by Naomi West
I said to Rocky one day, “It’s like we’re a big family now.”
Rocky smiled a bittersweet smile. “That’s the way it was always meant to be.”
It pleased Rocky to no end when he spoke about the club and what changes had been made. The biggest change of all, though, was with Rocky himself.
After Cameron’s arrest, everyone had come together and voted for a new President. It was unanimous. Rocky had been so shocked when they’d turned to him and said they’d like for him to take over his father’s club. He was hesitant at first, not wanting to take over and grow bitter in the position, not wanting to be responsible if he couldn’t salvage the club. It was the word ‘father’ that made all the difference, though, knowing that the club was behind him and his dad and were disregarding everything that Cameron had wanted.
Rocky had agreed eventually and promised then and there to all the club members that things were going to change. Whether or not anyone believed him didn’t matter, because in mere days, he had already started changing things. Rocky was taking his job seriously, restoring the name that Satan’s Wings once had was no easy task but with every passing day he got closer and closer to his goal. He had the whole club behind him as well.
The truce between the Satan’s Wings and the Nightmares was the first big change that made people stop and take notice. Apart from it being much appreciated by both clubs, it was also heavily appreciated by the townspeople. No more club rivalries was good news all round. It wasn’t uncommon now to find Nightmares staying at the clubhouse if they were passing through and vice versa.
That was what made Rocky most happy, knowing he’d helped create peace between two rival clubs, something his dad would have been proud of.
My head was so filled with reflecting on all the wild twists and turns of the last month and a half that I hadn’t even heard Rocky waking up in bed next to me. It wasn’t until I felt his warm exhale on my neck that I realized he was up and looking at me.
I twisted around to meet his eyes.
“What?” I said teasingly. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like… you know. You know exactly what you’re doing.”
He smiled with his eyes – that stupid, beautiful smile that made my heart do backflips every time I saw it. “No, I don’t, ma’am,” he said with mock seriousness. “You’ll have to explain.”
“Like you want to eat me.”
His smile broadened a notch. Pearly white teeth. Those eyes, flashing, twinkling, teasing. God, I wanted him so bad these days. Every little thing he did made me warm and wet and hungry for his touch. I bit my lip. He always loved when I did that.
One eyebrow raised, he said, “Hmm. Now that you mention it, maybe I do.”
“No, wait, don’t,” I started to protest, but he was already gone, slipping below the covers. I felt him move between my legs, and any further objection was whisked out of my mouth as soon as his tongue brushed across my thigh.
“Rocky…” came the hushed moan from between my lips. He murmured something I couldn’t hear and licked a little higher.
I remembered suddenly that I hadn’t worn panties to bed the night before and my heart rate ticked up a bit. His tongue slid higher, licking the crease in my hip. His hands were warm, caressing my thighs and sliding beneath me to cup my ass and lift me towards his mouth.
I looked down, hoping to see his shining eyes. But that was harder these days, given how big my pregnant belly had gotten.
A baby – we’d never planned on it; it was just one of those things that happened. Not unlike everything else that had happened from the moment Rocky and I had met. But just like that first conversation, that first kiss, the first time I’d felt his touch on me and in me – we went along with it. Soon, we’d have a little bundle of joy to coo over. I couldn’t wait to meet him or her. Son, daughter, it wouldn’t matter. I just wanted a little one to love. Rocky did, too.
Just as thoughts of our baby swept across my mind, I felt one of Rocky’s hands move up to rub gently across my stomach. It felt like… like love. Love made real. Love made solid.
And Rocky’s tongue moving closer and closer to my wet pussy felt like fire itself.
“Rocky…” I moaned again. He grunted wordlessly, squeezed my ass once, and licked me from top to bottom.
It was like all the breath had gotten sucked out of my lungs. How was it this good, every time, even after all the time we’d spent naked, exploring each other? How was every touch so heavenly?
It didn’t make sense. But I didn’t want to question it.
So I gave in.
He lapped at me again as he moved a hand to my entrance and carefully swirled a fingertip around as he took my clit into his mouth.
That familiar flame had started to build up in the pit of my stomach. I knew what it meant – I needed him inside me.
I reached down and grabbed his chin. I pulled him up, loving as always the way his bulk slid across my skin. His muscles were taut and bulging. He wasn’t wearing any clothes, I noticed with a wry grin.
I tugged his mouth to mine to lick my own taste off of his lips. The kiss was hungry and open and deep. I felt his cock rising stiff between my legs. He wanted me as badly as I wanted him.
How amazing was that?
“What is it, babe?” he teased.
“I need you,” I whimpered.
“How bad?”
“Stop teasing me, you asshole.”
