by Ella Goode
Wrecker’s sentence rankles. The Fortune Chief of Police is dirty but I couldn’t pin anything on him. Ultimately I’d been able to talk the prosecutor down to a three-year plea agreement. “I’m sorry he had to do any time.”
“Course you are.” Flint cups my face with one free hand. “He’d have gotten the full ten-year sentence, or more, if it hadn’t been for you.”
I’m not certain if I’m warm because of his words or the fact his body is so close to mine.
“Thank you but that doesn’t really explain the mess downstairs.”
“True.” His hand drops to my wrist. “Come on down and see if you can shed some light on the subject because the boys downstairs aren’t part of any skinhead group.”
“How can you say that?” I protest but follow him anyway. I need to get to the bottom of this. But when I waltz into the kitchen and see the three guys tied and duct taped, I understand immediately why Flint assumed my intruders were not skinheads.
Because this particular group of bad guys looked suspiciously like the crowd that Isamu runs with.
“Want to tell me how you got caught up with them?”
I bristle at what feels like an implicit accusation that I allowed this to happen. “Gosh, Flint, I asked around for the worst criminals in Minneapolis and then walked right up to this one,” I nudge the nearest one with my toe, “and asked him to take me as his next victim. He said I was too old, but I swore I could be full of tears and pretty begging just like the teenagers.”
He snorts. “You have a smart mouth.”
“I’m a lawyer. Did you see the degree in my office? It says Bachelor of smart assery.”
“I’ve never been to your office,” he replies. “Never got that particular invitation.”
“Didn’t realize you Death Lords waited for invitations. I thought you just strolled in, took what you wanted, and left.”
“Only if what we want it taking way too long to make up her mind about us,” he smirks.
I decide not answering is my best response. I turn toward the trussed up males. “These look like associates of a client of mine. He’s just gotten out of jail and is trying to keep his nose clean. My guess is that he told them he wasn’t going to work with them anymore and they got mad. What are you doing with them?”
“I’ve got a few guys coming to pick them up,” he says evasively. And do I really want to know the details? Not really. If they are away from Isamu and his family, that’s what I care about. Flint walks to the back door, grabs my boots and then kneels at my feet. “We need to get going before it get’s too late. I don’t like riding in the dark with important cargo in the bitch seat.”
Therein lies the dichotomy of Flint. He tells me what to do in my own house while kneeling at my feet. “I hope you don’t think that because I’m in the bitch seat, you can refer to me with that word.”
“Only in bed, Amy.” He grins at me wickedly.
I cuff the top of his head while he laces one boot up and then the other. Once dressed, he rolls one of the males onto his back. I see now that he’s conscious but too taped up and subdued to do much more than blink sullenly up at Flint.
Flint holds out the side of his leather jacket and taps the patch over the breast pocket. It’s got a flaming skull in the center with Death Lords curved around the bottom and the letters VP on the top. There’s a larger version on the back of his vest that he has on under the jacket. He also has a replica of it emblazoned upon his back.
I’m not much for tattoos but I’ll admit that Flint’s ink is sexy as hell.
“See this?” he asks.
When the male on the floor doesn’t respond, Flint nudges him again with his foot. Hard.
The male grunts and nods. Flint spins me around and taps my back. “And this? It says ‘Property of’. You got that?”
I swivel around to see the guy give another nod.
“Good. You may not have heard of the Death Lords, but I took three of you down without getting a scratch. Tonight, a few of my friends are coming and taking care of you.” The male blanches and Flint gives him an ugly smile. “One of you will get to go back to your crew but here’s the thing. You even breathe in Amy’s direction and we’re salting the city with your blood.” The careless way Flint says this belies his seriousness. I suck in a breath. “My guess is you thought my Amy here was weak and alone but this patch says she belongs to the Death Lords. When she’s in her office, when she’s at the courthouse, when she’s home, we’re always watching. She’s under our umbrella and if she so much as stubs her toe, I’m blaming you.”
