PREGNANT FOR A PRICE: Kings of Chaos MC

by Kathryn Thomas

  “I have no idea,” I answer, honestly. “I really don’t.”

  “You must have more feminine charm than you think,” Nat says, smiling faintly. “All this time, you’ve thought of yourself as a tomboy—”

  “I don’t think I ever did,” I interrupt.

  “Really?” Nat shrugs. “I thought you did.”

  “Oh.”

  Maybe she’s right, I reflect. Never wanting to play the girly girl, never wanting to be a lady. In public, anyway. But in secret? What do you dream of, Eden? Do you dream of being a strong woman, or do you dream of being a submissive lover? Do you dream of being arm candy? Do you dream of being spoilt because of your looks?

  I stop at the end of one of the racks. A dress; red and sparkly, cut short on the leg, but cut high on the chest (the chest-or-leg rule should be followed as often as possible, after all), leaps out at me. It’s the same shade of red as my hair, and I have some red shoes, which would go nicely with it. Maddox wanted me to buy a dress that highlighted my figure. Well, I have no hourglass figure. My legs really are the only part of my ‘figure’. I take the dress of the rack, find the label, and look down at the price.

  Despite the fact that the ghoulish plastic woman is watching us, I gasp. One thousand and two hundred dollars!

  Nat stands on her tiptoes and peers over my shoulder, looking down at the dress. “It’s lovely,” she says. “You should try it on.”

  In a few minutes, I’m standing in the changing room, looking at myself in the mirror. The dress hugs tight to my body, the top going all the way up to my neck and the bottom cutting short on my thigh. It’s elegant and sexy, showing just enough flesh to provoke the imagination without being slutty. But you don’t think about things like that, eh, Eden?

  I push that notion from my mind and take off the dress, change back into my regular clothes. Then I carry it to the counter, remove the rubber band from the bills, and slide the money across to the money. She counts it, opens the register, and slides the bills in.

  “It’s beautiful,” Nat says, and her chirpy voice is sad and low. “Really beautiful.”

  The woman hands me the dress in a fancy patterned bag. “What a lovely purchase!” she cries, her lips barely moving, a ventriloquist’s lips.

  When I take the bag from her, I’m struck from nowhere by Maddox’s confidence. He just threw money at me and told me to buy a dress, and I did it. It annoys me. I clench my fist around the handle of the bag, standing still where I am for a moment.

  “Aren’t we going?” Nat asks.

  Just go and buy a dress. Something nice. Do it, woman—and I did! Ah, he’s so infuriating! So cocky!

  “No,” I say. “No, not yet. I have some cash left, Nat. Why don’t we find you a dress?”

  I turn to her, and her face lights up at my words. “Are you serious?” she pants.

  “Yeah? Why not?”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure!” I exclaim.

  Nat claps her hands together and then prances down the aisle.

  No change for you, you arrogant prick. No change for you, you cocky asshole. No change for you, you sexy smug bastard.

  As I stand at the counter, watching Nat, I try to imagine what it must be like to be her. Filled with childish enthusiasm. Never seeming to worry about who she is. Never giving it a second thought.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Maddox

  Two days and I already can’t wait to see her again, I think, drumming my fingers on my desk. Surely I can go two damn days without seeing a woman? But the more I think about her, the faster and harder I drum my fingers on the desk. The job this morning took less time than I thought it would, and the rest of the day is free. The rest of the men are drinking, laughing, and having a good time. Like I should be. But I can’t stop thinking about the wildcat who went crazy on me. Who showed just wild she can be.

  The night of our sex, I dreamed of it all over again, and I woke panting so hard it took me several minutes to catch my breath.

  But is it just the sex? I wonder. Or is it more than that? Is this woman starting to get through to you? I look down at my hands. The knuckles of my right hand are grazed. The job today was protection, as most of our jobs are, and I had to tool up a couple of guys to stop them getting ideas. Two big dumb bastards who thought they could bother our client. Two big dumb bastards with a death wish. The rage filled me – the rage that fills all outlaws at one time or another – and I couldn’t stop myself. The beast was unleashed. When I was done with them, they lay, bleeding and moaning, on the floor.

  But it’s not those men that play on my mind, which hound it. It’s her.

  “Get a fucking grip,” I tell myself. “Just get a grip. She’s a woman; there are plenty of women.”

  This is true. The leader of a club like The Miseryed can get any number of women, but women like Eden? Smart, sexy, intelligent, classy, funny women like Eden?

  With a sigh, I stand up.

  There’s no point in sitting here all day, dwelling on something I want to do without actually doing it. If there’s anything I’ve learned leading this club, it’s that actions are always the most effective route. Sitting around and thinking and pining like a goddamned love-struck kid will get me nowhere.

  I take my jacket off the back of my chair and pull it on, straighten the lapels, and adjust the sleeves.

  When I leave the office, the men turn to me and murmur, “Boss, Boss, Boss.”

