Mia’s soft breath skims across my bicep, and I shudder in anticipation. Austin feels it and brings the hand that was working my cock up, holding it with his palm facing up.
“Open the bottle of lube on the dresser and pour some in my hand.” While he waits for Mia to retrieve the lube, Austin shucks his jeans and underwear and tells me to do the same. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds since my zipper was already undone to accommodate his hand and I’d gone commando when I got dressed this morning, not wanting any extra obstacles when I finally was alone with them.
I moan loudly at the sensation of the cool liquid spreading over my cock from root to tip. The broad head of Austin’s dick brushes against mine, earning him another moan from me, and a desperate whimper from Mia.
“Fingers in your cunt, Mia. I want you soaked when Patrick buries his cock inside you.” We both watch, practically drooling as without blinking Mia thrust three fingers into her swollen pussy.
“Goddammit. Harder, baby. Make yourself come.”
Biting down on the column of my throat in the exact spot my pulse is racing out of control, Austin murmurs,
“Hands flat on the edge of the bed, baby. I need to get you ready.” I shiver at his words, loving the feeling of him behind me, powerful, dominant, fucking my ass with little to no restraint.
With a kneeing wail, Mia shakes with her orgasm as she continues to strum her clit that is peeking out from behind her labia.
“I’ve got to fuck you, baby. Sit on the edge of the mattress and spread for me.” Rushing to do my bidding, Mia’s ass has scarcely hit the bed when I slam inside of her, shoving my cock into her as deep as I can with one thrust. Telling me how good I feel, how hard I am, and how hot it makes her watching Austin and me together, my hips buck savagely as I force Mia to take more than she can probably handle.
Hovering behind me, one of Austin’s hand grips my shoulder as the other grips the base of his cock as his lines it up with my puckered hole. He spreads the excess lube around the rim of my asshole before pushing the broad crown of his cock past the first ring of muscle.
“Patrick,” he warns as my retreat from Mia’s sopping wet pussy has me taking him another inch deeper.
With a murmured plea, I choke out,
“Fuck me. Don’t hold back this time Austin. I want you to take what you need from me, while I take care of our wife.” Austin doesn’t wait before starting to rock back and forth, working more of his impressive erection inside my ass. With every thrust forward, my cock bottoms out inside Mia’s cunt. And then as Austin slides out all I can feel is the tip of his dick, which is steadily leaking pre-come helping to lubricate his entry, and Mia’s tender flesh gripping me tightly, trying to force me deeper.
Connected on the most fundamental level, it doesn’t take any of us much longer before our bedroom is filled with masculine groans, and Mia’s feminine mewls. It isn’t often we manage it, but when we come together, I swear it’s fucking amazing.
My breathing is barely back to normal when I hear the first pitter patter of tiny feet. Looking over at the alarm clock on Austin’s side of the bed, I crow,
“Twenty minutes exactly.”
“Yeah, shut up, would you. I got the job done, didn’t I?” Austin chuckles.
“You definitely did, honey,” Mia smiles, kissing us both chastely before climbing out of bed to get dressed. “Where the fuck are you going, woman?” I question, propping myself up on an elbow as I trace the muscular plains of Austin’s chest.
“In case you’ve forgotten, we have four children. Thankfully, one is still too young to climb out of his kiddie prison, but the other three are currently free-range which usually means a phone call to the fire department and a trip to Home Depot,” she reminds me like I ever could forget.
“That was once,” Austin protests, coming to my defense. While Mia was pregnant with our four-and-a-half-yearold son, Jude, Austin and I were so enamored by how she looked carrying our baby that we made the unilateral decision to knock her up as often as we could manage it.
In hindsight, I’ll admit that having four kids under five with a fifth on the way was a fucking stupid idea. Finding times to make love to our wife the way she deserves are few and far between. The irony is that we can’t even get half way through a conversation about contraception after baby number five, a little girl, we’ve already named, Hadley because our kids are always interrupting us.