It’s wrong. I know it’s wrong, but all of the things that Flint says fills me with a curious elation. He’s threatening this thug but he’s also claiming me in a way I’ve never been claimed. My parents had been disinterested in my existence. The only person I’d ever really connected to went to prison for ten years for a crime he didn’t commit and when he came out, he was a totally different person.
“Come on Amy,” Flint says and cups my elbow.
He leads me outside into the dark night and I go all too willingly. Climbing on to the back of the dark black motorcycle is about the riskiest thing I’ve done to date.
I clutch him tight for the forty-five minutes it takes to get to Fortune. In the chill of the night, I lay my cheek between his shoulder blades and soak in the warmth of Flint’s big frame. My body is sore and aching. Even now I can still feel his huge shaft dragging along my sensitive tissues.
Even though I’m not bound, I feel like I’m under Flint’s control and command. In my house, he had moved me around as if I weighed nothing and then he’d taken me. And taken me. And taken me again.
He slows and then turns into a wooded lane.
“What is this place?” I ask. It’s hard to see because it’s dark but I make out the outline of towering evergreens.
“It’s home,” he says simply.
“I thought you lived at the club.”
He brings the bike to a halt and kicks the stand down. He swings a leg over the seat and then pulls me off. Somehow he knows that the bike ride did me in and just carries me toward the house. A few lights pop on almost immediately as we near.
“I used to but there are times all that togetherness can get to me and that’s when I hit the road. I bought this place a few years ago.”
“How many?” I hold my breath.
“About three.” He places a hand against the door and I hear the bolt unlock.
“Fancy for a cabin.”
“We got a new guy in the club. He’s a tech wizard. I like the convenience of it. The motion sensors, the hand print access. It’d be good if we installed that shit on your house.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t done it already.” And then I realize what’s going on. “Tell me you didn’t bring me all to Fortune so you could install new security in my place.”
Flint drops me onto the sofa. “If your house had been made of gingerbread instead of wood and plaster, it wouldn’t have been much easier to get into.”
“I had locks,” I say affronted. “Not everyone needs biometric hand scans and eye sensors.”
“Sure not everyone does, but not everyone defends criminals and thugs.”
“Alleged, Flint. They are alleged criminals and thugs.”
Flint rubs his hands briskly on the outside of my legs. “Doesn’t matter if they did it. Someone believed they were in the wrong or they wouldn’t be coming to you for help, yes?”
“That’s fair.”
“Which means there are people that are going to be angry with you no matter what the outcome is. No matter if your client is innocent or guilty. If the guy goes away for three years, someone is going to be mad he’s serving time at all. Other folks are going to be pissed off that he only did three years and someone is going to make their anger known to you in a real way. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened yet.”
He cups my face. “After all this time you’ve spent around the Death Lords, you should know
that once we decide on something, it’s done. No wavering. No second guessing. No going backward. And once you have our loyalty, it’s yours forever.”
“Are you saying you feel that way about me?” I ask cautiously. Only years of training myself to show no reaction in the courtroom no matter what the outcome allows me to keep my joy at bay.
But somehow he knows. His smile is slow, slightly crooked, and utterly welcoming. “You know it. I’ve wanted you for a long time but I knew you weren’t ready. A few years ago, if I’d tied you up and spanked your pretty ass, you would have turned me out on my ear.”
“So you waited?” This time I cup his face, running my fingers over his closely trimmed beard and then into his scalp. His eyes flutter shut enjoying the caress.
“I waited.”
Those two words are more persuasive than any argument I’ve ever heard in court. He waited. This man who could have all kinds of women with a snap of his fingers had waited for me to be ready for him.
“I didn’t even know you were what I wanted,” I admit breathlessly. My fingers find their way down to the hem of his shirt. He helps me lift the garment over his head and then starts to dispose of my clothes. My nipples tighten behind the thin t-shirt as his hungry gaze takes in every inch of bare skin that is exposed as we hurriedly undress.