  Dozens of fighters, riders, killers. Tough bastards. All of them looking to me for leadership, all of them scared of me. I get to the door when Markus taps me on the shoulder.

  I turn and face him. He bites his lips, his bald dome creased.

  “What is it?” I ask, thinking: Don’t waste my time. I have a lady to surprise.

  “Oh, it’s just that…” He paws at the ground with his boot, as though a nervous little girl is trapped inside the body of a lumbering giant. “Uh…”

  “What?” I say. “Come on, big man, don’t mess me around.”

  “I just wanted to…. are you going to see Eden?” he asks, lowering his voice.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  He paws at the ground again. I reach forward and grab his shoulders, giving him a little shake. “Spit it out, Markus,” I say. “Whatever it is.”

  He nods like a school kid who’s just been told off. “It’s just… I was wondering… does Eden have a friend? I mean, like a friend who’s a woman? I was thinking if she did…”

  He blushes up to his ears, and then shrugs, his massive shoulders heaving. “Just thought I’d ask,” he mutters.

  I grin at him and pat him on the back. “If she does, I’ll make sure you meet, eh? How about that?”

  He smiles, looking like a happy ogre. “Okay, Boss, yeah, okay.”

  Then I leave him and go out into the sun, to my bike, and kick the stand free.

  I do owe the big guy. After all, he did give me her address.

  ***

  The main door to the apartment building is unlocked, so I walk in and go up the stairs to her apartment. I try to think about another time I’ve surprised a woman like this, and I’m met with nothing. Because no other woman was worth going out of your way to surprise. No other woman meant enough to you. And again and again I’m left with the question: why is this woman worth more than the others?

  But then I’m at the door.

  I knock on it with my bloody-knuckled fist, step back, and wait.

  I hear her footsteps pad across the apartment. That’s a skill you pick up in the outlaw life. You have to listen out for footsteps, always. The difference between living as an outlaw and dying as an outlaw is often something as simple as listening for the footsteps of men who want to kill you. I hear her walk from one end of the apartment, padding on bare feet, and then approach the door.

  Then she opens the door, and my cock goes hard immediately. One second it’s calm, and the next it’s filled with lust. My cock has never gone so hard so fast be
fore.

  She’s holding a towel around her chest, and her red hair is wet around her shoulders. Her face is free of makeup and red from the heat of the shower, giving her a flushed, lively look. There’s something inexplicably sexy about her fingernails, which are chipped, half-painted. When she sees me, her eyebrows furrow.

  “Maddox—”

  I pace into the apartment in two quick strides, push her away from the door, and slam it closed. Then I grab her by the shoulders and push her against the door. “Eee!” she squeals, but she’s giggling, just a hint of fear in her.

  As I hold her against the door, I look her up and down, knowing what’s beneath the towel: her bouncy, thin body. Her perfect body.

  I fall to my knees before her, grab the towel, and yank it away. It flutters free from her grip, and I throw it over my shoulder. It makes a sound like a parachute opening as it lands somewhere behind me. She stands above me, stark naked, her nipples already hard, her legs crossed over her shaved pussy.

  Fuck. Jesus fucking Christ.

  Without saying a word, I grab her legs and pry them open. She opens them for me with a small whimper, and then I push my face between her legs, to her warm wet pussy. I slide my hand up her thigh, to her lips, and push them aside, revealing her clit. It’s engorged, red, begging to be touched. I lick it once, a soft brush, and her body contorts. She reaches back and scratches the wood of the door, a scrtchhhhh noise which melds with her quiet moaning.

  “Oh, Maddox,” she moans.

  I lick her again, and again. Each time I lick her, a tremor seems to go through her body. I imagine it shooting up from her clit, through her belly, up to her chest and down her arms to her fingers. She scratches the door, and her chest convulses as though she’s coughing. “Fuck,” she whispers.

  I can’t go slow. I can’t hold it back. The desire to make her come is too strong. The desire to see her writhe in pleasure, to hear her moan, is overpowering.

  I lick her clit fast, the tip of my tongue waving madly over it, again and again. She digs her fingernails into the door, her arms bent backward, and I lick even harder. All I think is: Make her cum. Damn, make her cum. She’s so hot when she cums. She’s so damn hot.

  While licking her clit, I slide my finger deep inside of her—pushing my middle finger all the up, up, to her sweet spot. As I lick her, I wriggle my finger in small circles around her point of pleasure. She reaches down with one hand and slides her fingers into my hair, gripping my scalp, pushing my head into her pussy. I lick and lick until her moans are so loud I can hear nothing else. Not the sounds of the street outside, the honking of horns or the shouting of kids, not the rock music which blares from an apartment two doors down—nothing. Just her sweet, high-pitched moans.

  With one hand, I lift her off her feet, grabbing her by the thigh. Then I hold her up by my finger inside of her, buried deep and secure. She bounces up and down on my finger and my tongue, my hand propping her up, feet dangling inches above the door.

