Bishop: A Dark MC Romance (The Devil's Riders Book 3)

Chapter 3

Evie

What was wrong with me? I was totally crushing on one of the prisoners. And not just a little bit, either. I’m talking full-on, panty-melting, want to climb in his lap and call him “daddy” kind of crushing.

Every part of my body felt electrified. Alive! Heat coursed through me and I could feel a familiar dampness settle between my thighs. I’d never had this kind of reaction to a guy before. Especially not a felon. I wasn’t the bad boy type. I liked my men strait-laced and squared away. But something about this guy pulled me in and begged me to take a closer look. And I was guessing that something was positioned a few inches below my belt.

I knew he was feeling it, too. I’d glanced over at the gorgeous man while I was talking and I’d nearly lost my train of thought when I saw the pure lust radiating from his eyes. Thankfully, I’d been able to recover, but I knew he’d seen my equally excited gaze before I had.

The inmate was tall, blond, and handsome. Like a fairytale prince, he had a strong jawline, chiseled physique, and captivating aqua-blue eyes. The only thing that wasn’t so Disney-esque about him were his tattoos. They peeked out of his uniform, giving him a much rougher edge than any of those fabled characters I’d read about throughout my childhood.

His prison uniform, Evie, I not so subtly reminded myself then. I had to remember that before I did something stupid like offering myself to him like the virgin sacrifice I was.

As I showed the men how to make the dough for the biscuits, I was careful to avoid his stare. And there was no doubt about it. He was staring. Hard. At me. Giving me the impression he wanted to gobble me up like a Thanksgiving feast. And boy oh boy, did I want to let him.

Reminding myself that the man probably hadn’t seen a woman his age in years and that his interest wasn’t a compliment, I tamped down my lust and tried to focus on the task at hand. Making biscuits. However, as I moved around the room, checking on the progress of each station, I simply couldn’t ignore him any longer.

Visiting his table last, I gave in to the temptation to look up. Way up, as he was a full foot taller than me. My green eyes found his aqua-blue ones and my heart began to thud. Overwhelmed by everything he was making me feel, I quickly dropped my gaze back down to his supply table like the coward I was.

Licking my suddenly dry lips, I scanned his neatly assembled ingredients. “How’s it going over here?”

The man’s delicious heat radiated from his powerful body as he shifted closer to me. I could smell his clean scent, and it distracted me almost as much as his incredible looks did.

“It’s going great now,” he spoke in a low, sensual timber.

The nametag on his shirt read “Wilmont”. Somehow, the color and fit of the otherwise plain garment suited the dangerous man. And I didn’t doubt he was exactly that. You didn’t end up in Federal Prison for jaywalking. You came here for hard crimes and harder time. At least, that’s what my dad used to say.

“Everything looks in order here,” I noted, in an effort to redirect the conversation away from the heat in our combined stares. “How’s your dough rolling out?”

Neat rows of dough-lined the greased tray in front of him. “Nice and smooth,” he spoke, his intense, smoldering gaze traveling up and down my diminutive frame. “How do they look?”

“Your balls look great,” I blurted out before I could stop myself. “Your dough balls, I mean.”

Holy shit! Your balls look great? What the hell was wrong with me? Humiliation burned its way up my neck and flooded my cheeks in bright, red splotches.

Bishop didn’t so much as flinch, but a roguish grin split his sensuous mouth when he responded, “I’m glad you like them.”

Thankfully, before I could die of mortification, Becker came to stand beside us. “What’s going on here?” the guard asked territorially.

While I didn’t appreciate his tone, his presence was a comfort after the fool I’d just made of myself. “Nothing,” I chirped, not wanting to rehash my stupidity. “I was just checking in on Mr. Wilmont. Everything seems to be good at his station. I’m going to go tend to the oven now.”

