The Death Lords, Volumes 1-3: His Wild Desire, Her Secret Pleasure, Their Private Need (4 page)

I want to possess her. I want her to admit that this pussy is mine. I ask her a question I have no business asking. One she’s already answered but I need some goddamn reassurance.

I pause, just the tip inside her. “You had anyone since me?”

“No.” Her answer is terse and she tries to bear down but I’m the one holding her and I pull my cock out.

“Fuck you, Grant.” She punches my shoulder.

“Why not?” I’m not putting my dick inside her until she says what I want to hear. I’m being a manipulative jealous bastard, but I can’t stop myself.

“You know why.” She wiggles, rubbing her pussy lips along my rigid length.

“
Fucccck,
” I hiss. “I want to hear the words.”

“Because, dammit,” she pants, “no one does it for me but you.”

“You’re a twisted fuck but you’re my twisted fuck. Only mine.” I growl, squeezing her plump ass cheek.

“I hear you. Your mouth is right by my ear,” she snarks.

I shove inside of her in one forceful thrust. She has no more smart ass comments. Her head falls back and she screams out. Her trigger has always been sensitive and this time is no different. She goes off like a rocket, her walls milking my cock and making me crazy. I reach between us and pinch the base so I don’t blow too. I want to last more than two seconds long.

“I’m not using a condom. It’s been three years and you were my last. You on the pill?”

She rolls her hips and I gasp. My knees give out and I tumble her backward onto the bed.

“Why would I be?” It’s a half snarl, half moan.

“Right fucking answer.” The new position allows me better leverage. I jack into her with ferocity. I wish I could go slower, draw it out longer. Next time. It’s a drumbeat. Next time. Next time. Next—

“You better pull out,” she warns.

“Think me jerking all over your creamy tits is a hardship? Thing again.”

She is tightening around me. Her thighs are viselike around my hips and her fingernails carve deep caverns into my shoulders. My blood is pounding so loud in my ears I can barely make out her words. Pull out? I’m never leaving her. I thrust against her, moving higher so I can increase the friction on her clit. She arches and rubs against me. My mind is gone. I’m pure emotion and instinct.

I claim her mouth with mine, fucking her with tongue and cock. But as we mate like wild things, I know that my ownership of her is a mirage. She owns me—head, heart, soul. It’s only in her body that I find satisfaction; in her arms I find peace.

Under me, she tenses. Back arched, neck bared, she opens her mouth and releases a wail of pleasure as her orgasm overtakes her. My cock is gripped and released and soon my own release is upon me. With anguish, I pull out and grab my wet, angry cock. I place a hand right beside her head and she turns to suck on my wrist. Stroking myself in rough jerks, I jet over the rounded curve of her stomach, between the valley of her lush tits and on her hardened nipples.

“Fucking beautiful,” I murmur. The sprayed come beckons me and I place my hand in the milky substance and begin to spread it around.

Her lazy eyes flicker up slowly. “Really?” she says but there’s no heat there. She’s too replete. The kitten has drunk her milk and is all sated.

“Yeah, really.” I grin at her. I’m not tired and I’m not sated either. I’ve had three years to rest up for this night.

I pull the belt from the end of the bed. “You okay with me tying you up?”

“Since when are you into that?” she asks, pushing up on her elbows.

I pause to admire how her pose thrusts her tits up toward my mouth. Bending over to caress one and then the other with my tongue, I say, “I’ve spent almost a thousand nights thinking of things I want to do to you. This is only the start.”

I abandon the belt so I can torment her nipples. We learned early on that she likes a rough touch around the tits. A guy in the joint told me bigger titties need a firmer touch. I give one a sharp pinch and she yelps but I’m rewarded with a moan when I repeat the action. The other nipple gets a treatment from my teeth. I play with her breasts until she’s once against restless and writhing beneath me. I slide inside her and this time there’s no resistance, only welcome.

“Again?” she gasps.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever
not
be hard,” I admit. “You. The separation. Did I mention you? It’s too much for my poor dick.”

She releases a breathless laugh and then we both shut up, too caught up in the sensations our bodies are generating.

