Notorious Devils MC Complete Collection: BoxSet

by Hayley Faiman

  “Okay,” she exhales.

  Her eyes are wide and she looks shell-shocked. She probably doesn’t even realize what’s really happening right now, but I could give a fuck. She’s mine, and I’m making it so the rest of the world knows it, too.

  I watch as she strips her jeans off, leaving her in nothing but a pair of lacy panties. When she turns around, I groan at the sight of her ass, completely covered by the extremely see-through lace.

  I look over at Nick, who is eying my woman as well. After his eyes drift up her long, lean, bare legs, they connect with mine and he pales.

  “Do you want something feminine?” Nick asks.

  Mary turns to me and bites on the corner of her lip, her eyes looking at me with question. I lift my chin, not giving her a verbal response. I don’t give a fuck what she gets, as long as the world knows she’s mine.

  “Whatever you want,” I rumble. She smiles.

  “I think… I think I want a garter around my thigh with MadDog’s name interweaved in it,” she murmurs.

  My brows shoot up in surprise.

  “That good?” Nick asks.

  Mary’s face turns to me and she bites her bottom lip again, worrying it as she waits for my answer.

  “Sounds fuckin’ beautiful,” I grunt.

  I sit back in a chair in the corner of the room and switch between texting on my phone and keeping an eye on Nick’s hands. Not that he’s even going to try anything.

  He’s in the zone, and only focused on the way his needle sweeps against Mary’s leg. I glance up at her to see her face relaxed and calm, her eyes closed and nowhere near the scrunched up in pain look I thought I’d see.

  “Doing great. It’s going to be hot as fuck once I’m done,” Nick mutters.

  I stand up and walk over to where he’s working.

  The design on Mary’s leg is intricate, feminine, and it looks like delicate lace, which is interwoven through my name—MadDog. He’s almost finished, and I notice that there’s no bows or anything else, just a simple band around her leg. Fuck, I can’t wait to trace it with my tongue.

  “What’s your full first name, Max?” Mary asks as she opens her eyes.

  Nick is rubbing some shit on her leg and wrapping it up.

  “Maxfield,” I murmur.

  “I want his name somewhere on my body. Somewhere only he’ll see,” she says to Nick.

  “Only a couple places that could be, honey, if you ever plan on wearing a bikini,” Nick chuckles.

  MARY-ANNE

  I ask Max to leave, wanting to surprise him with my next little tattoo. He narrows his eyes, but then warns Nick that he’ll be right outside of the room, listening.

  I almost laugh but decide that we’re on too shaky ground for something like that. Though the ground we’re on might be a bit shaky, I know that this is the man for me, that this is part of my journey and where I’m supposed to be.

  “Where do you want it?” Nick asks.

  I don’t want to say it aloud, because I know Max probably has his ear to the door. Instead, I spread my leg a little and point to the area I want Max’s name, Maxfield, permanently marked on my body. He looks up at me, blinking once before looking back down, then up again.

  “You sure? It’s gonna hurt like hell,” he mutters.

  “I’m sure,” I say quietly.

  “Okay,” he sighs before he prepares his needles and ink again.

  I slip my leg out of my panties. It’s only one side, my non-tattooed side. Nick exhales before he looks at me again, I nod in assurance and he nods back as he draws up the design, a simple cursive, clean with no frills.

  I nod when he holds a mirror up for me to see it, and then the needle presses against my skin as he begins. I hiss. True to his word, it hurts like hell.

  Luckily, it only takes about fifteen minutes, and then he’s finished. He shakes his head as he rubs some ointment on it and tapes some plastic wrap to it. I quickly get dressed and regret the placement of both of my tattoos as soon as my jeans slide up past my knees.

  “You might want to go home and just be pant-less for a while,” Nick chuckles. I can’t help but giggle as well.

  We walk out of the little room, and I see Max waiting just on the other side. His back is to the wall, one foot bent, and the sole of his boot pressed against the wall as well. His head is bent, and he’s looking at his phone.

  “Are you ready?” I ask. He looks up as if I’ve startled him.