Scurrying away to the other side of the room, I found the oven was up to temperature. Setting the timer, I instructed the men to bring up their trays so they could begin baking off their biscuits. There was far more bread than our small group could eat in one sitting so any leftovers would be offered in the chow hall at dinner. In the interest of time, I demonstrated to half the class how to peel, cut, and boil the potatoes. The other half of the class was instructed on how to bread and season the chicken cutlets.

The next thirty minutes were a blur of instructions and timers. At the end of which, we had a fully functional meal. A large banquet-style table was laid and set out for the men. Too nervous to eat, I watched them take their seats and tuck into their plates with gusto.

The “oohs” and “ahhs” from around the room let me know that they liked what they were tasting.

Ramirez smiled and said, “Teach, this is amazing! If you lived in my house, I wouldn’t be so fucking skinny!”

Becker frowned at the man. “Watch your mouth around Ms. Wild, Ramirez.”

I smiled and shook my head. “It’s fine, I promise. I’m not that fragile.”

My eyes caught inmate Wilmont’s then. I’d tried to ignore him since my ridiculous faux pas, but the man had a magnetic quality about him that disallowed me to look away.

Shaking free of the lustful fog that had clouded my brain, I called out, “Who wants ice cream?”

When the men cheered and stomped their feet in response, it made me giggle. Not having much of a family of my own, it made me warm all over. I loved to cook. I only wish I had a large group of loved ones to do it for. This room of rowdy men gave me a taste of what it could be like. And, I had to confess, I loved it.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so nervous about stepping in for Bobby. Maybe, just maybe, this gig was exactly what I was supposed to be doing with my life right now.

* * *

Bishop

I returned to my cell that night full, but not satisfied. I was horny as fuck and frustrated that I couldn’t meet my needs my usual way. Between some pretty girl’s thighs, or two, rutting like the insatiable bastard I was.

Evie swam through my thoughts then. Those gorgeous moss-green eyes. That heart-shaped face. Her incredible tits and amazing ass. I was turning to fucking stone just thinking about her.

Needing to burn off some excess energy before lights out and I could take care of myself, I tugged off my shirt and dropped to the floor for some pushups. I’d been in good shape before prison. Now that I couldn’t do anything else but eat, sleep, shit, and work out, I was in the best shape of my life.

Banging out several dozen pushups, I moved on to crunches, then squats. Before I realized it, I was pouring sweat and two hours had passed. My shower time came and went, and I lay in my bed, looking up at the ceiling. I couldn’t wait to get out of this shithole and back to my Club. I missed the open road, my Brothers, and, most of all, my freedom.

I hadn’t been told what to do since I was ten years old. When my father died, I’d become the man of the house. I’d been responsible for helping my mother and taking care of my four sisters. Those had been some seriously lean years, but we’d made it through with a lot of blood, sweat, and tears. Being locked up now felt like a betrayal of all that. Of the man I had become. But that was all about to be rectified. I was going home in twelve days. Twelve long, agonizing days. However, with the introduction of Evie into my life, that time seemed vastly easier to manage somehow. Like I now had something to look forward to in addition to returning to my old life.

Evie. Just the memory of the woman was hotter than the reality of all the Club girls I’d banged over the years combined. Taking advantage of having the cell to myself with Jones still in the infirmary due to his Chemo treatments, I shoved my pants down past my hips and freed my aching and swollen cock.

Wrapping my fingers along the base, I gave it a few rough tugs. Circling the head with my forefinger and thumb, I stroked the sensitive notch just below the mushroom tip with teasing pressure. Instantly, precum seeped from the slit. Jesus, that felt good! I imagined it was Evie’s hands on my dick now and not mine. As innocent as she was, I knew her face would be flushed, and her eyes would be downcast in uncertainty.

“Look at me, baby,” I’d command, chucking her chin up so our fiery gazes met. “I always want to see your face when your hand is on my cock! You got me?”

Cheeks pink, Evie would dutifully nod, wanting nothing more than to please me. And please me she would. All night long. In every way my filthy mind could conjure up.