Later, after she’s completely worn out, I let her rest. She curls on her side while I lie on my back. One arm is folded under my head while the other is tucked under her neck and around her shoulder. Her thigh is hitched up over my leg. We’re together just how I like it.

“Can I tie you up next?”

I open my mouth to tell her sure and then the image of being restrained sends a nonsexual shiver down my spine. “No, I don’t think so. It’d remind me too much of incarceration.”

She runs her palm over my chest. “Sorry, babe. Wasn’t thinking there.”

I shrug. I don’t want to talk about it. “What about you? Are there some hard limits I should know about?”

“No public sex,” she answers immediately. “I’ve seen what goes on in the clubhouse and I don’t want any part of that. I don’t want any of those guys to be looking at my ass or my breasts—particularly not Judge. And I’m not having sex with anyone else. That is not my thing.”

Laughter rumbles in my chest. “You got any more? Your list is pretty specific.”

Silence ensues as she ponders my question. Finally she shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’d like pain but I’ve never tried it. And sometimes I think getting a swat on the ass might be a little sexy. Maybe the whole asphyxiation thing, only I wouldn’t want you to kill me mostly because I know you’d be fucked up for life after that.”

“No pain and no killing during sex. I think I can live with those.” She can’t see my face because her head is on my shoulder so I allow my grin to stretch across my face. We’re going to have a lot of fun. “You got off watching Tommy and Jaycee at the bonfire that night.”

“So? Some girls get off on performing. I like being a spectator.”

“Fair enough. Plenty of action for you to see at the club. We can sit in a dark corner and you can rub your sweet ass all over my dick as you get horny as fuck.”

“Fine,” she mutters and buries her face in my muscle. We lay in peaceful closeness for a while.

She breaks the silence in a soft voice with a hint of hurt in it. “Why didn’t you let me come and see you those last six months, Grant?”

I shift restlessly. During the first two years I was in the pen, Chels and Dad visited me once a week. When my lawyer told me I’d be up for parole in my third year, I told Dad I didn’t want Chels coming up anymore. She didn’t believe him and I had to ask her across the plexiglass barrier to please stay home. Her look of anger and hurt was the last one I saw before I got out.

“Seeing you in those later months was a mind fuck,” I admit. “Parole was coming up and I didn’t want to get my hopes up. It was getting too hard—innuendo intended—seeing you and not touching you. Every time you showed up, you looked better and better. You sure ripened into a hot-ass peach.” I reach down and squeeze a plump ass cheek. And then because my hand is there, I dip it between her legs to stroke her pussy lips.

“How can you still have a raging boner? You ejaculated enough sperm to repopulate China.” She shifts her leg and traps my hardening cock under her thigh. Even that pressure sends a rush down my spine. “I swear, if you rub more come into my stomach, I’m going to get impregnated that way.”

“Three years is a long, lonely time. Come over here and put your mouth on my dick,” I respond.

She sits up and sighs like it’s a huge hardship but doesn’t hesitate to wrap her lips around my erection. I curl up, grab her ass and swing her around so that her cunt is at my mouth. She yelps in surprise and bats out an ineffectual hand. Ignoring her, I start tonguing the shit out of her swollen pussy.

“I can’t concentrate,” she says with a mouthful of dick.

“Better try or you won’t get my tongue on you.”

She reapplies herself. I want to come inside her so bad. I’m tired of pulling out. I—

Fuck! I pull away from her and sit upright.

“What is it?”

I burst out of her bed and stomp down to Dad’s room. Ripping open his nightstand I see a box of condoms and I pull out a sleeve. I practically skip back to Chels’s room. “You’re in trouble now,” I say and waggle the strip in front of her.

“Where’d you get those?” she asks, looking very suspicious.

“Dad’s nightstand.” I tear one off and toss the others on Chels’s nightstand.

She gasps in horror. “Put those back. He’ll know something is up.”

“Yeah. My dick.”

At her continued look of unhappiness, I sigh. “He’ll know I had sex. He won’t know with who.”

