Yours: A Forever After Novella (10 page)

If that makes me selfish, claiming her before she’s officially agreed to be mine, then so be it. But regardless of what happens after I’ve stopped moving inside her, I’ll be making it clear this game of solitaire we’ve been engaged in separately ends now.

Mapping her curves with eyes, I let them roam over her tits and raise an eyebrow at her expectantly. When she hesitates, I demand,

“Now, Angel. Offer it to me.”

Harleigh cups the underside of her right breast and brings it to my mouth. She teases the seam of my lips with her nipple, just how I taught her to, and then feeds as much of her breast into my mouth as will fit.

My tongue instantly flicks at the tight bud, drawing a low, keening moan from Harleigh. With each suck, I slam my cock into her cunt and prolong her suffering by slowly pulling back out, only to ram inside her even harder the next time.

“Fuck. Fuck me harder, Lyric,” she moans, throwing her head back so that the ends of her hair touch my thighs.

“You still on the pill, Angel,” I ask, knowing that I’m seconds away from emptying my balls so deeply inside her there’s no way she won’t end up pregnant if she isn’t.

“No, but you can pull out,” Harleigh whimpers.

My voice is dark, and my words are finite when I tell her,

“Fuck no. The only place my come belongs is in your pussy, your mouth, or your ass. Seeing as you’re not ready for me to fuck you here,” I say, crooking the finger I have working her ass, “that only leaves two options.”

“Lyric, we can’t. We only just got back together again, neither of us is ready for a baby,” she informs me incorrectly.

Like fuck I’m not ready to see her round and heavy with my kid. There’s nothing I want more than to see her tits swell with milk to feed our child. To watch her give life to the greatest gift a wife can ever give her husband. I can’t wait to rub her aching feet at the end of a long day or run her a bath so that she can relax before bed. I’ll even drag my ass out in the middle of the night to get her pickles and ice cream when her crazy ass cravings kick in. But what I want most is to see her hold a baby we made out of love in her arms.

Sitting up, I pull my finger out of her tight little asshole and wrap my arm around her waist. I cock my knees ensuring she can’t move more than I intend to let her, and use my other hand to guide her movements up and down my shaft.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I grunt before crushing my mouth to hers.

Using everything in my arsenal, I nip at her bottom lip and then suck it into my mouth to ease the sting. I feast on the taste of Harleigh, stroking her tongue, coaxing her to give me what I want, which is all of her. All of her doubt. All of her trust. All of her love. I want everything from her, and I won’t stop until I have it.

“Please,” my wife moans, tilting her hips forward to meet my savage thrusts.

Harder and harder I slam into her. Deeper and deeper I shove my cock until I feel it pulse and twitch, signaling my impending orgasm. Harleigh’s pussy walls grasp at my dick, contracting, rippling, quivering before she comes screaming my name.

“Lyric!”

Come boiling in my balls, I pound into Harleigh, fucking terrified I’ll hurt her but not able to stop if my life depended on it. In fact, I don’t think anything could stop me now. Especially when Harleigh clamps down around me and shudders through her second climax.

A sheen of sweat covers both of us, making Harleigh’s skin glow. The waning sun coming through the open drapes dips below the top of the city’s skyline beyond. But nothing is more stunning than the woman writhing above me.

No sunset or sunrise anywhere in the world. Not the Northern Lights I had the privilege of seeing from behind the handlebars of my bike. I’ve always been in awe of the scale of the Grand Canyon, the peaks of the Rocky Mountains, and the winding lengths of the Mississippi River, but they all pale in comparison to Harleigh’s beauty.

Her moans become deeper and longer as her come starts dripping from her swollen pussy. Pulling the hood of her clit back, I twist my piercing so that the stud on the end rubs her oversensitive bud with each of my upward thrusts.

“I’m going to make you come again for me, Angel. I want you to cover my dick in your juices.”

Taking a stuttering breath, Harleigh whimpers,

“I don’t think I can.”

“You can and you will. I’m not going to stop fucking you until I’m drowning in you,” I say in a tone that brokers no room for argument.

She doesn’t answer me, but she doesn’t need to. I can feel how close to coming she is. Her cunt pulses and sucks at my cock. Harleigh’s G-spot is swollen and ripe, ensuring me that it will only take one stroke across the almost hidden bundle of nerves to push her over the edge.

