In the darkness of the corner, his hand slides around my chest and through the v-cut of my front where he begins to tweak my nipple. I’m so in the moment, I don’t care who sees me. His other hand slides up my thigh and around my front, pressing me against him tightly as his fingers graze my pussy lips.
I moan as the sensations build.
His fingers move my thong to the side as he plunges two fingers into my heat, causing me to cry out in pleasure. He works my body as my orgasm climbs. I’m on the edge when he simply stops. I let out a whimper in frustration before he takes me by the hand and guides me to a back hallway where he pushes me against the wall, crashing his lips to mine.
Passion transfers between us as I fumble to undo his jeans. My hand slides in to find he’s commando.
His lips pull harshly from mine. “Say it,” he orders with a rasp to his voice that shoots right to my core.
I smirk, “Fuck me.”
I’m far from a saintand while I can say I’ve never had sex with a strangerI’m not a virgin. Never have I been so turned on by anyone, so consequences be damned. I free his thick, hard length. In the darkness, I can’t see, but I can feel the evidence of a cock piercing. I can’t help but wonder how magnificent that will feel once he’s inside me.
He pulls back enough to grab a condom from his back pocket and cover himself before he lifts me up and I wrap my legs and arms around him. With my back to the wall, he pushes my panties aside as he doesn’t bother to finger me again, but instead slams inside me.
The overwhelming fullness has me still for a moment before I catch my breath.
“Holy fuck,” I mutter before his lips hit mine. He begins working us both. I’m on edge as his piercing grazes the walls of my insides with each thrust. I have never felt so much intensity while having sex before in my life. His hand moves between us. Finding my clit, he pinches as he bites my bottom lip.
I close my eyes and throw my head against the wall as the most intense orgasm of my life runs through my body.
The world spins as a thought passes through my mind. What the fuck did I just experience?
2
Colton
Boomerism: “Don’t rush life because the ending is always the same: death.”
“Rise and shine, Tommy Two-step,” Wesson bellows.
My ears ring, my head throbs, and my entire body aches. I remain in place without changing my breathing pattern or looking at my brother. If he thinks I’m still asleep, maybe he will leave.
He sighs audibly. Nope, he’s not buying it. Then in the way only my brother has perfected, he begins a conversation with himself. “How much water can a mattress and pillow absorb before they’re ruined? Hmmm, should I ask Alexa or Siri. Nah, I’ll just go get the pot and fill it. Dump that shit on his head, and then like when we were kids working on science fair projects, we can hypothesize the days it takes to dry out.”
Knowing my brother isn’t one to bullshit, I have to face the day or he will indeed dump water all over my head. Blinking, I slowly open my eyes. My mouth is dry like I sucked a cotton ball all night. “Fuck you,” I say flipping him the bird.
He shrugs his shoulders. “Now, Colt, that is not the way you greet a man bringing you Hair-of-the-Dog to save you from hangover hell.”
He’s far too chipper for this time of day. Even bringing me his famous Hair-of-the-Dog alcoholic morning beverage that somehow magically cures a hangover doesn’t mean I want Suzy-fucking-sunshine in my face when I wake up. Keeping one eye closed, I squint to see the clock.
Eleven twenty-six.
Well, maybe it’s not as early as I thought, but his bright bushy-tailed self needs to go bother someone else. “Leave the drink on the nightstand and disappear.”
He laughs, “And miss watching you suffer? Fuck no.”
This is us. Wesson and I are the typical dudes who absolutely relish the other one being in a slight state of pain. Because that’s just what brothers do. Okay, so I’m not really the best guy the morning after getting drunk. Truthfully, I’m not great at morning after anything. Which is why I don’t bring broad’s home. I’ll fuck them and bounce, but no overnights. I’m not a morning person in the least. I’m not a people person either. Frankly, the world can fuck off, and as long as my familythe Hellions and my family, as in my parents and brother—are around, that’s all I need. Even the thought of having a girlfriend doesn’t appeal to me. I don’t want any kind of commitment or obligation to another soul. So, cuddling, yeah, not my style either. See, I’m not good with the morning after … anything for real.
