Everything slowed down once I was out of school. Tank and I fell into this rhythm that was almost its own kind of beautiful in its simplicity. Tank would handle club stuff while I went to work as a librarian. At night, some of the guys would come over, and I would tutor them or work on GED prep classes. Even Tank joined in, though I’m still trying to convince him he’s smart enough to pass. Afterwards, I’d make dinner for whomever was home with us and I’d let Tank get his business taken care of until it was our time to go to bed together—our only promise to one another. Neither of us could sleep if the other one wasn’t around.
Tank also made it his mission to make me a part of his world. One sunny and stifling Texas day, I came home to another Harley in our garage. It was his gift to me, along with the lessons needed to get confident on it. My first ride out was shaky and terrifying. I had never, ever wanted to learn to ride, but Tank persisted. And by the fourth or fifth day at it, I was a pro, brave enough to weave in and out of traffic on the highway with Tank riding right behind me.
That evening, he pulled me aside along the highway. The setting sun was right in front of us, as it glowed a vibrant gold against the dessert’s black. He pulled me off of my bike and onto his, with my back leaning against the handlebars and my legs wrapped around his. As I leaned back, looking up and over at the purple and pink clouds, he leaned down and whispered words I thought I’d never hear from him. “Be my wife, Sierra. I don’t want to imagine a world without you. And I don’t want you to belong to anyone else. Say yes, and I promise you won’t walk a day alone.”
I sat there silently, my watery eyes still focused on the clouds and the stars that peaked in through the clearing, and in that moment, I couldn’t imagine a life without him either.
Now we’re here. It’s two months later, and wedding planning has completely knocked me out. With the motorcycle club, there are so many traditions and rituals that you’d think Tank was the one in the strapless, lace gown. But we managed to get through them all.
Anthony is waiting for me at the start of the aisle, his tuxedo-covered arm waiting for me to hold on to it. We watch with the biggest smiles on our face as Carmen walks steadily down the aisle, her limp from the attack barely noticeable. And when it’s my time to follow her, I let Anthony lead me to my husband. We share our first kiss as a married couple under the halo of stars as men clad in jeans and black jackets hoot and holler along.
After the ceremony, we head back towards the headquarters where Tank’s men have set up an outdoor patio in the parking lot, complete with string lights twinkling above and tables covered in white lace cloths. Carmen gives a toast while Tank’s boys ride their ceremonial ride around before coming back even more fired up than before. And I spend the rest of the night dancing in his arms, my head close to his chest as the band plays on.
When it’s time to say goodbye, we hop into the limo one of the Apache members managed to get for us. The driver takes us to our hotel, the swankiest in all of El Paso. I hold his hand, as he leads me through the penthouse suite towards the bedroom he’s already prepared for us. As soon as we walk through the door, he pulls off his tie and wraps it around my eyes, blinding me to what is coming next.
“As my wife, you now have some duties…”
“Some duties?” I ask, my throat suddenly dry and tense as he spins me around and walks me to where I think is the center of the room. Tank walks around me in a slow circle, examining me slowly. He stops behind me, as I feel the zipper of my wedding dress lower towards my waist until the heavy material falls flat to the ground with a small whoosh of air. I stand there in front of him completely blind and only dressed in my white lace panties and a strapless bra. And although I’ve been naked with him thousands of times now, the feeling of not knowing what comes next has made every part of me tingle with desire.
He pushes me on to my hands and knees, and I can feel his presence just directly in front. A finger traces over my red painted lips, and I kiss at the tip and along the nail before taking the length into my mouth, my tongue swirling and teasing at it.
I listen to him as he removes his suit. The echo of his belt hitting the floor rings in the oversized room. He removes his finger and uses the hand to lift my jaw up and out -- my mouth still in the perfect “o” shape. I feel him enter me, his cock still soft but warm and tender against my tongue. I place my hands around the back of his chiseled ass, as I invite him in even further. The groans he mutters as my head begins to rock up and down his shaft is a moment I promise myself I’ll never forget.
His cock grows harder with each of my small sucks at the tip. The veins throb violently as I use my tongue to lick the underside of him. And as I speed up, I can feel him tensing. Every part of his body seems to be wrapped up in this moment. His hands grab onto my shoulders and knot themselves in my curled hair as they press me on and on.
I push through the aches in my jaw as I hear him cry out, “Sierra! Jesus! This is amazing.” I want this night to be the best. I want him to feel all the pleasure he has given me when I wrap my lips around the base of his member. I want him to release everything into me.
His dick takes over when I grow tired. It punishes my mouth, fucking me in a way that I would never have let him before. But he has my permission to do whatever he wants with my body. I am his after all. And he can feel that. His cock pours into me at breakneck speeds as I groan and cry out. The vibrations only please him more, as he guides my hands to his stiffening balls. I cup them in my hand and massage lightly at his command.
