Thirty
THIRTY
CHAOS
She kicked me out, the smell of her arousal still spread across my face, with a simple instruction. “You’ve watched me. Now I want to watch you. Go home and send me proof of how badly you need to come.”
If I was questioning whether I loved the woman before, she made it fucking obvious now.
When I started the bike and felt the engine's vibrations through my seat, I knew I couldn’t last until I got home.
So here I am, in an abandoned farmhouse, in what will be my room, stroking one out in front of my propped-up phone while I stare at the distant light of her bedroom.
I close my eyes and let my head roll back as my fist works up and down my painfully hard dick. Tongue to my lips, I hope for another taste, but she already fades. So instead, I replay through my mind the sounds of her breathy moans as I fucking ate her cunt, the heady feeling of mild asphyxiation as I struggled to breathe yet refused to yield until she’d come.
I snap my eyes open and stare at the small screen, ensuring I’m still framed perfectly for the final shot.
My abs clench, balls drawing tight, and I release my load as her light switches out in the distance.
What the fuck has she done to me? I stroke the last drops to the thought, then reach forward and kill the recording.
I’ve always been the one in control. The dominant one in the partnership. Every woman that I’ve fucked before Vanessa, came to me knowing that they’d be tossed around like a ragdoll and used in the best of ways. It’s expected that a guy is an alpha in our lifestyle—including between the sheets.
But she crumbled. She fell apart, and I knew she needed the safety of being in charge.
Of calling the shots.
I never figured I’d need to be her servant equally as bad.
“Jesus, fuck, man.” I run my clean hand through my hair and stare at the sticky mess webbing the fingers of my other. Hopefully, the water is on already.
I make my way to the adjoining bathroom and try the tap, praising whoever wants to fucking listen when liquid gold pours down the drain. Cleaning up without a washcloth is awkward but not impossible. I do my best and then lean on the basin, looking at my reflection in the half-light.
I have my parents’ eyes. One of each. My mother’s blue, and my father’s brown. I’ve often wondered if it’s some sign of my duality—the warring factions within. Half angel and half demon. It was only natural to accent the split with my hair color when it was all people could talk about.
Hand to my face, I cover my blue eye and stare at my father’s face, looking back at me. He was a good guy until he wasn’t, and it was that betrayal of trust that still knots my stomach when I think about the day he died.
I shift my hands and cover his side, looking at my mother instead.
Her side always brings the most sadness—the most regret. She forgave me for what I did, understanding that’s how things work within the club. But I know she regrets that she couldn’t save her baby—her boy—from the hell that would ensue after.
From the constant questioning. Of myself. Of my choices. Of who I am.
“Fuck this shit.” I turn the tap off and move back to the bedroom to tug my jeans back on, staring at the phone the whole time I do.
Do I send the recording to her? It could be argued that the clip could be used against me, but hasn’t she trusted I won’t do the same by saying nothing more about the cameras?
I started this. Who am I to complain?
It takes seconds for me to flick it through to her Messenger. I don’t rewatch it. Not caring to relive how fucking vulnerable she’s made me.
I want her happy, and if this is what will do it, fine. I’ll play.
Her small avatar slides into position to show she’s seen the message.
I pocket the phone and head downstairs. There are a couple of hours at most before everyone gets up for the day, and the bullshit starts. Before Selena needs another ride to school—whatever the fuck that’s all about.
My pocket vibrates with the chime of an incoming message.
You don’t look happy.
Of course I don’t. You blue-balled me.
What the fuck did she expect? Sitting up there on her goddamn throne, looking all pretty in pink, messing with my head?—
I gave you a reason to come back.
This woman… I heave a sigh and slam out a response using both thumbs.
When will you understand that I don’t need a reason to come back. YOU are the reason.
I pocket the phone, jog down the porch steps to where my bike waits, and tug on my helmet. What more do I need to do to make her understand that this fucking infatuation has no hope of fulfillment. I won’t ever get enough of her, and that is what fucking scares me.
I’ve never felt so out of control of something in my goddamn life.
The Harley starts with a roar, dirt spraying as I tear around toward the driveway, the headlight casting a wide arc before me.
She is mine. And I want only to be hers. This fucking thing we got going on? It’s only the start. She’s barely scratched the surface of what I’ll do to keep her safe. To keep her happy. To protect her from the sick fucks in the world like her goddamn stepfather.