I like to fuck.
Plain and simple.
I like the smorgasbord of random pussy. Like an all you can eat buffet, that’s how I like my women. When I’m in the mood for a particular taste, I can nab it. If I’m not feeling the skinny girl salad, I can move right past it to put my hands on some meat and taste a mouthwatering steak. Then, those times I want that special delicacy pussy, I can find that too. No need to be stuck with just one when I am a man with varied tastes.
Moreover, I simply don’t want the obligation or expectation of having a woman around for more than the time it takes me to get us both off and get her the fuck gone.
I don’t want to talk just to tell lies of all the sweet nothings some broad wants to hear just so her ego can make her think she’s a fucking queen.
See, I’m not that kind of guy.
The one where I want a woman to think our relationship is some power play or some bullshit hierarchy. I’m not her king, and she’s not my queen.
My womanwhenever I commit to onewill be my equal. She’s not royalty, as neither am I. While I understand the appeal, I don’t buy into it. Her value isn’t defined by me. I’m not going to say, “I treat her like a queen.” To me, there isn’t some comparison in life of how you treat someone. Royalty or not, when someone matters you show them and that isn’t on some level that seems like anyone else is beneath you.
I’m the kind of man who’ll treat my woman right. She’s going to know where she stands with meno bullshit, no games. My mom taught us early on that everything with women is respect.
Titles, doting praises, games, emotional warfare, none of that is me.
Straight up, if I dig a broad, I tell her.
I decide I want to have more than a fuck, then I’ll take her out and have an actual conversation. Although, I have to be honest, the last time I cared to talk to a female was years ago before life left me lost.
Wesson, on the other hand, he’s the kind of guy all the women love. No games or bullshit like some guys, but my brother, he knows how to turn on the charm. I don’t know if it’s the wheelchair or if he is just that damn charismatic. Women, though, for whatever reason, all of them think Wesson is going to put them on a pedestal and shower them with praises and affection. To some degree, he does, but sometimes they flock to him without a single word. Maybe he gives off an approachable vibe. Whereas, I’m more like a woman with a resting bitch face that stays in place, I am Mr. Unapproachable. I don’t even have to wear my, “I’m a dick with a bigger dick,” t-shirt that he bought me last year and people get the idea to stay away.
I like to fuck.
A lot.
Getting laid doesn’t mean being nice. Once there was a broad calling me an asshole with every thrust as I pounded in her pussy.
She was not wrong.
Wesson gets more pussy than I do, so don’t ever let the chair fool you.
Not that we’re in some competition. Wesson is different since the chair. It’s like he wants to live every second of life to the fullest in a fast lane. Before his accident, he was the guy who everyone liked but he also spent most of his time locked in the friendzone because he was the nice guy. In the blink of an eye it all changed. Having this second chance at life, he doesn’t hold back. He’s still a stand-up kind of guy, but now when he wants a chick, he goes for it.
And nine out of ten times, he’s successful.
Neither of us are settling
down, but it’s not because we’re opposed to relationships; we simply haven’t found women who understand our lifestyle.
Like the fact that from time to time, my baby brother likes to go to a nightclub and dance. We’re bikers but when Wes says it’s time to bust a move, I’m not going to tell him no. In fact, there is nothing I’ll deny my brother. So he wants to go to a club and dance, we go without hesitation even if that’s not typical for bikers. Women either don’t tolerate our life as a Hellion or our relationship in general. My brother is my absolute closest friend. No one comes before him. Women don’t like to be second to anyone. Watching Wesson almost die more than once as his body fought to heal after the accident, I made every promise imaginable. I’ll never leave him hanging … so I’ve learned to enjoy going out to Booty’s when he wants to among other things.
