Steel Crew : Books 1-3 (Steel World Box Set Book 7)

by Mj Fields

  Luna screeches, and I am pretty sure I do, too, as Kiki walks over with a tiny, little ball of black fur.

  “Is it a boy or a girl, Daddy?”

  “It’s a girl.”

  “Her name is Midnight Moon.”

  “And just like that, Luna has named her new best friend.” Kiki laughs.

  “Is it a Bolognese?”

  He nods.

  “You’re the best.”

  “No, sweet treat, we are.”

  Epilogue

  Two steps, and her back is against the hotel room mattress, and I have my arm around her back, pulling her against me. I lift her chin with my other hand and crash my lips down on hers for a much-needed private kiss.

  She immediately tangles her hands in my hair harshly and pulls me closer. She grips my lower lip between her teeth in a more aggressive move than she has ever made when my lips are on hers. Then she sucks hard, pulling at my lip, and I move in to grab hers. She then pushes her tongue into my mouth and licks so fucking deeply that I nearly lose it.

  I reach lower with one hand and grab behind her knee, jacking it up around my hip while grinding against her. She moans when I pick her up and step forward, wanting her back against the wall to show her just how much I want her, just how fucking hard I am … for her.

  When she releases my hair and links her hands behind my neck, pulling herself up so her legs are around me, I groan

  “Jesus Christ, sweets,” I hiss as she crashes her mouth against mine … again.

  I pull back and set her down, “Gotta stop for a minute. Gotta show you something.”

  “Huh?” she asks confused as I step back further.

  I pull my shirt over my head.

  “You are the sexiest husband ever.”

  I turn so she can see my back. ‘Forever Bella’s’ is written over my entire back now.

  “Mine,” she coos, “all mine.” She reaches around me and grabs my dick.

  “Easy, sweets.” But then I decided I don’t want it easy.

  I turn, grab her up and pinning her against the wall, I grind against her as she sinks her teeth into my shoulder.

  “Fuuuuck.” I thrust against her, needing a connection. “My cock is so fucking hard for you, wife.” I grind in as she licks up my neck.

  With my head sticking out, begging for action, I unbutton my pants and immediately hit her bare skin.

  “Bella, your pussy is so hot.” I grind against her. “So fucking wet.”

  “I need you.”

  “When?” I start to slow down, a little tease to work her up even more.

  “Now, dammit!” She buries her head in the crook of my neck as she reaches between us, grips my cock, and rubs it between her legs. “Oh God!” she cries as her head falls back and hits the wall.

  I contemplate pulling out, making sure she’s okay, but when she starts riding me, grinding against me, fucking … me, I know damn well I’m not strong enough to deny myself or her.

  “Fuck.” I thrust in deeper, harder, faster.

  Her moans, her cries, the sound of our flesh connecting, our bodies becoming slick with sweat as we fuck, it’s like we have been apart for a lifetime.

  “Fuck yes,” I hiss as I pull her harder against me, turning us and walking quickly to the bed. I lay her down on top of the stark white duvet, grab her ankles, throw them up on my shoulders, and fuck her through our first orgasms. My cock is still not ready to stop, my body not ready to disconnect, and my fucking soul needs to show her who her soul belongs to.

  “Your pussy is mine.” I slam into her.

  “Yes!” she cries.

  I lean down and take her mouth, fucking it with my tongue, pushing hers aside. “Your mouth, mine!”

  “Oh God,” she sobs out.

  I kiss and lick and scrape my teeth down her beautiful, long, slender neck. Then I take her nipple in my mouth and clamp down before sucking it out long and hard. I feel her body tense then shake as she grips the duvet and holds her breath.

  I push myself back up and spread her legs open wide as I drive into her, watching my cock slide in and out of her. “Your cum”—I drive in harder, faster, deeper—“mine.”

  As she cries out, “Yes!” she comes so hard, so exquisitely.

  I pull out and grip my cock, stroking it as I drop to my knees and lick her pussy until it’s dry.

