I Am Dressed in Sin: A Reverse Harem Age Gap Romance (Death By Daybreak Motorcycle Club Book 2)

by C. M. Stunich

  He couldn’t give me passion.

  I don’t want to rule the mafia; it’s the club that I want. I’m a barbarian, through and through. Tainted. Dressed. Reveling in ruin, in sin, wanting for glory.

  I just hope that coming back here, settling in here, isn’t a mistake that I’ll regret.

  I could ask the boys to spirit me away, get a normal job, live a normal life, fuck a normal man.

  The thought is horrifying.

  He adds a second finger, and I gasp, pressing my forehead into his chest. I’m a tall girl, but he’s much taller. I’m up on my tiptoes, offering myself, quivering, clinging to him.

  Crown fucks my hungry cunt with slow, confident motions, like he has all the time in the world. Like we’re not at war with the mafia. Like I’m not engaged to Beast. Like I’m not in love with four different men.

  Love.

  The thought terrifies me. Love is both a strength and a weakness. Trust me, I’ve loved before and it destroyed me. Every day that I live without my sisters, I give something up, some little part of myself in sacrifice to the melancholy that threatens to overwhelm me. The only possible way that I can keep going is by collecting more. More memories, more passion, more … love. So I have to open myself up to more pain in order to move past the rest of it.

  It’s dangerous.

  More dangerous than stealing that bike, than stealing Grey, than living with the mafia.

  Falling in love may well be the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done.

  Crown holds me against him, drawing my wetness onto his hand, listening to the pulse of my body until I’m certain that my knees are going to give out and I’ll find myself crumpled on the floor, pleading and begging for release.

  “On your hands and knees,” he murmurs against me, withdrawing his hand. He brings those fingers right to his lips, sliding them into his mouth and sucking my nectar off, twirling his tongue around them to make sure he gets every last drop.

  There’s no resistance left in me. I just want this. I just … sometimes, I get so tired. Sometimes, I just want someone else to take care of my life, to guide me, to hold me. It used to be Queenie that did it, direct my anger at the right things, hug me when I needed it, scold me when I deserved it. But Queenie is gone and here Crown stands.

  I do as he says, getting on all fours in front of the fire.

  It takes a minute, but when Crown moves up behind me, I can feel his skin on every part of me. He must be naked, I think, with this flutter inside of me that demands I turn back and look.

  “No.” Crown pushes my attention in the other direction, until I realize what, exactly, it is that he wants me to look at. There’s a glass door on the bottom half of the bookshelf in front of us, one that reflects the two of us back like a mirror. I can see him behind me, covered in tattoos that tell a story, his skin tanned from the sun, free from tan lines, as if he must get naked and bathe himself in its light every so often. “Watch me.”

  He grips my hips hard enough that I gasp, yanking me into him, forcing my legs to spread around the hard, unyielding planes of his body. He hesitates for the briefest of seconds, but then whatever demons are holding him back, he banishes them.

  The tip of Crown’s cock pushes against my folds, demanding entrance. In our reflection, I see his face, commanding but not unkind, tainted with … I don’t know, that special thing that makes Crown, Crown. He wants to love. Unlike me, he still believes in the possibility of romance without pain.

  Just … I don’t know if he believes in the possibility of us.

  Crown slides into me with this agonizing slowness, like he’s savoring the moment, committing it to memory, marking this passage through time with an exclamation point.

  “You’re so tight,” he breathes out, thrusting hard and deep until he bottoms out inside of me, until I can feel him pushing the edges of my limits the same way he did with my mouth. He’s just big enough that he could hurt me if he weren’t careful, but not so big that he can’t get all the way in if he works me just right.

  So that’s what he does, grips me by the hips and fucks me slowly at first, working up his speed, his depth, until I’m taking all of him. His balls slap against me as I groan, dropping my head as pleasure courses through me. I’m so full right now, full with Crown. With Calder.

  “Calder,” I breathe, and he pauses, his fingers tangling in my hair and pulling my head back so that I’m forced to look at him in the reflection again. His eyes, they blaze. Something about hearing his real name seems to do it for him, and he wraps my hair around his fist, riding me like I’m his motorcycle, like we’re flying through the dark with nothing but headlights to guide our way.

