In retrospect, that had been the wrong way to play it. Almost an insult in how little support he’d offered his wife as she struggled within the hive.
Shucking off his jeans and draping them over a chair, Bishop started turning out the lights all but for the one on the nightstand opposite where Dory lay.
Had he really been that callous, that big of a selfish prick in his lack of concern for her? Only worried about doing his duty to his club before taking care of their marriage?
As he slid into the other side of the queen bed and propping a head behind his head, he admitted that the Honeys hadn’t been the only problem. There had been the older Hellions, the men on the council at that time who’d found delight in working Dory up. Ones who’d even bragged to him about how they could get Dory so pissed, she was spitting over nothing but a touch here or there, a whispered suggestion of what they could fucking do to her when Bishop wasn’t around. “You got yourself a wildcat, Bish!” they’d tell him, usually with a wink he’d always considered to be a compliment on snagging a hot young wife.
But revisiting those comments at a much later age, and with a lot more experience under his belt, Bishop was shocked at the memory. But on the heels of that one, came another. One of Dory getting ready for bed and of the view of the various bruises she had sported on both breasts and ass. When he’d pressed for answers, she’d admitted that Zip had caught her alone at Big Duke’s party and felt the need to ‘get grabby’ but she’d handled it.
And the recollection also included how she hadn’t looked at him even for a moment as she’d haltingly explained. But she also hadn’t let him near her for a good week afterward.
With a stomach full of ice, Bishop turned on his side tucking a hand beneath the pillow to stare at the profile of the woman next to him. A beauty which had only become more so with the passage of time and at her internal strength he was just beginning to recognize.
It had been a day like any other day at Hellion Construction when the process server had done his official duty, delivering papers into Bishop’s hands. Papers that’d announced they were writs of divorce into palms that were covered in the dust of the shelves of whatever supplies were to be pulled. His job at that time was to do whatever he was told, whether that was assembling the parts or gear in advance of the following day’s jobs, reviewing bids and entering them into the computer or just making a run for lunch.
But on that particular morning as Receptionist Rita had led an unknown man into the desk area of the warehouse, Bishop was unaware of what exactly was happening. Because he’d been all up in his head, trying to convince himself that Dory hadn’t really left but had just needed to get away for a time in order to get her shit together.
A kind of vacation.
Sure they’d been fighting about the amount of time he spent at the club, at the amount of phone calls he was receiving in the middle of the night that found him dressing, snagging his keys and leaving. But he hadn’t had a choice about going, right? They’d even had words about the $300 he’d loaned to Trace which Dory had reminded him was part of the money they needed pay their rent the following month and the brother in question was notorious for borrowing without feeling the need to repay.
In Bishop’s young mind, those had been trifles, things not even worth the effort to yell about.
But he had yelled back at her.
And obviously it had been enough to cause Dory to leave.
Enough to have a process server shoving a sheaf of papers into his filthy hands in the middle of a work morning.
Papers that had destroyed him from the inside out, cell by motherfucking cell.
“Wha’ cha’ fuckin’ got there, hot stuff?” Big Duke had called, looking more like one of those fat Buddha statues than ever as the older man leaned his forearms on his desk, his beady eyes almost swallowed in the bags that puffed both his upper and lower lids.
Bishop had swallowed before folding the papers in half, then half again, tucking them into his back pocket. “Legal shit,” he’d replied on a mumble, unwilling, so fucking unable to confess to the impending demise of his marriage. “Nothing to do with the club.”
“Ever’ lil’, bitty thang in yo’ life has to do with the club, shit-for-brains,” Zip had shot back across all the other desks between him and the young recruit. “We own yo’ ass, ‘member?”
Bishop raised his head, knowing he was taking his life in his hands as he replied. But there was no way he was gonna stay silent. “Personal shit, Zip. And that’s all you need to know.”
“Don’t like your ‘tude, boy,” Big Duke rumbled but was over-spoken by Trike, Trey’s dad who had the desk that abutted the fat man.
“Leave him be, Duke.” Trike weighed probably a hundred pounds less and was younger by a good ten years but the man had held the gavel before Duke and there were times that Trike had no problem flexing that particular muscle. “Even fuckin’ recruits get to have a personal life.”
“Not when he’s sleeping next to pussy tha’ don’t wanna share!” Bishop had felt everything within him still at Zip’s accusatory words. “She’s fucking hot but won’t even drop ta her knees when told ta hold that full wet mouth in a circle for a brother.” Zip’s watery eyes, ones that were always bloodshot moved around the room to take in the other Hellions who were avidly watching and listening to all the doings. “Honeys are supposed ta share!”
“Not the wives!” Bishop knew the rules and wasn’t afraid to speak up about them. Christ! He’d been raised in the club, knew everything that was expected by its members and their women alike.
“We changed that un’,” Zip sneered triumphantly. “Seemed a little too selfish-like after seein’ all the sweet new, young pussy you recruit fuckers keep bringin’ in.”
