Saviour: A Devil's Spawn MC Novel (Savior Book 3) Page 16
Priss has always smelt delicious. Unlike most women, she doesn’t smell flowery or sweet, she smells like something darker, more mysterious. It’s a mixture of chocolate, musk, and something else I can’t put my finger on. Whatever it is it’s fucking sexy, just like she is.
Smelling her, feeling her clamp around my cock, hearing her breathless voice as she begs me to fuck her harder has my balls pulling up tight, and my impending orgasm coming around faster than I would’ve liked. I can’t control myself around this woman, and I wonder if I’ll ever have the willpower to slow it down and take her slowly, reverently like she deserves.
Priss grinds back into my hips as I almost brutally fuck her into the armrest. I should probably ease up a bit, she’s delicate in comparison to me, and the last thing I want to do is hurt her, but after the way she told me that she had no complaints over the first time I fucked her I’m figuring she’s getting off on my lack of control, getting off on the fact that only she can do this to me. I can see finger sized marks darkening her skin, and I can’t say I’m not internally pounding my chest at the fact that she’ll be wearing my marks for a while.
Maybe it’s an asshole trip, but I know I’m not the only man who thinks this way. More than a few times I’ve overheard Cage or Steel talking about their women needing to wear something with more skin coverage for a few days. I can only imagine what Steel gets up to with his wife because Lou’s a fucking hellcat, and I can’t see that being any different in the bedroom. Not that I spend a lot of time thinking about my brother fucking his wife. That shit can put my fire out faster than a fireman and his ten-foot hose.
Attacking her mouth with mine, I’m mimicking the motion of my cock with my tongue, swallowing her moans as her greedy pussy swallows my cock. Its heaven and hell being inside her. With her walls gripping me, the rotation of her hips, the way she sighs my name, this has to be the closest a man can get to heaven on Earth. At the same time, Priss is so tight it’s almost painful the way she’s contracting around me. I swear another quarter inch wider and my cock would be snapped in half with the pressure she’s exerting on it. She pulls away disengaging our lips and I can’t stop the growl of displeasure escaping me.
“Fuck Hunter, don’t stop. Pl-please don’t stop.”
I’ve got no intention of stoping. Not until she cums for me again. Not until I fill her so full of my cum it’s dripping from her for days.
“I’m not stopping Beautiful. Tip your ass for me. Stretch out and let me fuck you how I know you need to be fucked.” She leans further over the armrest bracing her hands on the aged leather seat of the couch, and tilts her ass up higher. Good girl. This way I can stroke at her G-spot with every thrust, reach deep enough to hit the entrance to her womb.
That thought should stop me in my tracks too. The fact that I’m buried inside Priss again with no fucking condom should pull me up short. With any other woman I’d be pulling out, zipping my jeans, and getting the fuck out of there before she had time to ask me what was wrong. For some reason the thought of Priss carrying something we created together only causes me to pound into her harder. Again, I should tell her, I should give her a choice, but I don’t slow my thrusts, and I know I won’t pull out when I need to cum. I have no idea if she’s on the pill or not, that’s not something you ask a female friend no matter how close you are, and she’s never mentioned it either. A small part of me, okay, a big fucking part of me hopes she’s not.
It’s an asshole thing to do; wanting to tie her to me by knocking her up. I know that, the thing is, at this point I don’t fucking care. I’ll do anything, and I mean anything, to keep Priss in my life regardless of how insane it sounds. Most men, well the one’s I know, would run the other way at the prospect of getting a woman pregnant. It wouldn’t matter if she was their flavour of the week, girlfriend, or wife, they’d be more inclined to cut their junk off than willingly impregnate anyone. Sure, they’ve had their share of fuck-ups; when you fuck your way through the population of California in women of course you’re going to have close calls. Actually come to think of it, almost all my brothers, blood and club, have had a scare at one time or another, except for Brody. And funnily enough he’s the only one that’s married and actually wants kids.
