Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  Finally, she slurped his cock into her warm mouth. He released a strangled groan. As she sucked his dick, she wrapped her hand around the inches that couldn’t fit into her mouth and squeezed, massaged, jerked.

  Suddenly, her mouth and hand left him. Climbing on top of him, she took him inside of her, inch-by-inch, shivering, meowling, and frustrating him. Unable to bear any more, he grabbed her luscious ass and thrusted up, burying himself to the hilt.

  As much as he wanted to turn her onto her back and drive into her, he didn’t. He let her ride him and set the pace, loving the sight of her bouncing breasts and the sheer ecstasy on her face.

  When she lost all reason, all sense, screamed his name, he embraced her, then flipped them over, still connected to her. Usually, he’d kiss her, absorb her cries. Tonight, though, he pounded into her, reveled in the sound of her voice.

  One last time, he pumped into her, and cum gushed out, taking his breath and making his head spin. For long moments afterwards, they lay silent. She stroked along the valley of his spine. Goosebumps rose on his flesh and he trembled.

  After a moment, she drew in a shuddering breath.

  He turned onto his back. The sheets, wet from their bathwater, felt cold and uncomfortable underneath his hot skin. He grinned. “The bed has to be changed.”

  “Hmm,” she said drowsily. “And the floor mopped.”

  Drawing her into his arms, he kissed her forehead. “Why don’t you go downstairs, while I tidy things up?”

  Her lashes fluttered and her eyes popped open. “Fuck! What time is it? How long have you been here?”

  Leaning over, he flipped on the lamp, to better see her. The light that had been flooding into the room from the bathroom was adequate but not good enough.

  “Does it matter?” He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “This ridiculous edict Mortician has in place has to end.”

  She sighed, then sat next to him and snuggled close. Tempering his annoyance, Knox wrapped an arm around her.

  “The boy is only looking out for me, Knox,” she told him. “Let him do this. Cooperate to show that you understand the club dynamics. The group dynamics.”

  “I don’t give a fuck about the club dynamics, Roxanne,” he snapped. “I’m not one of them and hope to never be. I don’t have a tattoo. I don’t ride a bike. I’m not ignorant!”

  She jerked away from him and jumped to her feet. Hands on hips, she turned and glared at him. It didn’t seem to matter to her that she was nude. Her breasts were round and firm, thanks to her surgery. Her waist curved in, then flared out into hips and ass that was all the current rage. He reached for her, but she knocked his hand away.

  “That’s so unworthy of you. Those boys aren’t ignorant. Besides, what the fuck is wrong with a tattoo? Or a motorcycle? I happen to like those things too.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Really? That means you intend to get inked and ride the wind?”

  “No, Knox. Would it bother you if I did?”

  He didn’t want to answer that, not even silently, afraid of what he’d say. Instead, he changed the subject and went back to the topic they’d been discussing before they made love. “What do you mean you didn’t know about this until tonight? This should’ve been your idea,” he grouched.

  “Don’t think I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, motherfucker. By not responding to me and pulling a dirty, lowdown trick of changing the subject, you’ve actually answered me loud and clear. In the interest of time, I’m going to let that sneaky shit slide, Knox. To answer your question, this was my baby’s idea. She went to Meggie and together, they got the others involved. They didn’t want me to get my hopes up that we could thwart Mortician and Outlaw so we could spend time together. Once they decided it was doable, they told me. That’s when I stood up and said how tired I was.”

  He stormed to his feet. “Right, and it took your daughter and Megan Caldwell to arrange this? You’re the one going along with Mortician and you didn’t have the courtesy to want to see me.”

  She raised a finger, then pointed it at him. “Look, motherfucker, I don’t remember you coming up with one motherfucking scheme for us to get together.” With each word, her finger wiggled and twisted, punctuating her anger. “Don’t stand there and play the fucking victim. You already set yourself above almost every motherfucker in this motherfucker, except maybe Johnnie because you think he’s on your level. I’m trying to get the boys to accept you. Instead of bitching and complaining and accusing me of not thinking about your ass, you should be taking this time to get to really know Mortician and the others. You should be thanking him for wanting to protect me.”

