Before I Wake: A Kimber S. Dawn MC Novel

by Kimber S. Dawn

  “Eve, I’ve wanted... No. I’ve needed to worship at this altar longer than I’d like to elaborate at the moment. And, now that I’m here, all I fucking know is thank God I’m home. Thank fucking God I’m finally home, Pipsqueak.”

  The stretchy material should be a little more difficult than it is to tear away, but I guess, if that’s what’s standing between Jacques and what he wants, it wouldn’t have taken much no matter what it was.

  The instant his mouth lands on mine again, his warm front crashes against my body, meeting mine so we’re skin to skin. Whatever calm breath I’d accumulated in my lungs with my eyes closed is lost, and I don’t know if it’ll ever be found again. The sound of the table scooting across the marble floor a few feet back ricochets off the walls, and a few seconds later, Jacques’s weight is still centered so his rigid erection can continue stroking against my wetness. And, when the table jars to a stop as it hits a wall, I seriously wonder if that’s all it’ll take for me to crest over the orgasm I’ve been on the brink of since looking down at where we’re joined. It’s been that damn long.

  Then his voice snatches my attention back just as his body begins moving against mine. He keeps our eyes locked as he speaks.

  “Brown eyes stay on mine, Pipsqueak. The whole time.” He scans down my completely exposed body as he pulls away again.

  Then his huge hands circle my wrists before raising them over my head, and when his eyes finally reach mine, they lock there. Then he pins my hands, placing my palms on the wall above my head, and makes more demands.

  “Hands here. If you move them...I’mma pull away. I’ll stop whatever I’m doing. And whatever I’m in the middle of or however deep I’m in the middle of it. You move your hands, Vagabond, I stop and pull away. Is that understood?”

  He slowly leans the upper half of his huge body over mine, bowing his back over my frame. And in case you are wondering, No. I can’t. I can’t focus. I can’t concentrate on his words. I can’t even control my thoughts! Much less simply direct them.

  I don’t even know when I started. I only realize there’s a motion. There’s a sync, a rhythm to us. To our moving bodies. And I’ve never felt so fucking damn in tune with another human being on this planet. Not like this.

  But it’s not like I have to tell you that. You’ve been here, haven’t you? All the way from the beginning…

  “You better answer me.”

  When the hair on the fronts of his thighs brushes against the backs of my own thighs, I shudder. And then, moments later, when his bare cock slowly slides through my drenched core, I decide it’s time for me to let go. I decide there’s no necessary reason for me to remain so vigilant with my virtue and modesty. There’s a beauty in letting go, and I damn near smile at the thought of becoming Jacques Cain’s whore. Just so long he doesn’t stop worshipping me. All of me. With his words and his mouth and his hands.

  “Jacques, I won’t move. Or look away from you.” My eyes seek out his as I whisper the words around the lump lodged in my throat. But he won’t look back at me. “I’m here, okay? You have my attention. I’m here.”

  I want to nuzzle him. I want to kiss him. Hell, I just need him touching me. Any part of me. Skin to skin. Or simply him to look at me! But his eyes won’t meet mine. They just keep scanning every square inch of my exposed flesh like he’s fucking hungry.

  “Please. If you don’t do something. I need—” The words impulsively fall out around my ragged breathing, and I swear, if he doesn’t put me out of my misery, I’m gonna scream soon. “Jacques,” I whine, unabashedly bucking harder beneath him. Trying to gain leverage with the heels of my shoes as they dig into his lower back. I’m attempting to rock against his erection, find the rhythm we had just a second ago, before he broke it. “Please, Jacques.” Warm tears pool in the corners of my eyes, but any shame I would have—should have—is drowned and killed the moment his mouth roughly attacks mine.