  “Oh my god!” she moans. “Oh god, Maddox! Oh god. I’m going to—”

  I lick faster. Yes, yes, yes! Cum for me, Eden! Cum for me, baby!

  I lick her clit faster and harder, lick it until my tongue begins to ache, and then she stops moaning and her hand stops writhing on the door. For a moment it’s like she’s trying to moan, her voice a faint rasp, and then she lets it all out in one long: “Ahh-ah-ahh-ahhhhhhhhhhhh!”

  Her pussy goes tight around my finger, her clit seems to engorge more, and then she pants over and over as she cums on me, her fingernails digging into my scalp.

  When it’s over, I stand up, staring down at her naked body. She looks up at me almost shyly. She looks even more beautiful after she’s cum.

  “Get on your knees,” I say, my voice firm. “Get on your knees, now.”

  I can see it in her red eyes: part of her thinks about saying no. But her hand strokes down her belly to her lips, and she toys with them as she pouts at me.

  And then she drops to her knees and unbuttons my jeans.

  “Oh, fuck,” I say, as she takes my cock in her mouth.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  When it’s over, we sit on her couch side by side. Her apartment is a mess, but I’ve never been overly bothered by mess. Most of the mess is books, anyway. Computer science books, gaming books, and coding books piled high on the floor and the coffee table. Two coders walk into an apartment… And what’s the punch line? They both mouth-fuck the other before they’ve said two words to each other?

  Eden wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. The towel is wrapped around her again, but she lets its fall around her breasts so I can see the top of them, tempting pert things. She’s already making me horny again. Already. She’s amazing. She’s different. She’s…

  “Wow,” Eden sighs, her head lolling to her shoulder as she gazes at me. “I have to say, I didn’t expect that.”

  “Neither did I,” I admit, smirking at her. “But it was worth it, wasn’t it?”

  “I guess it was.” She smiles and looks me in the eye, follows my gaze to its target, and then makes a tut-tut noise. “Still horny, are you?”

  I don’t try and hide that I’m looking at her breasts. I’ve seen breasts before, many times, too many times to count. And I suppose Eden’s aren’t different in any magical way. How different can breasts be, really? But it’s something to do with the way she holds herself, the way they’re only half-exposed, the way she tugs at her towel. It’s the fact that they’re her breasts, Eden Chase, a smart woman, a sarcastic woman, a woman unlike any I’ve been with.

  “Still horny?” she says.

  “How can you tell?” I grunt.

  She nods at my jeans. It’s true. My cock is outlined in denim, pushing against my jeans, hard, urgent.

  “I’m going to find you once a day and give it to you,” I growl, voice low. Her eyes go wide. I push on, “Once a day, I’m going to find you. And I’m going to fuck you, or lick you, or finger you. I’m going to give you at least one orgasm a day, Eden. If you decide one day you don’t want me to – a mistake – just text me. But I wouldn’t do that, ’cause you’ll be missing out on the best orgasms of your goddam life.”

  She backs away from my deep, growling words. But she licks her lips at the same time and lets the towel drop to her belly, revealing her breasts once again. “Every day?” she asks, voice faint.

  “Got a problem with that?” I grunt.

  I look into her eyes and see that she’s excited, more than excited. Women are usually excited before sex, it’s true, but Eden looks excited beyond that. I think about why. Perhaps it’s just because I’m better at it than any man she’s been with before. Maybe. Or maybe it’s because she feels what I feel. That, somehow, this is different.

  She shakes her head. “No problem,” she says. “But keep an eye on your phone.”

  I laugh. “I doubt that’ll happen, Red.”

  She throws her hands up. Her breasts jiggle. “Cocky as usual!” she exclaims to the ceiling. “Is he ever not cocky?”

  “Did you buy the dress?” I ask.

  She turns her gaze back to me. “I bought a dress, yeah,” she says. “But you’re not allowed to see it before the party.”

  “Ha-ha, what is this, a wedding?”

  “Don’t make me sick.” She winks at me. “I’d never marry a brute like you.”

  “That’s a good job, then. Because I’d never ask.”

  We stare at each other for a second, and then both burst out laughing. Then the laughter passes, and she looks down at my hand, at the grazes and the dried blood. “Hard day at work?”

  “Not for me,” I reply, opening and closing my hand, the cuts pulling at my skin.

  “But for somebody else?” she asks uncertainly.

  “Do I scare you?” I lean forward, looming over her, but she doesn’t shrink back.

  “No,” she says simply. “No, you don’t. Well, only a little.”

  Good. Too many people are too scared
of me already.

  I reach into my jeans pocket, take out a folded-up piece of paper, and hand it to her.

  “What’s this?” she asks.

  “The time the driver will be outside your apartment on Saturday, the make of the car so you know who it is, and a number you can reach me on the night of the party if I can’t get to my phone.”