Filthy Daddy (Satan's Saints MC #2) Read online

  But don’t get very long to question his intentions. He returns and slams the door shut. The way his arm is behind his back, I know he has something hidden.

  Tate comes to me and stands between my legs. “I want you in that bed. On your hands and knees. Now.”

  I hear some sort of clinking metal. As I crawl into bed and get into position across the width of the mattress, I try to guess what it is from the sound. Even not knowing has me aroused. My clit is throbbing, my panties are soaked, my nipples are sensitive against my tank top, and every small sensation seems magnified from just anticipation.

  That and the crazy chemistry between us.

  He mutters something that I can’t hear and stands behind me. “If you know what’s good for you, doll, you’ll do exactly as I say. I’m not above making you scream for the whole clubhouse to hear. Don’t move from that spot until I’m done with you.”

  It’s heaven and hell rolled up into one, keeping myself in place while I let him have every bit of control over my body. He knows how much I enjoy this type of play. Except I’m out of my element, not knowing what toy he’s brought out while in a room I’ve never been in before. Given his mood. It’ll hurt. I hope it hurts.

  He slaps my ass with his open palm a few times. I feel the movement of air as he turns away from the bed. Glancing around, I look over at him.

  “I saw that,” he barks. “That’s strike one. Three strikes and you don’t get to cum at all tonight.”

  My ass cheek still burns from his spanking, which I know isn’t even close to full power. That sting from his palm against my ass causes me to angle my hips to find a comfortable position, but that won’t happen, not now that he wants me off center and uncomfortable.

  “Fuck, yes. It’s time to make you say it,” he says, sounding gleeful.

  Anticipation causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. I bite down on my bottom lip, curious as he makes me wait, listening attentively through the tense silence. Finally, the mattress lowers from the weight of his body as he presses his knees on either side of my legs. I swallow the hint of my fear as his hands graze over the sides of my waist. He grips the waistband of my pants and drags it down to my knees taking my panties with it. Cold air hits my skin and licks me in intimate places. I fight the urge to squirm beneath his heated gaze. He can see everything, including my obvious arousal.

  He parts my legs wide, hovering a violet wand a couple of feet from my head for me to see. I want to scream. I want to frantically resist the electric jolt he threatens to deliver on my sensitive flesh. And I also want to feel the sting of pain. God, how I want it, but it seems like Tate is all threat and no follow-through tonight. I open my mouth to beg him to please just do what we always do. I need our routine, but as I turn and meet his eyes, I know that won’t happen. It’s right there on his face. He has no plans to get into our usual play, and he probably won’t until this Jett scare is over. I’m mildly annoyed that he’s playing it safe. He’s soft and tame, using the threat of everything we’re used to doing without actually doing it.

  I’m beside myself with need, slick and longing for him, my skin blazing with heat and desire, my whole body awake and alive.

  “Please,” I beg as he moves the wand away without using it.

  “You’ll open your mouth for that, but not to tell me what I told you to say?” Tate tugs on the cord of the wand, nudging the prongs out of the electrical socket. He trails the powerless device along my skin, and I moan. There’s no pain, but I’m so desperate for his touch that my senses are heightened all over me. He uses the wand to circle the handprint on my right ass cheek from his spanking. I lower my torso to the bed and tilt my hips, raising my ass higher for more of his touch.

  “Say it,” he demands. “Say it if you want me to bury my cock into your tight, wet pussy and take you the way you like it. Or not. Your choice.”

  I whimper a sound, but I don’t say what he wants to hear. I shouldn’t resist. But it’s what we do. As I lie there with the comforter rubbing my sensitive nipples through my bra, I know I’m extending the inevitable, making every second total agony. There’s also the chance that he’ll stop altogether if we run out of time. I just can’t say it yet.

  His fingers slide along my lower back, drawing me away from my thoughts as they glide along my waistline. As they pass the hem at my stomach, he pulls me ass back. I feel his free, full, thick cock at my upper thigh. Tate lifts my tank top past my breasts, unhooks my bra, and cups each beast with rough hands that make my nipples harden to pebbles.

