Poet (10 page)

“What had you expected? Breakfast in bed followed by whispered sweet nothings? Dumbass,” she spoke aloud, forcefully throwing a towel on the bathroom counter, causing toiletries to crash to the ground. Bending, she began snatching them up. “I mean, really, what the fuck have you been thinking? Rules, you dumb broad, rules. You have them for a fucking reason. Gah, bikers!”

Poet slammed the lotion and deodorant beside the sink and started the shower. She hated the fact she’d allowed the Bishop into her home and into her bed. She especially hated that a small part of her heart had let him in as well.

Memories of a decade-old hurt flooded her as she let the hot water cascade over her. She tried to push them back, put them in the locked box in her brain where she’d sealed them, but it was too late. Images of Roman played in high definition across her thoughts. Him smiling, her with arms around his waist and the wind in her hair as they rode together.

At sixteen, it’s easy to think feelings mean love, even for Poet. And Roman, he’d been all too quick to jump at the chance with Fury’s blonde princess. He was twenty-five and a full member of the club, yet one who’d chosen to ride alone, a nomad of Hells Redemption who’d come at her father’s call – a rallying of men when backup was needed.  With his blond curls, blue eyes, lean muscles, and an easy smile, one look and she’d been lost.

Despite their age difference, they quickly became inseparable. He did a good job in courting her – taking her out to expensive dinners, never-ending movie marathons on the couch, anything she asked for. Fury had even changed his mind, his original objection of them turning into his championing their relationship.

Her father even offered Roman a place in their chapter, which he took. Soon after, though, things began to change. Gone was the man who’d made Poet laugh, and feel loved. In his place was a hard ass who spoke to her like she was nothing to him. Worse than that, he began pressing to get between her legs, his previous “when you’re ready” and “I’ll never pressure you” promises evaporating. When she resisted, telling him she just wasn’t ready, he’d describe, in detail, his conquests to find some elsewhere – even baiting her by listing which club ass he’d go for. Like any young girl desperate to keep the man she thought she loved, Poet gave in.

Her first time was degrading and painful, Roman taking no care in how he treated her. When she cried, he’d slapped her, calling her a weak bitch who needed to learn her place. After that, he’d take her when he wanted, and she gave in; he often told her if she didn’t please him, do as he said and when, he would make sure she regretted it. It wasn’t long until he disappeared for days and nights at a time, refusing to tell her where he’d been and with who.

Eventually, Fury caught wind through the whispers and found out Poet’s boyfriend had been verbally abusing and manipulating her. When he confronted Roman, demanded it all stop, still she protected him, protesting his declaration of their separation. It was no use though – her pop was President and everyone listened to him. When he cast an immediate vote, forcing him out of their chapter, she never saw him again.

Of course, the truth came out afterward – that he’d been fucking everything on two legs with breasts. He was also married and had two kids he didn’t take care of, from what Shakespeare eventually discovered.

From the day she learned who Roman really was, she promised herself no more bikers. No more hoping for love and the perfect fairy tale dressed in a leather vest on a Harley. It was something for romance books and the authors who wrote them.

“And yet, here you are.”

The glass door to the shower was yanked open, startling a yelp from her. Simultaneously she covered her breasts with one hand and braced for a fight with the other. Seconds later she relaxed slightly.

“Talking to an audience? Is there room for one more?” Titan asked, appearing in the shower entry, naked, and stepping inside before she could utter a protest.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she demanded, her arm death gripping her chest like a vice. It was a silly motion, seeing as how the rest of her was still on display and that he’d seen her naked before. But it was tough putting on a strong face when you were naked and wet, had just been startled, and were covering your private areas.

“Well, I plan on getting dirty…” he murmured, his eyes heating as they took her in. He moved closer, smiling when she backed up to the tile wall, “and then getting clean again.”

With nowhere else to go, Poet let the coolness of the wall hold her up, her arm holding her together. Her breath caught when he was directly in front of her, allowing her no escape, his lips inches from hers. Titan dropped his head, instead pressing a kiss at the crook of her neck, making her shiver.