I skid to a stop outside her house and knock the bike into neutral, leaning back in the saddle to rest my hands atop the tank. It takes a few minutes, but my good girl switches on her light, the illumination behind the partially open drapes battling with the first rays of the rising sun.
Her silhouette fills the space.
My phone vibrates against my ribs. I tug it free and open the thread.
I didn’t mean so soon.
The magnetic case tacks to the tank as I tap out my reply.
If it were up to me, I’d never leave. And neither would you.
Her outline shifts, growing shorter as though she ducks her head.
That wouldn’t be very conducive to the survival of your club, would it now?
What does that fucking matter? At least I’d be enjoying myself.
Do you not enjoy yourself now?
Not the direction I’d wanted this conversation to go. She sends another reply.
Forget I asked. It’s a topic for another day. Get to work, hero. Let me get ready in peace.
You never sent me that titty pic.
I lift my head, confident she’ll know I grin from fucking ear to ear beneath the helmet. Yeah, I’m a juvenile dick. So what?
My phone vibrates. Sweet mother… I tap on the picture to make it full-screen.
I was too chicken shit to send it.
The message slides down from the top, disappearing a second after to give me an unhindered view of her soft porn. My baby girl knows how to make the ladies look good, that’s for sure. Not only has Vanessa snapped the much-coveted titty pic, but she wore a goddamn harness to plump up her cleavage and outline the goods.
I shift on the seat, willing my thickening dick to settle down.
Her outline waits at the window, the growing light making it easier to make out the vague contours of her face.
I lift both hands and form a heart shape with my fingers.
It’s hard to be sure, but she seems to do the same back. With my phone repositioned in its holder, I kick the bike into gear and leave before I do something seriously stupid.
Like lock her in her goddamn house and give her orgasm after fucking orgasm until she’s begging me to stop. Fucking blue ball me and say it’s fair. Although now that I think about it, that was pretty damn hot having her make me send a fucking cumshot to her to prove how worked up she had me.
My dick stirs again. Not helpful. Not when the first thing on my agenda is getting my goddamn sister to school. Ugh. Those two things should never mix.
The thought does the trick, killing whatever carnal desire built after Vanessa’s perfect portrait. If only I could make it my home screen without the brothers seeing. A man can wish.
My phone rings as I hit the open stretch before town; an unknown number shows on the screen. I tap the button on my comms to answer. “Yeah?”
“Chaos.”
“Who’s this?” My gaze flicks to my mirrors out of habit, casing my surroundings.
“Name’s Callum. I’m the VP of the Fallen Aces Lincoln chapter. Jinx gave me your number.”
Asshole. Be nice if he gave me a heads-up. “Early to be calling, ain’t it?”
“Yeah. But I’d hoped you’d be up and about to save me killing time unnecessarily.”
Color me intrigued. “Hate to be an asshole, but can we cut the shit and get to what this is all about?” I shift down for a corner, turning onto the last road before Temperance.
“Nah, man. It’s fair. You able to meet up?”
I glance at the illuminated screen for the time. “You’ve got a short window before I have other commitments.” Never mention details of family—your weakness—to strangers. A hard and fast rule to follow if you want to keep them safe.
“Sure. It won’t take long. Do you have a preference on where you want to meet? I’m outside some park near a bank and a cafe at the moment.”
Yeah, I know exactly where he is. “Stay where you are. I’ll be there in ten.” I don’t let him answer before disconnecting and punching in Jinx’s number.
He takes considerably longer to pick up than I did, voice thick with sleep when he does.
“Did I interrupt something?”
He sighs. “Nope. What’s up?”
A stone flicks off my tire, stinging when it touches my left hand. “You give my number to the Fallen Aces VP?” I shake off the pain.
“Yeah. I was going to let you know when you were in next.”
Fucking over his digs at my absence already. “Well, he beat you to it. He’s in town. Grab Circus and meet me at the meat works; I ain’t riding solo.”
“Wouldn’t expect you to.” He makes a groan as though getting out of bed. “You want me to kick Darko in the nuts and see if he can take Selena to school again?”
“Yeah.” Why not? “Let her know I’ll pick her up this afternoon, though.”
“On it. See you in a few.”
I end his call as the speed zone changes for the outskirts of town and lean back a little in the seat.
So the Fallen Aces have sent someone to chat, huh? Can only be bad news if they don’t feel comfortable sharing it over unsecured lines.