“What you’re feelin’ is normal. Male subs can struggle with this more than you.”
Greta stopped squirming beneath him. She was gung-ho on shaming herself, but she’d had no problem going after him. The first time she bit him, her intent had been to rip off a piece of him, permanently. “Okay, you make a valid point. Which is surprising from a man who I wouldn’t label the sharpest knife in the drawer.”
Cutter guffawed at her insult. “Well?” he asked, clearly waiting for an apology. She opened her mouth, but it clanked shut. Giving her hair another tug, he cajoled, “Come on, you can do it.”
His sweet tone stabbed at her chest, so she tried, but no apology came out.
“I see,” he drawled. “You want me to do it for you.”
He shook his head in disappointment, and she almost cried. It wasn’t fair. He was asking too much from her, too soon. Flags of heat burned her cheeks. Fine, having failed to follow his command, she’d provoke him instead. Her fingers tightened against the ropes and she hissed, “Go find yourself a weak bitch, you sadistic bastard.”
“I’m the first to admit that I’m a selfish prick, but you’re not going anywhere,” he replied casually. “You’re perfect and I’m keeping you. I’ve worked hard lately, and I deserve a reward.”
Greta rolled her eyes. “How do you figure that? Working hard to ruin Sage’s life so she can save your precious MC? As for perfect, believe me, it’s not reciprocated, you conceited asshole.”
“Babe, have no doubt. I’m exactly what you need.”
“In what way? You mean sexually? Please, I’ve lived without good sex—”
“Mind-blowing sex,” he interrupted.
“Okay, however you want to phrase it. I’ve done fine without it, thank you very much.”
“A woman like you without sex is a fucking waste. Hell will freeze over before I allow that to happen.”
The sudden sensation of soft lips on her abdomen startled her. Turning her over again, he placed soft kisses on the welts of her bottom. Her hips jerked when a finger slipped between the folds of her slippery sex, penetrating her with ease.
“Been waiting on someone like you for years. I’ve seen a fuckload in my life, but no woman as responsive and pliable as you.”
Her thoughts grew hazy and slinked out of her grasp as his fingers stroked between her slack thighs, weaving their magic on her pussy. He settled in behind her and took hold of her hair again. He seemed to have a thing with her hair, and she was already in love with the demanding tone of the act. She bowed her spine backward to push against his easy thrusts while he slathered wetness over her reddened ass. He landed a sharp swat, and she gasped loudly. The wetness accentuated the blister of his blow.
Fingers back in her cunt, he humored her, building her up, hard and fast. Short moans escaped as he assaulted her clit, and her stomach muscles tightened. “Oh God, I can feel it. I can feel it coming. I’m close, I’m so close.”
Pinpricks of delicious heat licked across her flesh like flames, leaving sparks in their wake.
“This will take you over the edge,” he intoned.
Pulling her butt cheeks apart, a thick digit entered a place no one had ever touched before. He circled his finger around the rim with precise movements, pressing in deeper with each rotation.
“What are you doing?” she panted.
“Stretching your ass,” Cutter informed her blithely. With that, he pushed past the barrier of tight muscles. A sharp wave of pleasure-pain zipped to her pussy, and Greta bucked as she rode the palm on her clit and the finger in her ass. If she pushed forward, her clit pressed against his hand. If she tilted back to relieve the pressure, his finger pushed in deeper. There was no way to find relief but to take hold of her climax and ride it like a marauding bull. Her eyes sought his for contact, but he was completely focused on the movement of his finger.
“You’re the most beautiful thing.”
She let out a scream, but he swallowed it with a lash of his tongue. Breaking off, he demanded, “Stay in position, princess.”
Her thighs smacked shut, but he forced them apart and took a long lick of her, from clit to ass. Like, who does that? After the last aftershocks of her climax, she spread out like a melted puddle of ice cream, spent. He loosened the ties binding her wrists and massaged the feeling back into her hands. “You’ve never come like this, have you?”
Wheezing, Greta’s head wobbled from side to side.
“Thought so,” he said smugly. His fingers slipped away, and he strolled into an adjoining bathroom. Water ran from the sink, and then he was back, prowling over her like a sleek jaguar. Naked. With his cock jutting out from his massive thighs. She gulped.
