Tilly 17.
He takes me savagely as he stands at the side of the bed. Both of us dressed.
He apologetically rips the bodice of my dress, exposing my tits to his hands and mouth, my legs around his waist, my ass hanging off the desk, rocking into me until my vision blurs.
I ride him till my thighs burn and he growls his eruption on the chaise lounge in our sitting area.
Hands on my lower belly and my shoulder, he bends me over in the shower, impaling me over and over.
We watch a rerun of X-Files as he bends me in half on the floor and squats above me, driving his cock into me until we both awkwardly scream Mulder.
I wake up with his mouth between my legs.
I suck him while he eats steak and potatoes.
He makes love to me cocooned in the softest bedding I’ve ever felt, freely giving me his heart to cherish, protect, and nourish, as I hand him mine in return.
And then…
“FBI! OPEN THE DOOR!”
Wilson and I jolt upright in bed, the deep sleep of only seconds ago long forgotten as we look at each other in shock. Three loud knocks on our suite door has both of us rushing into motion. I barely get his button-down on before the lock disengages and heavy boot stomps echo down the short hallway. Wilson has his pants on, but not buttoned when a swarm of men and women in tactical gear rush though the sitting area and into the bedroom, guns raised. My hands go up automatically as my knees threaten imminent collapse. My heart stops completely for several seconds as all those guns point to Wilson.
“Brady Wilson.” One of the men speaks with authority.
“I’m Brady Wilson.” I watch my man kneel voluntarily with his hands behind his head. There’s not an ounce of fear in his expression, no trembling in his body. How is he so calm? Is this a regular occurrence for him? Was I wrong?
“Brady Wilson. You are under arrest for grand theft—” The man’s voice becomes static as he lists the charges against Wilson. I snap back to reality when they mention the gala.
“What?” I step forward but stop when two agents point their guns at me. “Sorry. Wait. What about the charity gala?”
“Donations, auction items, and their bid money…gone. Ask your boyfriend here where it went?” I almost laugh at the absurdity.
“He’s been here with me since the event—”
“Tilly.” Wilson’s voice is a warning.
“Why are you arresting him?” I ask, helplessness suffocating me as an agent grabs Wilson’s arms roughly and pins them behind his back before slipping cuffs around his wrists. The click of them locking in place has a…finality to it that is unbearable. He didn’t take anything. I know him. I know Brady Wilson. I know the men and women of The Congressionals MC. They force him to his feet and with his first measured steps out of the bedroom we’ve shared for two days, the gala seeming like a distant memory now, I walk with him. I can’t leave him. “No. You can’t take him. What evidence do you have?” I scream, lunging. I’m stopped by two agents, their grip on my arms firm, holding me in place. “Wilson!”
“Tilly! Don’t fucking touch her!” Wilson fights against his restraints for the first time. I see fear in his eyes. He’s afraid for me. Not himself. Just me.
“Matilda Mazekat. I’d watch yourself, or you’ll find yourself in cuffs right along with him.”
“What?” I force myself to look away from Wilson and stare at the agent in charge.
“You’re free right now because of circumstantial evidence. Resist so I can arrest you. Go ahead.”
“What is your name?” I ask, my spine stealing. Wilson needs me to be strong, he needs me to behave so I can help him.
“Special Agent Lomax.”
“At least let him put a shirt on and button his pants, for God’s sake. He’s not even wearing shoes!” Lomax stares at me hard for two seconds before nodding curtly. It’s surprising, but I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth. I rifle through the contents of his bag that has been dumped on our bed, and pull out a plain black t-shirt. Draping it over his neck, since his hands are cuffed, I then lean in close to button his pants. “Wilson?”
“It’s ok, baby. Pack up, call Madison. Go directly to the clubhouse. Stay there. Lincoln will get me out, don’t worry.” I frown at him and the jerk laughs.
“That’s enough. Save the conversations for prison visitation.” Wilson is shoved hard, stumbling. Another agent has Wilson’s boots on the ground in front of him. Wilson steps into them, winking at me over his shoulder.
Seconds after they’re gone, one agent guards me as I stand with my back to the front door. Several agents ransack our room. Dumping out my bag I’ve barely touched since we got here. They turn the entire suite upside down and find nothing. You know, because we’re innocent.
In minutes, the suite is empty except for me and my ragged breathing. My hands shake to the point of disuse, but I force myself to move. To pack. To pick up my phone. I tap incorrectly twice before entering my password. It rings three times.
“Tilly?” Madison’s gruff voice comes over the line and I sag in relief.
“They took him.” I manage to squeak.
“What? Who?” There’s movement on his end, voices in the background.
“The FBI. They…they…they busted into our room and arrested him.”
“What the fuck for?” He bellows and I draw the phone away from my ear for a second.
“The money. The gala.”
“Tilly. Take a deep breath, sweetheart.”
“Sorry. Uh…the money and auction items are gone. Stolen. And they think…they think Wilson took them. He didn’t! He wouldn’t!”
“Of course he didn’t fucking steal it.” He says vehemently and my heart slows just a bit. Wilson has his brothers. His club. His family. And he has me.
“I’m leaving the hotel in a few minutes.”
“Come straight here. Don’t stop anywhere on your way.” I smile to myself, his words echoing Wilson’s.
“Lincoln. He needs Lincoln.”
“I’m here, Tilly.”
“Oh Lincoln!” I nearly sob at the sound of his voice. “You’ve gotta…gotta get him out!”
“I will.”
“Special Agent Lomax. He was in charge. He has Wilson.”
“Thank you, Tilly. That’s good. We’re gonna hang up and I’m gonna get started on tracking down Wilson. Call your brother. You need him right now. And we’ll see you very soon.”
“Ok. Ok. That’s…yeah…I’ll see you soon.”
“Good girl.” He says then the line clicks dead. Good girl. That’s what Wilson said to me on the phone so many weeks ago. I want him to say it again to me. I want him here. Want to touch him. Kiss him. Let him hold me so I don’t fall apart.
“Grow up, Tilly!” I pound my fist on the bed, get to my feet, and close my eyes. Two deep breaths later, I’m flying around the hotel suite gathering all our belongings. Luckily, the girls and Tybs didn’t pack us too much, so I’m able to carry it on my own. In Wilson’s car, I press the button to bring the seat closer and laugh hysterically about our height differences. I plug my phone in, and call Tybs.
“Two days, Tilly. Two days to come up for air.” Any other time I would find him being grossed out about my sex life funny, but I’m not in the mood.
“Yeah, turns out bondage play isn’t my thing. Especially when the FBI is involved.”
“You had me at the beginning, you lost me at the end.”