“Dirty,” he kissed her neck, “clean,” he brushed his lips across her cheek, “dirty. Over and over again.”

Poet’s body wanted to melt, to mix with the heat of the water and Titan’s body. She knew how it would feel, how
he
would make her feel, and she wanted it. But her mind was flailing, screaming at her.

“You left,” she managed around the lump in her throat. His hand had moved to her hip, his thumb drawing circles on her skin, distracting her.

“You have no food,” he whispered, tugging her waist against his erection. “I was getting us breakfast.”

“Cut the shit, Bishop. Don’t pretend to be all hero-ish – you snuck out of my bed, out of my house. Feel good conquering the great HR Pres? Is that it?”

His grip tightened on her, refusing to let her squirm away from. “Shut the fuck up, Poet. It’s not like that and you know it. You know I want you, I’ve proven it – besides, the box of Dunkin Donuts downstairs proves I’m not lying. Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way, but we both know how it’s going to end up - with my cock buried inside you and my name on your lips.”

“You’re such a dick,” she growled, her words a surrender. Titan’s lips were immediately on hers, his kiss rough and unbridled as her hands held him, the muscles in his arms flexing under her hands. His body was hard against the front of hers, the tile cold at her back, her body a maelstrom of sensations. Strong fingers gripped at her hip before trailing between her legs, testing her.

“You’re wet,” Titan said softly as he pressed one inside her, stretching her.

“We’re in the shower.” Poet felt him smile against her mouth as she groaned, his thumb firm against her clit.

“You’re the worst liar ever. This,” he said, circling her wetness, “is because of me. Tell me you want me inside you, Poet.”

She refused. No way would she utter those words. Instead, she shook her head, and he kissed her again, his tongue darting past her lips, mimicking the movement of his hand. Her own fingers trailed down, gripping his cock and tugging gently, but he tore his mouth from hers.

“No.”

With that, he stopped fingering her long enough to capture both of her wrists and held them in one hand over her head. Poet instinctively arched against his grip, testing him, moaning when she found no give. This was what she’d wanted with Braeden, proof that she could be overpowered, the excitement of being completely out of control for once. Titan growled his approval of her reaction, plunging fingers back inside her and kissing her.

Poet ground against his hand, desperate for more. It was an entirely new feeling, being restrained, even in the smallest way he was holding her. He was relentless, giving her no slack, and she knew what he wanted. Together they were locked in a battle of wills, regardless of their mutual desire. He wanted to fuck her, she wanted him to fuck her, yet he was holding back, waiting for her to admit it aloud.

Another moan escaped her as he added another finger, a sound he swallowed before biting her lip. She arched into his hand again, a silent demand as he pressed his cock against her leg, moving rhythmically against her.

“Damn it, I want you, okay? Now fuck me,” she demanded, tearing her mouth from his.

“Bout damn time, stubborn bitch.” With that, he released her hands and gripped her thighs, lifting her off the ground and plunging inside her with one swift movement. Titan’s name left her in a shout as she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on as he pressed her back against the wall.

“Jesus, Poet. My name screamed from your lips makes me want to nut,” he breathed, remaining unmoving inside her, his cock twitching. It was heady, to know she had an effect on him as well, to know that he struggled to keep his shit together. “Hold on, Princess. I’m going to fuck you hard and I’m going to fuck you fast.”

He was true to his word, holding her up as if she weighed nothing, thrusting as deep as he could go. Using the wall as leverage, he arched upward each time, creating friction on her clit and making her mumble incoherently. She was so wet, so turned on and wanting him, the sound of their bodies slapping together mixing with the endless noise of the shower. Even when the water ran cold on the Bishop’s back, he never faltered in his movements.

“Get it through your head, I’m never going to get enough of you,” he whispered, pulling back slightly so he could watch as he entered and withdrew from her. The sight was too much for Poet and she exploded around him, yelling his name as her nails found purchase on his shoulders, giving her an outlet for the overwhelming sensations coursing through her.

