by Rie Warren
“You blush so prettily.” His fingers skimmed my downturned cheek. “Like the sunrise over the Afghanistan mountains.”
“Did Helai blush?” I dared to look at him.
“Truth is, I never saw her whole face. Never kissed her.” He cupped my face in both broad palms. “I’m not there now, sweetheart. I’m fully here with you, and I never ached to touch her the way I’m dying to touch you now.”
“What are you waiting for?”
The sudden hunger of his kisses called up my own greed. I pressed into him, making sure my breasts pillowed against his chest. Hands roving from Killian’s bulging biceps to his well-muscled ribs, I relearned his texture, his heat, the spots that made him shiver beneath my touch.
His hands coasted from the center of my spine to my buttocks then around to my hips where I shuddered at the skimming pressure.
He released my lips to groan.
I started to drop down to get him inside my mouth, but he halted me.
“Not like that.”
Hoisting me in his arms, he carried me to the bed.
He shifted me up against the top so I lay in a nest of pillows he arranged all around, and I couldn’t help but smile. Because he wanted to get sucked, but he wasn’t about to let me do it without making sure I was comfortable first.
“Hurry.” I nearly drooled over him, fingers combing through the crisp hair on his strapping thighs, lips gliding along the deep groove of his Adonis belt.
Then he kneeled up in front of me, the heat of his cock and balls hitting me in the face so I salivated fully.
He grabbed the headboard, and I anchored his unyielding shaft down, a burning heat swilling from my cunt.
With the first touch of my tongue over the widening eye at the helmet of his cock, I ingested his precum.
“Fuck.” His muscles stamped like copper beneath a press.
I murmured as I ignored his cock, aiming for his heavy testes. The sac weighty, I palmed the softest skin. Then I turned my head to capture one orb within my mouth.
I’d never tasted such maleness.
He’d be potent, so full.
Lapping around his balls, I wiggled my tongue over the other before drawing the weighty stone into my mouth.
Above, Killian’s abs flexed into hard-packed rolls of muscle.
I teased him longer with the tip of my tongue, waiting for the rough rumbling of his voice, because I wanted him to tell me—just once—what he wanted me to do without thinking about my past.
Without my history coming between us.
Seconds later, his thighs quaked beneath the purchase of my hands and, looking around him, I saw his back in the mirror.
Ohhh.
His ass curved into hard muscular crescents. His upper torso twisted with sinews standing out in a fan-like formation.
Dragging his balls from my lips, he peered down through the blue slits of his eyes.
Then he angled his throbbing hard rod down too.
“Put me in your mouth and suck me,” he demanded.
Only too happy to oblige, I cooed over the flesh-hot iron-hard spike he drove between my lips. My neck tilted back. His pelvis tilted down.
With a heap of pillows holding up my upper body and him kneeling above me, I opened my mouth to him, for him to take.
Killian fucked between my lips—just a few inches and never enough to make me gag—watching me from above through heavy eyelids.
I would’ve lain there all night, his balls swinging against my chin while I dribbled all over his length.
With Killian I was a woman.
Not a victim.
A wash of precum blasted against my tongue, and I moaned hotly.
He whipped out of my mouth so fast, I nearly wailed at the loss.
“Enough. Can’t take much more of your sweet mouth.”
Dazed and needy, I licked his precum from my lips.
I stretched—supine—until he crawled down between my legs.
The first touch of his mouth melted me apart.
Oh!
I could barely see the top of his head as he lapped at me, bathed my center, sucked at my clit as voraciously as I’d blown him.
He took my thighs in his hands and spread me even wider.
Muttering against my wetted flesh, he said, “Not sure if I can be gentle this time.”
“The other times were gentle?”
His head craned up above my belly, his lips gleaming. “Wasn’t I?”
All the while, he knew what he did to me.
His fingers thrust into me, and I leaned back on my elbows.
When I looked down again, he still wore that wolfish grin.