•••

I lie there in a sex stupor after our fourth round. The room reeks of our play. When I get up, I’ll open the windows but I ain’t getting up until the very last moment. I sleep fitfully because that’s what I learned in prison. There’s no real opportunity for true rest. At night, there is a constant barrage of noise even though we’re supposed to be quiet. There’s someone moving in the cell next to you. There’s your cellmate jacking off below you. There’s the prison guards walking through the halls. Then come the random inspections when you gotta strip down and bend over to show that no, you did not secrete a fork up your ass during mealtime.

Chels is as wired as I am because she can’t sleep either.

“Anybody at the party tonight?” she asks.

She means women. I tell her because word will get out and it’s better she hears it from me. “Sara Ellerby.”

“Seriously?” She sits up, the sheet clutched to her chest in some weird show of modesty. I’ve fucked her four times tonight, once between her tits, and she’s covering them up? I tug on the sheet. She glares at me but releases the cotton. Rolling over on my side, I start playing with her boobs. I love these babies. Best round things in the universe.

“I didn’t invite her.”

“Was it Judge?” I didn’t answer. She fists her hands. “It was Judge. I should kill him.”

Her anger sets me off too.

“Why? It’s not like you want to be seen with me.” I get up and grab my jeans and T-shirt. Buck ass naked I stomp into the kitchen and pull the milk carton out of the fridge. With a look, I dare her to protest as I crack it open and drink directly from the mouth of the carton. Her face screws up but she doesn’t say anything.

I drain it completely and toss the empty container in the trash. Without another word, I disappear into the basement. I regret my actions before I reach the door but I’m too full of pride to turn around.

I throw my clothes in the corner and lie down on the brand new mattress Dad and Chels bought for me. It’s a king size and there’s plenty of room for another body.

I hate that Chels wants to hide what we have because I want to be able to kiss her in public or throw my arm around her waist or have her ride bitch without anyone questioning us. But I also don’t want to fight with her two days after getting out. That’s not how I envisioned my homecoming. By the time I’m done arguing with myself and I’m ready to go upstairs and apologize, I hear her light footsteps on the stairs.

My ears follow her path across the concrete floor to my door.

“I hate Sara because she’s a skinny beautiful bitch with a big rack. Skinny girls should have tiny racks and leave the big tits to us big girls,” she says, leaning against the doorframe. She’s donned my white tank again. Seeing her in my clothes makes my dick rise to half mast.

“Sara doesn’t hold a candle to you.”

“Would you have been faithful if I was gone three years?”

“Of course,” I answer immediately.

“There’s no ‘of course’ about it. You screwed a dozen girls right next door to me.”

“Can’t help it my bedroom was next to yours. I wanted to sleep downstairs.”

“You would’ve been on some girl two weeks after I got sent away.”

That accusation pisses me off. “Are you fucking kidding me? Yeah, I fucked a lot of girls because I was young, stupid and led by my dick. I wanted you and I couldn’t have you so I fucked other girls. I’m sorry about being an immature asshole but I never looked at another girl once I had you, now did I?”

“No,” she says meekly after I’m done with my tirade.

My semi is now a full from talking about fucking. “Come here.” I gesture for her to step closer to the bed. “I’m hard. I want you to ride me.”

She stops when her legs touch the mattress. When I reach between her legs, her cunt is soaked. “Climb on.”

“Facing you or cowgirl style?”

I flip on the bedside lamp and move into a sitting position with my back against the black leather headboard. In another move, I have the condom on. “Cowgirl.”

She climbs on, flinging one leg over my thighs. With a hand on either side of her hips, I guide her to my cock. We release simultaneous groans as she slides down. This time it’s slow going because she’s swollen and I’m finally to the point where I’m not set off by a whiff of action. I smooth my palms over her round ass, watching as my cock disappears inside her body. I run a hand up the valley of her spine, into her hair and pull her head back for a hard kiss.

“I’d’ve waited,” I tell her as we break for air.

“I know.”

Chelsea

“Some of the old ladies are going to come by the Cut-n-Curl to get some petty cash from you,” Judge says as we’re eating breakfast the next morning.

The eggs look a tad on the crispy side around the edges. I blame this on Grant. Not only had he kept me up until all hours of the night but he was grim and snotty to me when he woke up.