Titan followed, groaning as his body jerked and bucked, filling her. Even when he had nothing left, he remained where he was, not pulling out, instead wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her tightly against him. He buried his face in her chest, placing soft kisses on her breasts, their breathing syncing.

“The water is cold – we should get out,” she said softly, her voice hoarse as she spoke. He nodded but still didn’t release her.

After long moments, he finally let go, helping her stand on shaky legs and turning to shut the water off. He opened the door and waved her out first, following suit in grabbing a towel and beginning to dry off. As he turned, Poet noticed his back was bright red and reached out, pressing her palm against his skin – finding it freezing.

“Jesus, Titan! We could have gotten out of the cold water so you didn’t turn to ice.”

The large man merely smiled at her and shrugged. “Worth it.”

Poet found herself grinning back, laughing as he shook the water from his hair like a dog. In turn, he smacked her ass and she squealed, running from the room, only to have him chasing after her. He grabbed her at the last minute and they tumbled to the bed, her still wet from the shower and giggling. Titan kissed her tenderly and peered down at her.

“That’s gotta be my new favorite sound.”

She was saved from having to say something by her stomach roaring its protest of hunger. “Didn’t you say something about donuts?”

Chapter Ten
 

Judging by the amount of food on the kitchen bar, Titan either had no idea what she wanted to eat so he bought a variety, or he simply ate a lot. There were at least two dozen donuts, along with a bag of bagels and two tubs of cream cheese. He also brought ice coffees and orange juice.

Neither spoke as they chose from the selection – Poet choosing a powdered sugar-covered donut with chocolate frosting filling, and he taking one of the bagels. The energy between them was almost palpable, their knees almost touching as they perched on bar stools, despite their romp in the shower. It was just shy of uncomfortable, and was starting to interfere with her eating her favorite type of sugary goodness.

“So … tell me something no one knows about you.”

“I like green—”

“
Not
your favorite food or color or some other easy bullshit. Tell me something. Something real, that would give me some insight to you,” she interrupted, reaching over and snagging another donut from the box to avoid looking at him.

“Two-way street, babe. I tell you shit about me, you hafta do the same.”

Poet sighed, knowing he was going to say that. The problem was, though, that she hated the small talk crap. And she still wasn’t sold on the man beside her, despite the fact he hadn’t actually left when she thought he had, and that he was still around. He was still a man, a biker, who thought with his cock instead of his head. Still, he wasn’t making any move or giving any indication he wanted to leave – quite the opposite.

Glancing over, she couldn’t help but appreciate him once more. He was shirtless, wearing only his jeans. The button was unfastened, giving her a peepshow of his happy trail and lower, making it very obvious he was going commando. Her eyes trailed upward, taking in his pecs, his shoulders, to his lips, which pressed in a small smile.

It took her a moment to realize he was almost laughing at her, his eyes twinkling when their gazes met. After a moment, his eyebrows rose in question.

“Er?”

“I asked if we had a deal. But feel free to keep watching me that way, Princess. I’m always up for round two ... or three.”

Heat filled Poet’s face at having been caught ogling him, which immediately irked her. “Answer or don’t, you pompous asshole, I don’t care.”

“Why do you hate being attracted to me? And me calling you on it? We both know I think you’re fine as hell, and that pussy of yours gets me hard just thinking about it. Fuck, I don’t even have to think about you naked to get a hard on. Just the sound of your voice makes my cock twitch.”

“Yes, I’ll play the tit-for-tat game, Bishop.”

Amusement played on his face at her avoiding his question. He knew what she was doing, but she didn’t care. And, when shit made Poet uncomfortable, she avoided it. She was the queen of personal avoidance. It’s how she survived, how she quashed the girl-gene so far inside herself, she was more man than woman at her core. Sure, she certainly looked the part of female, but she could do everything a guy could, and most of the time do it better.

“I have a sister.”

Poet’s gaze snapped back to the man beside her. “The hell you do. Jesus, why are we even sitting here if you’re going to blow sunshine up my ass?”

Titan rubbed a hand over his forehead and blew out a breath before speaking again. “No, Poet, I have a sister. She’s twenty-six and her name is Cecili.”

