She screams, tightening around me like she’s afraid I’ll escape. There's no hesitation with her IUD, my vasectomy, and our paperwork discussed earlier. Buried to the hilt, bare for the first time since my teens, I feel every inch of her taut around me.
“Fuck.” I close my eyes at the intense sensations testing my endurance.
“You feel so damn good, Nightingale.” Gritting my teeth, I pull out and drive back in. There’s nothing slow or sweet about our union as our bodies slap together.
“Harder.” Digging her fingernails into my back, she spills blood, leaving her mark as she matches my brutal pace, snapping her hips up.
I press her legs up toward her chest, surging deeper, and a fresh coat of her cream rewards my efforts as I bottom out inside her.
“I’m going to fill this tight little cunt up, Nadia.”
“Yes,” desperate and needy, she angles her hips, and I swear I see stars behind the back of my lids as I reach a new depth. Her muscles quake and tighten.
“That’s it.” With the base of my spine tingling, I continue to drive into her as my balls draw tight.
Crying out, she locks around me, coming apart around my cock in pulses that have me roaring my release. Exploding, I pump her full of everything I have. She might not know it, but she just became mine.
Chapter Three
Nadia
Sitting at the funeral home, I’m not sure who I’m angrier at. Cutter for putting me in this position or my family for making it so easy to be swayed by a man who treats me well. I’ve always known I deserved better than the scraps my father gave me and the questionable treatment from men in the Ferals, but having it shoved in my face hurts. What does it say that a man who, by all rights, should have let his people end my life is my sole source of support and protection? I snap the ponytail holder around my wrist and relish in the sting of pain that allows me to return my attention to the choices. This is a formality. I know the Feral Wolves will handle all the details. I’m simply in charge of seeing him cremated per his insurance. Even in death, he’s a member first. I stare at the shelf of urns and pendants arranged on the shelf.
He left his wishes with his brothers, not me. I’m the middleman. It’s an upgrade from the title of inconvenience, which I heard plenty growing up. Anger and regret swirl inside me. If I had been more into the club, things might’ve been different, but I wouldn’t have the joy I do now. Was it worth keeping my father at arm’s length, a virtual stranger who disagreed with the lifestyle I led? Twenty-four hours ago, I would’ve said no, but at the moment, with emptiness in my belly and my heart. I’m left alone with nothing but memories and questions no one can answer. Dad’s parents died ages ago, and my mother’s side of the family either doesn’t know or could not care less about me. Perhaps I’m another part of the embarrassing past they all pretend never happened.
I used to look her up. They always splashed her all over the local news in her town. Heading fundraisers and volunteering for causes. I’d made up a false narrative that turned her into some sort of saint.
In my mind, she’d be the perfect sitcom mother. I used to dream about running away and joining her. I’d gotten brave and messaged her one time. The block she put on me said all the words she didn’t have the courtesy to speak to me. It broke my heart and proved my father was the only one who wanted me. I’d thrown myself into club things in response. The number one babysitter, I tirelessly cared for the littles so brothers and their Ol’ Ldies could party. The first to volunteer for grunt duty, I helped organize family days and remained a faithful assistant to my father.
They’d supported my decision to get a nursing degree until they realized I wanted to use it for its intended purpose at a government-run facility. It caused a rift between me and my father we never mended. Time would fill the space, I thought. I should’ve tried harder instead of letting things rest. I turned my attention to the gray urn with the cheapest price. He won’t rest in here long. Better to spend as little as possible.
“Doc's little girl is truly all grown up.”
I turn and stare at a massive biker's disheveled, dusty frame. He's a nomad judging from his dirty shit-kickers, wind-blown brown hair, and Feral Wolves cut with no charter rocker beneath his name. Brute is pushing seven-feet tall and built like a brick house. Sun weathered his round face, with deep crow's feet and a nasty sneer.
“Can I help you?” I ask quietly, careful to keep my face blank as I shift my weight.
“I’m here to carry out your father’s wishes.”
I nod. “I know Dad had plans for his burial, but—.”
“Ain’t no buts, girly.” Growling like the wolf they named the club after, he steps closer, using his height to intimidate me. It’s working. “You might not have appreciated your father's role, but we do. And he deserves to go out in style.”
“I never said that.”
“Didn’t have to, stepping away from the club, getting a fancy degree, and turning your back on the family. You think I don’t know what you were up to?”
What is he talking about? Does he know what went down in the club?
“This is a formality. All I’m doing is planning out Dad’s cremation and what they’ll put his remains in.” I blurt
“Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?” Brute snarls.
I flinch and step back. Brute’s anger is potent as it fills the room like toxic gas. I’m trapped by coffins, urns, and an angry biker who thinks I’m gum on the bottom of his boots. “You like having something to lord over people, don’t you? He was going to fix that—.”
“Stop. I’m trying to handle my father’s affair. I can’t deal with this right now.”
“Well, you’re going to have to start—.”