Link: SATAN’S SINNERS’ MC: TWO

by Akeroyd, Serena

  I almost died. My lungs burned as he rubbed along the crevice of my sex. “There. Just a tiny one. Enough to give me a boner.” He quirked a brow at me again. “You gonna argue with that? Or want to make sure I’m telling the truth?”

  Biting my lip, I glanced at his mouth and kept my gaze trained there before I muttered, “I think it’s only fair that I make sure you’re not lying.”

  “Go ahead, sugar tits. Frisk me in the name of equal rights.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from laughing, not just from his statement, but from the ‘sugar tits.’ It wasn’t the first time he’d used it, but somehow, it made me smile more than ‘sweetness.’ Weird, but true. Smiling all the while, I reached down and cupped his dick through his jeans. He was hard. Thick. Big.

  I whistled between my teeth. “You’re packing heavy.”

  That had him winking at me. “You got that right, babe.” He reached up, tapped my bottom lip. “Stop gnawing on that or I’ll have to do it for you.”

  Breathily, I whispered, “I wouldn’t mind.”

  “I would. Now, where’s the TV?”

  Disappointed, I scowled at him. But he just arched that damn brow of his again, and with a huff, I twisted around on my flip flop-clad heel and stalked deeper into the pool house.

  He whistled, making me jump, then I realized he was wolf-whistling, and my cheeks burned but I refused to turn around, refused to look at him ogling my ass, even though I was really glad he was ogling me.

  This wasn’t going how I’d expected it to go, and maybe I should have anticipated that. Maybe I should have known that Link never did anything the normal way. Hadn’t I seen that in our conversations? Text chats that went on for hours at a time? Sometimes deep into the night?

  I’d only had my cell for five days, and we’d already exchanged thousands of texts which gave me insight into the man himself. A man who loved his brothers as if they were blood. A man who swore like a trooper but was capable of talking me down from a panic attack as he had back at the Daytona. A man who looked like he was mean and nasty, but who was concerned for a brother who’d recently split from his Old Lady.

  So, accepting that Link was a weirdo and I liked him anyway, I carried on toward the TV room which was set up like a cinema.

  Link whistled again the second he stepped into the room. “Holy fuck. She’s got a cinema? In a goddamn pool house?”

  I turned around to smile at him. “Tiffany likes her creature comforts, and she’s a daddy’s girl, which means she gets what she wants. Especially if she doesn’t move out.”

  He frowned at that. “I thought most parents wanted to get rid of their kids. That was how it was for me and most of my friends.”

  “I wish Father would loosen the reins he has on me.” I grimaced at just how tight those reins were. Then, determined not to think of him, I decided to get the ball rolling. Having been in this room before, I knew how nearly all of the tech worked—all through one main switch close to the screen which I turned on. “Most of the people I know and hang around with are close to their family. Or, maybe they’re like me and they’re putting on a show too.”

  Link pondered that, then whistled once more when he walked deeper into the space as it morphed into a vivid ambient purple. The light accentuated all the little extras Tiffany had put in here. The chairs, burgundy in natural light, suddenly looked blood-red—a plus for her considering she loved horror movies. The chairs were one and a half in size, nice and roomy, and there were four situated on a raised dais with an accent table between them all that had a fridge integrated into each. They had their own footstools too, long and wide, and extra plush just like the chairs. The carpet underfoot gleamed black in the light, and all in all, with the dramatic paintings on the wall, colorful slashes that I knew had the artist’s DNA in them so that, in the purple light, they’d glow—yeah, gross, but Tiff was beyond unusual—it was like an expensive bordello, but she loved it, so who was I to argue?

  I moved toward the seats just as Link did, his heavy boots not making a whisper of sound, the carpet was that dense, and when I approached my chair, getting ready to take a seat on the armchair that had all the controls, he beat me to it, slinking down before he hauled me onto his lap. Then, he proceeded to toe out of his boots and socks, and his now sockless feet soon joined my bare ones on the rest.