Swear to the great goddess above, Cutter was a true sex gladiator, and what he was packing was big. As in big, big. Although certainly not a virgin, she’d gone without sex for a quite a while.
His shoulder muscles bunched up and biceps bulged when he grasped his cock. The ridges of his six-pack clamped in unison as he stroked his shaft. Grabbing a rubber from the nightstand, he held the tip as he dragged it over his penis.
Her lower lip jutted out.
“Don’t get pouty on me. I’ll take you bare when you prove yourself.”
Her chest tightened. How had he guessed her fantasy about being taken bareback? Rummaging through the drawer again, he pulled out lubrication. Rolling her eyes, she implored, “Please, Cutter, I’m wetter than I’ve ever been in my life.”
The tube slipped from his hand and dropped on her hip, the cool plastic causing her to flinch. She followed his gaze. It was locked on the tat branded on her upper thigh. Everything inside her turned to ice. Shuttering her eyes, she whipped away from him, dragging the sheet to cover herself. As if it was so easy. It’s not as if he could unsee what he’d seen. Her ink.
“Eyes on me,” he grunted.
Huddling into a tight ball, she rasped, “No.”
He took her by the waist and pressed her onto her back. Lifting off the sheet, he traced the ink with a touch so light it made her thigh tremble. “The Dark Horsemen.”
“Yes,” she whispered, imagining the disgust in his expression. Cutter had a tat of the Squad spanning his back from shoulder to shoulder, yet their ink couldn’t be more different. She wore the brand of her first owner, the Dark Horsemen, and like a brand, it marked her as their property. Her greatest dishonor.
“Untie me. I’ll leave. You won’t have to set eyes on me again.” Incredibly, she had been so taken over by lust that she’d forgotten she was with a biker who could decode it. Get it over with and get out of here. Before he threw her out himself. Unclenching her eyelids, she stole a glance at him.
Concern churned in his darkened eyes. Not disgust. Not pity. But, still, it gutted her. “No wonder you hate bikers,” he spoke in a rough voice. He cupped her hip, hiding the tat from her view under his large hand, and lifted her chin until their gazes found each other. “You’re safe now.”
Maintaining direct eye contact, he pressed her legs together and settled them against his left shoulder, her right thigh exposed.
All it took was one thrust. One thrust and he tore through her soul, bottoming out in her pussy. Greta tilted to adjust to his girth, but she had only a second before he slammed back inside. “Damn woman, I knew you’d be snug. You haven’t been fucked right, but that’s gonna change tonight.”
With a grip over her tat that guaranteed to leave a bruise, he rooted himself inside her. She rocked into him, pleading, “Slow down, you’re huge.”
She wiggled to accommodate his length, and mercifully, he paused long enough for her to catch her breath. Leading her finger to his mouth, he sucked down lightly until her hips flicked to meet his pummeling. Her fingernails scored down his flank as he continued to slam into her.
“Can’t get enough, can you?”
“Uh, uh, uh,” she grunted with each impact at his raw pace, his heavy balls slapping against her. She clamped down on his steel cock, fighting for ev
ery inch. Every thrust had her clutching his shaft harder. Cutter steadied himself with a hold on her breast as he lunged and withdrew like a consummate fencer. Eventually, his pace slackened somewhat, and glided his thumb over her swollen nub. Brushing and plucking her clit prodded her into a gallop. Greta arched her neck, burying her head into the pillow as she volleyed toward another climax.
Cutter pulled out of her, plucked off the condom and gripped his cock. Panting, she stared at him wide-eyed. Rivulets of sweat dripped down his flushed face as he fucked himself with vicious strokes. He came with a roar, his warrior body shuddering as ropes of come painted her belly.
He speared three fingers into her sopping pussy. Her hips twerked against his fingers, and he had the audacity to remove them. A deep-throated command penetrated the postcoital fog in her brain. “You’re not coming.”
She was sprawled out on the mattress. Her vagina clenched on the ghost of his fingers, and her body screamed in desperation. “Don’t punish me because of the tat,” she cried out.