And then, he pulls away. It’s so sudden that I almost fly backwards from the force. In the darkness behind my makeshift blindfold, I hear him growl, “Fuck! You almost made me cum in your mouth, you dirty girl. I should punish you for that.”
I don’t even have time to protest before I feel an arm grab me from behind and lift me off of the floor. I land partly on the bed and mostly on his lap. My feet dangle off of the sides as I use my arms to grab hold of the blankets. A thumb hooks under the thin material of my panties and it slips down the curve of my thighs and calves till it reaches my feet. I don’t even have time to kick them off before I feel the slap of his hand against my skin. I let out a surprised yelp, as I dig in even further into my space.
“Don’t cry too much. I’m just getting you warmed up for what’s to come…” Another slap as Tank hand cuts into my ass. There’s another before I can catch my breath. And again… and again. I lose count as they come almost rapidly.
A finger slips in between my thighs while I try not to focus on the biting pain and heat. When it enters me, I cry out, this time placing my hand at my head to try to release my blindfold. Tank grabs my hands and places them back on to the bed. “Oh no. It’s not going to be that easy, wife of mine.” One hand slaps me while his finger plows into my softening pussy.
The sensation tears me apart. The warmth of his hand on my ass and the drive of his finger deep in me steadies and releases me. It’s like being transported into two worlds, and with the darkness, I can feel every sensation more vividly, as if it were a dream from which I wasn’t ready to be awoken.
Tank leans his hand that rests inside me upwards so that it presses up against my clit while the other hand massages at my raw and red skin. I fall back loosely onto him, giving into the pleasure. My body feels like a weight has been lifted. With each stroke in, there’s a counter stroke around and up against my most sensitive parts. I coo into the blanket as I find myself needing him inside of me more and more. My hips respond by pressing down with a swivel, forcing him to slide in even deeper.
“You want this?” he asks, as he takes one of my hands and places it on his stiffening cock.
“Yes, Tank. I want this.” My voice is hoarse as if I’ve been screaming for hours. “Please, fuck me.”
His enormous arms turn me so that I am straddling him at the side of the bed. My arms wrap around his neck, bringing me face-to-face with him. Though I still cannot see him, I can feel his breath up against my lips and
nose. I push towards him, and our lips meet almost perfectly. We connect just as his cock enters me. The folds of my pussy peel back, as I sink my hips lower down his shaft.
His fingers wrap around my hips and bounce me up and down to the beat of his cock inside of me. I let myself lean back towards the ground, knowing that he will hold tight to me. My knees do all the work, as I give myself the best angle possible to feel his wide cock take me. His hips practically lift off the bed, as we both try to hold on against the force of our sexes attacking one another.
As he speeds up, I pull myself back up, finding his face in the darkness. I can’t bear to not see him, or his eyes, as we collide fast towards orgasms. I pull down the blindfold and hold his eye contact with mine. His blue eyes flash an icy fire at me, as mine glow with the embers. Our bodies synch up, as both of us give up control over the other.
Mine flares, that pit in my stomach growing and turning, as the warmth peels up between my thighs and rapidly moves to my stomach, spine, neck, and mouth. Tank leans his head into my shoulder as he looks down to watch as I explode onto his cock, my body slowing sweetly to his own cock releasing inside of me. Breathlessly, we kiss, our lips holding onto one another like the rest of our body.
Tank spins me gently towards the bed, his cock still inside of me as my head finds the pillows. He rolls off me and takes up the rest of the space on the oversized bed. Tired and still shaking, I curl my arms and legs around him and press my head towards his chest.
“My wife,” he says after a long moment of just listening to one another breathe deeply. “I can’t believe that you’re my wife.”
“My husband,” I reply back, a wicked glint in my eye. “I can.”
THE END
Read on for your FREE bonus book – Wicked
WICKED
Chapter One
Shayla Queene wondered if Sam Gardener’s disgusting leer was something that viewers could feel through the screen, or if that was a special delight that only she was privy to. She could read the thoughts blazing across his face as easily as if they were on a teleprompter, and she had to suppress a scowl as she approached him.
Sam grabbed the microphone from her hand, running his fingers through his trademark wispy gray hair. It seemed fitting to her that the weatherman at the station had hair that literally looked like a cloud.
“Thanks sweetheart,” he said, looking her up and down.
Shayla turned on her heel and stalked away. She hated how, just because she was an intern, he treated her with such condescension. As if it was that difficult to do the weather in Templeton! It was Oregon, for Christ’s sake. If it wasn’t raining, it was probably going to rain soon. How hard could it be?
But Shayla had been fetching coffees and microphones and whatever else the lazy asses at the station needed for the past year, so apparently that meant she was probably a useless idiot who deserved to be looked down on. Shayla scoffed, slipping back into her chair.
Her desk was at the back of the room, tucked away in the corner. For most people, it didn’t exist. She hadn’t even managed to score a desk until six months ago, when the other intern had quit out of sheer frustration. Damien had said it was because he wanted to try out something different, but she knew better. Shayla had thought of getting out herself a few times. How easy would it be just to give up on her dream of being a reporter? It was a tempting prospect.