Not because Twinkle-Toes ever cared to dance before his accident. I don’t even remember either of us dancing at our high school prom. In fact, we both wore suits so Momma could get pictures, then changed in the bathroom to jeans and a t-shirt. I fucked Cindy Parks in the bathroom, and then her sister Cathy on a bench outside. Wesson didn’t dance because he was busy smoking weed with some friends and then chilling at the table while he was high and the lights twinkled on the ceiling. Neither of us danced or really cared about music. Nope, he found his knack for grooving and moving on a drunk night with dollar domestics at Booty’s.
When Wesson first came home from the hospital after his accident, adjusting was hard.
At the time, I was still active duty, so I couldn’t just come home to be at his side. Months he had to wait for me to get here for a decent stretch of time. Adapting to life in a chair after twenty-two years upright is a unique predicament, and frankly, would break a lesser man’s spirit.
It would have mine. That’s the God’s honest truth. I am not nearly the man Wesson is to endure and still keep smiling and pushing on.
In the beginning, Wesson walked through the valley of the shadow of shame. They say it’s normal, but watching him, it killed me so I can only think what it was like for him.
Imagine it: one day you are walking, talking, bullshitting. Life is everything you want it to be. A career in the Army going strong. A family that loves and supports anything you do. That feeling of the open road is yours to grab onto every chance you get.
Wesson had it all.
Then in a matter of moments, he didn’t.
He doesn’t even remember it. The entire day he lost his legs is gone from his memory. Then again, so is the time in our life before Boomer, too. While I feel there are moments of life before Booker and the Hellions that haunt me when I lose the fight to keep them at bay. The times with Dennis Williams still sit far in the deep recesses of my mind, Wesson has zero recollection of the man. Somehow all the bad he can block out.
Even the accident.
To him, he was riding with Boomer and the Hellions on a charity poker run, and then four days later he wakes up in the hospital.
The man had combat experience. The Army Airborne paratrooper lived through hell in Afghanistan. War didn’t do him in.
Fate did.
When Wesson lost his legs, he lost his career. He lost life as he knew it. Waking up in the hospital, he had to find himself again.
Over time, he has.
The man he is today is nothing short of a superhero.
He has every reason in the world to hate everyone and everything, but he doesn’t. No, in fact, the man who once was dropped from helicopters and planes into a fire fight still doesn’t shy away from living life to the fullest.
Including, dragging me to a club so he can watch me get shitfaced and he can dance.
Yes, dance.
Do I deny him?
Fuck no!
Therefore, as a proper wingman, I go, I drink copious amounts of alcohol, and then dance until I find a broad to fuck in a hallway. Which is how this all started not long after I moved home and we went to a dollar special at Booty’s a year ago. After Wesson got drunk, he found he actually liked to dance. While he doesn’t drag me out often, he does every so often, and I don’t deny him because frankly, there isn’t a damn thing I wouldn’t do for my brother. Hell, if I could trade places and be in that chair for him to have his legs back, I would do it without hesitation.
I let out a groan as I move to sit up in my bed. My entire body is stiff as my mind thinks of the hot little thing I fucked at Booty’s last night. Like usual, I didn’t take time to sober up enough to have a conversation or get information. Once again, I couldn’t even tell you her name.
Tossing back the drink Wes left, I let the alcohol burn all the way down to the pit of my stomach. With my head pounding, I get up and head to the shower.
Wesson and I live together in a custom-built house down Highway Fifty-eight in a small town outside of Haywood’s Landing known as Stella. Sure, we have a place on the Hellions compound. And the family we have is close. When Wesson had his accident, Boomer immediately bought this land and had a contractor that works with the club drop all his previous jobs to build this single-story home for my brother. Until I moved home, Mom and Boomer lived here with Wesson. After my service time was up, I came back to Haywood’s Landing and moved in. My mom and Boomer have their own place just down the road.
The house isn’t massive. There are two master suites on opposite ends of the house with the common areas between them. Each doorway is wide enough for Wesson to maneuver around in his chair. Everything is accessible for him.
