FILLED: Berserkers MC

by Sophia Gray

  I was hoping it hadn’t, but I just couldn’t be sure. So much had happened in that time.

  I wasn’t sure if I wanted Nester to come for me. Of course I wanted to be rescued and fall back into Nester’s arms like some sort of swooning princess from a fairytale with a dragon and a knight in shining armor. But that wasn’t very realistic no matter what the circumstances were. Beyond that, it was stupid.

  What if Nester came? I couldn’t honestly believe that he would make their exchange across the board. Santos was too angry with me to just give me over to Nester. The only hope I had that he might was because if Nester really did sign that piece of paper, that false confession, then Nester would go to prison. And not just for a little five-year stint like he did last time. This would be for years, maybe even life. I didn’t know how bad the drug ring operations had gotten, and with Nester’s history of being in prison, and so recently, well, I could see them sticking him with every minute of time they could.

  If things really did go like that, I could see Santos letting me live if only to see that the love of my life was behind bars and unlikely to ever be a free man again, much less come to me. That sounded like an awful, lonely existence, and it was the exact sort of “fair is fair, eye for an eye” thinking that Santos would do.

  I didn’t like that, but at least we would both be alive. And I told myself that I could try to get Nester out. Maybe testify or go against Santos.

  And as soon as I had that thought, I knew for certain that I wouldn’t walk out of this alive. Santos couldn’t afford to let me go, because surely he had had the same thoughts as me. If he let me go and Nester went to prison, of course I would fight against Santos. And that could get him into the kind of legal trouble that he couldn’t afford.

  No, even if Nester signed the paper, even if he came to save me, I was dead. My only hope was that it would be quick.

  I shuddered against that cold, dark thought, wishing more than anything that it wasn’t the truth. But I felt it in my bones that there was no alternative. Santos would kill me, both out of vindictiveness and necessity, and Nester would spend the rest of his life in prison. How had we gotten to this point?

  I could still remember the first time I’d found myself wrapped up in Nester’s arms in a passionate embrace. So sweet, tentative, because he always seemed sure that he would lose me at any moment, but beneath that sweetness was more raw energy and passion than I had ever seen in anyone.

  More than I thought I could handle—more than I could let myself walk away from.

  He paused to kiss me, a soft, sweet kiss. It was a reminder that this was my choice—as he told me again and again, every single day we were together and even on the times we weren’t—and that he wouldn’t push me any farther than I was willing to go.

  Except I was willing today. Willing to go to places I hadn’t ventured in a long time, not since my first time with a boy who couldn’t have cared less about me or my pleasure or my heart.

  Nester wasn’t like that. I’d been scared to fall for him, terrified that it would end in catastrophe and I would lose not only the romantic connection that was impossible to ignore, but also the friendship that I’d come to rely on.

  But he was too much to resist and I didn’t want to anymore.

  His home was just shy of a shack, settled not far from the swamp lands where alligators, snakes, and god knew what else liked to lay in wait for some poor unsuspecting victim. A quick, stupid meal. But they were out of my head as his lips pressed against mine, lighter than I knew they wanted to be, but he wouldn’t push. Nester was scared to lose me, I knew, so he wouldn’t push.

  “Sorry about the place,” he breathed, sounding genuine. Nester didn’t usually care what other people thought of his living conditions, of his clothing, of his bike, but he seemed to care what I thought and it warmed me.

  A tingle raced through me and I shook my head. “Don’t apologize for it. I like it.”

  He gave me a skeptical look, but didn’t question me when I pushed at his shoulder to get him to go inside. I caught half a grin as he turned to open up the door and lead me inside. His hand found mine and it was just as warm, sweaty even, as mine was.

  The heat was almost blistering, coupled with the heady humidity to make it the kind of day that clung to your skin and shoulders like a wool jacket. Muggy, unbearable, but I didn’t pay it any attention. Not now. Even when we went inside and all the windows were open, because there was no air conditioning hooked up right now and the place sucked at holding in cool air anyway, losing half of it to the cracks and crevices that threatened to crumple the little place at any moment.

  It wasn’t quite a studio apartment, though it wasn’t far from it. There was a kitchen which attached to the living room, which had a bed pushed up to one side beneath a window that looked out to the road and the swamp beyond it. There was a door painted an off-green color that led to the bathroom and a second one that would take you to a small room with a sink and tile floor. A mud room, tiny, but still there.

  “It’s not much, I know,” he said, his tone apologetic once more.

  I shook my head, because I really and truly didn’t care. I didn’t come from money and even if I had, I liked to believe that the way I felt for Nester—all-consuming desire, sweet affection, clingy friendship—would push aside any misconceptions I might have after seeing a place like this.

  “It’s perfect. I don’t want us to be in different rooms anyway,” I told him, and I was a little surprised to find how low and sultry my voice had become.

