His Favorite Color is Blood - Coffin Nails MC (gay biker dark romance) (Sex & Mayhem Book 8) (20 page)

Grim gasped loudly and squeezed
his fist in Misha’s hair, trembling as his big cock spurted cum against the
back of Misha’s sensitive throat. It felt great. He’d smile around the cock if
it weren’t so thick. Once the last spurt of cum left Grim’s cock, Misha finally
released it from his slightly aching jaw and gave Grim a dreamy smile.

Grim exhaled and pulled on
Misha’s arms, his eyes twinkling with sheer joy. “Come here, baby bird. I see
you need some help.”

Misha got all flustered and
pushed back his hair, only to realize he’d done that with the slippery lubed-up
hand. He whined and crawled up Grim’s body on his hands and knees, panting with
excitement as he pushed down his shorts, desperate to get his dick out. “I’m so
horny.”

“Good. I’ll suck all that venom
out of you,” said Grim with a bright laugh. He pulled on Misha’s thighs, as
soon as they were within reach, and positioned him over his face, going
straight for Misha’s balls. They dipped in Grim’s hot, velvety mouth, and a
soft hum caressed them with vibrations as they were sandwiched between Grim’s
tongue and palate.

Misha moaned, loving the
perspective he now had on Grim’s model-worthy face. “No, suck on those,” he
rasped and grabbed his own dick, eager to mark Grim’s skin with his cum. His
head was pulsing so rapidly it felt like his cock could burst any second.

Grim opened his eyes, looking up
from between Misha’s thighs, nose buried against the base of Misha’s cock as he
caressed Misha’s balls with his tongue.

Misha had other men cum on him
too many times too count, but he’d never been able to do it himself. He’d always
found it hot in porn and imagined what it would be like to do it with a willing
partner, for fun, not to degrade someone or show them their place the way Gary
did to him.

He jerked himself off in quick,
vicious strokes, and came with a long groan, spurting his seed over Grim’s
pretty face.

Grim’s eyes closed, and he took a
ragged breath, releasing Misha’s sac from his mouth. The air felt so cool now,
even with Grim’s tongue still gently swirling over his nuts.

“That’s ... new,” uttered Grim
and turned his face to nuzzle the inside of Misha’s thigh.

Misha gasped for air, elated and
happy as he leaned down to support himself on one hand next to Grim’s head.
“But good?” He rubbed the cum over Grim’s cheek with his thumb.

Grim wiped some cum off his
eyelid and looked up at Misha. “I’d rather you asked, but it smells fucking
delicious.” He petted the sides of Misha’s thighs.

Misha stalled, blanking out. “Oh.
I … I thought we were in the zone and all that.” No one had ever asked him for
permission. And no one ever asked in porn.

Grim made an abrupt move and
rolled Misha underneath him on the blanket with his strong, efficient arms.
“It’s fine. I’m just ... surprised. What do you like about it?” he asked,
wiping his face on Misha’s thigh.

Misha gasped when the world
tumbled around him. “You’re … I mean ... so handsome. I wanted to see it all
over your straight nose and those dark eyebrows.” He sighed, still tender from
the orgasm. “I kind of always found it hot. A pretty face with cum on it.” Was
this offensive? Was
he
rude?

Grim laughed and nipped on
Misha’s thigh, chewing on the skin before trailing up to cover Misha with his
body. “I suppose no one else dared to do this with me before you.”

Misha felt small and powerless in
this strong embrace yet loved every second of it. He wrapped his arms around
Grim’s neck. “Seriously? I’m the first?” He tried not to, but he still snorted.

Grim nuzzled his cheek with a
broad smile. “Only you can get away with teasing me like that. But it’s fine. I
planted my cum in you for the first time today.”

Misha felt warmth tingle all over
his body at those words. “With you, I feel like I really get to try things on
my terms for the first time.” He raised his leg and rubbed the small of Grim’s
back with his stump.

Grim chewed on his lip, arching
against the leg and smiling at Misha. “You are my sweet bird. So pretty and
soft,” whispered Grim, nipping on Misha’s lips. His breath teased Misha’s face
as they kissed again.

“I know it’s corny, but you
really let me fly.” Misha trailed his hands over Grim’s sides, enjoying all the
ridges of muscle. “I’ll be loving my cage.”

“Good, because I won’t be letting
you go.”

Misha, on the other hand, finally
found the strength to do just that. He threw the flash drive into the fire and
watched it melt without even knowing what was on it. A voice at the back of his
head told him he was a coward and he should have given it to the police, but he
selfishly wanted to be free.

To let go.

