She glared at Meggie and eased the baby’s mouth away from her nipple. “Here, then. Take a photo of him and, then, please get out.”
Yanking her cell phone from her jacket pocket, Meggie found the switch to the overhead light, pushed the button for the camera, and then leaned in to take shots. “Unless you’re trying to give Val a thrill, cover your nipple.”
Zoann shot her a nasty look, then fastened her nursing bra and shoved her shirt down.
“He’s beautiful,” Meggie said in an off-handed manner, snapping shots of the little boy from different angles.
“He looks like his daddy,” Zoann whispered and bent down to kiss his forehead.
Kinda. But if that’s what Zoann saw, then Meggie wouldn’t argue.
“His name is Ryan,” she went on quietly. “Ryan Matthew Taylor.”
“So Val’s last name is Taylor?” Satisfied with the number of photos she’d taken, Meggie pocketed her cell phone again. “Valentine Taylor. That’s an interesting name.”
Zoann glanced away. “His road name is Valentine. His name is Matthew. Matthew Ryan Taylor.”
Typical Zoann. She’d denied Val the pleasure of allowing his son to have his first name.
“I’ll see you around,” Meggie said with a sigh. She wished Zoann didn’t have such a chip on her shoulder. Obviously, something had happened with the MC—besides the issues with Christopher—for Zoann to carry such enmity.
“D-does V-val have an old lady?”
So it did matter to her. Of course, it did. She wouldn’t be so bitter and angry if it didn’t. “Not that I know. He’s too busy being a murdering, whoring, stinking biker,” she added dryly.
The doorbell sounded again and, since Meggie stood right in front of the door, she pulled it open, surprised when she found Ophelia on the other side. Ophelia was Christopher’s youngest sister, twenty-three, the closest in age to Meggie.
Her eyes, a darker brown than Zoann’s, widened. When Meggie had spent time with everyone two Christmases ago, she and Ophelia had really taken to one another. All that vanished with the death of Patricia and their treatment of Christopher and Meggie hadn’t seen the woman since Patricia’s funeral.
“Meggie?” Ophelia greeted with a tentative note. Her hair stood in gelled spikes, accentuating her heart shaped face.
“Ophelia.”
Ophelia pursed her mouth at Meggie’s chilly greeting. “H-how’s Chris?”
“Perfect.”
“Would you tell him—“ She licked her lips and glanced nervously in Zoann’s direction.
“Go ahead, Fee,” Zoann said glumly. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Tell him…tell him ‘hi’ for me?”
Meggie shook her head. “Not unless an apology is included in that ‘hi’.”
“I miss him, Meggie.”
And she was sure Christopher missed his sisters, which she had no problem telling them.
“Really?” Zoann called. “We hadn’t seen him in a year before my mother was killed and—“
“And that ship’s sailed and is never returning to port,” Meggie called. “So get over it. He had his reasons for not visiting. You had no excuse for your attitude—“
“We did,” Ophelia put in. “We were grieving.”
“So was he. He needed you and you all let him down.”
“Would you tell him I’m—“
Meggie cut Ophelia off. Maybe, she was opening old wounds and maybe she was creating a bridge for the future, but these women were part of her family and someone had to extend the olive branch. Might as well be her since they shared some of Christopher’s DNA, especially the stubborn strand. “Some of the ladies are giving me a wedding shower at the club. I want you to come and you can apologize to him yourself.”
“Really?”
She nodded. After giving Ophelia all the information and discovering she was Zoann’s babysitter when Zoann went to work, Meggie got in her car and sped to the grocery store. While all the problems hadn’t been solved with this visit, it was a start.
Chapter 7
Christopher glared at Mortician and Val, who, along with a bunch of the other brothers, sat amongst some bitches. He flipped Mortician off when the man rolled his eyes and pointed to the big bouquet of red roses Christopher held.
He didn’t know all Megan’s plans, but he did know she was excited about this Valentine’s dinner she was planning for him. He couldn’t act like a dick and go to her without some of the bullshit girls liked to receive on Valentine’s Day.
