Maz

by Jessie Cooke

  Jessie Cooke

  Redline Publishing

  About this Book

  Edition #2: November 2019

  The Skulls Books are about the Skulls clubs, its members, and non-members who influence Skulls life.

  Sometimes a story will be about a specific member of the club and other times about a person who is not a patched member, but is connected in some way to the Skulls club life, and who may or may not become patched in a later story.

  It’s all about giving you the Stories of the Skulls which is much more than just its patched members.

  This gives me a lot more scope to write the stories that I want to share with you.

  Ensuring you have the Latest Edition.

  At the top of this page is the edition number for this book. You can check on my website www.jessiecooke.com to see whether you have the latest edition, and if you have an earlier edition of any book or collection, you can contact Amazon support and ask them to send you the latest version.

  Why do I do this?

  So you always have the opportunity to have the best version of any story, whether it has been updated for some late editing changes, or because the story details have changed slightly to clarify content that might be confusing readers.

  I’m always trying to present the best reading experience and if that means updating a book, that’s what I will do.

  I hope you enjoy this book,

  Jessie.

  Contents

  Don’t Miss Out

  Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

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  Description

  Maz always knew he wasn’t the best-looking guy in the room, but he was okay with that. He was big and tough, and he fit right in with his brothers at the Westside Skulls. He loved his job there as an enforcer. He came from a good family, and despite some struggles overcoming feelings of abandonment he had from being left by his biological mother when he was just a baby, he really had nothing to complain about…except that he was lonely. Being average-looking wasn’t what kept Maz lonely. He didn’t need the piercing blue eyes of Dax Marshall or the smoldering dark good looks of his club’s SA Bruf. He attracted many women…he had a secret weapon. Maz’s first language was French, and American women were drawn to his accent. Maz could take almost any woman in the room home with him if he wanted to…but his other secret was what made him so lonely. Maz had the anatomy of a porn star, and one look at his equipment sent most women scrambling for the door. He’d almost given up on finding a woman who would fall in love with him and be able to handle him in bed as well, when Marissa walked into his life.

  Marissa spent most of her adult life taking care of her diabetic mother and she wasn’t looking for anything other than a plane ticket to the East Coast and time to travel, when Maz came into her life. She tried to deny it, but the chemistry was much too overwhelming and the two of them clicked, over almost everything…most especially in bed. Marissa was certain she’d found her soulmate and Maz seemed to think the same thing too…until suddenly he left town, taking an assignment for his club two thousand miles away that might not see him making it home.

  Marissa wants to know why Maz ran. Maz doesn’t want to know the old family secret he discovered. Will the star-crossed lovers find their way back to each other…or will the explosive secret Maz now holds in his hands, destroy them both and take down two families in the process?

  1

  “Oh, fuck no! No way. You’re not touching me with that thing! Jesus, you need to find yourself a porn star if you want a woman to touch that.” Chelsea scrambled off the bed as if maybe Maz had pulled out a rat, or a snake. Of course, that was what he’d named it, the snake. She was staring at him from across the room now with her chest heaving and her big blue eyes filled with fear. Maz was disappointed, but not surprised. He had hoped this one would be different, but he’d been disappointed so many times before that he was used to it.

  Maz had only just met Chelsea a few hours before in a club that he’d found on his way back from a ride to Merced. He’d gone to pick something up for Wolf, and Wolf had given him extra cash for a motel room so that he didn’t have to make the ride in one day. The club was downstairs from his room and he could hear the music booming as soon as he’d walked into the lobby earlier. He’d taken a shower and left his kutte in his hotel room before going downstairs with one thing on his mind. Maz was proud to be a part of the Westside Skulls, but sometimes the colors got people all worked up…and tonight he didn’t want to fight, he wanted…no, scratch that, he needed…to fuck.

  For the past month and a half Maz had been embroiled in an exclusive and intensely unsatisfying relationship with his right hand. He needed hot flesh, someone else’s flesh. He needed curves and big breasts in his face. He needed a tight, wet pussy wrapped around his cock…and he was hoping tonight he could find that.

  He walked into the loud, dark club and took a seat at the bar. The club was so crowded that Maz could hardly hear himself think. He’d only been there a few minutes when a fifty-something blonde with a nice body sat next to him and started talking. He was only able to make out every fourth or fifth word she was saying, but that was okay with him, he wasn’t there for the titillating conversation. He smiled at her and nodded in what he hoped were the right places. She seemed interested in him, which was a good thing, and she was sober, which was even better. Yep…unless she had a dick underneath that short dress she was wearing, she’d do just fine…he hoped.