Not one to sit idle and take her fucking like the good girl I know she can be, Harleigh leans down and licks a path from my chest to my ear.

“If you want me to come again, to coat your big, thick, hard cock in my cream that I may or may not lick off you later, then I want to see you too. Show me how much you missed me, honey.”

Jesus, fuck, this woman is killing me!

My balls are pulled up tight to my body. My cock is throbbing and weeping at the thought of Harleigh licking it clean. And don’t get me started on my heart. That’s about to beat out of my fucking chest out the sound of her husky voice telling me exactly what she needs from me to get her off.

“Bite me,” I growl, reaching around to grab a fistful of her hair. “Fucking mark me.”

My wife’s eyes light up at the prospect of leaving her mark on me. This is something I’ve never asked her to do before, but I have always known would be hot. Walking around with Harleigh’s brand on my back, chest, neck, wherever the fuck she wants to put it is like adding fuel to the flame of my arousal.

There’s no hesitation when she sinks her teeth into the cord of my neck where it meets my shoulder either. As my wife bites down hard enough to pierce the skin and draw blood, I moan and shudder violently beneath her.

The suction of her mouth coupled with the searing pain of her teeth tearing through my flesh is too much. My hips jerk upward, burying my cock inside her tight cunt to the hilt, and the first jets of come erupt from my tip, bathing Harleigh’s pussy in heat.

“Fuck, Angel. Suck harder. Bite me fucking harder,” I bellow, pumping thick stream after stream of come into her.

Pinching her clit between my thumb and forefinger, I add a half twist making Harleigh go wild. She releases my neck and sits upright, bucking, arching her back, which only serves to thrust her tits into my face. I take a nipple between my teeth and give it the same treatment as she did my neck and then it’s all over.

Harleigh comes with a flood of wetness that bathes my stomach and thighs. Her chest and neck are flushed, she’s covered in sweat and fighting to regain her breath, but she’s never looked more exquisite than she does right now.

Not wanting to break our connection, I don’t remove her from my cock as I roll us both to our sides, then over again so that Harleigh is lying on her back. Nor do I pull out when I tip her hips and shove the pillows from the head of the bed underneath them.

“I want you knocked up, Angel,” I confirm when I’m satisfied that none of my come will be escaping any time soon.

“There’s no use fighting you on this, is there?” She sighs.

“Nope,” I grin, rocking my hips as my semi-erect cock begins to harden at the thought of her already being pregnant.

“You know you’re insane, right?” She mutters. “Between you being in the MC and going on runs that take you out of town for days at a time, and me needing to travel for work, this poor kid isn’t going to know which way is up.”

I notice immediately she didn’t say no, which has my cock instantly standing at full attention, locked, loaded, and ready to go. But her words also remind me I still have some explaining to do. An explanation that I’m relatively sure will make the decision to have my babies even easier. Not that she really had a choice. I’m positive that after this weekend it will have that taken care of.

CHAPTER TWELVE

~ Harleigh ~

“You’re dead to me,” I moan pathetically as I drop my head, resting it against the cold porcelain. “You and your giant cock are no longer welcome here.”

Handing me a damp washcloth, Lyric scoops my exhausted, yet sated body into his arms and sits me on the bathroom vanity. Loading my toothbrush with toothpaste, the tap turns on as warm fingers stroke across my sweaty brow.

“I love you, Angel,” my husband murmurs, watching my every movement as I clean myself up after this latest round of morning sickness.

Whoever labeled death, morning sickness is a fucking idiot. Feeling like you are projectile vomiting your intestines out multiple times a day while you sweat like a four-hundred-pound sumo wrestler in summer is not the definition of sickness. That my friends is the epitome of a living death.

“How is she feeling, Lyric? Are you okay now, sweetie?” Faye asks us, sitting down on the edge of our bed.

When Lyric succeeded in knocking me up on his first try and started talking about buying a house, I told him I couldn’t bring myself to leave Faye and Tripp right now. Lyric said he understood, but couldn’t hide the disappointment he felt at the prospect of having to share my time with other people.

Since finding out I’m pregnant, Lyric has turned into a functioning psychopath. He monitors what and how much I eat, and checks the labels of boxes for potentially harmful chemicals that may endanger his ‘little princess’ as he likes to call the chickpea size vomit inducer I’m gestating.

