Death Lords Motorcycle Club: Chelsea and Wrecker (The Motorcycle Clubs Series) (20 page)

“Just finished putting in new flooring and paint after the other tenants left. I like to lease on a year basis with the first and last month’s rent along with a security deposit.” Robert pulls out a contract and lays it on the counter for Grant.

Grant shakes his head. “I’m not a fan of signing things because I don’t know what will happen in a year but I tell you what. We’ll pay six months in cash right now.” He pulls out a stack of cash and counts it out for Robert, peeling off six grand and laying it on top of the contract.

Robert’s hand jerks as if he wants to pocket the cash. “This is a family neighborhood,” he says.

Grant places as kiss on the crown of my head. “And we’re a family. Abel’s my brother and Chelsea’s my girl. We’re not going to throw wild parties or traffic drugs through the house.”

Robert looks over at Abel who wears an innocent expression. Other than Abel and Grant both being over six feet, they don’t look anything alike. Abel’s hair is light colored and shaved close to his head. Grant’s hair is longer; he doesn’t like having short hair as it reminds him of being in prison. They’ve both got square jaws but Abel’s deep set green eyes are a far cry from Grant’s blue.

The only people who’d ever think these two were related would have to be blind and Robert isn’t blind. But he’s a businessman and in the end the lure of the stack of cash is too much for him to refuse.

“No wild parties and all damages are paid in cash.”

“No problem.” He looks down at me. “You want the furniture?”

The place is more tastefully decorated than anything I could put together so I nod. He peels off several more bills. “That enough?”

Robert nods his head. He hands us a set of keys and takes a protesting Mandy away. She wanted to stick around and help us settle in but as soon as the money and key exchange happened, an excitement—hot and heavy—began to build inside of me. And Grant’s answering, silent response took that internal tension and made it grow until it is thick in the air. Robert senses it, probably on some testosterone-laden level, and so does Abel.

“I’m going to check out the basement,” he says.

I’m not paying attention to anything but Grant. There are fears I have. Being in a new place, making new friends, spending money like there’s no off button. But I’ve got Grant.

And I need him.

I
register
Abel’s absence more than his departure. The living room shrinks until there is just Chelsea and me. Her breasts move intriguingly when she breathes, each intake deeper, shakier, and more rapid than the last.

I push the sides of her puffy coat aside and cup those beauties in my palms. Even through the light padding of her bra I can feel the nipples harden.

The need to touch her pulses through my veins. Her eyelids flutter shut as I lean down to kiss her. Her lips part before I make contact and I answer the invitation with a hard thrust of my tongue. We tangle like that for a few moments until she leans against me. That’s her sign, one she probably doesn’t even realize she gives out, that she’s ready to be horizontal. Or at least off her legs.

She doesn’t do well standing up. Her legs have to be braced around my hips or her ass needs to be on something flat. Even when I’m taking her from behind, I have to hold her up or she’ll be prone on the bed.

But I like that. I like that I’m in control of her, that she can’t even stand because lust is making her weak. That powers me up, gets me rock hard.

I squeeze her tits and then slide my hands down to her ass. Hoisting her against me, I murmur against her ear. “How about we christen the new bedroom?”

She shivers and nods in wordless agreement. Her legs wrap around me and I carry her easily up the stairs and into the room on the left. They’re both the same. I don’t think Abel cares which one he sleeps in and the left is just closer to the stairs.

I walk into the room and kick the door shut with my booted heel. Two more strides and her back meets the bed.

“The thing that sucks about winter is all the fucking clothes you wear.” I help her wrestle out of her coat and sweater. She kicks her boots off. I throw my wool coat on the floor and shrug off my cut.

“You still have too many clothes.” I drag my hand up her front, pulling the t-shirt with me until it’s up and over her head. I take a minute to admire the view of her heaving chest pushing the lush rise of her breasts.

“I thought you liked these jeans,” she taunts and pulls my attention away from her tits. She brings her legs together and tilts on one hip so the side of her ass is pointed upward.

“I like the jeans." Her pants are suctioned to her skin, so tight I'm not sure how she got into them. I like the effect though. Every line is highlighted in the denim, the hot curve of her cheek, the valley between her legs. I palm her cheek and follow the center seam from the dip in her back down between her legs to push the denim up against her tender flesh. "But I can't fuck you with your jeans on."

Reaching forward, I pinch the lips of her sex together--hard. She yelps in excited surprise and tries to wiggle away. A hard hand on her waist puts an end to that.