  “So, then I moved to California!” She was suddenly yelling in his ear and he realized the loud music had stopped. She giggled. “Oh, I’m sorry. I probably broke your eardrum.”

  Maz smiled. He wasn’t movie star good-looking like Ash, or mysterious and overly masculine like Wolf…or even sulky and dark like Sledge. He was simply average, in his opinion. He was the kind of guy that most women could pass on the street and not be able to pick out of a lineup twenty minutes later. But he could work with that, thanks to his beloved maman.

  “My eardrum is just fine, belle femme.” The blonde’s eyes widened, and he saw her go from semi-interested to full-on lust in seconds. His accent was his secret weapon.

  When he was a year and a half old, his dad had married a French woman. She had moved to New Orleans earlier, seeking a new life after having her heart broken in Paris. Maz’s father had been there to pick up the pieces. His stepmother Elise turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to Maz and his father. The baby boy had been abandoned by his mother and left with a father who loved him but had no idea what to do with a baby. Maz’s aunt told him stories when he got older about how frightened his father was to even touch him when he was little. She lived on the
West Coast, and they lived in New Orleans, and Maz’s father would routinely call her at 2 a.m., begging her to fly out and help him. He’d tried and tried to hire a live-in nanny, but every time the applicants found out that he was a single father, they disappeared. Maz’s dad was a big guy…huge, as a matter of fact…so the women’s reluctance to move into his home with him was understandable, but to Maz’s detriment.

  By the time his father met Elise, Maz was grossly overweight, not talking at all, and barely walking. Elise had stepped in and taken over, and within a year she had the boy off the bottle, slimmed down to a healthy weight, running, not just walking…and talking up a storm. Of course, his father couldn’t understand a word he said, because he was talking in French. He’d had to learn English as his second language when he started school and it had left him with a strong accent, one that women adored.

  “What a lovely accent,” she said. “French?”

  “Oui.” She actually shuddered. Yeah, this one was definitely interested…at least for now.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Maz, what’s yours?”

  “Maz…I’ve never heard that before. Is it French?”

  “Oui,” he lied. His name was Zane Zimmerman. The guys in the club had renamed him Maz and he liked it. Zane was too connected to his past, and he was happy to leave it there.

  “I’m Chelsea.”

  Maz lifted her hand off the bar and brought it to his lips. “Honore de vous rencontrer belle.” He could feel the heat coming off her body as her face flushed, and she let out a little gasp and he knew he had her. Only one drink later and a quick spin around the dance floor, where he was careful to keep his hardening cock from brushing up against her, he had her back up in his room and the little skirt around her ankles.

  He was sitting on the bed, still fully clothed, and he had her standing in front of him…gloriously naked. For an older woman, she had a smoking hot body, and his cock was aching. He reached up with one hand and hooked it behind her head, pulling her down in a deep, sexy kiss. She moaned into his mouth and when she broke the kiss and stood, she put her hands in his curly black hair and pulled his face to her breasts. He began to feast hotly on them, licking her smooth flesh and nibbling on her nipples. She liked it when he used the sides of his teeth to scrape along the outside of the nipple, judging by the moans and soft curses escaping from her lips. He reached between her legs as he suckled on her other nipple and found her sopping-wet pussy. He began to stroke it lightly, up and down her puffy lips, lightly skimming her clit from time to time and making her whimper. He kissed his way from her breasts down her belly, licking around her bellybutton as she pushed his head down lower.

  He could feel her getting wetter while he stroked her and just before his mouth reached her mound, he slid a finger up inside of her. She cried out and arched her back so that her pelvis was tipped in his direction. He pushed another calloused finger up inside of her. She was fucking tight, and as excited as that thought made him, he knew it also didn’t bode well for how the rest of the night might go. He shook that thought off when his tongue reached her mound and he could smell her sex and how badly she wanted him.

  He stood up and deftly avoided her hand, which was reaching toward the massive bulge in his jeans. He wasn’t ready to find out just yet what she was going to think of it. He nudged her down so she was sitting on the bed and then, dropping to his knees, he picked up her legs and threw them over his broad shoulders. She cried out as soon as his face descended on her pussy. Her hands went to her breasts as she lifted her hips even higher to meet his mouth and she twisted, pinched, and pulled on her own nipples. Maz let his tongue come out and he licked her from one end of her beautiful, smooth pussy to the other. She took her right hand off her breast and reached down and used it to open up her lips to him. One thing he did love about older women…they weren’t shy about their bodies. They knew what they wanted, what they liked…and they went for it.