When he stepped outside, he felt for the little jewelry box he’d hidden in his cut, the cold air blasting him. He paused to pull out a cigarette, then his lighter. Doing this shit one-handed irritated the fuck out of him. But he would’ve have to stomp one of those motherfuckers for some smart ass comment if he’d stayed in the clubhouse to do this shit, though it would’ve been easier because he could’ve set the roses down for a minute.
Bin waved at him from where he lounged against a bike, talking to a new girl. Christopher nodded to the brother, released the smoke through his nose, wondering what the fuck about Bin pissed him the fuck off. Brought in by Traveler, Bin had patched in and he seemed reliable. He did what the fuck was asked of him, never complaining about assignments. And, yet, the motherfucker just rubbed Christopher the wrong fucking way.
Much like Cee Cee. Fuck. That motherfucker did more than rub him the wrong fucking way. Christopher imagined strapping fuckhead down and borrowing his extremities to send to their rivals as a little ‘if-you-fuck-with-the-Dwellers-motherfuckers-this-could-be-your-fucking-arm’ message.
Or leg. Foot. Hand. Finger…
What the fuck ever.
Pushing Bin, Cee Cee, and all other fuckheads to the back of his mind, Christopher turned toward the thick stand of trees. The house he’d built for Megan rose up along the pathway. Their bedroom was on the third floor because Megan liked floor-to-ceiling windows and balconies, and Christopher wanted to keep her safe. CJ’s room was on that floor, too, but without all the glass and missing the balcony.
Fuck. This dinner meant a lot to her, so he couldn’t bring workplace bullshit to the table. He’d outline his plans for parts of Cee Cee later. Right now, he’d focus on his gorgeous, little wife.
The light gleamed from their bedroom, brighter amidst the canopy of trees. The cold air bit into his nose and cheeks, and he sniffled, shifting the flowers in his hands and flexing his fingers to bring warmth back to his arms and hands. Another light shone from the first floor and Christopher knew that was the kitchen where the back door was located. He suspected he’d find Megan there.
Enjoying his cigarette, he looked at the bare grounds. His girl had big plans for that, too. Once the house was built and the construction crew gone, he’d gotten the fuck out the way. He didn’t want to interfere with how Megan’s whole face lit up whenever she talked about how she’d decorate a certain room or what appliance she’d place in the kitchen. So he’d stayed the fuck out of it and, tonight, would be the first fucking time he’d set foot inside in weeks.
Taking one, last drag on his cigarette, he found his key and unlocked the gate. Once they moved in, he was going to choose some of his most reliable brothers to serve as security here. K-P had already volunteered to see to the guard dogs and, so far, the man was doing A-o-fucking-kay.
Climbing up the wraparound porch, Christopher headed for the back door, trying the knob and cursing when he found it unlocked.
“Megan!” he called, some delicious fucking smells invading his nose. His stomach growled as he propelled through the mud room and into the spacious kitchen. The black refrigerator door stood open and he saw Megan’s hand holding onto the handle. “Why the fuck the door unlocked?”
She slammed the door shut and Christopher’s mouth fell open, his hold on the bouquet slackening. She wore…nothing. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.
Her eyes lit up at the sight of the flowers. “Those are for me?”
No, she wore someth
ing. Red heels, he realized, hearing the motherfuckers clicking on the tiled floor. He hadn’t paid attention to her feet, too fixated on her beautiful tits and her delicious pussy. She tugged the flowers out of his hand, then pulled his head down to plant her mouth over his for a quick kiss.
“I thought we was eatin’, Megan?”
She laid the flowers on the counter and turned to him with a saucy wink. “You’re telling me you’re not going to eat?”
Wicked little bitch. He laughed, all the other bullshit from the past two days floating the fuck away. “Oh, yeah, baby. I’m gonna fuckin’ feast.”
He wedged her against the marble and wood island in the center of the kitchen, snaking an arm around her waist while tweaking one of her nipples and slanting his lips over hers. She opened to him so sweetly and he slipped his tongue into her mouth, his breath catching in his lungs and expelling in a big burst of air, her taste and scent leaving him light-headed as a motherfucker. He lifted her off her feet. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and groaned into his mouth, grinding against him. Their tongues met and twirled out all kinds of words in each other’s mouths: More. Fuck me. Now. Pussy. Met. Dick.