  A laugh escaped me when he murmured, “You didn’t think I was going to let you sit all the way over there, did you?” I had. But I didn’t need to say that because he snorted again. “Absolutely crazy.”

  “I try,” I said dryly, then I leaned over, tensing a little when I felt his dick against my ass cheeks.

  “Get used to that, sugar tits,” he informed me, his tone blasé. “Ain’t going nowhere when you’re around, waving that fabulous ass of yours in my face.”

  His words were outrageous enough to make me snicker, but I ignored them as I grabbed the control and switched on the massive TV.

  “You really want to watch Chopped?”

  “Yeah. I want to prove you wrong. The judges are assholes.”

  “They’re paid to do a job,” I instantly retorted, and I didn’t have to see him to know he was rolling his eyes.

  “You keep on thinking that, babe,” he grumbled.

  When I scrolled through the channels, I had to laugh when there was, indeed, an episode of Chopped playing. I switched it on, saying, “We only missed the first five minutes. Want me to rewind it?”

  “Of course. We have to know their backstory.”

  As I rewound the show, I had to reason that those six words pretty much summed Link up.

  Backstory was important to him, as it should be. It was what made a man or woman be who they were, wasn’t it? Still, it said a lot about him, a lot I was glad to hear. If he was doing this to get back at my brother, to punish him through me in some weird way, then that put my mind at rest. Because while I was most certainly a poor little rich girl, I was who I was because of my backstory, and I didn’t hide from that.

  When the show was back at the beginning, I pressed play and settled into his lap. I felt a little awkward, but I relaxed when he squeezed my waist, muttering, “Chill out, babe. You’ll give yourself a hernia.”

  I had to laugh. “Don’t think you can get a hernia from sitting down.”

  “You can if you do it right,” was all he said, making no sense at all, but it made me laugh a little harder.

  Releasing a breath, I sighed into him and forced myself to relax. When, for a few minutes, he didn’t touch me aside from that arm squeeze, I relaxed further and got into the show with him.

  Of course, that was when he struck.

  His mouth was suddenly on my neck, his tongue there, plying the muscles, teasing me as he traced all the sinews on my throat. A squeak escaped me and I rocked back, inadvertently nudging his dick, which had me instantly rocking forward. Then, I hovered, unsure which way to go as he began to suck down on the tender flesh there.

  A moan escaped me as he hit a tender spot behind my ear, and it morphed into a whimper as he nibbled. After biting my lobe and sucking on it to ease the sting, he mumbled, “Hope you’re paying attention to the show, sugar tits. There will be a question and answer session on it after.”

  After what?

  That was all I really heard from his words, and even those were forgotten when he moved his hand down over my chest and cupped my breast in his palm. My hips jolted again, rocking back into him, and of course, his dick. It was there, like a brand of solid heat straight in the center of my lower back. It had to be uncomfortable squished there, but he didn’t seem to mind. I knew if one of my tits had been in that same position, I wouldn’t have been happy, but he wasn’t complaining, so I wouldn’t either.

  My vision began to glaze over as he carried on sucking on my throat. Licking it. Nibbling it. Kissing it. I was pretty much hiccupping with what he was making me feel between moaning and whimpering when he raked over a super sensitive part. His hand didn’t move from my brea
st, but he just brushed it softly. Reminding me it was there, warming it, but not doing anything to particularly tease me.

  His other hand slipped down to my lap and I gulped, even as I spread my legs. His fingers delved between them, right where he’d touched before, and I squirmed as he began to run the tips over that hyperaware flesh.

  I was surprised he hadn’t tunneled down the front of my yoga pants to touch skin, but again, most of this was a surprise. I’d expected to be treated roughly, crudely, and God help me, I wouldn’t have minded. But this was a thousand times better. This was something I could never have anticipated. This was exploratory and, as weird as it sounded, tender.

  This wasn’t Link.

  I knew that. Knew it like I knew my damn name. But this was for me. He was doing this for me, and God, if that didn’t make me melt and have me sinking into him all the more.