  Nester looked surprised, too, his eyebrows shooting up high onto his forehead as he stared at me with eyes slightly widened. Slowly, his lips pulled into a smile, devious and promising. He stepped towards me. “No?”

  I shook my head again, my hand going to the low neck of my shirt. I’d worn a V-neck today that dipped low enough to show a long line of cleavage that had a tendency to earn my catcalls and stares wherever I went, and a pair of short shorts that I knew Nester liked because he always stared at my ass when I wore them. My bare skin was hot as my fingertips just barely touched it, the space between my breasts slick and shiny with sweat as I trailed my middle finger down the valley.

  Nester’s eyes were riveted to my fingers, willing them to go lower, willing to do more. My finger caught the edge of my collar, tugging on it a little bit, just enough that it pulled down even farther and my bra peeked out from the sides of it.

  Nester stepped closer to me. I could feel his heat wafting towards me, consuming me, different than the heat of the day and so much better.

  “No,” I finally answered him, swallowing heavily. My breathing was picking up and my heart was pounding a mile a minute, so loud that I wondered if he could hear it, if he could feel the drumming of it beating out like wings in the air.

  He stepped closer again until we were so close to touching that I could feel electricity spring between us. He licked his lips; mine parted. And then his mouth was on mine, devouring me. His hands wrapped around my body, jerking my hips against his, rubbing himself against me, showing me that he was already hard and pulsing with need for me.

  It made me moan and he swallowed the sound.

  Abruptly, we pulled apart and he took a step back. I blinked at him in surprise, trying to clear my lusty, hazy vision so that I could see—and maybe think—clearly. I opened my mouth to ask him what was wrong, why he had stopped, but I snapped it shut a moment later when I saw him.

  He was running a hand through his sweat dampened hair, his chest rising and falling heavily. He was taut with tension, nervousness, and desire all at once. And when he looked at me, I realized that he had backed off not because he didn’t want me, but because he did want me, bad enough that he didn’t want to rush this.

  That was when I realized for certain that this wasn’t just a fuck to him. It was more. There was passion and lust, of course, and there was no questioning whether or not he wanted to drive his hard cock deep within me. But beyond all of that, he a
lso felt affection and maybe something stronger for me.

  He wanted this to go right.

  When he still hesitated to come back to me, I smiled at him encouragingly and opened up my arms. I stepped to him and wrapped myself around his tense, trembling frame. A moment’s hesitation, and then his own arms came around my body.

  For a long while we just stood there in each other’s arms. Then, finally, his mouth found mine again. There was still that fire fueled passion lingering in his lips, but they were softer this time, slower. He worked his mouth against mine tenderly as though he had all the time in the world. As though he wanted to savor the moment.

  We continued to kiss like that until I felt so worked up I might have screamed in his mouth, but finally he broke his mouth away and began to trail it down my neck. I moaned as his tongue laved at my neck and down lower to trace my collarbone. I felt his hands gather me up at my waist, but was still surprised when he lifted me up. I let out a squeak of surprise—which he laughed a little at, though it was breathy and gone almost as soon as it came—and automatically my legs wrapped around his middle. He held me up, his arms bracing me beneath my rear to keep me up. His mouth continued to lavish me with attention, his lips and tongue working their way lower to the valley of my breasts, licking at my sweaty skin as though he simply liked the way I tasted.

  Maybe he did.

  We were moving—or he was and I was going with him by default—but I was only half paying attention. My head was thrown back, my eyes closed, my hands gripping his thick, damp hair as he continued to lick and kiss my skin, having found the sides of my breasts. His teeth grazed the side of one tit and I let out a low, guttural moan of pleasure.

  I wanted more.

  His hands found their way up beneath the line of my shorts to cup my ass. I felt his thumb at the edge of my panties, fingering slowly beneath them. Not quite where I found I wanted him, but close, so damn close.

  I had time to make a frustrated sound before I realized that he’d taken us to his bed. He dropped me down, letting me bounce a little, then knelt over me. His hands had removed from my ass to come around the front. They went to work quickly on the button of my short shorts and then yanked down the zipper. Before he took my shorts completely off, he leaned forward until I felt his hot breath on my navel. I shivered and then I felt his tongue slip along my skin. My muscles contracted, my hands fisted the sheets, and I swore, that single touch almost more than I could handle.

  He kissed me there, and then trailed lower, butterfly kisses slipping over my sweaty flesh. He reached the top of my panties and used his fingers to pull the fabric down lower so he could kiss more.

  I felt as though I was struggling just to breathe, desperate for something I only even half understood, and when he pulled my underwear down low enough that he found my lips—moist and swollen already with need—I nearly lost my mind. His tongue licked across my opening and I cried out something that sounded like his name but could have just as easily been a prayer or a curse.

  He pulled my shorts and panties down the rest of the way so that my lower half was exposed to him. Using his hands, he pulled me apart, holding my lips open so that he could kiss my opening, slide his tongue along it and into it, too.