“Wait, you’re serious? Don’t fucking lie to me, Bishop – I can’t stand liars.”

“Yep – you wanted something no one else knows, well there you have it.”

“But … how did I not know this?”

The large man shrugged. “You know what everyone else does too. I chose this life, leaving home when I was sixteen for the hope of a patch and an engine between my legs. What people don’t know is it wasn’t a ‘poor pitiful me’ move. I didn’t run away because my parents were so horrible or because I had it badly. My mom and dad are actually great people, both successful in their careers. Something else you don’t know? My mom is a counselor at the local high school where I grew up, my dad’s an orthopedic doctor.”

“So why
did
you leave? Why did you join the Bishops when you had other options in front of you? And how the hell does a ghostly sister play into this?” Poet asked, surprised he was giving her more information than just the answer to her question. In their world, dirt was equal to gold, and he was giving her more than fourteen karats.

“Honestly, I was bored as fuck. My parents were planning this future for me of joining the military and being ‘someone.’ That was pretty much the last thing I wanted, but every time I tried to tell them, my mom especially got this sad look on her face and I’d chicken out. ‘Ili was about nine, the apple of their eyes, the gifted artist. Finally I decided if I took off, they’d still have their prized kid, and I could do what the hell I wanted. Something
other
than having some douche yell at me and force me to fight for shit that’s none of my business.

“I’d always wanted to ride motorcycles, and loved the thought of being part of a club, so I packed up and left. Said bye to my sister and hopped a bus, never looking back. I found the Bishops, demanded they let me prospect, and most of its history. ‘Course, it took forever for me to get my patch, and then rise in ranks, but becoming Pres meant something to me. It meant I no longer had to have assholes in my face and could be the asshole instead. I was just lucky as fuck that Cross took me under his wing and got me the chance to become Pres at all. I’m not the oldest in the club, and I’m fairly young in BR’s history of leaders, but not a day goes by I regret my decision.”

“And you bring up your sister, why?” Poet asked, realizing she’d been leaning forward as she listened and quickly straightening, trying to blank her face so she didn’t sound so interested.

“She called last month. Planning on moving here and wants to patch, if you can believe that shit. Told her no way – that she could keep her ass comfortable at UCLA and get her masters, but she’s stubborn as hell.”

“So you are denying her access to the Bishops because she’s a chick. I wish I could say that surprised me, but it doesn’t. You all are a racist fucking lot … especially to women. We’re things to fuck, to occasionally warm your beds and time, but other than that what good are we?”

She didn’t want to admit it, but Titan’s words stung, though they shouldn’t. Poet knew nothing of this Cecili or what kind of girl she was, but his refusal irked her. She was proof gender wasn’t a deciding factor in strength and decisions. The fact she was the only club president ever, or only woman member she knew of period, should have made her understand. But it didn’t.

“Her being female is barely a thought in my head – one I could easily overlook. The problem is she’s this tiny, fragile, innocent little thing. We Skype, and here’s her big doe eyes, all but begging me for refuge and a place among my men, and all I can think about is I’d be throwing her to the goddamned wolves. How would I protect her? And worse, how many of my members would I have to bury because they put their fucking hands on her? And God, little ‘Ili with a gun, standing off to some motherfucker with a bigger gun, more experience under his belt, and a heart as cold as ice? May as well put me in the grave now.”

A chuckle escaped her before she could stop it. He looked so concerned, so distraught, like a father whose daughter just admitted to liking a boy. “She might surprise you, you know. We gentle women are more badass than you big he-men give us credit for.”

It was Titan’s turn to snort. “Gentle is not the first adjective I’d use to describe you, Poet. Tough as nails and an unflinching bitch would be the first. So beautiful it hurts would be a close second.”

“Got the first part right, for sure,” she answered him flippantly, standing. The Bishop grasped her arm before she could turn, and pulled her toward him so she was between his legs, her back to the bar.

