Chapter 9 – Christopher #2
“We got all the videos. We wipin’ all the servers.
” Unfortunately, if anyone downloaded the videos, they’d still have copies.
He didn’t want to remind Megan of that possibility because it would stress her further, especially if she hadn’t thought about that scenario herself.
“I swear if I find any motherfucker with a video of Rebel, Mattie, or Harley, Ima kill them.”
“Okay.” She wiped her cheeks. “The thought that you hid my pills after everything we’ve been through just brought what happened to me at the clubhouse back again.
I’m sorry for blaming you, Christopher. I’m so sorry.
Life’s so short. I could’ve been the one to walk out of the house and ended up shot and killed. ”
Fuck, she was grieving for Gypsy and that didn’t help Megan’s emotional state. She probably also had Derby’s treatment of Gypsy up until her last day of life on her mind.
Gypsy was a whiny fucking cunt, but she’d been Megan’s good friend.
Christopher kneeled in front of her and hugged her tightly, allowing her to sob.
“I love babies,” she said a few minutes later. “Just a few weeks ago, I wanted another one as soon as possible, but I thought about everything you and CJ said. I thought about Jo and Gunner. I thought about myself, us, you, your worry, my fear, and I changed my mind.”
For now, there was nothing he could say, so he brushed his lips over hers, tasting the salt of her tears, his heart settling back in his chest at her response.
“I love you so fuckin’ much,” he reiterated between kisses, unable to ignore his hard cock any longer and slipping his tongue into her welcoming mouth.
He should’ve expected her resistance. Her emotions were all over the place this morning, but when he carried her to their bed and she clamped her knees together, it still threw him.
“We can’t have sex,” she said.
She still wouldn’t say fucking unless he was fucking her or about to fuck her. A win, but the word sex was still hilarious to him.
“I’m going to call Jordan and ask her to send in a new prescription for me, since I’m out of refills.”
“Ima pull out,” he swore, his dick aching to sink into her sweet pussy.
Trusting him, she laid her palm against his cheek and parted her thighs.
He laughed, relieved to no end, though it didn’t smother his lingering guilt.
Sinking into her, he closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer ecstasy of being inside her.
Her slick pussy grip sent chills down his spine and he shivered.
He stilled his thrusts. She throbbed around him.
He grunted, shook, thought of her tears and her pills, adoring her more than life itself.
She understood how much he loved her, but she was still fragile, especially in the wake of Gypsy’s death. Megan was nineteen when she met Derby’s old lady.
Widening her legs, Megan tilted her hips and ground against him, bringing him back to her, away from his guilt and concern.
He pulled out of her and slammed into her again.
She gasped, planted another kiss on his chest, sent him over the edge.
He jerked out of her and came on her belly, too remorseful to even let her swallow his cum.
Falling next to her, he pulled her into his arms and allowed his heartrate to calm down, then he dipped his head and kissed her. He slid a finger through her pussy curls, massaging her swollen lips.
He rained kisses along her jaw and the tender skin of her throat. “Hold your pussy lips open, baby.”
“Okay,” she breathed, following his order immediately.
Latching onto one of her nipples, he caressed her clit, her gasps and cries hardening his cock again.
He didn’t trust himself not to come in her if he fucked her again.
Shoving the thought away, he slid two fingers inside her, mimicking the thrust of his dick, licking her nipples and valley of her tits, high on her cherry blossom scent mixed with her arousal.
She tangled her slim fingers through the hair at his nape, clenched her pussy around his fingers, and threw her head back.
“Christopher,” she cried, her body shaking and shivering, her pussy juice coating his fingers and her thighs.
He kissed her again, never getting enough of her.
She wrapped her fingers around his aching cock and thumbed the head before jerking him just the way he liked her to do.
All thought flew out of his head, except when she began to slide down his body.
He considered stopping her. Guilt was a cockblocking motherfucker.
Except Megan’s will, their love for each other, overrode everything.
She took him into her mouth and he growled.
The idea that any motherfucker expected his wife, his Megan, to suck them off…
He growled again, this time from anger and jealousy.
He eased his cock from the back of her throat, then shoved it down again.