Every eye had gone to the older man, the one that had no trouble ordering beat-downs on other members for even the smallest of infractions. “Wha’? You fucks didn’t get the memo? The council made it all fuckin’ official-like a’ the last goddamn council meetin’. Your women are expected ta work every cock in the club if a brother requests it.” A smile that could only be called a leer had spread over the other man’s wrinkled, bearded face. “Any ol’ time a brother or brothers request it. No matter if it’s her with her hands, her fuckin’ mouth or her tight young pink parts.”
Bishop had seen Trike’s face harden before it had turned to Zip’s. “It wasn’t official, dick. It was a motion that failed when the vote was four to two.”
“I say what passes and what doesn’t,” Big Duke grumbled but there was something about his response that told of his uncertainty in the face of Trike’s challenge. “Zip and I like this one so it stays!”
“You fuckin’ lay one hand on my goddamn wife, even fuckin’ glance at my daughter for any of your sick brand of sex and you’ll be fuckin’ pushin’ up daisies, yeah?” Trike’s voice, though not all that loud, carried in the then silent, cavern-like space. “Real and true, I’d have no probs with doin’ time for cappin’ a brother’s ass if he so much as thinks of doin’ the dirty with my goddamn girls!”
Zip had dropped his head at Trike’s speech while Big Duke looked up towards the ceiling, giving Bishop the opportunity to walk away, to quickly stride down the long rows that reached floor to ceiling with different parts of the various bits each of the crews needed to have on hand.
Bishop blinked at the memory, one he hadn’t pulled out and examined before. One that seemed to connect to the ones of him being a selfish prick who’d ignored whatever pain the club had inflicted on Dory. And the fury at what Zip had announced, of how the old bastard had blatantly fucking admitted that he’d be taking Dory with or without either of the young couple’s consent created a flash fire within Bishop’s chest even so many years later.
Why hadn’t he remembered that before?
Why hadn’t he seen what his beautiful young wife had been facing?
The memory of him being served was clear, sharp and something he’d thought of again and again. Jus
t as much as he had of how he’d read through those papers later, while back at their empty apartment. Reading them through before starting again, he’d studied them four times before his mind had finally accepted the words that she was well and truly gone.
That his Dory was divorcing him.
Had done everything legally possible to remove him from her life.
She’d taken everything she wanted from their apartment before she’d left and transferred all the rest of it into his name.
The only thing that she’d given him was $10,000 from when she’d sold her mom’s house, kept in a savings account that the papers said had been put into his name.
$10,000 to pay him off, is how he’d understood it at the time.
To prevent him from trying to find her.
And it was then his heart had finally realized their marriage was well and completely over.
A fact that he’d still had to face even after his resulting four-day bender had finally ended. A bender only stopped by Trey and Trike’s interference by way of breaking into his apartment and slapping him awake. And once he’d finally found consciousness, he’d seen the evidence of exactly what that realization had wrought in the fact that every single piece of furniture, every solitary dish in the place had been pounded to smithereens. He didn’t remember any of it, though the cuts on his hands and feet more than told him who had a hand in apartment’s destruction.
But it had been interesting to note he hadn’t touched the bedroom. That he’d avoided its closed door and probably the memories the room contained in his drunken rampage.
Then the bitch had, thirteen years later, introduced him to their son before drunkenly pleading with him never to leave her again!
Something that should’ve found him laughing at the irony of his life, but didn’t.
Not in the fucking least.
Instead it found him lying next to his beautiful ex-wife, reliving a past with glimpses of the hurt she’d experienced, grateful to have a son such as J.R. in the next room and overwhelmed with emotions he couldn’t even begin to name.
And, without a thought, Bishop scooted until he was curled up next to her, draping an arm over her waist, his lips against her ear. “I was wrong, babe. Wrong to let you go that first time.”
He found himself swallowing as he closed his eyes against the light and to give credence to the rest of what he needed her to know. “It sure as fuck won’t happen again.”
Chapter Twenty
It was later. Much, much later and into the time his Grandma had used to call the ‘wolf hours’ of morning that Bishop woke up. But it wasn’t a abrupt wakening.
Slowly, was how it happened. So leisurely that at first he thought he was still in the grips of his dreams. Of his tongue tangling against something soft, warm and heated as his chest pressed against another one that held sharp pointed mounds that he knew would more than fill his palms.
“God, Stan…” came the breathy whisper when he’d pulled his mouth away, as she used his ‘real’ name and said it on a moan that he’d always remembered. And as a memory, found him pressing his hard length into the juncture of warm, slightly wet skin. Then the skin parted and he felt himself dropping between them even as hands slid over his ass to cup and pull. “So goddamn good.”
As dreams went, Bishop considered this one of the best, especially when he felt the warmth of soft thighs press to his sides as he dragged himself through a shimmering wet heat. “Love you, Dory,” he’d murmured as he knew he often did in his dreams, not that he hadn’t told her during his waking times. But after so many years, the dreams were the only way he had to get with her again and again, eagerly anticipating being with her if only in his sleep.
“I know. I’ve always known,” came the soft call. One of the hands left his ass and reached between them to capture his hard length. “But I need you inside, honey.”