“That’s okay. I’ve got lots to teach you,” he informs me. Again his light words belie his serious intent.
When we are both naked, he presses me against the cushions, his heavy, rough body scraping deliciously at my soft skin. His one large hand cradles my head while the other parts my legs. He gives a grunt of satisfaction when his fingers discover how wet I already am.
I close my eyes then as his mouth lowers over mine. He enters me with both his tongue and cock simultaneously as if to punctuate the verbal claims he’d made earlier.
I raise my leg and hook it over his hip but he needs no encouragement. I let him take over and slide into that euphoria that he conjures so easily. There’s nothing but pleasure and sensation in his world and under his touch.
“Ah Amy girl,” he hisses against my neck as his shaft plunges in and out of me in an unhurried rhythm. “You know I love you.”
I smile, so happy, so joyful in this moment. “Is that a question counselor?”
“No. It’s a declaration.”
I wrap myself around him, arms and legs, until we are fused together. “I love you too Flint.”
His lips curve against my shoulder as he drives in, harder, faster, pushing me toward the cliff. I stand there on my curled tiptoes and look for him. He runs behind me, grabs me around the waist and throws me off. We tumble into the ether, holding each other, loving each other, claiming each other.
I’m not alone. I belong to Flint and he belongs to me. Forever.
Their Private Need BONUS
THEIR PRIVATE NEED
ELLA GOODE
Annie: I've been the good girl too long. I don't drink, don't smoke, and live at home with my preacher father. The most daring thing I've ever done is work part-time at the library. Rule-breakers and lawless men aren't part of my world but not doing doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it. And every fantasy I’ve ever had is promising to come true if I just take a chance.
Easy: The moment I laid eyes on Annie, I knew she was the one for me and Michigan. We've been partners ever since we served and now we do everything together. And by everything I mean riding, drinking, and women. If we can get Annie on board, it'll be perfect. Not only do I have to convince Annie, though, I need to convince Michigan, too.
Michigan: Easy seems to think sweet, delectable Annie's just going to fall into our laps. But my one experience with a preacher’s daughter left me scarred—emotionally and physically. A good girl like Annie wants to experience a little danger but she doesn’t want to live it and I’m not going all in unless this is for the long haul.
Three hearts are on a collision course. They will either be ruined or remade.
* * *
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Chapter One
Easy
“What do you think?” I ask Michigan as we watch the slim figure of Annie Bloom disappear inside her small cottage attached to the Methodist church.
“I think you were dropped on your head one too many times if you think Pastor Bloom’s virgin daughter is going to spread her legs for one of us, let alone get into a threesome.” Michigan’s glaring at me but I can’t keep a smile from breaking out because he wouldn’t be angry with me if he didn’t want her.
“I was hard the minute I laid eyes on her too.”
He grunts and climbs into the cage. Michigan broods during the short trip from the church to the clubhouse where we trade the four wheels for our preferred mode of transportation. His hog is a matte black lowrider with no front fairing and the Death Lords emblem custom stitched into the saddle. Mine’s a softail, powder-coated black with orange accents over the front fender and along the tank. My bike’s name is Amber Whiskey. That’s the name the Harley dealer told me the accent color was. It’s a shit name for the color orange but a damn good name for a bike.
“Package is safely delivered,” I report cheerfully to Judge, our club president.
“Take yourselves home then. Mash tomorrow,” he reminds me. “I’ve got other things to take care of. Prospect Handfield will be at the door. Let’s try to keep the jailbait out this time.”
“Got it.” I stick the phone in the front pocket of my jeans and signal Michigan that I’m ready to roll out.
My former Marine battle buddy has never been much of a talker but the entire evening is spent with him not uttering one word. After watching the Twins blow through two pitchers in as many hours, he surges angrily from the sofa during the seventh inning stretch and I hear the growl of his bike a few minutes later as he roars down the street.