“You burned the bacon,” he gripes as he shoves a dark piece in his mouth. I have this overwhelming urge to shove his face into the pan of eggs.

Judge frowns. “Bacon’s fine.”

It’s not fine. Nothing is fine. Grant is simmering like a powder keg whose fuse is two inches away from igniting. I’ve held him off from going public for a week and during every furtive moment we’ve attacked each other, but Grant’s tired of hiding. He’s mad every time I creep out of his room and this morning was no different.

“Am I going to have enough in the petty cash?” I ask Judge, trying to divert his attention from Grant.

“How much you got?”

I shrug. “A bit.”

“How much is a bit? And don't pretend you don't know the exact amount down to the penny.” Judge shakes his finger at me.

Reluctantly I tell him. “$2,449.51.” It's not as if I view the money as mine. Truth is that the money belongs to the club and I sit on it because if I don't, everyone is asking for a petty cash loan. Fifty dollars here for a tailpipe or a hundred dollars for a bar tab or forty dollars for a full set of acrylics and soon there isn't anything left.

Judge nods. “The club will cover the, ah, entertainment expenses.”

He means strippers and beer.

“Then what do the old ladies need with the petty cash fund? Food? What about potluck?”

Judge shrugs. “Helen asked if there'd be money for decorations and shit. I said you'd clear it.”

Helen is one of the patch’s old ladies.

“If there's party hats, I'm shoving them up Bang Bang's pucker,” Grant says and we share a smirk. Hats? Like we’re five and Grant’s celebrating his birthday? He got out of prison for crying out loud.

“And we don't need a pin the tail on the donkey game because we got darts and Grant's ass right here,” I snark.

“I know something you can stick in my ass,” he says with a wink and I freeze at the sexual connotation. My gaze darts to Judge who has his face buried in his food again. Grant sobers up quick too but not for the same reason. He’s humorless because he views this as another example of why it's stupid to hide. We're going to screw up. What's the alternative though? Not being with each other? That'd be like cutting my arm off. I couldn't do it but I don’t want to tell Judge either.

His dad raises his head in the ensuing silence and assesses Grant's dark face and my pinched one. “Sara Ellerby stopped by the shop the other day. She brought her little Honda in saying it sounded funny. Maybe you could look at it today?” he suggests.

“Sure, Dad.” Grant stares at me knowing that I don't want him working on anything belonging to Sara, even her car.

“Bet you a five large there's not a thing wrong with her car. She's using it as an excuse to see Grant.”

“Don't know why she'd need an excuse,” Judge says, pushing away from the table. “Two of you looked pretty cozy at the granary the other night.”

My eyes grow wide and I swear my nostrils are flaring. “You what?”

“You got a problem with that,” Grant says throwing his arms out in challenge. “Sara and I go way back.”

If Grant hadn't been fucking me every breathing moment, I'd be enraged—fist forming, steel boot in the kneecap enraged. As it is I'm pissed because I can totally picture the scene at the granary. Strippers and hangers-on everywhere. Orgies on every surface and Sara Ellerby bent over the sofa in her tiny shorts, looking at Grant with fuck-me eyes. And I don't even have the right to protest because I'm the one who wants to keep my
thing
with Grant a secret. Biting my tongue so hard I fear I’m bleeding, I pick up the plates and start banging them together and carrying them to the sink.

“Didn’t know you had a problem with Sara Ellerby,” Judge comments thoughtfully. “Didn’t the two of you go to school together? Thought you were friendly.”

I’ve never been friendly with that top-heavy Barbie doll, not because she isn’t nice—she is—but because she’s been with Grant. I’m green with jealousy, pure and simple. I shrug. “She’s not my type.”

“Didn’t know you were interested in her as
your type
,” Grant mocks, bringing over the rest of the breakfast dishes. I throw the water on and pretend both of them are already gone.

Judge comes over and presses a kiss in my hair. “It’s too early for us to be teasing you, isn’t it Chelsea?” I nod but don’t turn around, afraid the compassion and fatherly warmth he’s always shown will cause me to spring a leak in my eye. “You’re a good girl. Don’t know how we got along without you.” He squeezes my shoulder. “See you at the shop in a few?” he directs to Grant.

