Chapter 9
I’m about to throw my wife over my fucking shoulder when she spins on me, holding up a stern fucking finger.
“Don’t.”
“The fuck are you doing, woman?” I snap, and a slow smirk tugs at her pink lips.
“I didn’t think you would be so insecure.” She nods her head back towards Riggs, and I ignore Griffin’s and Devon’s fucking cackles at my fucking expense.
“You want to see cock, darlin’? You only have to ask,” I growl, and her brows shoot up as her cheeks flush pink.
“I’m trying to see if he’s hiding anything under his vest.” She grits between clenched teeth, her eyes turning to murderous slits as she glares at me.
“Do as she asked,” Griffin orders, still trying to stop fucking laughing at me. “Show us all what you’re packing.”
“Not a problem.” Riggs stands from his chair, and as my wife turns to watch the fucking strip show, I drag her back against me, wrapping my arm across her chest protectively.
Okay, so probably more possessively, but fuck, I’m only fucking human.
Bec and Amanda giggle quietly together as they watch on, and Hush doesn’t even bother watching the show, too busy spinning her fucking massive knife in her hand like it’s a fucking fidget spinner.
Like me, Jared looks annoyed, his eyes trained on his girl, rather than the strip show happening right in front of my wife.
“I don’t have anything to hide,” Riggs declares as his heavily padded tactical vest hits the floor, leaving him standing in a black long sleeve Henley. “I am loyal to the Marx family, and I would never put a child in danger.”
Reaching behind his neck, he pulls off his shirt, revealing his fucking eight pack and the coiled brawn of his arms.
Abbey stiffens against me, while two slow whistles come from the Angel sisters, who seem to be enjoying this show the fucking most.
Holding his arms out, Riggs does a slow turn, showing the room his entire fucking physique. It’s hard to believe this man is in his forties.
“As you can see, I’m not wearing a wire.” When he faces us again, his hands shift to the buckle of his belt. “You need to see more?”
“No,” Abbey rushes out, right as the Angel sisters declare, “Yes,” in unison.
The corner of his lips kick up at the playful sisters’ eagerness, but he’s a smart man. He doesn’t take his eyes off Abbey, nodding at her and bending to pick up his shirt off the floor.
“My name is Seth Riggs,” he starts talking casually as he re-dresses, “I grew up with Conrad Marx, the second eldest of Ewan’s children. Ewan made me one of his soldiers when I was fourteen, and by the time I was twenty-nine, I became Captain.”
As soon as his shirt is back on, covering all that fucking skin, I relax a little, and so does Abbey.
Did she like what she saw?
Fuck that. I’ll remind her with my tongue and cock exactly what she’s got, so she doesn’t fucking think about him shirtless again.
“While I understand that you don’t truly know me, or even the Marx family,” Riggs continues, slipping his vest back on. “I hope you will allow me the opportunity to prove that my men and I will do what it takes to get your little girl back safely.”
In my arms, Abbey slowly nods, her dainty fingers coming up to grip my arm wrapped across her chest for support.
“I’m sorry. I’m just… paranoid, I guess.”
“Fuck that,” Jared hisses from his chair. “You have a right to be concerned, Abbey. Someone is snitching.”
Everyone in the room nods at that, and Abbey turns in my arms, those big caramel eyes locking with mine.
“Who could it be?” she asks, her voice laced with concern.
“I don’t know, Angel. But from here on out, everyone is a suspect.”
Her brows shoot up. “Even JD? Jols?”
I nod. “Yep.”
“Your ma? Your sisters?”
I shake my head. “I highly doubt it’s them. In fact, I’d be willing to bet my life on that.”
“Are you prepared for the fact it could be one of your club brothers?” Devon asks from his lazy slouch in his chair, and I turn my attention to the dark-haired man that most know as the Devil.
Devon Marx is one man you don’t want coming for you in the dead of night.
“I’m prepared that it could be anyone.” I nod, and Griffin bobs his head beside his cousin.
“I’m prepared it could be one of my men too,” he states, his jaw ticking. “Even if we go right back to the day the warehouses were messed with. The common denominator here is Marx men and Southern Sadists. Too much has happened for it to just be a coincidence.”
Griff is fucking right, and it sits like a lead fucking weight in my gut that one or more of my men may have had a hand in it. Which is exactly why we are here. Why I’m not involving my club and going outside it once again to figure out what the fuck is going on.
