Satan's Devils MC Boxset 1

by Manda Mellett

Her fingers start to rise, gently trailing up my legs. When she reaches my thighs, she looks up. I gaze at her face, her pupils dilated, her breathing coming quickly. Her lips curve, one side more than the other. “Use me, Drum.”

  I don’t waste a moment taking advantage of the gift she’s giving to me, my hands going to her head and taking hold of her hair. “Open your mouth.” My voice is gruff as I tug her toward me, and she takes me inside. I push in, hard. “Relax your throat, breathe through your nose,” I instruct, as I start to fuck her mouth wildly, almost out of control. I push in; she gags, I pull quickly out.

  “Don’t stop,” she gasps. “Make me feel alive, Drum.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.” Fuck, but she’s tempting me.

  “Do it, Drum!” Her fingernails of one hand dig into my ass, holding me tight to her, the other hand palms my balls. She wants this. She needs this. I start thrusting again, not holding back. She gags again, but I ignore her, I’m not holding her tight enough to force her, if she couldn’t handle this she’d pull away.

  She swallows as I push in, I tighten my hold around her ponytail. My head falls back on my shoulders, my eyes rolling back until I’m staring at the ceiling, incapable of any rational thought as the pressure grows unbearably in my balls and I feel my dick swelling. As I thrust again, she pushes against me, so I’m deep in her mouth, almost all of me inside. Her throat muscles massage me, and I know I’m constricting her airways as I come. And come. Draining myself in her mouth, again and again as she swallows it all down. As soon as I’m sated, I pull myself free, and drop down beside her, taking her into my arms.

  Her eyes are watering, and she’s heaving to get much-needed breath into her lungs.

  “Fuck, darlin’, I lost control. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  Leaning, so her forehead touches mine, she takes a couple more breaths. “I wanted it. I needed it. I love you, Drum.”

  “Babe, I fuckin’ love you too.” How could I not love a woman who knows exactly what I need to get rid of the tension, the fear, the worry that had haunted me today? “You’ve given me that, now let me return the favour.”

  Standing, I pull her up and drag her behind me into the bedroom, feeling like a caveman who has to possess his woman. Blood is surging south, my cock’s rising again. Lifting her into my arms, I drop her onto the bed and come down over her, the weight of my body pressing her down into the covers. One hand behind her head, I press my lips to hers. As we kiss, I taste myself and know I’d prefer to be sampling her essence.

  Moving down her body, my hands pull up her legs so her knees are bent, feet flat on the bed. I push them open and gaze at the feast laid out for me, already glistening with her arousal. She’s so fucking turned on and ready for me, it’s all I can do not to plunge straight inside her. Taking a strong hold of my baser desires, I lower my mouth and swipe my tongue over her slit, lapping at her cream, unable to stifle a groan at the taste that’s all her. This woman, my old lady.

  She’s writhing beneath me, and I know it won’t take much to make her come. I go to work, sucking her clit, biting it, breathing on it. My fingers work inside her. Just her flavour and her perfume make my balls tighten.

  Taking hold of her hand, I place it on her mound. “Make yourself come.”

  She looks confused, so I cover her fingers with mine, trailing them down until she’s covering her clit. “Do it, babe. I want to watch.”

  Her face, already red from exertion, burns brighter, but she does what I’ve asked, and starts strumming her clit. A moan escapes her lips.

  “Don’t hold back, sweetheart. Fuck, that’s it. That’s what I want to see. Good girl, go for it.”

  Rocking back on my heels, I take myself in hand. As I tug at my cock, I see the sight excites her. Her fingers work harder; my strokes speed up. Her body starts bowing off the bed; my whole spine goes rigid. Her body is trembling; my muscles are taut. And then she comes with a scream at the same time as long white streams of cum shoot from my dick to cover her stomach and chest.

  Gazing down at my mark on her, I swallow to keep back the moisture threatening to leak from my eyes. Unable to help myself, my palms go down, rubbing my cum into her skin, covering the marks on her breasts, and the bruises on her body. Marking her as mine, in the way only a man can do.