He just smiled that smile as he rubbed his tip against my slickness. The fire was insatiable, now. I needed him as badly as I needed oxygen, food, water.
“Now,” I said through gritted teeth.
He leaned back and lined himself up against me. He started to slide forward, but then stopped before he’d gone too far. I noticed a worried wrinkle in his brow.
“What?” I said. “Is everything okay?”
His eyes rose to meet mine. “I’m not gonna hurt the baby, am I?” he said.
I laughed out loud. The concern was adorable.
“No,” I giggled. “The doctor said it’s totally fine for at least another few weeks. And besides,” I added, “once the baby is born, we’re not going to be able to have sex for a while. So you’d better give me enough now to last a while.”
His worry faded away, replaced by a cocky grin.
“Then lay back, baby, because I’m about to make you scream. Hope the neighbors aren’t sleeping, unless they wanna be woken up.”
I laughed as he fell back on top of me. The laughter quickly became moans as he bucked inside, filling me with his thick shaft.
It took a sweaty hour before we’d finally had enough. Rocky’s cock pulsed in my mouth, coating my tongue with his seed. He tasted good – salty, earthy, and totally mine. When he’d finally finished cumming, we fell back into each others’ arms. Sleep took over as the sunshine filtered through the window.
What more could I want?
# # #
A month later
My whole body ached. But looking down at the beautiful baby girl in my arms, it was like the pain got put on mute. I didn’t matter anymore; all that mattered was my daughter.
I felt Rocky leaning against my shoulder.
“She’s so beautiful,” he murmured. It was at least the millionth time he’d said that, and yet, I wasn’t sick of hearing it yet. I might never be sick of hearing it. The sweetness in his voice – so out of character for a man as tough as him, and yet, so right – was like honey.
“Is it bad to say that I’m glad everything worked out this way?” I said with a hint of guilt in my voice. “Is it unfair that we’re so happy?”
“No, not at all. I feel the same,” Rocky replied.
“I finally feel like my mother’s death wasn’t in vain. That justice was served, you know?”
“I do know. And I got you in return.”
Rocky grinned down at me, a goofy, carefree smile that made my heartrate kick up a notch.
It felt like it had
taken a lifetime for us to get to this point. To be young and happy and carefree.
Not everything was always going to work out like this, but for now, we’d take what we could get.
THE END
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STOLEN: The Vanguard MC
By Naomi West
I STOLE HIS BRIDE AND PUT MY BABY INSIDE OF HER.
Wyland West should’ve learned a long time ago: Do. Not. F*ck. With. Me.
But he stuck his nose where he didn’t belong, and now he’ll pay…
With his most valuable possession: his fiancé.
I’m going to break her. Mold her. And make her scream my name.
The new District Attorney, Wyland West, is a spiteful S.O.B.
He’s got a hard-on for stomping out people like me.
Rebels.
Bikers.
Bad boys.
He wants to clean the streets, whatever the hell that means.
But what he doesn’t know is that he doesn’t run this city…
I do.
And I’m not about to let a bastard like him take over without a fight.
He wants to f*ck with me?
Fine.
I’m going to f*ck him right back.
Starting with what he holds most dear…
His beautiful bride.
She’s gorgeous, alright, but by the time I’m through with her, she’ll be a naked, broken mess.
By the time I’m done, she’ll be addicted to my c*ck.
Dependent on my lips.
Hungry and desperate for one more taste of my seed.
But Wyland is more stubborn than I thought.
He’s trying to burn my world to the ground unless I give her back.
Do your worst, you son of a b*tch.
Once I stole her, she became mine forever.
Chapter 1
Cutter
The day had started off like any other day for Cutter. He woke up early, exercised, made coffee for the clubhouse, and got ready for work. The air outside was crisp, with a hint of the changing season, like there were new beginnings just around the corner. Spring had come, and had brought with it warm afternoons. At least, that's how the morning felt to him as he rode his big chopper down to the business he owned and managed with the rest of the Vanguard Motorcycle Club.
He rode through the center of town, the little burg still rubbing the sleep from its eyes and the sun not even peaking over the horizon yet, and pulled his rumbling bike into the parking lot. He parked at the back in a special “Bikes Only” zone they'd painted out on the black asphalt. Most of the guys that worked there rode their motorcycles to work, too, but they still had to make sure the customers had plenty of space for their cars. That was just good business practice, as far as Cutter was concerned.
Not only was Cutter president of the Vanguard, he was also the head chef for Farm to Fable, a local diner that specialized in organic, localvore dishes. The small diner was the kind of place that had farm fresh eggs in the omelets, fair-trade coffee filling the French press, heirloom tomatoes adorning the chef salad, and prison tattoos on all the waiters and kitchen staff. All the guys that worked there were members of the MC. A lot of them were ex-cons, too. The club looked after its own, after all. If you went in, did your time, and kept your mouth shut, your old life would be waiting for you when you got back out. Your family would be supported, and so would you.
