Sarge: Book 8 in the Vengeance MC series

by Thomas, Natasha

  With one last flick of his eyes to the thick girth of his cock stretching me impossibly wide, Atlas licks his lips then uses the tip of his tongue to trace a path around both of my nipples. My back arches off the bed and my thighs spasm as I push the heated flesh of my breasts further into his path. I want his mouth on them. I want him to bite, suck, and caress them with his tongue.

  Telepathically reading my thoughts, Atlas closes his mouth over my left breast and takes more than half of it into his mouth, all the while flicking his tongue over the turgid tip. I moan. He growls. I mewl. He groans. It's an erotic dance neither of us wants to end.

  Thrust after thrust, spasm after spasm, Atlas demands my submission, and I give it to him. Willingly. Completely. Just as desperate for his command of my body as he is to take it.

  One minute I'm riding the high of being owned by this man, the next, I'm free-falling into an abyss of pleasure so deep, and so intense I don't whether to scream or beg for mercy. Lust mixes with love creating a powerful

  combination that is bigger than me, bigger than Atlas, and more explosive than it should be.

  My pussy pulses ruthlessly, clamping down around his cock hard to which Atlas's only answer is to come with me. Which he does. Exquisitely.

  I can feel every throb, every jerk, even the pounding pulse of his heartbeat through his rock hard, covered in satiny soft skin cock. But before the last of his release leaves his body, Atlas surprises me by removing his fist from my hair and using the fingers of that hand to trace the outline of his name on my skin. The other hand, the one that has been clutching my hip, guiding my movements, disappears between us and strums my engorged clit, sending new

  sparks of awareness through me.

  My eyes flutter closed, and my mouth opens in a silent scream as Atlas pounds into me mercilessly. Over and over he pushes inside me, withdrawing until only the flared tip of his erection remains nestled in my heat.

  “Oh, God. Please. Please, Atlas, I need to come again,” I beg, knowing it won't be of any use.

  Atlas only allows me the beauty of an orgasm when he sees fit and no sooner. I can beg and plead, bargain and negotiate, and I have in the past, more than a few times, but he never caves to my demands. Not until he is good and ready. Thankfully for me, this time, Atlas takes pity on me, pinching my clit hard enough to throw me over the edge once more.

  “That's it, baby. Milk the last of my come out of my cock,” he rumbles into the side of my neck.

  With the last of his strength, Atlas slams himself inside me one final time, jerking violently as he empties the last of his release into my sated pussy. His huge body shakes as he comes down off his high, but ever the gentleman, Atlas doesn't collapse on top of me. Instead, he rolls to his side, taking me with him and settling me into the crook of his arm.

  No words are necessary, nor can I find any that would do justice to whatever that was. It wasn't sex. It certainly wasn't fucking. But I also can't go as far as to call what Atlas

  and I just did was making love. It was a mixture of the three. Raw, carnal, filled with passion and the desperate need to reconnect after so long apart, it was incredible, but the best part is that it was us.

  Sadly, as the orgasmic fog fades, I come to a startling realization. We didn't use protection. Again!

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ~ Emily ~

  A path less traveled

  It was raining cats and dogs when I pulled into the clubhouse forecourt. Colorado was in the midst of some of the worst torrential downpours the state had seen for years. Driving even a few miles was hazardous, which is why I was here. I had been on my way to the doctor when visibility got so bad that I had to pull over, and thankfully, Vengeance's compound was close enough to weather the storm. Or, at least, the worst of it.

  It wasn't lost on me that I shouldn't be here; that it was dangerous for me to be in the vicinity of any Vengeance owned property for fear of running into the men who were Scott’s brother that are still asking questions about his disappearance, and subsequent death.

  The events of six weeks ago, are permanently etched into my brain. As were the days that followed. While the scars Scott left behind may mar my skin forever, Atlas had been doing fantastically, making inroads on his way to erasing their emotional impact. I won’t pretend that my fear has disappeared entirely, but the fallout from Scott’s

  disappearance wasn’t nearly as bad as either Atlas or I had originally predicted. All in all, our precarious situation was well on its way to become a lot less complicated. The only item left on our agenda was how to break the news to Diesel that Atlas is his father, not Scott like he had always believed.

  At the time, I questioned going to Hounds, as a means to escape Scott's wrath. When I left our house, my only thought was to wait out his temper somewhere I knew I'd be safe. Nothing else mattered. My son was at his friends, and then would be on his way to visit his grandpa, my dad in Torment for spring break. He was safe, at least, right then. Unfortunately, that only meant that Scott would be more volatile if I hadn’t finally put my foot down and told him we were done.

  Scott didn't hit me in front of my son, not ever. That’s not to say he shied away from verbally and mentally abusing me any chance he got because he did. However, Scott did manage to bank his penchant for physical violence when Diesel was home, solely in fear of his secrets being exposed.

  Scott knew my son wouldn't hesitate to tell anyone who would listen that the man he knew as his father was a drunk and a drug addict if he ever laid a hand on me, so he refrained. Instead, he stored up every ounce of rage and displeasure, taking it out on me when we were alone. Something that I was definitely not okay with, but it was much more preferable than the alternative.

