Notorious Devils MC Complete Collection: BoxSet

by Hayley Faiman

  “Try working on flooring all day,” I grunt, sounding grumpy as fuck.

  “Oh, my god,” she whispers after I flip the living room lights on.

  “What?” I ask, looking around in mild panic.

  “It’s so beautiful.”

  “It’s what you picked, sweetness,” I mutter as I close the door behind her and lock it.

  “I know, but it’s better than I imagined. I can’t wait to see the bedroom,” she practically squeals before she dashes up the stairs.

  I can’t help the laugh that booms through the empty house. Holy shit, if I could find something to make her that excited, that happy, every day of my life, I’d do it in a heartbeat—cost be damned.

  I think about the smile on her face and the way her eyes lit up with excitement before she literally ran up the stairs. She’s so fucking beautiful.

  “Oh, Max,” she whispers as soon as I enter the room.

  Luckily, the flooring we used is something that clicks into place, so our bed is in the center of the room, and we don’t have to sleep in Pierce’s old room. I don’t want to imagine what he did as a teenager in there.

  “You like it?” I ask as I slide my hand around the front of her waist, resting in on her belly.

  “I love it,” she whispers.

  “Let’s eat, sweetness,” I murmur pressing my lips against her neck.

  We eat in bed, greasy assed fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and biscuits. It’s a fucking terrible meal, and I have a feeling it will settle in my stomach like lead weight, but I’d do it every single night if that’s what Mary wanted.

  She’s sitting cross legged, chattering about the house, about how she can’t wait to go furniture shopping so that we can eat at a real table.

  A second later, she frowns and says we can still eat in bed because she likes being cuddled up next to me while we eat shit food. I smile at her rambling.

  It solidifies the fact that she’s young, but I could give a fuck. Her chattering makes me grin. Sex aside, her personality in general keeps me drawn to her.

  I could fuck anybody, but there’s only one person I want to eat fried chicken in bed with, and that’s Mary-Anne.

  Chapter Twelve

  MARY-ANNE

  I chickened out. Totally and completely chickened out. I should have told Max about those whores as soon as he walked into his office yesterday. He looked exhausted, though; sexy as hell, but exhausted.

  Once we arrived back at the house, I could see why.

  Every single floor that I suggested be redone had been. Fury’s room hadn’t been touched, but Max promised once it was cleared out we could fix it up, which I was fine with. I have no desire to move around Fury’s things.

  Now I’m back at the clubhouse, working all day in Max’s office while he and the rest of the brothers paint the house and let the countertop guys in, plus wait for the appliances to be delivered. I’m feeling nauseous and guilty over not telling him last night.

  What if they’ve already started trying to get pregnant by the members?

  I have to tell him when I see him tonight. There’s no way I could live with myself if one of the men were trapped by these women. I hope that they’re smart enough not to even try it. That blonde bitch needs to go.

  I work for the better part of the morning and into the early afternoon, only stopping when there is a loud knock on the office door.

  I hear Colleen’s unmistakable voice shouting at me to open up. I power down my laptop, knowing there’s no way I’ll be working anymore today.

  I’m actually completely caught up for the moment, and it feels fantastic. Then I walk over to the door and unlock it before I open it widely with a smile playing on my lips.

  “Hello, ladies,” I greet. They all greet me with their own hellos, except for Teeny, who just gives me a shy, silent wave. “How may I help you today?” I ask with a grin.

  “We’re going furniture shopping. MadDog demanded it when we were dropping off lunch to the guys a few minutes ago,” Genny says.

  “He didn’t demand it, he just said it in a way where there was no other option,” Genny mutters.

  “You girls don’t have to go with me. I’m sorry he did that,” I say.

  I apologize for him—something I probably shouldn’t start doing. I have a feeling I’ll end up doing it all day, every day, if I start now.

  “Oh, no, we want to. I’m excited,” Colleen announces. “Genny’s just being a bitch because Soar didn’t come home last night,” she grumbles.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Genny grinds out.