Bluntly put, Charlotte Brody’s wife, is a cunt. She’s passive aggressive in her demands of his time, controlling him within an inch of his life. I’m surprised she even allowed him to leave Chicago to visit me. Most of the time she comes up with an excuse, or five why he has to stay home. Worst part is, I know he’s not far from his breaking point with her. If they can’t come to a compromise with the kid situation, which Charlotte’s is adamant is not happening, he’s going to be in the same boat as I was with Charlee.
Brody won’t be stupid enough to stay married to her though. He’s thirty-six-years-old and wants kids with a desperation that isn’t normal. I wonder why he feels like he does, but keep coming up blank. I can only assume it’s for the same reasons I do. Our childhood was good, we’re part of a big family, and if you need someone there’s always one or two of your siblings, if not all of them around to have your back.
Snapping me out of my haze Priss swivels her hips in a way that has my eyes rolling back in my head, and my hands squeezing her hips. Hard.
“You close Baby? Because I’m gonna cum in your tight, wet pussy in seconds if you keep moving like that.” My voice is hoarse. It sounds like I’ve swallowed a cheese grater, and even with my warning she doesn’t ease up on me. Giving me no choice but to get her there faster. I wasn’t kidding, I’m about five seconds off blowing inside her, so I push down hard on her over sensitive clit sending her straight over the edge of orgasm into oblivion.
Feeling the first jets of cum erupt from my shaft I keep stroking in and out of her slowly, prolonging her release, and mine as well. Just as I’m about to gather her into my arms some dumb fucker knocks on the door. Priss practically throws herself over the couch dislodging my sated, for now, cock from her heat and scrambles for her clothes. Chuckling at her haste I reassure her,
“Beautiful, no one’s going to come in. There’s no way I’d let anyone one see your gorgeous fucking body except for me, so calm down, yeah?”
Glaring at me while pulling her clothes on, she huffs out a frustrated breath.
“You don’t know that for sure Hunter. Did you even lock the door?”
“Yeah, Baby I locked the door. I’m not taking any chances on someone walking in on you. You’re all good.” I reply with amusement still lacing my voice. By the looks of it that answer was of little comfort. Priss is still frantically gathering her shit, but is only wearing her bra and shirt as she searches for her panties. She’s not finding them, because they’re still in the pocket of my jeans, and she’s not getting them back. Placing my hands on her naked hips I turn her to face me while I yell at whoever’s at the door. “Wait a fucking minute.” Using my index finger to tilt her chin up so she’s looking at me I say, “You’re either coming home with me tonight when I pick you up after your shift, or I’m coming to yours. You pick Beautiful, but we’re not spending another night apart, yeah?” She doesn’t hesitate answering me, which is a fucking good sign if you ask me.
“Tilly has school in the morning, so you’ll have to stay with us. All her shit’s at home, and I can’t be bothered carting it all over the place.” Fair enough, I can’t blame her for that. Tilly is not low-maintenance. That girl needs more shit than any teenager I’ve ever known just to get ready in the morning. Lotions, hair shit that looks like medieval torture devices, (apparently they’re flat irons and curling wands but whatever same thing to me), makeup, hair gunk, eighty-five million clothing changes, and sixty pairs of shoes, two hours later she’s finally ready to get to school.
I’ve never understood the female need to put that shit all over their face, and in their hair. Priss looks just as stunning all done up as she does first thing in the morning in her robe, hair all over the place, grumpy as hell, and sans coffee. Not tha
t Priss does a lot of primping though. More often than not she’s ready to go with ten minutes notice dressed in yoga pants, jeans or cut-off denim shorts that make my mouth water, a tank top or t-shirt, and running shoes or flip flops. Priss explained once that Tilly’s rabid need to doll herself up every day works for her because than means she gets an hour and a half of extra sleep in the morning while her sister fucks around getting ready. I can see the appeal. I’d rather get the extra sleep too.
Nodding, I give her a squeeze using my arms that are currently wrapped around her middle.
“Sure thing. You still finish at six?” With a curt nod of her head I release her so she can pull her jeans on. “You want me to pick up dinner on the way to get you.”
