by Jessie Cooke
She began to use her knees to push herself up until only the tip of his cock remained inside her, and then he used his grip on her to pull her back down, hard. They did that a few times…just because it felt so good…but they both knew they needed to hurry, so after a few strokes, Doc took over. He held her tightly in place and began to rock and thrust his hips so that his cock slipped easily in and out of her, massaging the walls of her pussy with each delicious thrust. She pressed her forehead into his and their sweat mingled as he increased his pace. He fucked her, hard, and fast, and it wasn’t long before she felt her second orgasm rushing toward the surface. Her muscles grabbed his cock tightly and they both cried out as she reached another earth-shattering climax. Doc followed immediately afterward, and they rocked together, gasped and moaned, and kissed sloppily until both of them had finished climaxing.
Dallas sat there on top of her man with his big cock slowly softening and she looked down into his blue eyes. God, she loved him. Sometimes she was afraid she loved him too much.
25
One Year Later
“Was that Coyote?” Doc had just put the phone down as Dallas came into the room. Coyote had been out in California for a year. He’d found a little place in the Central Valley that so far was wide open for the taking. There were gangs there already, both black and Hispanic, and there was a white supremacist group working up in the foothills about fifty miles from the city Coyote settled in, but he didn’t seem to think any of them were a threat to what Doc wanted to do there. Coyote had also been busy recruiting and making contacts with people they could do business for and with and possibly make a small fortune on the West Coast. His initial reason for picking Coyote for this task was personal, and some might even say petty. But as usual, he was patting himself on the back for making a good choice.
“Yep.” He still had a problem with his old lady’s being so interested in what Coyote was doing, and vice versa. Not that Coyote would ever mention her to Doc, but Doc knew of at least two times Coyote had called, supposedly to talk to him, but ending up with Dallas instead. Dallas had never said a word to Doc about his sending Coyote to California either, but he could tell she was pissed. She got over being pissed at him, but he wished she would get over Coyote altogether.
“Was he happy to hear that we’d be out to see him next week? The poor thing must be lonely out there.”
Doc rolled his eyes and said, “Last I heard, he was getting plenty of pussy.”
Dallas made a face at him and looked over where Dax was sleeping in his playpen. “First of all, everything is not about sex. I was talking about him being lonely for friends and family. I don’t care who he has sex with or how much he gets. And Doc, I’ve asked you to please watch what you say in front of our son. I don’t want him going to preschool in a couple of years saying ‘fuck’ and ‘pussy.’” Doc chuckled, and she said, “It’s not funny! Seriously. People are not going to look at my son and see poor white trash, ever!”
Doc cocked an eyebrow. “Your son?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, you’re calling me poor white trash.”
“I am not! Come on, Doc, I’m not looking for an argument. He is already at a disadvantage as far as society is concerned. You know how the community looks down on us. Just imagine if they heard him yelling out ‘pussy’ when he’s still in diapers.”
Doc wanted to smile again, but he kept it in check. He already knew whether he wanted to fight or not, they were probably about to have one…a big one. Dallas had gone over to stare down at the baby in the playpen. She’d been gone long enough to go out to the greenhouse and make sure things were being kept moist enough and well-lit, all of half an hour. She was looking at Dax like she’d been away from him for a week. Stroking a finger through his wispy white-blond hair she said, “He’s so beautiful,” probably for the dozenth time just that day alone.
“Of course he is, baby,” Doc said. “Look who his parents are. Come here and sit down for a minute – we need to talk.”
Dallas gave him a curious look, but she just went over and sat down at the dining room table. Doc sat next to her and said, “About the trip to California…”
“Oh, Doc, please don’t tell me that Dax and I can’t come. I’ve been looking forward to this for a month. I haven’t been anywhere for so long.”
“It’s not that, baby. Hawk and I can’t go, at least not tomorrow when the rest of the guys leave. We have to go to Texas first and then we’ll run out to California from there.” Doc watched her face closely. The last time he went to Texas was when Dax was only three months old. They’d had a knock-down, drag-out fight. She’d accused him of going to see Abril and he’d accused her of being clingy and insecure. He went anyway in the end and things were uncomfortable between them for weeks afterwards. Of course, he had seen Abril while he was there. But, in his defense, at least in his own mind…Dallas wasn’t going to believe him even if he didn’t. The reason he had to go to Texas was business, though, and as much as he loved his old lady’s spirit, she was going to have to learn that where business was concerned, he was in charge. The Abril thing had only been because Dallas had pissed him off before he left. Right then, he was bracing for another big fight. She had her teeth gritted together. Her mouth was closed but he could tell that her jaw was tight. He’d been out most of the night before dealing with a mess in Dorchester with a guy who had stolen over six grand worth of drugs from the club. He didn’t really have the energy for a big fight.
“Fine,” she said, finally. The “fine” surprised him, but he waited for her to go on. He was sure she had more to say, and he was right. “Whatever you have to do, I guess. The guys will help me with Dax if I need it; they always do.”
“Help you with Dax?”
“Yeah, I’m sure three days on the road with a baby won’t be all fun and games. I was planning on having you to help when we stopped…” Doc was shaking his head. “What are you shaking your head about?”