  “If you gave him some pussy more than once every three months, he might come home more often,” Colleen snaps.

  My eyes widen in surprise and I look around, wondering if I’m going to have to break up a girl fight right here in Max’s office.

  “He’s gotta earn this snatch, and he doesn’t earn shit when he’s not home,” she says haughtily. I wonder how her logic works, because to me, she makes zero sense.

  “Guess what, princess, he doesn’t have to earn snatch here. It’s free all day and all night. So why in the fuck would he work for yours when he can get it with zero effort down here?” Colleen asks.

  I have to agree with her, minus the word snatch. I really don’t care for that word.

  “Whatever. I know that my pussy is premium, and if he wants it, then he’ll have to work for it,” she huffs before she walks out the door.

  “I’m glad we brought separate cars,” Bobbie mutters.

  “Does she really think if she holds out that her man will treat her better to get back in?” I ask in confusion.

  “She’s an idiot,” Colleen grunts.

  “Let’s go get some furniture,” Teeny whispers, her voice just as small as her name.

  “What do you think?” I ask nervously as the moving men bring in the navy blue, microfiber sofa and love seat.

  “It’s blue,” Max grunts.

  He’s covered in speckles of paint, even in his hair. He looks dirty and rough, hardworking and so fucking sexy I’m finding it difficult not to jump him.

  Last night, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him. I had to show my appreciation to him, but mostly I just wanted to taste him. This man who is doing so much for me— who has already done so much for me.

  “It is,” I agree.

  “You don’t want something more—feminine?” he asks, his eyebrows knit in confusion.

  It dawns on me that his house was overly feminine before. Eleanora decorated for the time, which was very floral years ago.

  I’m not that flowery kind of girl.

  I never have been.

  I’m more about bold, deep, rich colors. Just another something that Max doesn’t know about me.

  “I don’t want anything feminine, not really. I want you to feel comfortable here, too,” I say. “I mean, I might add something here or there that’s a little girlie, but not a lot.”

  “Looks comfortable,” he grunts.

  I shake my head slightly in confusion. I can’t tell what he’s thinking; not that I ever really can, anyway. He tells me that he’s going to take a shower. I nod, as I’m busy instructing the movers on where to place the new chair and ottoman, a pretty brocade, light grey, soft, oversized chair.

  I can’t wait to get out my laptop on a snowy day and curl up with a blanket to work in that chair.

  Honestly, I didn’t buy that much furniture, just a sofa, the loveseat, and the big, comfy chair. I found a pretty seven-piece dining room table set and a master bedroom set. I also found a big trunk to store movies and things for a coffee table.

  I didn’t have to worry about an entertainment center, because Max upgraded the television in both the living and the master bedroom before he did anything else, and he installed them this afternoon.

  The house is starting to look like a cozy home. The only things I need to do are add finishing touches, pictures to the walls and maybe a few accent pieces of furniture here and there. All those things can
be done slowly, though.

  I’m in no hurry, I think as the men finish setting up the bed, dragging the old mattress away before they heave the new one onto the bed frame. I thank them and follow behind them to lock up the house after they leave. Then I go back upstairs to Max.

  He’s walking out of the bathroom as soon as I make my way back to the bedroom, and I freeze at the sight of him. His hair is wet, there are droplets of water on his chest, and he’s got a towel wrapped low around his hips. My eyes narrow at the towel and I lick my lips.

  I really need to talk to him about the whores and their plans, but he’s naked, and hot, and wet, and wearing only a towel.

  I swear, all we do is screw.

  I’ve never been this achy, this needy, or this horny in my entire fucking life. I don’t even care. I need him inside of me. He’s like a drug that I can’t get enough of—that I never want to quit.

  “I need to put sheets on the bed,” I murmur.

