by Violet Blaze
My hand slips between us and back into his briefs, teasing the slickness of pre-cum down his shaft, massaging his balls with my fingers.
“Jesus, Lyric,” he breathes harshly, sagging against me, his body shuddering with pleasure. “I thought your hand felt good before, but my wife's hand? Even better.”
“You're a sentimental fuck,” I whisper back as I tease him to within an inch of orgasming and draw away suddenly. “Roll over.”
Royal growls and flips us so that I'm on top, sliding down and dragging his underwear with me. I toss them away and shove my hair back behind my ears, leaning down and taking his cock firmly in my right hand before I wrap my mouth around the tip. Royal tastes like he smells, wild and feral, and I find myself groaning against him, slicking my tongue down the side of his shaft as he curls his tattooed hands into the comforter.
“Pint-Size,” he moans, his head lolling back, wet hair stuck to his forehead, eyes half-lidded in bliss. I tease Royal's body with my mouth, pressing hot kisses to his hips and lower belly as I use my hand on his shaft, alternating between sucking and licking his cock. When his fingers tangle in my hair, I take him in as deep as I can, eyes flicking up to watch him shudder as he comes hard in my mouth, hips bucking up as he finishes and I sit back, wiping my hand across my mouth.
“Get over here,” Royal snarls, yanking me up his now sweaty body and holding me close. Our mouths lock together as he presses a hand to the back of my neck and tastes himself on my lips. My fingers curl around his shoulders and squeeze while his hands cup my ass in a bruising grip. “You and me, Pint-Size,” he says as he kneads my flesh with his fingers, “we were meant to be.”
“See what I mean?” I reply, barely taking my mouth off of his. We talk with our lips brushing. “So poetic. Keep talking like that and you might get lucky again.”
Royal rubs his thumb over my engagement ring.
“I was thinking,” he says, pressing our foreheads together. “That if you want proper rings, we could pick them out together.”
“This,” I say, lifting my hand and wiggling my fingers at him, “this is all I want.” A pause. “Well, okay, so I'd like it if you wore a wedding band, too. You know, so I can make sure women everywhere know that you're mine.”
“That a girl, Pint-Size,” he breathes, our mouths still touching as Royal slides his hand between my legs and inserts two fingers. My hips start to move, riding the tattooed beauty of his hand as I gasp against Royal's lips, teasing his body with the movement, my breasts encased in lace, scraping the front of his chest.
He uses his other hand to trace my bare shoulders, drawing a line down the plunging neckline of the halter and then sliding his warm fingers under the dress.
I cry out as Royal's hot palm cups my bare skin, thumb teasing my nipple into a fine point. He squeezes my flesh unashamedly, making me bite my lip again to keep from screaming as my body locks down on his hand and his mouth presses warm against my neck.
When I come, I come with his name tracing my lips.
Lyric's warm curvy body arches above me, her muscles locking down on my fingers as she digs her own into my shoulders and drenches my hand with hot heat. In her wet, torn wedding dress and motorcycle boots, she's by far the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my entire life.
Lyric collapses against my chest, panting and nuzzling her face into the roses on my throat.
“Thank God we've got all night, baby,” I tell her as I gently push her back and lift her chin with my fingers. She's crying again, but for the bloody life of me, I can't figure out why. “What's the matter?” I ask as I sweep a salty warm droplet away from her cheek.
“I just … I'm so happy that I came back.”
“Ah, now, that's just the sex talking. I'm sure you'll regret it in about a week.”
“You fudging dick,” she snorts, but at least she smiles.
“Fudging? Dear God, do I need to drag you over to compound every day this week? No wife of mine is using a damn euphemism. Say fuck, Lyric.”
“I've been saying and thinking and doing fuck all week, Royal,” she says with another smile and I roll my eyes.
“Dear God, Serenity curses worse than you and she's seventeen.”
“Yeah, well, fuck you, Mr. McBride,” Lyric says and I grin, reaching up and taking hold of either side of her face, rubbing my thumb along the scars on her cheeks.
