Chapter 31
KINGSTON “FROST”
My side is throbbing like a bitch but fucking Stevie is my main goal.
I’ve waited long enough, and since she gave the go-ahead, I’m taking it.
Positioned between her legs, I kiss her lower stomach, still amazed that she’s pregnant with my twins.
Stevie has kept my attention from the moment I first laid eyes on the picture of her.
She carries a humble grace, which will hopefully transfer to our kids.
I plant the last kiss on her stomach, lowering to the inner joints of her thighs, and ending with a kiss to her swollen lips.
Pressing her thighs out and upwards, which she holds onto, she’s spread open, so I brush my cheeks and mouth over the seam of her lower lips to bathe in her scent.
Fucking incredible. Not all pussies are alike, and Stevie’s is fucking exquisite.
With my tongue, I nudge the hood of her clit.
The wet, light touch has her gasping, releasing a staggered breath.
Fuck, her vocal responses are aphrodisiacs.
I knead her smooth thighs before repositioning my hands under her ass.
She’s the meal I’ve starved for. A lick between the seam of her lips has her legs shaking.
The tip of my tongue wiggles against her clit, slides to her opening, and my mouth opens to suck in her wetness and lips.
They pop from my mouth, but I continue. Flattening my tongue against her pussy, I lick upwards, continuing the motion.
She’s so fucking soaked, so I suck in the excess juices.
My finger plays with her clit, flicking, circling it while I spit onto her asshole, swirling my tongue around the outside.
Stevie moans, shivers running through her body and she struggles to hold her legs up.
Ah, I found her weakness. A weakness she probably didn’t even realize she had.
As my finger strokes and pinches her clit, I stick my tongue in her ass and I moan for how tight it is. Because she’s been on the edge for a while, she explodes, dropping her twitching legs and screaming my name.
That’s my cue.
Between her legs, I crawl up her slack body, inching my cock inside her until I’m balls-deep in. I fucking stop, balancing on my forearms and close my eyes. Fuck this feels good. She’s been a hunger of mine for over a year, so if I don’t take it easy, I’m going to blow.
Her drowsy eyes gaze up at me, and my chest tightens.
My heart pumps fast while I’m struggling to take in full breaths.
I drop my head. Fuck I can’t risk being ripped apart.
To have my emotions gutted. My fucking parents destroyed me as a kid and I swore I’d never let anyone do it to me again. Ever.
Stevie’s hand cups my face, running her fingers over my damp skin.
How and when did I start crying?
Her head lifts, pressing the sweetest kiss to my lips. “Look at me, King.” My eyes catch onto hers and she whispers, “Let. Go.”
She uses my own words against me and it works. Instead of sobbing like a pussy though, I let the silent tears fall while I methodically pump in and out of her. Stevie’s looking at me, caressing my face as my tears drip onto her. She doesn’t flinch or wipe them away, only caresses my cheek.
Fuck, she’s epic.
My tears fade, prompting my hips to speed up. We haven’t broken eye contact or spoken. We’re basking in our feelings. It’s me and her. Like she said, I don’t have to show or prove anything to anyone, except her and our kids. Our love doesn’t have to become a fucking spectacle.
Her hips meet mine and I’m hitting all the right places for both of us. Blood pounds in my head and chest. My stomach and balls tighten before I christen her with a gush of cum. I’m riding out the last drops and collapse on top of her, resting my head on her breast instantly falling asleep.
I crack my eyes open to a ray of light shooting through the drape, and no Stevie. My legs swing to the side. Fuck my body hurts. I rub my eyes and remember what I did last night. Cried. Fucking cried like a bitch.
In the washroom, I gaze at the mess of supplies left on the vanity as I piss. A nagging feeling tells me to search out Stevie. Slipping on boxer briefs, I browse the closet for her clothes, which are still there.
Downstairs, she’s moving around the deck, whistling and planting. I check the clock to see it’s early afternoon. Shit, it’s Saturday. I’ve got clients.
When I slide open the door, her head turns in my direction wearing an enormous grin. I literally sigh internally. She didn’t leave me. Her lit-up face proves she doesn’t judge me for last night.