  He grinds his cock into my ass cheeks, trailing the tip along my seam in a slow, teasing motion, showing me what I wish he was doing deep inside me. I’m losing my mind, whimpering and writhing on the bed beneath him. The words are on my lips. I just can’t form the sound to get them out.

  Tate snatches a handful of my hair. “Tell me what I want to hear, or this goes away,” he taunts me, his hot breath tickling my neck. “Just. Two. Little. Words.”

  My body bows and bucks beneath him, silently screaming out for an orgasm. He teases one nipple, twisting it as his cock dips between my inner thighs, testing my resolve without giving me what I want. The sharp sting of almost-but-not-really-there contact takes me close to the edge. Close, but not close enough.

  “Please,” I whisper through the ache.

  Tate jerks my head back slightly, still holding a thick handful of my hair in his fist. “That sounds like strike two.”

  Dammit, I’m so close. One thrust of his cock into me will probably send me over the edge. Which the bastard knows already. Tate releases my hair and slaps my ass cheek again—harder than the last time. And again. And again. I’m beside myself and no longer know up from down. My need flares from the sweet, painful heat that has me gasping for air and so fucking close.

  “Say it…” his coaxing makes me groan. Still, no words come out of my lips. “I can make it worse for you. Maybe I’ll play with your clit and watch you writhe for me until you’re an inch from coming, then I’ll leave you hanging and drive you to work.”

  I want to tell him that will probably do the trick, sitting on the back of his bike with the vibrations thrumming through my core. I think better of it, and then stop thinking entirely when his hand slips from my breast and moves down, down, all the way to my swollen, slick clit. He runs hot, hard fingers up and down my folds, denying me of what I need.

  “What do you have to tell me, Moll?”

  “I’m yours,” I finally cry out desperately at the point where I’d say anything.

  “What?”

  “I’m yours,” I say more loudly, fighting for composure. “Please just fuck me now.”

  “That’s better. That’s my girl. Fierce and stubborn rebellious.”

  Grabbing my hips, he positions his cock at my folds and buries into me with the brutal, wicked force he knows that I love. I’m utterly lost in him. That bruising pace. The way he fills me almost to the point of stretching my core. The sound of his hips slapping against my ass. And the feel of him. God, that unmistakable feeling that no one else can give me. It’s total pleasure, wrapping around me, winding me up tighter, sending my desire to soaring heights.

  “You’re so fucking tight. So wet for me. I should punish you more for making me wait this long.” Tate pulls almost all the way out of me, then thrusts into me so rough and deep that it takes me over. An orgasm shoots through my core before I can take my next breath. It wrings all the air out from my lungs and steals all the strength from my muscles. I whimper into the comforter as he continues to pump into me, extending my mindless state and sending the waves of pleasure through me with every thrust. The tip of his cock hits my g-spot with every dip of his hips. Another orgasm builds in my center, and I call his name as he tenses up and empties his hot release deep inside of me.

  “You’re fucking mine,” he grinds out and the sound fills the room.

  “I am,” I agree with a breathy satisfied moan, and my inner walls clench tightly aro
und him.

  We come together, and the world shatters at our feet.

  Chapter 10

  Tate

  “Time to get up,” I tell Molly.

  That’s all I have to say. My throat is dry, my voice is hoarse, and I don’t want to leave this bed. But we have to. I’m not sure how much longer I can look at Molly without going hard as slate all over again. We don’t have time for round three right now, which can quickly turn into round four after the evening we’ve had. What I need to do is put my clothes back on, get my head back in the game and make sure I have my shit together before we leave this room.

  Clearing my throat, I pry my fingers from her hips and stand up. With a little fumbling, I manage to pull my jeans on, then I gather up Molly’s things and lay it on the side of the bed.