“Yup, I’ll be over in ten minutes. Got to make a call to my parole officer this morning.”

“Take your time.”

I refuse to face Grant even when he presses against me. “Who do you want to punch out more? Sara or me?” he breathes into my hair.

“Why do I have to choose? I got two fists.”

“You know I'm not cheating on you.”

“I know.” As quickly as the anger arrives, it leaves like water down the drain. Exhausted by my mini emotional breakdown and the lack of sleep, I lean into the dishpan. “I want to tell Judge, but I’m afraid. What if he stops talking to me because he's disgusted or what if your position in the club is put in jeopardy?”

“I don't care about the club,” he says, but his words lack sincerity.

He does care about the club and he should. It's been a part of his life for a long time. His mouth moves against my neck and down the side to my shoulder. Behind me I hear the unzipping of his jeans and then the cool air on my ass as he pulls down my knit pants. He kicks the side of my foot, widening my stance and then bends at the knees. His smooth cock is slid inside me in one swift movement.

“Sweetness, you have to go on the pill,” he groans into my hair. “I can't take this condom shit much longer.”

I gasp as he thrusts inside me again. My hands skid along the bottom of the wet sink. Grant grabs me around the waist with one strong arm and stabilizes me. Outside the kitchen window I see our neighbor Karen watering the low bushes that line her drive. If she looks over here… Grant reaches around the front and presses against my clit and I stop thinking about who’s watching and what's right and wrong. I grip his wrist in one hand and hang onto the sink edge with the other while he pounds and grunts, plucks and circles until I'm out of my mind. He follows close behind, pulling out at the last minute and spending all over my back.

“I can't say that I mind marking you with my spunk,” he says. He spins me around, out of sight from the window and neighborly Karen and crushes me to his mouth. We tangle like that for a few minutes, getting hot and bothered again. Somehow I find the energy to push him away.

“You better get up to the shop,” I pant.

“Yeah.” He reluctantly hitches up his jeans. “Love you, Chels,” he says as he kisses me goodbye.

I stand there with my pants around my knees for a long while trying to figure out what to do.

•••

At around noon at the Cut-n-Curl, Danilo Peterson, Bang Bang's old lady, comes in for a fill and a request for petty cash.

“Must be good to have your brother back,” she says, settling into the chair opposite me.

I wish I could pretend like I didn’t speak English but Danilo was Korean so that probably wouldn’t work anyway. Not to mention it would be insulting to her.

Danilo comes in regularly so this won’t take long. I put on the mask so I don’t have to talk and I start my drill. She talks as I sand, prime and apply the fill.

“What’s Wrecker like to eat these days? He’s been gone so long I barely remember him. Bet Judge enjoys having both you kids at home.”

I can’t be mad at Danilo. She isn’t saying anything the previous customers haven’t already asked in various incarnations of
how’s your brother
all morning. I’d started off correcting them and saying Grant was my stepbrother but half of them didn’t know who
Grant
was given that they were associated with the club and folks are only known by their road names.

The other half seemed to forget or not care that he was my stepbrother and gave me a look like I shouldn’t use those petty distinctions either.

But those distinctions mean a lot to me, not because I don’t love Grant enough but because I love him too much and in the wrong way for him to be a
brother
to me.

“Heard Sara Ellerby is interested in being his welcome home companion,” Danilo says. My hand jerks and takes off a little skin. “Ouch. Careful there.” She gives me a look of well deserved reprimand.

“Sorry,” I mumble behind the mask.

“Judge must think she’d be a good fit for Wrecker given he brought her over to the granary last week. I think she’s desperate to get into the club given her brother’s constant fuck ups.”

Sean Ellerby, Sara’s twin, enjoyed sticking far too many things up his nose but as much as Sara’s situation is a sad one, I can’t keep hearing about her without my head blowing off.

“You coming to the homecoming party?” I ask, in an attempt to get Danilo off the subject. She and Bang Bang have a rocky relationship. I never know when it’s on or off.

“You inviting me?”