Cutter hadn't done any time. He'd managed to scrape by with no convictions, no matter how hard the district attorney tried to pin something on him. To some in law enforcement, the Vanguards were seen as public enemy number one. Lately, though, things had begun to die down as they moved into more legitimate work, like at Farm to Fable.
Cutter grabbed the carrying case for his chef knives from his saddle bag and headed up to the front door of the small diner. He fished for his keys and unlocked the front and let himself into the eating area with all its stacked tables and chairs, then headed back into the kitchen. The rest of the guys would be along closer to opening, and they'd take care of the incidentals like taking down chairs and wiping off tables. He had too much work as it was.
They were only open six days a week for breakfast and lunch, Tuesday through Sunday, but each morning's opening duties fell by default on Cutter's shoulders. He didn't mind. Far from it, actually. He'd come to savor the first hour or so, when he was all alone just chopping vegetables and getting fresh sauces and soups going. Having a bit of solitary time, away from the hustle and bustle of the thriving clubhouse, was good for him. These shifts gave him his daily moment of silence, a space where he could focus on just work without any outside interruptions or distractions.
Now, as the industrial lights flickered on overhead, Cutter was taken aback the same way he always was. The shining kitchen, just waiting to be used, with all its shining steel and chrome, reminded him of a perfectly tuned bike. Every object had a purpose, a specific use that was almost beautiful in its simplicity. He set his knife case on one of the steel counters and went to wash up. It was time to get to work and get everything prepped.
Unfortunately, that was when the phone decided to ring.
The contraption was an ancient rotary phone that one of the guys had updated to produce dial tones for the modern era, but had decided to leave behind the old-fashioned ringer. The telephone was clamoring to be answered, the little metal bell going crazy like a lunatic on the night of a full moon.
Cutter sighed. “For fuck's sake,” he muttered, the words feeling foreign in his mouth after a silent morning. “Really? This early?”
He checked his watch. Just past four-thirty. Whoever was calling, they probably had an excuse for why they weren't coming in. Something about this was strange, though. Most of the time, they'd have just called his cell. He grabbed the phone down off the hook and pressed the receiver to his ear. “Farm to Fable, Cutter speaking. How can I help you?”
“This call will be recorded and monitored,” said the recording of a woman's voice on the other end of the line. Cutter instantly knew why they weren't calling on his personal phone. You couldn't get collect calls to go through on a personal cell phone. Especially not from a jail.
The man's voice continued for the next part in the same digital monotone as before, till it got to his buddy's name. “You have a collect call from ... Jersey Rowland.”
He knew that recording. He'd received calls just like this one more times than he could count. “Aw shit, Jersey,” Cutter said as he leaned his head forward and rested it against the wall of the kitchen. This wasn't good.
Jersey was a hell of a bad ass. He could slam down a bottle of Jack by himself, then throw bull's eyes with a bowie knife right after. He rode his bike like a madman, screwed whatever woman wasn't nailed down to a brother, and could fight with the best of them. That was his credo: ‘Fight first. Fuck later.’
He also happened to be the best line cook Cutter had on staff at Farm to Fable Fresh. And his shift started in less than thirty minutes. Cutter needed him, and needed him bad.
The recording continued on in the woman's inhuman voice. “... an inmate at ...”
Cutter took a deep breath, wondering what kind of shit Jersey had gotten himself into this time. He was one of the good ones. Rather, he was one of the better ones, Cutter smirked. None of them were good, but some of them were better at not getting busted. Over the years, they'd gotten even better at it, too.
He took another deep breath, waited for the next line.
“Will you accept the charges?”
“Yes,” Cutter replied, trying hard to contain his annoyance.
“Cutter?” Jersey's voice came on the line, his voice haggard and bedraggle
d. “That you, brother?”
“Yeah, it's me, Jersey,” Cutter replied and sighed. “You holding up alright?”
“You know it, brother. Just calling to let you know my arraignment ain't for a couple days, and I clearly ain't going to be in to work this morning.”
Cutter let the silence hang for a minute, waited for Jersey to fill the gap in himself.
“Sorry for having to call out,” Jersey mumbled. To his credit, he did sound genuinely sorry for the inconvenience. Not that it mattered much, but it was the thought that count.
“We'll hold the line,” Cutter said. He had to bite back the questions he had. What had he done? Was the deed something that concerned the MC? Instead, he continued on like this was no big deal, and his line cook called in incarcerated every couple weeks or so. “I'll send one of the guys round and we'll get bail posted soon as we can.”
