eyes grow heavy. “And I haven’t been with her in more than six years.”

  I’ve never taken the risk.

  “I’ve only ever used them,” I say, but it’s more of a whisper because the way he’s stroking himself is getting me even more hot and bothered. Lust throbs between my legs, making me wet and antsy, so much so I can barely breathe.

  “Then we should,” he says. “In the top drawer of the—”

  “No,” I say, reaching for him. “I want to feel all of you. I don’t want anything between us.”

  His dark eyes find mine, heavy-lidded and full of heat. What he wants to do to me is written all over his lust-ravaged face.

  And dear God, I want all of it.

  “You sure about that, wildflower?”

  “I want all of you.” My eyes drop to the engorged shaft in his hand. “Every naked inch.”

  He releases his cock from his grasp, and it sways heavy and hard between his thighs as he leans toward me.

  Hands on my knees, he thrusts open my legs, and the heat in his eyes takes on a whole new level when they take in the view of my wet, shaved pussy. With a wicked smile tugging at his lips, he thrusts my arms above my head and positions himself between my quaking thighs. And then he’s there, right where I need him, nudging at my entrance as the slick lips of my sex suckle his bulbous head, needy and hungry, wanting to draw him inside.

  Groaning, his grip on my wrists tighten, and his eyes fasten to mine. I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pushes every thick inch of his cock into me, right to the hilt, his eyes never leaving my face as he does.

  My eyes flutter closed with pleasure. I’ve never felt so filled, so completely owned and possessed, as I do in this moment.

  “Open your eyes,” he commands, and when I do, he starts to move his beautiful cock in and out of me with exquisite control. I’ve fantasized about getting it hard and fast. I’ve thought about him bending me over and driving into me from behind. But this? This is so excruciatingly slow and deep, and oh so fucking good.

  Releasing my hands, he kisses me roughly, his mouth hungry and fierce, his tongue demanding, and as his pleasure grows, he moans my name against my lips and drives his powerful hips harder into mine.

  Grasping him, my fingers bite into his muscular back, and my thighs wrap tighter around his waist, my skin misted with sweat.

  “Fuck, wildflower… you feel so fucking tight… so fucking wet…” He gasps. “I’ll never fucking last… I’ve been waiting so long for this.”

  I clench tighter around his cock.

  “Fuck, woman, you’re not making this easy.” He groans against the heated flesh of my throat. Then he pulls away, withdrawing his cock ,and the loss of fullness is devastating.

  “What are you doing?” I breathe, desperately wanting him inside me again.

  “I’m not coming until I hear my name on your lips, and feel your pussy squeezing my cock as you come. But you feel too good, baby. I’m going to come in mere minutes if we keep doing this. So, I’m going to make sure we do it together.” With no warning, he buries his face between my thighs and parts me with his strong tongue, penetrating me with deep, leisurely licks that light me up like a powder keg.

  The pleasure is instant, the friction from his tongue almost too much to bear. He works me up, bringing me to the edge but not letting me fall.

  When he rises back to his knees, I’m a writhing mess, dangling over the edge ready to plummet. Semen drips from his cock as he grasps the thick length in his hand and pumps it slowly. “See what you do to me. See how much I want you.”

  He doesn’t wait for me to answer. Instead, he plunges into me and grabs my ankles to lift them higher, so he can thrust in deeper. Harder. Faster. The look on his face is raw and primal. I rake my gaze down his naked body and watch with dazed fascination as his large cock disappears in and out of my body. His body is a machine. The thick slabs of muscle that are his six-pack clench tight with every thrust. Veins like ropes wrap themselves around his heavy forearms as he holds my parted legs high.

  “You like watching this, wildflower? You like seeing my dick fucking you?”

  I drop my head back, tipped over the edge by his words. My muscles begin to convulse with an orgasm that is born at the very core of me. I arch my back and let out a cry as a euphoria like no other sweeps me away.

  “That’s it, angel…” he pants. “Come for me. Show me how much you like me fucking you.”

  I clench his cock through my climax, and a series of primal pants leave him as the buildup to his own release draws him in tight and then finally releases him. His eyes glaze over. His eyebrows pull back. And when his orgasm hits, his beautiful mouth drops open on his lust- ravaged face as his ecstasy consumes him.

  I love watching him fall apart.

  Love knowing it’s my body doing that to him.

  When he collapses beside me and uses his powerful arms to pull me into his chest, I smile with contentment.

  All the walls are down, and I’m exactly where I am supposed to be.

  JACK

  Fuck.

  Standing in the small bathroom set off from the bedroom, I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

  If I were an asshole, I would blame the drugs.

  But who am I fucking kidding? Even if I could blame it on the drugs, I’m still an asshole.