“I'd rather fuck you,” I say and she squeals as I spin her around and take her fingers, touching them to the hard length of my cock.
“Already?” she asks with a slight flush to her cheeks. “You really have no refractory period, do you, Royal Rowan McBride?”
“The fuck is a refractory period?” I ask, loving the hell out of her for being such a goddamn brainiac. She's like a walking, talking little Google search engine.
“The period of time after a man ejaculates before he can get hard again,” she says, panting and staring up at me with red cheeks and a heaving chest, like she didn't just say the word ejaculates like a scholar reading a research paper.
“I'm going to ravage the bloody hell out of you,” I snarl as I reach behind her neck and pull apart the ties of her halter top, sliding the lace down to her waist so I can grab hold of that soft flesh and stare down at the pink points of her breasts. They're ripe and round, just two pale swells that turn my cock to stone—refractory periods be damned.
I drop my mouth to her chest, teasing and kissing the salty taste of sweat between her tits, cupping and kneading and holding them in my hands as she writhes beneath me, tiny gasps slipping between the smeared red of her rouged lips.
“You're such a dream, love,” I say as I take hold of the lace dress and shove it out of my way, so the whole thing's bunched up at her hips, the slickness of her bare pussy making me lick my lips again. “Such a fucking dream.”
With a hand on either hip, I pull her toward me, her knees bent and the leather of her riding boots teasing my bare skin. Lyric just stares back at me, her green eyes wide and her body still trembling as I find her opening and push in slow. So, so slow. We stay staring at one another as I fill her up, feel her stretch to accommodate me, her body still hot and slick and wet from my fingers, still pulsing with the faint aftershocks of her orgasm.
And then we start to move—together. Her hips come up off the bed, meeting my thrusts as I dive in deep and watch her drop a hand to her clit, teasing her body with the hand that has my ring on it, the ruby and pearls glinting bright even in the room's dim lighting.
My lids feel heavy, but I won't let my eyes slide shut and block out the vision of Lyric's gorgeous body beneath me as I pump into her, her warmth spreading over me, her moans driving me towards the edge.
I adjust myself, leaning forward and putting my palms flat on the bed, looking down as Lyric looks up so we can stare at each other, bodies joined, hearts joined, our fates tied together in every way possible—even legally. Being with Lyric, loving Lyric, it might be the only thing in my life I've ever done that has zero regrets attached to it. Zero.
Lyric's eyes finally slide closed as she succumbs to the pleasure, her hands curling around my biceps as I thrust harder and faster, balls deep, pushing her into the mattress and over the precipice of pleasure, straight into a lip biting, nails scraping down my skin, mouth open in a scream orgasm.
Pint-Size comes clutching my body in hers, milking me until I grit my teeth and give in, groaning and growling and cursing her name as our bodies meet with one, last hard grind and I collapse on top of her, both of us shuddering and quivering and sweating.
“Til death do us part,” Lyric whispers against my throat and I smile grimly.
Hopefully that day comes later rather than sooner. Much, much later.
Not fifteen minutes after I've whipped my new bride up a meal from scratch (broken up by a quick fuck against the kitchen counter), there's a knock at my door.
And holy mother of hell, if it hadn't been Glacier standing there, I'd have probably punched whoever it
was in the face—no matter what their reason for being at our place was.
“I just got bloody hitched,” I snap as I yank the door open and stand there in black boxer briefs and no shirt, not giving a fuck if it bothers my brother or not.
His pale face is grim and tight, the tattoos on his neck standing out brightly against the ashen color of his skin.
“Congratulations, Boss,” he says with a small smile and a nod at Lyric over my shoulder. “But Dober put me on guard duty, and Pres, all I've been doing is sitting outside your place listening to the police scanner.”
“So what? Get to the goddamn point.”
“Lyric,” Glacier says, ignoring me and addressing my old lady instead. Actually makes me like him a bit more although … a shiver traces down my spine when he blinks those white-blue eyes of his. “I thought about calling, but what the fuck, I was outside anyway.” Glacier tilts his head to the side. “Your father … he's missing.”