  When she lies limply, panting, I stand up, still stroking myself. “Open your eyes, sweets. This is all yours.”

  She opens her beautiful blue, tear-stained eyes and watches as I jerk myself hard and fast before coming all over her belly. Then I flop down beside her, rest my head on her chest, and use my fingertips to rub my cum into her skin.

  “No one else but me.” She sniffs, her body shaking.

  “No one else but you,” I whisper before looking up at her. “No one ever again.”

  I hold my fingers up to her mouth. She wraps her hands around my wrists and sucks them clean.

  “Fuck yes,” I sigh.

  After several minutes—hell, maybe hours of silence—I lift my head from her chest and look at her. “You wanna go again?”

  “Husband, I could go forever. Forever Steel.”

  And I know she could.

  “Forever mine. Forever Steel.”

  ~ The End ~

  About Branded

  He can sing, dance, and owns whatever stage he’s “performing” on.

  His looks make him a triple threat.

  And he’s gone viral.

  He is the Country Music Artist of the Year.

  Which means that face, those eyes, that hair, that body, and his voice are every-freaking-where.

  He’s America’s newest country sensation, and he can do no wrong.

  Except, he did.

  He totally did.

  And he did it to me.

  Playlist

  Listen on Spotify

  Don’t Stop Believing - Journey

  Why Can’t I - Liz Phair

  Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop - Small Town Shade

  Just Enough - Small Town Shade

  Gasoline - Small Town Shade

  Ring It Up - Small Town Shade

  Oceans Away - Small Town Shade

  H.O.L.Y - Florida Georgia Line

  Savage - Megan Thee Stallion

  Life Is Good - Future, Drake

  Labor Day Weekend

  Thirsty Thursday

  Katherine

  Standing at the end of the long, wooden picnic table, waiting at the end of the line that is ten people deep, plate in hand, behind my cousin Truth, the song changes over the sound system and I groan, complaining, “If I hear this song one more time, I swear I’m going to stab myself in the ear.”

  She looks back at me, peering over her shades, and smirks. “Better than in the vagi—”

  “Don’t finish that fucking statement,” Justice cuts her off.

  “Yeah, don’t,” I agree.

  Brand Falcon’s first single, “Short Skirts, Tight Shirts,” produced by Uncle Xavier’s production company, Forever Four, became last summer’s party anthem. It crossed genres and topped not only country music charts but pop music charts, as well. He went viral, is covered by teenage fan girls on TikTok, is on every freaking radio talk show, every website, and every magazine. In short, he is everywhere.

  The first time I remember seeing Brandon Falcon was at Falcon’s Landing, his family’s property in Lake Hopatcong, New Jersey. I’m sure it wasn’t the first time, just the first I can remember, and although I was, like, three years old, it’s one of those memories that engrains itself in you and needles its reminder every time you see that person. And if that weren’t enough, he’s on every middle and high school girls’ wallpaper on their phone.

  My first crush, my first heartbreak … hell, probably my first disappointment—Brand Falcon.

  At his uncle Grayson’s wedding, he serenaded my sister, Bella. Being a badass since birth, I didn’t let that sway me. I decided to show my adoration by si
nging to him. Then, well, then … he kissed her. And yes, there are pictures and videos that summon that moment in my memory, too.

  Truth silently chuckles. “The man, the myth, the legend—”

  I roll my eyes. “Even if it’s only in his own mind.”

  I hear a low snicker from behind me, and my eyes spring from the barbequed chicken I just put on my plate to Truth.

  She grimaces slightly then smirks.

  He’s right behind me.

  Right.

  Behind.

  Me.

  I pull my shit together right quick and glance over my shoulder.

  He smirks at me before saying, “And in your imagination.”

  The nerve!

  I turn fully around and look up at him. “The only image that pops into my head when it comes to you is how quickly your rise will last until your ego gets the best of you and you fall.”

  “I call bull, baby Steel.” He leans in closer to me, eyes narrowing, his scent surrounded by the smell of the ocean air, forming a heady mixture, one I wish I detested. Then he whispers, “I’m good for at least forty minutes.”

