Poet (6 page)

The stairs were a nightmare, and Poet had the sudden urge to demolish the entire house to avoid moving down them. But, already halfway through, she powered on, sighing when she got to the landing. Her first destination was the kitchen – the freezer to be exact. She extracted the box of jelly-filled pastries as well as a bottle of Grey Goose.

Popping two toaster strudels into the toaster, she put the icing packet on the machine so it would melt some, and set to making a cup of coffee. Idly, she swigged from the vodka bottle as the Keurig spit and finally produced her liquid caffeine. Taking the mug, she set it on the bar, along with the alcohol, and finished making her breakfast. Just as she sat down to eat, loud footsteps alerted her to Titan’s arrival.

“Should have known you’d make a five-star breakfast.”

“Should have known you took longer than a sweetie to shower,” she shot back, not turning to look at him.

He came around the counter, still shirtless, mirroring her with a towel wrapped around his head. His muscles looked even better in the bright light of her kitchen, the illumination from the skylights making him seem unreal. She shook her head as she realized she’d been staring and he’d clearly asked a question. In answer she raised an eyebrow.

“Breakfast? Coffee? Stare at me later, woman, I’m hungry.”

“Ugh. Breakfast is in the freezer, k-cups in the drawer,” she pointed, taking another bite of her pastry.

“Vodka on the counter?” he asked, his own eyebrow up at her in question as he started the coffee maker.

“Better than Vicodin.” Poet regretted the honesty the minute she’d said it, almost backpedaling but deciding against it. The man had seen more of her body than she’d ever wanted him to, knew the damage that had been done the night before. Who cared at this point if he knew she was having a five-year-old’s breakfast with a side of adult. She hurt, damn it.

Still, she waited for the Bishop to spout off a snide comment, to tell her she was a little bitch who had no right to hang with the “big boys.” She’d heard it a million times, could repeat the script word for word to anyone who wanted to hear it. But when it didn’t come, she looked up from the black coffee she’d been pretending to observe, coming face to face with his honey eyes.

“You’re a tough fucking bitch, Poet. Seen bigger men than you whining like pansies on the couch when they’ve taken a beating.”

“Men are pussies,” she answered flippantly, not knowing what else to say for the small kindness he was paying her. What she also couldn’t figure out is if he was being for real or just trying to get back in her pants.

Needing something to do, she stood and made her way to where she’d left her holster the night before and shrugged the rig on. The instant the leather fell into place, she felt sturdier, less off balance from the bizarre shitfest her life had turned into. Now all she needed was to find her phone and check in with Shakespeare.

Murmuring a quick, “I’ll be right back,” Poet made her way out to the garage, letting her fingers caress the leather of her father’s bike before reaching her own. She refused to let herself think about Fury and what his reaction would’ve been to know a Bishop was in her house, had been in her bed, and almost in her pants. Instead she rummaged in her saddle bag for her iPhone, finding it dead, and made her way back to the kitchen.

For a second, she was dumbstruck, unable to move her feet as she took in the scene in front of her. There, at her stove, was Titan, cooking. More so, it looked like he’d helped himself to her eggs and the rest of the ham she’d had in the drawer. His head was nodding to music she couldn’t hear as he stirred the mixture in the pan.

“Want some?” he asked, not turning to face her, and she nodded. Immediately she realized he couldn’t see it and spoke.

“Doesn’t come with a side of poison, does it?”
Why couldn’t you have just said yes, please, like a normal person, Poet?
she chastised herself to no avail – she was who she was.

“Nah. Not today.”

“Um, sure. Okay. Thanks,” she said finally, taking her position at the bar once again and plugging the phone charger into one of the power ports installed in the pillar beside her. The dead battery graphic popped up on screen and she sighed, setting it down, knowing it would take a few minutes before it booted up. Shakespeare was probably freaking out. It was already half-past noon and she hadn’t checked in. Add to that she’d last been seen with her rival’s president, and her VP was probably all but locked and loaded with grenades to find her.

“Does your phone have a charge still?”

Nodding, he gently tossed it behind him, clearly trusting that she’d catch it. Smiling at his dedication to his task, she swiped to the right and dialed the number she knew by heart.
Here we go,
she thought.

“Bishop. What the fuck have you done with her? I swear to God if you so much as touched a hair on her goddamn head I will bury your ass.”

“Hello, Shakespeare,” she greeted him, trying not to laugh. Leave it to her VP to brighten her mood. One thing about the man, he was loyal to a fault. He’d kill,
had killed
, without a thought, merely to protect her. If Titan had actually been making the call, there was no doubt in Poet’s mind that her boy would follow through.