“Baby, we’ll take a trip out to California together, soon, I promise. But, I’m not sending you out there with the likes of Tank and Badger, Trainor and Hotwire and Rat…”
“Excuse me? So…you get to go to Texas, and the guys get to go to California and see Coyote, and I get nothing, as usual?”
“Baby, please. I don’t want to fight. I’m sorry that you looked forward to this trip and I have to cancel it. But I don’t trust any of those guys to keep you and Dax safe on a three-thousand-mile trip.”
“Okay, then take us with you, to Texas.”
He laughed before he caught himself, and the narrowing of her pretty eyes was immediate. “Sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to laugh. You just surprised me. I just don’t think you understand what this club, the Head Hunters, is like. It’s not like the Skulls. These guys are constantly fighting for territory, they’re in a perpetual war. Their executive board is not stable in the least, either. Swinger is…I think he’s nuts. He does nothing to control his own club. They’re fucking right out in the great room and the club girls run around in their panties and bras, or topless. It’s not a good environment for a baby, or you.”
“You want to see your girlfriend, don’t you?”
Doc groaned and rolled his eyes. “Again, Dallas? How many times do I have to tell you that has been over for a long time? I’m not having this conversation with you again.” He stood up and so did she.
“Don’t walk away from me, Doc. We need to talk about this.”
“I’m done talking,” he said. “You’re not going to California and you sure as hell aren’t going to Texas. I’m not talking to you about Abril again, ever. Hawk and I leave at dawn, so maybe we could have a nice, quiet dinner tonight with no fighting?” He stepped toward her but she practically hissed at him like a cat. Fuck it then. He picked up his keys, walked by and brushed his thumb across Dax’s little forehead, and walked out. He would have hell to pay for walking out later, but he wasn’t going to engage her when she was like this.
/> The road was calling to him. Time on the back of his Harley was the only thing that always, and instantly, calmed his nerves. Doc mounted the bike, slid on his skullcap, and turned the key in the ignition. As soon as it began to hum and vibrate, he could already feel the tension beginning to drain out of his body. The club had been a source of tension to him lately…but honestly, since Dax had been born, it seemed like Dallas never wanted to do anything but fight, and it was getting to him. He thought back to before, when he was single and he didn’t have to argue with anyone, about any fucking thing. He did what he wanted, he went where he wanted, he saw who he wanted…he was a grown-ass man, for fuck’s sake, he shouldn’t have to ask fucking permission, or argue about a fucking thing. He loved Dallas, but since she’d had Dax she’d changed. She reminded him a lot of his father, and that was all bad. Suddenly nothing he did was good enough for her. She nagged him about stupid things, like his beard. He’d had the beard since before he met her, but all of a sudden it was “itchy.” He shaved it a few weeks before, but every time she pissed him off, he thought about growing it back just to spite her.
When Dax was six months old, Doc had one of the girls that made their kuttes make one for him. It was freaking adorable…black leather, a Skulls patch that said “Prez in Training,” and Dax’s name stitched on the front. Dallas had cooed over how cute it was for about five minutes, and then she’d put it up somewhere and Doc had never seen it again. When he asked her about it she said, it wasn’t really appropriate for a baby. The club that his father worked his ass off for…dedicated his life to… was “not appropriate”? What the fuck was wrong with that picture?
Doc just didn’t understand why things had to change. He’d fallen for her so hard and fast because when he met her she was so free and open-minded, rarely “appropriate.” He knew she was trying to do what was best for Dax, but he kept trying to tell her that “appropriate” didn’t always translate to “best.” Doc grew up with an “appropriate” father. Landon always wore perfectly pressed suits and ties and shoes so shiny you could see your face in them. His face was shaved daily so that it was as smooth as a baby’s butt. His manners were as impeccable as his grooming and he was never a minute late, to anything. He was also domineering, controlling, overbearing, and he never seemed happy. When he wasn’t at the hospital, he sat around the house with a glass of brandy in one hand and a cigar in the other, telling Rose and Doc everything they weren’t doing right. He loved to lecture Doc on how he should appreciate everything that Landon had worked to give him. Doc spent years struggling not to tell him that he’d gladly pile all the shit he’d “given” him in the backyard and light it on fire. He finally told him when he was sixteen years old and about to walk out the door. It felt fucking amazing.
Doc left home when he was sixteen, but he’d really been gone in his head since he was fourteen and realized he was already bigger than either of his parents…what the fuck would they really do to him if he said no? Landon told Doc to cut his hair. Doc said no. He told him to shave, Doc told him to go fuck himself. He told him to tuck in his shirt and wear a belt and take off the dusty Converse tennis shoes he loved and put on a pair of old-man wingtips or shiny boots. Doc said fuck that and he used the money his mother gave him for clothes to buy bell-bottom jeans and denim vests. He let his hair get so long that they suspended him from school and by the time he left home a few months after that, he had a full beard and mustache too. He had no use for any home or institution where the rules were so rigid that a person wasn’t free to express themselves. Then he joined the army. Doc hated being told what to wear and how to cut his hair again, what time to get up and what time to go to bed. But he was smart enough to realize that experience was exactly what he needed to run an MC someday. Most motorcycle clubs…the successful ones…were paramilitary-type organizations. As much as Doc hated being told what to do himself, he did realize some people needed that. It was what the world was built on, but some people, like him, were made to be at the top of the food chain.
