19. Rick
19
RICK
Two weeks into our new arrangement, I still haven’t shown Evie where I sleep. We’ve spent our nights together at her place, sneaking out just around dawn to avoid getting caught by nosy neighbors.
It works, but something’s been nagging at me—the need to bring her into our space, to see her move through the rooms that shaped us.
“Dinner at our place tonight?” I suggest at the gallery. “Give the girls the grand tour?”
The smile she gives me makes my chest tight. “About time. Violet’s been dying to see if your house has a dungeon.”
“Just Chase’s room.”
Her laugh gets cut short by my phone buzzing. Teller’s name flashes on the screen, and my good mood evaporates. Third call this week.
“You should take your call,” she says, already stepping away. “I’ve got to get back to work anyway.”
I wait until she’s out of earshot. “What happened?”
“Death’s Head hit Mario’s garage last night. Trashed three bikes we were storing there. Left their mark on the door.”
“Shit.” Mario’s shop sits two blocks from the elementary school. “Anyone hurt?”
“Just property damage. You need to be careful. I’m calling every fraction to warn them.” Ice forms in my gut. “We have a meeting in one hour.”
After hanging up, I watch Evie through my office window. She’s laughing at something Chase is showing her, completely unaware of the dangers unfolding in our town. I want to keep her that way.
The club meeting runs long. Every report brings fresh concerns—Death’s Head members watching school zones, recruiting local muscle, marking territory closer to our core businesses.
“They’re systematic,” Clay points out, marking locations on our map. “Working their way inward.”
“Using the schools as pressure points,” Kip adds. “Smart bastards.”
I study the pattern, memories surfacing of teaching Violet to count last week. Of Daisy reading us her favorite book. Of family dinners and bedtime stories and all the normal things I never thought I’d have.
“We should double the patrols around the schools,” I say. “But subtle. Don’t want to spook parents.”
Back home, Chase and Zane have already started preparing dinner. The smell of garlic and tomatoes fills our kitchen—another of Mrs. Wilson’s recipes we’ve perfected over the years.
“Evie and the girls will be here at six,” Chase tells me, not looking up from his chopping. “And before you ask, yes, I cleaned my ‘dungeon.’ ”
Zane snorts from where he’s setting the table. “Threw everything under the bed, you mean.”
“Like you’re any better.” I loosen my tie, trying to shake off club business. “Your room still has that half-built engine from last summer.”
“It’s art,” both my brothers say together, an old joke between us.
At exactly six, our doorbell rings. Violet bounces in first, already chattering about secret passages and hidden treasures. Daisy follows more sedately, but her eyes are wide as she takes in our space.
Then there’s Evie, standing in our doorway, looking nervous but perfect. “Hi.”
“Welcome to our home,” I say.
The tour starts in our living room, where photos tell our story. Us, as teenagers, fresh-faced and angry at the world. The old gallery storefront. Tank’s memorial service.
“Who’s this?” Evie asks, touching a frame.
“Mrs. Wilson when she was much younger,” I explain. “She basically adopted us when we moved in. Taught us to cook, kept us in line.”
“And now she spoils these two with cookies,” Chase adds as Violet inspects our TV setup.
Each room brings questions and stories spilling out naturally. My brothers join the tour, adding their own memories and their own pieces of our history.
“First tattoo Chase ever did.” I point to art framed in the hallway. “Nearly passed out halfway through.”
“Did not.” He ruffles Daisy’s hair as she examines the design. “Just got lightheaded.”
“From fear,” Zane adds helpfully.
The kitchen has always been the heart of our home. Now, it fills with new sounds—children’s laughter, Evie’s soft exclamations over family recipes posted on our fridge.
“It’s perfect,” Evie whispers, watching Violet help Chase with sauce while Daisy carefully arranges silverware under Zane’s guidance.
I want to freeze this moment. Want to protect it from Death’s Head and all the other shadows threatening our peace.
My office is the last stop. Walking in with her feels significant somehow.
“So this is where the magic happens?” She runs her fingers over my desk.
“Paperwork mainly.” However, the hidden compartment behind my degrees holds darker business.
“Liar.” Her smile turns knowing. “I’ve seen the books, remember? The gallery’s legitimate, but there’s more.”
Her expression almost makes me think that she comes from a world of secrets too. Like she understands the necessity of lies.
“Does it bother you?” I have to ask.
“That you protect people? That you’ve built something real here?” She steps closer. “No. It makes me feel safe.”
The word hits hard after today’s meeting. I pull her against me, needing to feel her solid and whole.