I don’t have to follow him to know where he’s going. It’s where I want to be too. No, I correct myself, I don’t want to be sitting in the dark outside the parish house. I want to be inside, sliding Annie’s clothes off, kissing her small tits and moving down the thin belly to those long legs.
Opening my jeans, I take out my heavy erection and begin to stroke myself. I wonder what she smells like between her thighs. Her neck smelled like cinnamon and vanilla. It was pretty damn hard not to lick her right there in the library earlier today even under the watchful gaze of her boss, two toddlers and a bright-eyed teenager.
It was even harder to hide the massive erection that sprouted when she stood close, giving me recommendations of books she thought I might like. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d been sent by Judge to keep an eye on her boss and make sure the chief of police or the skinheads from up north didn’t ruffle a single red hair on Pippa Lang’s head.
But one look at her long legs under that frumpy prairie dress and I turned hard as a rock.
She’s the one.
I don’t know if it was my dick or my head that called it out but I felt some unfamiliar pull toward her. She felt it too and she buzzed around the small library for the rest of the morning full of sexual anxiety. I’m not certain she knew what she was feeling. Her blush when I winked at her indicated her level of experience with men was pretty low.
That’s perfectly fine with me and it wasn’t a turnoff for Michigan either.
It’s not as if I can’t fuck without Michigan. I didn’t even know I liked sharing until I enlisted and was shipped off to the Philippines. Michigan, a six-foot brick house, was assigned as my battle buddy. He was quiet even then but formidable. I did the talking for both of us but he taught me a few things, like how giving a woman pleasure at the same time another man was taking her was a heady feeling.
We never have trouble finding a woman who’s willing to take a ride with us. The problem is finding someone we both want to spend the rest of our lives with, an old lady we can share. Michigan is convinced
it isn’t ever going to happen. The sad sack hasn’t had sex in a year.
Nothing seems to move him these days and given the amount of ready snatch in the club, his disinterest is fucking with my head. Annie is just his type—long legs, a sweet disposition, and doe eyes that you can drown in.
Envisioning her on her knees, taking me into her hot mouth while Michigan is fucking her cunt has my balls tightening up. My guess is that her tits are small but perky and tight. My big hands would swallow them up. I could probably suck the whole breast into my mouth.
My imagination flicks through a couple more images. Michigan in her ass while I’m in her cunt as we both stand, bouncing her up and down on our cocks. The three of us tangled in bed, moving slow, enjoying the intense friction having both of us inside her at the same time would create.
It doesn’t take more than three rough jerks for me to spill into my hands, but even though my dick hangs limply between my legs, I know I’m not going to be satisfied until I’m coming inside of Annie Bloom.
* * *
A Death Lords mash is made up of two things. Sex and alcohol. Okay, three. We fight a lot. Sometimes we fight over women and sometimes we fight over who took the last beer or ate the last bacon-wrapped weenie. It didn’t take much. All that testosterone and liquor makes for a rowdy evening.
The first floor of the granary is semirespectable. Sure, there are folks groping each other and plenty of nudity but Judge, the Death Lord’s president, likes to keep the raunchy stuff for the second floor playroom. Michigan had volunteered to run security which means he stands around, arms folded, watching everything. The bored, flat look in his eyes shouts “been there, done that, fucked till the T-shirt fell off.”
I drink a few beers and pour two shots down my gullet hoping to take the bite off my lust. I hadn’t seen Annie today. I’d ridden by her place but didn’t see a soul around. Under the guise of checking out a book at the library, I asked Pippa where Annie was. Pippa gave me a long knowing look but admitted Annie only worked two days a week at the library. The rest of the time she’s at the Methodist church. Churches are about as off-limits as teenage sexpots trying to get into a mash. In the last couple of years, this has begun to be a real problem. I blame it on the stupid-ass television show.