  I wasn’t used to tenderness from men. I was used to cruelty. Vindictiveness. Spite. But this? I couldn’t say it whitewashed twenty-two years of my past experiences, but it sure as hell went some way to making me realize that not every man had to act on his inclinations.

  I shuddered as he began to circle his fingers around my clit. The faint pressure, the way the tips danced over me, had me releasing a shaky breath before a sharp cry escaped me when he bit down against my shoulder.

  The discomfort and the pleasure swirled together, making my back arch as I spread my legs wider. His other hand moved away from my breast and slid down to my inner thigh, where his fingers dug into the crevice where my leg met my groin. The move was distinctly grounding, and I enjoyed it all the more when he began to rub harder against my clit. His tongue lashed at the skin he had between his teeth, and as the blood rose to the surface, I moaned as he worked me higher and higher, not stopping until I was hoarsely crying out my orgasm.

  Pleasure flooded me, spilling out of me in the noises that escaped my throat. I thrashed against him, my hands coming up, one to cup the back of his neck, the other to grip his hair, to hold him close. I needed that connection, the union, and it made me soar that little bit higher as I experienced my first orgasm that wasn’t self-appointed.

  Even as he stopped petting me, he carried on working that little sliver of flesh he had between his teeth. I knew it was going to be red, knew it would be bruised in the morning, and I didn’t care.

  Couldn’t care.

  When I looked at it in the mirror, I’d smile and remember this moment, and probably crave it all over again.

  As the sharp pleasure I’d experienced began to ebb, I slumped in Link’s arms. They moved, shifted until they were wrapped around my waist. He held me close, tight, and I let my head rest against him, my temple to his jaw as, dazedly, I focused on the show.

  I wasn’t ashamed to admit that, twenty minutes later, when he went through that whole Q&A shit, I didn’t have a clue who’d even won the ten-grand prize. I was too busy floating…not only from my climax, but from being held by a man as hard and, I knew, as brutal as a brother from the Satan’s Sinners MC.

  * * *

  Giulia

  Nyx: Where are you?

  My lips twitched as I stared at the text, but my smile kinda died as I stared at Tatána who released a quiet sob that broke my fucking heart. She was on hunger strike, and I wasn’t sure why. I mean, okay, I got it. I did. But…

  Okay.

  No, I didn’t.

  I got the tears, understood her misery, but starving herself wasn’t something I could get behind.

  “Please, honey. You need to eat. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll make it. Anything.” God, I’d even started haunting blogs for true Slovakian recipes. No matter what I did, she just wouldn’t eat.

  She twisted on her side, shoving her face into the pillow as she curled into a ball.

  I closed my eyes, wishing like fuck I could do something, anything, but it wasn’t like she knew me or I her. We’d both been tainted by Luke Lancaster, but by comparison, he’d merely touched my hand. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what the women had gone through. What they’d endured. And, God help me, I didn’t really want to know why Ghost had forever lost her voice, leaving behind a rasping whisper that was equal parts creepy and soothing.

  Knowing she wanted to be left alone, I moved away from the sofa where she was resting in a pile of squashy blankets and retreated to the dining table where I took a seat. This place was like the one I’d been living in with my brothers until Nyx had claimed me as his Old Lady, so I was surprisingly comfortable in it, even if it had been modified into a miserable kind of field hospital.

  The smell in the air was disinfectant, pure and simple, and I worked hard to keep things under wraps. It had become harder now that Stone was gone, but we kept in touch, and she’d shown me how to give the women injections. It wasn’t ideal, but nothing about this was.

  The thought had me gnawing on my bottom lip as I replied to my man.

  Me: Bunkhouse. Why?

  Nyx: Why d’you think?

  Me: ‘Cause you’re a control freak and you like to keep tabs on me? :P

  Nyx: Yeah. I’m all of that and more.

  He was, actually, all of that and more, but I could deal with it because it came from a good place. He wasn’t controlling me because he was insanely jealous. Possessive, sure. But fuck if I didn’t feel the exact same way about him. And this shit with Luke Lancaster hadn’t eased things for us any.