“Jesus Christ, Poet. I can’t believe you pulled such a stupid fuckin’ stunt last night, and even more that I let you go without even
tryin’
to stop you,” her VP ranted, and she remained quiet. Poet learned a long time ago that when the man was on a roll, it was better to keep your mouth shut or be run over. Sure, she could pull rank and shut him up quickly, but she wouldn’t do that to him for merely being worried about her.

“And don’t you even answer your motherfuckin’ phone? I tried a million times to reach you – includin’ to make sure your ass wasn’t bleedin’ on some highway, with the Bishop laughin’ like a jackal all at the same time. You may be President, babe, but you need to remember that you ain’t as alone as you think you are. God damn it!”

She waited a few more moments to make sure he was finished, her eyes raising to find Titan staring at her with his head cocked to the side. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know he was thinking that no man in his club would ever talk to him that way, but that was the difference between HR and BR. Poet rarely had to pull rank – her men respected her, followed her, her reputation as scary as any words she could say. She didn’t need an iron fist like the Bishop.

“Done now?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Anything go down last night I need to know about? Any leads on the fuckwad that was too much of a bitch to show his face when he beat me down?”

“Nah. The club’s good, boys are good. Couple sweeties got in a cat fight around the bonfire over Chaser, but that’s ‘bout it. As for last night, so far got nothin.’ Cameras on the compound don’t show nothing out of the ordinary but I’m still lookin.’ Haven’t told any of the brothers, though you’ll want to soon – your being gone day of the poker run ain’t giving them warm feelings about it. Fallen and Gabe are good, though, they know what to do.”

Poet sighed into the phone. She hated missing out on a run, especially one like today’s, but she was in no state to ride for long periods of time. For the first time in a long time, the idea of a full day’s riding made her cringe.

“At the cost of pissin’ you off, how the hell are ya?”

“I’m good. You know, same as getting in a bender with a fucking semi – same shit different day.”

Shakespeare chuckled on the other end. “Toughest bitch I ever met. Admire that shit about you. Anyway,” he continued before she could tell him to shut up, “your plans for the day? Comin’ back to the club?”

She shook her head, knowing he didn’t see it. “No. Think I’mma stay low up here until tomorrow – might hit the grocery store, but other than that I plan on parking my ass on the couch and cuddling up with Netflix.”

“Good. Good. Let me talk to the bastard Bishop I know is there.”

“Ugh. Fine. Oh, one last thing?”

“Yes?”

“My phones charging now. You call me if you hear a single fucking thing. Even the slightest whisper. I’m going to nip this shit quickly – that asshole is going to have some serious regrets … for a second or two, at least.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

With that, she passed the phone to the Bishop audience she had, trying to ignore the words she heard her VP all but shouting at the man. There were a lot of f-bombs, along with her name, and “I’ll fucking kill you’s” added in for good measure. She didn’t hide her grin as Titan hung up after a few grunts of agreements, and set the phone back down.

“Not sure who’s worse,” the man grumbled, dishing the eggs and ham onto two plates, placing one in front of her. “You, or your psycho-ass VP.”

“Me. Definitely me,” she informed him, taking a bite. “And this is damn good.”

Chapter Six
 

“You know it, brother! Of course I got some ass, all night long too. Jealous? Bitch can’t even get out of bed yet and it’s close to three in the afternoon. Thinkin’ I outta wake her up just to sink in between her thighs again.”

Poet glanced over at Titan sharply. Since breakfast, the two of them had been watching Netflix in a companionable silence, occasionally laughing or shooting looks at each other. It had been almost peaceful, the only sounds other than the TV being the noise of the Grey Goose bottle they’d been passing between them hitting the table.

Their easy peace shattered when the Bishop’s phone rang. She’d tried to ignore it, ignore him, turning the volume up and putting the subtitles on, but it wasn’t working. And with the addition of what the man was actually saying, he had her full attention now.

“Nah, no one you know. I’ll be back when I wanna be – need a break. And we all know the best kind is pussy,” he added, not meeting her gaze. He remained silent for a moment, nodding as he listened. “That’s fine, but don’t cause more fucking trouble. Sick of your shit anyway – I haven’t forgotten. Call if you need me to bail your ass out – of a problem, not jail. You land in jail you stay there. Rules are rules.”

With that¸ he hung up, setting the phone on the end table beside him and grabbing the bottle of vodka. She watched, holding her tongue as he took a large pull before idly extending it to her, still avoiding her gaze.

“All night? ‘Bitch can’t even get out of bed?’ Whose fantasy are you living in?”

Titan chuckled. “Easiest way I could think to get out of the truth. Didn’t figure you’d want my boys knowing where I am or why … unless I was wrong? I can always call him back and tell the truth.”