  The new sheets are all finished in the dryer downstairs, but my legs don’t seem to want to move. Max nods but he doesn’t move either. It’s been almost forty-eight hours since he’s been inside of me, and my body is supremely aware of that fact.

  My blood heats and my belly quivers. My breasts feel swollen and achy, and my pussy throbs with need. Holy crap, I’m a freaking disaster.

  “Mary,” he whispers, his eyes focused on mine.

  “Max,” I reply.

  Without a word, he drops his towel to the ground and I bite my bottom lip with a whimper at the sight of his cock jutting straight out, straight out for me. It’s mine, all mine.

  I suddenly wonder how Genny can hold out from her husband. How can she have a man she obviously loved enough to marry, and not want to fuck him?

  “Need your cunt, sweetness,” Max says, finally breaking our silent staring contest.

  “The sheets, Max,” I murmur. He just shakes his head.

  “Cunt. Now,” he barks.

  I slowly strip my clothes off and walk up to him before I wrap my arms around his shoulders and go up on my toes, pressing my lips to his.

  “I missed you today,” I breathe against his mouth.

  “Missed you, too,” he grunts as his hands grab my ass before he lifts me off of the ground, carrying me toward the bed.

  Max lies me down on the bed, my feet dangling off of the side and my back flat against the bare mattress. Then he slowly enters my body, stretching it with each centimeter of his girth.

  I’m wet, but I’m not nearly as ready as I usually am for him.

  He hasn’t prepared me at all whatsoever; but I’m enjoying the twinges of pain. He’s filling me full of him, every glorious inch, and by the time he’s completely rooted, I feel my pussy acclimate to his size.

  “Baby,” I whisper, looking into his eyes as I cup his bearded cheek with my hand.

  I don’t know why I always do this, but I love the way he takes a slow blink and lets out a breath of air every single time I do it.

  “Mary-Anne,” he murmurs.

  I can see the fire and heat in his eyes as he stares down at me, still unmoving. It almost hurts not to move, but I’ve never felt more connected to another person as I do right now.

  “Thank you for letting me redecorate,” I softly say.

  “Whatever you need, whatever you want, it’s yours,” he says between clenched teeth.

  “Can we stay right here, just like this—always?” I ask.

  “Sweetness, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he grunts before he pulls out of me and them slams back inside with a groan.

  I gasp when he does it a second time, and then I moan when his arms wrap around my back and lift me up lightly while his hips continue to thrust in and out of me.

  He’s holding me up, and I can do nothing but wrap my fingers around his shoulders and take his deep, rough thrusts, enjoying every single one just as much as the one before.

  I let my head drop back as he takes me. Damn, he feels so good moving inside of me; every single thrust, every roll, every move he makes sends chills over my body.

  “Touch yourself, Mary,” he mutters. I lift my head to see that his eyes are focused on our connection.

  I grin before I slide a hand between us, separating my fingers into a V-shape so that I can feel his cock as he fucks me, coated in my wetness.

  Max groans and shakes a bit at the touch. I decide not to torture him too much and move my finger to my clit. The second my finger finds it, I shiver.

  I start to rub myself with firm circles, inching closer and closer to toppling over the edge with my climax. Max’s thrusts pick up speed and strength, which only makes me go faster as well.

  Before I even realize it, I’m crying out with my release. I hear Max grunt, and then I’m falling backward on the bed, his body heavy on mine.

  “Goddamn,” he murmurs into my neck.

  My hand is trapped between us, still pressing against my clit, but I don’t care. I’m boneless, exhausted, and completely sated. I close my eyes and just enjoy his weight on me, and his cock inside of me.

  Then my eyes pop open, and I remember I have to have that shitty clubwhore conversation with him. I can’t put it off another minute.

  “I need to talk to you, baby,” I whisper against his ear.

  He grunts as he pulls out of me. I hurry to the bathroom to clean up, and then back into the bedroom, grabbing a shirt from his drawer before I sit down on this gorgeous, dark gold chair I bought for the room.