Okay, so that was a little harsh, but what do you expect? When I envision myself being on my hands and knees twice a day it couldn’t be more removed than me hugging porcelain, thanking God for the invention of running water.

A soft hand on my arm has me rolling my eyes up at my best friend.

“No, I am not okay. Nothing about this is all right, Faye.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she coos. “It will get better, I promise. I was eleven weeks with Tripp before it started to ease, and you’re nearly there.”

“Oh God,” I mutter, jumping up and racing to the bathroom again. I almost don’t make it before the remainder of my breakfast is violently expelled from my body, along with half my internal organs.

“This seriously sucks,” I whine as I crawl back into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin a few minutes later. Turning to my husband I add, “I hope you’re happy with one because that’s all you’re getting out of me.”

“Give us a few, would you Faye?” He asks.

Taking the hint, she backs out of the room, shutting the door behind her without saying a word. Granted she does grin and wink at me, so apparently she’s becoming more adept at reading my husband than he’s given her credit for.

Lyric and I moved into Faye and Dante’s pool house the day he told me he had resigned his patch and taken a job as Darkness Rising’s head of security. I was shocked and humbled by his admission of what he had done in order for him to stay here in L.A. with me. He knew I loved it here, that I didn’t want to, but that I would leave my job if I had to, and took it upon himself to fix what would have been problems before they had a chance to rear their ugly heads.

The fact that Lyric was willing to sacrifice something he had wanted his whole life – to be part of the MC – for me made me feel more than a little guilty. But when he explained to me why he did it, that he couldn’t bear to be separated from me again for any length of time, which he would be if he stayed with the club, my guilt lessened a little.

It couldn’t have been an easy choice for him to make, and there are times my suspicions are proved right when I see Lyric staring at his bike for long, silent minutes. It’s in those instances that I yearn to go to him and tell him that it’s okay if he wants to patch back in. That I would support and love him no matter what he decides. But I don’t because he asked me not to. Actually, he made me promise I wouldn’t.

To cut a long story short; Lyric spent months slowly backing away from the club after his request to retire his patch was approved. Boss, Vengeance’s president, and Lyric’s dad’s best friend agreed to keep the news quiet until Lyric was ready to share it with his brothers as a personal favor to my husband.

In the MC world there are several ways to leave a club and most of them, save retiring your patch aren’t nice. In fact, some are downright brutal and barbaric. Having your ink removed being the worst.

However, the way Lyric chose to go out is the way a legacy member would. The patch declaring Lyric’s position in the club had he worked his way up to having one would remain property of the club, but he was allowed to keep his cut with the stipulation that he could no longer wear it out in public. Lyric would be welcome to visit his brothers at the clubhouse, attend hog roasts and family events, but only in the capacity of a friend of the club, nothing more.

Respect would be shown by the men he rode with. However, Lyric would have to earn the trust of the younger, newer members who weren’t around before he left. In essence, Lyric would become a glorified visitor in a place he once called home – a sad truth that made my heart ache for all that he sacrificed for me. For us.

There was a light at the end of the tunnel, though. Lyric loves his job coordinating and providing security for Darkness Rising. Not only does he get to come to work with me every day, which he claims is the best part about his new position, but he is utilizing his natural ability to assess risk and plan for worst case scenarios. It also doesn’t hurt that Lyric was given free rein to hire his own team of sudo-commandos as I call them, either.

The first man Lyric hired is, Ford. A twenty-nine-year-old, ex-who the hell knows what he did before, import from Houston, Texas who is Lyric’s right-hand man and new BFF. Sometimes I wonder if those two weren’t separated at birth they are so alike. But then I’m reminded of their differences when I see how Ford melts the panties off a different woman every night ending in Y.

Ford was followed by Eli, a disgustingly handsome, incredibly charming, and very married ex-police officer from Charlotte. His wife, Annabelle is equally attractive and sickeningly sweet, so, of course, that left Faye and I no choice but to adopt her as one of our own. 

The last and newest recruit is, Jake. I haven’t managed to get a read on him yet, but you can bet your ass I’m trying to. Jake, or Shade as the guys call him, is the dark horse of the group. Quiet and watchful, it’s not often that you see any real emotion from him unless his best friend, Simon and his sister, Farrah are around. If you ask me, I think it has more to do with the beautiful, softly spoken Farrah than her brother. But hey, what do I know?

