Chapter 24
24
Amelia
W IGGLING INTO THE bustier of my costume, I cursed the designer as I struggled to fasten the hooks without popping my shoulders out of their sockets. Fashion this complicated required multiple hands, and I currently only had two at my disposal since I planned to surprise Morse, and nobody else needed to see me in this getup.
Still, as I snagged the last hook and smoothed the black silk and white lace ruffles into place, I couldn’t deny how sexy it made me feel.
There were no mirrors in Morse’s room at the club, so I used the stainless steel surface of the mini fridge to primp and fluff, ensuring everything was even and secure. The bodice was so tight I had to take shallow breaths, but it hiked my boobs up to my collarbone and made my cleavage look amazing. The thong covered precisely zero stretch marks and provided no belly support, but fuck it. It had been ages since I’d worn lingerie, a travesty I intended to rectify because I felt sexy.
Morse would lose his mind when he saw me, and that was all that mattered. His pleasure was well worth a little boob squashing and wedgie inflicting.
Hell, I’d fucking waxed for him. The man better appreciate the effort.
Careful not to trip over any partially packed boxes scattered across the floor, I made my way to the bed. Morse would be here soon, and I needed to figure out the best pose to greet him in.
I’d forgiven him for the whole monitoring me without my consent thing, and he’d promised never to do it again. Any future recording would be consensual and far more fun….
Morse and I haven’t spent much time at the club lately. After Carol’s death, he took some time off to help me and has been staying at my house. He plans to return to work next week, but we’ll see. Link has challenged me to see how long I can keep my man out of his dungeon, and I am up for the challenge.
Besides, we have a lot of shit to do.
Eric contested Carol’s will, sending the estate into probate, but since she’d set up the house in a trust specifically naming me as the beneficiary, it wasn’t tied up in the courts, and we’d be able to take possession soon. It might be crazy to move in with someone I’d only been dating for a few weeks, but Morse and I had lost enough time already. We enjoyed being together and wanted to take this next step. In fact, I couldn’t think of a single reason to wait.
Emily didn’t think probate would last long, considering all the dirt the bikers had been digging up on Eric. About two years ago, the real estate tycoon made some poor investments. Rather than fessing up to his mistakes, he’d chosen crime, embezzling millions from his real estate firm and its clients to pay off the debt.
We weren’t sure if Carol had told him about the change to her will or if his former frat brother—who worked in the estate attorney’s office—had spilled the beans. Regardless, the district attorney’s grandmother turned out to be one of Eric’s victims, so he was about to learn regret for his shitty life choices. Between his white-collar crimes and attempts at kidnapping and murder, Eric Landry would be locked up for a long, long time.
The door burst open, and I thrust out a hip, pretending to feather dust the top of the dresser while my boobs spilled out of the bustier. A gust of cool air from the hallway chilled the lower halves of my ass cheeks since they were peeking out beneath the lacy skirt.
The hunger that ignited in Morse's eyes as he took in my “naughty maid” costume and hurriedly slammed the door shut behind him reinforced my newfound commitment to wearing more lingerie.
“The compression socks are doing it for you, aren’t they?” I teased. Black and white checkered and covering me from toes to knees, they weren’t part of the outfit, but they were a bitch to get off, so I’d left them on. They’d been the suggestion of a widow I’d resumed taking meals to. I’d been wearing them for a week now, and I wasn’t sure they were helping with the pain, but I was in the try-anything stage of treatment. I’d also started physical therapy, yoga, and going for daily walks, determined to get my sciatic nerve under control.
“The entire outfit is doing it for me,” Morse said, lighting my skin on fire with his gaze.
He prowled closer, and I turned the feather duster on myself, tickling my exposed cleavage before dipping it down over my belly to the tops of my thighs. Morse followed my movements like a cat watching a laser beam he was about to pounce on.
“Anything I need to clean for you, boss?” I asked in my best sultry lilt.
“Me.” His lips stretched into a grin as he closed the last of the distance between us. “I’m absolutely fuckin’ filthy.”