  I gripped the sheets tightly, my hips lifting seemingly of their own accord to press his face closer to me. His hands moved so that he could brace my pelvis on the bed, holding me down as his mouth continued to kiss my slick opening.

  I cried out again as he moved his hand again, this time allowing a thumb to rub the sensitive bundle of nerves just above my opening.

  “Oh god!” I half yelled, half moaned.

  He continued to pleasure me with his mouth as his thumb rubbed me. Soon pleasure built inside of me, mounting until it was uncontrollable. I burst with need and want and satisfaction all at once, leaving my sweetness pouring into his mouth and onto the bed.

  When I had finished, I looked up to find that Nester had straightened and removed his shirt. He was working on his pants now, and I shuddered as I realized there was most definitely more to come.

  I couldn’t even sit up—I felt like boneless jelly—and whined as much, only because it meant I couldn’t take off my shirt.

  Nester grinned at me, face flushed, pants sliding down, erection tall and proud. He came to me then and grabbed me at the waist, lifting me up so that he could help me work my shirt over my head. The bra was easier, thankfully, because I’d chosen a front clasp.

  “Eager?” was all he commented, and I only nodded in response. He didn’t mind and I was grateful when my breasts were released, free only to be caged a moment later by his hands.

  He settled between my legs and I felt him rub along my entrance, getting himself lubricated before diving inside me. He kissed my face and my lips, my neck and shoulders, everywhere he could reach with his mouth. And he caressed me, his touch gentle, controlled, deliberate. He was still working to make sure that this was good for me, that I wouldn’t run when we got too far.

  But I wasn’t running anywhere.

  “Please,” I murmured, not caring that I was begging him. “Please, just take me.”

  And he did. He was careful and slow and patient, giving as much as taking, and I knew it was hard for him. His length filled me up completely, stretching me until I felt like I might lose my mind, then pumping into me in a pace that was too slow for both of us.

  But we built it up. Slowly, surely, and when the pace was finally fast and hard he was so close to the end and I was so worked up that I felt like I might explode, it was no wonder that he spilled himself across my belly and breasts.

  We’d lain there in the heat, in our own sweat and other things, caressing and kissing each other like it was the first time. It wasn’t, neither of us were virgins, but it was the most important time, because it was that first moment between us where I acknowledged just how much I trusted Nester. And he showed me without words just how much he would be patient and loving with me.

  It was always my choice.

  The memory made me want to cry and it was only the knowledge that Santos would eventually be back that kept me from doing so. I had already begged and bargained and cried in front of that man. I wouldn’t let him see me do it again, not if I could help it.

  I would have to try to be strong, because at the very least maybe I could go with some kind of dignity.

  It was on this thought that I heard the lock click. My gaze jerked to the door to find it opening. Past the door was Santos and beyond him were guards posted outside my door. It occurred to me then that this was like a compound, not a house, but I decided it was kind of irrelevant at this point. I knew exactly what kind of monster Santos was now.

  He walked into the room, his presence immediately making things about ten times worse. I was more aware of being trapped, of the bruises on my face, and my own impending death. It was hard not to be when the man who was keeping you hostage entered your room with that malicious, deplorable look in his eyes.

  “Are you comfortable?” he asked.

  I had been sitting in one of the chairs—I didn’t want to be in the bed, I wanted to be ready in case there was any chance for escape—but stood as soon as I heard the door click. I folded my arms across my chest at his question now.

  “Just stop this, Santos,” I heard myself say, steadier and stronger than I felt. Inside, I was trembling with fear and the knowledge that there was no reasoning with the man in front of me. He was a death sentence, an executioner, and we both knew it. But I tried anyway, because trying kept me busy. It meant I didn’t fall into a blubbering puddle of a mess, terrified and panicked and pathetic.

  Keep your dignity, I reminded myself, because it was my last goal. I didn’t know what else to do.

  “Stop what?” he inquired, putting on an innocent, overly confused expression that was so clearly fake it could only be meant to look fake. He gestured with his arms to the room surrounding us. “I put you up in one of my nicest rooms. I made sure you were
safe from outside intruders.” I snorted at that and he narrowed, not appreciating even that small interruption. But he continued as though he hadn’t heard it. “I even gave you a large, luxurious bed. One that would make any whore pleased.”

  I froze at that word. Whore. A sudden, devastating thought occurred to me. I was so desperate for it not to be true that I shoved it aside, but even as I did so I took a step back, putting more distance between Santos and me.

  He smiled at me, slow and easy, like he had figured out what I had just realized and liked it very much. He was enjoying my sudden spike of terror.

  I began to shake my head as he continued speaking, taking a step into the room. “I figured you would be happy to spread your legs on that kind of luxury.” His tone wasn’t malicious, but his words were and so were his icy eyes.