After she’d worked me into a lather, I’d make her suck me off. “I want to feel your lips on my dick, Babe. Get on your knees and open wide.”

Like a good little girl, she’d do what she was told. Lowering herself until she was staring up at me, she’d blink her stunning doe eyes at me while awaiting my next command.

“Take down my pants,” I’d instruct.

She was so tiny, she’d have to reach to undo my belt buckle. Running my hands through her loose, wavy hair, I’d snag my fingers in the chestnut mass and tug her head back even further.

“Open up,” I’d command. “I want in.”

I was a big boy. Both in stature and below the belt. I knew she would struggle to take all of me, but I’d make sure she did. If it took a thousand tries, she’d learn to fit my whole cock so deep inside that she’d feel me in the back of her goddamned throat!

Evie’s eyes would round as she took in the size and magnitude of the “job” before her. With eager lips parted, I’d feed my swollen python inch by inch into her wet heat.

“Go slow at first,” I’d coach her, not wanting to spew right away.

Ever compliant, she’d lean forward and begin swallowing my dick down like it was a meal meant to be savored.

“That’s it, Babe,” I’d groan, my fingers still tangled in her hair, controlling the speed at which we moved.

Gagging when I pushed too far too fast, spit would dribble out of Evie’s pretty, pink lips. The sexy as fuck noise nearly caused me to blow my entire load, but I was able to hold back at the last second.

“Easy, babe,” I’d warn. “I’m not ready to give you that pretty pearl necklace I promised, just yet.”

A flirty smile would kiss her lips. Letting me pop free from her mouth, she’d spit on my shaft and lube that slippery fluid along my length with her slick fingers. “Does that feel good?” She’d check. Uncertainty, and a desire to please, ripe in her eyes.

“Evie,” I’d moan in ecstasy. “I like everything you do to me, Babe. Every fucking thing!”

Feeling bold, she’d ask breathily, “Will you fuck my tits, Matty? Please? I want it so bad!”

As hot as her begging was, she didn’t have to ask me twice. Ripping off what remained of my clothes, I’d sit Evie on the edge of the bed and tell her to lean back on her forearms.

Her enormous tits would be on full display. Greased with her spit, I’d slip my dick between those large, twin globes. Steepling her hands together on the outer walls of her breasts to hold me in place, I’d nudge my cock forward and begin to stroke. After a few experimental thrusts, I’d begin to move for real.

Whimpering for more, I’d take over and command, “Play with your clit, Evie. I want to see you come.”

The whole time I rammed myself through her plump tits, Evie would be begging for more. “Please, Matty. Faster! Harder! I need it! I need your come all over me! Give me my pearl necklace, just like you promised! Give it to me now!” She’d scream, cresting up and over into oblivion as her whole body spasmed, her head whipping back and forth as she splintered into oblivion.

Lord above, there wasn’t anything more beautiful in this whole wide world than Evie Wild’s moss-green eyes in the throes of ecstasy. And since she asked so nicely, I gave her exactly what she wanted.

On the very edge of breaking myself, I’d whip free my cock. Evie would thrust forward her chest. Jerking my dick like what was inside had the God damn cure for cancer, I fucking exploded all over her. Thick globs of come peppered her tits, painting her nipples, belly, and pussy with my hot spunk.

Shuddering, I continued to milk my shaft until every last drop was covering my girl. Lazily, she’d run her fingers through the glossy trails, bringing a shiny, coated digit to her lips and sucking each one clean of our combined pleasure.

A muffled snore a few cells over slammed me back into my body and the present. Out of breath and a bit dazed, I let my breathing return to normal before pulling off my sock to clean up my rapidly cooling mess.

Holy fucking shit! That fantasy had been intense. Probably the most realistic I’d ever had. I now knew two things for sure. One, I was never going to be able to look at my sexy as fuck cooking teacher the same way again. And two, when I got out in twelve days, I was going to hunt my little doe down to make my fantasies a fucking reality for us both!