  “This? This what you want?” He thrusts his cock harder against my wet bareness until I’m just a breath away from the edge of climaxing, and then he abruptly stops all movement. “Or is it this? Is this how you like to be fucked, Vagabond? Just the tip, baby?” The thick head of his cock throbs as it barely slips inside my pulsing core, then pulls out. “You know you’re the only one...I’ve ever been with without anything between—” He coughs and clears his throat. Then he nudges the side of my face with his cheek before bringing his face back to mine and looking back and forth between my eyes. “I didn’t know, Eve. I didn’t know so much. I couldn’t remember. Honestly, I may have been too afraid to. I knew you were vital. I knew how crucial you were—not only to me, but to my story. My whole story. Hey…”

  He nips my earlobe before softly brushing his lips across my cheek and kissing a few stray tears that’ve leaked out. “I can’t fight this. Not anymore. I fucking wanted to, too. And I know you’ve been here, fighting just as damn hard as I have—but...aren’t you tired? Don’t you ever get tired of fighting too, Vagabond?” He lets out a sigh as he begins scaling down the front of my exposed body. His hands skim the tops of my breasts as his mouth assaults the flesh between my neck.

  And I couldn’t care less. “I’m fucking exhausted, Jacques,” I simply respond, rolling my eyes back into my head and finally allowing myself to truly feel what it feels like to be loved and worshipped as a woman by the only man she’s ever wanted in her whole entire simple little life.

  Jacques—

  If you could see her, then I could explain this shit better. The words escape me. And the ones that don’t escape me make no damn sense. But so does everything else I never even knew I was really at risk of losing. However, now—now that I have her, now that I remember having her in the first place—there’s no fucking going back. Not now. No way in hell. And the faster she learns that, the better off we’ll fucking be.

  I knew that coming down here was gonna make shit different. I knew it on the ride down. I could feel the change in the air. And no, it didn’t have a damn thing to do with the change in the season. But it did have everything to do with the fact that every mile marker I passed was another mile closer to something that’d been missing. And I’d never known all this time until I started heading towards her and our daughter…

  I wouldn’t let myself think about what was living outside the walls of my MC. About what was moving on without me. And it’s all I’ve done from sunup to sundown. All that has kept me going, the only thing that’s consumed me and woken me up the next goddamn morning, is the fact that Eve’s been safe. Our daughter’s been safe. And, now that the club is stronger, all I have to do is hunt down my last living relative, Bentley Cain, kill that motherfucker, and finish rebuilding my MC. I’m going a different direction this time than my pops ever did. Especially after my ma passed.

  But, soon—hopefully really fucking soon too—the club my father and his father helped build will once again be what it was before Ma passed away from cancer. Those two motherfucking things are the ONLY things that have kept me going and moving forward day in and day out. Instead of riding straight to the nearest ramp to I-78 and heading directly to New Orleans, where the rest of me lived on, I had to get my shit straight. My life straight. I had to square up my club. Then I could think about building on top of it.

  You want to know what images haunted me every night before I went to sleep? And, by every, I mean every single motherfucking night Dreads’ texts of Eve in bed after she and Apple had first fallen asleep came in.

  Just that. The image of the mother and child peacefully sleeping in her pops’ hotel every night.

  But it was the only reassurance that would work. It was the only way I could keep my ass glued to the club and to NYC instead coming down here and claiming what was mine as memory after memory of Eve Of’May O’Malley came flooding back over the last year.

  It took a lot of migraines. And a fuck-ton of patience.

  But now…

  I skim over her tanned, naked flesh in the wake my hands’ p
ath from her delicate neck down her chest and over her nipples until they span the expanse of her rib cage and hold her still.

  “I remember...fucking everything. I remember,” I grunt, and when my hands circle her hips, I finally pull her fully down onto my cock. I sigh at the feeling of sinking into heaven a little sooner than either of us anticipated. “Jesus. Christ,” I grit out. Fucking barely. “The goddamn memory doesn’t do it justice, Vagabond. The goddamn memory does NOT—”

  “There’s only been you. There’s only ever been you, Jacques.”

  I don’t know if it’s because of her words or the goddamn tears sliding down her beautiful cheeks from the corner of her eyes before she turns her face away from me, but I lose the fucking breath in my lungs. It’s gone. Just gone.