For some reason, the stupid fucking idea cracked him the fuck up and he barked a laugh against her mouth.
Megan nipped his lip. “What’s funny?” she asked, her fingers roaming along his jaw and down to his neck.
He laid his forehead against hers and told her about the words he imagined their tongues spelling out. She giggled and nuzzled his throat.
“Can you guess this one?” Her tongue swept against his with little brushes and pokes.
“Fuck. Baby. Tell me.”
“I spelled eat me.”
“Megan, baby,” he breathed, bending his head and taking a nipple into her mouth, sucking hard.
She whimpered, her fingers sliding through his hair. “Christopher.”
Her milk filled his mouth and Christopher let the sweetness slide down his throat, holding her in place when she began to squirm. Focusing on the other tit, he widened her legs and slipped a finger inside her pussy, wiggling it inside of her.
She cried out and Christopher lifted his head, her flushed features and darkened eyes hitting him right in the balls. Cum threatened to detonate them with the force of dynamite. He gave her a heavy-lidded look.
He lifted her onto the counter and nipped her neck, licking at the tender skin near her ear, tracing the shell of her lobe. “What the fuck you want from me, baby?”
She kicked her heels off. “Your tongue between my legs.”
“You want me to lick your pussy?” he growled, feathering her mouth and hairline with kisses. She threw her head back, her hair raining around her like golden silk.
“Yeah.” She leaned back on her elbows, using one hand to open her pussy lips. “Lick my clit.”
Hooking his arms around her thighs, he bent and lifted her pussy to his mouth. “Roll your cunt on my tongue for me, baby.” As if he had to tell her, but his words made her hot as fuck. He sucked her clit between his teeth, then soothed it with the tip of his tongue. She gasped and gripped his hair, wriggling against his lips and the flat of his tongue.
She jerked against him and cried out his name, bathing his lips, tongue and chin in her pussy juice. He kissed the inside of her thigh, resisting the urge to sniff her pussy—for now—and straightening to his full height. She spread her legs and fingered herself.
“I want you inside of me, Christopher. Now.”
He began freeing himself and stepped between her legs.
“Want my dick in your sweet pussy?”
Her fingers worked her clit and her head lolled to the side. “Yeah. Put your…your…dick inside of me.”
He’d take those words. Bracing one arm on the side of her, he slid his dick tip over her swollen clit. “Put my cock in you, baby.”
Groaning, she widened her legs and guided him to her hot entrance, lifting her hips to draw his wide crown inside.
Christopher grunted. “Fuck, Megan.” He thrust into her, buried in her pussy right to his balls, and stuck his tongue out. She lifted herself up, raising her hips to meet his hard thrusts, and meeting his tongue with hers, their wet, sloppy kiss expanding Christopher’s dick. Gripping her hips, he pulled her closer and swiveled against her to brush her clit. “I ain’t gonna last, baby. I’m about to come all in your pussy.”
“God!”
He bit her neck and she shivered. “You want that, Megan? You want my cum in your pussy? I’m gonna give you every last drop, baby. I ain’t gonna stop coming in your pussy ‘til my balls are empty.”
She dug her nails into his back and screamed out her release. Her quivering body drawing his cum out of his balls and pulsing into her belly.
Nervous, Meggie clasped her arms around Christopher’s neck as he carried her down the hallway toward the center of the first floor. She’d wanted only two floors—and she definitely didn’t need such a huge house—but her husband had insisted on both the square footage and the third floor for the family bedrooms. They hadn’t even eaten yet, but she’d been wanting Christopher all day and knew the best way to get his attention. Instead of dressing after she’d soaked in her bath, in her lovely cream-colored tub big enough for two, she’d decided to forget about putting on the dress she’d purchased a couple days ago.
“Okay, stop,” she ordered, reaching the door where her surprise lay on the other side. Her heart beat very hard when her brain raced through all the various scenarios of Christopher’s reactions. She squirmed out of his arms and faced him, very conscious of her nudity with her body so sated. Besides, he still wore a long-sleeved crew shit beneath his cut, every ripped inch of his shoulders and torso defined through the fitted material. He rarely wore his leather pants, but, tonight, black leather clung to his thighs and legs, gathering his penis into a very delectable package. Heat rushed through her at the fire in his eyes, the intensity of their mutual awareness scorching through her. She licked her lips. “Close your eyes.”