  “What’s up?” he asks casually as he pulls his boxer briefs over his ass.

  “There’s a problem down at the club,” I announce. His eyes go from lazy to alert in seconds. I don’t give him time to even question me. “I was in the bathroom and I heard a couple of the girls talking. I could only recognize the blonde girl’s voice, but she was trying to get the other girls onboard with something that I don’t think you’re going to agree with.”

  He stares at me before folding his arms across his broad, muscular chest, waiting for me to continue. I decide to just spit it out, like ripping off a band-aide.

  “The blonde one is trying to get them to poke holes in the condoms. She said they need to sleep with one brother a bunch, in public, so that they’ll get pregnant. She said you’re big on family and that you’ll make the guys step up with the girls, force them to take care of them, and then they won’t have to whore anymore. They want money and a place in the club.”

  Max’s eyebrows shoot up and then he chuckles.

  “Seriously?” he asks through his laughter.

  “It’s not funny, Max. These girls are going to try and trap your brothers with children,” I say in an almost pleading tone.

  “Those cock traps ain’t gonna do shit, Mary. They know their place, and Platinum sure as shit isn’t going to try anything like that. They all know what would happen if they even attempted it, especially with one of the brothers from our club,” he says.

  It pisses me off.

  I know what I heard, and I know what that bitch, Platinum, said.

  What the hell kind of name is that anyway?

  “I know what I heard,” I whisper.

  Max leans down, his face mere inches from mine, and he says very quiet, soft, and yet extremely menacingly, “You aren’t part of my club, Mary. You aren’t a brother and you aren’t an Old Lady. You don’t tell me shit about my club. Those cum buckets know their place and they know the consequences for stepping out of line.”

  I look at him, a different side of him than I’m used to, and I don’t say a word. There’s nothing else to say. I’m the foolish idiot that thought he’d believe what I know what I heard.

  I understand where his nickname comes from, and why Fury is called Fury if he has even an ounce of his father’s intimidation and anger running through his veins.

  Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, I’ve had angry men in my face more often than not, so I just stare at him. My face emotionless, void, and stoic.

  When
I don’t respond to his outburst, he turns away from me and heads toward his closet. I watch as he tugs on a pair of jeans and throws on a t-shirt before he pulls on his socks and grabs his vest from the bedroom’s doorknob.

  “I’ll be back, sometime,” he grunts as he stomps out of the room.

  His boots are by the front door. I placed them there on this really cool boot tray I found, so that he wouldn’t clomp dirt into the house. I know when he’s found them because I hear him make a noise.

  A few seconds later, the front door is slammed closed. Finally, a few seconds after that, I hear his motorcycle start before he takes off down the quiet street.

  I spend the rest of the evening doing things around the house, ignoring the fact that Max walked out of the front door after basically calling me a liar. I make the bed, then wash and dry the new bathroom towels I bought.

  I also unpack some kitchen gadgets and a Keurig that was a need, because his coffee pot looked like it was two seconds from cracking into a million pieces.

  When I’m finished, I look at my cell phone and notice that it’s three in the morning. Max won’t be home tonight. Not now. I’m angry with him, so I’m glad he isn’t coming home. I don’t really want to see him; not after the way he acted earlier.

  I know that I’m not part of his club, and he’s made it clear that although we’re supposedly being monogamous, I am not his Old Lady, which is fine.

  We don’t know each other well enough to put labels on our relationship. But what I’m upset about is the fact that he doesn’t believe me.

  I crawl beneath the brand new, dark grey, sateen sheets, and I lie down on the brand new pillow. I think about my life; about all of the steps that led me here; about, other than tonight, how Max has made me feel.

  I have to decide if the good parts about him outweigh the bad.

  He’s killed for me, but he’s yelled in my face. He’s shown me more tenderness than anybody I’ve ever met before, but he’s also made me feel small, too.

  He’s a contradiction.