  Nyx was like a poison in my blood, only I was totally okay with not having an antidote. There was no cure to this kind of love. It burned in me as much as it burned in him, and that was something I felt honored to have.

  He was my savior, but my champion too, and in the face of what these women were going through, I felt doubly fortunate to have him at my side.

  Me: You can freak on me later.

  Nyx: I can, huh?

  Me: I need some of that Terminator dick of yours.

  Nyx: I’ll terminate something…

  Me: Aren’t I lucky?

  The door squeaked as it opened, then there was some more squeaking as the wheels to Maverick’s wheelchair connected with the linoleum. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him here, but it still surprised me. The dude, according to Steel, hadn’t left the clubhouse in years, yet here he was, visiting the women for the second time this week.

  I watched as he rolled over to Tatána who huddled deeper into herself when he murmured her name in greeting. Her response had him shooting me a look, and I just shrugged a little helplessly. She’d tried to take her life once, and I had a feeling she was just coasting until she succeeded where we’d managed to save her before.

  She needed help, psych help, but I wasn’t sure how to give that to her. Wasn’t sure how to provide something that was outside of our limitations. Medical was one thing, but psychological was another.

  I plucked at my bottom lip as Mav wheeled over to me. He eyed the kitchen, scanning over the half that contained the myriad shit I needed to keep the women healthy. All the packaged up needles, and the sharps containers, then the rows of vials. I didn’t understand what they contained, just knew which went to each woman and when. Then, he eyed the table and muttered, “Brownies didn’t tempt her?”

  “No.” I shoved the tray at him, silently offering him a slice. Mav wasn’t as skinny as he’d been back when I first returned to the clubhouse after years of being AWOL, but he was definitely still a little too slim for his frame. I’d seen pictures of him around the place before his discharge from the military…not unlike these women, he was a shadow of his former self. A shadow I was trying to bring back into the light.

  He clucked his tongue even as he picked up two brownies—he liked my food. I wasn’t ashamed to admit I was proud about that. A moan escaped him as he bit into the treat, and I winced when a sharp, terrified squeal escaped Tatána at the innocent noise he made.

  It had sounded vaguely sexual.

  Mav instantly froze and pushed the cake back onto the tray. “Fuck,” he whispere
d under his breath.

  I gave him a sad smile. “You didn’t know. They’re so sensitive to so many things…” I shrugged. “It’s easy to freak them out.”

  Because he looked so guilty, I reached over and patted his hand. “Amara’s in no mood for visitors either.” This place was like a morgue. And it made me so uncomfortable to think that, but it was true. “Ghost will see you though.”

  It didn’t escape my attention that his eyes lit up at that. “Yeah?” he asked, like he needed my permission.

  I figured, in my own way, I was the gatekeeper. Except this gate didn’t open often. No one came here apart from me and Maverick from time to time. That was mostly because the women couldn’t handle being around men and because I didn’t trust the sweetbutts with them. Maybe Cammie, ironically enough. The one woman who I didn’t like hanging around as she’d been Nyx’s favorite before me, but she’d had to go back home for a few weeks—sick dad or something.

  “Yeah. Go on. You might cheer her up. Take some brownies. She won’t eat much, but she’ll eat some.” I put a few on a plate then placed the dish onto his lap. He grinned at me and began the short journey to the bedroom where Ghost was resting.

  From my seat, I could see into the open doors that led to Amara’s and Ghost’s rooms, so I saw Ghost twitch in bed at the squeaking noise from Mav’s wheelchair. But she didn’t flinch, which I took as a good sign, and from the low murmurs coming from her room, so low I couldn’t hear, I figured she was okay with seeing Mav today.

  Though I had to wonder why she didn’t mind him and Link but everyone else, Nyx included, made them all cower into their covers. Was it because he was in a wheelchair? She thought he wasn’t a threat? The thought pissed me off, even if I got the logic of it. Still, Mav in a wheelchair was as lethal as a regular dude who had the use of his legs. You didn’t go into the military to come out as a pussycat.