Chapter 5 #2
I lick a long, slow stripe through her folds, and the sound she makes goes straight to my cock.
She's already wet—soaking, dripping—and the taste of her is better than anything I've imagined.
Sweet and musky and her.
I grip her thighs harder, hoisting her up onto the bathroom counter.
Better angle. Better access.
She squeaks at the sudden movement, her hands scrambling, but I don't give her time to adjust.
I bury my face between her legs and devour her.
No teasing. No buildup.
Just my mouth on her cunt, licking and sucking and fucking her with my tongue like my life depends on it.
She cries out, her thighs clamping around my head, her hands fisting in my hair.
I don't care if she smothers me, I'll die happy.
"Oh god. Oh fuck. RJ—"
I slide two fingers inside her, crooking them forward, finding that spot that makes her whole body jerk.
My tongue circles her clit while my fingers work her from the inside, and she's already trembling, already close, her moans echoing off the tile walls.
But I want more.
I pull back, ignoring her whine of protest, and stand.
Before she can complain, I grip her hips and spin her around, pressing her front against the counter.
She gasps, catching herself on the edge, and meets my eyes in the fogged mirror.
"Hold on," I tell her.
Then I drop back down, grip her thighs, and hoist her up onto my shoulders.
She shrieks—half surprise, half laughter—as I stand with her legs draped over my shoulders, her pussy directly in front of my face.
Her hands slap against the counter for balance, her body trembling with the effort of staying upright.
"What are you—oh my god."
I seal my mouth over her clit and suck.
She screams.
Actually screams, loud enough that anyone in the clubhouse above us definitely heard.
I don't give a single fuck.
Let them hear.
Let them know exactly what I'm doing to their precious biker princess.
I eat her like a man possessed.
My tongue works her clit while my fingers pump inside her, curling and stroking and driving her higher.
Her thighs squeeze my head, her heels digging into my back, her whole body shaking as she rides my face.
"RJ—fuck—I'm gonna—"
I reach up with my free hand and wrap it around her throat.
Not squeezing—not yet—just holding.
Letting her feel the pressure.
The control.
The promise of what I could do if she wanted me to.
She shatters.
Her orgasm hits like a wave, her whole body convulsing, her cunt clenching around my fingers as she comes with a scream that's definitely going to require an explanation later.
I work her through it, gentling my tongue as the aftershocks roll through her, easing her down from the peak.
When she's boneless and gasping, I lower her carefully back to her feet.
She sways, gripping the counter for support, and I catch her around the waist before she can collapse.
"Good?" I ask against her ear.
"I can't feel my legs."
"Then I'm not done yet."
I spin her again, lifting her onto the counter, and step between her spread thighs.
She's still trembling from her orgasm, still flushed and dazed, but her hands find my belt with surprising coordination.
"Off," she demands, yanking at the buckle. "Now."
I help her, shoving my jeans and boxers down just far enough to free my cock.
It springs up between us, hard and aching and leaking at the tip.
Her eyes go wide. "Oh," she breathes. "That's... wow."
"We can go slow if you need—"
"If you go slow, I will murder you."
Fair enough.
I grip her hips and pull her to the edge of the counter, lining myself up with her entrance.
She's so wet I can feel it against my cock, hot and slick and ready.
I press forward, just the tip, and we both groan.
"Dalla." I force myself to hold still, even though every instinct is screaming at me to thrust. "Look at me."
Her eyes meet mine.
Blue and hazy and so fucking beautiful it hurts.
"I need you to understand something." I push in another inch, and her breath catches. "After this, you're mine. Not just for now. Not just while I'm here. Mine. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Say it."
"I'm yours." She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper. "Now fuck me like you mean it."
I slam home.
She cries out, her nails raking down my back, and I give her exactly one second to adjust before I start to move.
Hard. Fast. Brutal.
The way I've been wanting to fuck her since the first moment I saw her in that garden.
The counter creaks beneath us.
The mirror rattles against the wall.
She's making sounds I didn't know humans could make—whimpers and moans and broken fragments of my name—and I'm not much better.
Grunting and cursing and telling her how good she feels, how tight, how fucking perfect.
"More," she gasps. "RJ—harder—"
I pull out, flip her around, and bend her over the counter.
She braces herself on her forearms, watching me in the mirror as I grip her hips and slam back inside.
This angle is deeper, better.
I can see her face as I fuck her, can watch her expression shatter with each thrust.
Can see the way her tits bounce, the way her mouth falls open, the way her eyes roll back when I hit that spot inside her.
I wrap my hand around her throat again, pulling her back against my chest.
Not choking—just holding.
Claiming.
She moans and tilts her head back, giving me access to her neck, and I bite down on the junction of her shoulder hard enough to leave a mark.
"Mine," I growl against her skin.
"Yours," she agrees, breathless. "Yours, yours, yours—"
I feel her tighten around me, feel her orgasm building, and I reach around to circle her clit with my fingers.
She detonates almost instantly, her whole body seizing, her pussy clamping down on my cock so hard I see stars.
I follow her over the edge with a roar, burying myself deep and spilling inside her in hot, endless pulses.
The pleasure whites out my vision, blanks my mind, reduces me to nothing but sensation and release and her.
When I come back to myself, we're both slumped against the counter, breathing like we've run a marathon.
She's trembling in my arms.
I'm trembling too.
"Holy shit," she whispers.
"Aye." I press a kiss to her shoulder, gentle over the mark I left. "Holy shite indeed."
Later, we lie tangled together in her bed.
Properly tangled this time—no covers between us, no distance.
Just skin on skin, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back.
We managed to stumble from the bathroom to the bedroom without separating, without letting go of each other even for a second.
The sheets are cool against my overheated skin.