“Horrible as hell at taking a compliment,” he murmured, ducking his head to steal a kiss. The same electricity that filled the air coursed through her and she returned the gesture and more, deepening the kiss. His hand tightened on her hip and chills ran up her spine before he pulled away.

“Your turn, babe,” he told her, resting his forehead on hers for a moment before straightening.

Poet groaned, grabbed her coffee, and turned, making her way into the living area and plopping onto the soft couch. Titan followed and dropped beside her, looking at her intently. She knew his question was coming, and it was going to be a big one, she could feel it. Learning what she had about him, about his sister, didn’t seem as interesting now that she was about to be put under the microscope.

“Why didn’t you leave this life, Poet?” he asked abruptly, his face shrouded in confusion and his words dripping curiosity. “I mean, I know you grew up in it, and saw a lot of shit. But why didn’t you do something else, something safe? Go to college or something.”

Instead of immediately answering, she let her eyes take in the room, the sand-colored walls and deep stain of wood accents. Closing her eyes, she could almost smell her father’s cologne, hear his booming voice echoing around her. At least Titan’s question was an easy one for her.

“It’s all I’ve ever known,” she started, her voice smaller than what was normal for her. Poet knew he would want to interrupt so she held up a hand before he could open his mouth. “Since the time I was a little girl, I spent my time at the clubhouse. Fury was the best dad, doting on his only child, his daughter, but it became clear pretty early on that he desperately wanted a son. And, being the only parent I had, I wanted him to be happy, so he would still love me. It sounds sort of stupid when I say it aloud, as if he would’ve stopped liking me because I was a girl or something, but shit doesn’t have to make sense. It just is.

“Above all that crap, I loved the life I saw. Never once was I kept in the dark about what was done – I knew even as a kid that some of the shit was bad. Guns were always out, drugs too, but it never bothered me. The men of the club adopted me as one of theirs, came to expect having me around, and were like uncles to me. As I grew up, I did things with them … from going to the gun range to riding on the back of one of their bikes and cruising. It was the closest to flying as I’d ever been.

“But, one night, when I was about twelve, a woman came beating on our gates. She was bleeding from what seemed like everywhere – her nose, her head, ears, mouth, just everywhere. Her husband had beat the fuck out of her, threatening to kill her and her daughter if she tried to leave. After her mother took her daughter, she ran to the closest place she could think of to find shelter … HR. My pop took her in, hunted down her husband, and helped her and her daughter get a place to live. It was that day, the day I realized I could not only take a life doing what they did, but also possibly save a life, I decided. Besides, the rumble of an engine is more music than any EP could be.”

The woman’s panic had scared her, leaving Poet with no clue how to help, but her dad, her dad knew exactly how to take control of the situation. He’d comforted the stranger, brought her a blanket and some coffee, calming her enough to talk to him. She’d been in awe of Fury that day, of all the HR brothers for their gentleness with someone who so clearly needed the helping hand at that moment. The Bishop beside her was quiet so long she glanced over to make sure he was even still there. She hadn’t realized she’d been staring at the floor as she spoke, getting lost in the memory.

“I hear what you said,” Titan said finally, his forehead scrunched. “But that still doesn’t answer the question. Instead of getting out of the life and doing something to help people, like you said you wanted to, you stayed in? Gun toting and growing hard against the world?”

“It doesn’t have to make sense to you. Clearly I know I do more bad than good, but it’s my life, my world. I don’t want another one. Sorry if that disappoints you, if I don’t have some great reason as to why I’m not a Jimmy Choo-wearing SoCal girl who’s only interested in shopping and charitable events.”

Silence filled the air, making it seem thick and harder to breathe. Poet hated that he had a point – if she’d really wanted to help people, why hadn’t she left, gone to school, and become a doctor or something? Simply put, because she didn’t want to. She loved her life, most of the time, and wouldn’t change any of it.

“And I’m not hard against the world,” she said almost bitterly, before standing and leaving the room. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she didn’t want to be trapped on the couch with him anymore. Titan was pushing more of her buttons than she knew how to deal with, short of kicking his ass to make the vulnerability go away. And while the thought was tempting, she doubted she’d feel any better afterward.