She casts a narrow eyed look of challenge over her shoulder. "Then take them off."

"Are you trying to boss me around, baby? Because you know that don't fly in here." I pinch her harder and receive a high pitched moan in response. "You wet yet? I can't tell."

I actually can. At the edges of the seam I can feel a faint dampness and shit, if I can feel that through the denim, her panties must be soaked. My own jeans are tight as hell.

"Yes. I'm always ready for you," she says in disgruntled frustration.

I keep up my pressure and climb onto the bed, bracketing her hips between my thighs. My dick rides against my forearm as I lean forward to whisper in her ear.

"That's how it's supposed to be. Your little pussy should be wet and juicy for your man at all times."

"It is," she moans and rocks against my hand. "Come on Grant. Help me take my jeans off. I want to feel you."

Her pleas make me harder and my evil response is to tighten my hold. I close my thighs so she can't move her hips. I squeeze that tender flesh even harder. She pants, light, high sounds of lust. It's the best fucking sound in the world. I lean over and nip at her ear, moving away when she tries to turn to kiss me. Don't know why I torment her, make her wait, other than I can. It's some kind of sick sweetness seeing her at my mercy. That she spreads her legs for me. That she whimpers for me. That she stares at me with those golden eyes as if I am the only meaningful thing in her world.

"I want you to come for me right now. I want you to coat these jeans. I want you to prove how much you want me.” The pulse in her neck jumps at my order. I squeeze her even tighter, pressing those lips together until the pain crosses over into pleasure.

Her mouth opens.

Her neck arches.

And then she comes undone, shaking and crying as the release rolls over her. I cup my hand against her denim covered sex and lean forward to kiss her cheek, her ear, her neck. “Ride it out, baby.”

She shudders and releases a few whimpering gasps that gradually evolve into stronger, deeper breaths.

"That it?" she finally asks, still lying on her side. Her eyes are mere slits and she hasn’t completely stopped trembling but she wants more.

That’s my girl. "Not even close."

I tug her jeans off and unhook her bra, releasing her sweet tits. Her skin is burning hot--an erotic contrast to the cold outside. Her hands and mine make quick work of my clothes. Free of the confines of denim and cotton, my cock bobs in the air. I crawl between her legs, placing one on either side of my hips.

Rock hard from watching her come, I’m beyond ready. I take my cock in one hand and anchor her hip with the other. She lies back, eyes glinting with fevered desire.

“What’re you waiting for?” she says with an arched eyebrow.

“I’m admiring what’s mine.” And then I ram into her. The minute my cock head meets her wet heat, my eyes roll back. It doesn’t matter whether we’re in Fortune or in the cities or in outer space. As long as I can jack into her, I’ll always be home. Her cunt swallows me up and the sensation is so
fucking
good, I pause to savor it. Her walls pulse around me, squeezing me in a tight little hug.

"You are some slice of heaven, baby," I say as I slowly glide in and out.

I mold her breasts with my hands, forming them into tight mounds and then releasing them. Leaning over, I suck on one tit and then the other until her rack is wet from my tongue. I’m marking her with my bites, my saliva, my spunk.

“I love you Grant,” she pants. Her fingers tangle in my hair. Nails scrape against my skull and heels dig into my hips, urging me forward.

I rock against her in long, controlled thrusts. “Love you too baby.”

This is what I waited for while she was growing up. This is what I waited for during those long days and even longer nights in prison. This is why I’m alive. To fuck her. To love her. To be with her.

Straightening, I lift her legs up and spread them wide. I watch as my cock pushes apart those swollen lower lips and disappears inside.

She moans and urges me to fuck her harder and faster. “Now, Grant. I want to come now.”

Her words short circuit my brain and with both hands on her hips, I hammer into her deep and hard. Under me, she thrusts upward and I drive down to meet her, moving like we are animals. I shove into her deeper and deeper until I'm bottoming out and my balls are slapping against the bed. “Come all over my dick, baby."

“Oh
God!”
she cries and then convulses around me. Seeing her come apart in my hands, feeling her orgasm grip my cock, makes me snap. I pound her, one hand on her hip, one hand braced against the bed, using every ounce of power I’ve got to nail her body to the mattress. I’m not gentle. I’m not tender. But I give her everything.

It’s a frenzied joining. She digs her nails into my sides, my back, my neck—anywhere she can reach. Her heels dig into the bed as she tries to find leverage against my relentless thrusts. The room is thick with the smell of our sex and the sounds of our moans and the slaps of our wet sex against each other. I come in waves, my body jerking as the come explodes out of me.