Abbey and I return to our seats, and for the next couple of hours we discuss possible moles and scenarios, and how the fuck we can weed out the snitch.
By the time we are done, Abbey is yawning, exhausted from only getting a couple of hours sleep before I woke her, so we finish up, and I lead her back out to the car, where she says a quick goodbye to her friends, and slides sleepily inside.
“Do you want me to return with you?” Riggs asks once I close Abbey in, and I take in the guy who has done nothing but protect us because that’s what he’s been ordered to do.
“Yes. I trust you. And she does, too.” I gesture to the back seat, and Riggs nods.
“I’ll do what was discussed tonight. Everyone is a suspect from now on. Even my closest men.”
Sighing, I clap my hand on his shoulder. “Me too. It guts me to think my brothers might have been in on this shit from the beginning. Whoever it is will wish they were never fucking born by the end of this.”
Riggs grunts in agreement, and I step back, rounding the car as Riggs slips into the driver’s seat.
Abbey nuzzles into my neck as we drive through the quiet streets of Redfield, and as soon as Riggs puts the radio on, the cabin filling with the soft hum of music, my Angel shifts to press her lips to my ear.
“The things that were in those private rooms,” Abbey whispers against my ear, “have you used things like that before?”
I smirk into the darkness, my gaze flicking to Riggs in the front, his concentration focused on the road.
“Some of them,” I respond in a low, quiet voice.
“The cuffs and chains, or whatever they were?” Her breath warms my ear as she whispers against it.
“Yes, Angel.”
“Do you… like that?” she breathes, and I wish I could shift back and see her face properly. I bet there’s an embarrassed blush tinting her cheeks.
“I enjoyed it at the time,” I admit honestly, and she stiffens a little.
I don’t know if it’s because my admission involved the use of BDSM instruments, or if she’s remembering times similar things were used against her.
“Do you… want to do that to me?”
There’s a slight squeak in her quiet whisper that has my lips lifting at the reminder of her inexperience. She doesn’t sound mortified at the idea of it, so I have to assume she’s just innocently curious.
Shifting closer, I press my lips to her ear this time.
“Maybe one day, when all of this is over, we can explore some of the instruments used in BDSM. Once you’ve had time to heal, Angel. You’ve endured so much. We have plenty of time to try things. See what you like and don’t like, together.”
She brushes her cheek against mine like a cat bunting, showing affection, and I realise that perhaps the idea of BDSM with me is more of a turn on for her than even she was expecting.
“I don’t want you to go without,” she murmurs against my ear before giving it a nip, confirming that, yeah, she fucking likes the idea of exploring more with me.
Just the thought has my cock rising in my pants.
“Angel,” I growl quietly, nipping her ear too.
“Your trust is the biggest turn on I’ve ever experienced,” I admit, running my hand up her thigh, gripping the denim as I fight for control.
“All I need is you. Doesn’t matter how. I don’t need a BDSM scene with you.
I just need your trust. To know you are giving yourself to me.
That gets me harder than any bondage session will. ”
A quiet whimper escapes her, and as my hand travels higher, she parts her legs for me.
“You like me submissive though, right?” she breathes, and it catches the moment I brush my thumb over the seam of her jeans, right over her sweet cunt.
“I do love your submissive side, Angel,” I rasp, my eyes flicking to see if Riggs is watching, but his eyes are still cast forward as he drives. “But it doesn’t always have to be like that. I also really fucking like it when you’re a brat.”
She giggles quietly, spreading her legs a little wider again.
“If I said I wanted to tie you up,” she whispers, rubbing her face against mine again like she enjoys the roughness of my beard. “Would you let me?”
My cock jerks at the thought, yet I still shift uncomfortably, not entirely sure I’d be into it, but also knowing I’d let her if that’s what would make her happy.
“If that’s what you want, Angel. Then yes.”
She draws back in surprise at my response, her eyes trying to study my face in the dark without much success.
“Really?” she asks, and I nod, brushing my thumb over that teasing seam again.
“Really.”
Her breath hitches, and those plump lips part before she leans in again to speak quietly into my ear.
“It does sound kind of hot having you tied up, unable to move, and at my mercy.” She moans faintly as she nips my ear again, and, fuuuuck me, my cock grows uncomfortably hard. Like a stone fucking rod.
“Angel,” I hiss into her hair, pressing my thumb harder against the seam of her jeans. “Don’t do that or I’ll fuck you right here.”
She moans, a little too loudly, and my eyes flick to the rearview mirror in time to see Riggs looking away.