“I’m good,” she told him, accepting the vodka and taking a drink. “But really, none of your boys know where you are for real? What if I buried you? None of them would be the wiser?”

“It’s none of their fucking business. And,
if
you actually had the balls to bury me, they’d look at you. Probably the first stop they’d make, actually.”

“As they should.”

Falling back into reruns of Sex and the City, silence filled the room once more, with the exception of Carrie discussing Mr. Big with Miranda. If you asked Poet, Carrie needed to take a page from her playbook – if he couldn’t commit, and didn’t want to, move the fuck on. Don’t sit around bitching about the guy; there were plenty more fish in the sea.

Fed up, she abruptly stood, clicking the TV off. She’d had enough mindless drivel for a while. It had been a long time since she had spent so long away from the clubhouse and it was driving her insane. Even when she would stay in the hills, Poet usually stopped by once or twice to check on things. Not that she didn’t trust the boys, or Shakespeare to run things, she just liked having her hands in the middle of it. Less shit seemed to go wrong when she was around; and, if it did, she could fix things quickly.

Leaving Titan where he was, staring at her confused, she stalked out of the room and up the stairs, wincing. Having been sitting for so long, it was easy to forget why she was away from the clubhouse to begin with. Grumbling, she continued on, stopping only when she reached her dresser. Unshouldering her holster, she pulled out a fluorescent yellow tank top and slipped it on over the white one she was already wearing. After shrugging the rig back on, she grabbed a pair of socks and her boots from where Titan had dropped them, before shutting off the light.

Poet walked significantly slower on the way down, and sank back into the couch, almost regretting the decision she was making before doing it. But she didn’t want to sit around anymore – she needed to get out of the house. As she was lacing her boots up, Titan spoke.

“Going somewhere?”

“Out.”

“The hell you are. You look like shit, impressive for someone as damned pretty as you. Plus you’re drunk as shit – no way can you drive … or ride.”

All movements stopped and the room fell silent, Poet’s anger growing until it was almost palpable. Who the hell did he think he was? He sure as hell wasn’t her fucking father, nor was he her husband, boyfriend, or even sex of the week. All he was, was a pain in her ass that didn’t seem to want to leave her house. And now he was telling her what she could or couldn’t do?

“I don’t know how you do shit around your club, and I wouldn’t dare tell you how to either, but don’t you dare pretend you have any control over me. I’m
not
one of your fucking brothers. I’m not a sweetie, I’m not some random bitch who can’t get out of bed because of your epic prowess, and you’re not my father. I will do whatever the hell I want to, when I want to, and you can either shut the hell up and come with me, or you can get the fuck lost.”

Now pissed, she stood once more, and stomped loudly on the wood floors back toward the kitchen bar for her keys. Just as she moved to grab them, large hands swiped them before she could. Seething, she pivoted, coming toe to toe with the Bishop bastard.

“Listen here, you spoiled little brat. I am
not
one of your Hells Redemption boys. I don’t give a fuck at this very second if you are President, or just a bitch with a gun. I refuse to let you kill someone, or yourself, over something as dumb as cabin fucking fever. If you want to go somewhere, we can fucking walk and I’ll go with you. We can go outside onto the patio and get some fresh air. Hell, we can open all the windows and create a fucking bonfire in the fireplace, complete with marshmallows and graham crackers, but neither one of us are driving. Hate me if it gets you off, but either way, you’re not driving anywhere.”

Poet could feel her face heating at his words, her heart racing and her breaths coming in pants. Titan was the same, his breath warm as it puffed out from between his lips adding fuel to her fire. She was so angry, so livid, she could have hit him. Her fingers were itching to pull the Ruger from under her arm, just to put him in his damn place. Thing was, she’d already drawn on him twice today – doing it again without one hundred percent conviction in the follow through would only negate her threat.

Without thinking, moving on instinct alone, her fingers snaked out and grabbed his face, pulling him down. She crushed her lips onto his, punishingly, forcing everything she felt into the motion. Titan more than rose to the occasion, gripping her hip roughly, swallowing her gasp of pain and using it to deepen the kiss. Poet responded just as harshly, her hands plunging into his hair, her grip tightening against his scalp. They were all teeth and tongues, biting and challenging each other with every breath.

“I hate you, Bishop,” she ground out between kisses, pressing her body into his.

“Me too, babe.”

She couldn’t get close enough, yet there was no space between them. Their tongues were warring with each other, their bodies all but glued together, and it wasn’t enough for her. Poet growled into his mouth and he responded in kind, his hands moving to her stomach, then her breasts. He continued to the straps of her holster and tugged at one side, then the other, before dropping the rig gently on the bar behind her. Her shirts followed, both of them falling to the floor.

