Heart Ties (Club Ties Book 2) (18 page)

She mewled and rocked upward to meet his movements. All her personal items were in the saddlebags of his bike, which was a heap. She’d come here wearing the sexy black dress and no undergarments, but that was a good thing.

She took his hand and squashed it harder against her breast.

His chuckle was low and deep. “Not giving you what you want, Princess?”

Dare she admit it? He wore knuckle rings too.

Firming her jaw, she shook her head.

His eyes darkened, and she steeled herself for a blow. But all she got was chills from his voice. “Then tell me.”

Give Girl voice? She hardly knew how to ask for what she wanted, even human necessities like food or the bathroom. To ask for pleasure? She didn’t know if she had the guts.

Drake rolled off her. For a long minute she stared at the ceiling, aching yet understanding what he wanted.

As if recognizing her inner struggle, he caught a tendril of her hair between his fingers and wrapped it around and around, right up to her scalp, pulling gently. Fire rushed into her belly, low. Juices flooded between her thighs.

“Ask if you want it.”

She pushed onto her elbows and flipped atop him. Pushing down her fears, she looked into his eyes and guided his hands where she wanted them. When he didn’t do more than caress her mounds, frustration flared hot.

He stared at her, patiently waiting for instruction.

The throb in her nipples spread to her pussy. She needed this. She could ask.

“Pinch my nipples.”

He clamped his fingers over each, yanking a gasp from her. She threw her head back and reveled in his hard touch and harder body beneath her. When she moved restlessly over his cock, he rasped, “What do you need?”

She couldn’t say it. Meeting his gaze, she begged with her eyes. Amusement toyed with the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t laugh at her. He pinched each nipple slow and hard until she writhed.

The brush of denim under her swollen clit was beautiful torture.

Aching for more, she found voice. “Your fingers.”

“Where?” His gaze intensified. She couldn’t look away.

She circled her hips to show him.

He didn’t remove his hands from her breasts. It was so good, but not enough. She needed—

“Here.” She lashed her fingers around his wrist and guided his hand between her legs. The instant thick fingers met sensitive flesh, she began to quiver. Drake bit off a groan and probed her slick folds right down to her soaking center.

When he pushed one digit inside, she arched and cried out. He flipped her dress up and pinned it to her hip under his hand. Drawing his knees upward, he guided her to rest against them. She widened her legs, exposing all of her.

He applied pressure to the inner wall of her pussy, and cream squeezed from her. He gathered it and painted it over her clit. Up and around. Over and over. Her nubbin hardened under his touch, a fire barely banked inside her.

Wrigging, she tried to get his fingers into her channel again. He resisted, forcing extreme ecstasy as he nudged her clit. But it wasn’t what she wanted—needed.

With a moan of annoyance, she gripped his wrist and angled his hand toward her opening. “Stretch me.”

His guttural growl harmonized with her primal gasps as he drove two fingers deep. She rocked on his hand. “Another.”

He added a finger, eyes hooded, gaze locked on his hand burrowing into her cunt. Her walls clenched around him and she rocked faster. The burning need took control.

“I want to ride your face.”

“Fuck yeah, Princess.”

He withdrew his fingers and she slid up his chest and landed on his face with a very ungraceful thump. He took hold of her clit, but she needed that stretching again.

“Fuck me with your fingers, babe.”

A shudder ran through him, and he slowed his tongue motions as he wedged his fingers at her opening. When she came down on them, he speared her. The thickness, the bliss, his hot, wet tongue…

She rose and fell, taking what she wanted. Her inner thighs shook.

He pressed on her hard clit with the point of his tongue, fingers angled up, high and tight.

She burst. White lights flashed behind her eyes as she screamed her release. Come soaked his fingers with each contraction, and he groaned.

It took her a long time to come down from her high. Her mind was blank, partly with shock from what she’d done.

Demanded of him.

A flush crawled over her neck and face.

Drake gripped her hips, pushing his fingers into her one more time. She twitched and started to crawl off him, but he grabbed her hips and lifted her down his body to settle over his bulge.

“Look at me.”

There was no resisting.

His beard and lips were coated with her juices, his eyes burning. “That was fucking beautiful. Know why?”

She shook her head, blushing hotter.

“Because you got what you wanted. Never be afraid to ask for what you need. I’ll always give it.”

Overcome by emotion, she threw herself over his body and kissed him. Tasting herself but craving a taste of him. Tearing free of the kiss, she moved down his body, stripping and kissing the exposed flesh. When she reached his cock, she paused.

“I want you to push your cock into my throat.”

His eyes rolled back in his head, and she held total power.

•●•

Jamison clamped a hand on Drake’s shoulder. “We’re going to church.”

He pushed back his chair and followed, throwing Wrench a pointed look to watch over his girl.

No, Delta wasn’t his. She didn’t belong with him. When this was all over and she was safe, he’d set her up in a good section of town and maybe push some buttons to get her a job. After that, she could find a nicer guy to settle down with.

Not a no-good MC dude who dragged her into more shit.

As he assumed his place at the long table where the Hell’s Sons made their biggest decisions, his chest felt strangely tight.

The other guys filed in—Bunky, Ace, Paxton, Harris, O’Dovey, Tommy, Rocket, and Franklin. Jamison took the VP chair and Strother was already seated at the head of the table—exactly where no one wanted him.

The guy was like someone’s aging asshole grandpa. They didn’t want him around anymore but hadn’t yet figured out how to get rid of him.