  As I worship her body, my cock twinges again. Christ, I’m a never-emptying cum-well where this woman’s concerned. Now her breathing’s returned to normal, her eyes sparkle when she looks down at my cock already erect and ready, her very gaze feeling like a caress.

  “I’ll never get enough of you, Sam.”

  “Good,” she encourages me on. “Fuck me like a biker, Drum. Give me all of your love.”

  “You sure you’re ready for that, darlin’?”

  The jerk of her chin is all the permission I need. I hoist her hips onto my thighs, positioning my cock at her entrance. “Up for this?”

  Again, that half smile. “I’m game.”

  I thrust inside, holding nothing back, my balls banging against her ass. She gasps, but she asked for it. I start hammering in and out, my legs working like pistons pounding forward and back, almost brutalising her body.

  Her head rolls back. “Drum, yes, Drum.” Her cries only encourage me.

  I’m striking that sweet spot, over and over again. Banging into her in the way that got me my name, and this woman’s taking everything I’ve got. Her screams and sobs are egging me on as I pulverise her sweet pussy in a punishing rhythm.

  “Drum, Drum…” she whimpers, as her fingers tighten, her fists grabbing the sheets beneath us.

  Then her body contracts around me, her muscles choking my cock and I start thrashing, feeling yet more cum rising through my dick.

  We scream our completions together. I pump and pump, wave after wave, an impossible amount of cum which just keeps on coming, as if I’ve an innate desire to flood her with my seed, uncaring I’ve come twice already.

  She drains me completely; my arms shake with the effort to hold myself up. With a loud groan, I throw myself down beside her, pulling her to me and holding her tight. “Sam, oh, Sam.”

  “Drum,” she replies, breathily. It’s as though neither of us can find other words.

  Closing my eyes, I will air into my tortured lungs.

  Tersely I ask, “Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” She pants out her denial. “Drum, I can’t think of words to use which could describe that.”

  Neither can I. It was out of this world, far out of reach of my humble vocabulary. “I’ve claimed you and marked you. And,” I place my hand on her stomach, considering the amount of semen I’ve just injected inside her anything else seems impossible, “perhaps given you my child. You’re mine, Sam.”

  Her head turns to face me, her hand caresses my cheek. “And you’re mine, Drum. Mine. No one fucking else’s.”

  We steal a moment to just think about the implications of that. Air being sucked into starved lungs, our chests heaving in unison.

  After a while she breaks the silence. “Drum,” her voice is quiet, my name stretched out.

  The tone of her voice strikes me. “Got something you need to say, babe?”

  She raises herself on one elbow. She’s looking down at the sheets, her hand picking at a loose thread. She looks contrite as she tells me, “I’m not a violent person, Drummer. Really I’m not.”

  I wonder where this is going. “You saying you want to fight me?” For some reason the thought of our bodies wrestling together makes me grin.

  She offers a half smile. “No, not you, Drum. But I’ve got to tell you, I slapped that whore, Jill.”

  That’s out of character. “Why?” I growl, waiting to hear the worst, knowing it had to be bad for Sam to act that way.

  “She said I wouldn’t be enough for you. Not that she put it quite so nicely. I said you’d have her out on her ass if she insulted me again.”

  I snarl, as red heat blazes through me at the thought of anyone hurting my wo
man, with words if not with their hands. “Too fuckin’ right I will.”

  She nods, a small smile of satisfaction coming to her lips. That subject dropped, she gets onto another topic. “Some of the women don’t want to be questioned by the FBI. I told them they didn’t have to deal with them. That the club would help them get home.”

  Fucking hell, this woman. She puts the club whores in their place and deals with club problems. She’s going to make a fucking great old lady. And… it might not be the right time or place, but that’s not going to stop me asking.

  “Sam, you’ve totally drained me, don’t think I could get on my fuckin’ knees right now. But I want to sew this up in every fuckin’ way I can. Want you to be my wife, darlin’. Make it official.”

  I’ve stunned her. Her mouth drops open. Then she laughs, her belly shaking as the chuckles roar from her.

  But she hasn’t said yes.

  “Sam?” It wasn’t quite the reaction I’d expected.