  “You’re a grown fucking woman, Roxanne,” he bit out. “What do you need protection from? Certainly not me!”

  She made a face at him.

  “You’re fucking kidding me? I deserve your trust and devotion!”

  “You have it, Knox.” She heaved in a breath. “I want to get this right, though. I want to be with you until my dying day. But I don’t have the best track record with marriage. You and me, we come from two different worlds in so many ways, sugar. For months, we’ve lived in our own little isolated paradise, not allowing much outside influence to touch us. You’re everything to me. Our marriage is important to me. Still, there’s something there. Something between us, and I know it’s the way you feel about my family.”

  “The only family you have here is Bailey, Roxanne.”

  Her look turned disapproving. “I also have grandbabies, in case you’ve forgotten,” she said with so much hostility Knox took a step back. “And Mortician is my son-in-law. Kendall is like a daughter to me. Outlaw—”

  “Don’t bring Kendall into this.” The same guilt he’d felt since he started working with Outlaw to get rid of that redheaded bitch surfaced in him.

  “Kendall is my family, too,” Roxanne said patiently, like he didn’t have a smidgeon of sense. “Outlaw is like a son to me.”

  “A son who gave you a fucking purple truck. A very high-end one at that. His criminal behavior allowed him to buy that. Besides, he’s almost as old as you. Brother material. Lover material, but definitely not qualified to be your son.”

  She growled. Actually growled! “You’re working on my last ever-loving, motherfucking nerve,” she spat, her eyes hardening. “Let me put it to you this way, I see them all as my family. I expect you to at least try to fit in with them. Didn’t you tell me to put your mother on my wedding committee? Why can’t you just go along with Mortician for now?”

  “Because I don’t appreciate his interference. Furthermore, I don’t fucking like to think you’re consenting to this because of something between us. What does that even mean? You think I’m not going to go through with the marriage?”

  “This just feels too good to be true, Knox. A dream. A fairytale.” She shrugged. “I don’t want to lose you. Think about how much more special our wedding will be if we haven’t been living together and—”

  He stiffened. “If that’s the case, why did I move in with you?”

  “I never expected you to propose to me,” she admitted softly.

  When he’d moved in with her, he hadn’t intended to propose to her. He loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Marriage, though, meant legalities. And he had so much at stake if their union was to crumble. Still, he’d become increasingly annoyed at how the bikers gazed at her and interacted with her. They were always respectful—she gave them no choice—still Knox knew lust when he saw it. Roxanne was his, and he wanted the world to know it.

  Of course, the pressure Mortician had put on him also precipitated the matter, but that wasn’t important.

  “We can think of our little rendezvous as adventures,” she went on, twisting her engagement ring and giving it a quick glance.

  “What?” he asked suspiciously, not liking the look he’d glimpsed.

  “What do you mean what?”

  “You don’t like the ring? It’s
a Harrington heirloom.”

  “The ring is beautiful.”

  “But…?” He heard the word in her tone.

  “It’s just silly old superstition. There’s a very defined culet on the ring.”

  It was rare that he didn’t know the meaning of a word, but this was one of those times. “What the hell is a culet?”

  She slid the ring off her finger and his stomach sank. It was the worst feeling in the world. As long as she wore it, she was his.

  “Put that back on.”

  She smiled at him and came closer, then turned the ring over and pointed to the spot under her diamond. “Do you see that little point? It’s a culet. They are hallmarks of this type of antique cushion ring. It’s an heirloom,” she acknowledged. “Most of the rings in the late 1800s, early 1900s had this, whereas the majority of modern rings don’t have this sharp point.”

  Her explanation lost him. “And?”

  “Well, there’s a superstition that says evil spirits can enter through the culet and put a curse on the wearer.”

  His mouth dropped open. “You can’t be serious.”