Chapter 16 - Misha

Grim’s tan body shone with sweat
as he stretched his muscles, raising the axe high over his head. His face was
freshly shaved, but Grim let the hair on his chest grow, and seeing it like
this, on those glorious pecs, made Misha want to lick up all the salt off Grim.
He stirred with desire when Grim swung the axe down and split a piece of wood
in two.

Misha cuddled up under a blanket
and warmed his hands with a cup of coffee as he watched Grim work from the
porch. Over two weeks had passed since they had arrived at Grim’s home, and
they had only made one small shopping trip since. Other than that, it felt as
if they had traveled to another dimension, where time stopped and they could
enjoy each other’s company. It was exactly the kind of healing Misha needed.
Nice weather, fresh air, and someone who cared for him. He’d told Grim more
about his family once the topic came up and that they weren’t people he wanted
to stay in touch with. That chapter of Misha’s life was closed.

“Mmm … faster! Chop that wood!”
Misha yelled with a laugh spilling from his lips. He still couldn’t believe how
lucky he was to have met Grim. He wasn’t one to believe in fate, but he was
slowly recognizing their chance encounter was a turning point that would change
his life forever.

Grim showed off his brilliantly
white teeth, which gleamed in the sunlight as he swung the axe back and rested
the handle against his shoulder. “I bet you can’t wait to see me saw into that
wood until splinters fly everywhere,” he said, turning to face Misha.

Grim’s body was so fine, so
smooth, but for the scars that marked his skin in several places. It was the
body of someone who didn’t shy away from danger, and that made Misha want to
kiss each imperfection that led Grim to his side.

“I kind of do.” Misha looked at
Grim sideways. “I bet you could saw into that wood
real
good.” He loved
everything about being playful with Grim, and he had known the man long enough
to know he wouldn’t take things further than Misha wanted to go. Grim could be
obsessive, and pushy, and narcissistic, but Misha felt confident he would
listen to a “no” whenever it was voiced. He was also so eager to take care of
Misha, and his sheer enthusiasm was enough to wash away all of Misha’s
embarrassment about being bathed by someone else. They would walk through the
woods—with Grim doing the actual walking—and fish in the nearby river. It was
so serene with just the two of them here, and all the bad things that had happened
only a few weeks ago seemed like a far-off memory.

“Then you need to come closer.”

Misha slouched forward with a
grin. “I don’t know … I’m afraid of the big bad wolf in the woods.”

Grim’s eyebrows shot up. “But I’m
so charming.”

“But your teeth are so sharp.”

“Not all of them,” said Grim and
swung the axe again before pushing the smaller pieces of wood off the wooden
stump he used for chopping.

Misha had been thinking about
going into anal with Grim for a while now, but he was still too intimidated by
Grim’s size to give him a green light. Day after day though, he was getting
more comfortable with the idea, and he knew he’d had enough experience to know
how to relax. Not to mention Grim surely had experience in using his … tool.

And then there was that insistent
voice in Misha’s head, telling him that Grim was a devotee and all he cared
about was having a partner without legs. Nothing else would matter to him, and
he’d be just as attentive if Misha were any other amputee. Misha didn’t like
that voice particularly, but it kept nudging him like a rusty nail stuck in his
head. He wanted the sex with Grim to be different from his pathetic encounters
with rapists. He wanted real connection and honesty.

“I’m afraid I’ll get splinters
from the sawdust.”

“I think you are already itchy
from sawdust and a proper wash is in order,” said Grim as he put another piece
of wood on the stump and broke it in two with his axe.

Misha sighed in awe of Grim’s
muscles yet again. He was about to ask Grim to take him to the bathtub for a
long bath with pine-scented bubbles when Grim’s phone rang. A rare occurrence
lately.

Grim stuck the axe into a log and
looked at the screen of his phone. His eyebrows rose, and he gave Misha a
fleeting glance before picking up the call. “What?”

Misa watched him groan and
slouch. The conversation was quick, and from the tone of Grim’s voice, he
guessed it wasn’t a pleasant one.

“I’ll be there,” said Grim in the
end and stuck the phone back into his pocket. His gaze trailed over the grass,
all the way to Misha, and he slowly made his way toward him.

“What is it?” Misha tensed up and
pushed the blanket off his shoulders.

Grim’s face twisted into a
grimace. “We need to drive back to Charleston. There’s a job for me,” he said
and squatted in front of Misha, tracing his wood-scented fingers down Misha’s
nose.

Misha reached out to grab his
fingers. “Will I have to stay alone?” He’d gotten used to relying on Grim’s
presence, and while being together in this forlorn house was a fantastic
experience, just thinking of staying behind within the vast woods had ghosts of
his past crawling out from the back of Mish’s head.