  “Yeah, sweetness,” he murmurs.

  I stand to the side while he gives Nick a manly handshake, and then he walks over to me, sliding his hand to my lower back as he guides me out of the tattoo parlor.

  “We need to talk,” I announce as I slide onto the back of his bike, hissing in pain as I do.

  “Yeah, but we’ll be doing it at home,” he grunts before he starts his engine and roars out of the tattoo parlor’s loose gravel parking lot.

  I hold on tightly, thankful that he gave me a helmet this time as we wind our way toward his house. Now, apparently, our home.

  Once we pull up, I see that the house has been painted. It’s white with black trim and shutters, and a dark teal front door. It’s absolutely perfect and gorgeous all at the same time.

  “Max,” I whisper as I climb off of his bike and just stare at the house.

  “The guys started first thing in the morning. You must have just missed them when you left. So how did you get to the clubhouse?” he asks, as if it’s only just dawned on him that I was there, even though I have no car.

  “Colleen gave me a ride,” I shrug.

  “Of course she did,” he grunts as we walk inside of the house. “Talk.”

  “I’m still really pissed. I’m mad at you,” I announce.

  “Yeah, you’re gonna have to get used to that feeling. I think it’ll probably stick around for a while,” he mutters. I know he’s not trying to be funny, but the bastard is anyway.

  “How do I trust and believe you when you don’t do the same with me?” I ask, looking into his blue eyes.

  “Who says I don’t?”

  “You didn’t believe me about your whores,” I explain, wondering why I have to explain this to begin with.

  “Maybe you weren’t so far off. That shit that happened today—.”

  “You mean the cute little games she was playing?” I ask, arching a brow.

  “Mary,” he warns.

  “Maxfield,” I counter. “They don’t know their place. You think it’s fine that they’re fucking with you even though you’re the president and you’re taken?”

  “No, no, I don’t,” he finally admits with a shake of his head.

  “I don’t know what to do with you.”

  “Fuck me ‘til we pass out?” he asks with a grin.

  “I’m hurt, Max. Then you yelled in my face, and I just don’t know what to do with you,” I whisper.

  Max doesn’t reply. He wraps his arms around me, one across my shoulder blades and the other around my waist, and he presses me into his chest. His chin rests on top of my head, and we just stand there for what seems like hours.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Mary-Anne. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t believe you, and I didn’t mean to brush off what Kisha did as nothing. Shit needs to change. You’re right,” he murmurs against the top of my head.

  “So I’m your Old Lady now?” I ask, looking up at him.

  A slow grin plays on his lips and he nods.

  “Yeah, sweetness, you’re my Old Lady. Fucking hell, how did this happen?” he asks, sounding astonished.

  “I don’t know. But even though it’s happened at the speed of sound, I’m happy about it,” I whisper as I reach up and run the pad of my thumb across his full, lower lip.

  “You’re still mad at me?”

  “I am. Though, I have a feeling you’ll make it all up to me, and you’ll prove that you trust me?”

  “You bet your fuckin’ ass,” he grunts before his lips touch mine in a sweet, g
entle caress. “You’re mine, Mary. Don’t you dare even threaten to leave me again.”

  I nod. Unable to say a word, unable to lie. I don’t know what tomorrow brings, but I know that I couldn’t lie to him today. So instead of lying, I simply don’t say anything. I kiss him back, my tongue sliding across his lips before it slips inside of his mouth.

  “I want to show you my tattoos,” I whisper against his mouth.

  I probably should have fought against them, told him no, and not allowed them—especially after all of our arguing the past couple of days. But this man—there’s something he gives me that I’ve never had before, aside from amazing orgasms.

  Even in his heated anger, he doesn’t scare me. And today, when I told him to eat shit, I’ve never been that defiant with a man.

  Granted, he left me sitting there alone, but he didn’t hurt me. He didn’t physically lash out in anger toward me, and he came back for me.

  Max picks me up, holding me against his body as he carries me up the stairs, my toes touching the ground every so often with his steps.