Strother brought his fist down on the table to announce church had begun. Without chit-chat, he laid it all out. “We’ve got some trouble in Heller’s Gap with speedball again, and I want it ended. For good this time.”

Drake shook his head. They’d never totally rid the community of street drugs, no matter how many people they killed. If users wanted it, they’d go find it outside of the district.

“Raiders are planting more dealers in our town. It’s gotta end.” He smacked his fist off the table.

Jamison jammed his fingers through his hair. “Where are you getting this information?” He was probably the leeriest of them since he’d just cleaned up the last group of dealers in town. Also, there was the not-so-small matter of Strother implanting Ever with a microchip and sending her into the Raiders’ compound. He wasn’t going to trust anything Strother said.

Drake rubbed a hand over his face, scenting Delta. Her fragrance seemed to have infused his pores, and most of the day he would be able to smell her arousal and release on his hands.

His cock started to harden.

“I’ve got Rocket on the street following Raiders to see about their Rx trade and he saw bags being transferred.”

Jamison swung his gaze to Rocket. “Where?”

“Jackson Avenue.”

“Time?”

“2:00 a.m.”

Drake studied his brother. Rocket had grown into the cut over the past year he’d been sitting at this table. He’d seen boys just like him made into men in combat.

“What kind of shit were they carrying?”

“Heroin. Cocaine.”

Jamison lifted an eyebrow. “In plain sight? Not in duffels or crates?”

“No. Remember what happened to Franklin?”

They all looked at the man. His brown hair was spiked up and he wore several piercings—earrings like most of them, but also lip and nose rings. Part of his head was shaved and a new tattoo lived there—Blake RIP. It had only been weeks since they’d buried their brothers, Blake among them.

Drake’s leg began to throb, although it wasn’t his leg really. It was his ghost limb. He needed a goddamn drink.

“Franklin intercepted drugs that were meant for Sissy. It’s not the same. Raiders wouldn’t be so damn stupid as to transport in clear bags.”

“You’re sure it’s really heroin and coke in those bags?” Drake asked.

They all looked at him.

“They wouldn’t show off their goods. They’re only showing because they want us to believe that’s what they’re dealing.”

The table grew silent as they all digested this. But Jamison had gotten it right away—his eyes were narrowed. And Strother looked like he’d be sick. He wanted the Raiders to take the fall for street drugs, because that’s what had destroyed his family.

“You think they’re running Rx in the bags?”

“Probably flour in those bags.” Drake scuffed his knuckles over his jaw, catching more of Delta’s spicy, feminine scent. He needed to get back to her. The itch to clamp his hands around her luscious ass cheeks and drag her up to meet his hip thrusts burned as hot and bright as plastic explosive.

“Fuck, I bet you’re right,” Jamison said.

Strother smacked the table again, as if brute force would pound his beliefs into the men he led. “We can’t just assume they’re carrying sacks of flour, people. These bastards will do anything to get drugs into our town.”

“That’s true, but it’s damn odd to transfer bags in the open that way. We have to assume something’s fishy about it.”

“It might be a setup to make us believe they’re dealing speedball. The Raiders want to bring us down. We have two of their women, and we killed some of their brothers,” O’Dovey said.

“We shouldn’t have any of their fucking women,” Strother spat.

Jamison and Drake were like dogs on alert, spines stiff, ready to attack. “You’d better think long and hard about what you’re saying,
Prez,
” Jamison said.

Strother’s eyes darkened. “I know damn well what I’m saying. We’ve got the Raiders fucking royalty living in our compound, bedding our men. Royalty, my ass. We should have left them to kneel at the feet of their own.”

Drake shot up, blood pounding in his ears. Rage hardened his muscles, skating along his nerves as visions of Delta uncurling from her knees filled his mind. “You knew what they were doing to Delta.”

Strother arched a brow. “Every good prez has his finger on the pulse of the enemy. I know what those fuckers eat for breakfast and who carries what ammo. I sure as fuck know what they do with their pussy too.”

The fuse burned down to the explosive, and Drake threw himself across the table. He slid into Strother, sending them both backward. His chair splintered as they hit the floor. Drake’s mind thundered with fury. He’d known how those fuckers were treating a woman, but he hadn’t bothered to step in.

Until this minute Drake hadn’t wanted to believe she’d been forced to kneel at a man’s feet.

He cocked his fist and slammed it into Strother’s face. Flesh split against bone, blood spurting hot over his hand. Guys grabbed at Drake to pull him off, but he smashed his fist into Strother’s eye then brought his knee up viciously into his gut.

The wind whooshed from him, and several men dragged Drake away.

“I got it. Let me go,” he barked, swiping blood off his knuckles onto his jeans. He stood over Strother, not allowing the man to scramble to his feet. He glared at his ruined face and didn’t feel a goddamn thing.

“C’mon, brother. Walk away.” Jamison wrapped an arm around his chest.

Drake had no memory of leaving church, but suddenly Delta’s face loomed before his eyes.

“What happened in there?” she cried.

He came back to himself a little.

“Get his cuts cleaned up,” Jamison said. “He needs to ride in a few hours.”

Delta nodded. “I will.” She gripped Drake’s arm and guided him through the main room to the kitchen with Copilot glued to her.

Ever looked up from a cake she was frosting, eyes wide. “What the hell happened?” Without waiting for an answer, she rushed for the first aid kit. As she laid it on the table, her voice shook. “Is my man bleeding too?”