Grim’s mouth twitched. “No,
birdie, of course not. You will be going with me.”

“Am I ready to be your sniper?”

Grim kissed Misha gently and trailed
his fingers over his stump. “You still have much to learn. This time, I’ll be
leaving you with my brothers.”

Misha got queasy in an instant.
“Oh. Okay. Are you sure it’s safe?” He squeezed his hand tighter around Grim’s
fingers.

Grim rolled onto his ass and sat
next to Misha, all fragrant with fresh sweat, which beckoned Misha with the
testosterone evaporating off Grim’s tan skin. “Sure. They will take good care
of you while I’m gone.”

Misha ran his fingers over Grim’s
pec. “Okay, if you trust them …”

Grim pulled back some of Misha’s
hair, watching him for a brief moment, with a smile ghosting across his face.
“They were my original club. That’s where I prospected and got my patches. I
trust those guys with my life.”

Misha nodded. “Will we be gone
for long?”

Grim entwined their fingers, his
eyes so intense it felt like he was trying to look straight into Misha’s soul.
“I don’t know. He can’t give me the details on the phone. Could be bugged by
the FBI.”

“So what’s the job? Can you tell
me?” Misha had been trying to pinch some information out of Grim for a while
now, but Grim was secretive about the details of his work, and that always
prompted Misha’s relationship insecurities to rear their ugly heads.

Grim slid his tongue over his
lips and squeezed Misha’s hand. “You know what I do,” he said simply.

Misha liked to forget all about
it when they curled up on the sofa and watched movies. He didn’t know how
Grim’s job really made him feel. Self-defense was one thing. Killing people for
a living? Quite another.

He nodded, not willing to waste
Grim’s time with his hangups.

Chapter 17 – Misha

They drove down the highway
between lovely forested hills and a river, and Misha was increasingly agitated
at the thought of not being invited into Grim’s world. It was almost as if he
were some kind of mafia arm candy. Only without any legs, gay, and not in the
actual mafia.

“So how did you get into the
motorcycle club in the first place?” he asked, unable to settle in his seat.
The prospect of meeting more people was so sudden he had to focus on some other
topic in order to keep calm for Grim’s sake.

Grim shrugged. “I was in prison
for theft, and I met a guy there who was a member. We hit it off, and he
sponsored me when I wanted to be a prospect for the club.” For a few moments,
he was silent, but then a smile emerged on his handsome face. “I don’t have any
family left, you know. I was alone in the world until I became a Coffin Nail. I
was finally part of something bigger. For Thanksgiving, or Christmas, I know
there will be a place for me at someone’s table. I know that if I’m in trouble,
my brothers will have my back.”

Misha looked at Grim, struck by
the straightforward tone. He was sure the answer to his next question wouldn’t
be as easy. “And your actual job for the club? Was it easy for you to start
doing what you do?”

Grim chewed on his lip. “No. It
was
very
easy,” he said in the end. “I’ve always been aggressive. The
club gave me a way to channel that part of myself.”

“So you think this is something …
you were born with?”

“Would you hate that?”

Misha frowned and took his time
to think before answering. “Not as long as you control it. I suppose it’s a bit
like a superpower. Could be used for good.”

“I think I might be a
psychopath,” said Grim.

Misha’s lips parted, and he
stared, unsure what to say to that. Grim slowed down the truck, and just as he
pulled off the road, Misha noticed a compound of grey concrete with the name of
Grim’s club over the entrance. He drove past it and toward the closed gate in a
tall metal fence with spikes on top.

A black-haired, scruffy-looking
guy in a black leather vest jogged over to the gate, and after having a long,
hard look at the truck, started opening it up. He gave Grim a short wave. Misha
wanted to keep calm, as there was no danger, but the sole presence of people he
didn’t know put him on edge.

Grim drove into a courtyard that
housed a few cars and a whole swarm of bikes. The building on the other side of
the yard had several gates, and it looked like some sort of garage. Grim didn’t
bother to drive over there and stopped the truck by the fence.

“I’ll get your wheels first,” he
said and jumped out of the cab.

Misha gave him a short nod,
watching big men in leather cuts pour out of the grey brick-like building. He
took the longer pants and pinned them with safety pins, so his stumps weren’t
on show, but that didn’t help him feel less vulnerable with the possibility of
strangers scrutinizing him. And those men seemed so tough too, with tattoos
peeking out from beneath clothing and mean-looking faces.

One of them, a man with a grey
beard and a potbelly, came up to Grim and patted him on the back. “Good to see
you back in this part of the woods.”