Glacier follows us inside as the two of us frantically explode into action.
I go for clothes, sprinting into the bedroom and dragging on a dry pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and my cut. I take my boots back into the living room with me and skirt around the psychopath standing in the center of my front room with his tattooed arms crossed over his chest. My dogs avoid him like the plague, slinking around the sides of the room and lifting their lips in Glacier's direction. He's the only person in the world that they don't like that I still associate with. It's not that Saint's a bad man, just that he's … well, he's fucking insane.
Lyric appears a second later, sprinting in from the garage as I drag my boots on and stare at her in her torn white wedding dress, the top tied crookedly around her neck, makeup smeared across her face. She's got her phone clutched in her hand and a grim look on her face.
“I saw their calls,” she says slowly, flicking worried green eyes up to mine. “When I was sitting in the airport lounge.”
Glacier rises a blond brow at that, but fortunately for him, he says nothing.
“I saw their calls, and I ignored them,” she breathes as she presses a button on her screen and puts the phone to her ear, listening to the messages. The more she listens, the paler her face gets. When she finally pulls it away, her chest is rising and falling with frantic, pulsing breaths. “The shipment you said was coming tomorrow,” she rattles off quickly, her gaze flicking between Glacier and me, “Agent Shelley says I should stay somewhere safe because the cartel, they're already here.”
“That piss-fuck, Clayton Moore, clearly snitched to the cartel when he got out from under my knife,” Glacier muses as I pace the wood floors of the clubhouse and attempt to think my way through this, Hawkins, Mannon, and all my officers standing in a half-circle around us. Normally, we'd do this in the chapel, but I want Lyric here and I'm just not in the mood to deal with gender politics. Tonight. But you bet your ass if my new wife ever does want to patch in, I'll fight for her. “He'd have told them everything we talked about during our little sleepovers together. Makes sense that they'd change their plans around.”
My skin breaks into goose bumps as I put my fingers through my hair and decide how I'm going to rescue my new father-in-law. Not for his sake, of course, because I hate that son of a bitch, but for Lyric. She's not crying, but I can see in her expression that she's terrified for him.
Besides, this new development with the cartel … this could mean bad news for the club, too.
“The cartel …” she starts and then sucks in a sharp breath, drawing the attention of all the men in the room. I love her for that, for standing tall at five foot two, cloaked in a torn, wet wedding dress and speaking to a room full of outlaws like it's nothing. “When I was researching both the Villarreal and Saldaña cartels, I found an article on the FBI's website about this town in Mexico called José Luis. After the local police force ran a raid organized by the mayor's office and the chief of police, taking out about three million dollars in product, the cartel stormed the courthouse on a day when both men were present. They dragged them into the street and cut their heads off in front of citizens.”
“Sounds about right,” Glacier says, like he's discussing pop culture trivia. He blinks blankly at my new wife and then stares up at the exposed beams in the ceiling, messing with the rings in his lips. “If the cartel is here, then they're likely reacting to outdated information.” He drops his head and stares at me while he thinks. “They can't possibly know your new wife as an in with the FBI.”
The word wife makes my heart beat ten times faster, but I'll be damned if I let any of these assholes know about that.
“Why kidnap the mayor then?” Dober asks, gesturing loosely at Lyric. “You think this has something to do with her personally?”
“Not likely,” I say as I ruffle my hair with my fingers and rack my brain for an explanation. “If they thought we were on our way down there to hijack their shipment, they might not be aware that we've still got numbers in town. If I had to take a guess, I'd say they were using the mayor as a distraction for local law enforcement, to distract them away from the real gig. Here.” I point my finger at the floor. “Just like they were planning to do before. What better way to establish a foothold and send a message out to anyone else who's thinking of fucking with them? Get rid of the Alpha Wolves and they control any and all drug trade in Nor Cal, Oregon, Washington, all the way up into British Columbia.”
“You think they'd attack the compound again? After seeing a good sixty of their guys wiped clean off the map?” Hawkins asks, running his hand over his bald head. “Not too bright are they, these Saldañas.”
