Never Ever: Book One Perdition MC (5 page)

His nostrils flared, and that crazed rage filled his pretty
eyes again. His hands flexed on her hips and she felt him tremble with the
restraint it took to keep a lid on his temper. “You got the next eighteen years
to figure out what you like about me, and you’re talkin to the wrong fucking people
if the only reputation you heard about me was that I like to fuck.” She let her
brow quirk up and hoped her face displayed the disinterest she was forcing
herself to feel, but her pulse was pounding and her pussy was on fire, all for
this big, bad ass sexy fucking biker. “You don’t know me, yet, but you will.
First thing you should know, being born and bred MC, is what it means to a man
to wear a cut and claim a club as his family. You should know, that when we
give our word, it’s fuckin law. You wear my brand, you wear my ring and raise
my kid, and there will be no fucking around behind your back.”

“Sorry, don’t buy it that you’re gonna give it all up, just
for little old me.”

“Honey,” His breath washed over her lips, and the traitorous swells
quivered at the proximity. Remembering just how good it felt to have his mouth.
“Give me your eyes.”

She flicked her gaze up, blushing because he’d caught her
staring at his mouth, doing her best not to squirm under the heat of his angry
stare. “That’s my brat in your belly, and before you push him from your body,
you will have my brand, my ring, and my name. You get me?”

“Don’t you
ever
, call my son, your brat. My father
taught me to be creative with knives, and I will cut your swinging dick off if
that word is ever, associated with my baby.”

He blinked, slow and lazy, his lips curling in a satisfied
smirk. She shivered when his thumbs slid up under the edge of her shirt and
swept gently up and down the sides of her belly. “Answer me,” He growled, and
she narrowed her eyes at him, “Before I have this baby, ring on my finger.”

“Yes.”

“Your word?”

“Have it.”

“Fine. I’m due in March. You have five months to convince me
to marry you. I’ll go change for my appointment.”

Chapter Five

He still wasn’t sure how he’d walked himself right into that
trap without realizing it. The feel of her baby bump rubbing against his abs
had fucked with his head. That and the scorching furnace of her pussy, notched
up against his cock, pulsing moist heat through two layers of denim to further
fuck with his head. He wanted to fuck her something fierce. But he was getting
his brand on her before he’d give her that again. She was too fucking crafty,
sexy, for him to keep his head on straight and not walk into another open trap
like that.

Five fuckin months to convince her to marry him.

Only bitch he’d ever known, that would need convincing, to
get her to marry him.

Sexy bitch.

Bitch that went ape shit when he made a remark about their
kid she didn’t like.

Sexy, fucking, bitch.

He watched her walk off in a snit, into her bedroom, and
followed her with his duffle, ignoring her indignant look when he tossed it on
her bed. Her room was nice, girly, but nice. Big ass bed, crystals and pink
blocks of salt and shit, one of those mirrored vanity things with brushes and
combs and perfume and more girly junk. The room was free of clutter, done in
shades of grey, blue, green and rich brown, girly, but not to girly. “You’re
not moving in,” She told him as she came out of the closet, and in answer he
flung himself down on her bed and stretched out comfortably, “You took away
four months of me watching my son growing inside you. Not taking any more.”

The hard expression on her face faltered for a minute, and
underneath all her hard, all her tough, he saw an ache. A sadness so deep it
hurt to look at. It was just a flash, just a flicker, and then she was back to
being a tough bitch. But that flicker, that flicker and the shirt she was
attaching to his boy’s baby blanket, told him that somewhere in there, there
was a soft spot. A soft spot that was so tender it needed major protecting.
Someone had taught her how to protect it, to fiercely protect it, keep it safe
and off limits. He watched the tail of her pony whip in the air as she spun on
her heel and marched her sweet ass into the bathroom, muttering under her
breath while she slammed the door behind her. Made him grin like a fool for no
good reason. He wanted that soft spot, wanted his name all over it.

She took her time, which left him able to look around her
room for more clues about who she was. There were pictures on her walls of
flowers, her flat surfaces clean and free of dust, crystals and trinkets here
and there. Books about horticulture and farming, DIY home project books about
something called a Pergola, for expanding rooms onto an already existing home,
a desk with business stuff and a sleek lap top, closed. No family photos, no
evidence of a man in her life from the state of her underwear drawer, all her sexy
panties were stuffed to the very back. Some still had tags on. And his ginger
bitch had some sexy ass panties. He didn’t find any toys in her bedside table
drawers, no diary, not even a token three pack of rubbers for emergencies. “You
done looking through my shit?”

Her tight growl made his cock so hard it was fuckin
ridiculous, and when he turned around to answer, he almost swallowed his
tongue. She’d changed out of her jeans and her work shirt, braided her hair in
one long tail, put on a tight long sleeve black shirt and a jean skirt that
left her long, long, beautifully pale legs bare all the way down to the tops of
her biker bitch boots. “Fuck me.” He growled, shaking with the restraint it
took not to put his hands on her and fuck them both into a coma. She snorted
indelicately, tossing that long red whip of hers all sassy like. “We going or
what?”

He’d hauled a few bitches on the back of his bike before, and
maybe it was the fact that this one was carrying his kid, or he had some kind
of sex deprived insanity eating at his brain. But no bitch, had ever felt so
good behind him. Her arms were snug around his waist, her breasts pressed tight
against his back, against his cut, her cheek turned to his shoulder while his
pipes roared and the road fell away under his tires.  At any stop light
they hit, he kicked a foot out to balance them and curled his hand around her
calf, rubbing at her soft skin while they idled. Each time he did it, he felt
her shiver behind him. Felt her take a deep breath and just shiver. Men who sat
in their trucks beside them looked over and he could tell they thought his
bitch was every bit as sexy as he did. Gave him a hell of a thrill, pride mixed
with furious jealousy. Pride because his bitch was so beautiful, and jealousy because
those cocksuckers were looking at her with hunger in their eyes.