While some people might find it strange for two men in their late twenties living together with zero plan to change it, I frankly don’t give a shit what anyone thinks. I’m here because my brother and I need each other.
Wesson Vaughn isn’t the only one with combat experience.
He’s not the only one with nightmares he can’t escape.
I swear I cry out in my sleep as much as he does. Only, my shit isn’t ghost pains waking me from legs I’ve lost, but rather the ghosts of the men I’ve sent to hell haunting me.
My emotions are heavy today as I get out of the shower and slide on my jeans. We have dinner with our parents tonight, and then tomorrow, I’m back to the grind at the garage.
This is my ride in life. While it may not be glamorous, it’s fine with me.
3
Diem
One Week Later
Life lessons with Diem: Life is too short to have a stick up your ass. Don’t sweat the small stuff, own your mistakes, and enjoy the ride.
“Who’s home?” Emmalee asks me with a panic in her voice entering my room. “Where’s your phone?”
“I don’t know,” I reply sitting up in the bed and looking to the clock. “It’s not even eight in the morning, my parents are both probably home. My phone is in my purse or on the charger, damn.”
Her eyes grow wild. “Get up now!”
“What?” I screech as she tosses my robe at me.
She throws her hands up frantically. “Someone keyed our cars! I came over to hide mine from my dad, but when I pulled up, Diem, they got yours, too. What the fuck?”
My car.
Someone keyed my car!
My dad is going to flip the fuck out.
In a rush, I don’t even look to see if anyone is home as I go outside with Emmalee. Sure enough, her Mustang is scratched all to hell. The hunter green paint job with custom gold flake in it is scratched all the way through the clear coat and color down to the primer.
As if seeing her car isn’t bad enough, I turn my head to see my Mediterranean Blue BMW 3-series scratched all to hell, too. Worse than that, in silver paint on the hood is the word whore.
Anger.
Embarrassment.
Fury.
More anger.
All these emotions overwhelm me.
“Emmalee, what,” I don’t get to finish my sentence as my father walks out the side door into the driveway where I stand.
Thomas Reigns, the business mogul who no one c
an read, stands in front of me studying my car, and I swear there is steam practically coming out of his ears. He is out here in his navy blue suit with a crisp red shirt under it. His bald head shines under the morning sunlight. The reflection of my car in his glasses only stresses me more as he continues to stand there without speaking.
He reaches into his pocket, removing his wallet. He hands me two cards; one a business card, and the other a credit card.
“Take both cars to that shop. Get them redone, no matter the cost. Until your cars are ready, Emmalee, you can drive the Prius, and Diem, you drive the Range Rover. I want both cars gone now.” He lets out a frustrated groan. “Fix it and I don’t even want to know what the two of you have done to stir this shit up.”
He doesn’t say another word as he walks back into the house. Emmalee takes the cards from my hands and her mouth drops open. What we’ve done? We haven’t done anything! Emmalee and I have had trouble with other females being jealous. Since her dad works for my dad, we have always attended private school together. As soon as people realize who my dad is the rumors start. It’s always something ridiculous like I’m a bitch to someone I’ve never even spoken to. It was so bad my freshman year of high school, Emmalee and I would eat lunch in the counselor’s office because the cafeteria was pure hell with the mean girls. This isn’t the first time someone has keyed my car, called me a whore, or worse. And I’ve never even cussed a person out. I’ve never kissed someone else’s boyfriend. Actually, I believe in the power of women being kind to one another. If a guy will cheat on his chick with me, then he’s going to cheat on me so I don’t even go there. I’m clear headed enough to know I may be cute, but I’m not special in a way that makes me better than another person.
I thought being out of high school the nonsense would stop.
Looking at my car, I can see I’m obviously wrong.
“He’s sending us into the lion’s den.”
Bold from It: Hellions Motorcycle Club (Hellions Ride On Book 5) Page 3