Fuck.
I’m about to pull back, but then he turns the music up louder, so loud I know he won’t be able to hear.
I’ll probably owe him for this, but fuck, when my wife is needy, I need to make her feel good.
“Cam,” she whimpers as I flatten my palm against her mound, and I trail kisses across her cheek until my lips seal over hers.
I feel the vibration of her next moan as we kiss, our tongues clashing in a level of desperation that we can’t give in to right now, because stripping her bare and fucking her raw isn’t something I intend on doing in the back seat of a moving car with a fucking audience.
Abbey grinds against my hand in desperation, so I make quick work of flicking open the button and tugging the zipper down, before sliding my hand into the tight space between the denim and her wet cunt, teasing her clit for a few long beats before I give her exactly what she wants.
My fingers.
I know her body enough now to know what works quickly, and aside from sucking on her heavy tits and drawing the warm milk out, the other thing that gets her over the line fast and hard, is some good old-fashioned g-spot stimulation.
Sliding my fingers through her wet folds, I find her entrance as she parts her legs further, and I slip my digits in.
Her moan is loud, and it’s possible Riggs might have heard it, but she’s too far gone to care, and fuck, so am I.
My one goal in life, in this very fucking moment, is to make my woman soak my fingers and come around them, so I focus on that, hooking them inside her and massaging the sensitive spot as she grinds against me, chasing her release.
When she stops kissing me, I know she’s close, too lost in her need to come, so I trail kisses back to her ear, nipping on it as I give her the other thing that seems to work like a charm.
Dirty talk.
“Fuck, Angel. Your cunt is so wet for me. Do my fingers feel good?”
“Yes,” she pants, again too loudly, but I’m not willing to draw attention to that and risk her stopping right now.
“Imagine if we were in one of those playrooms right now,” I rasp. “Would you let me tie you up and spread you wide?”
“Yes,” she breathes, grinding faster.
“Would you let me do whatever I wanted with this sexy little body?”
“Yes!” she yells this time, her inner walls starting to tense.
“Would you let people watch the way I pleasure you? Watch how your needy cunt can’t get enough of me? Of my fingers?” I curl them faster. “Of my tongue.” I flick my thumb over her clit. “Of my cock stretching this tight little hole?”
She spasms then, her climax slamming into her as ripple after ripple tears through her, the muscles of her cunt kneading my fingers like they would my cock, desperate for my cum.
I barely notice the hard ridge of my cock straining against my jeans, my focus purely on my wife, as her cries die down, and her body goes from tense to relaxed as her orgasm recedes.
“Cam,” she breathes, and this time, I only just hear it over the music.
“Angel.” I smile as she blinks her eyes open.
“There’s no way Riggs didn’t just hear that, hey?”
I chuckle at the resounding tone in her question, like she’s already come to terms with that fact.
“Probably,” I admit, and I can just see the lazy cringe that flickers across her face.
“Whoops.”
Grinning, I ease my fingers out of her, bringing them up between us, and just as I’m about to draw them into my mouth, she leans in too, stealing one for herself.
I groan at the feel of her tongue gliding up my finger, and I instantly picture my cock instead of my finger, causing the fucker to jerk with yearning in my pants.
Since I can’t fucking do anything about it right now, I slide my other finger into my mouth, tasting her sweetness as I suck it off, and my Angel does the same with my other finger.
It’s fucking hot, both of us sucking on my digits, practically kissing each other at the same time, and I almost regret starting this here in the back of the fucking car while we have eyes and ears nearby.
Pulling my fingers free, I roughly grip her chin, holding her in place as I catch my fucking breath.
“I think you liked the idea of Riggs hearing us, Angel.”
Panting too, she jerks her head out of my grasp and flops back against the seat.
“It’s what you do to me,” she admits. “God, you’ll have me fucking you at those club orgies before I know it.”
I throw my head back laughing and watch as she zips up her fly.
“Angel, if you fuck me in the throes of an orgy, it will be all your doing, not mine.”
She tuts, although I see it more than hear it from the glow of the dashboard filtering in from the front seat.
I’m about to lean in for another kiss when she stills, a frown tugging at her brows, and she reaches behind her, pulling out her phone.
The moment her eyes scan the screen, they widen, and flick back to me.
“I just got a message,” she says loudly, over the music, and before I can ask who from, she turns the screen for me to see a number I don’t recognise, but the first line of the text tells me all I need to know.
Abigail, this is your mother…