  Then he takes me into the bedroom and sets me down before he wrenches the comforter off of the bed and throws it onto the floor, decorative pillows flying everywhere.

  I don’t say a word, even though inside I really want to fold the messy comforter. I slowly strip my shirt off, then my bra, and watch him as his eyes roam over my naked torso.

  He’s looking for new ink, but he won’t find it there. Then I slowly pull my jeans off and try not to cry out as the rough fabric scrapes against my freshly inked skin.

  Max sinks to his knees and gently unwraps my thigh as his thumb, feather light, skims across his name. It’s low enough that when I wear any kind of shorts or skirt, it will be seen; but I can cover it with jeans or pants if need be. I love it. I love the simplistic beauty of it.

  Then he hooks his thumbs in the sides of my panties and very gently pulls them off as well.

  I know when he’s seen his real name on my body, because he lets out a moan and he gently takes the wrapping off of it.

  “I should be pissed as fuck you let him touch you here,” he murmurs.

  His name, Maxfield, is written in scroll right on the inside of the juncture of my thigh, in an angle from my hip bone, and the d’s scroll ends on my pussy lip. I’ll always have to keep myself bare for him, so that he can see his name, what part of me is his.

  Later, perhaps my heart will be his one day; but right now, I know what part of me belongs to him, and it’s not my heart—at least not yet.

  “Are you?” I ask, arching a brow and quirking my lips.

  “Fuck no,” he grunts before he fills me with two fingers. I gasp in surprise, my eyes wide as I look down at him. “This pussy is mine. Good to know you realize it, sweetness.”

  “Max,” I whisper as I start to ride his hand, a hiss escaping every time he accidentally brushes my new tattoo with his palm.

  “How about I eat this pussy nice and slow since you’re sensitive?”

  “Yes. God, yes,” I moan, throwing my head back.

  He chuckles before he gently eases his fingers out of me and then strips out of his own clothes. I watch as he climbs into the center of the bed and lays down.

  “C’mon, sweetness, ride my face,” he murmurs huskily.

  My eyes drift down to his cock. He’s holding it in his hand, and I want it in my mouth. I need to taste him, the man that’s taken this something that we were, and made us official.

  Only he’s done it in one of the most important ways possible, permanently. He’s made a commitment and made me his Old Lady.

  I climb onto the bed, straddling his face before I lean down and lick the tip of his hard cock. He licks my entire slit, and I moan before I settle down against his bearded face. Then I envelop his entire length in my mouth.

  My Old Man.

  Mine.

  Just as I am—his.

  Chapter Fifteen

  MADDOG

  I walk into the clubhouse after a long day of phone conferences with my Russian contact, Kirill, and his men in Denver.

  I fucking hate talking on the phone, but the first run from Frisco to Denver has to be discussed, and it has to be laid out flawlessly.

  The last thing I want to do is put my men in jeopardy, so we have to have at least two routes mapped out, and we’ll alternate between them.

  Also, I’ll have brothers from other clubs stand watch and inform us of any police activity on our routes, or anything suspicious in general. This isn’t a two-man operation. It has to be an all hands, all clubs on deck kind of thing.

  “So what are the other clubs getting for helping us?” Grease asks as I look around the room to make sure everything is ready for tonight.

  “A percentage taken off of their dues,” I say.

  “How much?” he balks.

  Decisions like this one are usually voted on as a club, but I needed them to agree immediately, and I didn’t have time to call Church.

  I made a decision as a president, for the good of the club, one that won’t impact us too much, since we’ll be getting a fuckton of money from the Russians for these runs.

  “Ten percent discount,” I say. He nods but doesn’t protest.

  “You like this kid, West?” Grease asks, changing the subject.

  I smirk at him. He’s had West watching out for his little sister, Ivy, for a few months. He doesn’t know it yet, but I suspect he and Ivy have a thing going on. I haven’t said shit. I’ll let West handle his own business; but Grease is going to be fucking livid when he finds out.

  “I do. Kid’s like fuckin’ camouflage, gets in and out without ever being seen, and he’s smart.”