  “You have somewhere to be tonight.”

  “Yes. I need a quick shower,” she says, sitting up.

  “You good?” I ask without making eye contact.

  “I am. You’re all sorts of intense right now, Tate.”

  “That’s on you.”

  She sighs. “You’re the one who made me say…it.”

  “I’ll wait downstairs,” I tell her and head out the door in a hurry, even though she’s right.

  Fuck. My riding has taken a hit tonight. I use the oncoming lane to speed past a tractor-trailer. I’ve done this countless times before on the same stretch of highway. It’s second nature. But not today. I swerve too hard into the right lane to avoid an approaching car and almost wipe out. Molly’s arms tighten around my waist, the reminder that I have someone else to worry about, not just myself.

  I just hope she won’t raise what happened. Ever. This isn’t the first day I’ve wanted to claim her. I’ve gotten close before, never this far. And what’s worse is the way her coerced admission tightened up my chest and squeezed all the air out of my lungs.

  The devil made me do it.

  Yeah, I guess that can work if I’m ever cornered.

  I was acting on instinct.

  But that won’t stop what’s going on in my chest, the proof that I want more, even though people like me aren’t meant to go down this road.

  God, the universe, multi-generational karma, bad luck, whatever people want to call it, didn’t think I deserved to be raised with love like a normal kid. I barely remember my mother before she died. I don’t even have a picture of her face. That sort of shit fucks with a person’s head. After she passed, I didn’t get sloppy seconds with the foster family that the state put me to live with. Or the next foster home. Or the next. So how am I supposed to do a one-eighty and believe love belongs in my life when it was never there?

  But keeping Molly distracted with freaky sex won’t work forever.

  My guess is she’ll eventually figure it out and bail fast.

  Hopefully before my gut falls in line with my brain. If that happens, it’s only a matter of time before I run in the other fucking direction, as far away from these complicated feelings as possible.

  I make it to North Las Vegas off-ramp to her job before long. Slowing down, I grip the handlebars and steer off the highway. I park behind the converted warehouse soon afterward, and Molly climbs off and heads toward the entrance. If I can calm the fuck down, the simple plan to get the fuck away and fast wouldn’t be the only thought on my mind. Shoving my keys into my front pocket, I follow her inside. This is still a paid gig. Her safety is my responsibility.

  The woman I can’t get enough of isn’t getting messed with on my watch.

  “You think we’ll have a problem with Jett in there?” Molly asks as we wait to be let in the employee entrance. She trails her fingers down my leather cut near the middle of my back.

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” I answer. Then I blurt out, “I know you think you’re tough as nails, but I’m surprised you choose to work here with all that education under your belt.”

  “You want to go there? I can still kick your ass.” She raises her fists and gets into a boxing stance. “Bring it.”

  “We’ve sparred before, Moll. I know what you’re bringing to the table. I don’t need a recap.”

  Molly continues to bounce on the balls of her feet. Her eyes narrow. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  I cock my head to one side. “Talk to me after I get you out of that place without an incident with your ex.”

  “Chicken shit,” she shouts, daring me.

  I’m not falling for it. “Look, you patch up the bitches, and I’ll do my job and protect your ass from a fucking psycho. Besides, it’s not easy sparring with you when I have a boner the size of Texas.”

  “Yeah, right,” she teases, turning her gaze downward to check.

  “Don’t fucking tempt me or I’ll take you right up against this wall.”

  That quiets her down. When the staff entrance bouncer finally shows up, I cradle her elbow and guide her into the warehouse.

  She points out a room with a first aid sign on the door. “This is where I’ll be between fights.”

  “Okay.”

  She takes out a small over the shoulder first aid kit from her medical bag and leaves everything else in the room. “Let’s go. I’m supposed to be ringside in five.”