“You are, huh?” I asked, using the duster to brush off his shoulders as I discreetly ogled the bulge growing in his pants.
“Yep. In fact, right now, I’m imagining bending you over that bed and fucking your brains out.”
I blinked, fantasizing right along with him, and decided I was game. “Less talking, more acti?—”
He didn’t even let me finish issuing the command before he hooked me around the waist and bent me over the bed, angling my ass in the air. With a thud, he dropped to his knees on the floor behind me and gripped the sides of my thong, tugging it down my legs. When I stepped out of it, he pushed my legs apart to widen my stance. His shoulders brushed against my knees, his hair tickling my thighs, and then his hot, wet tongue flicked over my clit.
The rest of the world disappeared.
I’d lost count of the number of times Morse had gone down on me in the past two weeks, but every time was a goddamn religious experience. The talent, the creativity, the addition of one finger, and then two…. I hissed out a curse, and my upper body melted into the bed as he licked and sucked, feasting until I begged for his cock.
He stood, and I stayed where I was as he undid his belt and slowly drew down his zipper. I heard the thud of his belt and jeans hitting the floor, then strong, warm hands rounded my ass, reverently stroking. Then he lined himself with my entrance and, in one powerful thrust, buried himself inside me.
I gasped at the intrusion as my body stretched to accommodate him. It didn’t matter how many times we had sex, that first thrust always took my breath away.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yes. More.”
He chuckled, pulling out only to thrust back in. Fingers tangled in my hair and pulled, providing the perfect hint of pain to drive my pleasure, and I moaned, pushing back against him as he increased his pace.
“I’m not the only filthy one,” Morse said, his words tickling my neck as he snaked his hand around to play with my clit. “You’re dripping wet for me, Angel.”
He slowly pulled out before plowing back in, using his fingers and cock to take me to the edge of my orgasm before slowing down again.
“Asshole,” I complained.
He laughed—something he’d been doing a lot more of lately—and slapped my ass. “You like it, and you know it.”
I did, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting as much. Instead, I let him lead me to the brink again and again before, finally, neither of us could take the torture anymore.
By the time we plunged over the edge together, my right boob had escaped from the bustier, and my hair stuck out in every which direction. Morse helped me out of the costume, making me promise to wear it again after we moved, before wrapping me in his bathrobe and sending me down the hall to get ready.
We had a party to attend, after all.
Forty-five minutes later, I was showered, and my hair and makeup were fixed. I slid my biker vest over the faded Metallica T-shirt I’d stolen from Morse’s drawer, pairing it with black leggings and knee-high leather boots. Channeling my inner badass, I hooked my arm through my ol’ man’s, and we headed downstairs. Quiet Riot was blasting from the speakers as we entered the crowded common room. Morse slid my arm from his and took my hand. Together, we wove through bikers milling about and couples writhing on the dance floor to get to the bar. Once there, he opened me a cider and grabbed himself a beer. Drinks in hand, we went in search of Thia.
Along the way, we ran into Jed, and I tackled him in a hug. I hadn’t seen the prospect since he and Specks had brought back Morgan, so this was my first opportunity to smother him with my gratitude.
“I don’t know what I would have done without you,” I told him.
“Well done,” Morse agreed, thrusting his hand out. “Proof.”
Jed’s eyebrows shot up as he shook Morse’s hand. “Proof?”
“Yeah. Figured it’s about time we gave you a road name.”
“But why Proof?”
“Because you’re hundred-proof, kid,” Rabbit said, clapping him on the shoulder before pulling me into a side hug. He’d recovered from his injury and had gotten his stitches out last week.
Morse chuckled. “No. More like proof of life. You’re one hell of a reliable photographer.”
Jed’s expression fell. I suspected he was about to ask for a cooler name, but Morse pointed out Thia to me, and I made a beeline for my friend, who looked absolutely stunning in a fitted off-the-shoulder blouse, knee-length lace skirt, and ballet flats. She was talking to the ol’ ladies clustered by the sofas.