Poet couldn’t feel the coolness of the air she knew surrounded them. With Titan still shirtless, his body heat, and their combined fury, they could have been in the eye of a volcano for all she knew. But it was a fire she welcomed, matching the mixture of emotion running through her.

“Bra,” she murmured as his hands began to trail away. She wasn’t sure of much, but that she wanted more. Titan’s hands on her breasts, no barrier between them, the encompassing, soul-stealing kisses they were sharing – she wanted it all and more. And she was going to have it.

The Bishop didn’t question her, instead reaching around to expertly unsnap the lacy fabric and tossing it aside, his hands immediately covering the bare skin he revealed. Abruptly she pushed at him, shoving him backward as he pulled at her, taking her with him. Together they stumbled, fighting and giving in, their lips colliding and teeth clashing with each movement.

“You pompous fucking asshole,” she said through gritted teeth as his hands tugged at her waistband, her hands at his chest, pulling him back into her.

“Fuck you, Poet,” he answered, his fingers releasing the button on her leather leggings as the backs of his knees hit the couch. Moving swiftly, he turned them, forcing her back before all gently laying her onto the cushions. Just as quickly he, above her, his weight held off her but hardness pressing into her.

“Think just because you’re a fucking President you can tell me what to do,” she gasped as his mouth roamed to her neck, biting into her skin and causing her body to arch into him. “No one tells me what the fuck to do.”

“Except when you’re being stubborn as hell,” he mouthed into her skin, raising himself up enough to pull at her pants. “And why the fuck are you wearing your boots.”

Even in the lustful, angry haze she was in, she knew it wasn’t a question. Using her heel, she pushed at the offending footwear, using every inch of strength she had to kick them off while they were still laced. Relief flooded her as first one, then the other dropped to the floor with a loud thud.

“You’re overdressed. Fix it,” she demanded, her fingers fumbling with the button on his jeans before giving up and reaching down the waistband. She was only slightly surprised to find he wasn’t wearing boxers, instead grasping his hardness and squeezing, forcing a guttural groan from his throat.

Ripping her hand off him, he stood and reached down, all but tearing her leggings off, taking her panties with them. His jeans followed, leaving him bare for her gaze before climbing atop her again. Poet’s hand resumed her exploration, pulling and caressing the tip of him, as his fingers plunged into her hard, stealing her breath.

“Fucking pain in my ass bitch, always doing shit the hard way,” he groaned, stretching her and spreading her wetness as she fondled him.

“Self-righteous jerk, always thinks he’s right,” she retorted, gasping as he circled her clit.

“Do you want my cock, Poet?”

“Fuck you, Titan.”

Accepting her answer, he took his erection in hand and placed it at her entrance, teasing her, using his head to wet her further. Arching an eyebrow at her, she glared back at him, and he plunged into her, hard, forcing a scream from her as she took all of him.

He was big, larger than Braeden could ever hope to be, not only in length but in width. And, as he seated himself, it was like he was made for her. It was fucking perfect, the way they fit, and she couldn’t help but roll her hips as he remained still, forcing her to adjust to him.

“Your pussy is so tight,” he moaned, pulling out slightly before thrusting back into her. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever been in. Heaven and fucking Hell, Poet. That’s what you are.”

Unable to answer for fear of something very un-Poet-like escaping her, she pulled at his arm, forcing his lips back to hers. He went easily, his hips moving against her, finding a steady rhythm of thrusting, her breath catching on each upstroke. She used her tongue to explore his mouth, to fuck him as he was fucking her. This was all new to her, he was new to her, and it exactly as he described it. Heaven and fucking Hell.

Poet’s hands trailed to his back as she broke the kiss, her breaths coming in bursts as he continued his movements. His speed began increasing and she knew her nails were scoring his back, could feel it breaking under her nails. Remembering Braeden’s protests, she started to withdraw her hands when he stilled.

“Don’t fucking stop.”

Three little words and she was close to exploding around him. Already her body was quickening around him and she hated it. She hated him, couldn’t fucking stand the man, but she didn’t want it to be over. Poet didn’t know what Titan was like in bed – and if she was only going to get him once, she was going to make it count.

“Stop for a second,” she whispered. To her surprise, he did, without hesitation. He peered down at her, his forehead scrunching in confusion.

“Why? I can feel your pussy pulsing around my cock, Poet. You’re close.”

She remained silent, not wanting to put the reason into words. It would be too close to a confession, too close to expressing fear or weakness if she did. Instead she waited for that pulsing to slow before nodding to him once more.

“Okay.”

“No, Poet,” he gasped, twitching inside her. It was clear he didn’t want to stop, that the strain of not moving was taking a toll on him as his arm began to shake with it, but he didn’t move. “Why’d you stop – no bullshit.”