When he was single, he spent his days working and scheming and planning, and his nights…doing and saying whatever the hell he wanted to. He went to a different bar every time he went out, just because he liked the variety. He never left without a woman on his arm. Sometimes she’d be a stripper, and sometimes some uppity bitch that would have impressed even his dad. Sometimes they were white, and sometimes Hispanic, and sometimes black. He didn’t have a specific type, he liked the variety. He liked the idea of fucking a different woman every night, just because he could. He rarely remembered their names, much less caught any feelings for one of them. Then Dallas had walked in with all those curves and all that fire in her soul and he’d gotten caught up…and somewhere along the way he had signed over his rights, and God help him, as hot as Dallas was, his cock still ached for variety every now and again. That was the attraction to Abril. He knew he had to keep it out of the club, or Dallas would do something stupid like take a knife to him in his sleep. He wasn’t even overly confident about finding one in the city, because women got clingy and then they got desperate and then they did something stupid like getting pregnant or searching out the old lady and telling her things she had no right to. He really wished that Dallas would understand that it was just sex, and sex was really nothing more than recreation, like smoking a cigarette.
Anyway, Abril was safe. She wanted him badly enough that she would keep her mouth shut and not risk losing him altogether, and she wouldn’t stop taking her pills and turn up pregnant because he’d already told her that she’d be on her own if she did that. The sex was fucking hot too…not hotter than Dallas, just different. If only she got that. Since Dax was born, Doc’s needs had been put on the back burner. He’d been understanding. He knew Dallas was tired and she was an excellent mother. She reminded him of his mother. Dax was lucky. But since he was understanding about that, why couldn’t she just understand that it was actually helping her out if he got that one need met somewhere else every once in a while?
He loved her. He told her that all the time. He gave her a nice home, and a good life. He never bitched at her about money; she was free to buy whatever she wanted. He gave her the respect that the mother of his child deserved, and he made damned sure everyone on the ranch did the same. Why couldn’t she just give him this? Abril made him feel like his old self, the wild Doc…not a junior Dr. Landon Marshall. He needed that, and by the time he got back to the house and parked his bike he had decided that Dallas would have to either give it to him herself or get the fuck over the fact that he knew where to get it on his own.
26
Four Days Later
The Head Hunters had laid out a spread for Doc and Hawk and as soon as they finally arrived at the clubhouse in Medina, they’d eaten until they could hardly move. Afterwards, Doc and Swinger went into Swinger’s office, shared a joint, and Swinger told Doc the plan, as he saw it anyway. Doc had gotten a call the week before from one of the men in the cartel they used to move drugs for. They had handed that job off over a year before to the Sidewinders with the Head Hunters’ recommendation. According to the man that Doc spoke to, however, the Head Hunters were now trying to cut the Sidewinders out of that business…and they weren’t happy about the trouble it was causing. A delay in their business could cost them a fortune just in a day. Doc thought about telling them all to fuck off, that it wasn’t his problem any longer…but that would be putting his club in the crosshairs of the cartel, and he wasn’t prepared to take on a fight of that magnitude. Instead, he was hoping he could smooth it over between the two clubs in Texas.
“That piss-ant little club and their ballless wonder of a president Butch suddenly think their shit don’t stink because they’re running Colombian product. It’s made them too big for their britches.” Doc had to listen closely when Swinger really got going. His southern accent was strong and seemed to get stronger when he was pissed. “They’ve been running it right into my territory and telling me I’d have to deal with the Col
ombians if I had a problem with it. I do have a problem with it, but I’d rather take the problem out directly…and that problem is the Sidewinders, not the Colombians.”
“So, you’ve been hitting their crews when you catch them out doing deliveries?” Doc hadn’t needed the cartel man to tell him that, although he did. He still read the newspaper every day. He was a businessman first and foremost, and businessmen had to know what was going on in the world. There had been multiple articles about the “turf wars” between motorcycle “gangs” in Texas.
“Fuck yeah. I’m sure you’d do the same if the assholes were treading all over your ground. Medina is mine. San Antonio is mine. Bexar County is mine, and those fuckers can stay in their piece-of-shit border towns or they can deal with me.”
“So, what is it you want to do about the Colombians?”
“I want them to take the Sidewinders out of it all together. I’ve got enough men now to handle their business and ours.”
“Have you told them that?”
“Fuck, those Colombians won’t talk to the likes of me. I tried, got me an interpreter and everything. They threatened to shoot us on sight, so we left, peacefully…and then I called you.”
“Yeah, and about the same time, I got a call from the cartel. They’re not happy with you or the Sidewinders. Their ultimate goal is to get me to take the business back. I’m not prepared to do that, but this little spat between you and the Sidewinders just might force me into it…and that kind of pisses me off, to be honest.”