  In the main fighting area, Molly goes over to the organizer, a five foot nothing shady-looking sleazebag of a guy. I take a quick look around. Beyond the fluorescent lights of the ring, the place is dark, dirty, dingy and outdated. A loud as fuck shithole filled with men and women, screaming and shouting although no one is fighting in the ring yet. I cough from the scent of stale cigarette smoke hanging in the air. And something’s burning in frying oil. The idea that they might serve food in a dump like this screws with my iron stomach.

  A slight headache presses against my temples. With four exits and a crowd too large for the space, it’ll be near impossible to manage all the risks. The only way for me to keep an eye on her is by staying at her side the entire time. Which means I have to be ready if anyone tries to approach us from behind.

  It’s chaos.

  There are definitely some bikers in the crowd too. I see patches belonging to Satan’s Saints, Los Diablos, and a few Mongols around. On a regular day I’d eat this up for breakfast and ask for seconds, but as a bodyguard, shit just got a fuck ton harder. Everywhere I look, there are spots and nooks for someone like Jett to hide in plain sight, which is no help at all.

  A match starts as I catch sight of Molly standing ringside, so I head over to her through the dense crowd. Her eyes are glued to the fight already going down.

  “Can you do your nursing stuff in the first aid room tonight?” I shout across to her, but it’s not near loud enough. I get closer, close enough to smell the fruity body wash she showered with, and ask her again.

  “Can’t,” she answers, shrugging me off without a second thought or backward glance, and shoves off the throng of people crowding the ring. Her makeshift nurse’s station is a spot on the bench filled with female fighters waiting for their turn in the ring. I knew this job wasn’t going to be a cake walk, but for all I know, this Jett motherfucker could be a few feet away, watching and waiting for an opening. Knowing that’s a possibility, I stand directly behind her, dwarfing her tiny frame. When she senses me there, she leans back into me pressing up against me from her hips to her shoulders like the temptress that she is.

  Then she turns and glares up at me. “Can you focus when I’m doing that? Because I can’t do my job either, if you’re on my like white on bread.”

  “I’ll have to make do,” I tell her frankly. “The place is packed, and your stalker friend can make an appearance anytime, if he isn’t already right under our noses. You get to stick to my hip until I tell you to do otherwise, got it?”

  Molly rolls her eyes. “I have a job to do.”

  “Same here.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Tate,” she shouts. “I still have to work here. You can watch my back from six feet away…as in get the hell over there and give me some breathing r
oom.”

  I’m not about to leave her on her own, but the organizer waves her over to the cordoned off section beside the steps leading up to the ring. One of the women from the first fight is hit so hard in the face, she’s cut above her eye and is bleeding everywhere. The blood covers half her face. When it starts to look like the bleeding won’t stop, the referee calls the game in the other fighter’s favor.

  Another bell goes off in the ring, signaling another fight as Molly pulls supplies from her over the shoulder bag. She works with clear expertise and confidence as she swabs and dabs and cleans up the female boxer covered in blood. She crouches down and speaks to the woman as she works. From where I’m standing, I can’t make out their conversation, but my guess is she has a protocol for verbally assessing possible concussions. It’s clear to me that Molly knows what she’s doing.

  After a few fights, someone taps me on the shoulder. My gaze flicks back. I’m not interested in having anyone take my focus off of my job.

  “What’s up?” I ask without looking around, but glance down when the persons’ fingers trail around my upper arm. A petite, red-headed ring bunny looks up at me, wearing next to nothing in a bare it all bikini.

  “Hi,” she says to me.

  “You need something?”

  She blinks up at me. Her bright smile wavers. “You don’t remember me?”

  I look closely. “Sorry I can’t say that I do.”

  “We did that session at the Sobrevivir Club about a year ago?” She raises her hands over her head and touches her wrists together. “Remember the red ribbons?”

  I vaguely remember, but does she really expect me to remember her from a year back? I used to pay regular visit to that sex club. Maybe I did a bit of bondage play with this redhead but that was ages ago, a long time before Molly and I started hooking up.

  I scratch my head. “Oh, okay. Nice seeing you.”