  Last night happened because I wanted it to, and I was too damn weak to stop it. I wanted to touch Bronte since the day she showed up on her grandmother’s doorstep, and I don’t regret one second I’ve spent loving her.

  I just didn’t expect it to feel so fucking right.

  Even after killing a man.

  But now, with the stark light of day casting its reality check over the situation, I need to get things right in my head before we attempt to figure out how this is supposed to work.

  Fuck.

  I lean down and splash water onto my face.

  I can’t deny how I feel.

  I haven’t been in love with a woman for years.

  Hell, if I’m honest, in the end, I loved Rosanna more out of habit than anything. We were just kids when we met, too young to be in love and too stupid to realize it.

  But this? Fuck, this feels like something different altogether. Like my insides light up with sunshine every time I touch her.

  Even now, standing here, I want to go back into that room and get lost in her body for the rest of the day. I want to kiss her until her
lips are swollen and bruised and to feel the gut-clenching bliss of sliding my cock deep into her beautiful pussy. I want to feel her muscles contract and hear her unbridled moan as I make her come, over and over, until we’re both too spent to move.

  I look down at my cock.

  Fuck, I’m hard again.

  I close the door quietly and pump the thick shaft until my knees go weak and my orgasm washes over me. But if I think jerking off is going to stop me from wanting her, then I’m not only wrong—I’m fucking delusional. Because the moment I walk back into the room and see her tangled in the sheets, I’m hit with an overwhelming sense of longing, and my balls damn well contract with want. She’s fucking perfect. All smooth and tanned with her thick blonde hair spilling across the pillows like satin.

  Feeling the need in my belly grow, I dress as quietly as I can, so I don’t disturb her.

  It’s been more than a week since I’ve been outside of this clubhouse, and I’m desperate to leave, for more reasons than I care to admit.

  I need to clear my head.

  I also need to get my words right before we talk about last night.

  I simply want my bike and the early morning air whipping across my skin as I ride wild and free into the new dawn. Slipping my cut over my shirt, I take one last look at Bronte on the bed and feel the battle forging through me. I reach for her but stop before I can make contact.

  She deserves the right words and right now, my head is too tangled to give them to her. So, I retreat across the room and pick up my wallet off the dresser, attaching it to the silver wallet chain on my belt before shoving it into my back pocket.

  I will be back before she wakes.

  But just as I reach the door, her rich voice breaks into the quiet morning, “You’re leaving?”

  I turn around. “I need to get outta here. The walls are closing in.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  I walk over to her, hating the look of doubt brimming in her big blue eyes. “I just need to clear my head.”

  “Last night—”

  “I don’t regret it. You got that, wildflower? I’m not walking away. I just need to get outta this room and ride.” My thumb grazes her chin, then finds her lower lip. “We’ll talk when I get back. So, don’t be having that conversation in your head without me, okay? Because you’ll get it all wrong.”

  The sun’s rising as I leave the clubhouse and it glints off the chrome of the Harleys lined up in the secure parking lot.

  Hearing the whisper of the road, I climb onto my bike and ride into the pale morning light. I feel like an asshole for leaving her. I should’ve stayed, but I am no good for Bronte when I’m all up in my head about shit like I am. I need to get my head straight before we talk.

  I meant what I said. I don’t regret last night. How could I? It was incredible. But what I feel for Bronte—if I were a good man, I would forget about it. Let her go. Encourage her to move on.

  But goddammit, my body, heart, and soul is fucking aching to be her man.

  As I settle into the ride, my mood lifts. Out here on the road, I feel alive and at peace. Here I can clear the cobwebs and get my mind right.

  I don’t even know how long I ride for. I just keep going, and before I realize it, I’m pulling into the Flintlock Cemetery where Cooper is buried. Parking my bike just inside the entrance, I climb off and make my way through the green lawns and rows and rows of tombstones until I find my brother’s grave. It’s nestled in the shade of an Eastern Redbud and surrounded by the trinkets and personal items people have left him over the years.

  Like his college football helmet and the glass beads from a trip to Mardis Gras he took with Bronte just a few months before his death.

  Walking toward it, the all-too-familiar sense of loss washes through me. No matter how long I live, I’m never going to get used to walking toward my brother’s grave. It will never get any easier or make any sense even if I live to be a hundred.

  On his tombstone, there is a picture of him. In it, he is smiling, and I can see a lot of me in him—the same eyes, the same dimples, the same jawline. It’s so fucking hard to believe he was here one day and simply gone the next.

  The ache grows stronger and burrows into my chest.

  Christ, I miss him.

  Kneeling, I place a palm on his stone and close my eyes. Some days, it feels like he’s here with me, and there’s a warm comfort in that feeling. But other days, he feels gone and dead, and so far away it’s almost too much to bear. Today, however, I feel him near, and my heart feels calm.