  “Yeah, I agree. I called Ivy the other day. She hasn’t even seen that ex-asshole that was bothering her,” Grease mentions.

  I almost burst out laughing.

  Of course she hasn’t seen him; I’m sure West has been in her bed every night.

  “Okay, we vote in fifteen,” I grunt.

  I walk into my office to find Mary sitting behind my desk, her brow furrowed in concentration, and her sweet little tongue poking out from between those sexy-as-fuck, pink lips.

  I shut the door and walk over to her side, knowing that she hasn’t realized I’m here yet. When she’s working, nothing else around her exists. I gently place my hand on her shoulder and she jumps slightly.

  “You scared me,” she gasps.

  “Got church in fifteen, sweetness. I’ll be here but not available. Then we’re gonna have a party. It’ll be a wild one, because it’s a patch-in. Most Old Ladies don’t attend. It’s up to you, though,” I murmur, looking down at her.

  “But the whores will be there?” she asks, lifting a brow.

  “And other girls that just come to parties for some fun,” I explain.

  I think she’s about to tell me that she’s coming, and honest to fuck, I wouldn’t care. But then she shocks the shit out of me by placing her hand against my stomach and tipping her head back further.

  “I think I’ll spend a nice evening at the house. I would love it if you came home when you were finished,” she murmurs.

  I lift my hand, touching her nose with my index finger, and then tuck a bit of her hair behind her ear before I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, giving it a squeeze.

  “Don’t know if I will or not, depends on how drunk I am,” I admit. She smiles.

  “Then I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll call Teeny to come and pick me up in a few minutes.”

  I lean down and place a kiss on her lips, then I give the back of her neck another squeeze before I turn and leave her alone in my office. I’m curious as to why she’s being so fucking cool, especially considering just a few days ago I woke up with a naked Kisha next to me.

  It doesn’t add up.

  Something is going on with her.

  I walk into Church and all thoughts of Mary disappear. It’s time to focus on my club. I drop the gavel and begin, telling the brothers a
bout the other clubs and the cut in percentage for dues.

  They all agree that it was a good deal, and I’m glad for that. Then it comes time to take a vote. Every single brother votes ‘aye’ for West, making him one of ours.

  Grease calls him into the room, and I walk over to him before I slap his back and push a patch in his hand.

  “Congrats, brother,” I murmur. “Camo is now one of us,” I call out.

  “Let’s get fucking wasted,” one of the guys calls out.

  I walk over to my office and find it empty. Mary-Anne must have already gone home to relax for the evening, whatever the fuck that means.

  I decide I’m not going to get wasted tonight. I’ll have a couple beers with my brothers, but this hardcore party shit is for the young guns.

  All I really want is to be wrapped around Mary’s lithe body, fucking that sweet pussy of hers and making her scream my name—all while I stare at my name etched on her body.

  I see West, alone, looking miserable as shit, so I decide to talk to him. A couple words, and I know he misses his woman— something he needs to man up and tell Grease about, otherwise he’ll be in a bigger pile of shit when it comes out.

  I shake my head as I walk away from him, thinking that I’m a fucking hypocrite and I need to take my own advice and do the same exact fucking thing.

  I need to tell Sniper that I not only am sleeping with Mary-Anne, but I’ve also claimed her and branded her as mine—my Old Lady.

  I go to my office and lock myself inside, sitting down at my desk and looking at the top of it. It’s got little pieces of Mary-Anne all over it. Not just her laptop, but also a gum wrapper, a pink pen, and a half-eaten chocolate chip granola bar.

  It makes me smile, just seeing her becoming a part of my life, something I haven’t had with a woman since Eleanora.

  I turn around in my chair and open my bottom filing cabinet before I pull out an old photo album. I don’t look at it often, the memories sometimes being too much for me. But tonight, I’m feeling nostalgic, and I’m going to look through it before I head on home.

  I flip open the first page and see a picture of me and Eleanora. She looks like she’s about to explode, nine-months pregnant with Pierce. We look happy. I was still a prospect with the club and hardly ever around, but this picture was taken at a family club BBQ.