Stevie removes her gloves, hugs me, and says, “Good afternoon.”
She pulls a smile from me. “Why didn’t you wake me? I’ve got clients today.”
“Jess called and said your earlier customer canceled.” She pats the chair. “Come sit. I’ll get you a coffee and I want to check your injuries.”
With everything that’s happened over the last couple of days, I hadn’t realized how exhausted I am, so I do as she says, scoping out the deck and yard.
She’s planted flowers in the hanging pots on the railing.
I have a good size yard, and beyond will be some of my MC brothers’ houses and the clubhouse.
She comes out, placing the coffee on the table. As I sip, she lifts some of the bandages to check if there’s any infection. I watch her from my periphery. The sunlight casts highlights in her hair, and she’s…she’s radiant. Fuck, she’s going to be an amazing mom.
“There doesn’t appear to be any infection, but we should clean it up again and reapply the ointment and bandages.”
I’m not used to anyone caring for me, so I argue, “I can do it.”
Rebel places her hands on the arm rests, leans over me, and kisses me on the lips. “I know you can but I want to.”
This has me grinning like I’m eleven, getting my first blowjob. I pull her onto my lap and she drapes an arm around my neck, resting her head on my shoulder.
After last night, and today while Stevie cleaned and bandaged my wounds and put together a food box, I’m fucking happier than I could ever remember. I refused to shower or wash my face, because I want to smell Stevie all day.
Hours later, I’m at the shop, tattooing Lennon, who has scars on her wrists.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what happened, but my job isn’t to question or judge.
Women scarred from cancer or other diseases have no problem telling their stories.
Scars created by other means leave the women silent to keep their demons secret.
It’s hot out, so Lennon is in a tank top and barely there frayed shorts. She wants a barbed wire bracelet on both wrists. On her inner wrist will be the word ‘Beautifully,’ and on the other, the word ‘Broken.’ Somehow or someone caused her to become beautifully broken.
This is going to be a four to six-hour project. I work on her left wrist design as she eyes me without saying a word. Every time the tattoo machine jabs over her scar, she bites her lower lip, and her other hand grips the armrest.
Because the heaviness of hatred and anger is somewhat lifted and Rebel has rubbed off on me, I ask, “How did you hear about me?”
She simply says, “Grapevine.”
Lennon has a right to her secrecy. For the rest of the time, it’s only the sound of the tattoo machine filling the air instead of small talk. Tattooing over scars is painful, so I periodically stop, wipe the blood and ink away, having Jess bring a water.
I continue tattooing and say, “These types of tattoos are done through several sessions. If you’d like, I can do the left wrist, and you can return in a week or so for the other.”
Placing the water bottle in her lap, her shaky hand wipes sweat from her forehead. “Yeah, maybe that’s best.”
I finish up this session and Lennon schedules another appointment a week from now.
With one more client to go, I’m itching to get back to Stevie and bury myself in her.
My eyes close, thinking about how fucking amazing it felt to be inside her, which has my dick swelling.
I shake my head to end these sexual thoughts. Ain’t gonna do me any good now.
Jess finishes up his last customer when my phone pings with a message from Skull.
Skull
We have a mole in our club.
Me
What?
Skull
The snacks are gone. Someone snatched them up before us. Meet me at the Rebel Room for church.
Snack is code for drugs in case our phones are ever stolen.
Me
Leaving now.
Shit!
All I want is to fuck my girl, hold her in my arms, and relax at home.
A traitor is a huge issue in a MC. Not only did we lose our merchandise, but it puts us in poor standing with our buyers and it can potentially put us behind bars.
Flushing out the traitor won’t be easy. I call Stevie to let her know about the meeting and nothing else.
Club stuff is for club brothers. Since I’m not sure who is involved, I insist she come to the club with me.
Rebel doesn’t argue, which I appreciate.
I swing by to pick her up and switch my bike for the truck.
It’s best for her to be in the truck in case of a crash.
As soon as I pull into the driveway, I already know something is wrong.
My body does a three-sixty-degree turn. The prospect is nowhere to be found, but there aren’t any cars or bikes nearby.
When I enter the house, I hear from the kitchen, “Sound like he home.”