Anyway, it didn’t feel like she had made any more headway than she would have if she’d sat on the bus and read out the newspaper to people all day. At least that way she might have informed a few people of what was going on in the world.
Now all she got to do was tell people when Starbucks was out of the soy, which had nearly made the news all on its own.
Shayla looked around for Naomi, the other news anchor. She was the only person at the station that Shayla got along with, even if Naomi did walk around in a cloud of her own hairspray. It wasn’t like Anthony, the other anchor, smelled any better. But Naomi was nowhere to be found. Odd, since she was usually the one person who could be counted on to be punctual. She’d had to assist the makeup artist more than once when Anthony had rolled up late, with only a couple of minutes left before he was due to be on.
Shayla checked her watch. They only had fifteen minutes until the cameras started rolling. Had Naomi come in while she was arranging the refreshments table, and snuck away in the meantime?
Shayla stepped over to one of the cameramen, Dave. “Is Naomi not here yet?”
He shrugged. “I look where I’m paid to look.”
That was helpful.
She tried the producer, Amy, next. “Hey, have you seen Naomi?”
Amy, a woman in her mid-forties who seemed to wear her headset even while she slept, chewed obnoxiously at the piece of gum in her mouth. “Have you seen my cup?”
Shayla furrowed her brow. “What cup?”
“Exactly. I’m dying of thirst over here.”
Shayla suppressed a groan and walked to the refreshments table, pouring a cup of coffee and adding the obnoxious amount of cream and sugar that Amy preferred. She brought it back to Amy and handed it over, opening her mouth to speak. Amy walked away before she even got a syllable out.
She approached Anthony next. He was Naomi’s co-anchor, so he should know where she was, right? Though most of the time Naomi was clueless as to what her coworker was up to.
“Hey, Anthony,” Shayla greeted.
He was known for having a temper, so Shayla took care to be soft with him.
He had his gaze angled down toward his phone, and didn’t look up when she spoke.
“Uh, Anthony?”
His gaze snapped up to hers, his eyes full of ire. “I heard you the first time. What?”
Shayla reminded herself to stay calm. That was the important thing. Calm.
“I was just wondering—”
Anthony put up his hand to cut her off, looking down at his phone. Then he shooed her to the side. Shayla shuffled awkwardly a couple feet away.
“Naomi’s not coming in!” he yelled.
Shayla turned her head to see Amy charging forward from the back of the room. “What?” She spat her gum into a nearby garbage can. It was a perfect shot. “What the hell is she doing?”
Shayla was wondering the same thing, but without the judgment. In its place was worry. Her fingers itched to pull out her phone from her pocket to text Naomi, but she’d only get yelled at if she did. Anthony, his royal highness, could do whatever he wanted—but the poorly paid intern could not.
Shayla began to creep away to the bathroom, but Anthony stopped her with another wave of his hand. “You!” he said, pointing at her.
Shayla frowned. It was as if he hadn’t noticed that she’d been trying to talk to him literally five minutes before.
“You can read, right?”
Shayla nodded.
“Good. Get up here and read the news with me.”
“You don’t get to make that call,” Amy interjected.
Anthony’s face hardened. “We’ll lose half our demographic if we only have me on. We need eye candy for the men.”
Shayla was pissed, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity to do some real work. Something that she’d actually worked toward in school. She looked over at Amy, whose pudgy face was screwed up in thought.
“Fine,” Amy said finally. “But don’t mess it up.”
Though she had no plans of messing it up, she found that sentiment to be amusing anyway. What was Amy going to do? Fire her? She’d been thinking of quitting only moments before. There was only one way to go from here.
Shayla stepped up to the news desk and was thrust down onto the seat beside Anthony’s. The stylist, Meg, came at her with a fluffy brush and a hard frown. “It’s a good thing you’re naturally pretty,” she said. “Otherwise this would be a disaster.”
She pulled at Shayla’s hair and caked foundation on her face until right before Amy began to count them on. Shayla’s he
art thrummed in her chest. This was her big break. But what the hell was she supposed to do? The camera was going to go live and she’d be left gaping at Templeton’s public like a deer in the headlights.
Anthony must have sensed her trepidation. “Just read what it says after the name Naomi on the teleprompter. And smile.”
A friendly “good luck” wouldn’t have gone unappreciated, but Shayla would make the most of what she got. Shayla plastered on the widest smile she could manage, sat up with her back straight, and stared down the lens of her destiny.
Chapter Two
Luke Cinders had never considered himself a cat person. He’d never had a cat before, but he’d never wanted one either. What kind of motorcycle club leader had a soft spot for fluffy animals?
Well, now he knew of at least one.
The little white kitten slept in his lap, purring to his heart’s content. Luke gave him a stroke on the head with his finger, and the kitten absentmindedly nipped at the errant digit.
Devil's Claim: Apaches MC Page 23