  “Your hair,” he says, pulling harder, rubbing his fingers against the dark strands. “It’s so soft. So fucking soft. I’ve always wanted to pull it, Gidge. For two years now, I’ve dreamt of this moment.” Crown tightens his grip and I groan, biting my lower lip as the sensations in my scalp mix with the feel of his hand on my hip, the thick, hard length of his cock buried inside of me.

  “Calder.” I say it again, just to see his reaction, just to feel him squeeze me harder, pull my hair harder, fuck me harder. Crown rides me as I watch, sweat glistening on his tattooed chest, that tousled hair of his sticking to his forehead, his full lips swollen from our kisses, surrounded by chocolate stubble. “Calder, Calder, Calder.”

  Each time I say it, the intensity ratchets up. I push my body back against his, slamming my ass into his pelvis, taking every inch of him inside of me. His cock strokes that fire, turns it into a raging inferno that blazes through me, making my muscles quiver, my elbows weak. I can barely hold myself up anymore, but it doesn’t matter. Crown keeps me there with his grip on my hair, forcing my back to arch, forcing me to give him exactly what he wants.

  It’s such a relief to know that for right now, tonight, I don’t have to worry about anything. I give myself to him, let him fuck me so hard that tears prick the edges of my eyes, the beginnings of an orgasm making my lower belly muscles clench tight. I’m clamping down on him with my cunt, so hard that he has to force his way in, that he has to make space for himself.

  The feel of his hard body, the rough brush of hair on his legs against my scarred ones, the way he murmurs my name over and over again, that pushes me to the edge. My body locks down so hard that Crown grunts, and I dig my fingernails into the rug so intensely that they hurt. I don’t care what I look like as I shudder and quiver, drenching his cock and balls with that honeyed sweetness that Grainger couldn’t get enough of.

  Crown releases my hair and I collapse to the rug, panting and shaking and sweating.

  He slides out of me, and I cry out, but then he’s lifting me into the air and cradling me against his chest. The world seems to blur around me as he deposits me on the bed, climbing between my shaking thighs and looking down at me. He says nothing, moving over me and sliding into my aching cunt yet again.

  This time, he takes me as hard and fast as he wants, no limits, no warm-up, just fast and frenzied fucking. His body is a comforting weight, pressing me into the mattress, making the old bed groan and creak. Crown grabs the edge of the headboard for leverage, slamming his hips into me, his muscles tightening as his breathing deepens and grows more ragged.

  He watches me, his eyes those of a starving man as he takes in my bouncing tits, my parted lips, my flushed face. With his right hand, he cups my left breast in a punishing grip, squeezing my nipple between the rough whorls of his fingertips. My back arches, pushing my body against his, melding us, blurring all of those hard lines that have been in place for years, those barriers, those mountains we’ve had to climb.

  “Fuck, Gidge,” he grinds out, and then his body is tensing and he’s pumping into me, filling me with his cum as I groan and writhe, wanting more, knowing that there will never be a time when I say that’s enough. Always, always I will want to be ruined by this man.

  He stays where he is after he finishes, breathing hard, eyes closed, hand s
till clenched around the headboard.

  “Don’t worry,” I tell him, reaching up to touch the side of his stubbled face. “I’m on birth control.”

  He opens his eyes then to stare at me, that edge of certainty, of brutal reality, etched into his gaze.

  “I wasn’t,” he says, adjusting himself so that he’s lying next to me rather than on top of me. “Worried, I mean.” Crown yanks me against him, and tucks me close.

  That’s how I fall asleep, in the arms of an outlaw, my mind wondering exactly what it was that he meant by that.

  I’m not expecting to see Crown when I crack my eyes open first thing in the morning. But there he is, naked except for a bit of sheet tossed over his cock. He’s got one arm tucked behind his head, and he’s staring at the wall straight ahead, lost in thought.

  “This is a first for me,” I whisper, and he turns his head slightly to look at me. “Waking up next to a guy.”