As she’s buttoning her jeans she gives me a smirk over her shoulder.
“That’d be good.” Cocking her eyebrow she adds, “You know they’re one of my favourite pairs of panties Hunter Adams, and I will be getting them back sometime.” Yeah, good luck with that, I’m keeping them. I may even frame them, and hang them on my bedroom wall in celebration if she’s not careful.
Shaking my head I stalk toward her. In four strides I’m standing in front of her cupping her jaw pressing a light kiss to her swollen lips.
“Finders keepers, they’re mine now, Beautiful. I’ll buy you a thousand more pairs if you love them so much, but those ones are mine.” She stiffens in my arms immediately. Her body stilling, her back straight as an arrow. I wrack my brain to think of something in what I just said that could’ve upset her, but come up blank. “What’s wrong, babe? What just went through that pretty head of yours?”
She pulls out of my arms, and slips her Chucks on without undoing the laces.
“Tonight after Tilly goes to her room to do her homework we need to talk Hunter.”
Note to all men; when your woman says we need to talk, it’s never a good thing. In this case I don’t disagree because I still have to tell her about what we decided during the meeting today, but I highly doubt what we need to talk about is even remotely in the same ball park.
“Yeah, but before we do I just need you to answer one thing for me.” Waiting for her to agree I buckle my belt. I didn’t need to completely re-dress because I didn’t even get the chance to take anything other than my shirt off before I was on her. Both times I fucked her I still had my boots and sock on, my jeans around my calves and my belt hanging free, that’s something I intend to rectify tonight. I want to feel her skin against mine, everywhere. I don’t want anything between us, and that included fucking latex. At her nod I ask, “Are you mine Beautiful?” At the confused look on her face, the way her cute little nose is scrunched up, and the frown she’s wearing I lay it out for her. “I love you Priss. And I don’t mean in a way that’s going to change. I love you in a way that’s forever, nothing’s going to change it, and you try to push me away I’m going to keep coming at you until you give in. You said you love me Beautiful, but I need to know if you love me enough to be mine. This isn’t a short-term deal baby, this is being my old lady, marriage, kids the works I’m talking about.”
Her mouth is gaping open, and her eyes are as wide as saucers to the point where nearly all of the gorgeous aqua is taken up by the black of her dilated pupils. I get this is a shock, especially seeing as I’ve never given her the words before, but surely she knows this isn’t a new development for me.
Eight years ago I fell in instant curiosity with her. Seven years ago I fell in lust with her. Six years ago, when I learnt how strong, how determined, how big her heart is I fell in love with her. And ever since what I feel for her has only grown stronger, more impossible to ignore. Even though I did my best to deny my feelings, push her away, avoid her, no matter what I did it didn’t change the inevitable; Priss is my one. If she doesn’t feel the same way it will shatter me. It will fucking ruin me, and there will be no coming back from that. I need her. She’s my salvation. Priss is my saviour.
Shaking her head like she’s trying to lift the fog my words created, she locks her eyes with mine.
“We need to talk.” I clench my fists so tightly at my sides I hear a few knuckles crack. I don’t want to hear it if she’s letting me down, gently or not. Grinding my teeth to stop me from saying something I know I’ll regret I go to speak, but she doesn’t give me the chance. Probably a good idea with how I’m feeling at the moment. “No Hunter, don’t look at me like that, like you think it’s a bad thing. I have something you need to read at home, and we need to talk about what you just said, but that doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that I’ve been yours since the second I saw you when I was seventeen.”
Letting out a squeak as I crush her to my chest, I devour her mouth like it’s as vital as oxygen. Because it is. I need this woman to survive. Honestly I don’t know how I’ve made it this long without her, but that’s not going to be a problem from here on in because she’s just admitted she’s mine, and she has been for as long as I’ve been hers.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Priscilla
Priscilla’s Rules to live by 101:
“Remember kids; if a stranger offers you drugs
say thank you, because drugs are expensive.”