And he laved his tongue from the bottom of my tummy, across the top of my sex, and into my clutching heat to join his swirling fingers.
The next time I heard him, he’d just wrapped his tongue in a delirious way around my clit to leave the nub humming.
His voice hummed through me too. “Thought I’d never get my hands on you again.”
I dropped my fingers to touch the top of his head and drift back to his neck. “Mmm. Your hair’s longer.”
“You like it better?”
I came on his face before I could answer, almost embarrassingly fast. But that time, instead of shame or chagrin or embarrassment, I embraced the flashpoint. I rolled and heaved and writhed, the bulk of my pregnant body no hindrance at all.
When Killian propped up above me, I tugged him by his shaggy inky hair to my mouth. “I like you however I can get my hands on you.”
Then, with my fingers, I followed the trail of hair bisecting his abs to find the hardness of his cock. “And get you inside me.”
“Are you sure?”
“If you keep asking, I’m going to stop putting out.”
Seconds later, he had me off the bed, his mouth sealed over mine. Leaving me standing—hot and pulsing all over—he sat in the cushy chair by the window. Big thighs spread so his big balls bunched and his bigggg cock rose emblem-like from fat root to shiny tip, he rolled a condom on.
That time his motions weren’t as efficient as usual. He looked shaky. Impatient. Desperate.
The stretch of his arms, the flex of his legs, the twists of his wide wrists, entranced me.
Tantalized me.
“C’mere.” He crooked a finger at me.
“How?”
Bending forward, he grabbed my hand. He towed me to him.
His breath skimmed my neck, his dirty demand licking all over me. “Straddle me. Backward.”
“Are you sure?”
Groaning low, he strained, control eroded by desire. “Fuck yes.”
“I’ll be too heavy.”
“Never, sweetheart.” Hands at my waist, he pivoted me like a ballerina in a jewelry box. “Backward. Like this. Just”—his palms squeezed my ass—“like”—his fingers tunneled beneath my unbound hair to my neck—“this.”
I straddled him, hands braced on his knees, ass and back facing him as he sat.
Killian angled his thick meaty cock up, and as I lowered, lowered, he cussed.
Impaling myself slowly, I curved my body, rolling my head.
Full of him, I gyrated, simply sweltering all over him.
“Why like this?” I moaned, pleasure bursting in a thousand points throughout my body.
“So I can get my hands all over you.”
And, oh, Killian did get his hands all over me. My breasts and my belly and down between my legs where his massive shaft stretched my pussy that was slick with want.
He didn’t even have to touch my clit, I was gone. His. Wholly ready for him.
Reedy breaths took my moans and made them windborne.
As I rose up, he helped with his hands on my hips.
When I dropped, he lurched up from his pelvis.
His lips found me too, kisses landing on my shoulders, my spine, the side of my neck when I bowed back to him.
I was on him.
He was in me.
; The oneness new to us, and ancient as the rhythm of time all at once.
I turned my head.
Killian caught my lips.
Then he took over.
And I welcomed everything.
He rammed up inside me with hard jarring thrusts from his groin, feet braced on the floor, muscular thighs bunching and flexing. Pulling me back down by my waist, he took me to the extreme. He held me there. The point of no return.
He roared.
I hollered.
Coming.
Flying.
Loving.
And, yes, fucking the man I loved.
Chapter Sixteen
SLADE
THE MUGGY APRIL EVENING created a twilight haze above the Thunder Road courtyard, and the wisteria Mercy had babied back to life blossomed in cascades of purple.
Damn. Listen to me getting all poetical.
I blamed that shit on Angel and Mercy’s wedding.
They’d gotten hitched just a few hours earlier at the same parish church where Storm and Blaize had married. Now we gathered in the courtyard of the bar for the reception or, as the Cajun among us called it, a fais do do.
Yeah, Angel and Mercy had tied the knot.
Now it was time to tie one on.
I probably wouldn’t get liquored up, not that there was any danger of me suffering from whisky dick, not around Grace. But alcohol took a backseat to celebration and just being present to enjoy my woman.