“It’s good to be home, Spike,”
said Grim and pulled the man into a hug before exchanging similar greetings
with several other people. Each second away from Grim, away from the
wheelchair, was pushing Misha closer to the edge of panic, and he breathed a
firm sigh of relief when Grim hopped onto the bed of the truck and returned
carrying the wheelchair.

Spike followed Grim and looked up
at Misha as if he were a new set of rims on Grim’s wheels. “I was wondering why
you came in this big box.” He patted the truck.

For the first time in such a long
time, Misha was self-conscious when Grim took him into his arms to help him out
of the cab. All the other bikers were staring at the scene like spectators in a
zoo, and he was getting out of breath.

Grim sat Misha in the wheelchair
with so much care, it was as if he thought Misha could break any second in his
clumsy man-hands that Misha knew weren’t clumsy. When their eyes met, Grim
nodded and winked at Misha before stretching to look at his brothers in arms.
But immediately afterward, he said something that froze the blood in Misha’s
veins.

“Guys, this is Misha, my
property,” he said, tickling Misha’s nape.

Misha blinked a few times, unsure
what to say, so he cuddled up in Grim’s big black hoodie, which had lately
become his favorite safety blanket. That was an unexpected way to be
introduced, especially since some of the guys’ faces expressed a similar
queasiness to the one he felt inside. Did Grim just tell them he was his
prisoner? It could be for his protection, but after literally being property
for the last five years of his life, Misha couldn’t help the stinging in his
eyes and the dull thud of his heart.

Misha cleared his throat.
“Property?” He wouldn’t wait to clear this up until they were alone.

Grim looked down at him, and a
bright smile lit up his face. “Oh, that just means that if anyone touches you,
I’m gonna rip his throat out and stick it up his ass.”

Despite the cold fear that
gripped him seconds ago, Misha bit back a smile and nodded. He could live with
that.

Spike frowned and ran his fingers
through his grey hair. “I don’t think there will be need for that.”

One of the other bikers crossed
his arms on his chest. “Yeah, no fags here.”

Grim’s face turned toward the
guy, who looked the youngest of them all with a few red pimples on his
forehead, and at the front of his cut was just one patch. After all the
conversations he’d had with Grim in the recent weeks, Misha had a vague
understanding that “prospect” stood for a candidate for a full membership in a
biker club. Spike stepped away from the guy with a low sigh and rolled his
eyes.

“What did you call me?” asked
Grim, and right next to Misha, his hand caressed the handle of a knife he wore
on his hip.

The prospect seemed a bit lost
without the support of his friends that he clearly expected. One of the men
even shook his head at him, mouthing something akin to “you just fucking had to.”

The prospect spread his arms, his
pale face getting red. “I mean … just sayin’ it like it is.”

“If you don’t know any better,
maybe you should spend some time with Grim,” suggested a biker with a mohawk
haircut and a scar around the eye.

Grim’s fingers curled as he
wordlessly called the offending youth over.

The prospect looked at Spike as
he took a step closer to Grim. “Prez?”

Spike narrowed his eyes and
pushed him forward. “Do as you’re told, Prospect.”

The prospect stood in front of
Grim, and on one hand, Misha didn’t envy him the fear that he could read out of
the man’s tense muscles, yet on the other, at least the idiot would be punished
for his hateful words. Grim came here to do a job for the guy’s club, and this
was the welcome he was getting?

“All I’m saying is, I’m not gay,”
the prospect grumbled.

“See? You’re learning already,”
said Grim, and then his arms suddenly moved, quick and proficient at grabbing
his prey. Misha couldn’t exactly see what happened with the men obscuring the
view, but there was a loud crack, and the prospect yelled in terror, stumbling
out of Grim’s arms with his hands clenched on the bottom part of his face.

“Next time,
apologize
,”
said Grim. “Magic words keep the pain at bay.”

Spike didn’t spare the prospect
much attention, but he clapped his hands and invited Grim inside with a
gesture. “Now that’s done, let’s get down to business.”

Grim grabbed the handles of
Misha’s wheelchair and casually pushed him toward the entrance. One of the
bikers yanked at the back of the prospect’s vest and hauled him in another
direction, but judging from the lack of intervention, everyone seemed to think
Grim’s actions were just. And looking at those men—at the tattooed bodies,
muscles, and stern faces—Misha assumed Grim couldn’t have had it easy as an
openly gay man. There were things he needed to do to keep those macho guys
respecting him.