  Maz opened his mouth and covered the entire opening of her pussy with it. He began to lick at the sensitive skin on the insides of her lips, probing her opening with his tongue, teasing her. She moved her left hand down too and with that one she wrapped his hair around her fingers and pushed his face in even deeper. He moved it back and forth, tickling her with the light stubble on his chin. She was breathing heavily and making loud noises. He didn’t care if the whole floor heard them; if she let him fuck her, he was sure it wouldn’t be quiet. It was going to be quick and he wasn’t going to be gentle…he knew that already, simply because he needed it so fucking badly.

  Chelsea tightened the muscles in her legs and used them as leverage to raise her hips up and down…fucking herself against his face. He pushed his tongue up inside of her as far as it would go and pressed his nose against her engorged clit. She was getting louder and more excited, ripping at his hair so hard that he wasn’t sure he’d have any left by the time he was finished. When her body tightened up she let out a scream that was nothing but lust, and satisfaction. He felt the warm gush of her orgasm and he continued to lick and suck lightly until she began to relax and her legs, up on his shoulders, began to quiver. He lifted his head and looked at her face. She was flushed, and her eyes were dilated…she was drunk with lust…now was the time. He gently took her legs off his shoulders and lowered them, and then he stood up and pulled off his shirt. She sat up and ran her hand over the tattoo on his chest. It was a cross being held by a pair of praying hands and the words “Carpe Diem” were emblazoned across it. Maz had learned a long time ago how to seize the day, and it was one of his favorite sayings. And right then, he wanted to seize the moment.

  He lay down next to her on the bed and said, “Chelsea, I want to fuck you so badly.”

  She rolled over to face him and put her hands on either side of his face, pulling him in for a passionate kiss. She raised one leg and draped it over his hip and then he felt her rub herself against the front of his jeans…against his throbbing cock. That was the first sign that his night wasn’t going to end on the note he’d been hoping for. She’d looked up at his face and said, “Damn, that’s a huge bulge.”

  He smiled and said, “Objects in the jeans are larger than they appear.” He thought it was funny, but all he’d gotten from her was a polite chuckle.

  She moved her leg and said, “Are you going to take them off…the jeans?”

  He couldn’t stall any longer, and truth be told, he didn’t want to. God, he needed to feel himself buried inside of the woman. He wouldn’t tell her, but any woman, really. He just needed to fuck, the good old-fashioned way. He unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans and when he pushed them down and she saw the top of his cock protruding from his shorts, that was when her eyes had grown wide. When he pushed down his shorts and she saw the full monte…all ten and a half extremely fat inches of him…the start of another frustratingly lonely night began.

  2

  “Sex…you know, that thing you do with your…”

  “Shh! Charity, people are looking at us.”

  “I don’t care.” Marissa’s outspoken friend looked around the upscale restaurant and rolled her eyes. “Bunch of old haters probably haven’t had any since 1955. I bet they’re getting a thrill out of listening to our conversation…aren’t you, girls?” She directed her comment, loudly, to the table across from theirs. Three women, whom Marissa figured for soccer moms in their designer casual wear, were sipping tea and sharing a plate of pastries that didn’t look large enough to fill up a three-year-old. They were slightly older than Marissa and her friend, Charity…but not old enough to have been around in 1955. One of them, the one that looked the oldest, scowled at Charity. Marissa’s friend stuck her tongue out at her.

  “Stop it,” Marissa said, trying not to laugh. “You are going to get us kicked out of here.” Just then the young, hot, Mexican waiter stopped at their table.

  “Miguel, you’d never kick us out, would you?” Charity stared up at him, seductively…even biting the corne
r of her bottom lip. Miguel smiled. His teeth were a startling white against his dark skin. His eyes were deep brown and his dark hair was perpetually mussed on top. He looked like every twenty to fifty-year-old woman’s fantasy of a red-hot cabana boy.

  “Never, mi corazón,” he said to Charity, who pretended to swoon and fan herself. Marissa chanced a glance at the women across from them. They looked like they had forgotten Charity’s antics and were now focusing on Miguel’s backside. It was nicely framed in a pair of dark cotton shorts and the legs showing underneath them were finely sculpted and smooth, so she didn’t blame them.

  “See? We’re good. Now tell Miguel what you want for breakfast. I’m buying.” Charity winked up at the young waiter, making Marissa wonder exactly what it was her friend was buying today. Marissa loved Charity, but sometimes her…“extrovertism”…was a bit much for her.

  “I’d just like the Belgium waffle,” Marissa said, “and more coffee, please.”

  “I’ll take the fruit cup, Miguel,” Charity said. “You know how I like it…extra sweet, with a lot of cream.” She licked her lips. Marissa shook her head…Charity was a piece of work.