He knifed off the bed, blond strands flying in various directions, and swore, “You’re not theirs anymore, you’re mine. I do with you what I want.”
“You want to torture me, is that it?”
She crumbled into herself and broke into sobs. Cutter undid her restraints and cradled her, rocking her until her weeping tapered off.
“I’m not above torture, but the main purpose is for you to internalize the lesson that you’re mine. Your body won’t easily forget being left on the edge, primed to come. It’s a better teacher than any verbal reassurance I could give you. The wait will be harder after the climax I did allow. And you will wait, until the time I choose to let you come. Why? Because I am the master of your body.” Stretching out, he curled her into his chest, and ordered, “Now, get some rest.”
Burrowing into his neck, she inhaled to imprint his essence on her soul. Sheesh, she must be as twisted as he was, because his reasoning actually made sense to her. Despite the painful ache between her legs, it was a caring gesture on his part. She would take as much kindness as he was willing to give. After all, this couldn’t last. A biker from an MC like the Squad would never want a cast-off daughter from another clan.
Chapter Sixteen
Cutter slumped down on the ratty sofa in Kingdom’s new office. His thigh muscles burned from his workout, his right leg pulsing with a dull throb. He stretched his hands out and made a fist, inspecting his torn knuckles. Been a while since he used the punching bag till his hands rashed up, but there was no other way of shaking off the dread tugging at him since he spotted Greta’s tattoo a week ago. The shadow of fear in her eyes had gutted him. For the past week, they’d been rutting whenever they got a chance. In the morning, after fucking her into oblivion, he walked her through the clubhouse with his arm over her shoulders. A wake of open stares and slack jaws followed behind them. He didn’t give a fuck. He was branding her any way he knew how.
A powerful MC like the Dark Horsemen didn’t slink away with its tail between its hind legs. Especially over a princess. And he had no doubt that she was coveted. No female could replace Greta. Not. Remotely. Possible.
He sank lower into the couch.
Feet propped up on his desk, Kingdom pivoted back and forth on a rolling swivel chair. Each scrape of the casters on the hardwood floors caused a wince. Cell phone in hand, Kingdom ignored him as he scrolled through god-knows-fucking-what. Every so often the fucker chuckled, grating on his nerves. Eventually, Kingdom slanted him a sly look, and inquired, “What?”
“Nothing,” he grumbled.
One hand gripping the side of his head, he cracked his neck. The stiffness eased but he covered his head and tugged at the strings of his hoodie. Kingdom scanned him up and down. “You’re moping like a bitch.”
Cutter threw him a fuck-off-asshole look. Kingdom slapped a palm to his chest, an injured expression on his face. “Ouch.” He smirked. “Did I hurt your pretty little feelings?”
Cutter’s head dropped back, scraping against the rough wall texture. “Tell me, Kingdom, what in the fuck-all am I doing?”
“You’re busted up is what you are. Keep yourself out of the ring for more than one day and she might want to see your ugly mug again. Your bitches might like kinky, but no bitch likes ugly.” Kingdom squinted at Cutter, considering, “It’s a long shot but, if you take a break, you might look human again.”
Scrutinizing the cracks in the ceiling plaster, Cutter declared, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You’re sulking like a bitch is what you’re doin’. Mind you, I’m not judging. The others out there,” he jutted his thumb toward the door, “they’re judgin’. But not me. You witnessed my near-death experience when Sage left me and disappeared.” His last sentence almost ended in a shout.
“Touched a nerve, much?”
Kingdom leaned back with his hands looped behind his head. Tilted backward on the legs of his chair, he joined Cutter in staring up at the ceiling. “Those cracks look like a rabbit.”
Cutter considered them. “Yep. It’s a fucking bunny rabbit, alright.”
“I ain’t high. You high?”
“Nah, brah it’s a fucking rabbit.”
“Fuck me.” Kingdom swung his legs off the desktop and his boots landed with a thump. Slapping his hands on his knees, he said, “Thanks for stopping by. It’s been real. A grown man telling me there’s a rabbit on my ceiling. Good times.”
“Whatwashelike?” Cutter asked.
“Speak up, bro. Hell, a two-year-old uses words better than you.”