  However, this latest beating Scott had lost control in a big way. He knew it. I knew it. And everyone at Hounds that

  night saw it. In hindsight, aside from his run-in with Diesel, which was par for the course with those two, I can't even pretend to comprehend what set him off on his tirade. Honestly, in those last days before he died, Scott’s hair-trigger temper was volatile at best, and explosive at worst. Simple things such as his washing not being folded the way he liked, only one six pack of beer left in the refrigerator, not four, the house wasn't clean enough for his high standards, or God forbid, I needed money to grocery shop set him off. Whatever it was, Scott’s moods deteriorated dramatically in the lead up to that night.

  I'm not excusing Scott's behavior; I can't and never would. Abuse is abuse, period. And I should know because that's what I lived with day in and day out. All I'm saying is that I know better than to provoke him when he gets into one of his moods. And before you judge, I know I shouldn't have had to learn coping mechanisms or ways to avoid being hit, but you aren't me, and you don't have my secrets. Secrets I would, and have done everything to protect.

  So, in short, my fifteen years with Scott boiled down to this…

  I tolerated Scott's atrocious treatment, and he kept his end of the deal we made in exchange for the lives of the two men who meant more to me than my own life. The gravity of our agreement wouldn’t only impact me and mine, it would also affect the lives of all of the member of Vengeance and Soldiers of Havoc MC’s, their old ladies, wives, girlfriends, children, and families. Or so I thought.

  On finding out, Scott’s deal was nothing but a ruse to control me, to have what he wanted without having to earn it, I all but lost my mind. Atlas was there to hold me when I broke down and cried. He was there to act as my rock when my legs gave out, and I crumbled to the floor of the shower, as pain and humiliation for being so stupid wracked my body. And he was there in the aftermath, using his body to prove nothing had changed between us, that he still loved me just as much, if not more than he once had.

  In the dark, I admitted to Atlas that there were more than a few nights like the one six weeks ago, that I needed to escape. I told him that on the rare occasions I could get away, I would just drive around aimlessly until I had my head toge
ther enough that I could breathe through the pain and confusion, steeling myself to make through another day with Scott. It was in those moments that I was reminded that the physical pain of doing something as simple as breathing was so much easier than dealing with the mental and emotional anguish that haunted my dreams for months after one of Scott’s “lessons” as he called them.

  Oh, don't for one second I didn’t contemplate saying, "fuck it all," and exposing my sins myself because I did. Furthermore, don't think it wouldn't have given me great pleasure to see the look on Scott's face when he didn't have anything to lord over me anymore because that surely would have been worth the fallout.

  However, every time I was on the cusp of folding, the memory of just how profoundly I love my son and his father came to mind. As did how much I treasure the rare looks

  from Atlas that held the same heat, compassion, and love from all those years ago. Selfishly I couldn’t give those up. So I stayed silent and suffered for it. But in the back of my mind, every time Scott's fists met my flesh, I reminded myself why I was enduring, and somehow I found a way to push through the pain and bury it deep. Deep enough that it eventually turned into a raging fire that didn't consume. Instead, it gave me strength to make it from one day to the next.

  *****

  Pulling the hood of my sweatshirt over my head, I step out of my car and into the storm. But after just a few steps, I freeze solid, and it isn't due to the icy rain drops hitting my skin. There, right in front of me, not twenty feet away is Atlas and a thin, yet curvy blonde woman, walking hand-in-hand out of the clubhouse. Talk about timing; this is quite possibly my worst nightmare come to life.

  Now don't get me wrong; I know Atlas is not a choir boy, nor has he practiced celibacy for the last fifteen years. But until now, I haven't had to come face to face with any of the women he's become intimately acquainted with. Not to mention, here I am looking like a drowned rat, shivering in my drenched, oversized sweatshirt and jeans, while the woman peering up at Atlas appears as if she belongs on the cover of Maxim, not here in the wilds of Colorado at an MC clubhouse.

  This woman is everything I'm not. Tall to my short. Perfectly curvaceous to my petite. Dark to my light. We

  couldn't be more different, yet that doesn't seem to bother Atlas in the slightest, as his hand releases hers and snakes around her shoulders, pulling her in tighter to his side.

  At this point, I would love to claim that the water streaming down my face is due to the rain, but it's not. Tears well in my eyes and spill over without my permission. While the flood of tears seer my cheeks, ice infuses my soul as I watch them stare at each other. I'm too far away to see their facial expressions completely, but I can see the woman's broad smile and also the crooked grin tipping the corners of Atlas' mouth. A grin that used to be reserved for me, and only me.

  And that stings. No, it burns. My whole body feels as if it is simultaneously on fire while being bathed in ice. But just when I don't think it can get any worse, pain like nothing I've ever experienced, not even during the worst of Scott's beatings, has me diving behind my car.