Inside was a large room with
several beat-up sofas, a collection of alcohol in a tall bookcase, and a
billiard table. The old carpet covering the floor stank of dust and piss. Misha
wasn’t happy that the wheels of his chair had to roll over it, but then again,
his wheelchair had seen worse.

“Is he, like, a mail order
husband?” One of the older guys snorted and elbowed Grim.

Grim frowned. “Just because he’s
Russian? No. We met in Louisiana.”

Spike’s eyes swept over Misha,
and it was the first time any of the bikers met his gaze. He was talked about
as if he were a chair, yet completely invisible. “You wanna stick around here,
or go to one of the guest rooms? Grim told me you’re staying the night.” From
his tone, Misha sensed Spike was trying to be nice but would be uncomfortable
if Misha stayed in the lounge. That was all right. Misha didn’t want to stay
with them either. He wanted a room that locked from the
inside
.

Grim leaned down and looked into
Misha’s face. “What do you think? I need to talk to them about old times and
the job. How about you get some sleep?”

Misha nodded with more eagerness
than he wanted to express. “But you’ll come over before you leave?” he asked,
painfully aware of everyone listening.

“Sure. I need to reconnect with
the guys and get some intel,” said Grim. It didn’t escape Misha’s attention
that the bikers communicated without words when Grim mentioned a “job.”
Clearly, any details were not for the ears of an outsider.

Misha gave Grim’s hand a squeeze
and nodded again, even though a flush emerged on his face. Maybe he shouldn’t
be freely expressing any tenderness, but with a protector like Grim, he was not
afraid to have any hateful words thrown his way.

*

No matter how many episodes of
Wife
Wars
Misha watched on the small TV in the guest room, one of the last words
Grim had for him in the truck wouldn’t leave his mind and came back like a
boomerang.

“I think I might be a psychopath.”

What did Grim mean exactly? Was
this yet another clue for Misha that getting involved with him was a big
mistake and he should be working toward independence instead of falling into
Grim’s arms day after day? Was it even smart to plan a future with someone who
killed for a living in the first place? That was what Grim did after all. Rode
all around the country to do dirty jobs for different chapters of the Coffin
Nails MC. And he confessed to having a history of aggressive behavior on top of
that. What if his fists turned on Misha one day?

That last question was blurry
even in Misha’s head. It was the rational part of his brain trying to pick a
fight with his heart. So far, Grim had proven time and time again how much he
would sacrifice for Misha. But was it because he actually had feelings for him,
or was it because Misha was the perfect sexual outlet for Grim’s fetish?

He dropped the remote when the
door opened, and Grim let himself in, carrying two of their bags. He grinned
and dropped them on the mattress before pushing Misha on the bed and rolling
over next to him. “You look so bored.”

Misha took a deep breath of
Grim-scented air, as overwhelmed by his presence as he always was. “Me? Not at
all. Debbie was just telling Kathy that her children are spoiled hippies. Great
stuff.”

Grim laughed and kissed Misha’s
hand, staring into his eyes. “You must be
really
bored to watch this
kind of shit.”

“I kinda like trash TV. It’s this
noise in my brain that helps me from thinking too much and going crazy.” When
Misha looked at Grim, all he could see was the guy who saved him, the guy who
helped him learn a handstand, and the guy who gave him great orgasms. It was
hard now to focus on the thoughts that occupied him for the past few hours.

“You don’t look like your
friends,” he said in the end.

Grim’s thick black eyebrows shot
up, and he raised himself on his elbows. “How come?”

Misha chewed on his lips, hoping
not to insult Grim. “You are always so ... clean cut.” When Grim started
getting to his knees, Misha groaned, displeased with the word choice. “I’m not
saying that they’re dirty or anything. It’s just that you look like a model in
leather, and they look like ... how you’d imagine bikers.”

Grim snorted and massaged Misha’s
hand with his thumbs. “Is that good?”

“Yes. You always smell so good
too, and you shave every single day ... you’re so well groomed you make me
ashamed I want to give up the routine Gary made me follow.” Misha exhaled and
moved his fingers over Grim’s forearm, playing with the dusting of hair he
found there. “And they all have tattoos. You don’t have a single one.”

Grim shrugged, for a moment lost
in thoughts, and he brushed his fingers over the glass-and-bone pendant on his
neck. “I just don’t want to. My dad and uncle had so many tattoos, they wore
torn jeans and loose tank tops, and scruff. I guess I really don’t want to be
like them in any way. I’m not gonna sound like them either,” said Grim, and his
voice slipped into a thicker accent that he sometimes spoke with close to
orgasm. “I was lucky to have a fresh start, and I’m gonna be who I want to be,
not someone I was born to be. I might be a biker, but I’m no scum.”