I barely manage to move to the side before collapsing on the bed. She rolls into me, sliding a thigh over my hip as she cuddles close. I run a shaky hand down her back made slippery from her sweat.

“I think you broke me,” she says curling against my chest. Her soft lips whisper across my collarbone and miraculously, I feel my well-worn dick tingle.
Down boy
, I tell it knowing that she’s too sore for round two. It’s wishful thinking anyway. I came hard enough to last me hours.

“Hope not,” I settle for resting my chin against her shoulder.

She snuggles in closer and with a weak arm I manage to flip up the corner of the comforter and cover her up. Lethargy overtakes both of us and we doze off until I hear a thud against the door.

“You two want pizza?” Abel calls.

Chelsea stirs against me, blinking sleepy eyes like a kitten just woken up. I lean down to kiss her when my stomach rumbles a yes. The tips of my girl’s mouth curve upward as her stomach responds with an answering growl.

“We can’t live on sex alone,” she whispers.

Too bad. “Yeah, we’ll be out.”

Chelsea disappears into the bathroom to shower while I dress. Downstairs I find Abel sitting on the sofa, flicking through the channels.

“Ordered two. One cheese, one everything.”

“Sounds good. Thanks man.” I exchange fist pumps and take a seat on the opposite end of the sofa.

“Your phone’s been beeping like crazy.” He tosses me the electronic.

The screen says four missed calls. The lazy post-orgasm haze is blown away by the name on the screen. Amelia, my lawyer, has been trying to reach me.

“Bad news?” Abel drawls but his attention isn’t fixed on the television anymore.

“Lawyer,” I grunt. I’d been targeted as the number one suspect in the murder of a local Fortune woman all because I had a record. Oh and the chief of police hates the Death Lords, generally, and my dad, the club president, more specifically. Four missed calls from her aren’t good.

“Can’t be good if she’s calling all those times,” Abel muses.

I take a deep breath and press redial because there’s no sense putting off the bad news. She answers after the second ring.

“Amelia Granger, can I help you?”

“It’s Wrecker. I see you’ve been trying to call.”

“Yes, my God, where have you been? I’ve tried to reach you for the last couple of hours.”

“I was with my girl.”

She sighs. I don’t think Amelia has ever had a good lover. She doesn’t really understand that sex can last more than ten minutes.

“Fine. But listen, your parole officer wants to check up on you. He worries that the big city will put ideas into your head. He wants to know where you are living, what your job is, and generally check out your situation. We got permission for you to move to the Twin Cities and out of Fortune because you said you had a job.”

“I do,” I reply. “I’m working for Finney’s Auto Supply over in St. Louis Park.”

“And this Finney will vouch for you.”

“Sure will.” He’s an old friend of my dad’s and agreed to hire me on for the time that we’re here nosing around the Misery MC but Amelia doesn’t need to know that shit.

“Good. What about a place to stay? The last you told me was that you were at that frat house over by the University.” In the background I hear her tell her secretary that she needs the files for Kramer and Hedlum. “I looked that up on Google Maps and it looks like a rundown shack. Please tell me you have some other place you’re staying.”

“Just rented a place today. Chelsea enrolled in classes at the Minneapolis School of Beauty. My friend Abel is living with us. That good enough for you?” I bite out. I’m sick of this shit.

“Only one more year of this and you’ll be done with him. Just be on your best behavior. Maybe put your cut away,” she suggests.

“Not happening.”

She sighs. “Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow at eight then.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” she confirms and hangs up.

“Sucks man.” Abel hands me the remote and as ridiculous as it seems, having control over what we watch makes me feel a tiny bit better.

By the time Chelsea comes down, the pizza has arrived.

“Want to watch a movie?”

“There’s no DVD player.” Chelsea points to the flat screen.

“I have a Netflix account,” Abel admits. “Tried it out earlier while you two were busy. Internet connection works fine.”

Chelsea reddens. I slap Abel on the back. “You should have said that earlier. Netflix account makes you a worthy roommate.”

Abel grins. “I cook too.”

“Good thing you didn’t admit these things when Mandy was here or we’d be having a party for four tonight,” Chelsea teases.

“Try to keep my awesomeness to yourself,” he says and then stuffs half a pizza slice in his mouth.

Chelsea laughs, any embarrassment at living with Abel fading away under his good humor. He’s a good brother. Like I told our new landlord, this is my family. I tuck Chelsea into my side and settle in to watch the movie. It’s all good.