He lifted on his elbows to watch her in action.
She sucked him until he couldn’t see straight, not caring about his roughness or the tight grip he had on her hair.
When he relented and gave her a moment to catch her breath, she licked his ball sac, then gently suckled each nut before sucking his cock back into her mouth.
“Fuuuuuccccckkkkk,” he yelled, pumping his cum down her throat, his breath sawing in and out of his lungs. He fell back on the pillow, lightheaded and bleary-eyed. When she nudged her head against his arm, he drew her into the crook and kissed the top of her head. “I love you, Megan.”
“I love you, too.”
“I got a fuckin’ question.”
She began making little circles on his chest with her finger. “I’m listening.”
“Any other motherfucker asked you to suck their fucking cocks since you got back from LA?”
“No.”
“Asked for pussy?”
“Nope.”
“Ass?”
“No.” Her finger stilled and she sighed, sitting up. “I don’t go to the club that much anymore, especially if you aren’t there.”
“I still got my license to kill, right, baby?”
“You do,” she confirmed. “But you and I had already talked about this, so leave them alone. If they do it again, I will tell you so you can kill them.”
He searched her face to make sure she wasn’t fucking with him. “You sure?”
“Yes. I…never mind,” she said softly, drawing her knees up and resting her cheek on them, her golden hair falling all around her, a study in beauty and tragedy.
“Their stupidity is inconsequential. Even the way I miss how the club once was isn’t important.
Gypsy’s dead and I’m feeling sorry for myself because of my own carelessness and because last night almost felt like old times there. ”
“Nothin’, fuck all, inconsequential about you, Megan. Not your feelins, your thoughts, or your pain. You grievin’ for your friend. I’m so fuckin’ sorry she dead, but life gotta go on—”
“You wouldn’t say that if it was me—”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“It very easily could’ve been. Or Kendall. Or Zoann. Or Bunny. Or any of us. It could’ve been Rebel or Mattie or Harley. Would life go on then, Christopher?”
“For Derby and everybody else? Yeah.”
Tears spiked her lashes. “She was my friend, killed because of her association to us, not because of anything Derby did. She shouldn’t have gotten killed in cold blood.”
“What the fuck you want me to say, baby? I’m so fuckin’ sorry she gone.
That’s the fuckin’ truth, but I’m glad it was her and not you.
Bitsy, Fee, Kendall, Bunny…any of them dyin’ would’ve been a fuckin’ tragedy.
I would’ve mourned them, but as long as it ain’t you, I can survive.
Wally, Jr. dead, Megan. Mort killed that motherfucker. ”
“I know,” she said thickly. “Has Derby told you any of the plans?”
“No. Ima call him today and let you know as soon as I find out.”
“I have to get downstairs to start breakfast.”
She’d given Bishop the day off so he’d enjoy Diesel’s party.
“We goin’ to the club today?”
It was Sunday, the day of the week Christopher, Megan, and their children spent at the club.
They’d be there from noon until late evening.
She usually cooked with the help of some of the other old ladies.
She socialized with the women and the brothers, while their kids did the same with the children of the members.
Christopher would be in and out of his office, also socializing, clearing up small disputes, setting the week’s schedule.
“Is Diesel’s party over?” she asked.
She was right. There was the odd Sunday when parties spilled over from the night before and kids and old ladies were still off limits.
“I ain’t too sure. I need to go to the club and make a few calls, then go over Stretch’s budget for Church, so I’ll see what the fuck’s up.”
She finally straightened. “Okay. Just let me know,” she said, turning to get out of bed.
He grabbed her elbow. “Why don’t you keep lookin’ for your pills, baby? I’m sure they’ll turn up. Maybe they’re in your fuckin’ closet.”
She nodded. “Maybe,” she said morosely and slid out of bed, scampering into the bathroom.
The moment the shower began, he hurried out of bed, rushed to his closet and dressed, then fished her pills out of his cut. After scribbling a quick, ‘I love you,’ on a sheet of paper and leaving it on her pillow, he went to her office and laid both packet of pills in the middle drawer.
Satisfied, he drew in a deep breath and headed to the club.