The basement is quiet, the clubhouse above us having settled into its mid-morning rhythm.
Down here, in our little underground world, time has stopped.
"That was..." She trails off, shaking her head against my chest.
"Worth the wait?"
"I was going to say 'life-changing,' but sure. Worth the wait works too." She props her chin on my chest, looking up at me with those blue eyes.
Her lips are swollen from kissing.
There's a mark on her neck that I should probably feel bad about. I don't. "Where did you learn to do that thing with your tongue?"
I laugh—a real laugh, surprised out of me. "Trade secret."
"Hmm." She traces a pattern on my chest, her finger circling one of my old scars. The ones on the front—smaller, neater, exit wounds from bullets that went through. "These hurt?"
"Not anymore. Just numb, mostly. Nerve damage."
She presses a kiss to the nearest one, soft and gentle, and something in my chest cracks open.
"I have more questions," she murmurs against my skin, "but I'm too tired to ask them."
"Sleep, then." I press a kiss to her forehead. "I'll be here when you wake up."
"Promise?"
The question is light, teasing, but I hear the vulnerability beneath it.
The fear that this was just a moment, just an itch we scratched, and that when she wakes up, I'll be back to being the distant soldier she can't reach.
"Promise." I tighten my arm around her, pulling her closer. "I'm not going anywhere, Dalla. Not unless you tell me to."
"Good." She settles against me with a contented sigh, her body going soft and heavy. "Because I'm not done with you yet."
"That so?"
"Mmhmm. That was round one. I expect at least three more before dinner."
I chuckle, pressing another kiss to her hair. "Demanding."
"You like it."
"Aye. I do."
Her breathing evens out within minutes, her body going slack against mine as sleep claims her.
I hold her, watching the rise and fall of her chest, memorizing the way she looks in this moment—fucked out and peaceful and trusting me enough to fall asleep in my arms.
I should sleep too.
For the first time in days, I actually could—my back doesn't hurt, my body is sated, and I'm holding the woman I'm rapidly falling for.
But something keeps me awake.
A sound. Muffled voices, coming from somewhere above us.
I strain to listen, trying to identify the source.
It's coming from the air vent in the corner of the ceiling—sound carrying down from whatever room is directly above us.
The office, maybe. Or a meeting room.
The construction down here must have connected the ductwork in ways that weren't intentional.
I recognize Runes' voice first.
Low, serious, the tone of a man discussing club business.
The kind of tone that means something's wrong. "—thought we handled this when we handled Eddie."
"We all thought that." Fenrir's voice, older and rougher. "But the activity's picked back up. Someone's moving product through our territory again."
"Product." Runes spits the word like it tastes bad. "You mean people."
"Yeah. People. Young ones, mostly. Same profile as before."
I go very still, careful not to wake Dalla.
My training kicks in automatically—breathing shallow, body motionless, ears straining for every word.
Silence.
When Runes speaks again, his voice is cold enough to freeze blood.
"Eddie wasn't the head."
"No. He was a front. A figurehead. Whoever's really running this operation is still out there. Still working. And based on what we're seeing, they've got resources Eddie never had."
"How is that possible? We dismantled his network. Burned it to the ground. Killed everyone who touched it."
"We burned what we could see." Fenrir sighs heavily, and I hear the creak of leather as someone shifts in a chair. "But this... this is something else. Organized. Patient. Professional. They waited until we let our guard down, and now they're rebuilding. Maybe they never stopped."
"Three months," Runes growls. "Three months of nothing, and we thought it was over. Fucking idiots."
"We're not idiots. We acted on the information we had. Eddie was the face of the operation, and we took him out. We just didn't know there was someone else behind him."
"Someone else." A pause. "Do we have any leads?"
"Nothing solid. A few whispers. Someone new calling the shots—or maybe not new. Maybe they were always there, in the shadows, letting Eddie take the heat." Fenrir's voice goes quieter, harder to hear. "Someone with a grudge, maybe. Someone who knows how we operate."
"An inside source?"
"Possible. Or just someone who's been watching us for a long time. Either way, they know enough to stay out of our reach. They know our patrol schedules, our territories, our weak points. Every time we think we're getting close, they disappear."
"Like ghosts."
"Like someone who was trained by the same people who trained us." Fenrir's words hang heavy in the air. "Or someone who learned from our mistakes."
"What about the feds? They still sniffing around?"
"Always. But they're focused on the cartels right now. Human trafficking isn't sexy enough for the big budget investigations. Local PD is useless—half of them are on someone's payroll, and the other half are too scared to ask questions."
"So, it's on us."
"It's always on us." Fenrir sounds tired. Old. "Same as it's always been. We protect this territory. We protect our people. And we clean up the messes that the law can't—or won't—handle."
The voices fade as they move away from wherever the vent connects.
I hear a door close somewhere above us, and then silence.
I lie still, processing what I've heard, my mind racing through everything.
Trafficking. In Raiders of Valhalla territory. An operation that survived Eddie's death and is now rebuilding under new leadership.
Someone with resources, patience, and knowledge of the club.
Someone who's been watching.
Learning. Waiting.
And that dark sedan I've seen parked outside the compound. Was that connected? Someone keeping tabs on the club's movements?
Dalla shifts against me, murmuring something in her sleep, and reality crashes back in.
She's here. The president's daughter.
Sleeping in my arms while her father discusses threats he doesn't even fully understand.
Threats that could be closer than any of them realize.
I look down at her sleeping face, peaceful and trusting, and something cold settles in my chest.
I don't know what's coming.
Don't know who's behind this or what they want, but I know one thing with absolute certainty:
People like this come for those close to power.
And no one is closer to Runes than his daughters and his wife.