She guided him, dragging his mushroomed helmet along the line of her wetness until he was aligned with her sodden opening. “There, Stan. Do me right there.”
So he did. Sank himself into such tight heated depths that he saw stars on the inside of his eyelids. Pulled back and pushed in again and again until, on the fourth stroke of in and out, he became fully aware.
Completely awake.
And found he wasn’t dreaming.
That he, after so long and after so many nightscapes of having her beneath him, of him again being in the grip of her moist core, was fucking his Dory.
Bishop’s mind would’ve named it ‘making love’ but he didn’t have any control over the way his hips moved between hers with a driving force, with a need that was done without his volition. And on cock surges that he both couldn’t and didn’t want to restrain. It was sexual pleasure at its most primal level, in how it wanted to both give and receive as their bodies bumped together, rushed up to join before pulling back in bliss to experience that same feeling again and again.
He grabbed her ankles and sat up onto his knees, his eyes automatically drawn to where they were joined. But the view was almost shocking in its eroticism. It was better than any porn he’d ever watched, better than anything he’d ever witnessed. And caused the sharp shards of his orgasm to make themselves known in both his lower back and balls.
“Hot, babe,” he groaned, unable to take his eyes off his turgid length that was covered in the evidence of her desire. “So fucking, fucking hot.”
“Need to…” she breathed and he watched as her neck arched before their eyes connected. Christ! In that position he could even fucking smell her, an aroma that was guaran-fucking-teed to send him over the edge for sure! “I’m so close, honey.”
Without disconnecting their gazes, Bishop moved one of her ankles over his shoulder and reached for the swollen nub between her legs. Using his thumb in a motion that he knew would find her hitting her bliss, circling and stroking, he coaxed her towards the edge. “Give me that fucking beauty, Dory. Let me watch while you hit it, babe.”
“Here, Stan,” she moaned, low and long. “Here. Take it, honey!”
And his Dory completely and totally began to unravel right before his eyes, under his thumb as her insides began to milk him.
Which happened about point zero-five seconds before his body released and jetted his completion inside her. But that seemed to last for-fucking-ever as he continued to stroke out his bliss and in such a mindless way, he hadn’t even realized he’d dropped down to his elbows, snaking his arms around her neck and back, holding onto her tightly.
“Can’t breathe,” she squeaked and he’d shifted to his side, remaining imbedded and feeling apologetic but unable to fit two words together to give it a voice.
There were more than a few seconds of silence, ones that found them avoiding one another’s eyes even as the jangles of repletion moved throughout their bodies, being felt by them both.
“Holy shit, Stan. That was…”she started after a time but let her words drift off as if unable to complete the sentence.
But Bishop could’ve with just using the words his heart supplied. Words like: ‘wonderful’, ‘stupendous’ and ‘long overdue’. Or even ‘remembered’, ‘wanted’ or ‘special’. All of those would’ve been the perfect ones to say in that second. A special moment to add to all the other ones he held so dear when it came to her. But that wasn’t how she finished it, though. And her remaining word, tossed up on such a dismissive note cut him to the quick and brought back his anger.
“…weird.” She turned her head away before twisting to look at him. “Have you taken up the habit of taking advantage of drunken civilian women? Seems a little bit out there. Even when one considers the weirder bits of all things Hellion.”
He searched her eyes, keeping everything to himself until he’d worked it out, saw how she was trying to hide behind her bitch-like speech. One that was given with a chin-jut but that just didn’t match what her expression was exposing.
So he gave it to her.
Gave it to her as straight as he knew how
and totally from the bombed out mess that he called his heart.
“Is that what you’d call it, Dore? Seriously?” he challenged. “Because seems to me that we were giving each other something that we both wanted and needed.” He swallowed to give himself the space to formulate words, some that he hoped wouldn’t find himself being ejected from her bed, from the sweet peace that they both still shared in the connection of his cock inside her.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t enjoyed…” she started, but he cut her right the fuck off.
“Then stop with the attitude. Just…” He sighed and moved to press his forehead to hers. “God, babe. Please stop. Can’t we just admit that there’s still something between us?” He felt a hesitant hand drift up his bicep before it slid along his shoulder, to cup the back of his neck. And, for whatever reason, he took it as a ‘win’ even if she didn’t immediately respond.
“We do have a history,” he heard her admit on a winsome, soft voice after what felt like a long, long time.
“True.”
“And it seems we still know how to work it.”
“That too.” He was surprised to note that his agreement earned him her thigh, one that snaked its way over his hip in order to allow her calf to drape across his ass. A move which caused him to push an elbow in the mattress as he realigned his hips to hers, sinking himself even deeper and surprised to find himself still hard enough to do so. “Christ you feel good, babe.”
He felt her hand on his braid, her fingers sliding down its length until she stopped at the elastic band he used to secure it. In the light from the lone lamp that he’d left blazing before falling asleep, he saw her face, saw the softness of her eyes and the slow sexy smile that grew in intensity as she removed the band, sliding it over her hand and on to her wrist even as her fingers plucked at the twining loops.
Checkmate With Bishop: A Hellions MC Novel Page 20