“What. Was. She. Like?” he enunciated. “I know she’s a Dark Horseman.”
Kingdom’s gaze snapped to his. In a cautious tone, he acknowledged, “I didn’t mention it before because it was none of your business. Didn’t think you’d bag her. S’pose it’s time to tell you the truth.”
Cutter’s stomach collapsed on itself. “I’m not fuckin’ around, Kingdom.”
“I see that. Sturgis was the first time I set eyes on her. She was about sixteen, I’d say. The spitting image of the crazy-ass president of the Dark Horsemen. Goes by Scorpion. No one passes Scorpion without taking a long look to make sure they don’t get jumped. Anyways, no one could miss a beauty like her.”
Cutter popped up off his seat and flew to the edge of the couch, fists clenched.
“Calm the fuck down,” Kingdom snapped. “She was jailbait and her father’s Frankenstein. I’m not into Greta. Never have been. Never will be.”
Cutter pressed hard on his brow. “Continue.”
“We ended up in the same bar as him and his crew, so I got to see her up close. She didn’t act like a princess. Among the hardened bikers, every one of them big and mean, she was quiet. Too young to be a biker chick or an old lady. Honest to God, she was shy. A nerd. Hell, I bet you the mega millions lottery she was a virgin.
“She was watchful, like a prisoner. Everything about her was young and innocent, except for those eyes of hers. She’d seen things. Knew things. Surveyed her surroundings like a pro. And she hid.”
He imagined Greta as she was back then. Sweet. Like the way she was with him. Okay, maybe not with him yet, but soon. Still a baby, with smaller tits and slimmer hips. Cutter clenched his fists, holding himself back from smashing the wall like he wanted to do to Scorpion’s face. His head felt like it was about to explode at the thought of her suffering, young and alone. No wonder Greta was encased in an armor cast. Only time she came out was when she was in his bed.
“She hid behind a young kid. Older than her, but still a kid. If a biker checked her out a little too long, he’d block their view. Especially if Frankenstein turned his attention on her. They were never far from each other. He was her designated bodyguard, but the boy took his responsibility too seriously, if ya know what I mean.”
Legs braced in a fighting position, abdomen tight, he raised his fists and roared, “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me before?”
“Sit your caveman
ass down. It was a damn decade ago and her situation is complicated. The boy grew up with her and protected her. They were close. Were they more? Who the fuck knows. But, whatever it was, it’s over with.”
Prowling around the room, Cutter dragged his injured leg behind him.
“He stayed. She left. If that’s not your answer, then I don’t know what is. She lived a lifetime away from him and her club. For a bitch, she found the one place they’d never look, a damn ‘Gender Studies’ department in a college. Focus on today and take care of her now. Who the hell plays with crystals and chains, dressing like a bondage hippie?”
“Greta, that’s who. Someone’s going to pay, yo.” Bondage was more than a fashion statement. Her choice of clothing was an advertisement of her deep needs. Any dominant could see that.
“Let’s not forget the nerd in her,” Kingdom quipped. “She was a princess thrust from hell into the normal world. She survived. Although,” Kingdom rubbed the stubble of his chin, “seein’ as she has more books than Sage, I’d think twice about keepin’ her.”
The corners of Cutter’s mouth bracketed; his forehead furrowed with dense lines. “How do you know how many books she has in her house?”
“Because I’ve been to her house, dumbass.”
Cutter asked tersely, “Why in the fuck are you at my woman’s house?”
“She’s your woman now?”
“Don’t change the damn subject.”
“Who do you think fixed her leaky faucet or amped up her security? The tooth fairy? No, asshole, it was me.”
“Me!” Cutter pounded on his chest. “I should be doing that shit. Not you. No one but me.”
There was a knock on the door. Kingdom called out loudly, “Get the hell away from my door.” The knocks stopped, and they waited until the pounding of boots faded away.
“She’s fuckin’ mine,” he pronounced, gripping the fabric of his shirt.
“Brother, I didn’t tell you so you could act crazier than when you first walked in.”
Cutter's Claim: A Bad Boy Biker Romance (The Demon Squad MC Book 2) Page 8