Apparently they are off.

“Sure, but bring your noodle dish. It’s pot luck.”

She laughs, her hand jiggling a bit. “You are so tight with the club’s money, Chelsea. Helen told me she’d been instructed to get food money from the petty cash.”

“There’s no reason to put out money for food. Everyone brings something which means we get good dishes and a lot of variety. I’m making the bacon wrapped weenies.”

“Is that what Wrecker wants?”

“Shit, that boy would eat a cow if it was put in front of him,” says Macy, the manager of the Cut-n-Curl. She doesn’t own the place, the club does. Rumor is that Judge bought it for his first wife—Wrecker’s mom who died of breast cancer when he was four—and that it reverted to the club when she passed. I never ask about Julie because it’s still painful for both of them. “Your brother called, wanted to know if you’d be done soon. Said he tried your cell phone but you weren’t answering.”

“I’ll call him when I’m done,” I say sourly.

Fortunately, Danilo and I spend the rest of our time talking about our favorite potluck dishes instead of Wrecker, the Ellerbys or Bang Bang. When she’s done, I step out the back and call Grant.

“Chelsea, you busy today?”

I wrap my arms around me to quell the shiver. It’s so good being able to pick up the phone and talk to him after all this time.

“Some. Got done doing Danilo’s fill. Apparently she and Bang Bang are off.”

“Yeah, I heard that too.”

That means he saw something at the party because Judge doesn’t like people talking about club activities outside the club and Grant hews pretty close to Judge’s preferences.

“Anyway, we done gossiping about Danilo and Bang Bang?” he says.

“Depends on what you called me about.”

“Dad wants me to run up to Ortonville and see a guy about some old Corvette parts. Thought you might want to come along. We could camp near Big Stone Lake and spend the night. Just the two of us.”

The next shiver I couldn’t suppress. Grant and I away from the club, his dad and the town? We could fuck and
sleep
and wake up together?

“When you picking me up?”

His low laugh curls around my belly and makes my muscles tighten—all of them. “Let’s meet at the house in an hour and we can take off as soon as we’re packed.”

I do one more set of nails that could not harden fast enough for me and run out of the salon as if it’s on fire.

At home, I grab my backpack and throw in a pair of panties, jeans, knit tank, and my skimpiest swimsuit that happens to be three tiny pieces of white fabric held together by string and gold rings. I bought it at the Mall of America on my sixteenth birthday. Grant wanted to have it burned and Judge wasn’t much of a fan either but it was my money and neither of them dared to tell me to put it back.

I ended up buying another one at Walmart in black—with a little more fabric— to get them to stop whining about it. I kept the white bikini and would wear it with girlfriends from time to time, mostly to rile up Grant more than anything. It’s the perfect item for our getaway.

A few toiletries and my toothbrush round out my overnight kit. I run downstairs and pack a few things for Grant. When I reach the top of the stairs, I hear the throaty growl of Grant’s bike as it roars down the street and up the driveway. I meet him in the garage and throw myself at him almost before he’s off the bike. Instead of pulling me against him though he sets me aside.

“Grouch is coming,” he murmurs, adjusts himself and then moves toward the back where the camping supplies are kept.

Grouch is the club treasurer. He arrives not a minute later. Climbing off his low rider, he holds open his arms. “Where’s my big hug, girl? You only give those out to your brother?”

I scamper forward into his arms and then dance away. “You been gone to prison for three years? I must’ve been sleeping that entire time because I swear we had barbecue at Rowdy’s a few weeks ago.”

My voice is shaky because of my near miss. If Grant hadn’t acted quickly, I’d have been climbing him like a tree and exploring the inside of his mouth with more dedication than a dentist. That would’ve been hard to explain to Grouch.

“Your dad wanted me to pick up the books for the Cut-n-Curl.”

“Sure. They’re inside on the kitchen table.” I follow Grouch in. “Is something wrong? Macy wouldn’t take money from the club.”

“Nothing’s wrong, darling,” Grouch says and pinches my chin like I’m a child. “Just reconciling everything. We need to make sure our tax estimates are on track. Don’t want the IRS after us. They brought down Capone.”