I didn’t live above the bar anymore.
Nah, I’d done the responsible thing—manned up so I could put roots down. The bar wasn’t a great habitat for a pregnant woman anyway. Grace and I had our own set-up in one of the other houses on the street. Pretty soon the entire block would be taken over by the MC. Just fine upstanding citizens doing our best to slow the gentrification/yuppification of the area. Ha.
I bought the house outright. Definitely a fixer-upper, but I had a little money to spare for the remodel. I’d invested all my hazard pay and bonuses. Never had much need for material goods so I’d made quite a little nest egg. ’Course, I got my share of the profits from the bar too. I certainly wasn’t gonna re-up. And no way in hell was I going back to the CIA.
Had to do a fuck-ton of carpentry work before we’d moved in—floorboards and window jambs—but I’d enlisted the prospect. In other words, I’d ordered him to help. Revenge was happy to lend a hand too.
Lend a hand and bust the prospect’s balls every chance he got.
On the daily, Revenge would taunt Chase with something along the lines of, “You sure you know how to use a hammer, boug?”
“I’m gonna hammer you in a minute.” Chase would inevitably raise whatever tool he wielded at the hulking ex-con tail gunner.
And then Revenge would pump his hips obscenely. “Wanna hammer me, huh?”
While Chase seethed, Revenge would shrug and grin and piss him off some more. “Hey, no shame if you play for the other team. Could set you up with Mistress Bunny.”
All the guys had kicked in on the work crew, and Grace and I had taken up residence last month. New finishes, new furniture, brand spanking new appliances, and a bathtub big enough for the both of us.
All the stuff I’d bought for the baby that she’d stowed away at the brothel and that I’d retrieved had the perfect place in the nursery I’d painted and kitted out.
The first time I took Grace to our house after we’d begun work, I’d had police tape across the door of the baby’s room.
“Really?” She’d propped one hand on her waist.
“We just painted it.”
“Police tape. Really?” She deadpanned.
”Can’t let you inside. The fumes and all. You can do anything else you want to this house—”
“Our home.”
Our home.
Hadn’t really had one of those since enlisting. Just barracks, shakedowns, deserted squats during recce back when I’d been able to fall asleep standing up.
On move in day, I’d guided Grace back to the nursery and handed her my blade. I’d rolled new police tape across the doorway—pretending it was a red ribbon moment—and I’d drawn Sharpie smiley faces on the bright yellow crisscrossed tape.
“You do the honors, sweetheart.”
She’d cut through the yellow ribbon, reached up to sneak a kiss, and swept inside.
Then her hand had flown to her lips, and her eyes sprung wide.
She touched every surface—the rails of the crib, the top of the dresser, the padding on the changing table, the homemade quilt . . . the damn rocking chair I’d hidden for months.
“You got me a glider?”
“That’s what it’s called?”
Grace had toed up to me and drawn my lips to hers.
The kiss lingering, I pretended I wasn’t horny for her at all when I pulled back to say, “Bought it for Christmas.”
“Shut up and kiss me again.”
I’d done as ordered, then I’d carried her to our bedroom to christen the house in the only way I wanted. With my lips all over her burgeoning body and my rigid cock sinking inside her lushness.
And I really, really wanted to fuck Grace right now—didn’t matter that we were in public and were here tonight to celebrate Mercy and Angel’s marriage.
I just plain wanted her whenever I could have her.
Fuck, Grace’s maid of honor dress gave me a hard-on. She’d told me the color was called sangria. All I knew was it was hot. The bold color made her golden skin glow even more, her black waves more lustrous than ever, and her hazel eyes practically feline-like.
Off the shoulder, the dress was decorated with rosette things along the top. And just below, her tits formed profound hills where I wanted to bury my face. Material gathered right above her belly to cascade over the ripe mound and, in the back, flowed across her juicy rump.
