“Lay down,” I command. “Open your legs for your ol’ man.” She’s no idea the enormity of those words, and I don’t intend on telling her, but like the perfect submissive, she does as I ask without acknowledging them.
I clamber onto the bed and kneel between her openlegs, then trail my hands up the soft skin of her firm legs. When I reach the top of her thighs, I lift her legs and drape her feet over my shoulders. She watches my every move with a look of wonder, and when I guide my cock into her slick hole, I growl with possessiveness. “Mine!” I slam inside her, powering my hips forward so hard she lets out a strangled sound. Her pussy molds around me like it was made for me, nice and wet and warm as a sheathe for my cock. “Fuck, yes.”
Just thinking about fucking her bare again sends me feral, and she winces as I drive inside with all my strength. “Take my cock, Cass.” My mind swirls with possibilities—her pregnant with my child, completely dependent on me, allowing me to get my answers while getting to keep the woman I crave and her son who has a special hold on my heart.
“Want to feel you come all over my cock, Cass. Want to feel your tight pussy milk me for my cum, filling you up, baby. Filling you till you swell with my kid.”
“Killa…” she moans with each powerful snap of my hips. I lower myself, placing my hands above her head with my arms stretched out, and she clings onto my biceps as I stare down at her perfect tits bouncing with each movement.
“Fuck, baby, you have the best set of tits. So fucking perfect.”
“Oh god, Killa.”
My lips curl. “I’m the fucking devil, Little Demon. Scream it!”
I take her nipple in my mouth, darting my tongue over the tender bud and swirling it around, adoring the way her body tightens under my touch. Her pussy clenches, and my balls ache to release.
“Yesss!” she screams as her orgasm hits, and I move my mouth, choosing to bite into the flesh of her breast.
“Fuck, Cass,” I groan, and ropes of my cum hit her inner walls. Pump after pump floods her womb, and I tip my head back with a loud, guttural groan.
“You’re mine forever, Cass.”
CASSIDY
“You’re mine forever, Cass,” he whispers, yet I don’t think I was meant to hear it. He falls forward as if his arms have given out, almost squashing me before he lets out a low chuckle and rolls us so I’m on top of him. His hand is banded over my back, holding me in place, his cock still stuffed inside of me, and his other hand rests on the back of my head. The feel of his heart thudding against my chest is soothing and relaxes me in a way I don’t understand, but I don’t want to. I just want to lie in surrender in his arms. Enemies be damned.
His words of me being his swirl in my head. Though I’m too afraid to ask him to elaborate, worried I won’t like his response.
“Can hear you thinking, Cass,” he grunts from beneath me, and I tilt my head to rest my chin on his tattooed chest.
My finger trails over the ink tarnishing his skin, and I watch in rapture as goosebumps spread out beneath my touch.
“You like my ink?”
“Yes.”
“Gonna get you some ink, want my brand on you.”
I scrunch my nose. “Your what?”
“Somethin’ permanent on you that tells everyone you’re mine.”
As I think back to what he said to me, my breath stutters. “What about when you’re done with me?”
My question goes unanswered, but his heart pounds, and he brings my scarred wrist to his lips, leaving behind a lingering kiss. So instead of pushing for his response, I ask him a question that’s been bugging me. “Why did they nickname you Killa?”
He laughs, and I love the sound. “It’s my road name. Every MC member gets one when they become official.” He licks his lips, and my hand slides down his arm and over his thick hand to the rings on his fingers. “I got mine after I killed my uncle when I was a ten-year-old kid.”
My eyes widen and my lips part as I search his face for a lie, but I don’t find one.
“He was molesting my little sister. So I took my father’s penknife, snuck into his bedroom at the clubhouse, knowing he would be blind drunk with a club whore in his bed, and stabbed him in the throat. He was my first kill. When they gave me my cut at eighteen, the dumb bitch couldn’t spell right, so it became Killa with an a.”
I scrunch my nose. “You do talk very biker. I can see how the a and er got misinterpreted.”
A roaring laugh leaves him, and I smile. “I guess so,” he says, and I sink into his embrace.
I think over his reasoning, and something strikes me. That’s so young to be responsible for a sibling, and to kill aman, no less. Unless, of course, there’s more to the story. “Why didn’t your dad kill him? So you wouldn’t have to.”