  That gives him pause, and he shakes his head like he’s disappointed. In himself? In me? In the other men? I’m not entirely sure. Maybe all of the above.

  “That’s really sad, Gidge,” he offers up, his voice apologetic. “You deserved better.”

  “Better than passing out drugs to my classmates?” I return, but he doesn’t react right away. I scoot closer to him, putting my face against his chest. This is … I mean this is weird for me. This has never been a part of my unspoken deal with these guys. Crown, though, I can see that he’s enjoying it. His arm goes around me, wrapping me up in ink and muscle.

  “I don’t make it a habit to betray my president,” he offers up, and I get the idea that this lying for me thing is somewhat of a one-off. He isn’t planning to make a habit of it. That, and he’s never done it before. The only exception to his blind loyalty is me.

  “Are you going to tell me why I had to do that?” I ask, wondering if the cops have been sniffing around the house and the high school looking for me. Cat has plenty of them in his pocket, but not all of them. Every man can be bought, but not every man can be bought by the same person. Some of the precinct likely works for the mafia. Some of them might work for local politicians. Some might be slave to the rich families on the north side of town, tucked behind their gates and security guards and floodlights.

  Crown hesitates for a while. To him, there really is a black and white in the world. I’m not sure that he thinks either of those things stands for good or evil. If he did, then his morality would be pretty twisted. He just wants to belong somewhere, longs to have a set of rules he can follow without having to make hard choices. There are things he can do, and things that he cannot. Period.

  “I still can’t believe you nailed that priest in the forehead like that,” I murmur eventually, thinking of that monumental moment. “You were aiming for Grey, weren’t you?”

  There’s another long pause there, but it’s not without consequence. Crown strokes his warm hand along my spine in an absent sort of way. There is, however, nothing at all absentminded about the movement itself. He’s tense, hoping that I’ll allow it, wishing that it’ll become habit someday, somehow.

  “What did you say to him?” he asks me, answering the question without saying anything at all in response to it. “When you leaned in and whispered?” I consider my words, but if I’m going to do this, live this life, use this armor, then I can’t question it. I’m all in.

  “I told him to run,” I admit. “Grey Wolfe and I might not have been lovers the way you’re worried about, but we’re friends.”

  He doesn’t like me saying that. I can feel it in every muscle, in the tensing of his fingertips against my back.

  “I hate to be the one to tell you this, Gidget, but you can’t be friends with the heir to the Grey Wolfe throne. That isn’t how life works.” He sighs heavily and continues to stroke his fingers against my back. “It didn’t work out for Kian and Queenie either. Now we’re all paying the price for that love affair.” Crown’s voice lowers, and I stiffen up, sensing that darkness in him that he refuses to acknowledge. As I said before, Crown is twice as dangerous as Cat on a good day. My father would be nothing without his ex-cop righthand.

  “Still, the priest …” I start, trying to lighten the mood.

  “What can I say? I’m one hell of a shot.” He smirks, but his eyes are still focused on the wall, his mind faraway. We both pause at the sound of boots on the stairs, assuming it’s Beast. Sin maybe. Grainger.

  “Open this fucking door.”

  It’s Cat.

  Crown is out of that bed so fast, you’d think he’d been bit. I don’t bother to rush after him, leisurely snatching a tank top and some shorts from the floor and sliding them on. Cat pounds on the door as Crown shoves his feet into his boots, checking around one last time to make sure there isn’t any evidence of our tryst.

  As for my part, I lie back down and face the wall, feigning sleepiness.

  I can’t see the door open, but I can hear it.

  “You asleep in here?” Cat barks, but that’s all I hear. The rest of the words exchanged between the two men are mere mumbles. “Get your ass up.” The blanket is torn off of me, and I turn over to glance at my father, a chilly fear taking over me.

  He knows, I think, swallowing hard.

  I almost shoot my mouth off, ask him why in a dry, uninterested tone, just to make sure I’m not about to die today.

  “You best get dressed,” Cat warns me, tightlipped and serious. “Do your hair. Put that fancy ring back on.” He nods his chin in Crown’s direction, and he slips the ring out of his pocket, tossing it in the air and then catching it with tight fingers.