  She pushes me onto my back and throws her body over me, her body still wracked with giggles. Smoothing her hand over my forehead and tunnelling her fingers into my hair, she at last gives me a response. “I suppose that’s a biker’s proposal.” Another chuckle. “You do know what that means, don’t you? That Viper would be your father-in-law?”

  “Christ, I hadn’t thought about that.” I mock pout.

  “And Sandy, your stepmother-in-law.”

  I make my face fall, as though I’m reconsidering my offer. But she sees right through me, her little hand forming a fist and thumping my chest. Then her body stills, and her face grows serious. “I’d like that. I’d like to be your wife, Drummer.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Sam…

  I came to the Satan’s Devils’ compound to find my father as a way to make the loss of my mother easier. I never expected to stay, never thought I’d find love and a soon-to-be husband, and never dreamed I’d become an old lady, and the president’s old lady at that. I wouldn’t have considered it in my wildest dreams. But that’s what’s happened, and something tells me I’ve found my place. That this is where I’m meant to be.

  Drummer’s now sleeping, his face relaxed in repose. More than one person has told me I’m good for him, and I have to agree, I make him laugh, and the rusty tones when he does suggest he didn’t do much of that before. I make him smile. And God, can I make him come.

  If I’m not pregnant now, I know I soon will be. He seems intent to make it that way, and though the notion takes me by surprise, I don’t mind at all. The thought of creating something between us, the start of a new generation fills a hole inside I didn’t even know I had. Perhaps a biker president is not exactly what you’d have wanted for me, Mom, but I know you wanted me to be happy.

  Drummer’s cum is still on my body, tightening my skin as it dries. A physical sign he’s left on me, but nothing to the mark he’s left on my soul. I couldn’t leave him now. To do so would be to leave behind an essential part of me.

  I’m still deep in thought as Drummer stirs, he stretches and yawns, and bestows such a beatific smile on me, I lose a little bit more of my heart.

  He watches me for a few seconds, then his hand comes around and slaps my backside. “Time to get your lazy ass out of bed. We’re needed somewhere.”

  “Where?”

  “Up, get dressed and then you’ll see.”

  We shower together. Still both too sated to take advantage of his large and surprising well-appointed shower, built to his specifications he tells me. He’s a big man and might be a burly biker, but he does like some luxuries and the good things in life. Underneath our idle chitchat I know he’s keeping something secret, something that amuses him. My intrigue makes me towel off fast, throwing on my clothes even as drops of water bead on my skin. But it won’t matter, the storm has passed, heat will have returned, and I’ll dry fast in the warm air.

  We leave his house, taking the ATV he had stored in his garage, which I hadn’t noticed before. We leave the compound via a discreet back gateway and head up into the hills. We drive for about half an hour, leaving the desert below us, and going into the forest made up of pine, fir, and spruce. Soon we’re following a muddy track. It’s not long before I hear voices and Drum comes to a halt.

  All the brothers are here as well as the old ladies and sweet butts. Even some of the less traumatised women have made their way up. Now I can see a smaller, single file track snaking around through the trees, then I hear the commotion.

  “You’re not riding my fuckin’ bike!”

  “Come on, Prospect. I’ve got this. I’m not gonna be ripping it up!”

  “If anyone’s gonna, I’ll do it.”

  “Fuck, man, you can barely stand.”

  Hearing Roadrunner and Peg arguing, I step forward to see what’s going on. Drum close behind me.

  “Prospect!”

  “Prez?”

  “Get over here.”

  I watch as Road slowly makes his way across, his face whiter than white, his tan almost invisible.

  “Drum, he shouldn’t be here.” I can’t help but be concerned for the man who got injured, pitting himself up against impossible odds while trying to save me.

  “I know, darlin’, I’m not blind. But we need his bike.”

  At first confused, I take a good look around and then it hits me. “You’ve built a dirt track?” It seems an odd thing to have done. It’s recent and new, and I can’t fathom why.

  He answers with a simple nod.

  But why do it so soon after their fight today? At first, my brow creases. Ah. Now, my momma didn’t raise no dummy; I catch on fast. “You buried bodies?”

  Drummer goes still, and then he barks a laugh. “Fuck, woman! Can you read my fuckin’ mind? Hell, it took us hours to come up with the idea.” He adds, hissing, “No one else is to know.”