  Breathing through the gut wrenching agony of watching Atlas kiss the woman like she is everything he has ever wanted and needed is almost impossible. However, it isn't the kiss that has my lungs seizing and stops my heart from beating steadily. No, it's seeing him caress her jaw and run his nose down the side of hers that rips my heart from my chest like the useless organ it is.

  The two of them stay just like that for what feels like hours, yet I know in reality it can only be minutes before a warm, heavy hand grips my shoulder gently.

  “What the hell are you doing, hiding behind your car, sweet thing?” Hoss chuckles.

  Shaking my head dismissively, not wanting to voice everything running through my mind, I don't move from my position, stating,

  “Ah...waiting till the coast is clear?” It comes out more like a question than a statement, but oh well, whatever. After what I just saw, I'm lucky I can formulate a sentence, let alone a single word.

  “We talking about the rain or those two?” He asks, tipping his head in the couple's direction.

  Giving Hoss my best 'what the hell do you think' glare, I snort,

  “A bit of both. But if you want the truth, mostly them.”

  Why lie? Hoss is probably the only person in the world besides, Atlas and Scott, that knows the enormity of what I once had with Atlas, and he would never utter a word to anyone. Not to mention, Hoss has been there for me when no one else has, but that's our secret too. Or it was until Atlas dragged the truth about Hoss’ involvement in my life out of me.

  It was only hours after the first really bad beating Scott gave me, that I, by chance, ran into Hoss. My pain must have been written all over my face, because Hoss took one look at me, shook his head and then led me to his truck, demanding I explain what the hell was going on.

  I'm not proud of it, but that day I broke down and told him everything. From meeting Atlas to being forced to leave him, how I ended up with Scott, and why I was right then covered head to toe in bruises. The only thing I left out was my son's paternity, but I wasn't fooling Hoss. No one fooled him. He asked once if Atlas was Diesel's father, and when I declined to answer, he let it go.

  That doesn't mean, Hoss didn't know the truth just from looking at me; he was merely cool enough not to push me. Not then. In fact, I can't remember him even hinting at it since, which made me trust him implicitly.

  After that, Hoss became the person I went to when things got out of control at home. When I didn't know what to do, or how to make it from one day to the next, Hoss would hug me and promise things would work themselves out. He didn't pressure me to tell my dad what was going on with my husband, or Atlas what was going on with his brother. Hoss simply listened to me and let me cry on his should. And thank God for those broad shoulders, because I don't know what I would have done without them.

  That's not to say, Hoss with happy about my situation and didn't quietly, yet stoically encourage me to change it; he did. Hoss wanted more for my son and me than a life lived in fear. He could see the constant state of alert I existed in was wearing on me, so he offered options, solutions to my problems that may eventually see me clear of my abusive husband and to safety.

  I was grateful for Hoss, more than grateful, but until I had a solid plan, somewhere to run to that I could hide, and enough money to start a new life, not for me but for Diesel, I kept insisting that I wouldn't be going anywhere. Hoss knew that, and to some degree, accepted it. So while I kept working on my grand exit plan, he continued to be my greatest support.

  “You ever think that half your problems would be solved if you just grew some balls and owned your shit?” He asks still smirking at me.

  “Shut it. You know it's not that easy, so don't even go there, big man,” I retort sharply. More sharply than I intended.

  Tugging on the ends of my now matted ponytail, Hoss' smirk widens.

  “Know that, and I know this too; both of you are fucking idiots. That man over there,” he grunts, tilting his head in Atlas's direction, “would give his goddamned soul to be with you, and vice versa. All it would take is one crook of your tiny finger, and he'd be falling all over himself to claim you. Permanently. As his old lady, I mean. Problem is, you're too damn stubborn and convinced that he'll never forgive you that you won't even give him a chance to prove to you he already has.”

  Narrowing my eyes at him, I wipe some of the excess water from my face with my palm and shrug.

  “This isn't a matter of being stubborn or not giving him a chance, Hoss. It's so much more complicated than that. We haven’t even told Diesel yet. What if that goes pear-shaped? What if my son can’t accept the news, and in doing so, Atlas realizes forgiveness just isn’t something he’s capable of?”

  With a wry look that smacks of disappointment, Hoss grimaces.

  "Yeah. I get it. And I feel for you, babe. Honestly, I do. You've let me in enough over the years that I've been
able to piece together what you’re dealing with, but that doesn't mean I don't wish it were different. For both of you."

  “You and me both. But it isn’t, so now, I just suck it up and get on with my life. Obviously, Atlas is so I think it’s high time, I follow his lead for once,” I tell him. “Now, help me up would you. I'm kind of stuck here,” I admit, gesturing to my feet that have sunk, at least, an inch into the mud.

  Grabbing my hand, Hoss hoists me up and frees my feet just as Atlas's mouth connects with the unknown woman's for the second time. Again, excellent timing or what?

  “He's only been seeing her casually, off and on for a few months,” Hoss shares as if it makes a difference. Which conversationally, it doesn't. Well, not to me at least. Especially, not when Atlas has been in my bed almost every night since we reunited six weeks ago.