Epilogue #3
He lifted his chin to accept her offer.
She smiled and looked to Speck.
Snap moved to Boz and poured another shot in the empty shot
glass Boz was scowling at.
Then he shouted, “Chill!” and the recruit that had been
doing whatever the fuck he’d been doing behind the bar with Snap loped over.
“You got the bar,” he said to the prospect.
“You got it, brother,” Chill replied.
Snap moved around the bar and it was not a surprise to him
that, in sync, he met Rosalie at the door that was the mouth to the back hall,
the hall that led to all the brothers’ rooms.
Returning her small grin, probably also returning the heat
he felt from her eyes, he slid an arm around her shoulders and felt hers glide
along his waist.
They had to turn slightly sideways to get through the door,
but they did it, moving attached through it, down the hall and all the way to
his room.
He took her with two fingers, sucking rhythmically on
her clit, but harder, then harder, and then harder, eyes up watching her strain
into him, naked, arched, legs dropped wide to the sides.
As he intended, she found it for him, her body bolting
against his mouth, and he kept sucking and stroking her through it until he
knew it was too much and only then did he unlatch and lift away, still watching
her, eyes glued to the beauty of his Rosalie gripped with an orgasm.
But he kept his fingers buried deep, part of her, and only
when her frame settled and her gaze drifted hazily down her body to catch his
did he come up on his knees, withdrawing his fingers slow, tender, floating
them over her clit with a light touch, listening to the soft noise she made
telling him she liked that.
He kept his eyes on his woman, her eyes on him, as he knelt
between her legs, wrapping his left hand around his cock and stroking slowly
while he lifted his right hand, fingers coated with her, and drew them into his
mouth to suck her sweetness down his throat.
Another noise, a deeper mew, and she writhed in front of
him.
He’d taken her there.
But she was ready for more.
He slid his fingers out between his lips and ordered gently,
“Turn over, baby. On your knees.”
She nodded and did as told instantly, offering her sweet ass
and wet, pink cunt to her man, spreading her thighs to give him the perfect
angle to position.
God, fuck, he loved this woman, her hair on his pillow, the
smell of her sex in his nose, the quiet unity they shared all the time, but
especially in these times, the straight-up trust she gave him all the time.
But especially in these times.
He wiped the wet of her from the whiskers around his mouth
with the back of his forearm, not licking it clean but leaving it there so he
could smell her on him after they’d passed out to sleep.
Then he walked on his knees to her, guiding his cock, now
unsheathed since they’d both been tested and she started taking care of family
planning.
He’d lay seed in her womb. Soon. After Chaos shit was
finished and he could hand her nothing but steady and true.
The ring he’d give her, though, that’d come sooner.
He slid in slowly, watching her strain to hold back and take
him how he wanted to take her. He knew his baby was wild in just one way and he
gave her that, after he took her to a place where the end result would blow her
mind but reduce their world to nothing, not a thing, but their two bodies in a
bed.
He rocked in her, watching her arms come out, dig under the
pillows, reach to wrap her fingers around the headboard.
And he continued to rock in her, giving her just his cock,
not even caressing the skin of her beautiful ass with his fingers.
As he watched the tension gather in the muscles along her
spine, felt her thighs and ass quivering as she took his slow thrusts, holding
back for him, he went faster, catching her at the waist, pulling her to meet
him.
“Snap,” she whispered.
He said nothing. He was right there. Right where he was made
to be. And she couldn’t miss it.
But he bent over her, gliding his hands up her ribs and in.
The light twists he gave her tight nipples caused her entire body to buck.
Christ, she was fucking magnificent.
“Snap.” It was a plea.
He dragged the pads of his thumbs hard over her nipples,
then tweaked them with his thumbnails.
“Oh God, baby,” she breathed.
Moving his hands, he held her with his left at her waist and
flattened his right on the small of her back.
It was time.
“Go, baby,” he whispered.
And she went. Head flying back, fingers tight around the
headboard to give her leverage, Snapper watched her at first, fucking herself
on his dick.
Then he watched their glistening connection as she drove
back into him, again, again, again.
One of her hands released the headboard, dove between her
legs, and Snap clenched his ass, then his entire body to beat back the rush of
feeling that would overwhelm him if he let it as she rode his cock on her
knees, touching herself. She didn’t do this long before she cried out and kept
at her rough ride through coming, coating him so fucking slick, they both had
to be dripping.