After Jude, Austin and I were generous and gave Mia a nine-month reprieve before knocking her up with our first baby girl, Billie. Oakley, our second girl, was born eighteen months later, followed closely by, Rafe one year almost to the day after Mia gave birth to Oakley in the parking lot of…you guessed it…Home Depot.
Fucking Zara. I blame her for our wife’s addiction to DIY home improvement projects. Although, Mia’s skills with a hammer, a can of paint, an Exacto knife, and a roll of duct tape can’t be refuted. Not to mention, have come in handy a time or two to help us out of a bind our kids have accidentally – or I hope it’s a fucking accident – have gotten us into.
“Moooom,” Billie whines, as she scrambles onto the bed and tucks herself in between her dad and me. Look, I know what you’re thinking; how do we know which father belongs to which kid? Well, I’ll give you the same answer as I give everyone else; we don’t fucking care. The funny thing is that if they weren’t so busy asking questions that are none of their goddamn business, it’s actually pretty easy to tell that Billie and Oakley are biologically mine.
Austin and I may share the same color hazel eyes, but that’s where the similarities end. His hair is dark blonde, and mine is brown. My jaw is squarer and the bump on the bridge of my nose more pronounced. Austin doesn’t have dimples, but he does have a slight cleft in his chin and his cheekbones are sharper.
Our girls, Billie and Oakley, have the same shape eyes as me, twin dimples in their cheeks, and the exact shade of chocolate brown hair as I do, but they take after their mom in height and build; they’re tiny little things. Where our boys are like mini Austin’s. They have his broad shoulders, the barely noticeable cleft in their chins, and the same sandy blonde hair as Austin. However, Jude and Rafe’s eyes, while still hazel, have flecks of blue in them.
“Yes, Billie,” Mia prompts, tickling her belly and making her squeal in delight. “Jude was bad,” Billie relays solemnly as if she doesn’t take great satisfaction in getting her older brother into trouble.
Sibling rivalry is an understatement when it comes to Jude and Billie. They are competitive, attention driven thrill seekers, which probably explains why the fight like cats and dogs; they’re too alike. On the other hand, Jude and Oakley have a special bond that warms my heart when I see them playing together.
I don’t know what it is, but something tells me Oakley is an old soul. Unlike our other kids, Oakley didn’t scream the delivery room down when she was born. She was quiet, observant, alert even. Her eyes opened the moment the vernix covering them was wiped away, and she peered up at Austin and me warily until we started talking to her. And she’s been that way ever since. She might only be eighteen months old, I can already see Oakley is destined for great things.
“What did your brother do this time?” Austin groans, scrubbing his hand over his eyes. “He was mean to, Paisey,” she says, referring to Cash and Kennedy’s daughter, and my niece, Paisley. Billie hasn’t mastered her L’s yet, so that’s why it comes out missing a letter.
Jude and Paisley aren’t blood-related, but they are as thick as thieves. Their friendship is an odd one, though. One day they actively hate each other, and the next, they can’t spend enough time together. Mia is constantly teasing Austin and me, claiming that Jude and Paisley are destined for each other, which truth be told, scares the absolute shit out of me.
There is no way my brother would allow one of our sons to date his only daughter. Blood-related or not. In Cash’s eyes, no one will ever be good enough for Princess Paisley. I pity the poor bastard who is the first to
break Paisley’s heart because Cash’s gun collection rivals the National Guard’s.
“What happened, Bill?” I ask again as Billie snuggles into my chest.
“He called her stoopid and said they aren’t friends anymore. She cried, daddy,” my little girl tells me sadly.
“Where was Uncle Cash?” I prod because usually, wherever Paisley is, Cash isn’t far behind. You’d think she was in need of a bodyguard at four the way he follows her around. I know he’s just being protective of his only girl, but sometimes I wish he’d loosen up a little. Eventually, Paisley is going to feel suffocated by his hovering.
Maybe not now, but when she’s older, Paisley is going to speak up, and I don’t want to be a fly on the wall for that conversation because it won’t go over well with my brother.
Billie shrugs her slim shoulders and wriggles for me to let her go so that she can roll over the top of Austin and jump down onto the floor.