  I hear Truth snort and throw an elbow back, hoping it connects.

  It does … against Justice.

  I look back at him, and he rolls his eyes before pulling his shades down, covering them.

  “Didn’t mean to get you. Meant to get Truth.”

  “I’m aware,” Justice mumbles.

  There’s eight of us, all of us exceedingly close, but there is a hierarchy within our little crew. Siblings always come first, and Justice is next level protective over his twin sister. He has been since as far back as I can remember. Doesn’t matter if she’s wrong or right.

  Does that rub me the wrong way? Not normally, but he just did it in front of Brandon Falcon.

  I glare back at Brand, who cocks his head and whispers so only I can hear him, “Doesn’t seem to have your back. What’s up with that, baby Steel?”

  “We always have each other’s backs.”

  Licking his lips, he looks me up and down, and then his eyes settle on mine. “But who’s got your front?”

  My eyes lock with his, and something stirs in my stomach.

  A smirk curves in the corner of his mouth.

  “You think now that Bella’s taken, you can start playing your little games with me?”

  He narrows his eyes and cocks his head to the side. “You think I’m trippin’ on Bella?”

  “You’ve been trippin’ on her since you were—”

  “See, you got it all wrong, baby Steel.” He walks past me, filling in the gap between the rest of the crew and me.

  I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. I want to ask what it is I got all wrong, but I hold it in, not wanting to appear desperate and needy. I don’t want to play the mouse in his game—him being the cat. Instead, I give him some ’tude.

  “Did you just budge ahead of me?”

  He shrugs, smirk still playing on his delectable devil lips, and says, “Everything looks fucking delicious. Just couldn’t wait.” He looks up at me, hazel eyes through thick black lashes. “Been starving for some good eats, baby Steel.”

  “Oh, please,” I huff. “I’m sure you’re being hand-fed by a gaggle of groupies.”

  “Gaggle of groupies, huh?”

  I nod once.

  He swings his gaze from the steak to me. “Still nothing like grade-A, home-grown beef.” He drops a small steak onto my plate.

  “Who said I wanted steak?”

  “It’s Falcon Farms beef. My meat. I know you want it.”

  I smart back, “Your head gets any bigger, your hat’s gonna explode.”

  His sparkling white teeth catch his lower lip, and I swear I feel those pearly whites nibbling on my lower abdomen.

  “Hey, Kiki,” my brother Max yells to me, “come on; I’m tryin’ to save your seat.”

  I watch as he shoves my cousin Amias.

  I swing back and look at Brand, who’s biting into a strawberry, eyes searing into mine as he licks his lips.

  “Always interesting seeing you.” My words are intentionally laced with sarcasm.

  “I’m here all weekend, Kiki. You go have fun at the kiddy table.”

  I arch my brow. “I’m no kid.”

  He looks me up and down again, slowly. “I’m aware.”

  “He drunk?” my cousin Patrick, aka Tricks, asks as he pushes himself up, resting on his elbows on the beach blanket.

  “Didn’t seem to be. Why?”

  “He even twenty-one?” Justice asks.

  I know the answer. He’s twenty. And as close as I am to my cousins, I really don’t share the embarrassing and painfully pathetic amount of details I know about Brandon Falcon.

  “Nah, man,” Tricks huffs. “But he’s got a fucking beer.”

  I chuckle. “And you’ve got one, too.”

  “Gotta hide that shit, though,” he grumbles. “My parents won’t even let me have a beer. Lucky to get wine with dinner on holidays.”

  “At least your parents are cool,” Brea huffs.

  Truth laughs. “You’re fifteen.”

  “Law says twenty-one,” Justice says as he spins the volleyball on his finger.

  “Says eighteen for ink.” Max bats the ball off his finger, catches it, and then runs toward the net that’s already set up.

  “Who’s up for a game?” he yells to where Dad and my uncles are standing around, talking to Brand and his father, Garrett.

  “Just ate, bud,” Dad calls over to him.