Only then did he let go but he did it focused on his dick
sinking deep into her wet until he could see none of him, none of her, just the
two of them together, and he gritted his teeth to drive the beauty of what they
had down his throat, his lungs, his gut, his ass, through his balls, out his
cock, shooting it in glorious pulsing floods into his Rosalie.
He came down to find she was already down, now fucking
herself, and him, on sweet glides.
That was when he moved his hands over her skin, taking her
in in a different way, giving her something at the same time.
She made a move as if to draw him out, shift position, and
he murmured, “No, honey,” and she stilled that movement, but continued to fuck
him sweet.
He let her until he lost it and had to slide out completely,
but he kept his hands moving on her waist, her lower back, hips, ass,
fingertips tracing down the backs of her thighs.
She shivered in front of him and didn’t move, quiet,
contained, the world that bed and their bodies and Rosalie offering him
everything he needed, on her knees, dripping his cum, holding for him, there
for him, his world.
“Pete’s making a play,” he said softly.
“Yeah,” she agreed.
“How you feel about that?” he asked, still touching her.
“If she lets it happen, happy for Mom. Thrilled for Big
Petey.”
He smiled at her back because her words were good.
Renae needed happiness in her life that came from more than
her daughter, her daughter’s happiness, the relationship she was building with
her daughter’s man and the Club that man gave them both, and if Pete, who
hadn’t reached for it himself in years, could give it to her, that worked for
Snap.
But he was on the other side, knowing Pete as he did. He’d
be happy for Pete if he found someone again. He’d be thrilled for Renae,
because she couldn’t do better than finding Petey.
The silence settled nice and warm but Rosalie broke it.
“Things are not good.”
Yeah, he was right, Rosie had felt it.
“Nope,” he confirmed.
“You’re all twitchy.”
“Yep.”
“Anything I can do?” she asked.
“Nope,” he answered.
She jerked her head so her hair slid to one side and looked
up at him out of the sides of her eyes.
“You sure?”
Laid out, ass up, pussy dripping.
Her invitation was not veiled.
He grinned at her.
“Nope.”
She grinned back and wiggled her ass. “Take your time,
Mulder.”
His drifting fingers slid between her legs. “You better
believe it, Scully.”
She bit her lip.
He started playing with her clit.
Slowly, his old lady closed her eyes.
And nothing penetrated, not rival bike clubs, not dealing,
pimping psychopaths, not what was left for them on that picnic table, not the
shift happening in the Club.
The world was small.
In the scheme of things, tiny.
Just Snapper and his Rosalie.
But it was about to crack open.
Open wide.
Sucking them all into a dark void of insanity.
It was raining hard.
He was soaked.
His throat was choked.
His hair was straggling in his eyes, eyes that were blinking
away the hair and the wet.
And the blood.
His hands were in fists, including the one with its fingers
curled around the butt of his gun.
And Everett “Snapper” Kavanagh stared.
This was it.
The end was near.
And by what he was right then seeing, what had just been
done, something that had already been hideously nasty was going to get
seriously…fucking…ugly.
The red staining the rainwater was pooling at his boots.
It was Black again.
The asshole had tried to pull the same thing on Snap that
his mentor had succeeded in doing to Black.
Take out the brother that everyone liked. The even-keeled
one.
The calm in the storm.
Take out the brother that would light a fire under the whole
Club that was already a powder keg in an attempt not to blow it sky high, but
to force them to scramble to put the light out then toe the line.
But this time, seriously fucking fortunately, they’d failed.
“I am the master of my fate,” he whispered, head unbowed,
blood and water and sweat mingling as it trickled down his neck, into his cut,
drenching his tee, the adrenaline that had suffused him as the life he wanted
to share with Rosie nearly went black on the stroke of a blade, staring, damned
staring, unable to tear his eyes away. “I am the captain of my soul.”
It took a lot but he broke eye contact and walked away,
sliding up the safety and shoving his gun in the back waistband of his jeans
before pulling out his phone, ignoring the pizza he was picking up for him and
Rosalie, moving to his truck.
He had to make decisions, and fast.
He made them.
Fast.
So his first call was Rush.
His second call was Throttle.
His third call was Tack.
His last call was Rosalie.
The End