  She nodded. “There’s another one that says if the engagement ring is secondhand then however the previous owner’s marriage went, so it would go for the current owner.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” He shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t believe that nonsense. You’re the most pragmatic woman I’ve ever met. This isn’t you talking.”

  By the look on her face, he knew she did buy into that ridiculousness. He blew out an annoyed breathed, torn between frustration and his need to reassure her.

  “My great-great grandparents, my great-grandparents, my grandparents, my parents had and have very happy unions, thank you very much.”

  She shoved the ring back onto her finger. “But you didn’t. As far as I know, your ex-wife is the last owner of it.”

  “Callie wanted her own ring. She didn’t value the Harrington history. Before I met you, I intended to pass it on to Grant.”

  “Of course, you’ll be able to give it to your son when he’s old enough to marry. It should stay in your family where it belongs. I’m honored to wear it. My feelings just go back to the fear that my dream of being your wife will turn into a nightmare.”

  Before he responded, her cellphone started ringing. He knew from the tone it was Bailey calling. Like the rest of them, Roxanne had special tones for everyone.

  “I guess time’s up for us,” she sighed.

  “Hey, sugar,” she answered. The keen disappointment, so clear on her face, appeased Knox. Pausing, she listened then laughed and went silent again, nodding although her daughter couldn’t see her. Roxanne was so expressive. “Okay, I’ll send him down,” she said after another moment.

  Huffing out an annoyed breath, Knox stomped to the closet and found a pair of jeans and a thermal shirt. Instead of ruining another pair of shoes, he grabbed old running shoes. After snatching a pair of socks from the drawer, he pulled on his jeans than sat on the edge of the bed.

  “You’re kilting it, hmmm?” she asked as he pulled the first sock on.

  “Kilting it?” He glanced over his shoulder and took his fill of her still-nude body. The incision on her stomach went from hip-to-hip. He tried not to focus on it too much, tried not to imagine the pain she must’ve been in when she’d had the surgery to remove fat from her stomach to reconstruct her breasts after her mastectomy. She was so brave. Such a fighter.

  “What do you mean by kilting it?” he asked, realizing his mind had strayed.

  “No underwear.”

  He finished putting on his socks and running shoes, and stood. “Ah,” he responded. “Didn’t see the need, sweetheart. I’m just returning to the club and going to my lonely bed. You know the one? It’s missing my beautiful queen.”

  She smiled at him and stepped into his arms. “You have a silver tongue, sir.”

  He brushed his lips across hers. “I’d say it was golden.”

  “I’d have to agree with you.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she welcomed his kiss. “You have to leave,” she said breathlessly a few moments later.

  He nodded and sighed. Going to where his trousers lay ruined in one of the bathroom floor puddles, he got his wallet and stuffed it in the back pocket of his jeans.

  “I wish you’d consent to allow me to hire a maid for you.”

  “I don’t need a maid, Knox,” she said firmly.

  “When we’re married and move into our own house, you will. It’ll be too big for you to keep up by yourself.”

  “What do I need a mansion for? I’ve already lived in one and I didn’t enjoy it after a while.”

  That’s right. Duke’s father was “wealthy”. Knox bet he couldn’t touch the Harrington wealth.

  “Besides, I was hoping we could live here.”

  He looked around the room in an exaggerated manner. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Not here in this place. Here on the grounds.”

  “Oh. Well, I have no problem with that.”

  She beamed a smile.

  “It’s the least I can do for you. You didn’t push me to buy an expensive engagement ring, just because I can afford it. You don’t hassle me for money. Or to go shopping. You’re a truly independent woman, earning her way in life by helping her daughter out.”

  Her smile slipped away. “We’ve been through this before. You have access to my bank accounts—”

  “You have access to mine, too,” he cut in. “It doesn’t matter, baby. Most of the money from your divorce settlements are tied up in retirement accounts. The property you own in New Orleans just brings you several thousand dollars a month. Let’s be real, your money can’t compare to mine. It would be easy to assume my money was what attracted you to me.”