“If they suspected FBI involvement then they wouldn't think to stop here, would they? It makes no sense. They'd want to get as far away from the feds as possible. I don't think they quite know all the players in the game.” Lyric listens to me talk and then nods her head, drawing the mens' attention back to her again. Most of them look fairly willing to accept her—at least for now. Well, all except for Hawkins, but fuck him; he's just a codger anyway. Goddamn old-timers.
“I agree. There's no way they'd know about the FBI,” she says. “I can't imagine getting an FBI informant is a very common occurrence and since they've already killed Brent, even if they did have an inside man, why would that person help them now? I think you're right, Royal. Dad's a distraction. But that begs the next question: where is he? Agent Shelley doesn't know. My family says he left for the office this morning, but never showed up. And he never came back. It's only a guess right now that him missing has anything to do with the cartel. No contact has actually been made.”
I sigh and worry at my lower lip for a moment.
“Make sure the compound's completely shutdown; we don't need anyone outside the club getting caught up in this. Get guys on all sides, in pairs. Make sure everyone's wearing body armor and packing serious heat. And put extra eyes on the cameras. These fuckers are like cockroaches; if we let even one get away, they'll breed a whole new batch of assholes for us to deal with. Hawkins,” my fellow president looks at me with an expression that's just this side of contemptuous, “you're in charge here. Try to keep most of the guys inside the buildings. I don't want these assholes to know what kind of numbers we're hiding in here. And let's get some scouts out around town, see if we can track down the bulk of their product.”
“Where are you off to?” Mick asks as he tilts his head and looks between Lyric and me like he can't quite believe what he's seeing. That's okay though. Janae knows and whatever Janae knows always spreads like wildfire around the compound. By the end of the day—regardless of whatever happens with the cartel—everyone will know that Lyric and I got hitched.
“We,” I say, gesturing in a tight circle with my finger at the men I trust most with my life, “are going to find the mayor.”
Getting Lyric to agree to, well, anything is a serious pain in the ass.
“I'm not dragging around a girl in a wedding dress to fight a vicious gang battle,” I growl as we stand in the back
hallway and argue with each other. The more we fight, the harder my cock gets and the more intense my feelings for Lyric. Believe it or not, arguing with this woman brings me that much closer to heaven. She's opinionated and she's bullheaded and goddamn it, but I love her for that.
“Well, too bad. It's not like you have much of a choice,” she snaps back, leaning up on her toes to get a better look at my face and pausing only when her phone buzzes in her hand. Lyric's green eyes snap to the screen and then back up to my hardened gaze. “It's my dad,” she whispers before answering it, our eyes connecting once again. “Hello?”
There's a long moment of silence as Lyric purses her lips and listens; I stand there with my hands curled into fists, waiting anxiously as her face shifts from surprise to fear to anger and then goes resolute.
“I understand,” she says slowly, cautiously. “And I will.”
Lyric hangs up the phone and immediately starts pulling up the number for Special Agent Heather Shelley. Her eyes are narrowed, nostrils flared as she looks up at me again.
“Well?” I ask, knowing that this is it. The final curtain call for the Saldaña Cartel. I'll personally see to it that there's no encore for these fuckers.
“That was my dad,” Lyric repeats slowly, dark hair falling forward to brush against the sides of her face. “He's with the cartel.” She breathes in and out carefully, slowly, like each inhale takes special work. “They want me to call the police and meet them on Trinidad Wharf.”
“I'm assuming there's an ultimatum?” I ask with a raised brow.
“Come to the wharf with the police … and the President of the Alpha Wolves Motorcycle Club.” Lyric reaches up and drags her fingers through her hair, closing her eyes for a brief moment. “Or they'll cut my father's head off and toss it into the sea.”
“Change of plans,” I call when I storm back into the bar and find my officers waiting. “Time to clean up the compound. Get all our product out of here—guns, drugs—fuck, if one of the leather lovers is wearing a stolen pair of knickers from the department store, get her ass out of here. I want anyone with a record gone and quick. Hawkins, pick a dozen guys to stick around, and hole up in here with registered firearms only.”