  “You need a nap, old man,” Max ribs him.

  Dad takes the bait. “Do I look like I need a damn nap, boy?”

  “Oh, here we go.” Tris laughs as we all watch my father, Jase, and my uncles, Cyrus, Zandor, and Xavier toss off their shirts.

  “You wanna mix it up, or do you old men want to—”

  “Watch it, Max,” Dad warns, arching a brow as he heads toward the net.

  It’s Max, Justice, Tricks, Amias, and Brand against Dad, Cyrus, Zandor, Xavier, and Garrett Falcon.

  “Baby, you wanna turn up the tunes?” Dad calls to Mom.

  “Did he just say turn up the tunes?” Brisa giggles.

  “He sure did,” I say as I pull my coverup off, pull my sunglasses down, and then lie down on the towel next to Truth.

  Sunglasses are like a secret weapon. The darker, the better. That way, I can watch Brandon shed his shirt without getting caught.

  “Wake me up when this is over.” I fake a yawn and roll onto my stomach, which happens to give me a much better view of the game … of Brand.

  “Does he get better looking every time we see him or what?” Truth whispers.

  “Like I care,” I lie.

  Knowing he’s near, I can’t seem to get to sleep. Makes me feel pathetic, like some lovesick fangirl. I’ll admit to no one else but myself that I am the OG fan girl of one Brandon Falcon. I will further admit that he does his best to drop little breadcrumbs laced with bad intentions behind him for me to follow whenever he’s around. Breadcrumbs that I gobble up like a starved carb addict coming off two months of Keto.

  I throw my legs over my bed and stand up on the hardwood floor. Then I quietly make my way across the floor, hoping not to wake Truth, Brisa, or Tris to use the bathroom.

  After a nice, hot shower, which usually helps make me sleepy, I brush my teeth then decide to head to the kitchen in hopes of finding some lavender tea.

  Dressed in a sleep tee and shorts, I tiptoe my way out the door, down the hall, passing the boys’ room and several others that are empty, waiting for the rest of the extended family and friends to arrive over the next couple days, and then down the staircase.

  Once in the kitchen, I open cupboard after cupboard, looking for the tea. When I can’t find it, I eye a bottle of red wine and decide screw it.

  Glass in hand, I make my way out to the patio overlooking the pool. After setting my glass of wine down on the small table beside the double chaise,
I flop down and look up at the sky.

  “Not a cloud up there tonight. Mother Nature’s putting on a show, isn’t she?”

  Startled, I jump, clasping my hand over my chest, and he chuckles.

  “What the hell are you doing out here?” I gasp.

  He steps out of the dark corner, sets his guitar down, and takes a drink from the beer in his hand as he walks over and flops down beside me. “Same as you I suppose.” He rolls to his side, props his head on his hand, and looks down at me.

  I’ve imagined this a million times—Brand Falcon lying next to me, looking at me the way he is now—but never once in those imagined times did I feel like I couldn’t breathe.

  He slowly pokes me in the side, and a held breath rushes out of me. He smirks. Fucker.

  “You certainly are grown now, Katherine Steel,” he says as he looks me over slowly. “Mother Nature puts on an altogether different show whenever you’re around.”

  I manage to squeak out, “Brand—”

  “Katy, not Kiki. Katy,” he interrupts me, still slowly looking me over. Then his eyes meet mine. “You’re beautiful.”

  I close my eyes and chant in my head, Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

  When I feel his body move, and that heat that came with it leaves, I open my eyes and find his eyes still on mine as he licks his lips and stands.

  I sit up. “Where are you—”

  “Been drinking all day, Katy.” He smiles when he says my name, like he likes the sound and the way it plays in his mouth. “I’m not doing this with you when I’ve been drinking.”

  “Then when?” As soon as the words come out, I wish like hell I could Hoover them back in.

  He smiles, but this time it’s not conceited; it’s genuine … I think.

  “Soon, Katy, real soon.” He runs his hand through his hair as he turns to walk inside.

  “I may change my mind,” I say in a loud, needy whisper.