“Thia was just telling us about the expansion you’re planning for Black Lace,” Julia said, pulling me into a hug. Havoc’s ol’ lady owned a bookstore near the fire station and helped Emily run Ladies First, a non-profit focused on getting women and children out of dangerous situations.
“You guys are really gonna provide makeovers?” Carly asked, sidling up to us. “That’s freaking genius.”
Thia beamed at the praise, as she should, since it had been her idea. “Right? Sitting with Carol made me realize how easy it is for widows to isolate and grow lonely. Black Lace was never about the rations but the companionship. This gives us the opportunity to do more of that. We’ll take them to pick out a new outfit, get them a mani-pedi, maybe a new hairstyle… our goal is to provide a girl-time experience while reminding these ladies that they’re still beautiful and valuable.”
“Well, I think it’s wonderful,” Emily said, chiming in. “And I’m sure you’ll have plenty of volunteers if you two ever need help.”
“We’re counting on it,” I said. “And thank you.”
The Black Lace expansion was just the tip of the iceberg of what we were planning. Thia and I had already composed a list of charities we were interested in supporting. Morse, Tap, and Hound were researching each charity’s community impact, operating expenses, and administrative salaries. Searching for worthy causes was much easier than facing the gaping hole Carol’s death had blasted through my life. I’d known she was dying since the day I met her, yet that hadn’t made her death any easier to accept. I still couldn’t believe all she’d done for me. Carol had tasked me with this duty, and I intended to do her proud.
By the time the estate got through probate, we’d be ready to rock and roll.
Thia hooked her arm in mine, leaning closer to speak over the music. “You get packed yet?”
“We’re working on it,” I said. Morse had been a lot of help, but he and his magical tongue had also proven to be an enormous distraction. “What about you?”
She grinned at me. “I’m so excited I’ve been packed for two days.”
My friend was moving into Carol’s mansion with us. In fact, we’d unofficially split the place down the middle with her since it was way more room than we’d ever need. I’d be donating my house, furniture, and most of the contents to Ladies First to use as a safe house, but I was keeping a lid on that donation until everything was settled.
“Has Morgan made a decision yet?” Thia asked.
I nodded. “She’s staying local. That small school we visited last week… they actually have a swim program.”
Thia squealed. “Yay! I’m so excited for her and for you. Is Theo really dropping out?”
I shrugged. “I’ve been trying to talk him into transferring, but he’ll have his associate’s in a couple of weeks and plans to enlist.”
“His dad would be proud.”
“Possibly. But I kinda want to smack him upside the head.”
She laughed. “It’s his life.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. I’m proud of him, too.” His path would turn me into a worried wreck for the foreseeable future, but that was parenthood.
Carly asked Thia something, and she rejoined the ladies as Morse slipped my empty cider bottle from my hands, replacing it with a fresh one.
I eyed him. “I thought you agreed to police my alcohol consumption tonight.”
We’d shared a bottle of champagne last night, and my head had been fuzzy all day.
“No, no, no.” He pulled me into his arms. “ You said that. I said you’d look great in handcuffs, which I happen to have in my pocket.”
Interest piqued, I glanced down, noting the round outline in his pocket. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one up for a bit of role-playing today. “And where did you get those?”
“Oh, I have my ways. What do you say? Want to go up and try them out?”
I glanced around the room of rowdy bikers and babes, deciding nobody would miss us. But as Morse and I turned to go, the front door opened. A woman stepped into the club, juggling three suitcases and a backpack that she immediately dumped on the floor. Everyone stopped, turning to stare at her. I don’t know what she’d expected from the biker den, but her eyes widened in shock, and her cheeks turned bright red.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” she sputtered. “I’m?—”
One of the old bikers hobbled forward, his eyes wild as he took her in. “Nora?” he asked, his voice full of wonder.
Her expression softened as she studied him. “No, Dad. It’s me, Brooke.”