  “Do my hair?” I query, but Cat is already moving, storming out the door and down the steps.

  “Grey Wolfe wants to talk to you,” Crown says, his voice crafted of shadows and promised pain. My words to Grey come tumbling back in a dangerous wave, one that threatens to drown me beneath its blue borders.

  “Let’s make a pact, okay? No matter what happens, you have my back, and I have yours.”

  “Deal. For all my faults, I never lie. I will have your back, Gidget, no matter what.”

  “You found him?” I whisper, feeling like I’m being suffocated.

  “He’s calling us,” Crown corrects, taking note of my franticness, my fear. And he doesn’t like it. Even if he lied for me, even if he buried his cock in my pussy last night, he won’t allow for this. None of them will.

  I throw the blankets off and yank my top over my head. This time, Crown watches unashamedly as I dress myself in the nicest dress that I have, this tight, clingy red thing that I never would’ve been given to wear back at the cathedral. Even with one of my grandmother’s diamond necklaces and some black heels, I wouldn’t exactly call myself elegant.

  I look like a biker chick. Like Posey. Because these are her clothes.

  With a huff, I head down the stairs as fast as I can, hooking an earring on as I go.

  Beast meets us at the bottom of the steps, leading us down to the first floor and then along a hall toward the formal living room. Sin is already in there, watching me. Grainger, too. I ignore them both as I stride across the room and come face-to-face with Grey Wolfe.

  My friend of three months, my only confidante, my almost-husband.

  His beautiful silver eyes find mine, and my breath escapes in a rush.

  “Hello Gidget,” he says, but he doesn’t sound quite like the Grey I know. This is his public persona, not the one I was privy to during my time at the cathedral.

  “Grey,” I reply politely, cautiously, fully aware of my father and Gaz, of the four men I’ve started to think of as my own, of the old-timers in the back and the young assholes who worship at my brother’s feet. There are a lot of Daybreakers in here, more than usual.

  It occurs to me then that one wrong word from Grey could destroy the entire illusion that the five of us have been working on. My good deed toward Grey isn’t yet a thorn that I can pull from my side. Instead, it oozes, a metaphorical infection
that I can’t control.

  “I’ve told them that I’ll only speak with you.” He smiles at me, but there isn’t a shred of warmth to any of it. Grey’s suit is tailored and sharp, highlighting that slim but muscular form that I never allowed myself to sample. I realize now what a smart choice that was. Sex makes things messy. Our relationship is all the better for forgoing it entirely. “You were supposed to be my wife, after all.”

  “This son of a bitch,” Cat growls from beside me. I can somehow sense all four of his officers, like each one is a highlight in my brain, a flicker of lightning in a storm.

  “What do you want, Grey?” I ask, almost breathless. Can anyone tell? Is Gaz watching me? I don’t dare look at him. Instead, I pause as Beast steps forward. A subtle warning. A claiming. I never break eye contact with Grey.

  “Your loyalty never wavered, never faltered,” he says as I do my best to follow the unspoken things creeping around beneath his words. I’m telling the club you were loyal to them, but I’m reminding you that you were loyal to me instead. “That’s something I—we—admired about you.” He glances to one side as if for confirmation, and then turns back to me. “That’s how I knew you’d be the perfect person for this job.”

  “Job?” I question as Gaz snarls something ignorant like I fucking knew it under his breath. What an asshole. Not the lovable kind like Grainger either. “What job, Grey? Were you absent in that church when the club mowed down your extended family?”

  He keeps that disturbingly blank smile of his in place.

  “Your club slaughtered forty-six people, not including hired help.” He snaps this last word off the tip of his tongue like a proper young crime lord, like a threat. What have I done? I think as I look at him, as I watch him shift into the specter of his father. Were all those months we spent together total bullshit? Who is this man anyway? “In return, we want forty-six of your people. Men, women, children, it doesn’t matter. You can pick. Drop them off at the designated location, issue a public apology for Kian’s murder, and let go of the casino. We’re willing to consider a tentative … well, I won’t say peace because submission would be in order, but we’ll let the majority of you live.”