That reminds me…

Crawling over the top of my husband, who is currently sprawled out width ways across our bed, I straddle his hips and begin pulling his sweats down over his hips.

“What are you doing, Angel?” Lyric growls, moving to stop me.

Pushing his hands away, I continue to strip him and lick my lips as the head of his cock springs free from its confines.

“What does it look like? I’m issuing payback for you waking me up with your head between my legs this morning.”

There’s nothing better than slowly coming awake to the sensation of Lyric’s tongue lapping at my slit. Except maybe waking up while coming. On second thoughts, the latter is definitely better, and something Lyric strives to achieve, at least, twice a week.

Wrapping my lips around the head of his cock, Lyric groan vibrates through his chest as I lick the single salty drop of pre-come dripping from the slit in his tip. Taking the time to worship the sheer beauty of his magnificent cock, my mouth makes its way down his shaft methodically laving every inch – of which there are many – of his hot, hard skin.

“So does this mean you forgive me for knocking you up then?” My annoying husband interrupts, breaking my studious oral inspection of his impressive cock.

“No, it most certainly doesn’t. Now shut up and let me suck you off. I have to be at work in an hour, and you’re distracting me,” I retort, immediately continuing my research on how best to make Lyric moan.

Chuckling at my hormonal outburst, they quickly die out when I suck his cock all the way to the back of my throat.

“Jesus fucking Christ. Yeah, Angel. Just like that. Fuck, yes.”

Bobbing my head up and down a few times to wet his length, I suction my lips half the way up his shaft and use my hand to work the rest of him. This way I can use my tongue to give Lyric exactly what I know he needs to come. And come fast.

The apex between my thighs tingles and my panties become soaked when Lyric’s hand finds its way to my hair. He is incapable of relinquishing control for long, so I anticipated him taking over. However, the sensation of him tugging my head to where he wants it and fucking my face with determined, deliberate strokes still thrills me.

It’s not that I need him to dominate me or tell me what to do in order to get off, but I can’t deny that I like the powerful, domineering side of my man. The hoarse rasp of Lyric’s voice when he’s playing with the wetness between my thighs, and the way he sucks my juices off his fingers and then demands I taste myself on him is a huge turn on. As is what he’s doing right now.

Holding the base of his cock, squeezing tightly, Lyric begins to use my mouth as a vessel to jerk off. Long measured strokes, each hitting the back of my throat has my pussy aching for him to fill it. My arousal is so heightened, that I can’t help but snake my hand into my panties to take the edge off before I spontaneously combust.

Lyric’s firm hand on my wrist stops me mid-circle, and I almost scream out of pure frustration. I need to come so bad I can nearly taste it.

“Did I say you can touch my pussy?” He snarls, not slowing the speed of his strokes.

“No,” I whimper around the head of his dick, swallowing reflexively as he shoves himself so far in it makes me gag.

Saliva mixed with pre-come drips down my chin and tears spring to my eyes as his hips pick up the pace. Thrusting in and out of my mouth, Lyric’s rhythm becomes erratic as the first spurt of hot, thick, come sprays the back of my throat.

My gaze flits over my husband’s body, admiring how perfect it is. I am a lucky woman, that’s for sure.

Toned calves lead up to thick, muscular thighs are sparsely covered with dark hair. Jesus, even his feet are sexy. The V of Lyric’s hips is pronounced but not so cut that his hip bones dig into my pelvis as I ride him to orgasm. I love that he takes care of himself, working out almost every day, but Lyric’s physique isn’t honed from hours spent in the gym. Instead, it’s defined and perfected from hard work and manual labor.

His sculpted chest and washboard abs are one of my favorite playgrounds. My fingers adore exploring every ridge, hollow, and dip from his neck to his waist. Broad shoulders and defined arms are tattooed with reminders of our past. They are also where I find the most comfort. Curled up in Lyric’s arms, it’s easy to forget there was ever a time I didn’t trust him. Especially when now all I feel when I’m in them is safe and loved.

Sliding his cock from between my lips with a wet pop, dislodging Lyric’s grip on my hair, I position myself above him. His length glistens with my saliva and his come, making his entrance painless except for the stretching burn that accompanies a cock his size.

“You’ve got five seconds to ride it like you stole it before I flip you onto your back, and fuck the shit out of you,” Lyric states without a single trace of humor.