“You are safe,” I promise. “You and the girls. Always.”
She must hear something in my voice because she pulls back to study my face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I kiss her before she can press further. “Just happy you’re here.”
Dinner feels like a glimpse of our future. Three brothers, one woman, and two little girls have somehow become the center of everything. Even the silence between conversations feels right.
“Can we sleep over?” Violet asks between bites. “Please?”
“Not tonight, princess.” Though soon, I hope. I want them here permanently, and I want to wake up to this chaos every morning.
Later, after they leave, the house feels too quiet. My brothers notice my mood but don’t push.
“We’ll handle it,” Chase says simply.
“Whatever comes,” Zane agrees.
I try to focus on paperwork, but my mind keeps drifting to Death’s Head’s latest move. Mario’s garage isn’t just any target. It’s where local kids get their first bikes fixed and where families trust us to keep them safe.
My brothers are out patrolling with Clay and Kip, leaving me alone with thoughts I can’t keep away. The map from today’s meeting haunts me—red X’s marking territory encroaching closer to our schools and our homes.
My phone buzzes. Evie: “Girls are asleep. Rose is staying over. Can I come back?”
A smile breaks on my lips. “Yes, Please. Door’s unlocked,” I text back.
Twenty minutes later, I hear the front door open. When she walks into my office wearing my leather jacket from earlier, all thoughts of club business evaporate.
The thought of what she might have underneath my jacket makes my cock harden instantly.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she says, closing the door behind her. “Kept thinking about you in here, looking all official.”
“Official?” I lean back, drinking her in.
“Thought you could use a distraction,” she says softly, moving closer. “From all the MC business.”
“Best kind of distraction.” I lean back in my chair, watching her approach. “That jacket looks better on you.”
Her fingers find the zipper, slowly dragging it down. “Want to see how good it looks off me?”
The jacket parts, revealing her perfect breasts down to the shape of her pussy. She’s so tiny compared to me, but there’s nothing fragile about the way she moves. When she lets the leather slip from her shoulders, I can’t help but groan at the sight of her.
The first kiss is gentle, but when she straddles my lap, all pretense of gentleness vanishes. Her nipples harden under my palms as I cup her breasts, her body arching as I map every curve.
I trail kisses down her neck, tasting perfume. When my mouth closes around one nipple, she gasps my name. Her fingers tangle in my hair as I take my time.
Sliding to my knees, I guide her onto my desk. Papers scatter—club documents, garage reports, tonight’s threats—but nothing matters except getting my mouth on her pussy.
She’s already wet when I part her thighs, her scent driving me crazy. I take my time, pressing kisses to her inner thighs, making her squirm with need.
When I finally drag my tongue through her folds, she gasps my name. Her pussy is perfect—swollen and slick, begging for attention.
I start slow, teasing her entrance before moving to her clit. Her hands find my hair, trying to guide me where she needs me most.
But I keep my pace steady, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on her sensitive bud. Each time she gets close, I back off, making her whimper with frustration.
“Please,” she begs, hips lifting off the desk. “Rick, I need…”
I slide two fingers inside her while sucking her clit, curling them to find that spot that makes her shake. Her walls clench around my fingers as I work her higher, my tongue relentless on her clit. The sounds she makes drive me wild—little gasps and moans that echo through my office. When she finally comes, it’s with my name on her lips, her thighs trembling around my head.
“Please,” she begs after, pulling me up. “I need your cock inside me.”
When I slide into her, she’s still pulsing from her orgasm. We find our rhythm together, every thrust hitting deeper. There’s only this—her nails in my shoulders, her legs wrapped around my waist, the perfect way her pussy grips me.
She comes again, her walls clenching around me, pulling my own orgasm from me. For long moments, we just breathe together, my forehead pressed to hers.
“Stay,” I murmur, though we both know she can’t. “Soon.” I bring her to sit on my lap. “I want to wake up to you here. All of you. Soon.”
She smooths my shirt, smiling softly. “Patience, Mr. Cross.”
The title reminds me of duties, of threats lurking. She must feel me tense because she cups my face.
“What’s wrong? Really?”
I could tell her everything. About Death’s Head’s systematic approach, about Mario’s garage, about the map covered in warning signs, and us, the Black Wolves, genuinely worried for the future of Wolf Pike.
We’re not saying we’d lose to Death’s Head, but no doubt there would be casualties. It’s what we’re worried about.
But I don’t tell her any of this. Instead, I kiss her palm. “Just club stuff. Nothing we can’t handle.”
She leaves wearing my jacket, promising to return it tomorrow.