He just smirked at the assholes, knowing that they’d never
have a chance. He wasn’t going to give them one.

His brand.

His ring.

His kid.

His wife.

He’d never wanted a family of his own. Never wanted to settle
down with just one bitch. He liked his life, he had his brothers, the club,
cash flowing in like water, peace with their enemies for now. Hadn’t wanted
anything more. Hadn’t needed it. Till the ginger bitch on his bike, had walked
in and knocked him on his ass.

He parked outside the tattoo shop and held his hand out for
her to dismount, and froze when he saw her swipe at the tears that had fallen
down her cheeks. “Are you really that upset about getting my brand?” He growled,
insulted and concerned, but she shook her head and tugged her helmet off to
settle on his handlebars. “No. It’s just been…a really long time.” She
murmured, glancing at the back of his bike with the longing plain on her face,
until she wiped it away and turned to walk into the parlor. “Ever,” She took a
deep breath and paused on the stairs, half turning to face him with her arms
hugging herself tightly. She sucked back another round of tears when he slid
his hands down over her shoulder blades, tilting his head to catch her gaze,
watching her struggle to toughen up. Tough, sexy bitch. God she was beautiful.
She made his guts churn with worry for her, made him feel like breaking
something, killing anyone he had to, to make her stop crying those fat, silent
tears that dripped off her eyelashes. “Babe,” She shook her head and swiped the
tears away again, “Hormones. It’s a pregnant lady thing, better than the puking
my guts up. I’m good, don’t worry.”

 He opened his mouth to tell her what bullshit that was,
but she shrugged him off and walked into the tat shop run by one of Perdition’s
people. She got a hold of herself in time to bust his balls over the brand he’d
asked Ringer to lay across her low back. Made him grind his teeth against
wanting to grin. “I want it higher,” She told him firmly, and he leaned down to
growl in her ear, “I want it on your hips where I can see it every time I fuck
you.” Her eyes had narrowed to glittering green slits of fury, but then her
lips twitched and she shrugged, “Fine. You want to see your brand get all
stretched out and warped as my body wigs out from the pregnancy, no problem.
I’ll get it lasered off after my sentence is up.”

Fucking hell if that didn’t chap his ass and make him want to
wring her pretty little neck. But Ringer found her argument valid and put his
two cents in. “She’s right, seen it before man.” Her expression turned smug,
and in the end she wound up getting it right where she wanted. A few inches
higher than the waistband of her skirt.

 Bitch.

Damn she turned him on.

His dick was throbbing like an open wound by this point,
craving her so bad that while Ringer was getting ready he snagged her by the
back of the neck, drew her in and slanted a starving kiss across her ripe,
peachy lips. She fought it for all of two seconds before she fed him a feathery
little moan and leaned in on him. Tilted her head back, curled her fingers in
his cut and hung on for dear life.  It was all he could do to not drag her
into the back and fuck her brains out against the wall.

Chapter Six

She sat on the massage chair, ignoring the burning lust
tearing through her pussy while she tugged her shirt up off over her head and
sat there in her lacy black bra, not even sure why she’d bothered putting on
something pretty like that. Maybe she’d done it to torture Roar a little, his
pissed off growl was sure satisfying, and so was the look on his face when
Ringer, who’s only un-inked skin was on his face, gave a low whistle and drew
his gloved fingertips down her spine. “You ever want to use those fingers
again, I suggest you quit touching my woman like that.” Roar bit out, his
jealousy, his possessiveness crazy plain in his voice and on his expression.
The willingness to break every bone in Ringer’s body, reminding her of days
long gone. “You know I don’t eat pussy, Roar. I’m appreciating this moment.
Blank canvas like this is rare. Not a single freckle. Virgin skin, man.”

Roar growled again, and Ringer put his hands up, getting ready
to lay the stencil of Roar’s brand on her skin. It was cool, his touch gentle,
and she closed her eyes, remembering the last time she’d been in a tattoo shop.
The last time a man had drawn his brand for her and waited weeks to tweak it
until it was just right. Until he was satisfied with the mark she would carry
on her flesh for the rest of her life. She saw his face when Ringer set the
buzzing needles to her skin and the stinging vibration began. The pain of it
wasn’t horrible, but it drew her away on a haze of her own memories, until she
was back there, in that other life.

She was floating in that haze, feeling sleepy and excited,
the buzzing of the needles on her skin a weirdly enjoyable pain. Relaxed her
even. She felt fingers on her cheek and opened her eyes to see Roar crouched
close, a worried frown on his face while he told Ringer, “Break,” The buzzing
stopped, the pain ebbed until there was only a mild burn, a throb across her
back . “Hurt?” Roar asked her when they were alone, and she shook her head,
feeling weird and floaty, like she wasn’t quite stationary anymore. “Then why
you cryin?” She sighed and rested her cheek on the cool padding of the chair to
study his features. “Told you. Hormones.”

His eyes narrowed while he searched her face, and her pulse
kicked up, wondering what he could see. He curled the end of her braid around
his fingers, bring it up to rub against his lips while he stared at her, “I’m
not the guy you want to lie to. Keep doing it, and you’re going to regret it.”
He warned her menacingly, and she almost was intimidated. Almost. “You don’t
look like the type to smack a woman around,” She stated, and she might as well
have slapped him. The insult was instant, the anger black and ugly, plain to
see on his handsome face. “I’ve done my fair share of bad shit, but I would
never hit a woman. What I will do, is spank the shit out of your round ass.
You’re sittin there, crying those big fat tears while you’re taking my brand,
and every single one of them is like a slap in the face. I want to know why,
and you’re not goin to lie to me.”