Impatience tightened his hot study of her. She knew Christopher didn’t believe in mushiness, but he’d consented to a romantic evening. Though she hadn’t expected the flowers, it reaffirmed her belief of her importance to him. She’d met him in the nude because of her own lusty need to feel his big body moving inside of her. Now, the gesture seemed appropriate and a very satisfying compromise.
“Instead of closin’ my eyes, I’d prefer to flip you over and bury my face in your pussy, Megan.” He grabbed her by the neck and pulled her closer, kissing her with enough desire and passion to make her spontaneously combust. “While I’m lickin’ your pussy, you can suck my dick, yeah?”
“Yeah.” She sucked on his tongue before pulling away from him and shifting from foot to foot, staring at him through the sweep of her lashes. “I wanna show you my gift first. Please?”
“Fuck.” He squeezed his lids shut and balled his fists at his side.
Heaving a deep breath, Meggie swung open the door and guided Christopher inside the room, flipping on the light, finding everything in place. “Now, open them.”
Christopher’s eyes flew open, gazed around, and blinked. “Fuck me.”
He zeroed in on the bar, shaped and fashioned after the one at the clubhouse, all the same alcohol stocked in the recessed mirrored space behind it. Instead of a panel of monitors, a huge flat-screen television hung on the wall above the liquor. Replicas of the bar stools and tables stood around the room. Megan had only one pool table, not three, cordoned off with wooden railings—just like at the club—and one dartboard. Her addition was a sofa and a card table, along with cards and a set of dominoes. Around the corner of the railing were two bathrooms, one for women and one for men, the signs of Chicks and Dicks, another clubhouse carbon copy. Not that she expected many women to be allowed in this room. If Christopher liked it, he’d probably bar her from coming in here, too. The final touch was the Grim Reaper mural dominating one wall of the room.
“You
recreated the bar at the club.”
His tone and inscrutable expression gave her no indication of his feelings. Did he like it or loathe it?
“Yes,” she mumbled.
“I can’t believe you did this shit.” He three-sixtied again, turning in slow degrees. His gaze burned into hers. “Why, baby?”
She really should’ve greeted him with clothes on. She’d feel so much more confident if she wasn’t bare-assed naked and would handle his rejection of her gift better. Instead of showing her insecurity, she shrugged. “Because you’ve made a lot of changes for me, Christopher. I know how much you love the club and, sometimes, it gets so noisy there.” She wrung her hands. “Which, thinking about it, you probably love, too. But, sometimes, if you and your officers wanted privacy or—“
He wrapped his arms around her, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “Megan, shut the fuck up, baby, cuz you don’t even know what the fuck you sayin’.” He touched his forehead to hers. “Know why the fuck you did this shit?” he asked gruffly.
“Because—“
He placed a finger on her lip. “Because I’m a lucky motherfucker with a girl who want him happy, so much she’ll take space in her own house to give him a fuckin’ room she know he’ll fuckin’ love. You did it because you love me.”
She nodded, glad he’d gotten the meaning behind the gesture.
He pulled away from her and his laughter deepened. “You also did it cuz you a jealous little bitch and you figure if you have a room here that look like my bar there, you can control the bitches around me.”
She opened her mouth to deny it, but he sounded so amused, she couldn’t help but laugh herself. “Caught,” she admitted.
“Fuck, Megan. I ain’t got nothin’ near like this for you. I mean you greetin’ me with your pussy made me fuckin’ delirious with happiness. Then, you go and add a whole fuckin’ room on top of the golden Promised Land.”
“I wish you’d stop referring to my vagina as the Promised Land.”
He glared at her. “Don’t ruin my Valentine’s present by callin’ your pussy a vagina. We been through this shit already. Vaginas belong to little ninety-year-old ladies where fuckin’ is the last thing on their minds. Any pussy still getting’ fucked ain’t a vagina, Megan. Pussy. Cunt. Hole. Twat. Slit. Snatch—“
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 41