  “Fuck you,” she snarled. “Take your fucking money and shove it the fuck up your dick. It doesn’t matter if my fucking money compares to yours. It’s my fucking money and is enough to sustain me. Stop being such an uppity, dumb motherfucker, Knox. Money don’t make a man. What’s in your heart and soul does. Right now? Plain fucking bullshit is in both places.”

  “If my money makes you so uncomfortable, you have the problem, not me. The things you want me to have? A tattoo and a bike? That will never happen, unless I’m fucking desperate. Arrogant I may be, but desperate? Never!”

  “What the fuck does a fucking tattoo and motorcycle have to do with the fact that you need to shove your fucking money up your goddamn ass?”

  “You said you like tattoos and bikes. I don’t have either of those, but at least I have money. You’ll live in luxury.”

  “I don’t give a fuck if you ever get a tattoo. I know a bike is out of the question because you’d have to learn to ride and that’s not your thing. When I want to go for a spin, Mort, Digger, or even Outlaw will be happy to take me.”

  Any of the other bikers she knew would, too. Knox really, really didn’t like that, but he’d put his foot in his mouth enough, so he stayed quiet. And he’d definitely not bring up the prenuptial agreement at this particular time.

  “Lawd, you think having money is the fucking end all, be all. Well, it’s not. You’re just a man,” she said flatly. “A man who can work my last fucking nerve, but one I love with all my heart. I don’t give a fuck if you have money, a tattoo, or a motorcycle. As long as you have a fucking J-O-B, I’m good.”

  “I don’t have a job,” he corrected, wondering why she spelled it out. “I have a career.”

  “What the fuck ever it is, you’ve made your own way in the world. You don’t sit around all day, doing nothing.”

  He nodded, then went to her and pulled her back into his arms. “We never argue. Why are we doing so now especially over trivialities?”

  “Frustration,” she answered, hugging his waist and resting her head on his shoulder.

  “Roxanne—”

  Footsteps pounding up the staircase interrupted him. Immediately, he pushed Roxanne behind him an
d faced the open door.

  “I have no wish to see your naked ass, Harrington,” Cash called, “but if you don’t fucking get the fuck out of here in the next minute or two, all our sneaking will be for nothing. Meggie texted me and said the guys already said they’re leaving in half an hour. That means, there’s a greater chance Outlaw or Johnnie or Mort will see Stretch’s momentary scrambling of the outside feeds. In which case, you’re fucked and so am I.”

  “He’s coming, Cash,” Roxanne called.

  “I really wish I was,” Knox told her.

  She laughed and thumped his back. “Dirty dog.”

  He turned and kissed her again. “Sweet kitten.”

  “Uh, dead dog and crying kitten if you don’t move your ass,” Cash retorted as if he was part of the conversation.

  “Stop being such a nosy motherfucker, Cash,” Roxanne told him.

  “I’m sorry for being such a jerk, sweetheart,” Knox said. “Forgive me.”

  She caressed his lips. “Always, sugar.”

  Forcing himself to pull away from her, Knox stopped at the door, awed all over again by her nudity and her beauty. He blew her a kiss and the smile she gave him lit her entire face.

  Suddenly, he was yanked by the back of his shirt and dragged away.

  “McCall,” he growled. “I wasn’t fucking finished.”

  “Yes, the fuck you were,” Cash insisted, hauling him down the stairs so fast Knox nearly lost his balance.

  Outside, they trekked the same way Knox had come earlier, passing the same four guards, who turned their backs and pretended they hadn’t seen them. Cash set a grueling pace to his bike. When they finally reached it, Knox didn’t ask questions. He took the bitch seat with the same urgency Cash jumped on.

  Even if Knox had been inclined to complain about the brambles and branches they hadn’t gone through the first time, he doubted Cash would’ve heard. If he did, then he wouldn’t have cared. Besides, he’d spent time with Roxanne, had her in his arms, so that was worth all the scratches, nicks, and bumps he received on the wild ride.