The only conclusion I can come to regarding what Tank said is that I must have unwittingly consumed, LSD, mushrooms, or eaten half a dozen pot brownies.
Now, I’ll have you know I haven’t actually done any of those things before. Okay, that’s not entirely true I have had pot brownies once before. Lou thought it would be a good idea during our girls’ night in to offer us a taste-test of her new, “Ah-may-zing”, her word not mine, brownie recipe. Needless to say it took us, (V, Kendall, and I), all of twenty minutes to start feeling the effects of said, “new recipe” and I thought at the time Kendall was going to kill Lou when she worked out why she couldn’t stop laughing.
The poor thing was having a heart attack over the prospect her dad would find out. It’s not like Priest was a pillar of virtue, but he was very specific with his command that his only daughter was never to try any sort of illegal substance. Priest didn’t mind Kendall having the occasional alcoholic beverage years ago when she was still underage, but drugs of any description were a different matter altogether.
Anyway it all worked out in the end, and I have to say, the night was a raving success. Well, after we ate almost everything shy of the baking soda in my house, recovered from the muscle spasms our faces were having from smiling so wide, and our abs stoped aching from all the laughing we did. I mean seriously? Who doesn’t find everything hilarious when you’ve consumed marijuana in any form? Not me, or the others that’s for sure.
Priest never did find out, and Kendall is forever grateful for escaping his wrath. Not that I thought he’d be too hard on her, she’s a grown ass woman after all. It’s not like he could ground her, or shorten her curfew. Kendall’s been living out of home for a few years already, she works late at Skin Fusion, and did I mention she’s a grown ass woman? In essence there’s nothing he really could’ve done about it, but I know Kendall, and I know she hates disappointing her parents’, period. In the end it all worked out, and Lou’s still alive so that’s a good thing at least. We did make her promise to shelve her “new recipe” for the foreseeable future however. Maybe even until the end of time. I honestly can’t remember. I was stoned after all.
As Tank’s about to lift me onto the desk again, for what I can only assume is round three, (and to be honest I wouldn’t mind that in the slightest), another knock at the door sounds. Gasping into his mouth I can’t believe that I forgot someone was standing out there. I suppose it’s only been about ten minutes, but still, I totally forgot the person on the other side of the door existed.
That’s what Tank’s kisses, his hands, his body, his huge, and I do mean huge cock does to me. He’s got the capability to make me forget the world around me exists, whittling my entire universe down to just us. The way his lips and tongue move against mine. The way his skin feels, hot an
d smooth beneath my fingers. The ridges of his muscles flexing as he holds me. How his cock feels driving in and out of me. At the thought a gush of fluid from my pussy dampens my jeans reminding me I’m not wearing any panties. The bastard stole them. I can’t believe he actually stole my favourite pair of panties. Actually I can, and I don’t really care, but still, it’s the principle of the matter that counts.
Breaking apart Tank looks down at me. His eyes heated with desire, lust burns bright in their depths. I know for a certainty that if there wasn’t someone on the other side of the door he’d be buried inside me within the next zero point two seconds. And I wouldn’t complain about that either. In fact…
I don’t finish my thought because Tank lets me go gently, planting my butt on the desk and strides to the door ripping it open. His body goes solid. As in, solid. Tank is a big man. And by big I mean, ginormous. At six-foot-seven, and 280 pounds of muscle Tank’s physically imposing, but it’s the way he holds himself that should alert people to the real threat.
“What the fuck?” The harsh tone of his voice doesn’t mask his stunned undertone making me curious.
Hopping down off the desk I try to squeeze my way past him when his arm shoots out pulling me behind him. Shielding me with the muscled wall of his back. Holding onto his shirt with my fists staying put I ask,
“What’s wrong Tank? Who is it?”
He’s literally shaking. His massive frame is rigid except for the tremors running through it, and it worries me a little that he can go from relaxed and placid, (well, not placid because I don’t think that word could ever be used to describe Tank, but you know what I mean), to hostile in a matter of seconds. In his previous, and I suppose current, line of work it’s probably an advantage, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t disconcerting.