  “I’m not stupid, Drum.”

  “I’m fuckin’ aware of that, babe.” His hands come to rest on my arms, giving me an appreciative look. He places a quick kiss on my cheek, then turns his attention to Road, who’s now reached us, every step looking like it’s causing him pain. “We need your bike, Prospect. You can’t ride it. Be sensible.”

  As Road’s face drops, I know exactly he feels. He’s put as much love and energy into that dual sport bike as I’ve done with my Vincent, and part of his livelihood is earned from his winnings. But Drum obviously needs his help. A Harley’s not going to be able to get around a muddy track. I make him a promise. “Hey, Road. If anything happens to it, I’ll make it as good as new for you, okay?”

  Road stares at me, glances up at his prez, and at last gives a slow nod. “Knowing you, Wrench, you’d make it better than good. Okay, if you personally handle the repairs…”

  “At fuckin’ last!” Peg pumps his fist in the air, and without further ado, steps astride the tall bike. “Fuck, this feels like a toy.”

  “You’ll need a bit of throttle as the ground’s wet, Peg, but go easy. Too much and you’ll lose the front end.” Road’s brow creases as he gives his advice.

  “I know how to ride, boy.” It comes out as a growl.

  Road looks at me, I shrug. We both grin.

  “Here, Prospect, sit on the ATV before you fall over. You can watch the fun from here.” Wraith takes his arm and helps him across.

  Peg takes the dirt bike off the stand. Standing astride, he fumbles as he looks for the ignition switch, then, just as I’m about to shout out, he realises with a rueful grin and thrusts his foot down on the kick-start, a quirk of competition dirt bikes. Unused to starting his ride that way, he hasn’t used enough pressure and it recoils. “Fuck, nearly lost my other fuckin’ leg!” He rubs at his ankle.

  As I grimace, feeling his pain, a roar of laughter bursts out—modern Harleys all have push button ignitions. I suspect if someone else tried they’d have had the same problem. Mind you, they’re not trying to ride with an artificial leg.

  He isn’t going to give up and lifts his foot
for another go.

  “Give it some welly!” Sophie yells out. I think we all get what she means.

  This time the engine starts with a roar. Kicking it into first, he tries to pull away. The ground is covered with a carpet of sweet smelling pine needles made even softer by the rain. Peg applies a bit more throttle and still doesn’t move. He twists his hand hard, the front wheel coming off the ground, but he recovers fast, controlling the wheelie and then he’s off.

  The track winds up and down through the trees. At first, we can watch him, then he disappears out of sight before reappearing again. There’s a drop coming down, hell, I thought he was going to come off then, but he’s taking it cautiously. Now he’s got to go up a steep bank; the bike topples to the side, he’s got his feet down, increasing the power, loses ground then is moving again. He’s made it to the top. Even over the engine noise I hear a triumphant roar. Now he’s back, having completed the circuit, his eyes sparkling with delight.

  “Fuck, Prospect! That was fun! I’m starting to see the fuckin’ attraction.”

  Turning, I see Road’s been covering his eyes, but seeing his bike safely back, grins at the sergeant-at-arms. “Why d'ya think I do it?”

  “I’m going again.” Peg seems reluctant to get off.

  “I’ll time you,” Drum suggests. “Then I’ll take a turn.” As I turn to stare at him, he gives a rueful shrug.

  “Oh, fuck no,” Road groans behind me.

  Peg takes off; we can see he’s slightly faster this time. When he’s in sight, Drum’s watching him carefully, noting what he’s doing to stay shiny side up.

  “Two minutes forty,” Drum yells as he comes back to the start. “My turn.”

  He gives his phone to me, I wait for him to be ready. Having learned from watching Peg, and of course, being used to his old vintage bikes, he uses sufficient force as he kicks down to get it to turn over. As he moves off, I click the timer. He wastes seconds getting moving, but then gets his speed up. He comes down the hill too fast, and the bike slips on its side. Drum eases himself out from underneath, brushing pine needles off and waves to show the forgiving ground had cushioned his fall. He’s fine. Once we see he’s alright, there’s good-natured laughter at the mud-splattered president.