Groaning and staring at her as she talked with the new bride, I sipped my beer. Grace in the dress caused a dangerous situation in my suit pants. My damn briefs kept shrinking, and my skin felt tight all over. I’d already ditched the tie and jacket. And I couldn’t wait to ditch this party so I could get Grace alone.
I distracted my brain, watching anything but the amount of cleavage bared by her dress and wondering exactly what she wore for a bra underneath.
Saint arrived. He came curiously stag. Although he wasn’t the pussy hound Revenge was, he usually had a woman nearby if only for one night.
Speaking of Revenge, he escorted the Doublemint twins, and no one blinked an eye anymore. But after his careful attendance on Grace that one day here at the bar, I knew there was something deeper in him.
Lennox loomed over Charlie, the pretty brunette he’d been not-so-casually dating since last August. She had a way of goading the quiet giant into grins and laughter.
Mamere swished over to Mercy and Grace, first kissing and congratulating the bride—her new granddaughter—then swallowing Grace in a hug and pronouncing, “Oh, honey chile! Mais, Mercy was sick to distraction that night the boys couldn’t find you. I’m purely over the moon to finally meet you. Now, do you know how to play Bourré?”
I listened from a few paces away, a smile climbing my lips.
Before Grace could answer, Angel’s grandmother thrust a hip against Mercy’s. “Git Mercy here to teach you then y’all come out to my cabin, and we can make a lady’s day of it.”
When I would’ve slunk away into anonymity, Mamere whirled on me to catch me eavesdropping.
She waylaid me with a hand on my arm and her face in mine. “I owes you a kiss for saving Mercy for my Angel, Killian. Don’t you think for one moment I don’t know what you did out there when everything went dark for her.”
I glanced at Grace then Mercy, and they both watched as Mamere kissed my cheeks then pinched them too.
“Now I gotta smack you, and I don’t care one wit you’re a Marine. Fact, that means you should do the honorable thing.” And the older woman hauled back and slapped me right where she’d kissed
me, but at least she hadn’t boxed me around the ears or called me grand beedé like I’d seen her do with her two grandsons, Angel and Storm.
“Ain’t you got enough sense to marry up with that fine woman you made a home with?” she railed at me.
Then she huffed off before I could even apologize for something I wasn’t sure was my own doing, something I wished I could do.
Grace bit down on her lip. Mercy covered her mouth with a hand.
I rolled my eyes then stalked off in the opposite direction.
Women.
“That’s Mamere for you.” Storm, on silent feet, treaded up to me.
“I know.” I got a whisky then handed one to him.
When I faced Angel’s half brother, I had to suppress a grin. He had jet-black hair like me but longer. He was tall, the type of operative who took physical fitness to the extreme like most of us who lived with our lives on the line and our deaths one wrong move away.
And he was a dad for the second time.
Tonight he wore the new member of his family in a cuddle-sack thing across his chest, the baby snuggled against him.
“Where’s Blaize?” I asked.
“Herding up little Maisy before one of these yahoos pours alcohol into her sippy cup. And probably getting hugged on and kissed on by Mamere.”
“How’s that working out for you?” I waved a hand in the general direction of the contraption on his chest.
He patted the fabric bundle where I figured the baby’s bottom must be. “Fucking lifesaver. Precious baby Rebecca here ain’t a fan of not being cuddled twenty-four hours a day.” He quirked a grin. “Two daughters, man. Who would’ve thought it? Tell you what though . . . remembering not to swear around Maisy is the hardest part. She’s picking up words like crazy. Don’t really wanna hear her drop the f-bomb for about twenty more years.”
“More on the way for you and Blaize?”
Storm snorted, black eyebrows hooked high. “Why you asking about me? You’re the one that’s gonna be a baby daddy next.”
I rubbed a hand across my jaw, gaze straying to Grace. “Yeah. Something like that anyway.”
“Listen. I got a message from Bo through Justice to give to you.”
“Why the hell didn’t Bo just call me directly?” Scowling, I tugged at my shirt collar.