  “I suppose you know what’s been going on. S’pose you’ve seen what a fucking mess your big brother has gotten himself into. Fuck, Coop…” I rake my hand through my hair, “… I wish you were fucking here to talk to, brother.”

  His picture smiles back at me from his gravestone.

  What would he think about his brother falling for his best friend?

  Because that is the truth of it.

  I’m head over fucking heels for Bronte.

  Bat shit crazy in love.

  I’m not afraid to admit it now because there is no place for lies. Here my heart can be open. It can be vulnerable and honest with no fear. I don’t consciously choose for it to be, however, sitting here, it happens naturally.

  I close my eyes and think about my last conversation with Cooper and about his hesitation to talk about his sexuality.

  How I wish he knew my feelings and that it’s okay to be who you are.

  To love who you want.

  Then, the realization hits me.

  He would be okay with this, just as I was okay with whoever he chose.

  The knowledge wraps itself around my heart.

  It’s okay, something whispers in the warm summer breeze.

  When I open my eyes, a glint of something blue and shiny catches my eye. It’s one of Bronte’s bracelets sitting amongst the stones at the foot of the gravestone, in between the multi-colored pinwheel Rosanna put there years earlier and a big stone someone has painted with his name.

  I reach for it and turn it over in my fingers—it’s definitely Bronte’s. She’d been wearing it only a few days earlier. I remember because it reminded me of the bracelet she’d made Cooper the year she went off to college.

  She’s been here, and I don’t know why but the thought makes me smile. It makes me feel incredibly close to her. Being with Bronte makes me feel the things I thought were dead inside me. Like hope and happiness. Love. She makes me realize those things aren’t dead for me. They have simply been dormant, sleeping in the shadow of my dark heart and waiting to be nurtured back to life.

  A cool summer breeze blows up from the river and kisses my cheek.

  It’s like a whisper in my ear.

  A gentle acknowledgment in my heart.

  Rising to my feet, I put the bracelet back where I found it and press my fingers to his gravestone.

  Dammit! I hurt Bronte by leaving this morning, motivated by my own selfish need to get out and clear my head. Now, I must get back there and let her know I’m all in. That I’m playing for keeps. She is my destiny. Since the moment we met, our fates aligned, and she became a part of me. Now she’s under my skin and ingrained in my soul, her name etched permanently in my heart, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.

  She needs to know I want everything with her.

  I will have some making up to do, so when I get back to the clubhouse, I’m going to kiss the pain from her lips until she forgives me.

  I leave Cooper behind and climb on my bike.

  I’m riding back to the clubhouse to claim my future.

  Only, when I get back, she’s gone.

  BRONTE

  If I were a smoker, I’d be lighting one up. But I’m not. Instead, I sit in my car parked in the clubhouse parking lot and take a moment to think about my next move, my nerves itching for a coffee.

  He left.

  After last night.

  He goddamn left.

&nbs
p; And when I thought about the look on his face this morning, my heart cracked just a little more.

  Yeah, I know that look because I am the fucking queen of that look.

  Trying not to let the sting of rejection sink its hooks into me any further, I start the ignition, but before I can pull out, Loki appears at my window.

  “Hey, where are you running off to?” he asks.

  A thick vein of guilt runs through me. “I’m not running anywhere.”

  “Kinda looks that way to me.” His brow furrows. “My father know you’re leaving? Because I don’t see the prospect with you, and I’m pretty sure Jack said you’re not to go anywhere without one of us handsome guys going with you.” He grins, and the brotherly warmth in it makes me want to cry. “Need some company?”

  What I need is to go home, and right now, I’m prepared to lie to make that happen.

  “Jack’s riding ahead. I’ll meet him at his house. I was meant to leave the same time, but I got side-tracked.”

  Loki’s blue eyes study me for a few seconds before his handsome face breaks into a grin. “Well, okay, then. You drive safely, okay, bee.” He gives me a wink before turning away.

  As I watch him disappear inside the clubhouse, my cell pings with a message, and even though I will never admit it, when I reached for it, my heart blooms with the hope that it’s Jack.

  But it isn’t.

  It’s from another unidentified sender.

  Another burner phone.

  Unknown: Thinking about you.

  Fear replaces the sinking sensation of rejection.

  Dread replaces the prickly heat of lying to Loki.

  For days, I’ve been languishing in Jack’s bed, preoccupied with my need for him and safe in his protection, but now The Poet is back.

  Before my fear can hit the bullseye in my heart, I hit the call button.

  I’ve had enough.

  I’m fed up and pissed off enough because after last night, he goddamn left.