“Don’t know, but he’s angry.”
“How angry?” Austin asks.
“Um…big angry,” Billie says, having to think about it first.
“Jump,” Cash bellows from the bottom of the stairs. I predicted this. As soon as Billie told me her uncle was pissed, I knew this was coming. Cash will yell for a while, stomp around like a bear with a sore tooth, and then when he’s calmed down, he’ll realize the error of his ways and Kennedy will force him to apologize for being an asshat.
This is the same shit, just a different kid on a different day. But we’re getting used to it. For the most part, our kids are highly entertaining, so between you and me, I think we’ll keep them around for a while.
Turn the page to continue reading a bonus epilogue from Lucifer…
copyright ©2016 by Natasha Thomas
BONUSEPILOGUE ~ Lucifer~
“Thesayinggoes,“If youlovethemset them free;if they come back,itwasmeanttobe.”I say,“Fuck that.Tie her up inthe basement and fuck the hell out of her until she’s too tiredtorunaway.” Problemsolved.”
–Lucifer’s solution to life problem1032 Slamming the phone down, I turn on my business partner and growl,
“Tell your daughter to answer her damn phone. What’s the fucking point in having one if she’s doesn’t use it?”
Trace scowls at me, which pisses me off because it’s his daughter causing me to lose my fucking mind and my temper after all. But then again, it wouldn’t really matter since I seem to be pissed off more often than not these days.
“When are you going to give the fuck up and move on Lucifer? I don’t know how many times I’ve got to tell you this, but it’ll be over my dead body that I see the two of you together,” he replies, repeating the same thing he’s been telling me since Tatum turned twenty-one seven years ago.
“If I wanted your opinion, I’d give it to you,” I grunt, logging out of the search I was running and closing my laptop.
Trace and I have been working together for a little over twelve months, and every day I put up with his not particularly subtle reference about my balls and what he’ll do to them if I keep pursuing his daughter. It’s like clockwork. I mention Tatum’s name; Trace threatens my manhood.
And to prove my point, two seconds later he sneers, “Your balls are going to have a very unfortunate meeting with my blender if you keep that shit up. Tate is off-limits. You’ve got plenty of women lined up who would love to take a ride on your dick; go call one of them and leave my baby girl alone.”
Jesus, Trace is unbelievable sometimes. Not only is there nothing little about Tatum, but I don’t think he realizes just how unlikely me staying away from his daughter actually is. Trust me, I’ve tried, and every time I fail fucking spectacularly.
“Listen,” I start, but I’m cut off by the sound of the door to our offices opening. Speak of the devil.
“Dad,” Tatum calls out, skidding to a stop when she sees me leaning against his desk. “Oh, shit,” she mumbles, refusing to look at me.
I’m not surprised, Tatum is in a world of trouble when I get her alone. And mark my words, I will get her alone. She’s going to pay for that little stunt she pulled earlier today, and I’m the man who just happens to be more than happy to dole out her punishment. Especially, if it involves my hand and her sweet, ripe ass.
“Tatum,” I rumble in acknowledgment. At the same time, Trace ask,
“To what do I owe the pleasure? You never come and see me at work, which means one of two things. Either one of your sisters has crashed the car again, or you’ve lost your job for assaulting another patient. Which one is it?”
“Hey,” Tatum cries indignantly. “I told you, he deserved it. And anyway, I thought it was your job as my dad to defend me, not the guys who grab my ass and call me sweet cheeks.”
“Tate, you karate chopped a patient with partial respiratory failure in the throat. How exactly am I supposed to defend you when you do shit like that?”
“First of all, I did not karate chop him. I simple exerted the appropriate level of force on his carotid artery for less than thirty seconds until Mr. Grabby passed out. And secondly, I don’t know. Lie?” She asks almost expectantly.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You’re going to drive me to drink, kiddo.” “Too late. I found your half-empty bottle of bourbon last night and confiscated it for your own good,” she chirps, hoisting her tight, round ass onto the desk opposite me.