  And I mean I knew...but I didn’t know, you know?

  “There’s only been…” My mimicking words trail off and I still my motions. Completely.

  I don’t slam forward like my mindless cock is fucking begging me to. I don’t grip the fuck out of her hips and fuck her like the caged animal that’s lurking just beneath the surface of my skin. No, I go perfectly still, making every damn muscle from my neck to my thighs tense in hushed preparation. For what? Hell if I fucking know. Her next words, maybe?

  Say something, Pipsqueak! Say something, I silently plead.

  When her teary, dark-brown eyes come back up and settle on mine in the small dark room, everything—even my broken piece-of-shit heart—stills in its cage.

  “There’s only ever been you,” she says. “And when you come back into my life...every time, I don’t want you to ever leave...and I have to hate you ’cause I know you will in the end. ’Cause that’s what you do. You once called me your ‘goodbye girl.’ Do you remember that, Jacques? You say you remember...but do you? Remember it all? Can you remember that?”

  She’s no longer ashamed of the tears streaming down her face. It’s as if she’s accepted them. Or she’s accepting something in this moment between us, but I don’t know. Maybe it’s the flat tone of her heart-wrenching words... I can’t explain it. But I understand it. If that makes any goddamn sense.

  Without breaking eye contact with her, I respond as truthfully as I can. “Yes. But then, later, I told you you weren’t. The night I came and got you because you wouldn’t get your ass on the plane. Remember? I came for you, didn’t I?” I slowly pull my cock almost completely out of her warm pussy, and I swear to God I can’t do it any faster even if someone were to point a nine millimeter at my skull. I grit my teeth and spit out more nonsense. “I keep coming back to you for a reason, Vagabond. And fuck if I know what that reason is, but I believe it’s time we explore that shit, yeah?” I slam back into her. All the way to the fucking hilt. “Goddamn it, Eve O’Malley. This is mine. And it always will be. I don’t give a fuck what you say.”

  Her cunt grips down almost instantly. And hell yeah, I have to bite my tongue to keep from busting a nut.

  “Then take it. If it’s yours, take it. That’s all I’ve ever been trying to say, Jacques Cain. I’m yours if you want me...”

  And when I glance back down at her, I smirk and then slowly pull out and surge back forward.

  “You’re goddamn right you are, Pipsqueak.”

  Her pussy clenches around my cock, and I can’t help the small chuckle that spills from my lips.

  “God, your pussy feels so fucking good. Shit, baby.”

  I can’t go any slower with her. She’s as small as, if not smaller than, I remember, and I can’t fucking go any damn slower or I’ll lose it right here. But, then again, I question the intelligence of going any faster in the same moment.

  “This is mine,” I grunt, slowly increasing speed of my thrusts. “Always?” I grit out completely unintentionally yet with every intent in the world. “Say it, Eve. Say it’ll always be mine and mine alone.”

  Our bodies find their rightful sync, and though she’s tight, it does fit, all ten inches—thank fuck.

  And, finally, I’m where I know I’m supposed to be. Finally, I know the difference between searching for home and finding home. I’m damn near biting holes in my cheeks with every tooth in my head when she finally responds and the tension releases.

  “Always. And only ever yours,” she mutters as her head rolls back. “Only ever fucking yours.”

  The sound of her guttural words causes my nails to bite into her hips, and my grip becomes so demanding that I should worry about bruising her. But I can’t. Because the moment the tip of my cock brushes the deepest recesses of her womb and her hands pull my face down to hers before swallowing my moans and grunts with hers, I simply lose it. I come harder than I’ve ever come in my whole life. Eve Of’May O’Malley included.

  I release her hips before framing her face and sinking my fingers into her hair. I look as deep into her muddy brown eyes as I can. I search and search until I see it. Her, the little girl from my past with the bedtime prayer and the dark-brown eyes. The little girl begging me for my ma’s crucifix.

  And once I’ve gathered my breath, I tell her exactly what I’ve always wanted her to know—what I’ve always wanted to fucking tell her but I’ve put off for some reason or another.