She’s smart to keep her distance because right now, I would love nothing more than to kick her father out of his office, bend her over my lap and spank her just to see how much she can take before she dripping wet and begging for mercy.
The thought has my cock lengthening in my pants. The relentless throbbing increases ten-fold when visions of Tatum naked, her firm, full tits topped with a cherry red nipple on display ready and waiting for me to suckle them. The curve of her shapely hips as they narrow at her nipped in waist is the stuff dreams are made of. Her legs are long and lean, toned from years of rigorous training to become and then keep her certification as a paramedic. I imagine her perfect cunt, bare, glistening with her come after I’ve tongue fucked her to orgasm. But it’s her gorgeous face that drives me to distraction. That’s what haunts my dreams and has me reaching down and gripping my cock late at night when I’m alone in my bed.
Shrugging at the little thief, Trace snorts,
“Well, don’t blame me if you get home and find your sisters buried somewhere in the backyard. I hold you completely responsible since you saw fit to steal my only coping mechanism when it comes to putting up with their shit.”
“You know; they say yoga is good for stress relief. Maybe you should try it out.”
“Not happening,” he states, narrowing his eyes at her. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Tatum gasps in mock outrage. “She’s beautiful, sweetheart, but a woman like that needs a man without the kind of baggage I come with. Not to mention, I’m way too old for her.”
“Seriously? She’s thirty-six, dad, not eighteen. And stop saying you’ve got baggage. Refer to it as spatially challenged due to the delayed departure of those you share DNA with, or something to that effect,” she grins.
Chuckling at her, Trace stands up and slides his cell into his front pocket and his wallet into his jacket.
“Next time, call first. I’ll make sure I don’t have anything on so we can have lunch together.”
“Where are you going?” She asks, sounding panicked. “I’ve got an appointment across town with Chase. New skip came in last night,
and he needs someone with my skillset to track the fucker down,” he answers, pulling her into his chest for a quick hug.
“Okay, but be careful,” she mutters into his shirt. “I really don’t want to have to explain to the Triplets of Terror that they won’t be getting that pony they wanted for Christmas because their dad ran away and joined the circus,” she tacks on sarcastically.
She’s not wrong with
her apt description of her younger sisters. Kristina, Jayla, and Lydia aren’t triplets, what with them being twenty-two, twenty, and just barely nineteen, but they are holy terrors. And not in a good way. There are some women, like Tatum for example, who blow into your life like a hurricane, turn your shit upside down, and leave you changed for the better. Then there are women like her sisters, who storm into your life, steal your shit, and fuck with your head, leaving you broken, bitter, and angry. Thankfully, I fell in love with the right sister, because I pity the poor bastard who end up with the other three.
After Trace has been gone a few minutes, during which neither Tatum or I said a word to each other, she stands up as if she’s going to leave without so much as an explanation or an apology. If that’s the case, then Tatum better think again because there’s no way she’s walking out on me without answering my questions first.
Reaching out, I snag her wrist and spin her around to face me. Her bright blue eyes sparkle, but there’s a hint of fear just below the surface, hiding behind her false bravado.
“You got a minute?” It may be phrased as a question, but it’s not. Instead, it’s a carefully worded demand that I know Tatum won’t be stupid enough to ignore.
“Not really, but it doesn’t look like I have much of a choice,” she sighs, glancing down at my hand. Her pointed look doesn’t prompt me to release her because I know as soon as I do, Tatum will run. Avoidance is Tatum’s middle name; it’s what she does best. It’s just unlucky for her that my middle name is persistence because, no matter how long it takes and how hard I have to fight, I will knock down those walls she’s hiding behind. Whether she wants me to or not.
“I’ve just got one question for you before you take off and make me chase you for the next week to get you to talk to me,” I tell her.
Cocking her eyebrow at me, a small grin creeps across her face at the knowledge her grand plan has been foiled, but she drops her head to study her shoes before I have time to look my fill and appreciate how it lights up her beautiful face.
Jump: Book 7 in the Vengeance MC series Page 23