  “Goddammit, I love you, Eve O’Malley. I’m not doing this shit no more. Not without you. I don’t give a shit what you say, yeah?”

  Her pussy convulses around my cock and our cum seeps out around it when she laughs. I duck my head into the crook of her neck before slipping out and cuddling her close to me. Once I have her cradled to my chest, I brush my lips across her forehead and wait until we’ve caught our breath. Then I ask if she’s up for a shower. Without much thought after, I stand and scoop her up before carrying my little Vagabond towards the bathroom with full intentions of getting her even wetter and a whole helluva lot hotter.

  Insert cocky wink and grin here. Baby, you know this story. You’ve been here. And you damn well know my name…You know how this one’s gonna end.

  It’s scary when the end is near. I’ve always wondered. I remember asking my pops as I cocked the hammer back on his own nephew’s pistol and pointed it square between his eyes the night I finally confronted him in New Orleans. But he only told me that none of it mattered. And, no matter how hard I fought it, I’d never be as good as Jacques. I’d never be enough in the eyes of the club. He made damn sure I knew that Jacques was better than me almost every day growing up though, didn’t he? I don’t know why he thought, if they were his last words, I’d take ’em any differently. Or even let the shit he spouted before I’d plugged him twice in the skull make any difference. Hell, wasn’t I the only motherfucker with the balls big enough to catch him long enough to get a pistol pointed at him?

  I’m man enough to one-up Jacques Cain. I’ve done it a time or two before, haven’t I?

  And you know...I never understood. Even as a punk teenager, I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that the gunslingers and drug lords would show their utmost respect for the brother named Chase Cain coming out of NYC with ties to an underground skin trade and the men running said organization. Then the other MC’s who got shaky around the simple shit like guns and dope...and even the small timers, the MC’s running nothing but bike shops and tattoo parlors would trip over themselves to also show respect to my father. Well, that or get the fuck outta my pops way.

  Well, now that I know truth—the truth about Pops, Rox, Eden, and Jacques, the truth about all of it and all of them—my next actions only seem reasonable. I’d have to say there’s really no other way. I’m sure even you can see that. Besides, it’s what Jacques would do. It’s what his pops and my pops would both do. My next course of action, while it may be unpopular and it may upset a whole lotta people, doesn’t really matter after I’m dead, does it? How can it?! Exactly.

  So there’s only one thing left to do...

  Kill them all. All of them.

  I’ll bide my time. I’ll await my opportunity for perfect retribution. Surely it won’t take them too long
. All I’ll have to do is wait…

  Wait for them to heal, feel safe.

  Wait for their lives to return back to normal.

  Wait until they forget…all about little ol’ me.

  But I won’t. Oh, no... I can’t forget.

  I’ll never forget what the club that half raised me has done to Roxy. I just need them to think I have.

  And so, although it was hard and it took the precision and hard work not worth their time, I patiently waited for happily ever happily-ever-afters to finish being written. I watched, always from afar and usually hyped up on whatever pick-me-up I could find. But I watched. And I continued to watch as the years slowly crept by.

  I watched as Jacques and Eve married. I watched as they built a life together as well as another structure on the club’s property that looked a lot like a cute two-story ranch-style house from my aerial view camera pics. Then I watched as they added more prey to my list, child after child.

  And, after I watched a little longer, I watched even more. I watched, snorting line after line, taking bump after bump...until I just couldn’t watch any fucking more.

  And then?

  Well, then, I planned.

  The grandest, simplest plan to ever be thought of by anyone. I planned the final downfall of Jacques Cain and everything he holds dear, his Vagabond included.

  I’ve learned so much in this life. So fucking much. And everyone here knows I haven’t learned a single bit of it the easy way—but I will say, or I can say, I promise I have learned…

  Thankfully, the hell we’ve been through hasn’t been as futile as it may have seemed at certain points in this story. I’m sure we all were a little skeptical of how this would eventually end. And I’m content to attest that it should conclude in your favor, if that’s what you want to call it.